#and they’re left feeling like they’ve wasted so much of their time

[upsidedownwithsteve]

hi emmy! i hope this isn't weird but i just wanted to tell you that your writing has made me sooo much more confident in asking for what i want out of my relationships. i owe you big time, thank you so much for everything you share with us 💜

this is such an amazing message to get! I love this. and you’re so right in doing so! get what you deserve! tell potential partners what you expect from relationships! love languages, future plans, wants, needs! they’re all so important!

please don’t read books and watch movies and think these types of men/women/relationships only exist in fiction. no one is ever perfect but understanding what you want - and deserve - from a relationship is so !!! and then communicate that. verbalise it.

and if that person says no or can’t promise you those things, it’s okay to move on.

i’m so happy for you baby 🧡

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hi!!, I wanted to request Damian Wayne reacting to finding out that the reader has an entire notebook dedicated just to his drawings, and also reacting to the reader being extremely embarrassed and shy when Damian discovers his secret.

Damian didn’t know what to expect when he had opened your notebook there you’ve been so secretive about, but seeing page after page filled with draft drawings he’s made and discarded when they didn’t exactly go to plan.

It didn’t matter if if was be sketches of his pets, siblings, his father, Alfred or even some of your doing your own thing, they were all there regardless of any deeper reasoning.

It was got obvious that the deeper Damian went he was greeted with older and older drawings back when he was just starting to get good at drawing and what style he was or wasn’t comfortable with. It was almost as though the notebook was a testament to his development as a growing artist.

So as he sat on your bed, making his way through the notebook and found more and more drawings he thought he discarded ages ago. He was flattered to say the least but didn’t understand why you’d dedicate an entire notebook to him and his artwork. Damian was certain that you had your own reasons for doing so, but until then he would indulge the feelings of nostalgia build within him as he recognised his growth in each piece he’s ever made.

It wasn’t long before you came back into the room from a quick trip to the kitchen for a drink, your breath had caught in your throat upon seeing Damian with your notebook in hand, looking as though he was at an interesting plot point in a book.

‘Damian?’ You asked. ‘Why do you have my notebook? Where did you find it? Give it back.’

Damian shuts the book and sets it aside as he then looks you in the eye. ‘I should be asking you why you’re the one with an entire notebook dedicated to my drawings?hmmm?’ He threw back at you with a calmness that had you a little unnerved.

‘Drawings? Yours? Are you sure they’re not mi-‘

‘They’ve all got my signature at the bottom of the left hand corner.’ Damian interrupted you as you worry about his reaction. Did he think you were weird, a creep, a freak? You didn’t know as Damian had a great grasp at keeping his true feelings hidden.

You sighed, burrowing your burning face into your hands in embarrassment, not wanting to look him in the eyes as you admit your secret. ‘Fine. They are your drawings in that notebook but I only kept them because I really, really like your drawings and didn’t want them going to waste.’ You told him as you awaited for the worst, only to hear a bit a shuffling coming from him before a hand was placed on your shoulder.

‘I assumed that was the case.’ Damian said softly as he gently peeled your hands away from your face and held them. You blinked at him, not expect in this kind of reaction from Damian. ‘Your not creeped out? Embarrassed? Nothing?’ You asked meekly, still feeling a little embarrassed about the whole thing.

Damian sighs as a small smile tugs on his lips. ‘No, if anything it’s kind of…endearing come to think of it as it acts as a time capsule showcasing my development in skill, style and technique.’ He says before adding. ‘It’s an honour knowing that you admire my drawings so much to make a notebooks about them but I’ve got just one request.’

‘What is it?’ You replied, anxiety spiking back up once more.

‘Just ask me to draw something for your notebook rather than settle with half finished draft sketches.’ Damian said as he grabbed the notebook from behind him and found a blank page and dedicated the next hour or so sketching an utter masterpiece.

[stylesharrys]

The Box | Part Two [Boxerry]

Y/N and Harry find themselves on the run from the same people that killed Sam, and Y/N isn't sure how much more of this she can take. 

A/N: this is the final part of the series, still mad that it wouldn’t let me post it as one big fic but it is what it is. I’m working super hard on some new things for you guys and I’m excited to share them when they’re ready… but I do have a couple more old exclusive pieces I might share first :) 

Warnings: (in no particular order) mentions of death/loss of a sibling and grandparent, mentions of miscarriage, unsupportive parents, swearing, brief descriptions of illegal fighting, money laundering, use of weapons, brief mentions of alcohol, mentions of anxiety, schizophrenia and multiple personality disorder, smut; kissing, teasing, dirty talk, fingering, protected sex, oral (both receiving/69)

WC: 14.8k 

//

“Y/N, you forgot to sign off on meds.” 

With a very tired sigh, Y/N huffs to herself. She’s been like this all day, messing up here and there, forgetting things she wouldn’t ever usually forget. But that’s what happens when Y/N gets in her head. She makes mistakes and finds it difficult to think straight. 

She wouldn’t have this problem if she didn’t sleep with Harry. If he didn’t sneak out while she slept like she had told him to. But alas, here she is, unable to think about anything else other than the dull ache between her thighs where she craves him the most. 

She probably wouldn’t be this pent up if they spoke about it — or spoke at all in general. But they haven’t, not really. In the last two days, they’ve shared a total of six texts between them, and she doesn’t even have to look at her phone to remind herself of what they say. 

Harry: I left while you were sleeping, thought it would be best that way x

Y/N: yeah, I get it x

Y/N: I won’t be able to come to the club until Wednesday if that’s ok. Working late the next two days

Harry: no stress, come whenever u can x

Y/N: just to make you aware, Mary has started new medication for her diabetes x

Harry: cool, thank you x

The small conversation had been spread over 48 hours and Y/N isn’t sure how to feel about that. Is that a hint that she should take? That he’s not interested in it happening again, even though they alluded to another time when they were together? 

It’s the unknown that’s had her so worked up today. So much so that even now, fixing her mistake on the medication sheet, she somehow almost signs the wrong name off. 

Handing the pen back to Cynthia, Y/N finally grabs her bag and zips up her jacket to leave work. She doesn’t waste a second before opening the door and allowing the biting chill of the night's air to nip at the skin of her face. 

The idea of a steaming hot bath and a glass of white wine sits heavy in her mind as she makes for the car park, tries to think of the best way she can take her mind off Harry this evening. 

She supposes she could catch up with one of her shows, maybe even start the book she bought last week and still hasn’t got round to opening. 

A book, bath and a glass of wine is what she decides on — she might even be cheeky and order food in or pick something up on the way home. 

It’s only a few more steps to her car when she hears an engine turn on a few spaces from her. Headlights light up the dark, illuminating her way slightly and she squints. 

The late shift ended two hours ago and no one else is finishing or starting shift at this time of the night. She wonders if it’s just someone who lives locally that’s using their parking lot, but the harder she looks, the more unnerved she feels. 

Y/N recognises the three faces in the car — two in the front and one in the back. She remembers their intense gazes from the pub just a few nights ago; where Harry got extremely uptight about their presence — and now, they’re here, outside of her work, staring at her. 

That familiar feeling of fear settles heavy in her stomach and as if out of impulse, she begins to slow her speed and sifts through her purse, appearing as though she’s searching for her keys. 

She stops then, subtly pulls her phone out and turns around back toward the building of the care home, like she’s lost what she’s looking for. It’s when her back is completely toward the car and her feet slowly carry her back to the front door to not appear spooked, she’s dialling Harry’s number and bringing the phone to her ear. 

It only rings once and then he answers. 

“Hey,” his voice is light, happy. “I was just about to call you.” 

“Harry, I need you to pick me up from work.” The panic in her voice stirs something worrisome in Harry’s gut and his once airy tone is diminished. 

“Okay, I’m coming. What’s wrong, Penny? Are you okay?” 

“Those guys from the pub the other night are here. They’re in a car right by mine and I’m scared. I don’t know what to fucking do!” 

He’s swallowing down the bile that crawls up his throat, grabbing his keys from the table in the office as he stands. 

“Are you in your car?”

“No, I was walking out of work when I noticed them.”

“Go back inside and meet me out the back. Do not leave the building until I text you.”

“Can you please stay on the phone with me?” 

His heart clenches, hands balling into fists. He doesn’t say anything to anyone as he leaves the club, only a few of the guys training in the space. 

“Yeah, just keep talking to me. How many guys are in the car?” 

Y/N hears him start up his engine as she re-enters the building and rushes through the halls. “Three.” 

Harry doesn’t have to ask what they look like to know who they are. The anger that consumes him begins to shake his body, red slowly blurring his vision and he hasn’t driven this fast since the night of Sammy’s death. 

“Harry, who are they? Why did you get spooked at the pub when you saw them and why the fuck are they waiting outside my work?” 

He doesn’t answer her. “I’ll be two minutes, just stay inside.” 

She doesn’t like the way he dismisses her question, how she’s being left in the dark, purposefully. That fear begins to ache in her fingertips, heart racing against her ribcage and those familiar signs of a panic attack begin to make themselves apparent. 

“Har… I can’t breathe. I’m freaking the fuck out.” 

“Don’t,” he tells her, voice stern. “I’m coming around the corner. It’s gonna be fine…. I’m outside.” 

She pushes through the back door quickly, eyes frantically searching for his Chevy when she finally spots his headlights. Harry flashes them at her, leaning over to open the passenger door and Y/N’s quick to get inside and lock it shut behind her. 

The state she’s in makes Harry feel sick. Eyes like a deer in headlights, fear prominent in every feature. She turns to him with a wild look, swallowing thickly. 

Harry reaches for her hand and gives her a reassuring squeeze before reversing out of the narrow road and turning back around. 

“What the fuck is going on?” 

He keeps his eyes fixed on the road, ignoring her question until she calls his name again, much sterner this time. 

“Tell me what is going on.” 

He looks at her briefly, dragging his eyes back to the road again. This is not how he wanted it to go. He didn’t want her caught up in this mess and he didn’t want to have to be the one to explain Sammy’s death. Much less under these circumstances. 

“I’m going to take you back to my place and I’ll explain everything there, okay?” 

Y/N shakes her head profusely, tearing her hand from Harry’s hold as the panic refuses to subside. 

“No, that’s not okay. Harry, I can’t—“

“Penny! Stop. Do you trust me?” 

She blinks at him. “What?” 

“Do you trust me?” he repeats, accentuating every word. 

It’s not something she needs to think about. Maybe it’s a bit crazy, a bit premature, but she does trust him. With her life. 

She nods her head once. “I trust you.” 

Her words sit a little heavy in Harry’s chest. She trusts him. The confirmation of it doesn’t relax him like he thought it would. Because Sam trusted him, and Harry was too late. 

He’ll be damned if history repeats itself. 

“Then trust when I say I’ll explain everything when we get home. You’re safe with me, and I need you to calm down.” 

He knows it’s easier said than done but when he doesn’t hear Y/N complain, and he feels her relax into her seat the best she can, that heaviness sits a little lighter. 

“Okay.” 

The usual forty minute drive to Harry’s apartment takes just under twenty minutes. The roads are clear and Harry’s not ashamed to admit he stepped on the gas a little harder than usual. 

To him, this isn’t a time to take a leisurely drive and admire the night's view. Because if this is anything like before, it’s life or death and Harry won’t allow the latter. 

His flat is on the third floor of a fairly large complex. It’s stealth-like, how he guides her through the halls and into his flat. She takes it in for a few seconds. Clean, tidy, minimal. 

Like he can up and leave at any given moment if necessary. 

Harry throws his keys on the coffee table and rushes to the window, closing the blinds before wandering to the kitchen to do the same. A frown sits heavy between his brows and there’s something a bit erratic about him. 

The composure she had just moments before is quickly dwindling and soon enough, she’s back to panicking again. 

“Can you tell me what the fuck is going on now?” 

Harry chews on the inside of his cheek, hands on his hips as he looks at her. Neither of them really take into consideration that this is the first time they’ve seen each other since they slept together. 

And now is not a time to bring it up either. 

Harry huffs. “Look, those guys are bad news. Mentally fucking insane, okay? They had it out for Sam and now they’re after you.” 

Y/N stares at him, blinking her eyes wide. “Excuse me?” 

He doesn’t want to tell her, can't stomach the idea of it, but Harry knows he doesn’t have a choice. He can’t keep her in the dark about her brother forever. And now that the same people are after her, she deserves to know the truth. 

“Sam wasn’t always this great guy, Penny. He had a dark side and they were a part of it.” 

The mention of her late brother makes her heart twist. Her chest begins to rattle as she tries to take in his words. To understand what he’s trying to get at. 

“What are you trying to say?” She poses the question carefully, not wanting to read the situation wrong. 

A look of softness flashes across Harry’s face as he takes a step closer. “Sammy’s death wasn’t an accident,” he begins, “Those guys ran him off the road and killed him.”

It’s all too much and everything starts caving in on her. Y/N can hardly breathe, can barely even see. There’s a drumming in her head that deafens her, a haze in her eyes that blinds her. 

Her brother didn’t pass away. He was taken — his soul torn from his body before he was ready to go, and Y/N can’t stomach that. Can’t handle the truth of what Harry’s told her. 

How is she supposed to live her life now? Knowing her brother was murdered. Knowing they are the reason for it. 

“Why?” she cries through laboured breaths. 

“Sam owed them money.”

“How much?” 

There’s a pause, and then… “Thirty grand.” 

She’s completely exasperated, struggling to comprehend anything he’s saying. Was thirty grand really worth his life? 

“He was late in paying them,” Harry continues. “We had Feds on our backs watching the club and all of our transactions, we couldn’t risk it.” 

Y/N looks at him, brows pinched tightly as she struggles to see through the onslaught of tears. “So he just refused?” 

Harry shakes his head. “No, not at first. But then they uh… they went after this girl he’d been seeing—“

“—Amira?”

Harry nods. “They tried scaring her, to give Sam a message. They roughed her up — Penny…” he pauses, like he’s preparing himself to say what he needs to, and just when Y/N thinks it couldn’t get worse, it does, “She was pregnant. And she lost the baby because of it.” 

Harry doesn’t give her time to properly process his words, figures it’ll be best to rip most of the bandaid off at once rather than in small increments. 

“Sam lost his shit, told them that they’ll never see their money and that he was after them. One night, they showed up at the club and all Hell broke loose. They ran, we followed — Sam in one car and me in another.” 

