#she called me weak even though the tray was like actual hot

[vmpkai]

hamilton: *attempts to pick up a scolding hot tray from the oven and drops it* jesus fuck! anybody got any oven mitts?

angelica: don't be so weak *grabs the tray with her bare hands like it's nothing*

hamilton: angie what the fuck

[muffindaddystyles]

OH NO BABY!!

Summary: It was Harry who swimmed in freezing ass water but someone else (his lovie) ends up catching a cold, caring boyfriendrry, a mighty bit momrry.

Turquoise chilly waves crashes against the dark coloured stones as Y/N watches her button sized boyfriend; summat all with rosy cheeks and nose, un-tattooed, wearing excessively short knickers (so tiny it shows the curves of his cute bum perfectly), being a cheeky giggly boy while shooting his swimming scenes. 

She wheezes a cold puff of breath winding her brown overcoat closer around to keep her warm but it fails to do so and she might get a scolding from Harry for being silly and waiting outside the whole time just to watch him but she doesn't care, she's extremely proud of him and comes by the sets of My Policemen once a time she gets day off her job early. 

He paddles towards her like a penguin buried into humongous coats and towels, his brows furrowing together trying to recognize her dainty self waving him quite enthusiastically from far and his face softens at that.

Shaking his head when her teeth clanks together from the gush of stinging cold breeze. 

"Lovie'," He wraps his nippy palms around her hands bringing them to his frosty lips to blow warm air, knowing she hates cold and gets real whiny from not being able to bear it yet she stood in it for two hours for him means alot to him because his assistant told him someone was waiting for him but didn't tell it was his actual sweet baby.

"How you're not a frozen chicken yet?" She asks sighing once in the heat of his given trailer and he makes an exhultant purring noise when she cups his face, lulling it left and right playfully, "Are you okay? She queries worriedly looking down at him with batted eyes and he muses a chuckle at her sweetness. 

"Baby 'm fine -- feeling hot by the way now you're inside the van." He grins bashfully tugging her closer with his knees pulled around her legs, "You better go back home .. I don't want your cutesy bum to freeze to death." She squeaks surprisingly when he smacks her ass playfully and drags her down by pulling the lapel of her coat to smear his lips against her's fondly -- heart bigger than it's normal size at her sight making his day 100x better. 

"I brought you lunch, it's on that shelf." She tells him standing at the stairs of trailer and he waves her blowing a heartious kiss her way, "Call me when y'reach, yeah?" 

"Kay, bye!" Her awfully pretty smile covets dimples into his cheeks and he just want to throw himself into the sofa piled with blanket and scream into it like a teenager girl.

Though, she keeps sneezing through whole ride -- eyes teary, nose runny and fingers twitchy not to mention her numb toes making her feel very uncomfy. Her eyes dropping from being too sleepy and lazy. 

She's about to catch a cold. 

Tiredly she drags her feet upto their flat and doesn't even pet their kitten strawberry on the way to their bedroom and when reaches it flops over blankets snuggling into them -- without even changing into comfy clothes. 

Sirens everywhere as she wakes up with a groan holding her forehead to subside the pound in it and it's feeling like blazing alarms are going off in her head making her want to puke. 

It's dark outside. She's been napping for hours. She manages to sit on the edge of bed deciding whether she should stand up to go to washroom or not for that all she could see is floating wooden floor. 

Weakly she trudges towards the kitchen filling a glass of water and pulls out a thermometer from one of the drawers -- she was too occupied in waiting for it to beep  then checking her fever that she didn't hear Harry announcing; he's home. 

She gasps quickly shoving it under her bum, "Don't you hide that thermometer from me!" He squalls rushing towards her in two big strides of his daddy long legs and her eyes widen comically. 

"I was just checking and I don't have any kind of fever!" She squeals not letting him get hold of the thermometer and he glares down at her sternly, "You're burning up, baby." He hisses, the back of his hand pressed to her forehead. 

She stands up and does a twirl for him shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly, "See 'm fine —- " Only to pass out but Harry was quick to take her fall in his arms gracefully squinting his eyes down at her.

"Yeah . . . could see how fine you're." She gives in atlast. Knowing he's going in a severe mommy mode.

"Put your arms around me — Or just fall on me, yeah that works too." She nods and let him slip his socks clad feetsie under her soles to walk them to their bedroom, he sits her down and she wails when he opens their wardrobe to get her something comfy. 

"Nooo." She bunches up into a ball as he fists her vest top to pull it over her head, "it's freezing -- 'm feeling so cold." He frowns because he's sweating his ass off from the heat. 

He sweeps her hair away from her eyes rubbing a hand down her back continuously, "It'd be a sec, pet. Then I'll warm these blankets in the drier 'n make ye' some soup, so you'd be all cosy 'n snuggly … hmm?" She's very unconvincing when sick. Wants him and just him by her side. 

She wipes her nose with her sleeve and sniffs, raising her armpits in air for him and  shivers terribly when he undressed her completely, "Oh me poor baby." He leans in to kiss the corner of her lips but she pushes him away grumpy-ly. 

"You're g'na get sick too, dummy." He pouts childishly helping her to put her legs in her fuzzy pyjamas, plants tender kisses to her ankles once covering her feet in aloe-fused socksies.

When she stands up on wobbly legs with the support of his folded thigh he almost jumps asking worriedly. 

"Where are ye' goin', missy!??" 

"To washroom." Her voice barely audible her throat achy and scratchy, "'M comin' with you." He tells her demandingly and she groans knuckling at her eyes. 

"No."

"You wanna walk by yourself? Alright, let's see that." He leaves her wrist and she gasps tripping forward from weakness -- catching the nearest furniture before the damage. 

"Moppet, stop being so stubborn and lemme take care of you … look at you, an absolute horror –-- never been this frail." He's just so caring it makes her want to cry and have a full on water-works party. He pushes her from waist to himself pecking her sweet smelling hair and takes her to washroom. 

After that he tucks her beneath two fluffy blankets and leaves her to make some soup for her and bring her medicine, "Harry!" She yowls pinching the blankets closer around her round small head and feels bad when he rushes inside in a frenzy with an utterly concerned face, serving spoon in his hand and dish rag on his shoulder. 

"What happened baby? D'ya wanna throw up? Or are you feelin' freezy, should I blow up heat?" He asks in one breath and she blushes murmuring timidly, glossy eyes still very sleepy and exhausted. 

She sneezes loudly, "I just –- achoo!! –- " Another sneeze and she messes her words horribly, " –- you — " Drool on the corner of her mouth. 

"You achoo me?" He giggles softly fetching some tissues for her and wipes her nose with them as she struggles to clean it herself. 

"'M sorry, please come back." She sighs holding in an another sneeze to avoid wetting him with her yucky stuff. 

He strokes her head for a generous moment, "It's almost cooked –- oh fuck is it burning?" He sniffs the air then looks down at her with full on saucer eyes and slaps his forehead when she raises her shoulders, "Maybe?" Thankfully not all of it got ruined and his grin was obnoxious while bringing it inside. Trying to shoo away strawberry who's pawing at the frizzes of his socks. 

She smiles up at him with hooded eyes when he hovers the spoon infront of her waiting to feed her as if she's some sort of lil baby and when she tells him it's hot he blows at it and when she still tries to make excuses he stares at her strictly, "Baby." He warns her and she obliges quickly grabbing his wrist delicately to eat and his heart jumps consciously at the fact she's still burning awfully. 

"Did you even put salt in it? It tastes like nothing."

"Please stop wasting of what's left of ye voice on complaints about soup you can't even taste." He huffs and she giggles only to drive into fits of loud coughs. He rubs her back gently and puts the tray aside when she feels like throwing up from the effect of coughs and moves the bin where she's bended over the edge of bed and his legs. 

"It's okay, hmm just let it out." He caresses her back and holds her hair away from her face -- though nothing comes out since she hasn't eaten anything from morning. 

"I hate this." There comes the first sniffle and he instantly cradles her face in his soft hands, "I know dovie' you're feeling very icky right now but it'll be better in the morning, I promise." She shakes her head coughing into her elbow. 

"I don't want to eat anymore." Her voice groggy and hoarse, he lifts her gaze up towards him scolding her with a stern frown. 

"Hey, now none of that -- you're not allowed to sleep until your belly isn't full." She groans nodding at last and he kisses her shoulder as a little reward. She isn't very bratty. Infact she's Harry's polite girl. Though, When she's he makes sure to tug her back on line but at the moment he understands that how much she's suffering. 

How much she needs him to take care of her.

Taking care of her medicines and her cough syrup he turns on the lamp laying back into heap of pillows against the headboard and spreads his knees to bunch her petite weak body against his chest and closes them when she's properly snuggled on top of him, it's one of her favourite positions to sleep in when she's sick --- clinged and cuddled to him. 

Like babies on their mommy's chest with their bums sticked out.

He tightens his arms around her hiding his face into the crook of her neck and smooches tiny kisses to her sweet spot, "You're so cute baby makes me heart-ache." 

His tranquil heartbeat never fails to lull her to sleep and his hands loving on her sides always makes her feel very warm, "You shouldn't have come to beach -- moppet. Knows your immune against cold is terrible." He whispers cheek squished over her head and she murmures sleepyly —- hands bundled up between her and his front, "Just wanted to make you feel ….. loved." Her words jumblish but full of affection and drool sticks to his sweatshirt when she mumbles against his chest. 

//

Harry didn't sleep whole night making sure she's okay, making her sip her cough syrup in betweens and massaging her head but when his eyes barely dropped and the clock hit 4 in the morning whimpers and wails started slipping out of her lips as if she's in very much pain. Which infact she's. Her body shivers vigorously in his arms and even though she's sweating her fever didn't lower down a bit. 

He has never seen her in such a bad condition. 

He perches on his elbow immediately cupping her hot rosy cheek and gives it few pats crying out worriedly, "Hey baby -- wake up." When she doesn't listen his lungs felt suffocating themselves bile forming in his throat. He throws the blanket away sitting up fully and rests her head in the nook of his elbow.

"Y/N!?" He tries not to panic when she gives him no-response and before his anxiety driven self could duck down to press his ear to her heart her eyelids fluttered barely -- blue chapped lips moving slowly. 

"'M okay, bub. Don't worry ….. " 

"Bullocks. You're not okay! You can't stop shivering!! Looks almost dead." He growls angry at her and himself for not taking her to clinic soon, "You're so fucking stubborn, pet." He mutters rageously laying her gently down on the mattress and climbs down the bed to bring their coats. Almost stomping his way all around the bedroom to collect stuff. 

This time doesn't ask her if she could walk or not and glides his arms underneath her shoulders and knees to haul her firmly against his chest -- blanket still wrapped around her shivering body. 

"Shh, shh my baby. You're g'na be okay, 'm so sorry you're in so much pain." He tries to soothe her while walking down stairs of the building. 

Turns out she caught pneumonia. They had to stay two hours at the clinic for her drip and some injections for which he had to hold her down from wiggling and squirming her way out. 

Made her rest till the fever was gone temporarily then drives them back home when assured that her condition isn't worsening and right now when she's cuddled up into his side with strawberry sleeping on his thighs he nudges her lightly.

"Dovie' I love you so much but that doesn't mean you can scare the shit outta me like that." She just mewls sinking deeper into his side.

"No more set visits fo' you." He tells her seriously and she perks her head up coughing mildly and he raises his forefinger in a demand for her to stay quite, that there's nothing to argue, "You could watch me for once 'n all at the big screen." 

"Harry……" She whines tugging the hem of his sweatshirt.

"No, Harry." He pets her head down back on the pillow. 

Without saying anything she distance herself from him like a grumpy shrimp and fusses under her breath. He supresses his amused chuckles noting the silliness of this girl and drags her back by her ankle towards him.

"Come back here, you little betrayer." He gasps dramatically and squishes her in his embrace till she gives up and herself nuzzles up into his homely scented neck. 

[sunfish-studies]

Moonrise

✄・・・ Feathery Ink [Karasuno Manager Series]

➜ Pairing: Karasuno x Manager! Reader

➜ Warning: none

➜ Notes: This is a separate series from Crisp Leaves. Similar to Crisp Leaves, manager in this story will be portrayed as a girl. She will be tall. This is just my appreciation towards tall girls, you guys are amazing.

Previous:  ‹ Greed › | Next:  ‹ Illusionary Hero ›

↷ SUMMARY ↶

It’s finally summer vacation training camp!

After the fight, Hinata and Kageyama weren’t really talking to each other–Coach Ukai even separated them during practice, Hinata in team B while Kageyama in the other. When practice was over, Kageyama was working on his tosses with Yachi’s help while Hinata drive elsewhere with his bike to practice on his own.

“Ah, he’s with my grandpa.” You asked where on earth did Hinata go, and that’s your answer from Coach Ukai. Apparently, Hinata was training with the previous Coach Ukai at their home. That left you with managerial duties and some extras like buying supplies for the training camp.

The injury you received of course was noticeable by the team–it almost send both Tanaka and Nishinoya into rampage, but you quickly said it’s not a problem and it would heal in no time. While you could make up some excuse for Daichi, Sugawara, and Ennoshita, you couldn’t with Shimizu. With a stern look from, you finally spilled the beans and she promised not to tell anyone.

While Kageyama wasn’t talking to Hinata, he’s definitely talking to you more now–along with walking you home if you chose to stay at practice longer. With that, you learn more about him and how he’s undoubtedly a volley ball dork through and through.

The time you had to depart from school to Tokyo for the training camp at night, he offered to picked up from your house so you could walk together to school.

“C-can I sit next to you…?” the raven-haired boy asked. Of course, you agreed wholeheartedly since Yachi will be sitting next to Shimizu and sitting alone didn’t seem to be fun. At first, you talked about some mundane things and watched a few videos saved in your phone before falling asleep leaning to each other.

“KAGEYAMA!!”

“HOW DARE YOU STEAL A HEADSTART!”

And it incurred the wrath of both Tanaka and Nishinoya when they realized. Thankfully, Ennoshita was quick to shut them up by slapping them on the head and Daichi glared at them menacingly for causing a ruckus.

.

.

“Well, the grand guest finally arrived,” when you carried the big bag filled with your essentials outside the bus, it was immediately gone from your hands. Kuroo plucked it from your grip so he could carry it instead, sending you a small smile.

“Kuroo-san, it’s been a while.” Greeting the older boy, you stepped to the ground.

“It’s nice knowing you stick to your promise,”

“Well, it’s impossible for me to not join the training camp. And,” you looked up to the building upon the stairs. When it was in Nekoma High School before, this time training camp was held at different area–however, you didn’t complain because even during summer, the place was cool with many trees surrounding and breeze swept by. “Why are we in a different place? I thought it’s being held only in one place.”

Kuroo hummed. “It’s a tradition for training camp during summer vacation happened in Shinzen. This place is cool, so it’s great. Why? You wanted to be cooked under the sun instead?”

“I’d rather not.”

“Hinata! Did you grow any taller!? Oh! Otohaku-chan!! You’re looking pretty as always!!”

“Lev, shut up.” Kenma scolded.

.

.

“[NAME]-CHAN!! Make sure to cheer for me, alright!!”

“She won’t, Bokuto-san. And please don’t call her by her first name when she didn’t mention you could.”

Thank goodness, Akaashi had a say because you didn’t know how to reply that without wanting to upset Bokuto in the process. The first match was Karasuno against Fukurodani and it didn’t go well–your team splendidly didn’t sync because everyone went to try the new moves their practicing, resulting they had to take a new kind of penalty.

Along with Yachi, you watch as everyone sprinting uphill. And it didn’t happen only one time, every time they lost a match, they had to do one before walking down and downing their drinks. It went until the last practice–which they splendidly managed to lost.

“Hitoka-chan, could you look over Kageyama-kun and Hinata-kun in my place,” you whispered to your best friend, referring to the duo who’s clearly itching for practice but couldn’t exactly say it clearly as they still in bad terms with each other.

“Yeah! I was thinking about that too!” the two of you nodded in determination.

“Uhm, [Name]-san,” Yamaguchi called out to you, rubbing his nape sheepishly. “I want to practice serve, could you watch over?”

Smiling you nodded, “Sure Yamaguchi-kun! Let me get my notes first, okay?”

The taller boy blinked in confusion. “Eh? Notes? What for?”

“To look over your progress overall,” you kneeled down to put on your outdoor shoes. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

“O-oh, okay.” Yamaguchi could only reply that as he didn’t know how exactly–he knew he shouldn’t be flustered or feeling special, but he couldn’t help to feel warmth bloom in his chest. He knew you were an attentive person, and it’s nice to know that applied to everyone on the team even though you’re mostly stick with Kageyama, Hinata, or Yachi.

Jogging towards the sleeping quarters, you could’ve arrived faster to pick up your notebook if Bokuto’s call didn’t halt you from doing so.

“OOH!! [NAME]-CHAN!!” he called out from the third gym. You noticed that he wasn’t alone, Kuroo and Akaashi’s also there and surprisingly Tsukishima. From that, you concluded that Kuroo must have something to do with it–probably taunting the blonde into joining. “Could you throw us some balls!?”

“Eh?” you blinked. “But, I have to get some notes for practice-“

“Just a few, come on!” Bokuto didn’t even give you a chance to explain–instead, he dragged you by the wrist.

So here you were, arranging an apology speech for Yamaguchi while throwing some balls for Akaashi to set. That and giving Lev some glances to check if he’s still alive or not on the floor. The setter already apologized to you in Bokuto’s place, but you immediately dismissed it since you didn’t mind either.

“Geh!? Otohaku-chan!?” Lev must be exhausted seeing as he barely noticed you’re in the same area.

It amazed you on how Bokuto still managed to kill the spikes viciously after series of practice match all day–his stamina is top-notch, nothing less from one of the best players in the country. Watching Bokuto’s spikes meaning also watching Tsukishima tried to block them.

Not once did he managed to successfully shut one out, but with Kuroo’s finally joining the cross was killed almost in an instant. While Bokuto is a formidable opponent in attacking, then Kuroo would be terrifying in defense. No wonder Coach Ukai was making him a great example for a solid blocker.

Tsukishima is indeed smart and calm as he read the opponent’s movement, but,

“Your blocks are pretty weak.” You flinched as Bokuto blurted out what you had in mind regarding Tsukishima’s block–and it sure pissed the taller blonde off. “Your arms are so frail that I’m scared I’m gonna break them. You need to stop the ball like you mean it!”

“I’m still a growing boy!” Tsukishima replied, clearly trying to hide his annoyance. “I’ve just started gaining muscles and getting taller!”

“Talk like that, and the little shrimp is gonna hog all the glory.” Kuroo remarked. “You guys play the same position, right?”

Ouch, you couldn’t help but thought. That hits the sore spot.

“I don’t think it can be helped,” Tsukishima said with a smile after a few seconds of silence. “The difference in natural talent between me and Hinata is too great.”

Before Kuroo could argue, the players of Nekoma began piling into the gym and Tsukishima finally managed to excuse himself successfully this time.

“Looks like you stepped on a mine, Kuroo-san,” Akaashi commented.

“You pissed him off,” Bokuto dragged. “At long last, Kuroo-kun, the master of provocation, has failed.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have thought that.” The black-haired captain sighed.

“Thought what?” Bokuto questioned.

“Karasuno’s shrimp is definitely strange and a threat, but in terms of technique and experience he’s like a baby bird. Plus, he’s really short. I never would’ve thought guy with glasses, who’s far taller and much smarter, wouldn’t only think they’re not equal but actually think the shrimp is above his level.”

Sighing for the second time, he rubbed the back of his head before giving you an apologetic look. “Sorry, I pissed off your middle blocker.”

“I don’t think you pissed him off,” you couldn’t exactly say that it’s fine because it’s not your place to do so. “But you did hit a sore spot, Kuroo-san.”

“Otohaku-san, shouldn’t you get going? We’ve hold you long enough from you whatever you want to do.” Akaashi reminded.

“That’s right, then I’ll excuse myself.” You bowed down and walked towards the exit–you immediately retrieve your note before finally helping Yamaguchi with his serves after being held for some time.

.

.

The next day, you’re helping Eri, Kaori, and Yukie cutting watermelons given by the parents from Shinzen High School. Surely, on this hot summer, sweet and cool watermelons would make anyone’s mouth began watering. It was also a great short break for the boys as they enjoy the watermelon while sitting on the grassy hill beside the gym.

“Do you want extras, senpai?” and just like other managers, you distributed the watermelons while asking if the boys wanted seconds or not. This time, you’re offering a few that’s still on your tray to Tanaka, Daichi, and Asahi.

“Ooh, don’t mind if I do, [Name]-chan!” Tanaka reached out for another slice.

“Me too,” after him, Daichi also took a slice from your tray.

“I’m okay with mine for now,” Asahi politely rejected your offer. “How about you eat some too? It’s quite a hot day.”

“I’ll go it after everyone’s seconds are done,” you remarked, intending to circle around the separate crowds for the nth time but Tanaka quickly interrupted.

“Everybody has their share already! I’m sure they don’t mind.” Your upperclassman commented. “Besides, our beautiful manager deserves to have rest!”

“Somehow, it doesn’t correlate…” Asahi muttered, smiling nervously.

At the end, you ended up sitting down beside Asahi and munching on a slice of watermelon. Your upperclassman was right for one thing–enjoying the fruit in a hot summer day was a great way to cool down, you instantly felt refreshed.

“Sorry, by the way.” The four of you looked up to the call, seeing Kuroo approaching and out of blue apologizing. Surely, your upperclassmen were confused with this except you.

“About what?” Daichi questioned.

“I think I might have pissed off your glasses guy yesterday.”

“What?”

To make it clearer, the cat captain sat down with his back towards you and began explaining the situation occurred the other day–you admired how both parties didn’t once interrupt nor getting things heated up, they knew this wasn’t something big and could be resolved by just a simple apology.

“Wow… Tsukishima actually helped out with free practice even if you cornered him into it,” Daichi hummed in understanding.

“Your manager too, but that’s Bokuto’s idea,” you didn’t know why on earth Kuroo decided to brough it up but seeing your upperclassmen were nonchalant about it (except maybe Tanaka, though he was quickly being shut up by Daichi) it’s also not a big deal.

“So, what did you say?”

“I provoked him and said he was going to lose to your shrimp over there.”

“I’ve definitely noticed that Tsukishima seems to feel inferior to Hinata somehow.” Asahi remarked, probably remembering a few words Tsukishima said to him.

“I’m not sure if this is relevant, but my sister mentioned someone tall named Tsukishima also joined the volleyball team during the Little Giant times.” Tanaka mentioned, surely this is new to all of you because Tsukishima wasn’t the type of person who talks about himself much.

Daichi’s head perked up. “Tsukishima has an older brother?”

“Oh, I’m not sure.” Tanaka quickly replied. “They could’ve just had the same last name and not be related. Do you know anything about this, [Name]-chan?”

“I don’t, but if I know, I think it’s not my place to tell since Tsukishima-kun would undoubtedly be annoyed because of it,” you answered, which made Tanaka hummed in agreement.

“Hey, we’re about to start!” Sugawara called out.

You didn’t know about Tsukishima having a sibling or not, however,

“This is just a club. Why do you put so much into it? It’s because you put so much into it that you suffer later.”

You couldn’t help but think it’s somehow related to what he muttered the night before.

.

.

Yet again when the sky softly bathed in orange glow, Karasuno had to pay their losing with penalty–you along with Yachi and Shimizu also Takeda-sensei and Coach Ukai watched as the boys bolted uphill accompanied by yelling (well, this was mostly Hinata, Kageyama, Tanaka, and Nishinoya).

“Here,” you offered a water bottle for Kageyama. He couldn’t even reply a ‘thank you’ from how harshly he was panting and you could only sympathize with him–more than five matches in a day plus penalties were rough.

“Thanks,” the raven-haired boy finally rasped after downing probably a half of the water from the bottle. You also handed him a towel so he could wipe away the sweat dripping down from his temple.

“So, how’s training going?” you finally asked, which triggered a sighed from him.

“No progress.” The frustration was getting to him definitely–while you were only watching for some time since Yachi’s already there to help him, you understood that Kageyama failed more than he succeeded. He knew he was getting nowhere and time was short, if he’s not geared up it will be a problem.

“I can’t give you any helpful advice but I think you should practice under Coach Ukai’s watch,” you mentioned, and Kageyama listened carefully. “He probably has ways that could help you. You couldn’t do this on your own Kageyama-kun, you need guidance.”

Nodding firmly, he replied. “Yeah.”

“I can’t wait to see your toss,” you then added, giving him a smile. “It’s going to be amazing for sure. You did pinpoint toss to Hinata all this time.”

The boy fell silent for a while, and you almost regretted saying those words–did you somehow step on a landmine? Did you piss him off? Did you touch the nerve-

“I promise to get done and you’ll see it.” The negative thoughts were gone from your mind as you stare at those blue eyes filled with determination. You found yourself smiling at his promise.

“I will be waiting then.”

.

.

“Sensei, what do you think of Tsukishima?” Coach Ukai asked your advisor while the five of you were watching the match between Karasuno and Ubugawa.

“I think he’s taking this seriously,” Takeda-sensei answered, although rather confused from the question.

“How about you, Otohaku?” and you didn’t expect to be involve in the conversation also.

“Uhm… he’s doing his work, but lack of effort? I think he’s not giving his all.” you replied but somehow became an unsure question in the end.

“You’re right,” Coach Ukai remarked. “I feel like Tsukishima gets a passing grade but never tries for 100%. I’m not asking for him to become more passionate, but if he’s not going to give his all, I’m gonna have to change regulars. I need players who can win a match on the court. He’s the tallest and essential to the team. If Tsukishima could become a strong blocker, our defense level would go up a lot.”