The way his voice begins to dwindle with every passing word makes Y/N’s stomach sink. Like she knows what he’s leading up to, that he’s about to divulge the traumatic truth of her brother's death. 

She doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to hear what will haunt her for the rest of her life. But her heart needs the truth — needs to understand what happened to him, needs revenge. 

“Sam was always a better driver; faster,” he croaks, and he falls silent for a second or two until he speaks again with a broken voice. “I heard the sound the same time I turned the corner — his car had flipped and was wrapped around a telephone pole. And they were gone.” 

Her heart is in her stomach, a numbing pain searing through her veins. Pain for Amira and their baby, pain for Sam, pain for herself. But with the pain comes anger. Anger toward the men that killed him. Anger toward the fact that Harry’s always had this knowledge of Sam’s death and didn’t say anything until now, when he felt he had to. 

“You’ve known this whole time.”

There’s little to no emotion in her voice, and the blank expression in her eyes begins to unnerve Harry slightly. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologises, “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“So you just weren't going to tell me at all?” 

Harry’s growing frustrated but he knows he has no right. He kept this secret from her, he chose to protect her from the truth and is only now realising the consequences of that decision. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “You can hate me all you want but right now, we need to get out of here.” 

A slither of confusion cracks through that empty facade as she takes in the desperation of his voice. Like she’s only now just remembering the severity of the situation they’re in. 

“What?” 

“It’s a matter of time before they check your place, check mine and then riot the club. They didn’t just stop after Sam. They’re trying to take over The Box and that includes getting rid of you and I.”

That all consuming panic is quick to surge through her body, chest rising and falling rapidly as the anger subsides to fear. 

“So… so we need to leave town.” 

He nods slowly at her shaky words, allowing her to take the lead as much as she can so she doesn't feel forced. Y/N scratches at her forehead, keeps her eyes on the ground below her. 

“Okay. Uh… I take it we can’t go back to my place. Can I, like, borrow some clothes or something?” 

“Yeah,” Harry breathes. “I’ll pack a bag now, you should probably call work, tell them there’s a family emergency and you won’t be in for a few days.” 

He leaves her for a few minutes, rushing off to pack a bag in his bedroom. Y/N’s fumbling to type a text to her manager, struggles to keep the tears at bay. 

It’s all too much. It’s one thing to find out her brother was murdered, but to hear the same people that killed him are after her and Harry now? She feels like she can’t breathe. 

//

“Hi, d’you have any more rooms available for the night?” 

He’s softly tapping his finger on the reception desk, eyes on Y/N as he speaks and she’s full of the jitters. 

Harry sped their way to the next town over, pulling into the first motel they came across. She was silent for the majority of the drive, too in her head to offer a coherent conversation but Harry understood, so he didn’t press it. 

And she’s the same now, curled into herself as Harry hands over enough cash to pay for their room for tonight, and lugs the bags in his hands with the room key, making toward the elevator. 

“I’m sorry I kept the truth from you, I didn’t want to taint your memories of him.” He breaks the silence as the door closes and they’re carried higher through the building. 

“That wasn’t for you to decide.”

It’s quiet but he hears her, loud and clear. Harry hates that he’s made her feel this way – that he’s gotten her mixed up in this shitshow. He’s guilty, blames himself for everything that happened to Sam, everything that’s now happening to her.

“I’m sorry,” she squeaks out. 

He looks down at her, brows pinched as she gazes up at him through fluttering lashes and hooded eyes, “What for?” 

“None of this is your fault, I know you were only trying to protect me from the truth. Don’t do that again.” 

Harry nods curtly as the doors open and he leads them down the hall in search of their room for the night. He unlocks it, flicks on the lights and lets Y/N walk through first. 

It’s nothing special, just a standard cheap hotel room, but what does catch Y/N’s eye is the bed. Just the one. And she’s reminded of the last time she saw him, when he was in her bedroom, fucking the life out of her. Despite the circumstances, she’s not opposed to sharing a bed – it might make her feel a little safer – but they’ve not discussed their previous meet-up and she doesn’t know what to make of it. 

Harry notices how her gaze stays fixated on the bed and heat rises to his cheeks. “I’ll take the sofa.”

Y/N turns to him, brows pinched. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re not exactly strangers, Harry. We’ve literally had sex together — I think we’re past the formalities.” 

The bluntness of her words has Harry’s eyes widening. His lips part in shock at how brazen she appears about their hook-up. Harry had begun to think she regretted it, and that was why she didn’t bring it up. 

Clearly, he’s been sorely mistaken. He thinks. 

He clears his throat, forcing a cough. “Right.” 

He plants the bag on the sofa and retrieves a pair of boxer shorts and an old t-shirt, handing them both to Y/N. She takes them, guides herself to the bathroom and shuts the door. 

It takes Harry a few seconds to regulate his breathing — to get a grip on his emotions and the numbing fear that rattles his body. The whole ordeal is a bit too triggering for him — like he’s potentially going to relive his best friend's death through Y/N. 

He doesn’t know what scares him more. What could happen to her or the lengths he’ll go to to protect her. Either thought is too much to process, so instead he lets his mind wonder about the other situation at hand. 

She’s about to get into bed with him, wearing his clothes, after they hooked up a couple of days ago and are yet to discuss what the hell it means for them. 

And Harry’s aware that it’s definitely not an appropriate time to be thinking about it, but he is. Because he hasn’t been able to stop since it happened. 

He’s torn from his thoughts when the bathroom door opens and Y/N creeps into the bedroom. His heart is lodged in his throat at the sight. His clothes are too big for her and her legs look incredibly soft and smooth, the hem of his t-shirt barely covering her bum. 

“There’s a spare toothbrush on the side. Bathroom’s all yours.” 

There’s not much emotion in her voice now, and Harry can tell from her puffy eyes that she’s been crying behind that bathroom door. His heart cracks a little but he doesn’t say anything. 

Instead he uses the bathroom, strips into a pair of boxers (hoping Y/N won’t mind as he didn’t pack a whole lot of clothes), and brushes his teeth before joining her in the hotel room again. 

She’s under the covers now, only his bedside lamp on and Harry’s heart starts to thump. It’s been a while since he’s laid in bed with someone without something happening. 

Nevertheless, he crawls in beside her and flicks off the light. He keeps a respectable distance between them but still close enough to make out the shadows of her face. That’s when he hears it, the soft sniffles and shaky breath. 

A sigh escapes his lips as he shuffles closer with arms outstretched. He half expects her to push him away, tell him no, she’s still angry with him, but she doesn’t. She coddles herself into his chest instead and lets him hold her — comfort her. 

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Penny. I promise.”

And while she appreciates the reassuring words, it doesn’t do much to soothe her fear and anxiety. Nothing could make her feel safe right now — not even Harry’s warm and strong body keeping her close. Not completely safe, anyway. Not now that she knows the truth. 

What she thinks she needs is a distraction. Something to make her forget, even just for a short while. So it’s not really a surprise to her when she finds herself pulling out of Harry’s hold just enough to crane her neck up to look at him. 

He’s already gazing down at her, eyes as dark as the night. With softly puckered lips, Y/N leans up just enough to press a gentle kiss against his mouth. 

It surprises Harry, if he’s honest. He never would’ve taken her for someone to initiate things first, but he has to remind himself that she’s the type of girl to go after what she wants, and she was the one to initiate things last time. 

He kisses her back just as softly, lips moulding to hers as they both lay on their sides, Y/N lifting her leg to wrap it around Harry’s waist. 

It’s a bold hint that Harry gets, and he pulls away slowly to get a look at her, to search for a single shred of doubt or hesitation. When he falls short, he noses at her temple. 

“It’s probably not a good idea tonight,” he breathes, trying desperately to ignore the way his cock lunges. “Your emotions are really heightened right now. I don’t want you to regret it in the morning.” 

She shakes her head. “I won’t. I didn’t regret it last time,” she tells him, “I just need to forget for a little while.”

Harry swallows thickly. So she doesn’t regret it. And she wants it to happen again, right now, to forget. 

“I uh,” he clears his throat, “I don’t have anything — I don’t have a condom with me.” 

Y/N blinks, lips parting. The idea of not using one does cross both of their minds but they’re smarter than that. 

Her hand reaches between their bodies, fingertips grazing across the throbbing length of Harry’s hard cock beneath his boxers. 

“We can do other stuff, can’t we?” 

Her voice is a sensual whisper and it makes his head spin. She’s compelling, everything about her. So he’s not very shocked when he finds himself nodding his head and leaning down to greet her in a kiss again. 

Y/N palms at his clothed cock, hips gently rocking as she tries to get closer. This is what she needs. Him. Anything he’ll give her to make her forget what life is like right now — what she’s running from. 

Harry’s hand cups the side of her jaw, kissing her a little harder. Her spare hand reaches for his wrist to move it away, guides it down their bodies and between her legs until he’s cupping her aching heat through (his) boxers. 

“Are you sure?” 

She squeezes his cock, dipping her fingers into the waistband of his underwear. “Touch me, Har. Need it so bad.” 

He swallows thickly, palming at her heat as a shuddered moan slips from her lips and into his mouth. She wraps her cool fingers around his shift, a hiss sounding from the back of his throat. 

“Need to forget everything, H. Just want you.” 

The neediness in her voice sends him spiralling, latching his mouth to hers with as much force as he can muster. The kiss is messy, dirty — all tongue and teeth and Y/N thinks it’s the hottest thing she’s ever experienced. 

Her hand begins to bob on his cock, long strokes and as she reaches his tip, small beads of precum coat her fingers, smearing across his length. He seethes, a hum soon following as he tries to stay quiet. 

But Y/N doesn’t want him to be quiet. She wants to hear him, how she’s making him feel. 

She pumps a little faster, grip a little tighter. Harry’s sneaking his fingers into the boxers she’s wearing, swirling his fingers between her folds and she’s soaked — almost dripping, really. 

“Jesus Christ, Penny. You’re fucking soaked.” 

She moans into his mouth, bucking her hips against his hand. “I told you not to call me that,” she pants. 

“M’sorry, baby.”

She nods against the kiss. “Yeah, that’s better.”

A breathily laugh escapes Harry’s mouth, his finger prodding at her fluttering hole. She’s eager for him, desperate. Just wants to feel full of him — of whatever he can give her. 

He continues to tease her, thumb on her clit while she lazily tugs at his cock. It’s not enough for her, the gentle touches, she wants her brain turned to mush so she has no choice but to not think. 

Maybe that’s why she shuffles her position beside him until she’s kneeling by his hips and tugging his cock free from the confinements of his boxers.

Harry watches with hooded eyes as she leans down to press a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to his leaking tip. His head falls back against the pillows, chest rising and falling rapidly as she works her warm mouth on his cock. 

He keeps his hand between her thighs, fingers pinching delicately at her puffy clit, a little too fucked on the feeling of her moaning around him. 

Y/N licks messily from the base to the head, swirling her tongue across his slit before taking him into her mouth. She doesn’t mess about with it, takes as much as she can at once and lets him hit at the back of her throat. 

A gruff moan escapes Harry’s lips as she gags around him, spluttering profusely as strings of saliva dribble from the corners of her mouth. 

He reaches his spare hand down for her head, tugging at the roots of her hair to get her attention. “Turn around,” he breathes heavily. 

She pulls off him, brows pinched. “What?” 

“I wanna taste you at the same time,” he gulps. “Turn around.” 

His hand leaves her head, reaching for the boxers on her waist to tug them down while the other continues its assault on her dripping cunt. He relents for a moment to tug the underwear down her thighs and past her ankles, throwing them across the room and helping situate her above his face. 

She lets out a squeak at his eagerness, nose bumping the tip of his cock but Harry doesn’t care. Her cunt hovers over him, soaked and puffy and a quiet moan slips from his lips at the sight.

With his hands on her hips, he eases her down to latch his mouth around her cunt, slurping at her wetness as he’s finally awarded a taste of her. And he’s hooked. Completely fucked out. She’s sweeter than anything he’s ever had before and he’ll be devastated if she never allows him a taste again. 

Y/N covers him with her mouth, suckling as much as she can fit and bobbing her head with every stroke her tongue offers to the underside of his cock. They’re both messy and sloppy with their actions, eager and desperate for a release.

The hotel room will no doubt stink of sex for days after, but neither of them care. They can barely think straight as it is. 

Harry can’t get over the taste of her, wants it staining his tongue for the rest of his life. He reaches a finger down to probe at her hole, pushing in with ease as she clenches around him. 

Y/N lets out a muffled moan around his cock, the sound sending vibrations through Harry’s body which makes him twitch against her tongue. 

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he mumbles against her cunt, finger curling before he adds a second one and fucks them into her. 

Her thighs are trembling from the sides of his head, locking him in slightly to stop him trying to move away. Y/N takes him deeper into her mouth, relaxing her jaw and Harry takes the hint to start bucking his hips into her. 

It’s filthy, the noises she makes, the way his cock jabs at the back of her throat. Her pussy grips his fingers like a vice, walls fluttering and he knows she’s close. With his spare hand, Harry strikes a smack to her ass, pawing at the fleshy skin before spanking her again. 

She’s positively dripping into his mouth, her body so worked up that she can barely keep consciousness. Her eyes are stinging with tears as he thrusts harsher, effectively restricting her air supply as he does so. 

But she’s never been so turned on in her life. Sixty-nine-ing with Harry in the pitch dark. 

“Fuck! Baby, I’m gonna come.” 

He expects her to pull off him, but she doesn’t. Instead, Y/N forces her mouth further down and sucks, hand reaching between his thighs to massage his balls. 

He’s crying out her name as he releases, spurts of warm come shooting down her throat as her own orgasm rakes through her body. 

Harry laps it up the best he can, cock still buried down her throat as she comes around his fingers and drips into his mouth. She’s begging for him, whining his name as he removes his fingers and sucks them dry. 

She can feel him soften against her tongue, and with as much energy as she can muster up, she pulls off him with a heavy breath. 

“Y’okay?” 

She hums, a little floaty if she’s honest but it worked. It made her forget and now all she wants to do is sleep. 

“Mhm, thank you.”

Harry grins tiredly to himself, helping her off his chest and to lay back beside him. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and plants a gentle kiss to her forehead. 

“Let me get you some water.” 

Y/N watches him through bleary eyes as his cute, naked bum moves over to the desk across the room. He comes back, soft length still impressive, and hands the bottle to her with the cap undone. 

“Here, take a sip,” he guides the bottle to her lips and encourages her to drink before taking a swig for himself. 

Harry climbs into the bed beside her, arms outstretched and she’s quick to nuzzle into his hold. He strokes the hair from her face, keeping her close. 

“Get some sleep. I promise I’ll still be here in the morning.” 

//

Rustling from outside the hotel room is what stirs Harry awake. He’s groggy as he blinks away the sleep, arms aching from Y/N’s head as she lays cuddled up to his chest.

His heart swells for a moment at the sight of her — and then he hears it again, the noise. There’s whispers and footsteps padding outside the door, three voices.

He’s careful when he stands, not wanting to wake Y/N if he’s just overreacting. But when he levels his eyes with the peephole of the door, his flight or fight kicks in and his heart thumps in his ears.

Harry pulls away from the peephole quickly, back against the door as he tries to remain as silent as humanly possible. Y/N stirs in the bed, reaching out for him but he’s not there to cuddle again.

Her eyes flutter open, brows furrowed as she slowly lifts her head from the pillow in search of him. That’s where she spots him, against the door with a bewildered look in his eyes.

Her mouth opens to speak, but she quickly shuts it when Harry brings a finger to his lips, signalling her to stay quiet. Her heart begins to thump again, bile in her throat and she’s frozen on the bed, sheets clutched close to her naked body.

“Let’s try upstairs,” he hears Ryce say, “They’re not on this floor.”

Harry waits a moment before turning his body to peek through the peephole again. They’re slowly sauntering off down the hall, clicking the button for the elevator and stepping inside shortly after. He turns back to Y/N, chest heaving and eyes wide.

“Penny, get dressed. We need to leave, now.”

It’s a rush, to get dressed and throw everything haphazardly into Harry’s backpack. Their hearts patter wildly, breathing ragged as fear consumes the pair of them.

It’s frantic, how he looks at her, keeping her behind his back as he slowly opens the door to peek his head out. He scans the hall, straining his ears for any sound of movement and when he falls short, he very quickly and quietly tugs her out of the hotel room.

Harry leads them to the staircase, trainers skidding across the linoleum floors with every step they jump down.

“They found us, didn’t they?” she asks through laboured breaths.

He doesn’t reply, instead tightens his hold on her hand and forces her to move quicker, taking three steps at a time instead of two and she struggles to keep up with his long strides.

Harry pushes through the door of the stairs, not slowing as they race through reception and out into the cool air of the early morning. It’s then that they break into a sprint across the parking lot to reach Harry’s Chevy.

Then they hear footsteps, the door of the hotel building slamming shut. Harry throws a glance over his shoulder, catching sight of the three lunatics that are after them.

They’re slowly approaching, picking up their pace as Harry and Y/N get closer to the car. He unlocks it from a distance and throws the backpack to Y/N.

He turns to her, finger pointing in her face. “Lock yourself in the car. If they get the upper hand, you drive and you don’t look back.”

The look on his face scares her, rattles her to her core. She tries to shake her head but Harry’s shoving the keys in the palm of her hand and pushing her closer to the vehicle.

The three of them grab him at once; Ryce and Scott holding him by the arms and shoulders as the bigger man, George, throws punches against his stomach. The sight of it makes her sick, has her knees buckling and heart aching.

Nimble fingers struggle to open the car, brain fuzzy as she rushes to throw the bags in the back seats. Y/N shuts the door behind her, locking the car again as her chest rises and falls with every shaky break she takes.

It’s torture, watching as they beat him – the way they pin his arms back and take advantage of his inability to fight back. He takes every hit and punch like a man, doesn’t allow his guard to falter no matter how hard the strikes may hurt.

And it’s like they see that, too. Like they notice it’ll take a lot more than a few blows to ruin him. Maybe that’s why George relents his assault for a moment and fixes his gaze to the car – to Y/N, cowering in the backseats like a lamb ready for slaughter.

And it’s when he slowly begins to stalk toward her that Harry’s heart begins to thump a little too hard. It’s when George starts to bash his hands against the backseat window that he starts to burn a fueling fire of rage.

He struggles against the hold that Scott and Ryce have over him, unable to tear his arms out of reach. Until he hears her scream and the backseat window smashing.

Y/N can’t breathe, heart lodged in her throat and tears stinging at her vision. She watches completely frozen as George reaches his hand in and unlocks the door. Watches the sadistic smirk that plasters across his lips as he opens the door and reaches for her ankles.

“No! Get off of me!”

Her screams are futile, her body breaking into hysterical movements. Her legs kick harshly at his grabbing hands, her foot striking his throat which allows her barely a few seconds to search for something, anything.

Y/N’s eyes avert to the footwell of the passenger's seat when she sees it. A crowbar. Her fingers wrap around the metal at the same time George’s wrap around her ankles. She’s pulled from the backseats, back crashing onto the concrete of the parking lot. And in one swift motion, her arm swings forward and the curve of the bar wraps around the side of George’s head.

In an instant, his heavy build falls off her – collapsing onto his side. She waits for a beat, her eyes wide and searching for any sign of life. There’s no blood, no sound. Tentatively and with trembling hands, she leans closer to his still body and poises her fingers beneath his nose.

One breath. Two, three.

She clambers away from him with a deep breath, unsteady as she rises to her feet. She’s allowed no time to process the situation, to calm herself. Because right before her eyes, Harry is fighting for his freedom.

This time, Ryce has Harry’s arms pinned behind his back, looping with his own and Scott delivers much harder blows to Harry’s face and torso. His legs kick out, arms thrashing in Ryce’s hold but it doesn’t do much damage.

Tightening her grasp around the crowbar, Y/N doesn’t quite know what comes over her. Whether it’s fear, anger or something entirely different. Whatever it is, compels her to swing the crowbar across the backs of Ryce’s legs – the shock and force of the blow buckling his knees just enough for his hold on Harry to relent.

Y/N doesn’t give him time to turn before she jumps onto his back with her legs around his waist and the crowbar wrapped around his throat. Her body moulds to his like a bear hug, an unknown strength unleashing itself in a desperate attempt to keep him from Harry just long enough to regain his strength.

And Harry doesn’t waste a moment of the opportunity. His fist beats against Scott’s face in rhythmic blows until his body is on the ground and he can’t fight back. Harry’s knuckles stain with blood and grazes, delivering a final pinch to the bridge of Scott’s nose before climbing off his bruised body.

His chest heaves, every breath feeling as though it tears his lungs. Harry spits the build up of blood in his mouth on the floor, rolling his shoulders back and flexing his fingers before they return to their fisted state.

Ryce is red in the face, fingers wrapping around the crowbar that Y/N pulls against his throat. The anger in her face is starling to Harry, something he’s never seen before — not even in himself. A hatred so pure it could kill.

Harry approaches them quickly as Ryce throws back his elbow and it meets with the side of Y/N’s stomach. All at once, her hold on the crowbar and him falters and she’s sliding off his back and doubling over on the concrete.

Ryce throws a punch but Harry is quick to dodge, despite the fact he’s still attempting to catch his breath. Before he rises, he reaches for the crowbar and swings it against the side of Ryce’s body.

He seethes out in pain, struggles to stand straight to fight back. He messily throws his fist, easier for Harry to dodge this time and he returns it with another blow across his knees with the crowbar.

Harry throws it to the side, watching with heavy breaths as Ryce tries to steady himself again. Harry doesn’t give him the chance. He squares his fist against the side of his face and he pummels to the ground.

It’s silent for a moment, aside from Harry’s rapid breathing and Y/N’s soft whimpers as she clutches her stomach and steadies herself on her feet again.

Harry backs away from the mess they’ve created, guilt crawling up his throat as he turns to look at her. There’s a cold expression painted across her face, eyes void of anything other than a predatory gaze.

She’s got the look of someone who’s desperate to survive. That’s what this is now, sink or swim. And she knows it.

They don’t share any words, just a look. But that’s all that’s needed. That one look says everything. They’re in this together — it’s them against anyone who tries it.

It’s silent as they both get into the car, Harry picking his keys up from the floor before he starts the engine.

It’s silent when they pull out of the car park, the sound of the cold air whipping through the shattered window in the backseats.

It’s silent until Y/N finally speaks. “Where are we going?”

Harry waits a beat, eyes focussed on the road. He can’t bring himself to look at her, to be faced with her expressionless gaze again. So he looks forward, grips the wheel and clears his throat.

“To see an old friend.”

//

His body is beginning to hurt as he pulls into the familiar garage. It’s been a while since Harry’s been here and everything looks the exact same as it did last time.

He kills the engine, lets his hands slip from the wheel and he finally turns to Y/N, who’s already looking at him. She takes him in, properly. The cuts and bruises that begin to form on his soft skin, the bags that protrude under his eyes from lack of sleep and a couple of punches he caught.

It hurts her heart to no end. She wishes none of this was happening.

“Are you okay?” he finally speaks, voice soft.

She nods, but they both know she’s not. Not really.

“Are you?”

He huffs out a small laugh and reaches for her hand that sits in her lap. “I’ve been better.”

She doesn’t understand it — how he always has the energy to try to make light out of any situation. Y/N looks away briefly, taking in the surroundings of the garage.

It’s like any other she’s been to. A few old cars spread across the place, some that are very clearly undrivable and others that she thinks probably only needed a quick fix.

Her brows pinch when she thinks about why they’re here. Is a blown back window really what’s important right now? She looks back to Harry with parted lips, but he already knows what she’s going to say.

“It’s my friend's garage. He’ll be able to help with more than just a smashed window.”

Y/N nods curtly, unsure if she’s understanding what he’s letting on. She also doesn’t have any suggestions as to what the fuck else they could do to help them out of this situation, so she puts all her trust in him and this unknown friend, and prays that her brother will keep them as safe as he can.

Her eyes look forward again, noticing a man and woman emerging from a wide door to the left. She looks back to Harry, a smile on his face as he opens the door and clambers out.

Y/N follows suit, shrinking into herself a little as the two unfamiliar faces grow closer.

“No call?” the man speaks loudly, arms across his chest.

Harry shrugs, walking closer. “No time.”

A smile breaks across the man’s face as he and Harry meet in a brotherly embrace. They’re squeezing tight, smacking each other’s backs until the man pulls away and gets a look at his friends face.

“Christ, H… did you even get a hit in?”

Harry smacks him in the chest and moves slightly to greet the woman. “Hey, Ashley. How’ve you been?”

She offers him a small hug and smiles. “Better than you it appears.”

Harry pulls away with a seemingly shy smile, turning back to Y/N who remains hovering by the Chevy. He points to her with an open palm. “Penny, this is Ashley and Jimmy. Guys, this is Y/N… Sammy’s sister.”

A heavy silence falls upon the shop – so quiet they’d be able to hear a pin drop. She offers a half wave, pursed lips and teary eyes. Harry is quick to make his way by her side again, an arm wrapped loosely around her waist to offer some form of reassurance.

“Jimmy and Sam used to knock about together,” he tells her. “Jim’s actually the one that found the club and convinced Sammy to take it on.”

He offers a polite smile and wave but there’s nothing but pity in his eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss. Sam was a one-of-a-kind kid.”

She nods, doesn’t want to reminisce on her late brother. Not right now. Not after the morning they’ve had.

Harry clears his throat and scratches at the nape of his neck. “M’sorry to throw it on you guys, but d’you mind if we crash for the night? We’re in a bit of a mess right now.”

There’s no hesitation when both Jimmy and Ashley nod their heads. “Of course, stay as long as you need. Come on upstairs, I’m just about to fix up some lunch, you guys can get cleaned up.”

Harry follows them through the garage, hand on Y/N’s lower back to guide her through. She stays close to him, far too on edge to be as trusting as Harry. She has to remind herself that they were also Sammy’s friends. And he didn’t put his trust in just anybody.

“Thank you, I promise we’ll be out of your hair by morning.”

Their apartment above the garage is nice. It’s rustic and chic at the same time and Y/N finds herself drawn to the canvases that litter the walls in the hall and living room.

Jimmy seems to notice. “They’re Ash’s,” he says with a smile. “She’s a wicked artist.”

Y/N hums, a small smile painting its way on her own lips. She’s desperately trying to ignore the dull ache in the side of her stomach, tries to play it off like every breath isn’t hindering her in some small way.

They follow through to the kitchen, the same sort of vibe with a wooden kitchen island and black, steel stools. Harry guides her to take a seat and sits himself beside her, both watching Ash as she pours them each a cup of coffee.

“Did the Chevy take as much damage as you?”

Harry scoffs out a laugh and takes a sip of his drink. “Still as mouthy as ever,” he quips back. “But no, she’s just fine – apart from the back window. That got smashed to fuck.”

Y/N watches them back and forth, how they talk with such ease, like the past twelve hours didn’t happen. It has her head spinning, has her second-guessing that Harry isn’t taking this as seriously as he made her believe.

She stands abruptly from her stool, the steel screeching across the hardwood floors. All eyes fall on her and she gulps. “Can I use your bathroom?”

Ashley nods, pointing to the door just down the hall. Y/N mumbles a quiet ‘thanks’ before rushing off and pressing her back behind the locked door.

She just needs a moment. A moment to think and breathe. This is all way too much for her to handle right now and she’s never felt so alone in her entire life. It hurts her heart, her head – everything. Tears are stinging at her waterline, threatening to spill over but she wills them not to.

A small knock on the door is heard and then… “Penny? It’s me.”

Y/N swallows down her feelings and unlocks the door. Harry lets himself in; worrisome eyes and tender hands on her arms as he closes the door behind him.

“Y’okay? I know this is all probably scaring you.”

She stares at him blankly. “Scaring me? Harry, I’m fucking terrified and you’re out there laughing without a care in the world, having a catchup with an old friend, while I’m just silently freaking the fuck out.”

He coos her, pulls her into his chest and ignores the pain he feels as he holds her close. “M’sorry, m’just trying to forget about it all for a moment. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, I swear.”

Her breathing is erratic against his chest, hands balling fists of his shirt on his back. Harry strokes the hair from her face and kisses her temple, shushing her the best he can to try and encourage her to steady her breathing.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles into him.