“I see,” Takeda-sensei nodded in understanding.

Not long into the game after Tsukishima served, there’s a collision between Daichi and Nishinoya for the ball–at first, it was nerve-wracking because if one of them was hurt it could be bad. However, seeing that the two dismissed it as if it was nothing was relieving.

“Everyone’s so motivated.” Yachi commented.

“Everyone’s more motivated now than I’ve ever seen them before,” Shimizu frowned in worry. “But sometimes it’s almost scary. Collisions like the other day can definitely lead to major injuries.”

Another spike went through but received perfectly by Kageyama, the ball bounced to the air and Tanaka was the second one to get it, passing it immediately to Asahi.

“It’s a little short,” you muttered, noticing the ball was hovering near the net–exactly to where Hinata was. From how he’s staring at it, he’s most likely to steal it–but then he tensed up, snapped his head to the side to give Asahi a stare and stayed in his place in the end.

“Let him know the ball is yours.”

You stared as Asahi successfully killed the ball even with three blockers–grinning from how he stole a score and holding them team together so it wouldn’t become lawless. The attempt was enough for you to let your shoulders relaxed.

“Maybe I didn’t need to worry after all.” Shimizu sighed in relief.

Asahi turned to face you, giving you a smile and an outstretched fist–you immediately returned it with the exact same gesture.

[raineydays411]

Kind of want this adventure to be over.

Bruce Banner x Daughter!reader

Summary: You have finally found your father...just not the way you expected. You sort out your feelings and have some realizations about people in your life.

You felt sick. 

You couldn’t believe it. There he was. Your father, the man who has been missing for four years. 

He was here, being forced to slaughter people as a gladiator on a whole different planet. 

So many questions were running through your mind. How did he get here? Why hasn’t he escaped? How long has he been the Hulk?

You watch as Thor attempts to talk to him, but... it was almost like Hulk...like the attention. You watch in horror as Hulk charged at Thor. Throwing him into the wall. Both you and Loki looked at each other in concern, then glance at the Grandmaster who watched in glee.

You felt dizzy as you watched you father pummel his teammate. It was like he didn’t recognize him. He fought viscously. You cringed when you saw him slam Thor on the floor.

“YES!” Loki shouts, startling you and the Grandmaster, “THATS HOW IT FEELS!” 

You both stare at him, alarmed at the sudden outburst.

“I’m just a big fan of the sport...” He chuckles awkwardly.

He sits back down and looks at you. Concerned as you looked grey, like you were going to be sick. 

He strokes your back comfortly, “ Y/n, if you need to step out...”

“I can’t...I have to stay...” You whisper, watching Thor get beat by the Hulk. You prayed that he would get up. Then it happened.

A bolt of lighting shot the Hulk off of Thor. Then he rises, lighting engulfing his hands. The two charge at each other, and Thor starts to gain the upper hand. You breath a sigh of relief. The audience eats it up. Chanting “Thunder”, but the Grandmaster does not seem happy. Just as Thor was about to finish the fight, he was stunned by something, leaving him motionless on the ground. 

You freeze, watching as your father leaped into the air and came down, smashing Thor into the ground and knocking him out. Finishing the match. You turn to see the Grandmaster lean back in pleasure. 

“So, how do you like it?” He asks casually.

You can barely speak. Too shook up to even form a thought. Seeing your unease Loki spoke for you.

“It was very intense. A very entertaining fight indeed.” He says with a smile.

“What’s wrong with the kid?” the Grandmaster asks taking in your pale face. “ She does not look good.” 

“Yes! Well, um, it seems as though she has eaten something that made her sick. Perhaps it was the jar jar fruit”

“Oh no,” The Grandmaster states, “This is terrible.”

“Yes well--”

“I had a whole bowl!”

“Yes...I’d better take her to her room. Rest shall do her some good.”

Then Loki rises and helps you to your feet. He leads you through the crowds of people. 

You can barely walk. You don’t know why you’re reacting like this. You knew your father was here. 

Maybe it was because of how gruesome this fight could have been. Or maybe because you knew that for four years, your dad has been trapped as the Hulk, murdering aliens as a gladiator for some old lunatic. And it seemed like he liked it. 

Your legs grow weak and you nearly topple to the ground. 

“Woah, easy.” Loki says, “ Darling, take it slow.” 

“I- I think I’m going to throw up” And then you lean over, throwing up into a plant. 

“Ew.” Loki says, watching you defile that poor plant. 

You wipe your mouth and try to stand, you sway a but, almost falling to the ground. Loki then sighs and scoops you up. 

Your face burns, “ I’m sorry...”

“Shut up. I shouldn’t have made you go anyways.”

You stay silent. Resting your head on his chest as he walks you to your room. 

“You know...my dad never did this...” You whisper. Loki looks down at you in confusion.

“Did what?”

“ Carry me to my room. Especially if I was sick.”

“Oh..” Loki says, not really knowing how to respond.

“My mom was the one who did all that. But then...she got sick and...” You trail off. It was rare when you thought about your mom. It hurt to remember all the good times the three of you had, so like your father, you pushed it all down. 

“My mother did that too..” Loki muttered. He walked into your room and set you on the bed. 

“Get changed and lay down. I shall be back in a moment.” Then he walks out, leaving you alone with your thoughts. 

You change clothes and ay down. Trying to wrap your head around what just happened. 

Your father was here. You found him.

But he was the Hulk and basically a gladiator. 

He’s been here for four years. Killing people for sport. 

“God, I may have seen some weird shit living with the Avengers but this really takes the cake”, You think to yourself, shifting under the covers. You sigh, laying on your back and staring up at the ceiling. After a few moments you heard the door open. It was Loki holding a tray of food.

“Here, this should make you feel better.” He says placing the tray in your lap. It consisted of a plate of some kind of soup, some cracker like snack, and a glass of water. 

“I know it looks heavy, but it made me feel better when I was a child and ill. Although, the one made by the cooks back home may have tasted better.” Loki rambles, “I do think I did pretty well, considering the circumstances.” 

Seeing this side of Loki was shocking. Sure, you both had your moments and you knew he cared about you, but you thought it was more like a forced partnership. But, he could have left you here alone and he didn’t. He went out of way to make you something so you’d feel better. You can feel your eyes water. 

And for the first time since you’ve been on Sakaar, you cried. You cried because you haven’t seen your father for four years. You cried because you were on a completely different planet, millions of light years away from your home. You cried because Loki was being so kind.  

You cried cause you were scared.  You felt like you were in over your head, like you can’t do anything but wait. You have no idea what you’re going to do from here on out and it terrifies you. 

Then you feel a cold hand on your shoulder. You look up to see sad green eyes. Then you’re pulled into a hug. 

“I know.” Loki says softly, “It is overwhelming, and you’re still a child.”

You take a deep breath, taking in the scent of leather and something sweet. You then closed your eyes sinking into the embrace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In another part of the castle, Thor had just woken up. Scaring the crap out of the women who were tending to his wounds.

He painfully stands up, looking around the room he was in. It wasn’t like the first cell he was in. No, this one was actually clean. It didn’t smell like body fluids or...death. It was red and white, with weapons and armor laying around. He can see a large bed and a hot tub in the room. 

Thor looks out the window, taking in the scenery and trying to figure out a way to escape. He’s startled out of his thoughts by a splash. He turns to see the Hulk in the tub, sitting in the shadows.

“...Are we cool?” He asks, holding his hands up in surrender. 

He doesn’t get a response, just a low growl. But he isn’t attacked so Thor takes it as a a sign. He goes to the window again and mutters to himself, “Huh, a Hulk in a hot tub.” 

Then he turns to Hulk, “ How long have you been like that?

“Like what?” Hulk grunts

“Like this. Big, green, and...stupid”

Hulk sits up slightly, half of his face in the shadows, “Hulk always Hulk.”

Thor doesn’t respond, opting to look out the window again, then he realizes,

“How’d you get here?”

“Winning” Hulk says proudly.

Thor rolls his eyes, “ Do you mean cheating? Did they have one of these shocky things on their necks? I meant, how did you arrive here.”

Hulk imitates a whooshing and crashing noise, “Quinjet.”

Thor gets excited, “ Yes! Okay and where is the quinjet now?” 

Hulk doesn’t respond, instead he gets out of the tub. The only problem is that he didn’t have a towel...or anything to cover himself. Giving Thor a good look at his goods.

“That’s naked...very naked” Thor says cringing. “ That’s in my brain now.”

“Quinjet.” Hulk says, pointing to where the plane is. Uncaring about the state of undress he was in.

Thor gets excited again, “Yes! I can get us home, off of this awful planet. You’ll love Asgard! It’s like earth but gold”

“Hulk stays.” Hulk grunts, taking a bit out of some fruit.

“What? No no no, I need your help to prevent Ragnarok.” Thor says desperately.

“Ragnarok?” Hulk questions uncaringly. 

“Yes, its the destruction of my home planet, the end of times.”

“Thor go. Hulk stay.” Hulk says stubbornly. 

Thor is desperate. He needs to get home before Hela completely destroys everything he holds dear.

‘Look, I’ll tell you what, you help be get to Asgard, and I’ll help you get back to earth.’

“ Earth hate Hulk.”

“What?” Thor exclaims, “ Everyone loves Hulk! You’re part of the team, you’re our friend!”

“Banner’s friend.” Hulk grunts, not believing a word Thor is saying.

“WHat? I don’t even prefer Banner” Thor says awkwardly, “ He’s all ‘ NUmbErs aND SCienCe’ and stuff.”

“Banners friend!” Hulk exclaims. 

By now Thor is frustrated, “Fine. You stay here on this awful planet. Besides this room his hideous. The red and white, like just pick a color.”

“Smash you.” Hulk grunts

“You didn’t smash me, I won that fight.”

“Smash you!” Hulk throws the fruit at Thor.

Thor dodges it calling Hulk a baby. He heads toward the entrance that is left open.

“Thor go!” Hulk shouts.

“I am going!” Thor shouts back, but before he can step out of the room he’s shocked. The obedience puck stunning him

 As he falls to the ground, he can hear Hulk laugh. 

“Thor no go. Thor home.”

He sighs, looking out the window. He briefly hears Hulk say something about training. Then he sees her. The woman who got him into this mess in the first place. 

She pays no mind to him, instead greeting Hulk like they were long time friends. 

They go train, leaving Thor alone with his thoughts. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake up in the dark room. It seems that Loki has left as you were alone. Your eyes sore from crying, you look around for your bag. You find it, pulling out your phone, earbuds, and journal. 

You write your feelings as you listen to music. 

You don’t know what to do. Part of you wants to go find your father and Thor, but another part trusts Loki and wants to stay. It doesn’t help that he has been the most fatherly figure you’ve had in a  while. 

Sure you had the Avengers. You could even argue that Tony has filled that role of father figure since your dad went missing. But, you and Loki formed a tight bond in a few days that took months for you and Tony to form. You both got along well, bonding over distant fathers, dead mothers, and theater. Not to mention you both had a sarcastic attitude. If anything, he’s taken over a big brother role, but nevertheless; betraying his trust was one thing that you couldn’t do.

You sigh, knowing what you were going to do. 

You were going to find your father.

So you get out of bed and change into your suit. You put your phone in your stuff in your bag and grab your weapons. 

You walk down the hallways, not knowing where to begin to find your father. Then an idea hits you. If you can find out where Thor is, you’d most likely find out where your dad is. So with that in mind you decided to ask a guard. 

“Excuse me.” You say to a red guard, “ Do you know where the …”Lord of Thunder” is staying? The Grandmaster allowed me to go and meet him. I am a big fan” 

The guard hesitated, not knowing who you were. But since you dropped the Grandmasters name, he pointed you to the hallway Thor was supposedly in. 

“Thank you!” You beamed, making sure to skip away as if you were a fan. You skip till you were out of sight and sigh, slowing down to a walk. You strolled down the hallways, throwing fake smiles at the guards you passed. 

Finally, you reached a room at the end of the hallway. You notice a woman pass you and walk staright into the room. You hide behind a wall and listen to the conversation. 

“Hey big guy!” She says, you notice that she has an accent similar to Thor’s.

“Angry girl!” another voice says...Your fathers voice. You can hear footsteps coming your way. You quickly pull out your phone and sit down, hoping they’ll walk right past you. You don’t need Hulk seeing you right now. If anything, he’d change back to Bruce and that’ll cause a whole bunch of problems. 

Thankfully, they pay no mind to you. You watch as they joke around and nudge each other. It’s strange, seeing the Hulk to at ease with another person. 

It kind of hurts, in the same way it hurt to see your dad with Natasha. It was like you couldn’t get close to either side of him. Or he chose not to get close to you. 

Pushing away your feelings, you get back to the mission, finding Thor. 

You head  to the room at the end of the hallway. Surprisingly, there were no guards or even a door blocking your way. You can see Thor, standing by the window. His back was turned to you but he was completely still. 

You walk through the door way, and look around the room. It was messy and kinda ugly. The red and white really didn’t clash well.

Then you were startled by Thor loudly gasping. You run up to where he was.

“Thor? Thor are you alright?”

He focuses on you, eyes widening at your presence. 

“Y/n?” He says slowly, “ Y/n?! What are you doing here?”

“The Dr. Wizard said my dad was here. So I came looking for him...” You say slowly. “ Are you okay?”

“I’ve been better.” Thor laughs, “ Have...have you been here this whole time?”

“Yeah, I got here the same day Loki did, so about two weeks ago. Since then I--”

“Wait, have you been with Loki this whole time?” Thor asks.

“Yeah, he’s the reason I’m still alive to be honest.” You say, “ He helped me get in favor of the Grandmaster and he’s been looking out for me ever since.”

“Loki?” Thor says in disbelief, “ My brother, Loki? He has been taking care of you?”

“Yeah, I didn’t believe it either...but he’s been so kind to me, Thor. Kinder than anyone has been in a while.” You say softly. 

Thor smiled, he was glad that there was still a part of the Loki he knew growing up. That you were alright. 

“You look awesome.” He says taking in your outfit, “Where did you get those clothes?!” 

You laugh, “ It seems like the Grandmaster likes to give make overs.” You look at Thor, “ Dude they cut your hair?!” 

“Yeah some creepy old man cut it off.” He says, suddenly he pulls you in for a hug. “ I am beyond glad to see you here.” 

You blush and hug him back, “I’m glad you are okay.’

Then you frown, “ My...my dad...he’s here.”

Thor freezes, “ Oh Y/n I completely forgot..”

“It’s okay... he looks fine” You say bitterly, remembering how chummy he was with that girl.

“ He can’t know I am here.” You say quickly, “ If he does, he’ll change back and raise suspicion.”

“I need help to get out of here.” Thor says, “ Asgard is in danger.”

“Why don’t you just walk out the door?” You ask

“Because, this neck thingy shocks me whenever I try to leave.” Thor says showing you his neck.

“Ohh so that’s why you lost the fight,” You say realizing what happened.

“I dis not lose” Thor said, “Your father cheated.”

You snicker, “What ever you say Lord of Thunder.” 

Thor sighs at the name, knowing that you weren’t going to stop calling him that. 

“Y/n, I need you to help me get out.” Thor says desperately. You furrow your brow, thinking of a way to get him out of here. 

“Okay...I have an idea.” 

You spend the next thirty minutes comin up with an idea. Revising and editing ideas that’ll get him out of here unscathed. 

That’s when you realized that you shouldn’t be here when Hulk gets back. 

“I have to go.” You say quickly, gathering all your stuff. 

“Wait, wait, how are you going to escape...” Thor says worriedly. “ Your father doesn’t even know your here.”

You sigh sadly, “ I doubt he cares. He seems pretty content here.” 

“Y/n, that’s Hulk, not Banner. Your father loves you.” 

You chuckle, “ You know, in last few weeks. Loki showed he cared about me more than my father has in all the years I’ve been alive.”

“Oh...that’s bad.” Thor says, because if you knew Loki cared about you and not your father...that was saying a lot.    

“Good luck Thor, I better go before some guards show up.” You say, patting his arm and dashing off. And again, Thor was alone. 

Running through the hallways, you bump into someone. You fall to the ground in a huff.

“Watch where you’re walking!” 

“Sorry dude, jeez don’t get your undies in a twist.” You say, getting up from the ground. You look up to see the girl who was with the Hulk. 

“Do..do I know you? You look familiar.” She says, closely looking at your face. 

“Umm, I tell stories to the Grandmaster.” You say quickly, “I better go.” 

Then you run off again, leaving a confused Valkyrie behind. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You finally make it to your room. Panting as you close the door.

“Where have you been.” 

You jump, not expecting anyone to be in your room. 

“Relax, its just me.” Loki says, rolling his eyes, “ Now, where were you? I came back into your room, expecting to find you in bed, resting.”

“Sorry, I... I went to see Thor.” You say honestly. 

“Y/n.” Loki starts, but you interrupt him.

“I know! I know I shouldn’t have gone, but I felt really bad and wanted to make sure he was okay.” 

Loki sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked at your face, seeing your guilty eyes and frown. He’s demeanor softened, “ You are too kind for your own good.”

You chuckled, “Well, one of us has to have redeemable qualities.”

“Hey!” Loki shouts offended. You laugh at his face.

“I can get used to this” You think to yourself. You yawn, suddenly tired from all your activities.

“Get some rest.” Loki says, “You’ll need it’” 

Then he leaves the room after ruffling your hair.

As you get ready for bed and finally lay down, you realize you can’t sleep.

 You have a crushing feeling that something big was going to happen the next day.

[lunar-wandering]

“hey google? whats social interaction?”

two fics in one day hell yeah. this time it’s for an AU i don’t think i’ve talked about here, called the Shy!Wukong AU, in which 500 years of isolation had the consequence of absolutely destroying Wukong’s social skills and confidence.

Word Count: 3.4k

Read on Ao3

-

When MK arrived on Flower Fruit Mountain that afternoon, it was quiet. He walked around for a few minutes, enjoying the silence, a big difference from the constant sound of the city, before sighing.

He walked over and leaned against a tree, barely hearing the soft intake of breath from behind it.

"I know you're there, Monkey King." He sighed again, taking the staff out and twirling it. "I could see your tail y'know."

Wukong slowly emerged from behind him, walking around the tree to stand just outside of MK's reach. MK purposefully didn't look at him, but out of the corner of his eye he could see that his mentor was avoiding eye contact.

"Ah, uh, yeah uh, hey bud." Wukong said, "I uh, didn't know you were here-"

"You were meant to come hang out with me and my friends today." MK said, and Wukong slumped. "I understand having some days were you're just not up for interacting, but this is the third time. ...Why won't you interact with my friends?"

He asked this as gently as he could, but still Wukong shrunk back a little.

"They....they can sense weakness..." Wukong muttered, and now MK did look at him, with confusion.

"Wh- no they don't- well, Mei might, but still." He pushed off the tree, turning to face Wukong fully. "You seriously need to get some more social interaction- it'll help you be more confident again!"

Wukong opened his mouth as though to speak-

"Fighting Macaque that one time doesn't count as social interaction." MK deadpanned, watching unimpressed as Wukong nervously scratched the side of his face. "....Tell you what, if you come with me and Mei shopping tomorrow, I'll get off your case for a week. Does that sound okay?" 

"...Yeah..." Wukong quietly gave his assent, and MK beamed.

"Great! Now, are we going to do training?"

"I didn't plan anything out though...."

"That's okay, we can just spar!"

-

Wukong was 20 minutes late.

MK glanced at his watch again just to make sure that he was reading the time right, before looking back over to Mei. She was playing some game or other on her phone, looking bored.

"Y'know, I'm starting to think Mr. Monkey King might be scared of me." Mei said after another minute went by with still no sign of Wukong.

"Honestly, you might not be too far off from the truth there." MK admitted, "I was half expecting him to at least send a clone, but he must know that I catch on to that immediately now."

"Do you think he's alright?" Mei put her phone back in her pocket, now glancing at the sky with concern. "Like, he didn't freak too much over it and hole himself up in his room or something again, did he?"

"No, he's already met you once, so I don't think it'd be that bad again." MK pulled the staff out of his pocket, contemplating for a moment. "...Hey Mei, how would you like a trip to Flower Fruit Mountain?"

"I would love to." Mei smirked, before turning around and entering the mall, grabbing hold of the back of MK's hoodie to drag him in along with her. "But first, we're gonna need some supplies!"

-

When MK and Mei arrived on Flower Fruit Mountain, it was once again quiet.

"Okay." MK shifted the bag he was carrying on his arm, adjusting his grip. "He's probably up in his little house behind the waterfall. He probably knows we're here by now, so..."

"So all we have to do is find him." Mei finished, "Don't worry MK, I remember the plan."

"Right. Okay." They passed through the water fall, walking through the cave. Standing in front of Wukong's door, MK set his bag on the ground in order to lift his arm and knock.

One of the younger monkeys opened the door.

"Hey there!" MK said, "Is Monkey King here?"

The tiny monkey chitters out a response MK interprets as yes, moving aside to let Mei and MK through. Mei easily finds her way into the kitchen, and MK can hear the clattering of some pots and pans as she shuffles things around (they'd bought some hot chocolate, and apparently Mei refused to wait any longer before making it). MK, meanwhile, sets his bag down by the door and starts looking for Wukong.

It ends up not being very hard really, as he finds his mentor laying on the couch, a blanket pulled over top of his head, his tail poking out and resting on the floor, stiff.

...Too stiff.

"Monkey King?" MK asks, and he sees the fur on Wukong's tail bristle, but yet the monkey himself doesn't move. "I know you're awake."

Wukong says something entirely incoherent.

"Me and Mei are here to have a sleepover, if you're wondering." MK says, "Since you didn't come shopping with us."

There's no response.

Suddenly Mei curses, and there's a loud clatter in the kitchen. MK turns, suitably distracted.

"Y'alright?" He yells.

"Fine! Monkey King just has horrible sorting skills is all!" Is the response he gets, and MK quietly chuckles because, well, she's not wrong.

When he turns back around, Wukong is out from under the blanket, standing up, his usual nervous smile plastered on his face.

...But something's off. His back is too straight, for one, the Monkey King that MK knows is normally slightly slouched. The look in his eyes doesn't show shyness either, rather an attempt at faking being shy.

MK makes his deduction in less than a second.

"You're a clone aren't you."

"Oh thank heavens." The Wukong clone, relaxes just slightly, the nervous smile slipping off in favor of a more relaxed, natural one. (One that, notably, MK has only seen on Wukong's clones. Well, he thinks he saw his mentors real smile once, but Wukong had left rather fast after that, so MK had never been actually sure.) "I wasn't sure how long I could pretend to be nervous for."

"He's trying to bail again, huh." MK said, not even surprised, having mostly known this would happen. 500 years by himself had really taken it's toll on the Monkey King, MK still wasn't sure how exactly Wukong had lost his confidence, but the consequences of whatever it was were fairly obvious. It had taken forever for MK to actually get his mentor to just have normal conversations with him instead of just leaving him sticky notes with instructions on them. During that time, Wukong had run away from MK *multiple* times.

Well, not tonight. MK personally respected Wukong's lack of knowledge on how to be social, and knew first hand the experience of not feeling up to interacting with people. But if Wukong didn't at least try to step over his comfort zone, then he'd never become confident again.

Wukong's clone seemed to have the same idea, as he turned, walking off down a hallway. MK heard a door open- followed by a yelp of betrayal, and then the clone was back, carrying a flustered Monkey King over his shoulder, dumping him onto the couch before vanishing, just as Mei entered the living room with a tray covered in candies, as well as three mugs of hot chocolate.

"Did I miss anything?" She asks, setting the tray down on the coffee table, before sitting on the couch to the left of Wukong. The Monkey King actually squeaked, shifting to move to the other side, only to be stopped by MK sitting on his right. Almost as though they'd planned it, they both leaned up against Wukong simultaneously, feeling how he stiffened at the sudden contact.

"Did you get the remote?" Mei asked, sipping at her hot chocolate.

"Yep." MK held the remote up with one hand, easily accessing Wukong's Netflix account. (He'd accidentally stumbled upon the password one of the times the monkeys had shoved him into the house in an attempt to help him interact with Wukong.) "What do you want to watch?"

"Hm, dunno. What do you think, Mr. Monkey King?"

Wukong didn't respond. He still hadn't relaxed either. His eyes looked slightly unfocused, and MK could practically hear the computer crashing noises.

Jeez. Wukong was a lot more touch-starved than he had thought.

And then Wukong moved, sliding down a little, covering his face with his hands. Mei and MK shared a look of concern.

Maybe this much contact was a bit too much to start?

MK leaned away from Wukong, putting just the slightest bit of distance between them, Mei following his lead soon after.

They were both quiet for a moment, silently considering what to do next as Wukong continued to not look at them.

...And then Mei grabbed the pillow behind her, slowly raising it over her head.

MK barely had the time to register what she was doing before the pillow smacked him in the face.

Mei burst out laughing at MK's surprised look, jumping up off the couch, pulling more pillows out of...somewhere. MK hadn't seen her grab them, but they were certainly there now.

He ducked down, sliding off the couch as a pillow soared over his head, flopping against the couch cushions, having not met it's target. He barely managed to shift out of the way of a second pillow, catching a third before it could hit him in the chest.

"Oh it is on!" He cheered, spinning around before throwing the pillow at Mei as hard as he could.

Soon enough the pillow fight increased to all out warfare, more pillows seemingly appearing out of nowhere. MK laughed, nearly forgetting about Wukong-

And then a pillow hit him in the back of the head.

Both he and Mei paused, knowing for a fact that Mei hadn't thrown it, she was in front of him, getting him from behind was impossible.

MK turned around just in time to see Wukong create another pillow out of one of his hairs and throw it.

When MK pulled the pillow off of his face, he was greeted with Wukong's nervous smile, and a bit of anxious laughter.

MK glanced at Mei.

Well. This wasn't exactly the way they had planned to help Wukong come out of his shell a bit, but it could work.

-

Sleepovers became more frequent after that. Typically they ended up with just a pillow fight, but still, it was some progress, however small.

MK and his friends were more than content to take things slow, let Wukong relearn how to socially interact and overcome his shyness the normal way.

And then New Years happened.

Wukong was still definitely not comfortable interacting with anyone other than Mei, MK, and Sandy, but he did start showing up a bit more frequently. (MK had noticed that Wukong tried his hardest to be more confident around Pigsy. He wasn't sure as to why Wukong did so, but he did. Pigsy himself seemed concerned about it as well, but for the most part let it slide). MK sometimes couldn't help but feel that his mentor seemed a bit...worried about something. But whenever he asked, Wukong would just clam up, sometimes even going so far as to distract MK before teleporting away.

But whatever. It was fine, they were making progress. Wukong was actually somewhat talking to people now, albeit he was still quiet, and easily flustered at the smallest of things. (Tang had briefly mentioned how impressive Wukong's feats were in an offhand sentence, and the Monkey King had practically shut down for an entire half an hour.)

...Unlike MK and the others however, Demon Bull King was more than slightly concerned.

The New Years Incident had been his first time seeing the Monkey King since 500 years ago, and needless to say, he was not what he expected.

He remembered Wukong being boastful, confident, easily coming up with snarky quips left and right.

So it was definitely a shock when, instead of annoyingly chatting or created stupid jokes while captured by Spider Queen, Wukong had simply sat there, quiet, a light blush dusting his face as he sulked, embarrassed over having gotten caught.

Demon Bull King could only wonder what in the world could've happened that would've rendered the Monkey King so shy.

He'd shared his concerns with his family, of course, in a roundabout, thinly veiled way. (He had been fairly certain that the monkey of the conversation had actually been spying on them at the time). Princess Iron Fan had commented about seeing Red Son in a slightly similar state, considering how he never could seem to hold an actual conversation with MK or Mei, instead always challenging them to a battle. (She was concerned, for her son. She'd known that staying in his lab, working on inventions day in and day out would definitely be bad for his social skills, but Red Son had been so stubborn at the time that there'd been nothing she could do.)

Red Son, of course, entirely missed hearing the conversation about himself.

He did however, hear the one about Wukong.

Which, of course, led to-

"Wake up, simian!"

Wukong startled, rolling out of bed, falling to the floor, his blankets falling on top of him and obscuring his vision. He scrambled for a minute, trying to get his bearings as he struggled with the blankets, trying to clear his vision.

A light laugh made him freeze, suddenly glad for the blankets covering him as he felt his face flush as he realized he wasn't alone.

"Seriously? This is the great, powerful Monkey King everyone is afraid of?"

It took a moment for him to place the voice, slowly lifting the blankets up, keeping his head hung low as he checked to make sure.

Bright red jacket. The faint smell of smoke.

Red Son.

Wukong looked away, trying to pull up every inch of confidence he'd regained.

"....How'd you get into my house?" Is what he ended up saying, and he mentally patted himself on the back for not having his voice break mid sentence.

"Please, it's not like it's that difficult."

"There's a whole entire waterfall sealing the place."

"Which is very easy to by pass if you know how."

Wukong couldn't come up with a response for that, instead forcing himself to stand up, trying to put a normal smile on his face, but knowing it would probably only end up being his usual nervous one.

"Uh, um. Why are you here?" He finally asked.

"Well, uh, my father is worried about you so I'm here to help you or....whatever.... something like that..." Red Son said, getting a bit quieter and trailing off towards the end of his sentence.

"I-" Suddenly, irritation overcame Wukong's shyness and anxiety. "You- you're just as bad as I am!"

(Demon Bull King had been right. Wukong had been spying on them during that conversation. He'd originally planned on going over to talk to them, but then, well, as usual he'd panicked, and ended up listening in the rafters while waiting for an opportunity to leave unnoticed.

...That had been a long day.)

Red Son spluttered for a moment, before pulling himself together.

"I am not." He hissed, the edges of his hair sparking.

"You socialize with my successor by fighting him because you don't know how to ask him and Mei to hang out outside of battling." Wukong deadpanned, "And no, battles do not count as social interaction, according to MK."

There was a pause, where they both went silent, staring at each other, waiting for the next move.

An hour later, and they were both sitting on the floor of Wukong's bedroom, both of them looking slightly frazzled.

"I mean, just." Red Son said, "How do you talk to people?!"

"I literally have no idea." Wukong sounded just as stressed and dismayed as Red Son. "I mean, MK and his friends have been trying, and like, I guess it's been working, because they haven't complained about me yet, but still, just, what is social interaction??"

"I don't know!" Red Son groaned, holding his head in his hands. "If- if only we had someone who was really good at social interaction, someone we could copy-"

"Like MK?" Wukong asked, before immediately dismissing the idea in his next sentence. "No, no, he'd pick up on what we're doing and either make us stop or call us out on it way too fast...."

"Agreed, we definitely cannot use the Noodle Boy or his friends as an example." Red Son muttered, "But....to be honest with you, I don't know many other people."

"...Me either." Wukong flopped backwards to lay on the floor, both of them sighing in defeat.

And then Wukong, tensed sitting back up, a thoughtful but also very reluctant look on his face.

"...Actually, there is one person we might be able to go to..."

-

"...What's being social?"

Wukong and Red Son both looked at their last hope of a savior in dismay.

Macaque stared back with an equivalent amount of confusion.

The three of them sat in the middle of a small park, partially hidden from passerby by a line of bushes. Macaque wasn't even entirely sure how he'd gotten there, and wasn't even close to having a clue as to what was going on.

"What do you mean you don't know- you socialize literally every day!" Wukong threw his hands up into the air, in a mixture of anger and defeat.

"You alone are literally responsible for over half of the city's parties." Red Son added, "How can you not know how to be social when you're the perfect example of a social butterfly?"

"I don't know." Macaque shrugged. If anything, this reaction seemed to cause Red Son and Wukong more distress.

"So you're saying you.... don't actually know how to socially interact?"

"Uh, no?" Macaque leaned back, crossing his arms. "I kinda just go along with whatever happens so- wait why are you crying."

Red Son looked to his left to see that, oh, uh, Wukong was crying. He didn't seem like he wanted to be, if the way he was hiding his face behind his hands and trying to muffle his sobs was any indication, but he definitely was.

"You were our last hope of understanding social interaction." Wukong muttered, voice muffled by his hands. Red Son awkwardly hovered his hand over Wukong's shoulder, knowing that the other still wasn't entirely used to touch.

"...Aren't the both of you interacting with me ri-" Macaque was abruptly cut off as something grabbed him by the back of his scarf, pulling him back into the bush. Red Son was too focused on Wukong, and Wukong was too busy trying to stop crying, to notice the sudden disappearance.

Macaque landed on his back, spitting out a stray leaf as he looked up at MK. (He'd known Wukong's successor was spying on them, he'd heard him hide behind the bush. Still though, randomly grabbing him was a little bit annoying).

"You can't tell them that they're socially interacting." MK hissed, quiet enough that the other two couldn't hear him. Macaque raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"Any particular reason as to why?"

"If you tell them they're actually interacting it's like- it's like Cinderella when the clock hits midnight, they both go back to being easily flustered recluses." MK said, "You've got to keep them going without realizing what they're doing for as long as possible."

"...Okay???" Honestly, this didn't clear things up for Macaque at all, but he wasn't going to try and argue with MK now.

MK let go off his scarf, and Macaque returned to his position in front of Wukong and Red Son, adding an extra glamour over top of himself so that his little trip through the bush would be entirely unnoticeable. Funnily enough, neither of them seemed to have noticed his temporary disappearance.

"So uh....wanna keep not-socializing with me at that cafe over there?" Macaque pointed over his shoulder at a nearby place he liked to visit. If he was going to do this, he was going to need another dose of caffeine. "I can maybe try and figure out some tips for you?"

"Yes please." Wukong and Red Son said in sync, already standing up and moving towards the cafe. Macaque stood up shortly after them.

Quietly, watching them walk in front of him, he thought; 'They're idiots.'

-

"Wukong, why are you hiding your face, Red Son's the one that just face planted while walking through a door!"

The Monkey King's response was completely incoherent, afflicted with second-hand embarrassment. Both he and Red Son refused to look Macaque in the eye.

The shadow monkey sighed, almost tempted to teleport away to find somewhere nice to scream.

MK better find a good way of paying him back for this.

[amorousadepti]

❈ flood in my heart (childe x reader)

another belated birthday fic, this time for dear rat boy (*￣▽￣)b honestly did not expect to fall so hard for this bastard but here we are!! he’s an absolute fave and im not ashamed. actually Would have gotten this one out at the right time but my internet decided to quit on me so :^) sorry 

summary: childe has plans for you on his birthday. you have plans of your own. the day takes a turn neither of you expect, but you’re not complaining (gn!reader, no pronouns or anatomy descriptions)

warnings: loosely-described fight scene, vague violence, childe being childe

length: 2.7k

The letter is delivered first thing in the morning, sitting on your tray of breakfast and propped against your steaming teacup.

You take your time before opening it. When your belly is pleasantly full with crab roe tofu and you're sipping from your third cup, you finally deign to lift the plain envelope from the tray, studying it intently. Though it bears no name, you already have an idea of the sender; you'd never admit it, but you've been anticipating this day for a while. 

Your suspicions are proved correct when you slit the envelope and find a letter written in Childe's familiar chicken-scratch scrawl. It no longer occurs to you to wonder how he knew where you were staying - by now, you know that if Childe wants to find you, he will. Munching idly on a crisp lotus flower, you consider the invitation. 

If you have no special plans, how about you swing by my place? 

Was it just wishful thinking, or was he—

You shake the thought from your head, taking another emphatic bite of lotus crisp. The day is still young. You have plenty of time to bathe, dress, and then make your way to Liuli Pavilion. 

(And if you spend just a little more time than usual on your appearance, making sure to spray the perfume he'd once impulsively bought you on each pulse point - well, that's no one's business but yours.)

"Comrade!" Comes the customary greeting once you finally wander into the Pavilion. Childe bounds up to you with a vibrant grin, sweeping you into an embrace that lifts you onto the tips of your boots. "I was hoping you would come!" 

You hum, leaning into his embrace and desperately fighting the instincts that tell you to bury your face in the crook of his neck and breathe deep in his familiar scent - saltwater and cold iron and the warm musk of his skin. You allow yourself to indulge only for a few seconds, then step back to a respectful distance (though Childe, disregarding the memo, follows and keeps an arm linked with yours.) 

"Happy birthday, Chi—"

"Ah, ah, ah!" He wags a finger at you, a cheeky smile playing on his lips. "It's my birthday, comrade - the least you can do is call me by my name, no?" 

"Happy birthday, Ajax." You squeeze his hand, his fingers moving to twine with yours. "And many happy returns." 

Childe beams at you, a faint glimmer in the usually dull blue of his eyes as he starts to pull you after him. "Now, I did say I have some plans for you—" 

"You don't want your gift first?" The way he whirls on his heel, clearly thrilled at the prospect of being lavished with gifts, is... endearing. You raise the bag in your free hand, wiggling it tantalizingly. "It comes in a few parts, actually."

"You spoil me, comrade," he simpers, unsubtly trying to swipe for your bundle of treasures and pouting when you withdraw. You roll your eyes in fond exasperation, pulling out the first part of your gift: a small white box that fits in your palm, bound with a delicate blue ribbon. 

"Open this first." You don't even need to tell him, really - he's quick to snatch the little box from your hand, though you notice he takes surprising care in untangling the ribbon. His expression softens when he holds your gift in his palm, rolling the little white whale between his fingers as he studies every intricately carved detail.

"It's made from a whale's tooth, too," you blurt, suddenly desperate to fill the silence. "It's from Inazuma - the merchant said she only had a few left, managed to snag them before the border closed. I thought of you when I saw it. Thought maybe it could be a good luck charm or something." 

"Coming from you, it has to be lucky," Childe says, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder. He tucks the carving into a little pocket (just over his heart) and pats the spot where it rests gently, his smile small but honest. "Thank you. I'll take good care of this." 

You clear your throat, averting your eyes as you thrust the rest of the bag at him. "These, too."  

He peers inside, and you watch his brow furrow as he studies your prizes: an array of shackles and chaos cores and a few jars of slime concentrate to boot. The fruits of many battles, compiled over the past two months. Comprehension dawns quickly, his hands clenching into fists around the rucksack as he glances up to meet your eyes. 

"That bow of yours could use an upgrade, right? Especially if you want any chance of beating me today," you say demurely, a faint smile pulling at your lips. "Once you're done, meet me at the Golden House. But don't expect me to take it easy on you just because it's your birthday." 

The smile that curls his lips is nothing short of bloodthirsty. It makes your heart flutter. "I wouldn't dream of it, Comrade!" 

The sound of his laughter follows you through the streets, spurring you onward. Sneaking past the Millelith is easy enough - this is far from your first time, after all. Honestly, you're pretty sure none of them are willing to deal with the hassle of you and your Fatui opponent. You slip through the great door with only the faintest creak, stretching to loosen up your muscles as you amble down the sloping stairs to the center of the floor. Your favorite battlefield. 

You're still stretching casually when the hair on the back of your neck prickles, carefully honed instincts suddenly crying danger! You call your sword as you stand straight, rising just in time to bat away the Hydro arrow that would have caught you in the right shoulder. Droplets of water splatter your face, a cool spray that sets your nerves ablaze with anticipation. Your blood pumps quick as Childe steps into view, Vision glowing at his hip. 

"Oh, comrade," he sighs, almost dreamily. "You really do know just what I like!" 

His voice is drowned beneath a cacophony of water as he launches himself at you, barely giving you enough time to raise your shield before he crashes into it with a splash. Your muscles strain, a fine tremble in your limbs betraying the force of his blow. Your heart pounds with excitement, a grin twisting your lips in answer to his eager smile. 

He leaps back, dodging a slash from your dagger, and knocks you off balance with a Hydro attack to your knees that sends you staggering back. "Don't worry, I'll be sure to cook you a hearty meal after I beat you." 

"Don't get cocky, now," you huff, finding your feet. You move together in a predatory circle, each waiting for the other to strike. "You haven't beaten me yet."

"True! Which will make my victory today all the more special," he chirps, bouncing a little on his heels with glee. "Do I get another gift if I win?" 

"So greedy, Ajax," you breathe, digging your heels in as you weather another rapid onslaught of arrows. "The pleasure of my company isn't enough for you?" 

"I can think of more ways to indulge in your company, dear comrade," he purrs when your blade locks with a ridge of his bow, leaning close over your crossed weapons. His tongue, hot and quick, licks a trail across your cheekbone. 

You lash out with a sloppy swing of your blade, striking only air as the Harbinger leaps back with a gleeful cackle, twisting on his feet so he can fire another shot at you. You roll nimbly out of its path, grimacing as you scrub at your cheek with the back of your hand. 

Oh, you definitely won't be making this easy for him. 

It's impossible to tell how much time passes in the Golden House; whenever you're here with him, it's like the world reduces to only you and Childe, the clash and tangle of your bodies across the hallowed floor. It could be hours or only minutes. Whatever the case, you're both panting, dripping sweat, and sore by the time you see an opening in his guard, launching yourself towards him for the decisive blow. 

Except— 

His bow clatters to the ground, discarded from limp fingers. Childe stands still and quiet, arms hanging at his sides, and the expression on his face as he watches you charge, blade-first, is like nothing you've ever seen from him before. 

You lower your sword, your boots skidding on the floor - but not fast enough to stop your collision, and you faceplant into Childe's chest with a grunt. One arm wraps around your waist, holding you close; the other finds the wrist of your sword arm, extended carefully behind you. For a moment, it feels like an embrace, just as warm and affectionate as the one you'd shared with him earlier. 

Then he twists your arm hard enough that you cry out, your sword falling to the ground with a clang, and the next thing you know, you're flat on your back, Childe's hands encircling your wrists to pin you in place. 

The puff of each exhale fans over your lips, his narrow chest heaving as the two of you catch your breath. You test his grip and find it unyielding, strong as shackles. Childe watches you writhe beneath him with a quiet intensity that both unsettles and thrills you, something about the glint in his eyes making your heart turn over in your chest. Somehow, it feels as though you've lost much more than a friendly spar. 

"My," he chuckles finally, though his grasp on your wrists remains like iron. "I have to be honest, I wasn't sure whether you would stop!" 

You toss your head, glaring up at him without much heat. "That was a dirty trick." 

"I know," he says, releasing one arm to tenderly brush the hair away from your sweat-slick forehead. You don't take advantage of the moment of weakness. He does not apologize. That's good - you think you'd be more annoyed if he said sorry without meaning it. "But it seems that it's my win, comrade." 

You sigh through your nose, exasperated but unwilling to fight. "That it is." 

He hums quietly, still studying you with that strange look - you feel oddly naked, pinned beneath his gaze. The hand that remains around your wrist squeezes gently, gloved thumb grazing your pulse point; you try to restrain a shudder, but from the way his eyes sharpen, you doubt you succeed. 

"Now, now..." He sighs in a show of exaggerated thoughtfulness. "What should my next gift be?"  

You grumble something vaguely along the lines of not having agreed to another gift. Childe ignores you steadfastly, snapping his fingers in realization. "How about a kiss?" 

You snort, prepared to brush the request off as another bit of harmless flirting, but the look in his eyes is not one of jesting. Your mouth suddenly feels dry, and you wet your lips with your tongue before you speak again. The way his cobalt eyes flicker to watch your mouth does nothing to help your focus. "Seriously?" 

"Why not?" He says, shrugging as though he hasn't just knocked your world off-kilter. Your mouth opens, but before you can speak, you feel his fingers caress your jaw, his thumb resting on the pad of your lower lip. The leather is blessedly cool; you feel feverish in comparison. He's looking at you like he could swallow you whole, and you think you would let him. "A kiss from my most beloved comrade... now that's a gift I would really treasure."

You inhale, a ragged, gasping thing that sounds more post-coital than post-battle, and lay still beneath his hand. The thought that you have yet to actually respond fails to occur to your fogged brain - until suddenly the contact is gone, the loss of his touch echoing in your chest, and something in Childe's expression wavers before he's sitting up, a smile that doesn't reach his eyes on his lips. He's shutting himself off from you. Again.

"Ah, well, it was only a jo—mmph!"

Huh. If you'd known a kiss was all it took to stop his rambling, you might've given into your desires earlier. 

His lips are a bit chapped but pleasantly warm against yours, and his breath smells surprisingly sweet - it seems you weren't the only one indulging in Liyue's traditional snacks today. He hadn't been prepared for you to pull him down, and for a breathless moment his full weight rests upon you; there's a guilty exhilaration in feeling the length of him pressed against you, his long legs tangled with yours and strands of his hair tickling your cheeks. Your fingers knot tightly in his red scarf, holding him so close you think you can feel the pounding of his heart in your own chest. When your tongue flicks against the plush of his bottom lip, he moans sweetly, a shudder wracking his lithe frame as he opens for you, a gloved hand cupping your cheek. You taste blood in his mouth and can't tell whether it's yours or his. The thought excites you, your heart hammering as your blood grows hot. 

A strand of saliva, tinted pink with blood, connects your mouths when Childe pulls away with a ragged gasp. His lips are swollen from your kiss, a deep flush coloring his cheeks to the tips of his ears, and his eyes are wide and startled. They almost—

Shine. 

"Comrade!" Childe exclaims, reeling back on his heels. You've never seen him so... off-balanced, his hands twitching helplessly in the air. You decide you like him this way. "H-How bold of you!" 

You blink, lazily propping yourself up on your elbows. "You were the one that asked for a kiss in the first place." 

He seems to fluster even more at the reminder, hiding his mouth behind his wrist. "I didn't think you'd actually do it!" 

"Aw, Ajax," you coo. Much to your delight, the blush on Childe's cheeks grows even darker, a red glow creeping down his neck. "Is the big bad Harbinger flustered all because of a little kiss? What would Scara say if he saw you like this?"

Childe grimaces. "Don't mention him right now, please." 

You laugh, loudly, until Childe's hands clamp down on your shoulders, pinning you to the ground once again. Your breath stutters as you look up at him, finding him watching you intently; that same strange, searching look as before, but mixed with something darker. 

Hungrier. 

"You should be more careful, offering a gift like that so freely," he murmurs - a breathless purr like you've never heard before, the promise of danger in his voice making your thighs clench. One hand moves to gently nudge the band of your shirt off your shoulder, the brush of his fingers against your bared skin sending your nerves sparking. "I might want you to give me even more."

The words spill from your lips easily, without thinking. "Then take more." 

Childe stares down at you wordlessly. He's barely breathing, lashes fluttering when you reach out and catch his hand, slipping your fingers under the tight line of his glove until you can peel it off his fingers. He says your name, soft and wondering. 

"You said that this was a gift you'd treasure..." You guide him to the tie of your blouse. Unprompted, his fingers curl around the loose knot. "So make sure to take good care of me, Ajax." 

Your blouse falls open with a gentle tug, and Childe falls upon you, locking your lips in a messy kiss as his hands roam your body wildly, seeking out every scrap of bare skin he can find. You're pulled onto your knees to straddle his lap as he sits back and pulls you atop him, breaking from your mouth to trail bruising bites down the length of your throat. The force of his desire crashes down upon you like a wave, filling your lungs with only him. 

You're glad to drown. 

[penguinwithitsarseonfire]

Baby Just Say Yes

Relationship: 12th Doctor x Reader

Warnings: brief mention of drowning - but not graphically described, and some spoilers for War and Peace (the book, although I suppose it would apply to the TV show as well, since they're the same story)

Word Count: 2,704

Summary: When you, Bill, and the Doctor debate the merits of how many doughnuts are too many, it accidentally leads to a revelation on an event you hadn't actually known had happened. 

Request: Bill finds out that the reader is "married" to Doc and at some point Bill jokes calling the two her grandparents

A/N: I took the route of reader knowing the Doctor for years and years, just so it was easier to justify the nature of the Doctor and readers relationship. As a result, it's got some implied past 11 x Reader. Hope that’s okay!

Your finger trailed along the spines of the collection of books on one the shelves in the second level of the console room. You paused when your eyes landed on a familiar novel, one you had yet to crack open, but really wanted to. If so you could boast to the Doctor that you'd read it.

War and Peace.

1,225 pages. The Doctor had never had the patience for it. You took the novel out from the shelf, only for a plume of dust to pool into the air. It tickled your nose, making it itch.

Then you sneezed.

You rubbed your finger along the base of your nose in a vain attempt to scratch it, and narrowed your eyes at the dusty bookshelf. The Doctor had said he was going to dust it.

A muffled voice spoke from below, it took you a moment to place what was said, but you were pretty sure it was ‘bless you’.

You were on a planet the Doctor and you had discovered in his last face, back when he had been younger, had a longer chin, and was far more obsessed with sweets. It was famous for its doughnuts, the best in the galaxy, the Doctor had decided.

And that decision had stuck, since, when the Doctor had told Bill about the planet, she had decided that they absolutely must go.

You poked your head over the bannister and locked eyes with Bill. She was holding a doughnut in her mouth, and her hands were full balancing two trays. You realised it must have been Bill who spoke, because the Doctor was only now coming in, holding a near empty tray of doughnuts in one hand.

“Hey,” you said, and you placed your book on one of the chairs before hopping down the stairs. “You two get enough?”

Bill snorted, dropping her boxes onto the console and taking a bite out of her doughnut. “Not even. He,” she nodded towards the Doctor. “Has already eaten nearly every single one out of that box.”

Your eyebrows flew into your hairline, and you snatched the box out of the Doctor’s hands. You waved the Doctor away when he protested, and instead eyed the boxes contents. There was a single doughnut left. Out of nine doughnuts, and only one was left. It was round, with no hole in the middle, and a good layer of icing sugar sprinkled on top.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Feeling sick yet?”

The Doctor raised his own eyebrow at you, and you knew, instinctually, that it was more effective than yours. “You do not get to lecture me on health.”

It was a weak rebuttal.

“You’ve had eight of them Doctor,” you took the final doughnut out of the box. “Eight.”

He snatched it out of your hand, and your face fell. “Timelord,” he replied, and then took a large bite out of the final doughnut. The Doctor immediately winced, then hissed. He pulled the doughnut away with a frown, and you saw the remnants of hot jam on his lips.

A swell of vindication ran through you, and, under the guise of wiping some of the jam off, you took the doughnut off of him. You let the air cool the jam slightly, not wanting to burn yourself too. “Eight,” you said again. “Is more than enough.”

“The very basics of my physiology are different,” he gestured to both his hearts for good measure, then tried to reach for the doughnut, you were ready though, and you held it out of reach. “I’ll be fine.”

“Just because you've got two hearts,” you said. “Doesn't mean you've got two stomachs. At the very least you'll get indigestion.”

And with that you took a hungry bite out of the very doughnut he had just stolen from you. It was good, they’d made it with raspberry jam, and the stark taste of the sharp raspberry against the sweet sugar warmed you. You gave him a satisfied smirk, and turned to Bill. “What about you, what’s yours?”

Bill had been watching you both, her head swinging between you like she was watching a tennis match. She had just bitten into her doughnut, and she looked slightly stunned that you had spoken to her.