Harry shakes his head. “You’ve got nothing to apologise for. Why don’t you go for a nap, hmm? Jimmy’s gonna take a look at the damage on the window and I’m gonna talk him through everything that’s happened… see if he has any ideas.”

While a nap does sound good, Y/N’s not sure she’ll be able to switch her mind off. She doesn’t tell Harry that, though. She figures he’s also got enough on his mind, he doesn’t need to be dealing with her fussing all because she can’t sleep.

So she nods her head and pulls out of his embrace. “Yeah, okay. A nap sounds good.”

//

It turns out it wasn’t as hard to fall asleep as Y/N thought it would be. As it goes, severe stress and exhaustion happen to have that effect when the adrenaline wears off.

Ashley was kind enough to lend Y/N a spare top and some sweatpants, washing her previous clothes so they would be clean and dry for when they leave tomorrow. She stretches in the bed of the guestroom, eyes flickering to the clock that reads 17:08 and her eyes widen.

She didn’t expect for a little nap to turn into five hours of sleep and she’s slightly upset that Harry didn’t think to wake her. Her stomach grumbles and it’s only now that she realises she hasn’t eaten in just over twenty-four hours.

Her fluffy sock-clad feet carry her out into the hall, light chit-chat coming from the very end and she follows to the source of it.

They all sit at the kitchen island; Jimmy, Ashley and Harry. There’s a frown set between each of their eyebrows but Harry’s soothes out when he notices Y/N’s lingering presence by the doorway.

“Hey, are you feeling any better?”

She hums. “A little.”

He pulls out a chair for her to take, Jimmy and Ashley quietly talking between themselves as Y/N sits with them. Harry offers her his drink and she takes the glass in her hands, swirling the brown liquid as she brings it to her lips.

“It’s whis—“

She gulps down his drink before he can even finish — doesn’t even care what it is just that any drop of alcohol will do for now.

He stifles a laugh and takes back the empty glass, reaching for the bottle on the middle of the table to refill his drink.

“What are you talking about?” she asks, all eyes now on her.

Harry clears his throat. “Just trying to figure out how to get rid of the guys that are after us.”

She raises a brow, somewhat expectant. “Any luck?”

“No, not yet.” She hears a voice, her eyes following the sound to Harry’s phone that’s on the kitchen island, Niall’s contact on the screen.

“Oh,” she peeps quietly. “Hi, Niall.”

“Hey, Y/N. How are you holding up?”

She scoffs. “About as well as Bambi on ice.”

He laughs at her comment, a hearty one at that. Harry smiles softly at her, can feel the nerves and anxiety bubbling off her aura in waves. It hurts to see her like this, so curled into herself and scared.

“So, let’s lay it all out again,” Ashley speaks a little louder.

Harry and Jimmy lean forward in their seats simultaneously. “As far as we’re aware, it’s just the three of them; the brothers—“

“—Wait, they’re brothers?” Y/N pipes up with knitted brows.

Harry nods. “Mhm. A lot of the guys that train at The Box were in gangs, the Scavello brothers were rivals to a bunch of them. They’ve all got screws loose, multiple personality disorders.”

“And schizophrenia. The worst case of it.” Niall chips in.

The newfound information does nothing to cease her fears. If anything, it only intensifies tenfold and Y/N begins to find it difficult to breathe.

“Right,” Harry swallows thickly. “So it’s the three brothers, all hellbent on getting revenge for Sammy not paying them they’re thirty grand. We already know they won’t stop until they get the club or feel… satisfied enough to move on.”

There’s something about the way Harry words it that makes Y/N shiver. She doesn’t know how much longer of this she can take, how much more dangerous it’ll get. At what point will they feel satisfied? When they’re run out of town? When they’re beaten and bloody? When they’re six feet under like her brother?

“They’re known for a lot of shady shit, too. Few years ago Ryce had stabbed someone in a pub… pretty sure he’s still on the wanted list.” Niall speaks again, like that’s the worst thing they’ve ever done.

Y/N has to bite her tongue. She doesn’t know if they’re aware of the truth about Sam’s death. And if they’re not, she isn’t about to announce it. She won’t allow for him to be remembered as the guy they killed.

Not now. Not ever.

“So have you not thought about tipping off the police?” Ashley asks, slightly incredulous as if it’s the most obvious option there is. (Which in all honesty, Y/N completely agrees with).

But Jimmy shakes his head profusely, clasping his hands together on the kitchen island. “No, no way. The Feds are already suspecting the club of illegal activity. It’s just going to give them more ammo. This needs to be dealt with in-house.” He points his finger downward, tapping against the counter.

Y/N chews on the inside of her cheek, the gears ticking in her head as she thinks of an alternative idea.

“What about a set up?” she suggests. “We meet them somewhere and… Ash, maybe you could call in and say you’ve driven past a group of guys attacking a couple…. If they get arrested it could give us some time to figure out something more solid?”

She knows it’s a lame idea, but it’s something. No one else seems to be putting theories to the table.

And of course, Harry is the first to shake his head. “No, too dangerous and they won’t fall for that. They’re insane but they’re not stupid.”

She slumps at his words, slightly offended by his tone but she doesn’t let herself get into that. Really, Harry’s distaste to her idea is the least of anyone’s concerns right now.

All eyes fall on the phone in the centre of the table, “Any ideas, Ni?”

He’s silent for a moment, then a huff is heard. “Personally, I think the best option will be to come back to the club. They’re gonna riot at some point. Might aswel be prepared for it. We’ll get the boys in tomorrow and figure out a plan between the lot of us.”

It’s a bit annoying that the simplest of ideas doesn’t suck. That logically, it’s probably the smartest and safest move to make. Because Niall is right. Eventually, the brothers will riot the club, and what the fuck are three psychos against a gym full of angry boxers?

The doorbell sounds through the kitchen and pulls Y/N from her thoughts. Jimmy stands, legs of his stool scratching against the floor as he grabs his wallet from his back pocket.

“Let’s call it a night then. Pizzas here. We’ll regroup tomorrow.”

The mention of food almost has Y/N’s mouth watering. They say their goodbyes to Niall, no one’s stress easing in the slightest but at least they have somewhat of a plan and she doesn’t feel so alone anymore.

Those boys at the gym would fight tooth and nail to protect Sam’s legacy. She just prays that it’ll be enough.

Not much is said as they eat their dinner. Harry and Jimmy reminisce on a few memories with Ash chiming in here and there, but for the most part Y/N stays silent and focuses on her food.

They stay like that for another hour or so until Harry’s eyelids grow heavy and start to sting. He’s exhausted, to say the least. His body still aches and as he glances over at Y/N, he can tell that the five hour nap has only made her more tired.

He leans closer to her, lips ghosting her ear. “D’you wanna go to bed?”

She turns her head just slightly to get a look at him. His face is a lot more busted as the night has gone on and the sleepiness that takes over his features pinches her heart a little.

Nodding her head, she stifles a yawn. “Yeah, you look pretty tired, too.”

Harry grins as he rolls his eyes, leaning away from her now to finish the last of his whiskey. He places the glass back on the counter, clearing his throat to catch Ash and Jim’s attention.

“We’re going to head to bed, long day tomorrow.”

Jimmy puffs out his cheeks with an exhale, nodding solemnly. Y/N gets it, can practically feel the anxiety that rolls off him. While he’s good at masking his expressions, there’s not much he can do about his vibe.

“Yeah, yeah, no worries. You know where everything is if you need anything.”

Harry guides Y/N off her stool and down the hall again after saying goodnight to the others. They don’t bother to turn on the light, instead opt for blindly feeling for the bed with their legs and Harry helps her get comfy.

She expects him to round the bed and crawl in next to her, but he doesn’t. Instead, he brushes the hair from her face and stands back with a gentle smile as he regards her.

Y/N’s brows pinch together when he speaks. “I’ll be next door if you need me.”

“Why?” she asks.

“Why what?”

“Why aren’t you staying here with me?”

He smiles softly, shuffling closer to the foot of the bed again. “Didn’t want to assume, that’s all.”

It makes him feel something deep in his stomach — how she craves his presence and wants him close. There’s a swell of something similar to pride in his chest at the realisation of how deep her trust for him runs.

“D’you want me to stay, Penny?”

She sinks further into the bed, seemingly trying to hide half of her face from his gaze. “Only if you want to,” she replies.

Harry’s smile grows slightly and he nods his head, kicking off his shoes and shimmying out of his jeans. She watches, rather closely. He’s right beside her still as he strips down to his boxers before he closes the door and approaches the other side of the bed.

The sheets are cool against his warm skin, small hisses and grunts slipping from his lips at the discomfort in his ribs and abdomen. It makes Y/N feel funny, knowing just how hurt he must be. She was witness to the assault, she’s a little surprised how well he’s taking it.

She has to remind herself that he is a boxer. And a fucking good one at that.

Y/N turns onto her side, her face just a couple of inches from Harry as their eyes adjust to the darkness, desperately trying to map out the others face under the dim moonlight that threatens to peek through the curtains.

Her ankles rub together as they do every night as she tries to settle herself for bed. Something she’s done ever since she was young. Harry can feel the movement beneath the sheets, but to him, he reads it as a sign of feeling cold. So he shuffles a little closer and intertwines their legs, resting a heavy palm on her hip.

“Harry,” she whispers into the night and he’s already looking at her.

“Yeah?”

She waits a moment, unsure if there’s any use in admitting her quarries right now. There’s nothing he can do or say to soothe her, not with the mess that awaits them.

And yet she finds herself uttering it anyway. “I’m scared.”

The broken octave of her voice is felt deep in Harry’s chest, that primal and protective sensation kicking in again. It makes his brows twist in something that can only be described as annoyance. But it’s not directed at her, Harry doesn’t think it ever could be.

“I don’t see an end where we all make it out of this.”

The admittance she whispers aloud is frightening to her. As if speaking her fear is willing its existence to the universe. It has her cowering into herself with shaky breaths and eyes tightly shut.

“We will,” Harry speaks, not allowing a second of doubt to build in her pretty little head. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Her eyes peak open slowly, readjusting to the darkness again when Harry slowly inches closer until the tip of his nose nudges against hers.

“Before Sammy died, he always told me to look out for you — in case anything ever happened to him. I keep my promises, Penny. No matter what it takes.”

She believes him, wholeheartedly. She trusts that he’ll keep her safe, that he’ll fight for the club. The blanket of safety that comes with Harry’s presence begins to consume her — keeps her close and warm and respected.

Maybe that’s why her eyes begin to droop until she can no longer keep them open. She cuddles into his chest, face nuzzling in the crook of his warm neck and his scent envelopes her senses as she slips into a slumber.

Harry can feel her soft breathing even out until her body relaxes against his. He lays awake, admiring the slope of her nose and her lashes that flatten across her cheekbones.

The need and desire to keep her safe prevails over any other senses. His mind falls short when he considers what he wouldn’t do to protect her, to give her the life she deserves.

And it’s not because Sam asked him to.

//

When the sun rises and the moon rests, the tension they felt the day before returns full force. Few words are shared between the four of them as they prepare for the day ahead. It’s like nobody wants to state the obvious, that this could very well be the last time Jimmy and Ashley see Harry and Y/N.

She tries her best not to think about it, not to get too deep in her head. She’s brushing her teeth in the bathroom, eyes lacking their usual glint but that’s no surprise — she doesn’t think it’s been there since Sammy’s death.

A knock on the door breaks her gaze from her reflection. Harry leans on the door frame, arms folded over his chest as he offers the young woman a soft smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Jimmy’s just finished replacing the window. We’re good to go whenever you’re ready.”

He keeps his voice light and soft, not wanting to pressure her when their situation is already stressful enough. She nods her head slowly at his words, rinsing off the toothbrush under the water.

“Yeah, okay. Uh, just give me a minute?”

“Sure. I’ll be downstairs when you’re ready.”

He leaves her in the bathroom, bounding down the stairs as he returns to his friends in the garage. Jimmy’s wiping his hands on an old rag before flinging it across his shoulder.

“She’s all set, changed out your back tire, too. Looked like it was about to blow.”

Their hands meet in a greeting, chests bumping in that brosome hug most guys do. Harry sits his hands on his hips as he takes a look at the Chevy. As good as new, he thinks.

“Man, I appreciate you and Ash helping us out. You really saved our asses last night.”

Jimmy waves his hand in dismissal as he shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, it’s what brothers do.”

There’s an appreciative smile on Harry’s face as the door opens again and Y/N’s body shuffles through. Even from across the garage, he can see that glimmer of uncertainty in her eyes.

She approaches quickly, and by the way her shoulders are slightly raised and head a little ducked, Harry can tell she’s anxious.

He holds an arm in the air for her, allowing her to settle into his side before resting the arm across her shoulders.

“Thank you, for everything,” she says just loud enough for Jimmy to hear.

He nods curtly, leaning forward on one foot with an open palm for her to shake. “It was lovely meeting you, Y/N. I’m just sorry it was under these circumstances.”

She smiles through pursed lips and shakes his head with the same pressure he offers. “Me too.”

She excuses herself to load the bags into the back of the Chevy and waits for Harry in the passenger's seat. Y/N watches them chatter quietly, the mention of Ashley being at work and that if they need anything to not hesitate to call.

It’s merely a couple of minutes before Harry joins her in the car, twisting the key to start up the engine and as he pulls out of the garage, he throws his arm out of his window to wave goodbye to Jimmy.

They share a look as they drive down the road, a nervous glance that promises they’re in this together. Harry reaches for her hand in her lap and intertwines their fingers.

She doesn’t say anything as he guides their hands to his mouth and presses a kiss on her knuckles. And he doesn’t say anything when she squeezes his a little tighter.

They remain silent for the most of their drive. It’s late afternoon by the time they arrive at the club and it’s safe to say their guards are up high. They’re eyes are scanning every inch of roads they drive through, hearts thumping in fear and anticipation.

But they don’t see anything.

Harry pulls up outside, putting the car in park and they both exit. There’s an eerie energy that surrounds them, like the universe is taunting and playing on their fears.

They can’t ignore it, even if they tried.

They enter through the back door, feet scuffling against the concrete ground as Harry guides her through. Niall had already rounded up the guys with the prompt of a family meeting taking place. So it’s no surprise that they’re already gathered by one of the boxing rings.

“Thank you all for coming,” Harry calls out to everyone as he and Y/N make their way closer to the group.

There’s a few mumbles of replies and gasps at the sight of Harry’s bruised face, and lots of nodding heads when they come to a stop before them.

“I’m sure you’re all familiar with the Scavello brothers and what they did to Sammy,” a chorus of disgruntled expressions appear throughout the faces of the group.

Y/N can’t look — keeps her eyes downcast on the floor.

“Well, they’re no longer in hiding. They’re back and they’re after us,” he sways his finger between himself and Y/N, “And this club.”

Niall steps forward, inching closer to the pair who regard the larger group. “We don’t know what’s going to happen, but everyone needs to be prepared in case something does.”

Harry watches the way his members nod their heads and clench knuckles into fists. He can feel the anger and heartbreak that resonates within the gym.

“I need every single one of you on guard in case they show up. This is Sam’s life here. And we’re going to protect it like it’s our own. Understood?”

//

It’s been four days.

Four long, gruelling days of looking over their shoulders and Y/N keeping her keys between her fingers whenever she goes to and from her car alone. Not that that’s been a regular thing, Harry had convinced her to stay with him and his place. And after a bit of compromise, Harry agreed to stay at Y/N’s so she wasn’t on her own.

And it was a bit awkward at first. She didn’t ask for him to stay in her bedroom with her, allowed him to turn the sofa into his temporary bed. But by the second day, the awkwardness evened out to a disturbingly, comfortable, domesticated situation.

Y/N cooked and Harry cleaned. They picked shows to watch together and neither left the house alone. Y/N remains on emergency leave for a week, but Harry’s assured her that when she returns, he’ll drop her off and pick her up.

There won’t be a chance for the same thing to happen again.

Today is no different. They woke up together, picked at their breakfast — both still struggling to find their appetite — and drove in Harry’s Chevy to the club this afternoon.

It’s nearing 5:30 p.m. and they’re both sitting together in the office. Y/N’s sipping on her coffee with a Manila folder in hand, Harry typing data into the computer while taking sips of his own blend every now and then.

“Do you think it’s a good idea to host fight nights with all this going on?”

Harry pauses his typing for a moment, head tilting as he looks at her. He hums, nods slowly. “You’re probably right, we’re just losing money each night that we don’t. The guys are gonna start getting frustrated. For a lot of ‘em it’s the only source of income they’ve got.”

It’s a tricky one, Y/N knows that. Their livelihood is important, but so is their safety. It seems more likely that the Scavello brothers would make an appearance on a busy night like tonight. Friday Fight Night.

A thought occurs to her. “What about an advance?”

Harry’s bows knit together. “An advance?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “We’ve got just over two hundred grand stashed under the floorboards, Har. We can offer an advance to those who need it — they can pay back in instalments when we start up fights again.”

He mulls the idea over for a few seconds, not really finding many cons to the proposal. He nods his head, digging through the draws of the desk for a notepad and pen.

“Want me to go and take names?”

Harry shakes his head. “We need to get this place looking legit first. Destroy anything that holds passwords, account numbers — anything that tries back to the illegal fights. If they or the Feds come snooping, our noses are clean and they have nothing to say otherwise.”

Y/N’s about to reply, to suggest burning any correlating paperwork when a ruckus from outside the office and in the gym is heard.

They look at one another, eyes wide and churning stomachs. Harry stands first, bringing a finger to his lips as he motions for Y/N to stay quiet. The ruckus gets a bit louder, a chorus of disgruntled sounds heard.

Harry inches toward the door first, an arm outstretched to his side in an attempt to keep Y/N behind him. She follows suit, hands trembling slightly and she struggles to see over his broad shoulders.

But Harry can see. He sees the three brothers, but they’re not alone. They’ve brought a posse with them and their hands are all equipped with anything you could think to use as a weapon.

Hammers, knives, baseball bats. If it wasn’t such a dire situation, he’d find it ironic that Ryce is gripping a crowbar.

He’s the first to notice Harry’s presence and his blood is quick to run cold. He taps at Y/N’s side, trying his best to buff out his body to shield hers from their view.

“Stay in the office and lock the door. Text Jimmy and get rid of everything.”

He shoves her backward slightly, reaching for the door handle to close it behind him. She locks the door with nimble fingers, racing around the desk to retrieve Harry’s phone and find Jimmy’s contact.

It’s Y/N. They’re here.

She drops the phone on the desk after sending the message, opening the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet. She can’t stop her hands from trembling, has to continuously replay the plan in her head.

Jimmy calls the police which gives Y/N time to destroy anything illegal while Harry fights them off just long enough for the police to arrive, and everyone prays that nobody gets hurt or killed in the meantime.

No matter how many times she reminds herself of the plan, it doesn’t soothe her fears. Anything could go wrong at any given moment.

It’s not just the three of them this time, they brought friends and it’s going to get messy.

She grabs Harry’s gym bag from the corner of the room and collapses to her knees by the desk. Her fingernails struggle to pry the floorboards up until she spots a flat-headed screwdriver poking out from the gym's tool bag.

It works to her advantage, a few good tugs and pulls and the floorboard pops up with a creak. She’s careful when she pulls it out completely, throwing it to the side and grabbing handfuls of the wads of cash.

Her movements are frantic as she shoves them into the duffle bag, the commotion from outside growing louder and louder. She fills the bag with the money and rushes to take off her jacket, throwing it into the bag to hide the cash and she zips it up, kicking it under the table and smacking her floorboard back in place.

Y/N moves to the filing cabinet, fumbling through the drawers in the desk for a lighter. The papers she retrieved earlier are thrown into the trash can, fingers desperate to spark a light but a thumping on the office door stops her — panics her.

It bursts open after the fourth budge, hinges almost flying off and there he stands, Ryce Scavello, bloody and bruised and gripping a crowbar.

All colour drains from her skin, a sickness within her stomach that’s all-consuming. There’s a maniacal smirk painted across his thin lips and the mark across his neck from her use of the aforementioned weapon still paints his skin deeply.

“Are you going to put up a fight as good as your brother?”

That fear morphs into anger the second the words escape his mouth, her eyes dark and blood cold. She flicks the lighter once more and it sparks a tall flame, and just as he’s about to step toward her, she throws it into the trash and the documents burn in a blaze.

Y/N dodges the first swing he throws, the curled edge of the crowbar nipping at her hair and pulling a few strands out of her ponytail. She can hear her heartbeat in her ears as she ducks from another hit and he laughs at her, sadistically.

“Well you’re certainly as fast as him. Did he teach you that, hmm? Did big brother Sammy teach you how to fight before I killed him?”

She does her best to block out his words, raising her fists to cover her face and her legs spread in the same stance Sam had taught her growing up.

She channels him, everything he ever showed her. She lets her brain reminisce about their occasional sparring sessions because Sam was hellbent on teaching her the right ways to defend herself.

Back then she always told him he was being dramatic, that she’d never put herself in a situation where she’d need to fight for her life.

And now, she can hear his reply in her ears, as clear as day: These situations find you, and you need to be prepared for them.

Ryce lunges for her again, catching her in the temple with his fist at the same time she kicks into his kneecap. The crunch of his bone is heard but it doesn’t stop him.

He somehow gets closer and wraps his hand around her throat, a vice-like grip as he slams her body onto the desk and knocks everything off, her and Harry’s coffees spilling on the floor.

Y/N thrashes her legs against him, fingernails scratching at the skin of his face as her thumbs probe harshly into his eyes. Ryce’s grip loosens just enough for her to try to shuffle away, but his hand is replaced with the crowbar and he’s choking her out like she did to him.

He’s seething above her, her own hands now desperate on the bar to try to pull it off, to give herself relief. It doesn’t work, he’s overpowering in every sense and the lack of oxygen she gets makes it harder to move.

Y/N’s eyes are frantically searching for something — anything — to use to her advantage. Her line of sight falls short until she notices the large metal stapler that’s hanging off the edge of the desk. She pries her fingers out as she stretches for it, nails scratching against the metal until she’s able to flick it closer.

The second she’s able to wrap her fingers around the stapler, her arm swings and it thuds heavily against the side of Ryce’s head. Once, twice, three times.

His hold on the crowbar across her throat loosens until he drops it onto the floor. Y/N’s gasping for air, eyes wide and chest heaving as he holds the side of his head in agony.

That’s how Harry finds them — Ryce on top of her on the desk, grunting in pain and anger. He doesn’t allow him another moment to regain himself before Harry swings for the side of his face and Ryce’s body clambers to the floor and off Y/N.

She’s frantic, struggling to grasp reality as Harry reaches her. His hands find her face, gentle touch as he coos to her, promises her it’s okay and he’s got her.

She gets a look at him, bloody and bruised and his bottom lip is split and already swelling. Y/N sits up with the help of Harry at the sounds of blaring sirens and she turns to him, swallowing thickly.

“Grab the money, we need to go.”

Her gaze meets the unconscious body on the floor, anxiety still bubbling in her chest at the realisation that in a few short minutes, this could be completely over with.

Harry reaches for the bag of money when he notices the trash can on fire. He doesn’t need to ask to know she’s burned the documents. They leave the contained fire to burn as they leave the office, both hobbling and gasping for breath.

Police begin to infiltrate the gym, batons in hand and guards to their bodies — as they would for any kind of riot. There’s at least seven officers, all shouting commands to get on the ground or stay where they are.

The gym is in distress. Photo frames and trophies on shelves have been smashed and broken, weights are strewn across the floor, some clean and some with blood. Their hands all reach into the air in a form of surrender and before long, the majority of the trainers and rioters are in cuffs.

An officer approaches Y/N and Harry, quite polite as he assures them he isn’t going to cuff them unless given reason.

“A few of your friends said you two are the owners?”

Harry nods, clearing his throat. “Yeah, that’s right. We were in the office when they showed up and then a fight broke out.”

The officer squints at Y/N and she squints back, reading his name tag as Jones. He looks back to Harry.

“Who’s they?”

“Ryce, George and Scott Scavello. They’re brothers.”

Officer Jones raises an eyebrow at Y/N’s words. “You know them?”

“Uh, we’ve had some trouble with them in the past.”

Y/N’s head snaps to look at Harry, wonders what the fuck he’s going to tell the police, if it’s really a good idea to mention what they did to Sammy. Couldn’t Harry get into trouble for withholding evidence about a crime for all this time?

Jones clears his throat. “Do you wanna expand on that?”

Y/N decides to speak up again. “My brother, Sam, owned this place with Harry before he died. The Scavello brothers tried to join the gym but Sam didn’t want that kind of riffraff associated with the company. They didn’t take it well and now, I guess this is them fighting it.”

Harry watches her with fluttering eyes, slightly amazed and somewhat concerned with how easily she was able to fabricate part of the truth like that.

Officer Jones nods as he jotts down a rough summary of her words, looking to Harry in case he has anything more to offer.

He blubbers for a moment. “Uh, yeah… what she said.”

He writes a little more, turning to look over his shoulder to no doubt report anything extra he may need to. It’s only for a couple of seconds, which allows Y/N and Harry to share a look that screams don’t say anything stupid, and he’s back to facing them again.

“So, you say you’re the owners?”

Harry and Y/N nod simultaneously, eyes downcast to somewhat avoid the officers gaze. He hums, scribbling some more.

“Do you have proof of that?”

Harry nods. “Yeah, I can get you the ownership contract.”

Y/N watches meticulously, tries to work out what Officer Jones is writing by the way he scribbles but it’s no use. He taps the pen on the pad, looking around.

“Do you have any security footage? So we can confirm your story.”

Y/N looks at Harry. Do they? She hopes there isn’t a camera in the office, or else they’ll find the footage of her burning illegal evidence. But if they have cameras in the gym, isn’t that going to expose the fight nights? Her head is spinning.

“Yeah…. Niall!” Harry calls over for the blond, who quickly jogs over with a bruised eye and a cut across the bridge of his nose.

“Ni, would you mind showing Officer Jones the security footage from this evening.”

Y/N swallows thickly, watching as Niall guides Jones into the trashed office. She smacks Harry’s arm, eyes wide when he turns to her with pinched brows.

“Ouch… what was that for?”

She grits her teeth. “Why have you done that? He’s going to find all sorts on the cameras!”

Harry lets out a soft laugh and shakes his head. “We turn the cameras off at night.”

He watches her body visibly relax; shoulders slumping and eyes dropping. From their spot by the office, they can see the damage that’s been done.

Blood stains the floor in several places, gym equipment broken and there are at least seven holes in the walls that Y/N can see. She spots the brothers, all conscious now and strapped up with cuffs.

There’s a few more officers that take statements from the members of the gym, a couple of those being detained for aggravated assault and they don’t bother to argue that it was self defence. They played their part, they protected Sam’s legacy. And they know both Harry and Y/N will bail them out by morning anyway.

The adrenaline rush that she’s been on for the past week is slowly seeping from her pores. She doesn’t think she’s ever felt this exhausted in her entire life and the harsh realisation of what they’ve been through begins to hit her like a tonne of bricks.

“Harry,” she whispers softly, “I don’t think I can stay here anymore.”

He turns to her with pinched brows but her gaze is far too focused on the blank space ahead of her to realise.

“What?”

She swallows. “There’s too much pain here. Everything hurts since losing Sammy.” Her voice breaks as she speaks.

Harry blinks rapidly, trying to make sense of the situation. He thought they had something, that something genuine was forming between them and now she wants to leave? To run away?

“What about the club?”

She scoffs out a laugh, finally looking at him now. “You had it on lock this whole time.”

“Well what about me?” he argues. “What about us?”

There’s hurt in his voice and Y/N can’t help but feel confused butterflies in her stomach. Us? She never considered that there would be. Despite the two times they hooked up and the intimacy their friendship shared, she didn’t think Harry would ever want anything more. And now he’s telling her that he does?

It hurts her, deep in her soul. Because she harbours feelings for the fighter, strong feelings. But the thought of it scares her too much. What would Sammy think if he could see them now?

When she doesn’t reply, Harry speaks again.

“If you really want to leave, I’ll come with you.”

She laughs at this, and she laughs loud. Shaking her head, she looks at Harry again. That hopeful glint shines in his eyes and it breaks her heart.

“No, Harry. You barely even know me.”

“I know enough,” he retorts quickly.

Her hands find her hips as she turns her body to face his. “Harry—“

“No, come on,” he interrupts her, “Whatever this is between us is only just starting. Don’t walk out on it.”