“It’s really good,” she said, but her mouth was full so it sounded more like ‘ts r’lly gud. She swallowed, then continued talking. “Can’t remember what they said this one was,” and she turned to the Doctor, holding the doughnut up so both you and the Doctor could see its contents. It was filled with a rich purple paste. “What’s supposed to be in it?”

“Ube,” the Doctor said coolly, and he shuffled over to your side. You sidestepped him, taking another bite of the doughnut. He wasn’t getting it that easily. “It’s from the Philippines, traditionally.”

“We should’ve gotten more,” Bill said. “I think these are my favourite so far.”

This was the beauty of this planet, they were obsessed with Earth doughnuts, so they’d preserved every culturally significant recipe that Earth had, 1,893 – the Doctor had counted. They even had cronut’s, of all things, though you’d yet to try them.

The Doctor scowled at the other two boxes, and you stepped carefully in front of them.

“I chose a new book,” you said, which was a blatant redirection of conversation, but you powered through. “One I’m sure you haven’t finished.”

From the corner of your eyes, you noticed Bill was watching the pair of you again, as if a spectator of a sport.

The Doctor studied you carefully, and you knew he was humouring this new conversation. “That’s an unlikely assumption.

“War and Peace,” you said, with only a small hint of pride.

The Doctor cocked his head to the side, considering it. “You’re right, actually. I got bored once the Anatole and Natasha affair got going. Couldn’t visit the opera for a couple decades either.”

Your face fell.

Bill spluttered. “Did you just spoil it?”

The Doctor waved a hand. “The book's over 150 years old. If Y/N doesn't know about the ending by now then that's not really my fault.”

You vaguely heard Bill breathe out an Oh my God.

“That's one of the most arrogant things you've ever said,” you said, still processing the shock of how he had so simply said what he had. “And I once listened to you drone on for an hour on how you choreographed the macarena.”

“I did that in a different face though, younger, more nimble. I’ll have to tell you about how I taught Claude Debussy how to shred.”

“Like, on the guitar, or in the ocean?” Bill asked.

“Yes,” the Doctor said, and then he went to grab for the rest of the doughnut in your hand.

“Oh no,” you said, side-stepping him. “No more, especially not after you spoiled the book for me.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he said. “It’s not like I told you how Andrei dies in a gruesome battle against the French, and Natasha coincidently finds herself by his side as he dies on his deathbed, even though they’d long parted. Honestly.”

Your eyes bugged out of your skull, you could feel it, as though they were ready to up and roll away.

“Is Andrei an important character?” Bill asked slowly, and then, she meekly added. “I haven’t seen the show.”

You spoke very slowly, your voice low. You narrowed your eyes to the Doctor. The death of a major character was a pretty big spoiler. “I cannot believe you.”

The Doctor winced slightly. “I just rambled like I was 900 years old again, didn’t I?”

“At least,” you breathed. You swallowed your exasperation, and then, suddenly, you sneezed. It was loud, like it had to announce itself to the world, and you rocked backwards slightly. You sniffled.

“Bless you,” Bill said again, but her mouth was full, so it sounded like ‘bleshooo’.

You gave her your thanks, then turned to the Doctor, your mind going to the reason why you were sneezing in the first place. “Dusting,” you said. “You haven’t dusted yet. You said you would.”

The Doctor waved a hand. “I will, I’ll get round to it.”

“You offered, Doctor,” you continued, and in the back of your mind, you wondered if it sounded like you were nagging him . “No one asked you to do it, Nardole didn’t even ask. You offered.”

“You’re in a mood,” The Doctor said suddenly, and he leaned forward, so his big nose was almost against yours.. “Are you sick?

“I – what, no, I’m not sick,” you said, and you stumbled back suddenly. His eyes were so large, so close, and it was momentarily disarming. “You can be so infuriating sometimes, you know that?”

“You tell me constantly.”

Bill’s face grew into a large, delighted grin. “Oh my God,” she said. “You're like an old married couple.”

You turned to her, stunned. Or course, you were with the Doctor, but the idea of being married to him… well, he had done it, you knew he had, you’d been there, several years ago now when he’d had a different face with a long chin and an affinity for custard.

It certainly hadn’t been to you, though.

Of course, time had been broken and you’d been wearing an itchy eyepatch, but schematics.

You’d also seen the Doctor, a much younger face, one you had never travelled with, marry Queen Elizabeth the first. You’d been a ring bearer. It had been too fun teasing all three of faces of the Doctor that day for it.

But no. You had certainly never married him.

It wasn’t as if you didn’t want to, quite honestly, the thought had never crossed your mind. You had been so content in your relationship with him, how sure it felt, how right it was, that you’d never thought about anything more.

The Doctor, too, gawked, but for an entirely different reason. "You called me old.”

Bill glanced up and down the doctor's frame, which was enough to make her point.

“Fine,” the Doctor grumbled. “I'm old.”

“How are we like an old married couple?” You pressed, because the Doctor was not getting the key part of Bill’s statement.

“The bickering,” she said. “It's totally what couples do.”

You gaped and turned to the Doctor for some sort of guidance. You waited for him to shut it down. To laugh and just say it was because you were comfortable around one another. Instead, the Doctor only shrugged. "I mean,” he said. “Technically we are married'

You did a double take. Married. You were, apparently, already married to the Doctor.

What?

Bill gasped. “What - no, since when? Why didn't you tell me?”

“Yeah,” you said, finding your voice. “I'd quite like to know too.”

Bill turned to you. “Wait what do you mean?”

“This is news to me,” you continued. “We're married? Where was my something old and something blue?”

The Doctor gestured to himself, then around the console room - the TARDIS. So those were, apparently, the something old and something blue. A bit on the nose.

He raised an eyebrow, and you wondered if your expression was as confused as you felt. “On the foreshore of Tralite,” he prompted. “With the Arhkor embassy.”

That... that hadn't been a wedding. Had it?

You mind went back to that evening, so many years ago now, back when you had been travelling with Clara, back when the doctor knew who Clara was. Your heart clenched for a moment, you didn't think about those times often. You felt alone in those memories, like you were the only one who held them, could cherish them.

But you remembered, quite clearly.

Here's what had happened:

Every decade, the Arhkor would sacrifice a person with renowned intelligence to the foreshore of Tralite, a beach that was more pebble than sand. The sacrifice would sit in the water until they drowned, and their memories would be recorded into the water. Living memory, the Doctor had said.

But the sacrifice that year, a young girl named Ardiel, whose bright purple hair had matched her purple scales, had been so young, and she hadn’t wanted to die.

So the Doctor, in all his foolish martyring glory, had marched out into the sea himself.

And of course, you couldn’t let him do that, so you followed.

“That wasn’t a wedding,” you said. “You were trying to sacrifice yourself to an ocean.”

You remembered it, your hand clasped in his, and the water settling over you both. You hadn’t been scared, which, in hindsight, terrified you. You should have been scared, but you weren’t. You had felt calm, at ease, safe even.

You couldn’t remember exactly why you had both been spared, but the water washed away, leaving you both wet and cold – but alive. And the water had never asked for another sacrifice since.

“It was a marrying of the minds,” The Doctor said, enunciating the words like he was trying to drill the meaning into your brain. “The water had been the officiant.”

“This is so weird,” Bill said, and she took another bite out of her doughnut.

You found yourself agreeing with Bill. “Doctor, that makes exactly zero sense.”

“The water had found something worth more than intelligence,” the Doctor continued. “It had found love. So when it copied and pasted our minds, that’s all it found. It unified us. It was a wedding.”

You rubbed your forehead with your fingers, trying to process this.

“I gotta say,” Bill commented, and she’d finished the doughnut she had been eating and was now fishing another out of a box. She pulled out a brown doughnut that was an oval shape with a silt down the middle. “I dunno how many people can say their grandparents got married by an ocean.”

“Ox-tongue,” the Doctor said, and he nodded to the pastry in Bill’s hand. Then, he considered her statement. “And that’s true, you should use that. It’s a good pick up line, should impress a girl or two.”

Bill scrunched up her face. “Okay, one; Ox tongue? Seriously? That can’t be right.”

The Doctor shrugged. “It’s Cantonese. A friend once told me about it. Apparently it references the shape of the dough. That being said, it might also be horse ears.”

“Okay,” Bill raised a sceptical eyebrow. “I’ll maybe half trust it, because it doesn’t sound right, but I don’t know enough to prove you wrong,” she paused before speaking again. “Also, two; I don’t think those two can get mixed up. Three, I’m never, ever using that as a pick up line. Not ever. It’s terrible.”

Thankfully, the Doctor was so focused on Bill’s last point, that he disregarded what she had said earlier. “It’s an excellent line! You’ll get to teach the girls something new!”

“Sorry, circle back,” you said, because your brain wasn’t computing. You weren’t even sure what you needed to address first. The marriage comments? The grandparents comment? The ox tongue?

Both Bill and the Doctor looked to you expectantly.

You pointed to the Doctor. “First of all, still wasn’t a wedding,” you then pointed to Bill. “Second of all, grandparents? I know he’s old but I’m certainly not.”

“Yeah but you’re with him,” she said, after swallowing part of her doughnut. She took another eager bite.

“He is sitting right here,” the Doctor grumbled. “But alright, if it wasn’t a wedding up to your standards, we can always do something different,” he stood up. “We can arrange it.”

Your brain short circuited, and you had to reprocess what the Doctor had said.

We can always do something different. We can arrange it.

Had the Doctor just proposed to you?

You were so stunned you didn’t even protest as he plucked the remaining doughnut from out of your fingers, wandering out of the console room. “Let me know,” he called out. “And we’ll get to reading that Tolstoy.”

You sat there, bug eyed, and turned to Bill. She was wearing a similar expression, she’d dropped her own doughnut, which sat dejected on top of one of the doughnut boxes.

“Did what I think just happened, happen?” You asked, your voice only slightly shrill.

Bill nodded. “I – uh, yeah. I think so.”

You stood up, and sprinted after him.

A/N^2: I gotta give huge thanks to the ever-sweet @phxntxmx​, who pointed out there was a bit of confusion in how I described one of the doughnuts here. I’ve tried to clear it up and make it a bit more consistent, since it’s not something I know about for sure.

[hrina]

In The Ring, Pt. IV - Uppercut

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

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

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

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

PART I: Jab

PART II: Cross

PART III: Hook

~*~

    March 20, 2021

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

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

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

Harry didn’t tell him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Can we please talk about this?

I’m sorry, please let me explain.

Are you ignoring me?

I know you’re seeing these. Please respond.

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

Goodnight.

    April 6, 2021

Harry’s on a losing streak.

A five-match losing streak, to be precise.

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

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

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

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

It hurt like hell, though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi!” comes your reply.

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

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

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

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

A beat of silence passes, and then—

“Er, not exactly,” Harry grunts.

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

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

~*~

He and your father set the table.

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

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

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

“Thank you,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh,” he says stupidly. “Yeah, sure.”

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

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

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

He blinks. “Right.”

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

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

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

“I’m good,” Harry mutters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You purse your lips, exhaling raggedly.

“Soon.”

A feeble assent.

An insipid shake of your head.

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

“But not today.”

    April 10, 2021

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

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

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

Sadly, nothing is ever that simple.

We need to talk. Come to the gym.

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

Please.

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

You clear your throat. He freezes mid-strike.

His grassy eyes are wide when he turns around.

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

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

His lips twitch. “Yeah. Good.”

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

“You, um…you wanted to talk?”

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

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

“I don’t get it,” you deadpan.

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

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

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

“Why can’t we do both?”

~*~

You look pretty, Harry thinks.

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

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

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

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

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

Fine. Have it your way.

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

As your friend…not so much.

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

He really doesn’t know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really,” he says.

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

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

You clench your jaw and raise your fists once more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And he started training you?”

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

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

Only once, but still.

You got him.

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

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

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

“Done getting to know me?” he simpers.

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

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

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

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

“Just one,” you bite, panting heavily.

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

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

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

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

“No,” he says, his voice hard.

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

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

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

Just like that.

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

And then he’s kissing you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods wordlessly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And speaking of food…

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

You nod rapidly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, please.”

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

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

You seal your lips to his.

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You giggle.

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

“No underwear?”

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

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

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

“It’ll fit,” he promises.

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

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

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

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

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

A wheezing laugh punches its way out of your throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” he agrees.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You peek up at him shyly, and it clicks.

“Oh,” he says softly. “You want me?”

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

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

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

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

Your eyes glisten.

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

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

“Duly noted.” You smirk.

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

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

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

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

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

    April 26, 2021

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

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

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

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

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

And there you are.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you’ve never referred to him as your boyfriend, and he’s never referred to you as his girlfriend. You haven’t talked about potentially putting a label on your relationship, despite the fact that you’re both clearly interested in seeing each other and no one else.

Is it time to have that conversation?

Harry jumps in surprise when he hears you call his name. He turns toward the sound and then grunts when you barrel into him a moment later, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. One of his hands reflexively falls to your bottom before quickly moving away. The feeling of his calloused palm on your ass sends a shiver down your spine.

You bury your face in his shoulder. He’s sweating all over, skin wet and muscles bulging from exertion. You know that you’ve caught him off-guard, because he whispers your name incredulously into your ear and presses a gentle kiss to your jaw. When he finally sets you down, you peer up at him with bright eyes and a large grin.

“That was incredible,” you gush, your hands falling to his biceps. “You obliterated him!”

“Thanks,” he chuckles. His cheeks are pink—you don’t think it’s because of the match.

In the periphery of your vision, you catch sight of your father. He’s standing there with raised brows and parted lips, and you suddenly remember that he hasn’t yet been made aware of your…situation. You gasp, stepping away from Harry quickly and draping your arms around your own torso. He seems to recognize your blunder as well, because his shoulders tense and his eyes nearly pop out of his head.

The two of you speak at the same time.

“Coach—”

“Dad—”

“I don’t want to know,” your father announces, holding up one hand and cutting you both off swiftly. His eyes bounce back and forth between you, features betraying no emotion whatsoever. Finally, his shoulders slump.

“I’m gonna call it a night, gioia,” he tells you. He then looks to the left, directing his next words at Harry. “Congratulations on your win, H. Have her home by midnight.”

“Dad, I’m a grown woman—,” you begin to scoff, but he gives you a pointed glare.

“Midnight,” he repeats.

You shrink away and nod.

~*~

Before leaving, Harry decides to take a quick shower in the men’s locker room. You sit on one of the benches, tapping your foot against the tiles as you watch him get undressed. It doesn’t take him long—he’s only wearing a pair of shorts, after all—but you savour every moment, your eyes raking over his muscular back as he bends down to pick his bottoms up off of the ground. He tosses the fabric into his drawstring bag before peering over his shoulder at you.

“Sure you don’t wanna join me?” he asks, a coy smirk playing on his lips when he catches you staring.

You look away quickly, picking at your nails and feigning indifference. “Where anyone could walk in? I’m good.”

He shrugs, snickering quietly. “Suit yourself.”

You ogle his plump ass as he walks away.

A moment later, one of the showers turns on. You can hear Harry humming softly as he steps under the spray. You sigh, leaning back against the wall and fishing your phone out from your pocket. For the next few minutes, you scroll distractedly through social media, bored out of your mind.

You grunt softly and set your phone down, tiptoeing over to the door of the locker room and fastening it shut. The lock above the handle slides into place with a low click!

“Fuck it,” you mutter.

You flick open the button of your jeans, shoving the material down your thighs. Eventually, you’re naked, goosebumps pebbling on your arms. You set your clothes back down onto the bench and grab a spare towel, fiddling with the necklace hanging from your throat. A thought occurs to you; you unclasp the chain, pulling it off and letting it pool in the palm of your hand.

Harry’s idle singing grows louder as you approach the row of showers. It’s not hard to find his cubicle—it’s the only one with the curtain drawn over the entrance. You pad toward it, hanging your towel next to his and calling out, “Harry?”

“Yeah?” His hums stop.

You grasp the fabric of the curtain, pulling it back and peering inside. Immediately, Harry’s gaze locks with yours. He’s completely bare, standing beneath the water with hooded eyes and shampoo foaming in his hair. You slip into the cubicle, not missing the way he gawks at your naked body.

“I changed my mind,” you murmur, peering up at him shyly.

He presses his lips together to fight back a smile. “Yeah. You sure did.”

“Shut up and let me rinse your hair.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Before you can bury your hands into the wet strands, however, you remember the jewellery clutched between your fingers.

“Actually—,” you say, hesitating. “I, um—I wanted to give this to you.”

You scoop the necklace up from your palm, holding it out nervously. Harry recognizes it immediately, and his eyes widen in surprise.

“What for?” he asks, not unkindly.

“It’s my lucky charm,” you tell him, shrugging your shoulders. “I just figured…maybe it’ll work for you, too.”

He kisses you, then, grabbing your face in his hands and crushing his lips to yours. You whimper into his mouth, finding his wrists and encasing them in a tight grip. The kiss is passionate, bruising, fiery—you’ve never felt so wanted.

Harry pulls back once the two of you run out of air. Even then, he keeps his forehead pressed snugly against yours, staying close. He’s breathing heavily, and you’re starting to sweat, the humidity of the stall seeping into every last pore on your body. Harry shakes his head, gazing into your eyes.

“You’re my lucky charm,” he says.

Your heartbeat stutters in your chest.

“But,” he continues, smiling softly, “I’ll take the necklace. It’ll be good to have for when you’re not there.”

You nod wordlessly, and he steps back. His hands find his throat, fumbling with the chain dangling over his collarbones. He reaches over his shoulders, unclasping his own necklace and presenting it to you.

“Here,” he says. “I’ll take yours, and you take mine.”

You nod again.

You turn around slowly, electricity thrumming through your body as Harry guides the silver chain around your neck. The shiny cross pendant rests against your sternum; the warmth of the metal seeps into your skin. When you face him again, Harry whistles lowly, his lips twitching.

“Looks good on you,” he says, nodding proudly. “My girl.”

“Is that what I am?” you ask, peeking up at him through your lashes. “Your girl?”

He pauses. He really does look ridiculous with the white, frothing shampoo slicked through his hair.

“Is that what you want to be?”

A moment of silence ensues.

“Yeah,” you finally say, biting your bottom lip. “It is.”

Harry smiles. He leans forward and kisses you again, softer this time. You nudge his shoulder with the hand that’s still holding your necklace, prompting him to spin around.

“Come on,” you murmur, delivering one last affectionate peck to his mouth. “Your turn.”

~*~

Harry pulls up to your house fifteen minutes before midnight. You unbuckle your seatbelt, modifying your position in the front seat so that you can look at him properly. Your hair is still slightly damp from your shared shower, and your skin is fresh and clean. You smell like him—like the body wash you had both used to scrub yourselves down in the small cubicle. A silver necklace—his necklace—peeks out from beneath the collar of your denim jacket.

The jewellery suits you. He doesn’t ever want you to take it off.

The two of you stare at each other for a moment until you eventually crack a smile.

“You look like you want to eat me,” you say, laughing.

“C’mere, then,” he chuckles, already leaning forward. “Lemme have a taste.”

“Gross.” You stick your tongue out playfully but obey him nonetheless, your lips meeting over the middle console of the vehicle. Harry cups your face in one hand, keeping you close. You sigh into his mouth, and he swallows the sound down—it’s the prettiest fucking thing he’s ever heard.

You carry on like that for the next few minutes, exchanging soft kisses that don’t go beyond him placing a calloused palm on your thigh. When you finally pull away, a breathless giggle bubbles up in your throat.

“Have I ever told you that you’re a great kisser?” you ask.

“Only a dozen times a day,” he replies, smirking gently.

You laugh, carding your fingers through his hair and tilting your head to the side as you stare at him. Your eyes are far away, getting lost in your own thoughts, it seems.

“What is it?” he whispers, even though there’s no one else in the car aside from you and him.

“I love you,” you murmur absentmindedly.

Harry freezes; your confession knocks the air from his lungs.

“What?” he says, his brows knitting together.

At last, you snap out of your trance. Your admission sinks in, and you recoil, shocked at your own boldness.

“I—,” you start, your eyes growing impossibly wide. “I just meant—we’ve known each other for years, now, but I feel like I really got to know you these past few months. These past few weeks, especially.”

You shrug, playing nervously with the silver cross hanging around your neck. Harry’s heart somersaults at the sight.

“I’m sorry if it’s bad timing,” you continue; you’re rambling, now. “And I understand that it might be weird considering the fact that we just put a label on this, but—,” you break off, taking a deep breath, “—I love you. I do.”

He reaches out, trailing his fingers over the faint curve of your jaw. You gasp softly when his thumb ghosts over your bottom lip.

“Did you just apologise for telling me that you love me?” he says. Crinkles appear at the corners of his eyes.

You squeeze your own eyes shut, cringing at his words and shaking your head.

“Don’t repeat it,” you plead. “I’m already embarrassed enough.”

“Oh, so loving me is embarrassing?” he asks, smirking slyly.

You frown, batting his hand away and shifting your body so that you’re no longer facing him. You place your elbow against the ledge of the passenger door, resting your chin on your fist and staring pointedly out the window.

“Hey,” Harry coos, though he can’t stop the inkling of laughter that seeps into his voice. “Don’t be like that.”

“I take it back,” you say flatly, refusing to turn around. “I hate you, actually.”

“Really,” he says, but it’s not a question. He unbuckles his own seatbelt so that he can lean over the middle console and nuzzle at your cheek.

“My girlfriend hates me?” he asks; he knows that he’s being insufferable, but he can’t help it. Messing with you is so much fun.

“Yes.” Your response is curt. “She does.”

“That’s not nice,” he says, curling his lips down into a dramatic pout. He presses a gentle kiss to the side of your neck—right against a particular spot that makes you melt every single time. He knows it, and so do you.

“That’s not nice at all,” Harry continues, littering sloppy pecks down the column of your throat. “This how you treat the man who loves you?”

You pause when his words register in your brain.

“Stop lying,” you mutter, keeping your gaze glued to the scenery outside your window.

“’M not lying,” he tells you, squeezing your thigh gently. “Said you’d cut my balls off if I did it again, remember?”

And despite your initial sense of humiliation, you laugh. Harry smiles, placing his free hand on your cheek and guiding you to look over at him. You submit to his wishes, gazing at him through pretty, wispy lashes. He tilts forward ever-so-slightly, nudging your noses together and fastening his lips to yours. When he pulls back after a moment, he pinches your chin between two fingers.

“I love you,” he says earnestly.

“I love you, too,” you whisper.

Your eyelids flutter shut as he slides his palm up your leg; he stops only once it’s resting in the crease between your hip and your thigh, dangerously close to your groin.

“We have—,” he cranes his neck, peering over at the digital clock on the truck’s dashboard, “—five minutes until you have to be inside. Think I can make you cum between now and then?”

You scoff, pushing him away and laughing at his crudeness.

“You’re insane,” you giggle, shooting him a faux-stern glare. “Behave.”

“Fine,” he grumbles, frowning childishly. You just grin, slipping your hand around his neck and pulling him in for a doting kiss. You press a series of rapid pecks along the seam of his mouth, nipping playfully at his bottom lip before retreating. Instinctively, he follows you, but you dig your fingers into his shoulder, stopping him before he can get too far.

“Goodnight,” you whisper, reaching for the handle on the door.

Harry watches with wide, awestruck eyes as you exit the car. You clutch your purse closer to your side, looking back at him expectantly and waiting for his response.

He clears his throat, blinking out of his reverie.

“Yeah,” he nods, nostrils flaring slightly. “Goodnight.”

He peels away from your house only once you disappear through the front door. Subconsciously, his hand finds the rose-gold chain hanging around his throat. He fiddles with the necklace, running his thumb over the smooth surface of your shiny pendant. There’s something unreal—almost dreamlike—about having it between his fingers. He’s spent so long watching you fumble and toy with it—watching it bring you comfort when you’re nervous, or bored, or afraid.

Now, it’s his.

And so are you.

Faint music plays from the truck’s stereo; Harry reaches forward, twisting a knob and turning the volume up to its full capacity. Ariana Grande’s familiar vocal riffs pour through the speakers.

He sings along at the top of his lungs, hollering triumphantly the entire ride home.

~*~

Extra: Knockout [READ IT NOW ON PATREON]

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

[ficforce]

Cold Season

I wrote this whilst I was ill… It’s likely awful. Hinawa: No one even realised that Hinawa was sick until after he had collapsed in the break room. He had been quieter than usual and didn’t seem to take notice of the chaos that Arthur and Shinra were causing whilst Maki tried to stop them, Y/N had made him tea earlier but he had barely touched it… then he just passed out. Y/N had been closest after Obi and they laid him out on the couch to check his vitals, she noted right away that his skin was hot and with his hat removed she could see how pale he was. Why hadn’t she noticed? She was his girlfriend for goodness sake! “I’ll carry him to bed, Y/N, would you mind looking after him for a while?” Obi lifted the other man like it was easy and she followed after him quickly, “He’s real stubborn when it comes to his health, he’ll tell others to take a break or rest but when it comes to himself…” “He’s like any mother hen, he puts the chicks before himself – it’s one of the things I really love about him, Captain.” Obi threw a smile her way as she opened the door for him, “But you still wanna punch him for not saying anything, right?” “That’s correct, right in his dumb face.” They got him on the bed and Y/N unzipped his orange jumpsuit, “I’ll take care of it from here, would you mind sending some cold water and a flannel down, maybe some painkillers?” The man gave her a nod and headed out, Y/N pulled his arms out of the sleeves and tried to lift him a little to get it off; why did he have to be so heavy? Hinawa let out a soft groan and his eyes opened groggily, realising what was going on he sat up and made to get out of bed, “You’ve got a temperature, Takehisa, don’t you dare get up. Captain told me to look after you.” “… Then at least let me get out of these clothes.” Her eyes widened as she realised he wasn’t going to argue and she moved so he could change into a loose pair of pants and a tshirt before he laid back down. Y/N brushed her fingers over his jaw and then removed his glasses to set aside, “You should have said something sooner.” He let out a sound that was either denial or agreement to her words, “You got a headache?” “A little.” He hadn’t wanted to cause trouble for anyone, he wasn’t good at asking for help in the first place and now he had taken a member of their team away from duty to look after him, “I figured I would be fine.” “You’re just not used to being looked after, you have me now, Takehisa, you have Company 8 too, we’re your family and we can’t have our Mother running himself into the ground.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek and spent the rest of the day looking after him. Obi: Y/N nearly jumped out of her skin when the sound of metal crashing down onto the floor startled her. Turning her head she was surprised to see that Obi had dropped one of his ridiculously heavy dumbbells, “…You forget to chalk your hands or you just didn’t like the floor?” “Felt like all the strength left my arm…” his muscles had been aching since he’d gotten up that morning and felt out of breath, he hadn’t felt great the night before but he had hoped it would go away. “I think I’m gonna go lay down for a while.”