She huffs, frustrated. “I’m not walking out on it.”

“You’ll regret it if you do. You’ll regret leaving the club and my Gran will be so heartbroken…”

“Hey,” she pouts. “Don’t bring Mary into this.”

“It’s true!”

There’s a wide smile on his lips now and one creeps its way onto Y/N’s, too. He knows what’s going on in her head — how she’s considering what he’s saying, what he’s feeling.

His gaze softens when their eyes meet again. Harry reaches for her hands, his thumbs brushing over her knuckles.

“At least think about it a little more before you decide to leave. Don’t make hasty decisions…”

“Harry…” she sighs, her smile faded to a slight grimace.

He’s right and she knows it. But it doesn’t take away the pain she feels in this town. It doesn’t make moving on from her brother's death any easier. Everything is a constant reminder of him and what happened to him.

Everything but Harry.

“Go on a date with me,” he proposes, though it’s more of a statement than a question.

Y/N’s brows raise as a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “What?”

“C’mon, one date. And if I can’t convince you that we have something real, and that you should stay… then I’ll understand.”

She catches her bottom lip between her teeth and weighs out her options. She could very easily decline and leave town right now, to never speak to him again or return.

But the idea of going on a date and seeing where this connection goes sounds a little more enticing. Because deep down she knows that running away won’t solve anything. It won’t make her forget the truth.

If she leaves now, she’ll never come back. And she’ll forever regret walking away from her brother's legacy and whatever her and Harry could’ve been.

He dips his head down to catch her line of sight again, a playful smirk etched onto his face as he squeezes her hands. Y/N makes her decision there and then; to not run away, but to stay and see where fate will take her.

“Fine,” she smiles. “One date.”

//

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[captaindeadpoet]

Isami is the one that proposes.

He’s lost Lewis twice, and he’ll be damned if it happens again with his feeling still left unsaid. For a few days after their triumphant return, Isami scours the base for supplies. Thin strands of metal. Shiny things. Paper. String. While Lewis is stuck in the med bay being poked and prodded and worried over, Isami is building. Tinkering. Until he has something that resembles a ring.

A simple stand in for when he can get Lewis something real and pretty. Assuming that big sap even wants a different one later.

Isami doesn’t waste anymore time after it’s finished. He pulls Lewis away from everyone and takes him to the beach.

It seemed like everything happened on the beach.

And he just walks with Lewis. Lewis is still clumsy, not quite used to being back in his human body, but he’s all smiles nonetheless. It warms Isami to his core when Lewis smiles like that. He takes Lewis’ hand to help steady him as they walk. He feels Lewis’ fingers struggle to intertwine with his own, so he meets him halfway, finding the spaces and squeezing the man’s hand until he sees red cheeks and a soft smile.

They find a nice spot to look over the sea they’ve spent so long on at war, and find comfort in cashing waves and cold foam lapping at their feet.

Isami doesn’t think as he kneels in wet sand and digs into his pocket and pulls out his clumsily crafted ring, all mismatched metal and a shiny piece of sea glass he’d managed to find by a miracle. He looks up at Lewis and holds it out.

“Marry me.”

Not so much a question as a statement.

Marry me.

Because Isami isn’t asking. He knows the answer. He’s just confirming. There need not be a question mark at the end, because there’s no uncertainty anymore. They’re Lewis and Isami. Partners. Two halves of a whole.

Tears well in Lewis’ eyes, and Isami’s heart drops for a moment, but his mind is quick to remind him that Lewis is sensitive. His other half is overwhelmed with emotion.

Which makes it so much sweeter when Lewis’ knees buckle and his arms wrap around Isami in a tight hug.

“Yes.”

And it’s music to Isami’s ears.

Yes.

And Isami feels like a weight is lifted from his shoulders, because he won’t lose Lewis again. Because Lewis is his.

[wingdingery]

ohhhh i always have requests! quite fond of lil drabble ideas: bruce teaching dick to dance and (years later when they’re together) they recreating some of their first dances, slade being the one to gift dick his first leather jacket that he still regularly wears, An Event Occurs and in the aftermath dick realizes how irreplaceable he is to bruce and just how much bruce both loves him and needs him, bruce and dick’s undercover aliases that keep getting more and more romantic over the years

In Dick’s experience, returning to his apartment after a week away and finding a mysterious box on the coffee table that was definitely not there when he left is, usually, not actually a big deal.

He’s still careful—the little Batman that lives in the back of his head would never give him a moment of peace if he wasn’t—but he’s just very aware of the fact that, nine times out of ten, the not-so-little Batman is the one breaking in and leaving little treats for him to find later, because Bruce is deathly allergic to seeing people’s reactions to his gifts in real-time.

Dick runs through the standard checks, but nothing sounds or smells off, and nothing pings as suspicious on infrared or the particulate detector. He steps closer to inspect the box. It’s rectangular, all white, and generally unremarkable except for the fact that he didn’t put it there.

Carefully, he lifts the lid. He’s expecting some kind of gear—it wouldn’t be the first time a new suit or toys showed up unannounced.

What he finds is a leather moto jacket.

He gently lifts it out of the box and stares at it, bemused. It’s very nice—genuine Italian leather by the feel of it, black with silver hardware and diagonal pockets in the shape of a V, and just his size. There’s no note of any kind, but when he sniffs the leather, he also gets a whiff of maple and gun oil—and that feels like a signature in and of itself.

Dick pulls out his phone, dials in the number from memory, and sinks into the couch as it rings. 

“Happy birthday,” Slade says when he picks up, voice low and rumbling.

Dick suppresses a smile. “You’re late.”

“I was busy.”

“Doing what?”

“You really wanna know the answer to that?”

Dick bites the inside of his cheek and fiddles with the zipper of the jacket. They’ve been getting along all right ever since they’d been forced to team up on the cruise ship from hell, but still, a little plausible deniability goes a long way, between them. “How long ‘til I find out on my own?”

“Now that depends,” Slade says, drawing out the words. “You still talking to Rose?”

Dick blinks. “You were visiting Rose?”

“Something like that.”

“She shut the door in your face,” Dick guesses.

Slade grunts. “We can meet not at her apartment.”

“And she’s moving?”

“And she’s moving.” Slade doesn’t sound particularly annoyed about it, but then again, finding people who don’t want to be found is basically his job. Dick makes a mental note to see if Rose wants a hand making her dad’s life harder.

“So why the jacket?” Dick says, running his hand over the leather. It really is nice. He wonders where Slade got it, and whether it was paid for in money or blood. He probably doesn’t want to know.

“You complained I made you ruin yours,” Slade says. “Reckon we’re square now.”

Dick raises his eyebrows, even though Slade can’t see it. “I don’t remember doing that, but if I did, it had to have been, what… seven years ago? At least?”

“I’ve got a long memory.” It sounds vaguely like a threat, in Slade’s voice, but the jacket itself seems far from one, so Dick lets it pass.

“If you’re trying to make up for that,” Dick says, “then you’re really late.”

“You’d’ve thrown it straight in the trash if I ever tried before.”

“I could still do that.”

“You won’t.”

“Well, now I have to.”

Slade scoffs. “Go ahead. Would be a waste of perfectly good leather, though.”

The desire for knowledge wins out. “Where’d you get it?”

“Made it.”

Dick pauses, uncertain he’d heard correctly. When Slade doesn’t elaborate, though, Dick echoes, uncertainly, “Made it?”

“Wintergreen helped some.”

Dick opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Made it?

“Who exactly did you think made my first few costumes?” Slade says, sounding amused. “Not all of us have your daddy’s resources.”

It’s one thing for Slade to have bought him something; Dick can explain that away as just a whim—an act of opportunity, as it were. But Slade spending the time and energy to make it himself?

That’s premeditation.

“This isn’t a birthday gift.”

“I said happy birthday, didn’t I?”

“This isn’t just a birthday gift,” Dick presses.

Slade doesn’t respond, and Dick lets the silence stretch far past the point of discomfort. Still, neither of them hangs up. Slade may be a stubborn asshole, but Dick has been trained in the art of silence-offs by the most frustratingly stoic of them all.

Dick smooths out the collar of the jacket and straightens out the arms while he waits. Now that he’s looking closer, he can tell the seams aren’t the tidy stitches of a lifelong craftsman, but it’s impressive work, all the same. Work that must have taken a hell of a lot of effort. 

Finally, Slade breaks the rhythm of quiet breathing. “Whatever it is,” he says, “it’s yours now. Throw it in the trash if you want. Or don’t. It’s got nothing to do with me.”

It has everything to do with Slade, but the fact that Slade is insisting so hard that it doesn’t is both a little funny and extremely sad. Dick can recognize a fear of rejection when he hears it. 

Dick puts a hand on top of the jacket. “It doesn’t really make sense to give me this,” he says, “if you’re never going to see me wear it.”

Slade is silent for a moment, but not as long as before. “I’ve got time,” he says, slowly, like he’s leaving space for Dick to cut him off between one word and the next. “Two weeks from now.”

“Two weeks,” Dick agrees. “I assume you don’t need the address.”

“Think I’ve got it.” Slade’s voice is dry, but lacking its usual knife-sharp edge. “See you soon, kid.”

He hangs up before Dick can respond. 

Dick smiles anyway. “See you soon.”

----

Footnote: RIP Dick's expensive jacket (this is $300 in 80s money)

[apple-orchards-writings]

TW: yandere behavior, gets a bit suggestive at the end, dubcon

Kylar who bases their entire school performance off of your own grades. You’re doing badly ? Here, they’ve only gotten A’s this semester, let them help you ! Doing amazing? Won’t you please lend them a hand, their grades have plummeted ! They do all they can to schedule private study sessions with you. They put on some “soothing” music (music they found by searching “hypnotic suggestion” on youtube) and make you tea or hot chocolate. No coffee, not when they want you to be as relaxed as possible! 

They inch closer and closer to you, waiting for the sleeping agent they put in your drink to take effect. When you start yawning and dozing off, your eyelids drooping, they have to hold in their excitement, telling you that if you’re tired, you can sleep in their bed, really it’s fine, they’d hate to see you exhausted because you insisted on staying awake. 

Once you’re out cold (they’ve checked), Kylar wastes no time climbing in next to you, never taking their eyes off of you for even a second. You look so gorgeous, they don’t usually see your cute sleeping face in the daylight, they’re so lucky you trust them so much. They comb their fingers through your hair and caress your skin, amazed at the softness of it all. They should do this more often, really, when do they usually get to hold you this close?

Feeling you stir, they stop completely in their tracks, their mind running a mile a second, trying to come up with a suitable excuse for the position they’re in, nose buried in your hair and hands on your chest. Fortunately, you remain asleep, and Kylar lets out the breath they were holding. You really shouldn’t scare them like that, it’s bad for their fragile little heart. They should have about an hour left with you so pliable anyway.

They know they can’t go too far, after all, they’re sure you’d want to be awake for your first time together, they know it should be special, but that doesn’t mean they’re out of possibilities. After all, they can still use your hands and mouth, so lie back and stay in dreamland, darling, they’ll take care of you.

[soopersara]

Home

Zutara Week 2023: Day 1

Read it on AO3 | @zutaraweek

A journey across the Earth Kingdom to find Zuko's mother comes to an end.

She can’t sleep.

It isn’t that she’s not tired. After several weeks of near-constant travel, this is the first night that they’ve had the luxury of leaving their tent packed away, the first night when she and Zuko have been able to rest without first scraping together a meal for themselves and all their friends. By all rights, they should both be exhausted, and this night of stillness and solitude should be a relief.

But she can sense Zuko lying awake beside her, staring up into the darkened rafters of the barn. Though he is quiet, though he is careful not to move too much, the tension alone is enough to keep her awake.

Her fingertips brush against his arm. “Zuko, you should try to sleep.”

He gives a start and turns to meet her eyes. “Oh! I—” There is a pause, and even in the dark, she can see him swallow. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you awake.”

Katara almost wants to laugh. His restlessness has made it difficult to sleep, that much is true. But it isn’t so much that he’s been keeping her awake as it is that the stillness feels unnatural. Ordinarily, he is a quiet sleeper, but ordinarily, lying beside him doesn’t feel like lying next to a statue. If he weren’t trying so hard to keep from disturbing her, she might have drifted off a long time ago.

She nestles in against his shoulder and loops her hand idly around his. “I would have sworn that you were more tired than me.”

His head tilts in her direction. “Why would I be?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” she counters. “Today was—a lot.”

He grunts by way of acknowledgement. “I guess.” A small sigh, and though he seems to deflate a bit, the tension doesn’t leave. “I just have a lot on my mind. Don’t worry about it. You should sleep.”

She ignores that last part. She knows Zuko well enough to realize that despite what he might say, he’s never really expected their search to succeed. That after a few weeks of chasing fruitless leads around the Earth Kingdom, he’d practically resigned himself to returning home empty-handed. That splitting off from the others to follow their last few leads was less a matter of making their search more efficient than it was an effort to draw the journey to a close before he could succumb to guilt over wasting the others’ time.

But they’ve been away from the others less than a day, and already it feels like all of that has changed. Like maybe, just maybe, they’ve found his mother purely by accident.

“Do you really think we found her?”

“I know we did.” His voice, though soft, grows more intense. “Noriko is my mother. I would know her anywhere. I just—I didn’t think that she would have a new family.”

Katara raises her head just far enough to see his jaw tightening and traces her thumb softly along his jawline. “She has a new daughter, not a new family. No one is replacing you.”

They’ve both done the calculations by now. Kiyi is nearly eight years old, and Ursa has been gone for eight and a half years. If they’re right about Noriko and she really is Zuko’s mother in disguise, then Ursa was almost certainly pregnant before she left the palace behind. If they’re right, then Kiyi is almost certainly every bit as royal as he is.

If they’re right, then Ursa has almost certainly stayed in hiding for fear of what the world might do to another little Fire Nation princess.

“Even if Kiyi is my sister, I don’t know if that means much,” he says. “Noriko didn’t remember me. How could my own mother forget if she still cared about her old family?”

Slowly, Katara rolls onto her back to stare into the rafters along with him. “What if she didn’t forget?”

“She didn’t recognize me. She would have said something if she did.”