The woman got up from her seat and reached for his forehead, “You’re a little warm, you did sound a little raspy at breakfast too – you could have caught Vulcan’s chest infection.” His eyes seemed a little glazed over and he was swaying ever so slightly on his feet, “Come on, I’ll get you some medicine and let Lieutenant Hinawa know you’re not feeling great.” Obi went with her obediently, they passed by Iris and Tamaki, the two girls sympathetic at their Captain’s condition, they agreed to let Hinawa know so that Y/N could look after Obi. “Wow, you’re fading fast, Akitaru,” his pace was slowing and he had to stop to lean against the wall as a wave of dizziness overwhelmed him, “Easy… come on, we’re nearly there.” He practically fell onto the bed when they got there, he hadn’t felt this weak since last time he was ill – it was a rare occurrence but when he was hit he went down hard, “I want the mascots at my funeral, make sure Hinawa wears something normal… tell my girlfriend I love her.” “I love you too,” she ruffled his hair a little, “And you’re not going to die… it’s just a cold.” “Will you feed me soup and rub that gross stuff on my chest to help me breathe?” Obi caught her wrist and brought her down for a hug; who knew he would be such a baby?

Rekka:

Rekka was either too stupid to stop or too stubborn, Y/N wasn’t sure which and she exhaled loudly when the man hunched over to cough almost violently. He was trying to finish his morning laps despite being told he was too sick, he’d come down with a cough a few days before and thought he could burn it out through sheer willpower and prayer. “Rekka,” she called and began uncapping the bottle of water she had brought, “Oi! If you start running again I’ll kneecap you! Rekka!” He waved her off with a dumb grin and made it a few more paces before he fell onto his hands and knees. “Nuisance is gonna be a nuisance… what a nuisance.” Karim had come out after Burns had told him to fetch the moron on the running track – he figured that the Captain meant Rekka. “If he’s not listening to you, Y/N, I’ve got less of a chance.” “Leave it with me, I didn’t come all the way across Tokyo to watch him run; he’s such an inconsiderate man at times.” “He’s hot-blooded, probably burned right through his fever. Want me to freeze him?” Y/N looked at him with a raised eyebrow, he looked vaguely serious so she shook her head and wandered over to her fallen priest. Her hand stroked his back and she handed him the bottle, “You’re setting a bad example for the kids, you tell them to rest when they’re ill but you’re out here trying to literally fight a cold.” Rekka looked up at her, his expression forced as he tried to tell her he was fine but then he slumped into her arms, “Rekka!” He was out of breath and when she cupped his cheek to bring his head up a little he pressed into it with a mumble of her being cold; perhaps he hadn’t burned through his fever. “If you’re a good boy, I’ll make you something good to eat and even bring it to you in bed, how’s that sound?” “My stars…” it was a little mumble but he sounded somewhat happy for her offer. Foien Li: Foien was a sensible man, as soon as he had felt himself coming down with a cold he had signed himself off for a few days, he stayed in his room and tried a few home remedies. There was a day when he felt terrible, he hoped he could sleep it off and start to feel better… A knock on his door alerted him to a visitor and when it opened a little he smiled at Y/N peeking through at him, “You’ll get sick too.” “Then you can take care of me,” she placed a tray down on his desk, patiently waiting for him to sit himself up before handing him a mug of hot honey and lemon, “I brought you a couple of books to read, It can’t be any fun locked up here… Did I see you at the back of the Cathedral this morning?” “I wanted to attend prayers but I didn’t want to get anyone else sick,” Foien gave a sigh as she pressed her hand to his forehead, it felt cooler than his skin and he pressed into the touch, his eyes opened a little and Y/N gave him a bright smile – she always said he had the prettiest eyes. He was grateful to her for looking after him and even though he risked making her ill and having to confess later, the man leaned over to kiss her cheek, “What would I do without you, Y/N?” Y/N adjusted her habit a little to hide her flushed face, “You’d have to rely on Karim to look after you and he’d complain the whole time…” “It would give me more of an incentive to get better.” His answer made her giggle, the sound made him feel better already. Karim: “I told you to go to bed,” Y/N walked toward the back of the Cathedral where the Lieutenant was leaning his head on the pews in front of him, his slumped over form didn’t move even as she poked him in the shoulder. “Karim, come on, you should be resting…” He raised his head and she sighed at him, he looked all stuffy and his eyes were watery, it was amazing he was even able to walk there in the first place. He never missed her choir practice, it was sweet that he would come even though he had a headache and Foien’s cold from the week before. Y/N took his hand and pulled him up slowly, “Come on.” Karim followed her obediently, no smart comments or sarcasm escaping him as they made their way through the large hallway, they reached his room and she reached

into his pocket for his key, “Should get your own key.” “Imagine the gossip,” She followed him inside and helped him with his clothing, “Though they already talk about us like we’re committing a criminal act, couldn’t you just quit being a priest and then it might be better?” “How about you stop being a nun?” He knew she was kidding, they both took some odd joy out of upsetting the really pious followers of Sol with their relationship, “If you did that though I wouldn’t get to hear you sing anymore…” Karim laid down on top of his covers and coughed, he didn’t understand how he seemed to be worse than Foien was with this, the other Lieutenant had given it to him in the first place. “So sick of being sick.” Y/N pet his hair gently, “Only two repetitions? You must be ill,” Karim gave a half shrug and pulled weakly at his pillow, “Want me to get you anything?” “Just stay with me, Y/N…” Burns: She couldn’t figure out if he was running a fever or not, the Captain retained a large amount of heat at all times, Y/N gave a sigh and offered him an apologetic smile, “I never was a very good nurse, how do you actually feel?” He hadn’t complained about feeling ill but she doubted he would be too verbal about it, the fact that he was wearing his jacket properly and looked like he was cold was really her only clue. “It’s just a bug my kind Lieutenants have gifted me – I’m a little chilly but otherwise I’m sure I’ll survive. You don’t have to worry about me, Y/N” He wasn’t used to being coddled and Leonard felt somewhat pleased by her attention, “I’ll make sure to rest a little.” “It’s hard to imagine you would ever feel cold, you can stay here for a little while and rest, I’ll make you something to eat and you can use the phone to let your Company know. It’s nearly a full hour back home for you, besides, it’s getting late.” He had only come out because she had asked him to visit on his day off, if Y/N had known then she wouldn’t have. Y/N took his hand and gave it a squeeze, “Please, Leonard, let me look after you just this once?” She was looking at him so sincerely that he couldn’t find it in him to say no, the man gave in and nodded, “Just this once.” Konro: “Konro’s dying!” Hinata tugged on Y/N’s sleeve whilst Hikage nodded alongside her. “Konro’s not dying, he’s got a cold.” She shooed the girls away toward the door and told them to go play, it was hard enough looking after her boyfriend without the twins trying to help. Y/N heard him coughing from the hallway and she couldn’t help but wince a little at how painful it sounded – his lungs were already shot from the tephrosis. There was no doubt he was suffering but he was pretty stubborn in keeping it to himself. “I brought you something to hopefully help your throat,” she knelt beside his futon and helped him sit up, Konro gave her a weak smile and once more insisted he just needed to nap it off. “Drink this, then you can take a nap… it’ll probably help you sleep better too.” He wasn’t getting much rest as it was, the coughing would wake him up and then he wouldn’t be able to settle down again for a long while. Konro hated feeling like a burden, he felt like that most days and now he was knocked out by this… it was irritating how he could fight most things but a cold simply wasn’t one of them. “You know you’re gonna get sick too, right? It’s probably too late to stop it from happening now.” “If I get sick, will you look after me?” As if she really had to ask. The man reached out and gently cupped the back of her head before pulling her close and pressing his forehead to hers, “Course I will, I won’t be as good as it as you are but I won’t let that stop me.” Benimaru: Benimaru reverted into a small child when he got ill, he had ignored it for so long that, one day, every symptom hit him at once and the Captain went down. His eyes watered, he couldn’t hear out of his left ear, his throat hurt, his chest hurt, he was cold and there was nothing he could do about it now. He’d bundled himself up in a large blanket and huddled against his girlfriend as she had sat

minding her own business. Y/N had moved the blanket a little to peek under the hood he had made with it and glassy red eyes looked at her almost pleadingly. Benimaru wasn’t clingy. He especially didn’t come into the main room, wrapped in a blanket cocoon and nestle into her side like a sad, oversized toddler. “Good Luck moving him.” Konro sighed as he entered the room, he was fully aware of the Beni Bio-hazard Blanket, “I’ll get some medicine for him… you’d better just accept you’re not moving from there without him.” Y/N looked back down at her boyfriend and reached in to stroke his hair, “You can’t fight a cold, huh?” He wriggled a little closer to her and rested his head on her shoulder, content for her to pet his hair and when Konro returned with the medicine, he made her feed it to him; his excuse being that he was cold and trapped in the blanket. She figured he was just craving the attention and felt needy from being so poorly. For the rest of that day he communicated in differently toned whines, grunts and ‘tch’, the only time he left her side was when one of them needed to pee.

[batsandbugs]

Bats Bugs and Boomerangs Chapter 1

A/N: Hey everyone, coming at you with another series! This is actually for a late secret santa gift exchange! My recipient was @m3owww​! Her fandoms were Maribat and Avatar the Last Airbender, so I thought: Why not both? She already had a Maribat characters in the show type fic, so I created a fic where they watched the show. It slowly spiraled out of control though, so this is Chapter 1. I’ll eventually have the batfam (and Marinette) react to the whole series, so comment here and on ao3 what you want to see. So Phi, this is kinda like the gift that will keep on giving? Maybe? I hope you like it anyway. Enjoy! 

Our story begins on a frosty winter evening, outside Gotham at Wayne Manor. Marinette sat in the library working on an assignment for her History of Fashion class. She was alone, because Damian, Dick, Tim, and Bruce were out on patrol, with Barbara on comms. Tikki, unless eating or involved with a transformation, spent her time sleeping due to the freezing weather. While the other Kwami either resided in the box or roamed the grounds, and generally stayed out of the human's way.

Marinette gazed out the window, snow falling softly through the air, covering the ground and the tree branches. A crackling fire warmed the room. She shifted, and a painful ache shot through her leg. Marinette glared at the offending appendage, which was the reason she wasn’t out with the team tonight.

Her Miraculous could cure any injury sustained on the battlefield, it didn’t help her one bit when it came to her own natural clumsiness. She hadn’t paid attention as she’d walked out of class one evening. The dim lighting hid a black ice patch and she slipped and fell. Thankfully, her ankle was only sprained and not broken, but she would be out of commission for at least two weeks. Probably more if Alfred got his way.

Speaking of the elderly butler, he strode into the room carrying a tray of tea and cookies.

“Good evening Miss. Marinette. Need another refreshment?”

She sighed at the cold coffee dregs in her mug. “That would be nice, thank you, Alfred.”

He hummed, grabbing a teacup, and pouring her a serving. “How does your leg feel today? I notice you were leaning heavily on Master Damian after supper.” He handed the cup to her and the warmth was a welcome sensation for her chilled hands.

“Yeah, he’s been nice helping me around.” Nice was a misnomer, more like extremely overprotective. He point-blank refused for her to stay at her own apartment, mostly due to its location on the fourth floor with no elevator access. He all but forced her to watch him pack her essentials to bring to the manor while she recovered. Since then, his attentiveness in ensuring she had what she needed within reach and helping her to class had grown. It was a tad smothering considering his usual aloofness, but she enjoyed his actions for the affection it implied.

“It’s throbbing and hot and feels worse than it did three days ago.” She took a tiny sip of the tea and relaxed into its spiced aroma. Alfred made the best tea.  

He nodded. “It will feel uncomfortable for a while until it starts to mend. Just continue to rest and remain off it and you will be back to carousing around the city like the rest of them in no time.” He poured his own tea and seated himself in the plush armchair across from her spot on the couch.

“Oh, Alfred you say that as if you would not be right there along with us if age allowed,” said Marinette with a grin. The stories Dusu could recount about the elderly miraculous holder were nothing short of entertaining, and she knew damn well Alfred had the same need for action as the rest of the Waynes and their assorted allies.  

“I’d do nothing of the sort,” he said primly, taking a sip of his tea to hide the tiny smirk on his face. Marinette couldn’t help but laugh.

The rest of the evening was spent in pleasant silence. Despite the pain in her leg Marinette pushed through it and finished her assignment, while Alfred read until it neared time when patrol ended. He bustled up the remains of the tea and promise her a fresh cup when he finished seeing everyone arrive safely.

Later, although she could not say how long, she was buried deep in a book and didn’t notice when Damian entered the room until he sat next to her on the couch.

“Good evening angel.” His hair flopped in his eyes, loose and damp from the shower. In his hands, he held a tray with two cups of steaming tea.

“Thanks.” She took the proffered cup of tea with a smile. “How was patrol?”

“Boring,” he sighed. “You certainly are not missing anything.” If he wouldn’t have taken offense to it, Marinette would have described the look on his face as a pout.

“What about the drug seller Tim tracked to the lower docks?”

Damian shrugged. “Gone silent after we busted the last shipment. Seventeen years in and maybe the criminals finally figured out committing crimes in the same city as a relentless vigilante team is a bad idea,” he said with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. Marinette couldn’t stop herself from giggling. It was a common joke among the family that Gotham’s criminals never learned.

“I think it means we’re doing our job right,” said Tim walking in with a steaming mug. Marinette opened her mouth, but he cut her off. “Don’t worry, it’s decaf.”

“Like Pennyworth would let him drink anything else this time of night,” scoffed Damian, while taking a sip of his tea.

“I’m perfectly capable of monitoring my own caffeine intake, thanks,” Tim said in offense, seating himself across from the couch in the reading chair previously abandoned by Alfred.

“No, you’re not,” called a voice from the hallway. Dick walked in with a large mug of what was undoubtedly hot chocolate. “The last time he didn’t check your drink after patrol, you used coffee instead of water to brew another pot, and then added four whole bottles of five-hour energy. You didn’t sleep for three days.”

“I also solved five crimes, figured out where the Penguin was hiding, and streamlined the dropbox submission system for Wayne Industries. Life requires tradeoffs.”

“No that’s just you, ignoring basic human necessities. Anyway, besides Tim’s caffeine addiction, what are we talking about?” asked Dick.

“The reason for the lack of crime,” offered Marinette.

Dick shrugged, “Happens every year because of the weather. Even criminals get cold. They’ll return to their usual transgressions once the weather warms.” He took a sip of his hot chocolate.

“Tt. Weak,” muttered Damian.

Tim rolled his eyes. “Not everyone receives extreme weather training under threat of dismemberment, demon brat. We should take the opportunity to enjoy the break.”

“Tim, your version of a “break” involves paperwork,” chided Dick.

“It’s not my fault the rest of you people don’t have lives. I’m a remarkably busy person. And what is this, the-criticize-Tim-hour?”

“Oh, only an hour?” smirked Damian. “I thought it was a continuous event, one could choose to participate in whenever the mood struck. I will have to file all my complaints immediately.”

Tim pouted. “Marinette,” he whined. “Can’t you control him?”

She shrugged, “What do you expect me to do? I’m his girlfriend, not his minder. Besides, they criticize because they care.” She laughed when all three boys snarled their noses at the prospect of feelings.

“Marinette, angel, please; never say that again. I criticize because I am right, and they should know it. Not because of any high-minded ideals such as genuine affection.”

“Okay, okay, enough,” said Dick. “If we have a bit of a break, we should do something! Together, as a family. I think Cass and Steph come back in two days.”

“Grayson, just because your girlfriend is off-world visiting family and you have nothing to do does not mean it holds true for the rest of us.”

“Exactly!” exclaimed Tim, “Except not quite, because I don’t have a girlfriend, but I just said I’m busy. R&D is rolling out a new prototype next week, and I have two board meetings scheduled and-”

“Not to mention,” Marinette cut Tim off. He could talk about his schedule forever because he just had that many events. “I can’t move around, what would we even do? Play games?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “The list of games officially banned in our family includes, but is not limited to; Monopoly, Uno, Checkers, Risk, Risk: Legacy, Twister, Jenga, Clue, Guess Who, Poker, Chess, and Go Fish.”

“Oh…” muttered Marinette.

“And that doesn’t even include videogames.”

“After the Wii Bowling incident of 2013, the media room wall was never the same,” Dick said, shaking his head in despair.

“I actually apologized for that, okay?” exclaimed Damian. “Why do you always have to bring it up?”

Marinette fully intended to ask about the incident later. “Okay, so games are out.”

“Ooh,” Dick’s eyes lit up, “How about we call a Family T.V. Event?”

Tim groaned, “The last time we did that we blew up the shed, and got the police called.”

“Well, we won’t watch a crime show.” Dick turned to Marinette. “Jason picked; we watched Breaking Bad.”

“I can see how that would spiral out of control.”

“The time before that, we set fire to the media room and started a familial feud,” Damian pointed out. “Game of Thrones,” he added when Marinette looked to him for clarification.

“Even worse.”

“Okay, fine, so we don’t have the best track record picking shows. But I swear I have a good one this time.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Avatar: The Last Airbender.”

Tim snorted. “What? Like the kid’s show?”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Really Grayson, a cartoon? I know you are developmentally stuck at five, but not all of us are.”

“I’ve never watched it, but I’ve heard good things about it,” said Marinette. She knew there was a French translation of the show, but she preferred to watch media in its original language. Before moving to America, before dating Damian, her English had not been strong enough to confidently watch a show and understand all of it.

“Perfect!” exclaimed Dick. “I know you three and Cass haven’t seen it, and neither has Bruce or Alfred. I would bet Jason’s seen some of it, but I’ll have to check. Barbara and I have, but that’s fine, she loves the show. We’ll have to see about Steph too, but I’m sure she’ll enjoy it regardless. There are awesome characters, battles, suspense, comedy, and it’s not likely going to inspire us to blow up the shed or tear each other to pieces!”

“I have in no way agreed to this Grayson. Drake back me up.”

Tim paused for a moment, stuck between his need to disagree with Damian and the need to get out of Dick’s crazy plan. Unfortunately for Damian, the former won out. “Actually, you know what, a show could be fun. The episodes are what, thirty minutes? Shorter than Breaking Bad and Game of Thrones.”

Damian groaned while Dick responded happily, ignoring his brother’s distress, “Around twenty minutes actually. We could have the whole show finished in about a week or so.”

Damian turned to her, eyes wide and hopeful. “Marinette, please tell me you are on my side?”

She patted her boyfriend’s arm, “Sorry, mon amour, I’m stuck either way. Might as well watch a show.”

Damian flopped against the couch with a pout. “Betrayed. I have been grievously betrayed by my own brothers and girlfriend. What is this world coming to?”

“Woo!” exclaimed Dick, a wide grin splitting his face. “This is going to be great.”

“This is going to be awful,” moaned Damian.

-0-0-

It took a bit of convincing on the part of Dick to get Bruce and Alfred to agree to the venture. Marinette, after learning the full details of the last two Family T.V. Events, was wholly unsurprised. She also did not know the full extent of what Dick did to get Jason to agree (apparently, he and Bruce were fighting, again, so this was expected.) although it probably involved a bribe. But by the week’s end, the entire family was together, all under strict orders (and puppy-dog eyes from Dick) to be on their best behavior.

Which, without a doubt, not a single one of them knew what that entailed.

The arguing started with seating placement, then about who controlled the remote, then over the distribution of snacks, drinks, blankets, and pillows. At one point Jason pulled a knife, which prompted Damian to pull his knife, suddenly Cass had two shurikens visible (where she even kept them while wearing a tank top and shorts, no one could say), and then everyone was yelling with sharp pointy objects in hand.

Once the argument was firmly under control, Alfred collected the weapons and placed them in a wicker basket, along with all the mobile devices, until the episodes for the night were finished. The only one allowed to have a phone was Barbara who was in charge of checking police scanners for any major trouble while the family took the evening off.

Marinette seated herself curled up against Damian on the edge of the couch. She set her foot propped up on an ottoman so it wouldn’t get jostled, and she could continue to ice it throughout the evening. Damian secured their own bowl of popcorn, so they didn’t have to share it with the others.

“Alright, here’s how we’re breaking this down,” announced Dick, who won the battle for the remote, and therefore the episode schedule. “The episodes are short, at least, much shorter than the last show we watched.” He directed a pointed look at Jason.

“I make no apologies.”

“We’ll watch half a season a day, ten episodes apiece. The closed captions will be on but try to keep the chatter to a minimum.” Marinette held back a laugh. Damian explained no one kept quiet during these nights. Watching the show wasn’t the point of these events; if that were the case then they would just watch it all on their own time. The point was the time spent together. This is why even Bruce, emotionally constipated and single-minded in his pursuits as he was, put away the suit for a few days to watch T.V. with the rest of his collected family. Talking was expected.  

“We will, if you will,” called Stephanie.  

“I take offense to that.”

“Aw just sit Dickie, let’s watch the show,” exclaimed Jason.

“Yes, Grayson you already wrapped us into this pointless venture; we might as well get it over with,” Damian grumbled. Marinette found his hand in the folds of their shared blanket and laced her fingers with his. He squeezed her hand, and, when he was sure no one else was looking gave her a small smile. Marinette smiled back, he pretended to be such a grouch, but deep down he was a giant softy at heart.

Dick frowned, saying “Fine, fine, you don’t have to be spoilsports about it.” And pointed the remote at the T.V. starting the first episode.

-0-0-

It didn’t take ten seconds before the commentary began.

“Four elements?” exclaimed Tim.  “Are you serious? I could name at least a dozen off the top of my head. How are there only four nations? 0/10 completely unrealistic. Political infighting alone-”

“Ah, shut up, replacement.”

“Ruthless fire nation?” said Stephanie. “Methinks a little propaganda might be occurring here.”

“A hundred years!? What, has no one competent been born the entire time?”

Marinette shrugged. “The disadvantages of finite magic systems, Dami. It's learned indifference.”

“Honey, after a hundred years that’s not hoping, that’s naivety,” said Stephanie in response to Katara’s impassioned speech.

“She’s right!” exclaimed Dick.

“We know that, but she doesn’t.”

The show moved on to Katara and Sokka in a boat. Sokka held a spear above the water.

“Is he hunting that fish?” growled Damian.

“Ah yeah, I forgot you may hate the entirety of Sokka’s character,” said Dick with a grimace. “Whoops.”

“She’s not very good at the water moving, is she?” asked Marinette

“Waterbending,” Dick and Barbara said in unison.

Sokka chided Katara about her weird water magic. “Oh, he’s not going to be a dick for the whole show, is he?” asked Steph.

“He gets better.”

“They grew up here right?” asked Damian, as Katara and Sokka become caught in a rapid. “How did they not anticipate an event like this.”

“I knew I should have left you at home. Leave it to a girl to screw things up!”

“HEY!” shouted all the women in the room.

They watched as Katara’s fury built and broke the iceberg behind her.

“Good. Use anger, anger is alright,” Cass commented for the first time.

“Okay, you’ve gone from weird, to freakish.”

“This punk is just asking for a beating isn’t he,” growled Jason.

The beam of energy shot into the air after Katara and Sokka broke open the ice. “That’s not going to cause any trouble,” said Tim, rolling his eyes. “Nope, not suspicious or completely conspicuous at all.”

The scene switches to a metal ship.

“Finally! Uncle, do you realize what this means?”

“Oh, look, the bad guys,” deadpanned Tim. “I was right.”

Jason grabbed a handful of popcorn and shoved it into his mouth “What happened to his fucked-up fa-”

“YOU’LL FIND OUT!”

The scene switched back to Katara and Sokka. The figure is revealed to be a hyperactive little kid.

Damian frowned“Oh, I won’t like him either, will I Grayson?”

Dick tilted his head, “Eh.”

Then Appa is introduced.

“Father, could we-”

“No, Damian.”

They watched the children depart, and the scene moved back to the Fire Nation ship.

“Even if you're right, and the Avatar is alive, you won't find him. Your father, grandfather, and great-grandfather all tried and failed.”

“Well considering the Airbender child has been in an iceberg, it’s not surprising they failed.”

“Because their honor didn't hinge on the Avatar's capture. Mine does. This coward's hundred years in hiding are over.”

“Is it just me or does this angry, emo prince remind anyone of demon spawn?”

“Todd, shut your mouth before I remove your tongue.”  

Marinette leaned in close, “Maybe just a little like you.” Damian looked at her with a betrayed pout.

The scene switched and they watched Aang lie to Katara about the Avatar.

“The air child is guilty. Will cause problems later.”

“Narrative Cass, it’s narrative.”

Damian scoffed. “Miscommunication is plot convenience, and it’s a sloppy one at that.”

They watched Aang’s dream of how he ended up in the iceberg, him waking up to Katara and his introduction to the village.

“Well, no one has seen an Airbender in a hundred years. We thought they were extinct until my granddaughter and grandson found you.”

“Extinct?”

“He went into the ice and woke up to find the world different. Anyone getting serious Captain America vibes here?” said Jason, tone-deaf to the clear horror on Aang's face.

“Jason, he just found out his people potentially went extinct!” chided Marinette. 

“It's not for stabbing! It's for air bending.”

“Please tell me the main character is not a pacifist,” begged Damian.

“Well, he is a monk,” said Barbara with a sorry look.

“I sense he's filled with much wisdom,” Katara says as Aang sticks his tongue to his staff and it freezes.

“I switch back and forth between liking this girl and not. One second she’s got gumption, and the next she’s all starry-eyed and naïve,” grumbled Steph.

“I wonder who that reminds me of,” Damian whispered into Marinette’s ear. She felt her cheeks heat up.

"I'm not naive," she shot back. 

He raised a hand with two fingers close but not touching, "You're a little naive." Marinette huffed, but silently admitted to her boyfriend's point. She had a tendency to believe the best in people; she saw it as a strength and appreciated it in this Katara character, but it was so far from how Damian viewed the world, it honestly confused his siblings when they first started dating. 

Damian confided in her that he found it inspiring. She had been through so much, understood the cruelties of others, and still could see the good in people. 

The scene switched to the Fire Nation ship again, and Iroh explained the concept of firebending to an irate Prince Zuko.

“Finally, a display of actual competence,” exclaimed Damian.

“Enough! I've been drilling this sequence all day. Teach me the next set! I'm more than ready!”

“My tutors would have skewered me if I dared to act in such a manner,” he commented again, softer than the first time. More so that only Marinette could hear. Damian’s family was more than aware of his childhood and what it entailed; Marinette slowly learned with comments like this. She squeezed his hand again and received a small smile.

The scene shifted back to the village where Sokka’s failed “warrior lesson” occurred, and then-

“We don't have time for fun and games with the War going on!”

“What war? What are you talking about?”

“Where have you been, frozen in ice for a hundred years?” joked Dick.

They watched Aang offer to take Katara to the North Pole to find a water bending master. The two children go and play with the penguin creatures, but the tone shifted when an old Fire Nation ship appeared on the screen.

“Bad ship” muttered Cass.

“If you want to be a bender, you have to let go of fear.”

“There are so many things wrong with that statement I don’t even know where to start,” said Tim.

They watch Aang and Katara enter the Fire Nation Ship and wander talking about the war.

“Aang, how long were you in that iceberg?”

“I don't know. A few days, maybe?”

“I think it was more like a hundred years!”

“Are you kidding me?” yelled Jason. “How are they just figuring this out now?”

On-screen Aang stepped on the line of wire, tripping the traps.

“Tt. Amateurs.”

"See, she told him it would be a bad idea!"

A flare rises through the air.

“That’s not going to cause any-”

“Oh, shut up Tim.”

The Fire Prince once again appeared on the screen.

“The last Airbender!”

“I was right,” he mumbled.

The screen faded to the credits, and Dick turned to the group.

“So? What do you think?”

“Slow.”

“Nobody has any sense.”

“Are any of the characters actually likable?”

He frowned. “Okay, okay, so the first episode isn’t the best. I swear it gets better. Back me up here Barb.”

Barbara nodded. “He’s right, it takes a few episodes to build the characters up and we see some genuine action. But by mid-season, I swear you’ll be hooked. And then we’ll get to season two and the best characters will arrive.”

“Hey,” Dick exclaimed, pointing a finger at her. “No spoilers.”

“I thought it was fun,” Marinette offered. “It’s very clearly a kid’s show, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing.” She wasn’t going to say each and every person in the room had childhood traumas, and a show full of lighthearted fun was probably just what they needed. She could think it, but she wouldn’t say it.   

“Thank you, Marinette,” said Dick with a smile.

“I rather enjoyed the elderly tea drinker,” intoned Alfred. “He’s more than he appears to be.”

“Uncle Iroh? Yeah, he’s the best!” commented Barbara. "But everyone is great." 

“Alright, episode one finished, nine more to go.”

“Let’s hope it’s more enjoyable than the last,” uttered Damian, a chorus of agreement followed his statement, but when the show started up everyone grew quiet again.

Marinette was sure whatever happened next, it was bound to be interesting.

Tag List (Although it is on ao3 too) 

@m3owww​ @your-resident-chimken-nuggie​  @loveswifi​ @fusser90​@animegirlweeb​​ @ihavehomeworkbutistillhere​​

[spookysweet-heart]

Evergreen

Commission: Yes! Pairings: Phantom x Witch!Reader Fandom: Battle Egos/NateWantsToBattle Warnings: none A/n: This was commissioned by the lovely @extraroseystuff! Thank you so much for commissioning me for this! It was a very fun piece! I loved working on it so much! The Collage was made by me and it was edited by @semiproeagle​! Hope you all enjoy it!

“There’s no way you haven’t heard of the witch that lives in the woods just outside of this town.” Someone nearby spoke to their friend as they walked by Phantom and Bones

“This again?” Phantom swung a bag of food behind his back as he looked over at his brother, Bones. “Don’t people have anything else to talk about?”

“Oh, c’mon, you can’t tell me you’re not curious about it? A witch living in the woods. Who knows what she does out there.” Bones picked up another bag with food, following behind Phantom. 

“I’m curious, yeah. But this is all I ever hear. What if there is no witch and she’s just all stories?”

“Well, why don’t you go and find out?” Catching up to his older brother, Bones smiled. “We’ll be fine if you wanna go on a trip by yourself for a day or two.”

Phantom stopped walking and shook his head. “I can’t do that. I promised Mare I’d help him with his kids. I can’t just pack up and leave for a couple of days when they’re expecting me.”

“Those kids will be fine. They’re babies, anyway. They won’t tell the difference if Natpai or I go instead. Besides, it’s been a while since I’ve seen them. Take the break, you need it. You’re not the only one who can do work around here.”

“You sure?”

“Of course! Even if there isn’t a witch out there, at least you get some time to yourself.”

“Alright. I’m not going out there looking for a witch, though.”

“That’s just a neat bonus if you do, honestly. I’ll let Mare know, I’m sure he’d be fine with it anyway. He just wants to make sure you’re safe when you’re on your own.”

Phantom nodded and continued walking with Bones back to their shared house. 

Heading into the kitchen, Phantom dropped the bag of food on the counter. Turning to help his brother, Bones shook his head. “I got this. I just need help figuring out what our neighbor asked us to get.”

“Just put it on the counter, I can sort through everything.”

“Alright, I’ll go get dinner started and call Mare to tell him about your trip.”

Phantom ruffled Bones’ hair, making him laugh. “Thanks.”

----

The morning of the trip, Phantom felt a little off. Maybe he was just feeling nervous about leaving for a couple of days...or maybe he was scared of what he’d actually find out in the woods.

Bones packs up the last of the food he'd made for Phantom in his bag. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah, definitely. Thanks for helping me pack.” Closing his bag, Phantom adjusted it on his shoulder. “Want me to find anything for you while I’m out there?”

Bones smiled excitedly. “Actually, I just wanted to ask if you can take some pictures of the scenery. Anything you think looks beautiful.” He put his camera around Phantom’s neck carefully.

“Just pictures?” Phantom looked down at the camera.

“Well...okay, if you do possibly meet that witch...do you think you could ask if she has anything that could help me with the pain?” 

Phantom softly smiled as he pulled Bones in for a brief hug. “I got you, that’ll be the first thing I ask if I meet her.”

Bones held Phantom tightly in his arms, making the hug last a little longer. “Be safe, okay?” Letting him go, he watched Phantom head out the door.

Heading out in the direction of the trail leading to the woods, Phantom took a deep breath in and looked around before heading deeper into the woods. Taking out the little map that Bones made him, he saw the hill that he was supposed to walk over. 

Folding up the map, he placed it back in his pocket, bracing himself for the long walk up ahead. The view looking up the hill was pretty, in his opinion, with a few blooming flowers scattered about, swaying in the breeze that passed through. Getting the camera ready to take a photo, he saw a bright green light shining in the distance. 

Feeling confused, Phantom looked away from the lens, looking around for the green light. When he checked the sky, he saw a bit of the green fading away. Looking through the lens again, Phantom took the picture and continued on his little journey. “That can’t be anything...can it?”

Reaching the top of the hill, Phantom sat down, setting his stuff next to him. Closing his eyes, he felt the breeze rush by, hitting his face. Smiling, he took out an apple from his bag. Just as he was about to take a bite, he saw a pink light in the sky. Putting the apple down, he followed the light with his eyes, noticing it left a faded trail behind.

Squinting, he noticed another light, this time purple, appearing from the trees on the other side of the hill.  “That doesn’t look too far- oh shit!” Leaning forward, Phantom lost his balance. Trying to grab his bag, he pulled it close to his chest while he rolled down the hill, landing in a bush.

Looking up at the sky, Phantom saw a small pink light circle around him. His vision was a bit blurry, and he felt like he was about to pass out from the fall.

“Good job! You found someone! Don’t worry, I’m here to help. Luna, come here, girl, I need your help!” The only voice he could hear sounded like a woman. Before Phantom could turn to the source of the voice to see who it was, he blacked out. 

----

The smell of herbs and the sound of a teapot going off on a stove in another room awakened Phantom. Groaning while trying to sit upon the bed he was laying on, Phantom touched his head and felt that it’d been bandaged. He looked down at his arms and saw they’d also been tended to. Quickly looking up at the door when he heard humming on the other side, he sat up straight, seeing the door to the room he was in open. 

Opening the door with your elbow, you looked over at the stranger, seeing he was awake and sitting up. “Oh! You’re awake! How are you feeling?” Moving over to the counter that was in the room, you placed a tray down. Turning to face him, you gave him a warm smile. “Are you dizzy at all? Does your head hurt? You must be thirsty! You’ve been resting for a couple of hours.” Turning back to the tray, you fixed him a cup of tea. Carefully taking it over to him, you handed him the teacup. “Careful, it’s still very hot. I made some peppermint tea to help if you’re still feeling sore or tired.” You saw he was a little hesitant to drink it. “It’s okay, really, it’s just tea, nothing else. Well, unless you’d like a little sugar in your tea, I will gladly give you some.”

“Oh no, no it’s perfectly fine. Thank you.” Phantom gently blew some steam from the cup before taking a sip.

“How is it?”

“It’s great, thank you. Um, I’m sorry, who are you?”

You took a seat on a nearby chair, scooting it closer to him. “My name is (Y/n), I’m the healing witch of these woods. So, to answer more of the questions you probably have, yes, I helped you from your fall with my horse, Luna. She’s the one who carried you here to my shop. And these!” With the motion of your hand, a little rainbow light appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. “These are my emergency signals. I let them fly out across the woods, and they signal me whenever they find someone who might need my help and aren’t able to get to the shop on their own.”

“So you really can do magic?” Phantom’s eyes grew wide when he saw the little bright lights.

The lights faded as you put your hand down back on your lap. “Well, yes. Partially, that is. Most of what I do is herbal medicine and tea from my surroundings. But I do also tend to the otherworldly requests with what I learned over the years. It’s just the basics, but if you would like to see, you can follow me to the front of the shop.” Standing up from your chair, you lend a hand out for Phantom to hand over the empty teacup.

Phantom nodded, handing over the cup. “Sure, I’d love to.” Standing up, he held onto the bed when he felt his legs were a little weak. Looking around, he realized he doesn’t see his bag anywhere. “Um, excuse me, but where’s my stuff?”

“Oh! I’m sorry I didn’t say anything right away. Your things are in the front by my desk. I was fixing the camera you had.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you for that.” Phantom followed you out of the room and down the hall. The different smells hit him all at once when you both entered the front of the shop. Looking over at a shelf, he saw bottles filled with glittery liquid, some were glowing a light shade of green, blue, or pink.

“Ah, I see you found the potions.” You smiled as you handed him the camera. “Good as new! I replaced the broken glass and fixed the strap since I saw that it tore.”

“Thank you again.” Phantom took the camera, looking back at the shelf. “What are all these?”

“Uh, well on the top shelf, I have some invisible potions. Depending on how long you need to be unseen, you can get a potion that lasts from just one hour, a few hours or a whole day. The second shelf is potions for poison immunity. These depend on how strong the poison will be. The third shelf contains potions for sleep. The dimmer the glow of the potion indicates the less time the person or yourself will be asleep. The lowest I have is an hour and the most I have is a month.”

“A month?!” Phantom looked over at you with wide eyes while you shrugged it off.

“Sometimes I don’t work with the nicest people.”

“Right...um, do you happen to have anything for pain?”

“What kind of pain? Joint, stomach, head, full-body?”

“Full body if you have it.”

You paused and squatted down at the last shelf of glowing pink potions. “I have several for full-body pain. How long did you want the relief to last?” 

“Preferably forever, but how long do you have it?” 

“I can’t do forever just yet, but,” your fingers hovered over the four bottles before you grabbed one and stood back up on your feet with a smile. “This one should last up to four years. If you need more after that, you can always stop by and I’ll be happy to make you another batch.”

Phantom reached into his pockets for money, but you stopped him before he could pay you. 

“No need. On the house this time, consider it a favor for now.” Handing him the bottle, you motioned for him to follow you to the front counter. “Pick a box and I’ll pack it up for you.”

Looking down at the three boxes, he saw a bright blue box with tiny frogs around the border, the second one was a black box with little white skulls all around the lid, and the third box was a deep purple with little pink flowers all around. “Uh, I think I’ll take the black one. Please?”

“Perfect! I’ll have it ready in a bit. You can look around some more if you’d like!”

Phantom nodded and tapped the glass as he wandered over to another counter. Half of the space was made up of jewelry while the other half had boxes or bags of all kinds of tea. “Are these magic, too?”

Looking over your shoulder, you saw him staring at the jewelry. “Yes! They help with various things, like talking to animals, being able to breathe underwater, I believe I also have one for shapeshifting.”

“Incredible. What about the teas?” Phantom picked up a mix of peach and mint.

“Oh! No, those are just teas to help with anything you could be feeling like any other tea. Remember the one I gave you a bit ago? How are you feeling now?”

“Well, the headache is gone and I feel way more energized than how I was before.”

“Then it’s working! Peppermint is supposed to help with that.”

Phantom nodded and walked over to a table with various cookies. “Are these just cookies?”

“Hm? Oh, some are, some aren’t. The ones on your left are regular cookies, and the ones on your right aren't. Those are poison-filled cookies…” You looked over at the space with a confused expression. “Now, who took down my sign?” With a wave of your hand, a sign now sat in front of the right side of the display. Written on it in big red letters was, ‘Caution: Poison cookies!’

Walking back to the front counter, Phantom leaned on his elbows on the glass. “Why don’t they just use the liquid potions you have up there?”

Turning to face him, you slid his gift towards him. “Some people find the sweets to be less...brutal. In a sense.”

“That sort of makes sense. You know, out of everything here, I’m surprised you don’t have any love spells.”

You giggled while stepping to the right so he could see what was on the desk behind you. “Funny you say that. I usually have a policy for love spells. I rarely ever make them because it’s dangerous to mess with someone like that, but this person was very insistent that I make one for them. Love spells come with a contract, though.”

“A contract? Why’s that?”

“It’s just something for my protection. If something bad happens, they can’t hold me accountable for the consequences they have for using a potion I was adamantly warning them about.”

“That’s smart, honestly.”

“Yup! By the way, what’s your name?”

Phantom blushed, having a nervous smile on his face. “I’m sorry! I should’ve said something earlier.”

Waving your hand, you giggled, thinking he was really cute when he was nervous. “Don’t be sorry, I tend to talk a lot when I meet new people. I get customers from time to time, but it’s rare when I get to actually talk to someone like this.”

“Well, before I forget, my name’s Phantom.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Phantom.” You both blushed when the silence in the room grew.

Phantom cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “You said you get customers but never actually had friends come visit?”

“Ah well, no, not really. It’s all work, no play, social-wise. My job's fun to do, but I will admit, it gets a little lonely.”

“Maybe you don’t have to be lonely anymore? I can stop by whenever I’m able to. I can be that friend that’ll bug you while helping out around here.”

Giggling, you rested your head on the palm of your hand, looking up at him. “That sounds fun, honestly. I wouldn’t mind the company from time to time.”

“Great! You, uh, wouldn't happen to know a place I can stay for the night, do you?”

“Oh! You can stay here with me. I can make one of my client’s rooms into a bedroom for you for the night, or however long you plan to be out here.”

“Are you sure that’s okay? I don’t wanna be more in the way than I have been already.”

Shaking your head, you stood up straight. “You haven’t been in the way at all today. It’s fine, really. I have other rooms if a client comes in for a session.” Motioning for him to follow you again, you led the way to the back rooms. Snapping your fingers, you opened the door to the room he woke up in to reveal a brand new bedroom. “You can rest up here.”

“Really, you’ve done enough for me already-”

“It’s okay, I really don’t mind at all. It’s my job to help others in need.”

Phantom chuckled, shaking his head while walking into the room and putting his things on the bed. “Alright. I’ll accept the offer to stay here. But I’ll help around the shop if you need it while I’m here.”

“That’s fine by me. Thank you.”

Phantom smiled, looking around the room seeing how different it had become. “You said you hold sessions in these rooms? What are those, exactly?”

“You’ve been curious this whole time.” You leaned on the doorframe, relaxing a bit.

“I’m sorry, that must’ve been annoying of me for asking so much.”

“No, not really. I very much enjoyed it. I haven’t had this much interaction in a while. But to answer your question, these rooms are for relaxation sessions. Depending on the type of stress my clients feel, I use certain types of teas, potions, oils, or sweets to help them destress, or words of affirmation and light touches or light massages if they’re comfortable with me touching them.”

“That actually sounds very nice. I might ask for a session in the future.”

“You can if you’d like. First sessions are always free.”

“Maybe in the near future?”

“Whenever that is for you, you know where to find me.” Smiling at Phantom, you felt your cheeks get warmer. “Well, I’ll let you get settled. If you need anything for sleep, let me know.”

“I will, thank you again, (Y/n), for everything you’ve done for me today.”

“Don’t thank me, I’m just your friendly local witch.” Stepping aside, you waved. “Goodnight, Phantom.” 

“Goodnight, (Y/n)”

Closing the door behind you, you headed back to the front of the shop, getting everything ready for closing.

[bothcreativitybois]

The Mayor’s Sweet Treat Chapter 1

Description: Small town AU where mayor Remus knew everyone, until a cute baker opened shop in his town. Patton is struggling to keep open the small bakery while his mother is gone. Then the rambunctious and rowdy Remus appears and vows to save him. 

Ships: Intruality

TW: Swearing, stress, crying, slight burn, implied past bad relationship, food (obviously), sexual references (it’s Remus) 

Taglist (ask if you want to be added): @crazydemigod666 @star-crossed-shipper 

The old green truck rumbled down the road. Remus rubbed his stubble and tried to neaten his hair out but it didn’t do much. 

How did I miss the opening of a new shop? What’s wrong with me?

-A few minutes earlier- 

“Uhg this meeting sucks.” Remus groaned and leaned back in his chair.  “Why do we have to do them every Monday morning?” His coffee wasn’t enough. He contemplated where he could get something stronger. 

“Be my assistant Virgil. I need you Virgil.” He mocked his employers past words.

“Remus, you’re the mayor.” Virgil reminded him. “I know you have trouble paying attention but you need to listen. For your citizens.” The assistant looked over his notes as his employer whined.

“I already know what everyone thinks.” Remus defended. “Mrs Patty needs more wheelchair access, the berry farms proposed an idea to work with the high school to get more workers and Janus was caught spray painting again. It’s not hard to keep track when there are only like 100 people.” Virgil smiled smugly and looked up from his notes.

“So you know about the bakery reporting losses?” Virgil asked. Remus sat up and looked at him dumbly.

“We have a bakery?” Remus was dumbfounded.

“It’s new. Opened 5 months ago.” Virgil informed as he threw some papers on the desk. “The owner asked if there was any assistance we could provide the- Remus?” Remus was already jingling his keys.

“I’ll be back soon.” Remus said as he left. Virgil sighed. 

Remus thought as he drove. He looked at the store fronts trying to find what had changed. They all looked the same. General store, Salamander Silk clothes store, café he’d just gotten another coffee from, Sammy’s restaurant, the closed down florist- wait. The widows weren’t blocked anymore. Remus pulled up in front of the building and got out of his truck. He didn’t bother locking it, there was only one criminal in the town and it was his best friend. There were no new signs on the building, but the old signs were gone. The windows were uncovered but the door was closed.

Remus wasn’t sure where the bakery was exactly but there was only one street of shops so it wouldn’t be hard to find.

Maybe the Ahujas opened a bakery? I’ve always loved Nisa’s kaju katli. 

“It couldn’t be here…” Remus said to no one. He trampled up to the door to check if it was unlocked, it was. He swung it open and was greeted with a sweet scent and bright colours. The walls had new light blue wallpaper and the old stone floor had a cute pink rug trying to cover the large crack. “Are you open?!” Remus shouted past the displays of baked goods. 

There was a crash.

Patton worked lazily on the cake in front of him. He tried not to let his tears get in the lovely icing he’d just finished flattening.

No one is coming anyway. Why bother?

He usually could control these thoughts but this morning he was tired and stressed. He hadn’t had a single customer for a month, he was reaching the last of his back-up funds. Patton dropped the icing spatula and pushed away from the cake for a break, the rolling stool he was on slid to the wall. 

It was a mistake. No one wants you here. I should’ve stayed wit- 

A ding cut through the room. Patton realised he was now full on crying. His cheeks were warmer than the bread he’d made this morning. He stood shakily and walked to the oven, he couldn’t let them just sit there. He put on his green oven mitts and opened the industrial ovens. The muffins sat there, plump and cute. He slowly reached up to get the heavy pan out. Benefit of a large pan is being able to make two dozen at a time, the downside was carrying two dozen dense muffins at once. He’d built up a little muscle these past few weeks hauling the flour himself but it didn’t help much. 

“Oh fuck uh…” The tall figure said, Patton hadn’t quite looked up to see them properly yet. Remus frantically looked around for something to help the man clutching his arm. A sink. Remus grabbed the small man’s good arm and dragged him to the large sink. The tall person pulled Patton to the sink and turned on the water for him. He let go of his arm and shakily took off his oven mitt and put his arm under the stream of water. 

“Are you open?!” A voice shouted through the small building. Patton turned in shock, accidentally hitting both the pan and part of his arm against the oven door. He dropped the pan and clutched his arm.

“Ah!” He let out a small noise. There were heavy footsteps and a tall man appeared next to him. Patton felt his tears rise back up. Not from pain, he was used to burns, but he was overwhelmed. 

“Can you get that pan I dropped?” The smaller man muttered quietly. Remus looked across the room to see a pan of what looked like muffins in front of the oven. Thankfully it had landed without sending any muffins flying. He walked over and picked up the still hot pan. Patton turned to warn the tall person the pan was hot but was met with Remus holding the metal easily. The tall man was wearing a green flannel over a black shirt and some ratty black jeans, a stark contrast to Patton’s light blue t-shirt and pink apron and pants. The man had stubble that thickened along his upper lip and long brown hair pulled back into a messy bun. Remus placed the tray down and looked at Patton, his cheeks were red and he could see tears clouding his eyes. He noticed how much Patton was shaking. 

“Are you okay?” Remus asked, concerned. Patton turned away and focused on his arm.

“Yeah, you get used to burns.” Patton said weakly. He knew that wasn’t what Remus asked but hoped he’d get away with that answer. Remus knew what he was doing but decided not to press the man he’d just met. Patton took his arm out of the cold water and turned to Remus. “So who are you? A prince in shining cowboy boots?” Patton laughed weakly at the black square toe boots.

“Oh right.” Remus suddenly remembered why he was here. “I’m Remus.” He reached out a hand for a handshake. Patton took one look at the dirty hand then looked back up at Remus.

“I’m Patton.” He introduced himself happily. Remus realised his hands were dirty and pulled back. Patton giggled. Something about that giggle made Remus smile. “So Remus what do you do other than scaring innocent bakers?” Patton joked as he walked to his muffins.

“I scare innocent baristas.” Remus retorted, Patton laughed and wiped his face. “But if you mean work, I’m the mayor.” Patton looked up in a mix of doubt and surprise. “I’m surprised you didn’t know that. Actually I’m more surprised I don’t know you. Did you go to Mindville Public?” Remus referenced the public high school which was the only one in town. 

“Oh no. I just moved here actually.” Patton answered. He began removing the muffins one by one. “Came here to start the bakery with my mother, but she had to go back to the city for some stuff so it’s just been me for a few months.” That made sense to Remus. It was unlikely that just one person ran this place. But he still wasn’t sure how he hadn’t heard of the bakery opening.

“I would’ve visited earlier but I didn’t know you were… well… existed.” Remus rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. Patton sighed.

“Yeah, it seems no one does.” Patton said dejectedly as he took out the final muffin. He picked up the now cool tray and moved past Remus to put it in the sink. Remus caught a sad look in his eyes as he passed, a look that even though they’d just met he could tell was not usual. Remus walked over and put a hand on Patton’s shoulder.