A frown finds its way across Katara’s lips. She remembers the brief flashes of confused uncertainty on Noriko’s face when they arrived, guiding Kiyi back from where she’d gotten lost in the forest. Katara remembers the surprised delight in Kiyi’s eyes and voice when Noriko invited them to spend the night as repayment for guiding Kiyi back unharmed. And Katara remembers all the pauses after that when Noriko would watch Zuko, brows furrowed like she could almost recognize him.

It's hard to know whether Zuko missed all of those moments, or if he’s just too afraid to hope.

“I’m not so sure about that.” She clasps Zuko’s hand again and traces a thumb across his knuckles. “It’s been a long time, Zuko. Even if she remembers you, she might not know how to say it. And I’m sure you look—different now than you used to.”

“She’s never seen my scar before,” he concedes after a pause. “Maybe she doesn’t want anything to do with me because of that.”

Frowning, Katara pokes him in the ribs. “That’s not what I meant. You know that.”

“Then what did you mean?”

She takes a moment to find the proper words. “You’ve always told me that your mother did everything she could to protect you. That she took care of you when no one else would. So now—maybe she’s ashamed. She thought leaving would keep you safe, but it didn’t work out that way.”

Zuko is quiet for a while. Then, “I guess you could be right.”

“You don’t sound very sure about that.”

He sighs. “How can I be sure? I haven’t seen her in years. And since then—so much as changed.” For a few long seconds, he goes quiet again. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do if it turns out that my own mother doesn’t want me anymore.”

All Katara can really do is snuggle closer against his side. “I don’t think that’s going to happen. I think she’ll see how easy it is to love you just the way you are.” Her hand rests softly on his chest, just near enough to the scar at the base of his sternum to feel the ridges at its edge. “But no matter what happens, you’re not going to be alone. I’ll still be here. You’ll always have a family, I promise.”

Zuko’s chest shudders ever so slightly as he exhales, and he wraps an arm around her. Though he can’t seem to find any more words, his embrace speaks volumes all on its own.

⁂

It’s still early, just past sunrise, when the barn door creaks below them. Katara tenses, and Zuko edges toward the ladder, but before either of them can do more, a small head pokes up into the loft.

“I knew it. Mom told me not to wake you up too early, but I knew you’d already be awake.” Kiyi clambers up the last few rungs into the loft, then grins at them both. “I brought some tea.”

The pot in her hand isn’t steaming, and the cups balanced upside down on its lid are battered and chipped, but she settles in the middle of the floor, looking pleased with herself just the same.

“It might be a little old.” Kiyi bends over far enough to squint down the teapot’s spout. “But I think Mom just made it last night. That’s not so bad, right?”

Zuko cracks a smile and sits an arm’s length away from her. “I don’t think so. But I have an uncle who really likes tea, and he might try to disown me if he ever heard me say that.”

Kiyi cocks her head to the side, then thumps a cup in front of Zuko. “He sounds silly.” She thumps a second cup down next to Zuko’s and motions for Katara to sit as well. “This one is for you.”

There is something in her frankness that makes Katara smile. Though she still can’t be as certain as Zuko that Ursa and Noriko are one and the same, it’s impossible to deny the fact that Kiyi looks a great deal like Zuko. If she isn’t his little sister, then the universe has done an uncannily good job at replicating both his features and his mannerisms.

Though the tea that Kiyi pours them is cold, Zuko shows no hesitation in drinking it. Katara takes a more hesitant sip—the tea is slightly bitter, but not so much as to be especially unpleasant. Kiyi looks pleased with herself when they’ve both tasted the tea, and she settles back against a crate, happily cradling her own cup between her hands.

“Where is Noriko?” Katara asks. “If she told you not to wake us—”

“Oh, I think she’s still sleeping.” Kiyi takes a sip from her cup. “But last night, she told me a lot of stuff about good manners around guests. I think Mom thought I was going to make a lot of noise because we’ve never had guests before, but it’s not like I was going to say anything if you were still asleep.”

At that, Zuko looks a bit surprised. “You’ve never had guests before?”

“Nope. Ever since I was a baby, Mom said that our house was just for family. The garden is for friends, but it would be impolite to make people sleep in the garden.”

“I see.”

Katara feels Zuko glancing her way, and she allows her hand to brush against his. That sort of paranoia would certainly make sense coming from Ursa. Keeping both friends and strangers from the house makes perfect sense if she’s on the run from the Fire Nation. And since Zuko and Katara have been allowed to stay—albeit in the barn instead of the house—maybe Ursa really does recognize Zuko after all this time.

Kiyi leans forward conspiratorially. “Do you want to know a secret, though? Me and Mom don’t have any other family. I don’t think so anyway. When I was really little, I think she told me that I had a big brother and sister, but I never met them.” Briefly, she frowns, cocking her head to the side. “I wonder if Mom thinks you’re my brother.”

It isn’t a question, and judging by the look on Zuko’s face, he probably wouldn’t be able to answer if it were. Katara squeezes his hand, and after a few seconds’ pause, he regains his composure.

“I guess I don’t know what she thinks. It was nice of her to let us stay either way.”

If she notices his hesitance, Kiyi seems unbothered by it. So unbothered, in fact, that rather than continuing the topic, she launches into a series of cheerful stories about her life with her mother—about journeys that take the two of them on crisscrossing paths across the northern Earth Kingdom every year. About riding from town to town on a cart drawn by their ostrich horse, meeting people from far-flung places, and exploring distant mountains and forests for new plants to bring back home.

Noriko, it seems, has carved out a life for herself where travel is both normal and expected. Where her work as an herbalist and chemist takes her on regular journeys for new ingredients and seeds, for customers and colleagues. Where, if her old life ever reemerges to endanger herself and her daughter, their escape will draw no notice whatsoever.

“I thought I was really good at directions,” Kiyi says, sounding a little sheepish. “Me and Mom go lots of places together, and I’ve never been lost before. But I guess I don’t play in the woods here at home very much, otherwise I wouldn’t have got lost yesterday. I still feel kinda silly.”

Zuko shakes his head. “You don’t have to feel silly about that. Everybody gets a little lost sometimes.”

“Even if they travel a lot?”

“Even then. For a few years, I lived on a ship, and it’s still hard to find my way sometimes.” There is a steadiness to his voice, and judging by the way that Kiyi beams at him, the reassurance is welcome.

“Maybe I’ll learn how to draw maps someday,” she says. “Then I won’t get lost ever again. And maybe I can give you some of my maps too.”

Zuko seems ready to reply, but before any words make it out of his mouth, the door below them creaks again.

“Kiyi? Are you in here, sweetheart?”

“Up here, Mama!”

There is a relieved-sounding sigh, and Noriko emerges at the top of the ladder a few moments later. “I thought I told you to give our guests their privacy. Come on. We’ll go back to the house, and they can join us for breakfast when they’re ready.” She gives them both an apologetic nod, but it’s painfully obvious that Noriko is trying not to stare at Zuko.

“But they’re already awake, Mama. We’re having tea.”

Katara shoots a glance at Zuko, and as he inhales, his shoulders tense. Gently, she loops her hand through his and gives a reassuring squeeze.

Noriko climbs the last few steps into the loft. “I understand that. I’m glad you didn’t wake them, but it’s impolite to—”

After another slow breath, Zuko squeezes back and pushes carefully to his feet.

“Wait.” His voice is soft and hesitant, but Noriko freezes stone-still, eyes alight with nervous hope. “This might sound strange, but I’ve been meaning to ask you—was there ever a time when you went by the name Ursa?”

Noriko’s eyes widen, and for a moment, it looks like she might faint. But then, just as quickly, she steps forward. “It is you. Oh, my sweet boy.” Though Zuko stands a full head taller than his mother, she sweeps him up in an embrace like he’s still a little boy. “My little Zuko.”

It’s enough to make Katara’s eyes burn, and as she blinks away the prickling, Kiyi scoots sideways until their shoulders nearly brush.

“Was I right before?” Kiyi asks in a whisper after a few moments watching the reunion. “Do I have a big brother for real?”

Smiling, Katara wipes her eyes and nods. “Yes. Are you okay with that?”

For a few seconds, Kiyi frowns, apparently deep in thought. Then, “If he’s my brother, are you gonna be my sister someday?”

“I think there’s a pretty good chance of that.”

A grin breaks across Kiyi’s face. “Then this is the best day ever!”

[stargirlfics]

Imagine Carmy finally goes on vacation and with his girlfriend (black!reader). The vacation is a complete fuckfest. They’re fucking in the bed, in the shower, against the sliding glass doors, on the balcony. They are like rabbits.

Oh my god mood! Also Carmy with a black gf just makes so much sense in my brain like iykyk!

Especially with Carmy who I feel like would be just a little stressed in the back of his mind because this is a real vacation and that man has never had a day off, he’s always on but he’s left The Bear in capable hands and they’ve all assured him it’ll be fine and he should definitely go on that vacation he’s been talking about for months now, Richie and you practically kidnapped him to go to the airport lmfao, so it takes Carm some time to adjust and really just relax and enjoy himself

But it’s all good cause when that moment does come, yeah he is all over you! Every second he can get because he knows back home this much alone time with you can be hard to come by and he’s not wasting a single second

God he would be insatiable like you’ve never seen him like this and you really like the side of Carmy that’s affectionate and handsy and eager to see you be pleased and to be the one to give that pleasure to you, plus he’s feeling grateful that you’re with him, here in this time and place where you can do whatever and can relax and you’re the one that pushed him to actually take time off from the restaurant

Please like I know he can give it so good, has your back arching, toes curling type of good and he’s so fucking passionate you’re left seeing stars after each time! 🥵

[wonder-mei]

Together Forever (MK1 Havik)

PS; Not lore accurate to the Mortal Kombat universe, I write because they’re hot.

The foods she made already went cold as they’ve been sitting there for hours. The lady waits for the arrival of her lover,Havik who promised he will be back today in his letter but there is still not a sight of him until dawn. She still sits there since morning believing he will be at their doorstep any minute now, the expectation she’s been having since she awoke at dusk.

She re-reads his letter again ‘I will be back in 3 days, this is a promise. No less or more than those days. The battle is almost over and I can only write this letter for the last time before I go home back to you,my love. I am fine and not hurt at all, do not worry about me. See you in 3 days. I have missed you every second without you by my side. I love you always.

Havik

Today is the third day. She has been excited since yesterday. Cleaning their house,washing every clothes needed and cooking his favorite foods. But where is he? She started to get tired in the chair in the living room. Her eyes haven’t left the front door. Minutes later her eyes closed from exhaustion. 

The birds’ chirps awoke her. It’s morning. The 4th day, a day after he promised to be here back home. She walks outside thinking he’ll be in the farm doing the corps. No one is there. She walks to the bathroom. Just cold there. She looks at the foods she made, not a single bit of them were eaten. ‘Maybe the place he is at has heavy rain or even something bad making him no chance to stay there for awhile’ she thinks for her own emotion. 

She gave the food to their farm animals not wanting to waste them. Then something caught her eyes, there’s a letter in a basket beside the front door. Did she not see it before? The lady takes it and reads; ‘My love, you have taken well of our house and farm. I am very lucky to have you as my wife. Strong and independent woman. The new dress you are wearing fits you so well complimenting your beauty. I love you’

“Havik?!” she calls out his name looking around their house searching for his sight. He’s not to be seen “Come home,Havik!” 

No replies. Just the wind. With a heavy heart she storms back to the house laying down in the bed crying. “Why didn't he come home when he was right here? Did I do something?”,Negative thoughts swam in her mind, making her cry much more. In tears she went to sleep once again with sadness in her heart. 

She wakes up hours later feeling hungry. She looks around and no one is in the house beside herself. She went to eat alone and attend their farm. Until night comes, Havik is still not home. She sleeps in sorrow this time.

The next day, the house is still in the same atmosphere; cold and lonely. She walks out from the front door. There’s a letter again in the same basket. She opens it,reading; ‘My love, please don’t cry. It breaks my heart seeing you like this. I am sorry I haven't come home as I promised. I just don’t know how to face you…. I have changed. You won't love me after you see me. I am afraid of losing you. I love you’

What does he mean he changed? Did something go wrong in the mission? That can’t be, he is capable of taking care of himself and heal. So what is he so afraid about? 

“Havik,are you hurt?!” She shouts out loud eyes wandering every place around the house “Come home,Havik! I can help you with your wounds!”

Not a single reply.

With the same sorrowful heart, she storms back into the house and sleeps in tears. After she woke up, she didn’t go outside to tend the farm. She isolates herself in the room. She came out the next day, went straight to the front door. A letter again in the basket, ‘Love, I am sorry I hurt you. You didn’t feed the animals yesterday. You must be so hurt by this…. I am sorry. I will apologise to you a million times just for you to feel comfort. I still don’t have the courage for you to see me. I am sorry. I love you’

“Havik come home!” she cries out “Come back to me…” 

Again,just silence. 

Today, she isolates herself just like before. Eating little food and laying in the bed thinking about Havik wondering why he is still afraid to be seen by her. She’s his wife. Nothing can change her love towards him no matter what. By then, she has an idea. 

It was dusk, she lay there quiet under the covers pretending to sleep. The window by the bed creaks open a little. Someone is peeking inside the room and then closes it back. Heavy footsteps walk to the front door stopping there. She slowly walks to the front door and opens the door with a swift. And there he is. Her husband. His back facing her like he was about to leave. She saw him flinch hearing the door open after he laid the letter in the basket again “Havik!” she calls out his name. Tears starts to water down her eyes “Havik, don’t go” 

Her heart was heavy looking at his appearance. Havik is a little thinner than before he left for the war. His body becomes more tense as she walks towards him. Her soft hand touches his shoulder “Havik?”, he stand still not turning around “Havik, please i want to see you” she softly asks

Havik slowly turns around. His eyes avoid hers. He covered half of his face with a scarf “Are you hurt?” she reaches the scarf but he stops her “Let me see” her eyes begs him. Havik lets her to uncover his face

He finally looks at her to see her reaction. No sigh of disgust or fear, not the reaction he expected her seeing his new scarred face “Who did this to you?” 

“I wasn’t strong enough to avoid the accident”

“Are you in pain?”

She sighs in relief and hugs him tightly “That’s all matter,Havik. I don’t want you to be in pain”

Havik stood there still not knowing what to do. She loves him even though his face is half of his flesh? The thoughts of her leaving him and being scared of him because of new looks was not true. “Are you not scared?”