“Hey, you're one of my citizens now.” Remus stated and turned Patton to face him. Patton saw a sparkle of determination in Remus’ eyes. “I’d do anything to help my citizens.” They lingered close to each other. Patton began to tear up, then quickly wrapped Remus in a hug. Remus raised his arms as the small man squeezed his ribs, Remus looked down at Patton. He realised how tired he looked, he blushed as he buried his face into Remus. Patton pulled away and wiped his eyes.

“Sorry… it’s been hard these past few days and... “ Patton looked up at Remus, eyes catching each other. “Thank you.” Patton looked tired, sad and weak. Remus felt a sense of protectiveness rise in his chest. Everyone in town was rowdy and strong, that’s what happens when you’re raised in the country, but Patton was different.

“Remus!” A voice shouted from outside the building. The men looked out the windows to see a tall lanky man with dark hair falling over his face.

“Who’s that?” Patton starred as Remus began walking out of the kitchens. Remus sighed.

“My assistant. I have to go.” Remus said, then he stopped and turned to Patton. “How much are those muffins.” Patton beamed. He picked up one of the still warm muffins and threw it to Remus.

“They’re carrot cake and walnut.” Patton laughed. “Just stop by tomorrow and tell me what you think of them.” Remus nodded. He pulled out a card and a five dollar bill then put both on the counter.

“I’ll call you.” Remus winked. Patton felt his chest tighten, but in a good way.  He waved as Remus walked out to Virgil.

“You can’t just drop out of meetings like that!” Virgil scolded as Remus walked out. Virgil saw an all too familiar crooked smirk on Remus’ face. “Oh no. No no no. What are you planning?” Remus took a bite out of the muffin, the aromatic flavours tingled against his tongue.

“I’m gonna save the bakery.” He said.

“Okay that actually seems reaso-”

“Then get the cute baker to grab my cake.”

“-there it is.”

[mrs-harkness]

Run To Me (Part 3)

Pairing: Diane Sherman x Fem!Reader

TW: Brief mention of child abuse 

Word count: 1.7K

A/n: The love for this fic as me soaring! I plan on it being in about 10 parts, if you’re here for it! Also- there is mention of a memory of abuse in the beginning. As a child of abuse myself, it was a bit difficult to write so please skip it if you think it will bother you! It’s the italicized part in the beginning and will not affect the story line for you at all! Anyways, happy reading. Thank you all so much!

"No! Please! I'll be a good girl!"

Your little voice strained, kicking your legs wildly to prevent yourself from being placed in the bathtub. She didn't listen, forcing you into the water. It was too hot and burned, but thankfully you were fully clothed and it protected your skin, if only a little bit. You cried out and reached for the woman's forearms, gripping them so hard your tiny knuckles turned white. The woman who was supposed to protect you, supposed to love you.

Tears streamed down your face as she pushed your body down, your head going under. You thrashed, sending water everywhere and you fought as hard as you could. You could see her angry face from beneath the water. You didn't understand what you had done wrong this time. You were afraid. You screamed, bubbles being sent to the surface in a last attempt of a cry for mercy.

You shot up in bed, sweating. You touched your face and found it dry, telling yourself you were safe. It was only a dream. You took a deep breath, relishing the feeling. You were safe now. You were okay.

"Did you have a bad dream, Y/n?"

You jumped at her voice. You hadn't see Diane standing in the doorway of the room, but now that your eyes had adjusted, you saw her in her night clothes with a cup of tea, looking over at you.

"Uh yeah, I have them a lot. It's no big deal, I'm used to it."

You looked over at the clock and saw that it was 5:45 AM. Diane had been up long enough to make a pot of tea and you wondered just how long she had been standing at the door.

You went to adjust yourself in bed and cried out, wincing. You had never felt more sore in your entire life, and it was like your body had decided to give up on you. Your arms shook and gave out, causing you to flop down on the bed.

Diane rushed over, placing her tea on the bedside table. She brushed your hair out of your face, her eyes filled with concern. You felt the bed dip as she sat by you, hovering over you.

"Don't push it. You will feel the most sore today and you're going to need rest. I can bring you what you need and take care of you. You just need to relax."

You felt very conflicted. You had never in your life seen such kindness, never mind from someone you barely knew. You did not want to appear weak or need help, but at the same time you did. You didn't know Diane but it was like something in your heart told you that you had actually known her your whole life. You felt a warm tingly feeling bloom in your chest when she looked at you and while you would never admit it to even yourself, you wanted her close to you. Even through that warm feeling though, you also felt a small nagging voice in the back of your mind that something was not right. Something about this whole situation was wrong, but maybe that's just because you had never been loved before. You didn't know how to handle it was all. It wasn't wrong, it was just new.

Diane looked at you with what you thought could possibly be admiration and you couldn't help but smile a bit. Your cheeks flushed and you looked away, unable to process everything. Diane placed her hand suddenly on your forehead, drawing your attention back to her.

"Do you feel like you're running a fever? You're sweating and your cheeks are flushed," she said, moving her hands around your face trying to see if you were. She grabbed your face with both hands and pressed her lips to your forehead. You knew this was a way some people could tell if someone was running a fever, but it still shocked you. You gasped and pulled back suddenly.

"Sorry, my hands are cold and I couldn't tell," she said, realizing she may have made you uncomfortable.

"Oh, no it's okay. It's my fault. I'm not good with people showing concern because I never really go it much. I'm fine though. My nightmares just get really bad sometimes and I wake up like this," you said, forcing yourself to sit up.

Diane smiled softly at you, placing her hand on yours.

"Y/n, you know... you deserved care and concern from someone. You may not have had it then, but I hope I can provide some for you now, if you'll let me."

You throat seemed to close and you felt tears prickle at the corners of your eyes. You quickly cleared your throat and looked away, taking a deep breath. You didn't want her to see you cry. She squeezed your hand though, and you know she saw it.

"Also, if you ever want to talk about your dreams with me, I don't mind. I'd love to listen to you about anything you want to say, especially something that is bothering you."

With that Diane got up, taking her tea with her and heading towards the door.

"I am going to go make you some breakfast and a cup of tea and bring it to you. You just relax and I will be back in a minute," she said.

"Wait, don't you have work? It's really okay. I'm sore, but I can take care of myself. Plus I really should start looking for somewhere else-"

"Oh no, its okay. I took the week off work to make sure you get back on your feet. I have a bunch of days saved up. It will be like a little vacation. Plus, you need me," she said, her voice almost a song. She left the room before you could argue.

You suddenly became aware of just how weak your body felt. You weren't sure why you felt so weak, but then again you had never been run down by a car before. You propped the pillows from the bed up behind you, not willing to lay back down. You were still tired but you were also hungry and the promise of food was much better than another nap.

You looked around the room, bathed in early morning light. It was very comfortable and felt lived in even though it had supposedly just been sitting empty this whole time. The walls were decorated so pretty and it smelled like fresh linen. There were countless number of books and other things that could keep someone entertained for what seemed like years. It was plush and inviting and seemed like heaven for a young girl. The only strange thing was the many picture frames placed around the room. All of them were empty. Why would you buy picture frames if you didn't have pictures to put in them? Maybe it was just a stylistic choice, but they seemed sad, just waiting for photos to be placed in them.

You heard footsteps coming from the hall and watched as Diane entered with a tray. She put a simple breakfast of oatmeal and fruit in front of you, with a steaming cup of tea on the side.

"Eat up, you'll need it to get back your strength. Also make sure you drink all that tea. It's got special herbs in it that will get your immune system going to make sure you don't get an infection from any of those cuts," Diane hummed, checking over the tray to make sure you had everything.

You grabbed the tea and went to take a sip, but stopped and put it down, a question weighing heavily on you.

"Diane, why are you doing this? You don't know me, whatsoever, and usually when you hit someone with your car, you call the police and then go on about your day to worry later about insurance. But you took me in and are being so nice to me. Why?"

Diane stopped and took in a breath, thinking of her response. She then came and crouched by the bed, looking deeply into your eyes.

"Do you believe in fate Y/n?" Diane asked. This caught you off guard.

"Uh, yes. Yes, I do."

"Well as crazy as this sounds, I believe it was fate that we crossed paths. We're two lone people. Me, with so much love to give, and you, in need of so much love. I know it may sound strange, but from the moment I looked at you I felt like I had found someone I had been looking for for such a long time. Maybe I'm just assuming things, but I think you felt that too," she whispered.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded. Maybe she was right. Maybe this is why you felt drawn to this town. It wasn't your foster sister, but fate. It seemed so unlikely and you were scared to trust it, but it was all you ever wanted: Love.

Diane smiled so hard that you were sure her face may split. She grabbed the back of your head and kissed the side of your head. You didn't pull away this time, allowing the affection to warm your cheeks and your chest.

"Y/n, I can't wait to get to know you. I'm so happy I found you. You're safe now. You've got me," she said.

She stood up, looking like she might dance around the room. She walked to the doorway and turned back to point to the tray in front of you.

"Make sure you eat and drink that tea. It's important for you to do that," she said. You nodded and picked up the mug, taking a big swig. You grimaced and forced yourself to swallow. It tasted awful.

"Yeah I know. I'm sorry. It's got a bad taste, but its going to help you. Drink it all, because I will check. I'll come back in a bit to check on you," she said leaning against the frame.

You took another swig and almost gagged, but you wanted to make her happy. She smiled at you and winked, this time closing the door behind her as she left. You were going to have to get used to this, but you thought it would be easy with Diane. You really felt safe with her.

[evarcana]

Get Your Act Together

Ev changes her plans for the evening and goes to the theatre.

words: ~3,2k

warnings: mentions strangling but it is not what you think it is.

notes: I don’t want to commit to calling it Chapter II but this fic takes place not long after these events, and really is just silly.

“No, seriously, at first I thought it was just people talking but the idiot really never parts with his wine glass,” says Ev and reclines in the chair, exhausted by her own dramatic tone. She throws her head backwards, the dark hair, colour of burned bronze, falling down in soft glistering waves followed by the drapes of her silk jacket, and drags both hands across the face with a sigh, trying to wipe away the apparent annoyance, but the creases between her brows are too stubborn and she decides to hide it instead, burying her face under the shadows of her palms. “Ignorant alcoholic,” she hisses through her fingers.

Ev is sitting in the sun outside of the wine merchant at the narrow cobbled street conveniently tucked away between the hustle and bustle of the Main Square and the glamour of the Heart District. Back in the Prakran capital the street so central would be full of people running errands and the neighbours talking in front of the doors despite the afternoon heat and humidity but here the only signs of life at four o'clock are languid piano exercises played somewhere behind the closed shatters and the faint but energetic drumbeat of the carriage passing in the distance.

“So what happened?” A young woman with eyes which are lighter than the sky sets a jug of rosemary lemonade and a glass on Ev’s table and looks down at her, pressing the tray against the black apron decorated with the embroidered grapevines.

Ev lifts her hands an inch and peeks at the woman from the shadows, her eyes narrowed and gleaming with anger. “He kicked me out,” she states flatly.

“Why?”, the woman in black apron asks somewhat wearly and turns to the shop’s entrance where a small jar of paint and a brush are waiting on the tea towel covering the stone step below the door. The paint on the brush is the same deep burgundy as the woman’s shirt.

Ev considers meeting Anais to be her only luck in Vesuvia. Not only does she run the excellent wine shop which also functions as a small bar but she is living in the flat above it and seems to be permanently bored and ready to entertain Ev with some gossip and tips about the city, which makes her a perfect neighbour for somebody who has just moved to the new place completely alone.

Ev’s nose wrinkles at the sharp smell of paint as she watches Anais dipping her brush in the jar. “I made one of those little dolls which they use for cursing people up North and brought it to the palace,” she says. It had a little braid made from silk and wool threads and Ev painted its face with the thinnest makeup brush she could find in her vanity table. Ev smiles to herself thinking that it was the most crafty thing she has done since she was thirteen but notices Anais staring at her with the expression of the person questioning somebody’s sanity, and quickly raises her hands defensively, palms up. “Listen, I am not proud of that.”

Anais rolls her eyes good-humouredly and for a few minutes they both watch the brush moving rhythmically tracing precise lines on the wooden door frame in silence, before Anais turns to Ev again. “Didn’t it happen on Tuesday too?”

“Kicking out?”, Ev responds without lifting her eyes from the jug of lemonade, “it did”. She is busy poking slices of orange with a rosemary stem.

Anais watches Ev’s face, clearly expecting her to continue. But she does not. The silence between them is interrupted only by clicking of the ice cubes against the glass. Anais tilts her head to the side and says in a careful tone, “But you seem to be more angry today.”

Ev stabs the slice of blood orange she fished out to the liquid’s surface and it splatters the sour juice and bitter oils which make her eyes stink. She blinks a few times and gives the orrange a disapproving frown. “He called the guards,” she says. Her juvenile prank got out of hand. She definitely is not proud.

“What?” Anais’s voice raises in surprise and her paintbrush makes an uneven stroke which she rushes to cover.

“Yeah, I know.”

“But I don’t understand. Aren’t you a diplomat? They can’t really - “, she pauses thinking of the right word, “- stop you, can they?”

“No, but I can’t necessarily stop him neither”

Anais goes quiet, weighing Ev’s words in her head, while she paints. “So why do you keep on... talking to him?”, she asks finally and waves her brush in the air, “you don’t have to.”

Ev gives her a pointed look and then drops her eyes down, frowning once again. That is a very good question. Why does she keep on talking to him?

For the last few weeks Ev has stuck to the same routine: she comes to the palace daily, enquires a servant politely about the consul’s schedule for the day, finds Valerius, tosses a pile of paper in front of him, takes a seat opposite him and proceeds to picturing herself strangling him. Bare hands. The skin on his neck gets hot and damp with sweat underneath her fingers, his body is struggling against hers while she presses her knee against his chest holding him in place. She squeezes, and squeezes. Sometimes however she would get lost in her own imagination and her hands would slide up, fingers getting buried in the hair, her thumbs tracing delicate lines behind his earlobes. She doesn't know what happens after that, because she guillotines the thought. Those are moments of weakness and are luckily rare. It would be easier if he was ugly, and stupid. But he is pretty much the opposite. Yet another proof that she had no good luck in Vesuvia. After the weakness comes the inevitable irritation, which Valerius seems to sense like a sniffer dog, and before she knows they are engaged in one of their already signature yelling competitions which the servants undoubtedly gossip about in the corridors and kitchens. Ev would be surprised if the whole Vesuvia is not calling her a madwoman by now. Her only hope being that they think even worse things of their consul.

Hating someone is exhausting. Every interaction makes Ev’s blood boil, and her heart beat heavy and bright. Her mind does strange things and she honestly does not remember the last time she thought about something other than making Valerius do what she wants for longer than an hour. She wastes precious minutes of her life on someone who genuinely despises her.

She wishes he did not despise her though. She wishes that there was more to him than being prickish, judgemental asshole, then perhaps this whole thing could be just about bearable. That is why she keeps on talking to him. But Ev cannot tell Anais that because it is the same as admitting that she has lost and that he has won, so she huffs irritably and says “Because it is my job, why else” instead.

“Good to know that you are both as stubborn as mules.” Anais grew up at her parents’ vineyard in the rural part of Venterre and except the times when she talks about wine all her comparisons are based on farm animals and other attributes of country life.

Ev folds her arms. “I don’t think you know me well enough to say that.” Despite whatever is happening in her imagination in the moments of weakness, the idea of having something in common with Valerius, not only an asshole but the surliest man alive, makes her feel irrationally violent.

Anais only hums something to herself. “Anyway, no more of this talk, what are your plans for tonight?” she asks Ev with the trained cheerfulness of a person chatting to customers daily, “You know we are not opening tonight”, she adds, now sounding more concerned than cheerful.

“Because you are going on your adventure date with Theresa and your brother has not come back yet.” Ev waves her hand, “I remember.” She thinks of all the unopened letters on her desk at home and some notes she managed to scoop in her bag from Valerius’s desk in the palace, the risky act which would probably earn her another look from Anais, and adds, “just working”

“Why don’t you go to the theatre? The Goldgrave is doing their first performance since the plague. I think you should still be able to get the ticket at the door.” Anais wipes her forehead with the back of her hand, still holding the brush. “Actually, the guy who runs the show is Theresa’s neighbour, I will have a word with him. I am sure he will let you in for free if you promise to write a review.”

“Why would he want my review?”

“Oh come on! One of the Prakran dignitaries attends their humble performance, that’s like the most international exposure they have ever had!”

“Fine,” Ev says sceptically.

***

The man at the entrance didn’t lie about all the tickets being sold out, the small theatre is full and buzzes with anticipation. Ev had to endure a small torture of exchanging pleasantries with the overexcited theatre director and at least a dozen of guests, who all seems to know Anais and each other, after she introduced herself. But it all paid off and she is now sitting in the three-seat box closest to the stage, probably the most expensive seats in the whole of the theatre.

Ev eyes an empty seat to the far left. The seat next to her is taken by the old lady wearing simple but tasteful clothes and wrapped in the wooly shawl. She smells of the lily-of-the-valley perfume and apple pie. “Excuse me, are you expecting someone? I think the lights are about to go down”, Ev asks, giving the old lady a soft smile.

“Oh no, darling, I am here to watch my husband perform on stage.” She sounds proud. Ev tries to recall the last time somebody called her darling.

“That is really sweet, he must be thrilled to have you here,” she says, and the kindness in her voice is genuine. Ev finds her new neighbour positively charming, in a way only the older generation can be.

“And what is such a lovely young lady doing in the theatre alone?”

Ev shrugs her shoulders playfully. “I am here to keep you company. You have to tell me when your husband comes on stage,” Ev says, returning the smile.

The old lady covers her mouth and her laugh sounds youthful and bright. She is delighted at their little exchange.

That’s it, most people do like me.

The lights dim and just before the performance is about to begin, the curtain behind Ev’s seat moves letting the beam of light in the box and a dark figure walks in. A man, Ev thinks, who appears to be nicely proportioned. She watches temper and agitation in his movement, as he takes his seat silently. Ev thinks about her peculiar company for tonight, as the boxes are usually reserved by the group of guests. Is he here to watch his loved one too? Could he be from the newspaper?

The old lady nudges Ev’s elbow excitedly.

***

Ev has seen this play before. It is a story of the marriage proposal, full of humorous fights between the groom-to-be and his bride. The sweet old lady’s husband plays the father. He is a tall man with fluffy moustache (although those might be fake, you never know in the theatre) and genuine comedic talent. She wonders whether there is an apple pie waiting for him at home. Even through the dark Ev can see the lady looking lovingly at her husband.

Something makes Ev feel strangely out of place here. She bites the tip of her thumb lightly and replays the events of the day, remembering the old lady’s question from before and Anais asking about her plans. Her mind continues wondering and Ev catches herself thinking about what Valerius is doing tonight. The thought makes her stomach twist. Crying himself to sleep, hopefully.

She leans forwards to take a discreet look to her left, hoping to get a better view of the stranger’s face. He is hidden by shadows but the outline of his profile certainly makes her want to see more - high cheekbones, slightly convex nose and angular jaw, query full lips. He looks familiar.

Ev is now leaning so far forward her elbows are pressed on her knees, squinting and trying to recall where she might have seen this profile. She hears the old lady clearing her throat politely, and retreats, reminded of the theatre etiquette. Maybe it is nothing and he is just her type. She has been so busy recently, making plans only to watch them being discarded, thorn to shreds and thrown away, and so consumed by her anger, she did not really pay attention to the other people around. This feels nice and refreshing.

The curtain closes and the audience stands up to applaud. Ev shoots another look at the stranger. Beautiful posture, gloved hands, oh, mysterious. Maybe it would be nice to have plans with somebody like him. Before she can build up excitement about the lights coming up, the mysterious stranger turns around abruptly and disappears behind the curtain. All Ev sees is the flash of white light before her eyes, as empty and boring as her cold sheets back at home. She gets off her seat and runs after him. Maybe she is a madwoman after all. She does not have any plan, frankly, she doesn't even know why she is doing this, so she decides to go for the most obvious thing - she reaches the man’s shoulder from behind and places her hand as softly as she can considering her rush. “Ah excuse me -”, she says slightly breathy, “have we met before?”

The man turns and the disappointment that Ev experiences the very second she sees his face can only be compared to one of a child who unwraps the present only to find out that it is the older sibling’s jumper, in the child’s least favourite colour, the very same jumper the sibling was wearing the day they broke the child’s toy, most definitely on purpose. Ev is sure that she has seen other men in this city but apparently she is that unlucky.

“You,” says Valerius, baring his teeth. His eyes are slits of hatred, like he is contemplating ripping the skin off her. Ev can relate. She wants to punch him in the face. Ev clenches her jaw thinking about all the insults that he is about to throw her way.

“Consul,” she says in her best theatrical tone.

Valerius glances over his shoulder immediately, eyes wide. He does not respond, frantically scoping the corridor, which is starting to fill in with guests. Ev watches his expression and to her surprise there is no usual arrogance in it. This is unlike him. The moment draws her attention to what the consul is wearing - dark navy fitted coat, with discreet design, his long hair tucked in its high collar, cravat, high boots, gloved hands. Very unlike him. Ev studies him more carefully. There is no wine glass. This is getting disturbing.

“Are you incognito or something?”, she asks, snorting with amusement.

“None of your business”, Valerius spits. He reddens a little straight away and throws more nervous glances to his surroundings.

Oh. Tension. This is awkward, and juicy. Ev’s curiosity is officially piqued. The sight of Valerius’s discomfort is revitalising. She can feel blood pumping through her body and there is sparkle in her eyes. She smirks at him, even though he studiously avoids her gaze. Sensing the tiny hint of vulnerability just at the edges of his expression, she locks her arms around his and with the push of her hip turns them both away from the building crowd of chatting guests. “So you are incognito.” Ev really can't hide her excitement.

Both his eyebrows ratchet up, and Valerius opens his mouth as his eyes go wild, but he does not seem to be able to say a word. This is wonderful. A sensation of pure elation floods Ev. She has been dreaming about this day. She presses her body closer to Valerius and sinks her nails into his arm, like a cat toying with prey. She is thinking about this new power she has got.

Valerius looks down at Ev. “Your face looks… filthy”, he says and tries to shake her off. “Let me go. Now”

“No way. You can try screaming for help if you want.” This is the first time Ev has got the upper hand, and however little, she is not letting this opportunity slip.

“You are insane.” Valerius pulls his arm closer to his body, protectively.

Ev ignores him, right now she is busy thinking. “I know!”

“That you are insane?”

“You are stingy,” Ev says with the look of triumph in her eyes.

“What?!”

“Look, there is only one explanation. You came to the theatre once, they asked you for donations because everybody knows you are filthy rich but you refused, again and again, and now you are hiding. ”

“It is not the case.” Valerius makes another attempt to shake her off, but the sight of the theatre director walking their way through the crowd makes him stop. He turns away.

“So explain yourself then, dear consul”, Ev whispers in his ear, her voice full of venom. The group of guests walks right past them without giving them any attention. They must look like a couple, Ev realises, and eases her grip on his arm.

“No,” Valerius says sternly.

Ev stares at him for a moment, considering her options. “Fine, but you owe me”, she says simply.

“I owe you nothing”, he barks back.

“You know I am going to make a scene, maybe even mention you in the review which I kindly agreed to write for the local newspaper”

Valerius’s mouth twitches once and Ev can almost hear him gritting his teeth. At least, the man knows how the gossip works. “What do you want? How much?” The look he gives Ev is both smug and irritated.

“You are not the only one with the money here”, she makes her voice sound bored. It’s not the first Ev’s negotiation.

“I won’t ask you again, witch.” His voice is rough with anger but he bites it quicker than she expected.

“We can discuss tomorrow. I promise, it is just a small favour.”

Valerius does not say anything. He rubs the bridge of his nose and turns towards the exit, forgetting that Ev is still hanging on his arm.

“So, you like theatre?” she asks curiously as they leave together.

[descendantofthesparrow]

Commission work - Harry Hook x Darling! Reader - two parter - unpredictably adorable - part 2

commissioner @thebookbakery​

=

Since you were a child, your mind was constantly overthinking, every single possibility, good or bad, bombarding your mind about everything and nothing at the same time.

-what if I never live up to my mom's expectations-

-if I don’t pass this test everyone will hate me-

-they aren’t really my friend; they just feel sorry for me-

-I need to shut up I’m talking to much-

-they are ignoring me; they must hate me-

-everyone is faking-

-if I’m not careful I'll cut my finger and then I'll have to get surgery to remove my hand because I was too careless-

Yeah…it got tiring after a while.

Everything made sense when you were 10 and were finally diagnosed with anxiety, everything got a little bit easier to deal with after that, one of your tactics was just pretending your best friend Piper was talking you down

-I forgot to turn off the oven, and I’m going to burn my mom's house down, and I’m going to go to jail and-

‘no, you didn’t, you always check every single time, twice, you turned it off, now shut up before I smack you, I’m trying to eat this churro.’

It always loomed in the back of your mind, though hanging out with your closest friends did deafen the noise a bit, but it was always there.

You had little toys to help you focus but you were always looked at oddly when you had a little cube with millions of buttons on it so once again, your anxiety won out and you picked at your fingers, bit your lip, rubbed the fabric of your clothes between your fingers, and sometimes dug your nail into your thumb to distract yourself from your own brain.

Crushes, were one of your ultimate weakness, even the thought of someone you had a crush on sent you into a spiral, your brain would tell you they didn’t even know you existed, that they hated you and faking being nice, that your crush would never go anywhere.

Now you only had two crushes your whole life.

One from when you were little, Piper, but that didn’t last long (After you saw her eat a caterpillar bleh) and EX-prince Ben himself, that one had lasted a whole two years, and while you had been his friend before your crush grew, that didn’t stop your brain from shoving those random piercing thoughts into you.

And now, there was another one.

Harry, freaking, Hook. Son of Captain Hook himself, the villain of your mother's story.

And he was the sweetest thing you had ever encountered, you gushed to jane about his little nose scrunched when he grinned, how his tongue poked out of his lips slightly when he concentrated, when he fluffed up his already floofy hair when he was frustrated.

It was just all too much for your anxious little self,  it took all your might to keep yourself from bolting away from the handsome pirate.

You sighed, splashing cold water against your face and blindly grabbing for your towel and patting your face dry. You felt your face heat up as you thought back to the day before, in study hall, when Harry ever so gently placed his thumb on your chin to stop you from chewing on your lip.

You let out a long sigh/squeak as you grabbed your bathroom counter and sunk down into a squat, puffing your cheeks as you tried to calm yourself down. “I’m so doomed” you muttered to yourself, this crush on Harry was worse than the one on Piper OR Ben.

With the two aforementioned crushes, you never imagined it going any farther than dating, so imagine your internal embarrassment when one day you realized you were daydreaming about being buried into Harry's side as you slept in on a weekend in your very own place, living together with three dogs and two cats, and four birds, with two guest rooms specifically for Uma and Gil.

It was nice to dream about but once the dark shadow that was your anxiety reared its ugly head and whispered horrid thoughts about Harry’s “true” feelings about you, it was harder to enjoy your daydreams.

-he’s just using me to get revenge~-

-he’s just like his father, a filthy, cheating pirate-

-he’s faking everything-

-he flirts with everyone; I am nothing special-

You knew it was all bullcrap, even your own mother had met harry (at her request) and happily told you that he was nothing like his dad, and one of the sweetest boys she had ever met, even piper and Peter themselves, liked harry.

But like always, your brain never liked to listen to others and always took a darker train of thought.

You shook your head out of thought and stood, walking back into your room and grabbing your bag, slinging it over your shoulder and grabbing your keys, slipping out of your dorm room and locking it behind you, checking twice to ease your mind.

“hey (y/n)” you flinched as you spun around, letting out a sharp sigh as you realized Uma was the one to call out to you, she rose her brow, a small smirk on her face “sorry, thought you heard me walk up to you”

“you-you’re fine” you smiled back, huffing as the girl tossed her arm over your shoulder and started walking with you to the cafeteria.

“hear the rumor that Mrs.Popin is pop quizzing us in algebra today?”

“she is?” you asked, calm as could be on the outside, but once again your mind started running

-what if it's something we haven’t covered yet? Or what if I wasn’t paying attention to the subject?! What if I accidentally check the wrong one! What if-

Uma tugged you into the seat next to her, picking up a clementine and peeling it open, offering you a slice, shrugging as you declined “suit yourself, yeah, I’m wondering how Harrys gonna do, with his problem with numbers after all”

“oh right, his dyscalculia” you muttered, mind now running wild worrying for harry. “I think he’ll be fine, Mrs.Popin is lenient with him, and she lets all of us take the tests over and over again until we get a passing grade”

“yeah” Uma hummed, chewing on another slice “waffles or pancakes today?”

“I heard It’ was French toast~” Harry purred, plopping down next to you and leaning into your space once again, setting your face on fire and cutting off your voice as usual. “you okay (y/n)?” you whipped around to look at Harry with wide eyes, that….that was the first time he had ever called you by your name, it was always your last name.

“I-yes?” you shrugged, looking down at the table and picking at it “I’m fine”

Harry just hummed and leaned away from you, starting a conversation with Uma about the upcoming math quiz.

Your mind whirled as you processed the fact that he called you by your first name. but thankfully it never went anywhere as the bell for breakfast being served rang throughout the room. Uma tapped your arm, hurrying you to the line to grab the hot and ready food before it was gone.

You grabbed your preferred bread and usual toppings, sighing happily as you noticed your favorite drink was in stock this morning. You grabbed the bottle and tossed in on your tray, following after Uma as she went down the sides line, grabbing a handful of bacon for herself.

After dodging the oncoming breakfast crowd, you, Harry, Gil, and Uma finally settled back at your table. Evie, Jane, and Dizzy joining you moments later “morning~” Jane sang, poking your cheek with a ‘boop’ and starting to eat her breakfast. “oh (y/n), the planning committee is needed in the gym later today, about prom n stuff”

“kay” you muttered, quickly going through your slices of French toast and gulping down your drink “still don’t know how I got roped into the planning committee in the first place” you laughed to yourself, you hardly spoke during the meetings, you were more the errand girl and the one who wrote down what needed to happen as everyone else actually planned.

Jane giggled and patted your shoulder, turning her attention back to the conversation of the table, to which you weren’t bothering to pay attention to.

You dug into your bag and pulled out your notebook, going over your previous notes for math to prepare for the quiz later that day.

Sometimes Jane and Harry would bump into you randomly, Harry's fingers brushing your arm when he would reach for something across the table, you did your best to keep the heat from your face.

At some point harry gently probed your shoulder, making you squeak from surprise, unexpecting of the touch as you looked to harry with wide eyes. He gave a soft smile and nodded towards the doors “bell rung for class darlin’, don’t want yeh ta be late” you quickly stood, yelping as your knee bashed against the table.

“ooow” you bent over slightly, palming your knee as you felt the pain bloom across it. “shit”

“wow” Harry chuckled, grabbing your bags and slinging them over his shoulder “never heard yeh swear before darlin’, come on, ill escort yeh” he placed his hand on the small of your back, and lead you toward your first class.

While you appreciated Harry's chivalry, your mind….was not helping.

-everyone is staring at me-

-they are going to think it's odd he has his hand on me-

-everyone is staring at us-

-everyone is going to think it’s weird that Harry is around me-

-EVERYONE IS STAR-

“here we are” Harry thankfully interrupted your train of thought as he handed you back your bag and gestured to your English class “I’ll see yeh later darlin’” he winked at you and strut away, leaving you with your usual burning face and fidgeting fingers.

You sighed, walking into class and hurrying to your seat, ignoring the imaginative eyes on you as you took out your notebook.

-

The sound of your pen quickly tapping on your clipboard was the only thing that kept you from screaming at everyone.

It was just…too…loud…so many voices at once, all speaking at different volumes and all needing different things, many of them speaking at you, all too much for you to handle.

You gave one look at jane and she nodded, taking your clipboard and walking into the crowd of planners, distracting them as you exited the gym, heading for your room to calm down.

You rubbed your chest and focused on controlled breathing. Everything felt so tight, like something was sitting on your chest as you walked through the halls, fingers gripping your skirt to ground yourself.

You stumbled a bit as a barrage of screaming hit you, you tuned a bit, seeing two of your classmates that you never bothered to learn the names of screaming at each other in the hallway.

Your ears began to ring as you stared at them, unable to continue onto your room. one of the boys looked away from his friend, glaring right at you. “OI WHAT ARE YOU LOOKIN AT!” he screamed, hands balling into fists as he seemed to look into your soul.

You let out a breathless squeak, bolting down the hall, sliding as you took a quick corner and continued to run where ever.

Your original destination was lost, mind yelling at you to hide.

-THEY ARE FOLLOWING ME-

-HIDE-

-THEY ARE GOING TO HURT ME-

-HIDE-

-IM GOING TO DIE-

-HIDE-

You gasped for breath, letting a scream as you slammed into a wall that wasn’t there a moment ago, you slid down to your side, curling up into a ball and letting out choked sobs as the world went dark around you.

You could feel yourself passing out but you couldn’t get a grip on yourself.

You were having a panic attack but you couldn’t do a thing to make it go away, whenever they happened one of your friends was always there to ground you, always helping you come back down to earth.

You couldn’t breathe, air only leaving you as you gasped. Through the ringing in your ears, you heard a voice, but you couldn’t recognize it as whoever it was grabbed onto your shoulders and tried to lift you up.

You felt yourself screech and lash out, your fist hitting something almost solid, whoever it was didn’t flinch and trailed their hands down your arms, grabbing gently onto your hands.

“hey-hey” they whispered, breaking through the chaos of your mind “hey, it's okay, you’re okay. nothings here. you’re safe. no one’s going ta hurt yeh”

You forced your eyes open, and through your blurry visions you saw Harry staring back at you with a soft smile “hey darlin’ can yeh breathe with meh?” you tried to speak but a sob ripped through your throat, you moved forward, crashing into Harry's chest and wrapping your arms around his torso. “hey hey, breathe, in-“ you felt his chest rise, and you swallowed down another sob and took a wobbly breath.

Harry continued to calm you down, soon your breath synchronizing with his “yer doin’ amazing darlin’ now, give me five things yeh can see”

You pulled back slightly from his chest, sniffing as you glanced around “um- locker, window,” a light sob choked you, but Harry just rubbed your back and continued to take deep breathes for you to follow. You glanced down slightly, seeing Harry’s red leather jacket against your shoulder “your jacket, my-my bag, and-and-the school symbol”

“good” Harry cooed, hand running up your back and fingers slipping through your hair, fingers scratching at your scalp comfortably “now name four things yeh can touch”

You looked around again, slowly feeling your body relax, and letting your headrest completely against Harry's chest “wa-water fountain, door handle, vending machine, um-jacket” Harry chuckled at the last one, but nodded.

“amazing love, name three things yeh can hear” you closed your eyes, your lip twitching as you felt your head bump up for a moment.

“your heart” you whispered, not hearing Harrys breath hitch “birds, static”

“a-awesome” Harry sighed, shifting to sit against the wall and pulling you up further into his arms “now, two things yeh can smell”

“metal and leather” you whispered, feeling the grips of the panic attack leaving your body, mentally thanking the gods that Harry had found you.

“good, now, one thing yeh can taste”

You pushed away from Harry’s chest, opening your eyes again and looking around “um-oh! Cookies!” you chirped, leaning up a little as you spotted a bag of Oreos inside the vending machine across the hall.

“amazing job lass, are yeh okay now?” you took a deep breath and looked back at Harry, giving him a tired smile.

“better but” you could still feel the tightness in your chest and your limbs felt like lead “thank you….could you help me to my room? I’m really tired and I need to take a break from everything for a bit”

“of course,” Harry nodded, helping to your feet and grabbing your bag and slinging it over his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you into his side, letting you take your pace as he helped you to your room.

He glared at anyone you passed by, tightening his grip on your waist and even snapping his teeth at Chad as he sneered at you and Harry together. You were too tired to pay attention to anything though, sighing in relief as your room appeared around the corner. Harry dug your key from your bag and quickly unlocked your room, holding onto your hand tightly as you walked into your room and towards your bed.

He released your hand as your knees hit the edge of your bed and you flopped onto the sheets, blowing out a harsh breath as he ruffled his hair.

“so yeh all good?” he asked again, tilting his head at you, you lifted your head and gave a small nod.

“I will be, thank you, Harry”

He gave a grin and walked over to you, kneeling beside your bed “I've got yer back darlin’ get some rest, and I’ll get yer homework from our classes kay?”

“okay” you whispered, flopping your head back on your bed, feeling your face heat up again as Harry leaned over and pressed a kiss to your head “um-Harry?”

“well talk about it when yer right of head love, see yeh later” he stood and walked out of the room, locking your door and tossing the key on your dresser. He smiled at you and closed the door, his heavy footsteps quickly walking away from your room.

You pressed your fingers gently to the place Harry's lips were moments ago, feeling the heat in your face reaching your ears and stretching down your neck.

‘was-he-a kiss?’ you thought, sitting up and staring at the door. ‘he-wow’

You stared at the door for a moment longer before you kicked off your shoes and just crawled under your covers, smiling as you thought back to his kind words and soft lips.

You closed your eyes and took a couple of deep breaths, forcing down the thoughts that said Harry was only being friendly, you could bear to let yourself dream for a bit.

-

Harry sighed, flipping through the multiple sheets of homework he held in his hands, pursing his lips as he thought back to (y/n), something had set her off to have such an intense panic attack. He was just glad he knew how to calm someone down from it after helping the smee twins through them after so many years.

He looked to his right as Jane passed by him, he reached out grabbing her shoulder, she jumped slightly, looking at him with wide eyes.

“uh, hey Harry? What's up?”

“I came across (y/n) havin’ a panic attack like-two hours ago? Any idea-woah!” Jane’s eyes widened and she grabbed onto his shirt.

“what?! Is she okay? Did-“ Harry quickly covered the girl's mouth.

“she’s fine Jane, she’s in ‘er room now restin’ I just wanted to know if this is a recurring thing or that was the first time it happened”

“recurring” Jane sighed, wrenching Harry's hand from her mouth “she has an anxiety disorder, that’s why she's always so quiet, doesn’t like to draw attention to herself and all that”

Harry furrowed his brows, fixing his bag on his shoulder “ah, is that why she’s all blushy ‘round me then? All those thoughts goin’ wild n stuff?”

“nah” Jane waved her hand nonchalantly “She's just crushing on you….oop didn’t mean to say that!” Jane looked back at him with wide eyes.

A small smile grew on Harry's face “she-she has a crush on meh?”

“I-uh-fudge, yes” Jane sighed, slapping her palm against her forehead “dangit she told me about it in confidence and I just blurt it out like tha-wait!” Harry patted Jane's shoulder with a chuckle and pushed her aside a bit.

“Thanks, Jane~ I gotta go!” Harry took off towards leaving a confused Jane in the hall.

“wait what are you going to do!” Jane yelled, huffing as no response came back “…OH!” Jane squealed, hopping in place. Harry liked (y/n) back! Ohhhh this was going to be so cute!

She had to tell the VK girls, Evie and Dizzy would die!

-

You sighed, smoothing down the front of your oversized hoodie and further curling into a ball on your bed, sporadically clicking the attack button on your gaming device as you fought one of the hardest mini-bosses of the game.

“come one-, die you-gah!” you seethed, cursing as your weapon broke “again?! goddammit!”

“I have’ta say, it’s weird to hear yeh curse darlin’” you screeched, halfway tossing your switch across the room, the device bouncing off your bed and landing on the pile of pillows on the floor.

You looked towards your door, pressing a hand to your chest as you let out a long sigh “Harry! Geez I’m still calming down from earlier, don’t barge in like that!”

Harry winced, closing the door behind him “sorry love, I brought yer homework and some food fer yeh” he held up his bag and a white plastic bag holding a box of food.

“oh” you felt your face heat up as he stepped closer to your bed “thank you”

“no problem darlin’” he purred, setting the bag of food next to you and tossing his bag on your desk. “so~” he started, leaning closer to you with a sly smirk on his face “I heard something really~ interesting on meh way here~”

You rose your brow and flipped open the box of food, humming at the still steaming (preferred lunch).

“little Janey said yer crushin on meh~” your entire body stopped, it felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped on you “and before yeh freak out with all those thoughts yeh get” he leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek “it's not one-sided darlin’ “

You felt your brain short circuit, unable to think ANYTHING as you stared at harry. He chuckled softly and gave you a toothy smirk, his eyes crinkling as he looked at you like he never had before. “Cat got yer tongue love?.I’ll let yeh process it all, but just know, I do like yeh back, and I would jump off a cliff sooner than hurt yeh….” He kissed your cheek again and stood, stopping as you suddenly reached out and grabbed his arm.

“um-I-, I just wanted to say it myself” you muttered, tugging him back down to your side “I-I-I” you stuttered, feeling your face heat up as harry smiled at you with that adorable crinkled nose “ilikeyou” you gasped, grabbing his collar and pulling him towards you, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek and quickly falling back on your bed, pulling your pillow over your face and screeching into it.

Harry just chuckled and patted your knee “like yeh too darlin’ I’ll see yeh later love, okay?”

You just let out some sort of garbled response into your pillow. “okay, text me if yeh want me ta bring yeh dinner” he quickly took his back, emptied your homework from it, and left the room, locking the door behind him.

You let out a huff as you chucked your pillow at the wall, feeling a grin blooming on your face. You squealed, patting your cheeks to try to make the heat escape from it.

“he likes me back” you breathed, giggled erupting from your chest “he likes me back!!!!!” fits of laughter overtook you as you wiggled happily in your bed “he likes me!!!!”

Harry bit his lip to hide his grin as he listened to your mini-celebration “She's so adorable” he chuckled, fixing his bag and walking off, whistling a little tune as he did so.

-end-

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Leisken the Lonely

[headsup- this one has some minor child abuse and bad parents, although it's implied that they get what they deserve in the end]

---

Things are getting worse.

The butterfly doesn’t talk much, but they listen plenty. Apparently, they’re safe to share secrets around. Is it because nobody would listen to them? Because of their stutter? Or because they’re viewed as less than a bug, less than an actual member of society? They don’t know, and it doesn’t really matter which reason because it’s probably all of those reasons anyway.

They stifle a yawn, waft their wings, and hold them out again for the fancy bugs nearby to view. A late night party with rich food and fermented drinks and plenty of whispers and gossip.

Rumors of sickness. Famine. Disputes. Violent disagreements. Should we leave the City? It’s probably more dangerous beyond. Have you heard if they’re going to close the gates? That would protect us, right?

Leisken fans their wings again. They feel warm. Cautiously, they turn their head to observe more of the room. Is anyone else feeling this heat? It… doesn’t look like it. They must be imagining it. Maybe it’s not having drunk anything in a while. Maybe it’s the discomfort of what they’re hearing. Maybe it’s…

YOU COULD KILL THEM, YOU KNOW.

Leisken jolts off their stool, falling to an undignified heap. Immediately, they attempt to scramble to their feet, but already Mother is storming over, her skirts and scarves roiling. With a tight grip on their arm, she jerks them up and drags them to the side of the room, away from the nearest cluster of socializing guests.

“What did you do?” she hisses.

“I-I-I j-jj- I just-” Leisken stammers, trying to keep from pulling away.

“What is it this time?”

“Mm-mm.. It’s-s-”

“Weakness is what it is. You’re supposed to be working on that.”

“I c-cann- I’ll d-do bbetter- I’ll j-just-” They turn their head to look at their stool. They’ll sit there if it means-

“No. No no no, you’re done. You ruined it. If I let you go back out there..." She clicks in aggravation. "But I won’t. You don’t deserve that. To your room. Don’t bother any of the servants. Don’t leave until I come for you.”

Their wings droop.

“None of that. Retain your dignity.”

Leisken obediently fixes their wings to an approved angle. They notice Father standing nearby wearing his guests-think-I’m-just-a-little-bored-but-actually-I’m-furious-at-you face. It’s hard to keep their wings from drooping again.

Mother waves her hand. “Go on.”

Stiffly, they turn and walk at a measured pace for the nearest side door. “Sometimes, I don’t know why we keep bothering with you,” Mother says under her breath but still where Leisken can hear. They’re sure they were meant to hear it. They resolve to do better next time. They make this resolution all the time. They’re not sure they’ve actually gotten any better at anything.

They stumble, but they make it to the door and slip out, almost catching the edge of a wing in their haste to put the door between themself and the ballroom. And hopefully that voice.

Miserably, they pass by a servant conveying a tray of food to the guests without interaction.

YOU COULD KILL THEM, YOU KNOW.

They trip as they whirl around. Again on the floor. They look around a little frantically, but they quickly stay their terror as the servant, an expression of concern, stops to look at them. But they’re not supposed to interact! Leisken pushes themself to their feet and shuffles quickly away. To their room. It’s nothing special. But they can almost be alone here. Almost be safe. That’s what they pretend, anyway. It helps. A little bit. Maybe.

But they’re still warm. Uncomfortably so. It’s never warm in here.

YOU COULD KILL THEM, YOU KNOW.

Where is that voice coming from?! Nobody should be in here with them! Tremulously, they speak: “H-hello..?”

No answer.

“Pl-please… I n-n-need to- I ddon’t want to k-k-k-k…”

YOU DON’T HAVE TO WANT TO.

They breathe shakily.

ARE YOU HAPPY HERE?

Automatically, they nod, even though they’re not sure what happy feels like. They’re not supposed to reveal their discomfort, much less their misery.

Silence. Warm silence. Hot silence. Oppressive silence.

Leisken stands stiffly and waits.

A gust of cool air washes over them along with Father’s voice: “You missed the servant’s knock summoning you to breakfast. Surely, you aren’t still trying to-- Oh?”

Leisken blinks and stiffly turns to see Father standing in the doorway.

“Practicing your form? Maybe you’re finally learning. Well. Come along, it’s time for lunch.”

Weakly, Leisken follows.

----

Things carry on as they did before.

Except not really.

All those things that Leisken had heard rumors about? They are becoming more than rumors. People are getting hungry and hurt and scared. Leisken is too, but they do their best not to show it. And when they feel the heat, they expect the voice to follow. They do their best not to show a reaction to either of those.

They’re losing it. They know that. They’ve long suspected, but these are… These are hallucinations. Or something. Right? Not real. Nobody else feels the heat. Nobody else reacts to the voice. … unless everyone else is hiding their reactions too?

One day, they notice that one of their antennae aches. It’s not much, but they swear it feel hot even when the rest of their body isn’t experiencing that sensation.

“Leisken. Stay focused.”

“R-right.” they mumble, adjusting their posture.

“Honestly, it’s like you’re trying to irritate me. …I’m waiting.”

They do a quick check of themself, but everything feels positioned how she’d want it to be.

“Your antenna.”

“M-my..?” They thought they were holding them both in the same way, at the proper angle and curve. Hesitantly, they reach up to feel them. The one that always feels warm now is stiffer except for toward the end. The club part feels hotter than the rest. And heavier?

“Something the matter?”

“Mmgh.. I d-d-don’t--”

“Forget I asked,” Mother scoffs in an offended tone as she turns away.

Leisken suppresses a wince as they try to coax the stubborn antenna into an acceptable shape.

---

“Why didn’t you say anything to us about this?”

“I d-d-didn’t-t-thin-nk th--”

“You need to tell us about things like this. You understand that, right? We need you to look your best, and this? This isn’t it.” Mother holds the antenna none too gently, but Leisken can barely feel her fingers over the heat. The swollen clubbed ending throbs painfully. “This won’t do. You can’t attend the party like this. People will ask questions.”

“O-oh…” Not have to attend a party..? That’s.. That’s..! But, they shouldn’t get their hopes up. And besides, the antenna is still...

Mother snaps her fingers toward another bug. “Come here. Take them to get this fixed. If it needs to be amputated, get a prosthetic. Asymmetrical antennae are not what people want to see.”

The servant bows and takes a step nearer Leisken who doesn’t want anything amputated, but… What can they do?

---

“We’ve already had the servants stock it and move enough of our things over. We’ll go there soon enough. ...Leisken, stop playing with that. You’ll just mess it up, and with businesses closing their doors, who knows if we’d be able to get you a replacement.”

Leisken lowers their hand. They’re not used to having the prosthetic antenna. They think they look fine without it. And there are no bugs to show off to right now. Everyone here knows. And it’s not like they’re symmetrical anywhere else.

Besides, the antenna still aches, still feels warm. But that swollen bit on the end... it’s good that was removed. The orange that oozed out startled the surgeon, but the servant assured Leisken that everything would be fine. Their parents wouldn’t learn about this.

They’re soon told to pack up and be prepared to leave. But once they’re in their room, they just sit on the hard bed. What’s there to pack up? Nothing. Their room is decorated with items that other bugs have picked out for them. They don’t care to take anything with them.

They sigh and wonder when they’ll hear the voice again.

---

But it’s not until they’re in the vault, safe and secure as the City falls apart outside, that the voice deigns to talk to them again.

DO THEY REALLY THINK THEY’RE SAFE HERE?

Leisken’s breath catches.

DO THEY THINK I CAN’T REACH THEM HERE?

They close their eyes and hug their arms to their body.

“Leisken,” calls Father sharply from across the room. He’s making that face again. “It’s only been a couple weeks. You’d better keep it together.”

They nod and try to relax their body. They’re hot, but they know it’s not because of their clothes. Nor the stuffy vault they’re trapped in. Nor the constant judgmental presence of their guardians.

YOU COULD KILL THEM, YOU KNOW.

They don’t want to-

IMAGINE! NO NAGGING, NO PRESSURE TO BE PERFECT AND PRESENTABLE!

They don’t-

YOU’D FINALLY BE FREE TO DO WHATEVER YOU WANT TO DO!

They-

YOU WANT THIS.

They do.

THAT’S RIGHT. YOU COULD KILL THEM. EVERYTHING WOULD CHANGE FOR YOU.

It would.

It will.

It does.

---

It’s so dark.

IT’S SO LIGHT, YOU MEAN.

There’s no purpose for anything.

JUST LISTEN TO ME.

There’s no point in hiding the bodies. They’re all hidden down here together. Forever.

FOREVER.

Alone forever…

NOT QUITE. YOU’RE WITH ME FOREVER.

With you…

---

Time has no meaning in forever. It’s always warm and light. Nobody judges them because there’s nobody to judge. They don’t have to adjust their posture because they don’t have a body. Not really. It’s not theirs. It hasn’t been for a long time.

Leisken hasn’t been in a long time.

Leisken was their name, right? That’s… that was them?

Why does that matter now?

Why does it…

Where are their…

What’s over th…

Oh.

...

They…

They need to get out.

They fumble weakly at the locks and mechanisms. They cry and they shake and they try not to think. They’d gotten so good at not thinking.

Out! They’re out! They stumble out into the rain and collapse. What do they feel? They don’t know. But they feel. And that feels significant.

Slowly, they force themself to rise. To stand. To lean against a crumbling stone wall.

Why do they feel so cold? More cold than this rain could make them.

Why do they feel so alone? More alone than the empty streets around them.

Disorientated, confused, tired, terrified.

Leisken moves forward.

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[bonus art because it's a mood]