She looks into his eyes “Never will” 

Havik finally returns her embrace. Hugging her tightly, he slowly cries. All those fears of losing her will never happen. Their love for each other is forever even after one of them changed. But love will never change, not a single bit.

“Let’s go home” she holds his hand with the smile he adores so much

“Yes”

[cebwrites]

Could I ask for headcanons on how sanji, doflamingo or law would react to a very level headed S/O falling into an emotional rage? Not at them, but at an unfair situation? The only one the s/o can hear is them?

hello again, this prompt definitely piqued my interest~

reacting to their S/O raging (Law, Sanji)

gn reader, he/they law word count: 0.5k

Law

They weren’t expecting it, but Law knows exactly what it feels like to bottle everything up under a tight lid, desperate to keep any of it from leaking and exposing his fears, his fury, vulnerabilities

Law would let you air it out, if it’s an enemy that you have to defeat, he’ll do it with you together - if it’s a situation you have to overcome, you’re free to scream and cry to your heart’s content and Law will be here after to help pick up the pieces

They’re well aware of their limitations in the moment, but Law’s more than ready to catch you when the emotional crash hits before you burn - they’ve been there, they’ve gotten out of those pits alive and so will you

Law’s patient, they’re willing to wait if you aren’t ready to bare your fragile underbelly to him, but if it’s getting to a point where it’s actively hurting you, they’ll have to intervene

When the anger burns away and all that’s left is a deep, unrelenting sadness or an apathy that hollows you through your very bones, they’re there to hold you through it, reassure you that you were angry for a reason, however unfair the situation was, they’ll help you find a way out

Sanji

He’s shocked, to say the least

None of this is in any way uncharted territory for him, emotionally speaking, but to find out that someone so close to him was suffering this much in silence - to feel like they couldn’t reach out to him when he was supposed to be someone his partner could rely on through hell or high water - would break Sanji a little

No part of this is your fault, of course, Sanji only blames himself for not noticing the signs sooner, signs that were so obvious within himself that other crew members picked up on them immediately and wasted no time in offering their own versions of help

When you ask for some space afterwards to gather your thoughts Sanji gives you a wide berth, it allows him some time to clear his head, too, and comfort in the way he knows best; food

Sanji picks a dish that takes a while, something he knows will keep him out of your hair while you recoup and other Strawhats have a chance to check in on you, and by the time you peek your head into the kitchen after long hours of solitude - he graces you with the softest smile, asking how you feel and tucking loose stands of your hair behind your ear

Once you lean into his touch, the unspoken permission he’s been waiting for, Sanji swoops you into a big hug, apologizing for his negligence and that he’ll do a better job of paying attention to your needs in the future

You’d sigh and cup his cheek, telling him that it’s not his job as your partner to monitor your feelings, but that his concern is always appreciated and that you promise to speak to him with things earlier, before they can get to that point, in the future

[lgbtimelords]

a fanfic i'll never write, part 2:

scenes from the future and feelings from the past

Behind knowing everything ends up okay and that one should always be hopeful, there's something else Kara knows wholeheartedly: people always leave, eventually.

People leave like her grandfather did. One day he was telling her how excited he was to see her join the science guild and the next her parents were telling her he would not be making it to the ceremony.

People leave like her parents did. Or maybe she left. Still. Someone leaves. And she ends up alone again. And then came back, again. And leave, again.

Jeremiah left. Cat left. Mon-El left. Winn left. James left. Kenny left. Lucy left. Kal never showed up to begin with. They’re all a small missing piece inside her heart she had to take away so it’d stop hurting, leaving an empty void instead.

She hates the loneliness. Hates it more than darkness and villains and kale on her food. And yet, the feeling of being alone is the one thing that never seems to leave her.

Alex’s and Kelly’s car flies away. Up and away in their happily ever after. It brings tears to her eyes again and it warms her heart, that her sister got it all- everything she wanted, everything she deserves.

It all ends rather suddenly after that. The guests start to leave one by one- Kara doesn’t even know over half of them. Winn leaves, too- something about his wife and daughter and some weird movie franchise. Brainy and Nia leave together, rushed and with a tint of red already covering their cheeks.

“Are you coming with us, auntie Kara?” Esme says, two little arms circling her waist as bright eyes look up at her.

She smiles at the girl, throws a look to Eliza- receiving an understanding nod to her silent question.

“Sorry, bud. I have a thing,” she says, running her fingers through Esme’s hair, “but you’ll have so much fun with grandma.”

And so, Esme and Eliza leave, just for today- she wonders how long it’ll be before it’s permanent.

The waiters take everything down. The tables, the flowers, the chairs. They clean up every glass and every fork. They pick up every dirty napkin and mop spilled drinks from the dancefloor. All while Kara watches from the side, sitting below a tree in the corner of the property- light blue dress already filled with dirt.

“Hey, you,” a soft voice she knows so well calls out, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Lena wastes no time before sitting down beside Kara. Her knees, still cladded in her sinful and gorgeous purple bodysuit, bump against Kara’s playfully. The action brings a small smile to her face. Knowing how much they’ve grown, how they went back to the playful and subtle touches again, the ones Kara had missed so so so much.

And somehow, something in the back of her mind, as she watches Lena’s knee move from side to side, always touching Kara’s when it moves to the left, tells her that Lena has already left, once, but Lena has always been the only one to ever come back.

“I’m tired,” she ends up confessing, even though perhaps they had already used up their emotional conversations quota of the day.

“Then let’s go home,” Lena whispers, care and warmness wrapping around Kara like a soft blanket. “I can make you some hot chocolate.”

“I mean… I’m tired of… everything. Everyone leaving”

Worry takes over Lena’s features. Kara has to look away in case it turns to pity, she doesn’t think she can deal with pity right now. “Alex isn’t gone,” she says, her hand taking Kara’s, “You know this.”

“I know. I know.” A tear rolls down her cheek anyway, “But she’s… Nevermind.”

“Hey, no, tell me,” Lena’s hand pulls, urging Kara to look into her eyes.

“It’s selfish,” she whispers.

“I don’t care,” Lena says back, “I won’t judge.”

“She’s no longer only mine,” she confesses, bites her lip in shame but she doesn’t find confusion in Lena's eyes, she doesn’t laugh at Kara’s words, she doesn’t tell her how selfish and ridiculous she’s being. She smiles sadly and squeezes her hand, asking her to keep going. “She’s no longer only my sister. She’s a wife. And a mom. And I love that, I do. But I’ve lost so much and now Alex can’t be my rock anymore, because if I drown Alex then I drown Kelly and Esme down with me, too. I can’t do that to her.”

“Just because Alex has new people to take care of, care for,” Lena says, “doesn’t mean she’ll stop taking care of you.”

“But I want her to stop taking care of me,” she exclaims, “I’ve held Alex back for so many years, Lena. So many. And I can’t be selfish enough to expect her to be there for me when she’s got so much good in her life now.”

“You are not a burden, Kara.”

“I know I’m not,” she sighs. “I know that if I ask for help, Alex will come running. But I don’t want to do that to her anymore. It’s just… It used to be us against the world. Alex was the first person I ever had since coming here. And I was the first person Alex ever truly confided in. And now that part of her has a new life, I realized… I don’t have anything that’s truly mine, now.”

She throws her head back against the tree. She wishes it could be full strength. Yet knows, full strength will break the tree in half. She plays with the ends of Lena’s fingers, tries to ground herself after letting out so many feelings.

“I understand what you mean by that,” Lena says softly. “I’ve never really had someone that’s truly mine either.”

[infinitywhump]

Whumpee is out for the count long-term, recovering slowly from some grievous injury or illness, bedridden and still incredibly weak even now that they’re out of the woods. But they’re getting a visit from someone powerful, someone dangerous (a rival political faction? a superior officer?) — and they can’t afford to show weakness.

In this (sci-fi or fantasy) setting, there exists a short-term, fast-acting stimulant that will get anyone back on their feet, good as new… for a couple of hours, and with a nasty physical toll to be paid after it wears off. Caretaker is against Whumpee taking it, but eventually Whumpee grinds them down into agreement. They simply don’t have a better option.

The morning of, Caretaker helps Whumpee sit up in bed, feeling guilty at the obvious exhaustion and pain lining Whumpee’s face, exacerbated by the early hour. They’ve already ironed Whumpee’s formal outfit, choosing clothing least likely to cause them discomfort; it’s the first time in weeks Whumpee has worn anything other than sweats and a baggy tee. Neither of them can afford to waste the critical few hours that the stimulant is active. So Caretaker helps Whumpee eat breakfast, gets them settled in a shower chair and helps them bathe, blow-dries and styles their hair, makes sure their outfit doesn’t have a hair out of place, does their makeup if that’s Whumpee’s thing — all the while feeling oddly like the costuming artist on a film crew.

They while away an hour or two, Whumpee drowsing and making idle conversation at turns, Caretaker playing with their hair. When the time comes, Caretaker rolls up Whumpee’s sleeve and administers the stimulant, holding them as they shudder through the aftershocks. And then Whumpree sits up: lively, animated, healthy-looking as the day before all of this went down. Caretaker could cry: it’s so good to see them like this again, even as Caretaker wishes the circumstances were different. But there’s no time to waste.

When their guest arrives, Whumpee greets them at the door with a firm handshake and a dangerous look, the picture of confidence and power. Caretaker hears their voices filtering in from the other room, strong and sure, and breathes a nervous sigh of relief. They try to keep busy, even as they can’t quite get rid of the panicked edge to their thoughts: What will be left of Whumpee when all is said and done?

Maybe Caretaker emerges from their bedroom as the front door shuts just in time to see the perfectly-arranged mask of Whumpee’s face drop — to catch them just as their white-knuckled grip on the dining room table slips and they collapse to the floor.

Or maybe Whumpee’s still doing okay. They both go about their day as normal, even as neither of them quite remembers what normal is anymore. They go through the motions and make small talk around the elephant in the room: they don’t know how much longer this will last. Maybe Caretaker turns around for a moment, and their next sight of Whumpee is them standing stock-still, white as a ghost, a cold sweat breaking out on their face. They guide Whumpee gently down to the sofa, helping them sit up long enough to put a few throw pillows behind their back, tucking a blanket around their shaking form.

“I’m sorry,” Whumpee says, their shattered voice a dim echo of its precious surety just a few hours before.

“What for?” Caretaker soothes. “Everything’s alright. You were perfect.”

[arealphrooblem]

Okay so if you’re doing requests and this looks enjoyable enough to do ( no pressure if you don’t want to I get it) a villain x hero where they’re fighting and hero gets pushed into the water and villian is about to leave but hero can’t swim. So villain is like there’s no way I’m gonna let them die as stupidly as drowning I need to kill them properly and saves them but with a lot of romantic? tension (I’m such a pathetic loser for hero x villian) hope this makes sense lmfao (perhaps hero has a fear of water and is shaking really badly and villian is like hugging and petting them because they feel bad cause they’ve never seen hero so distressed)

Not sure if this is exactly what you pictured but I had fun!

warnings: drowning, near death experience

"Well well well, if it isn't a little mouse caught in my trap."

He had waited before making his entrance, watching the hero struggle to stay upright, clinging to his own feet until his strength left him and he fell back upside down. 

His footsteps echoed in the chamber as he stepped further inside. The hero dangled on a rope over a deep pool of water, hands tied behind his back. Villain crouched down and sloshed the water a bit, as if rinsing something from his gloves. 

"Or perhaps a worm wriggling on a hook would be a more apt comparison."

The hero glared, though the feathery hair hanging over his face like a sheepdog rather killed the intimidation factor. 

"What do you want this time?" he said. "Are you planning some kind of heist? Is there some kind of council of evil-doers you don't want me to mess up?"

The Villain laughed. "You know I don't play well with others. No, I was excavating the cave system here and found, to my delight, an underground lake. It's very deep and very inspiring for a new trap. Which, naturally, you walked right into."

"So you're just using me as a guinea pig?" the hero asked flatly. 

Villain dipped another finger back in the water, swirling it around to watch the ripples skitter across the murky depths. "I was thinking of putting in piranhas. An anaconda perhaps? Catfish big enough to swallow you whole."

"You know that kind of thing only works in the movies, right?"

"I could make it work," said the Villain absently, mind already racing turning the logistics of it.

He faintly registered the sound of creaking rope as the Hero struggled, but was too lost in his own thoughts to pay it much attention. He only registered the scraping sound of boots against stone before the fist of the hero came swinging into view. 

Villain dodged just in time, the hero's woozy balance from his time spent upside down the only advantage Villain had.  

"Next time keep a better eye on your prisoner," the Hero said, cocky grin on his face.  

Villain rolled back up to his feet and kicked the hero square in the chest.

The hero fell back into the water, the splash washing up against the Villain's boots. 

And then he disappeared. Villain waited for a few seconds. 

"There's no point in trying to find an exit," he cried down to the water. "You'll drown before you find your way out."

Nothing. Then, abruptly, the Hero's face broke through the surface long enough to take a strangled gasp of air before sinking back down again. 

That was when it finally clicked for Villain -- the Hero was drowning. Right now. He wasted a few more precious seconds, gripped by horrified paralysis, before shucking off his cape and diving into the pool. 

For a horrible moment Villain became disoriented -- the same murky darkness was both above and below, the surface incomprehensible. This was a horrible idea -- this was a horrible, stupid idea and now Villain was going to drown right along side Hero and for what? For this irritating need for his attention? For the way he --

A flailing limb caught Villain in the ribs, knocking some much needed sense into him. He wrapped his arms around the Hero's body and began to kick his way upward. (Or what he would pray was upward -- if he was the praying type). 

Just as his lungs burned with the desperate need for air, they broke the surface. Villain coughed and spluttered as he dragged the two of them further up the ground. Hero stayed dangerously silent. 

"Hero?" 

Villain shook him, but the Hero remained unresponsive. He slapped the hero's cheek a few times and then leaned down close his mouth.

No breathing.

Icy dread coiled in the Villain's gut. The past kicked in, training that he hadn't used in years taking over his body. Villain started CPR, the steps carried out on autopilot.

Like riding a bicycle.

Eventually the hero gasped, deep and desperate. Water splattered on the stone as he turned and coughed. Relief made Villain dizzy, like a drug, like a hit of oxygen after asphyxiation.

And then the anger set in.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded.

The hero didn't answer. He leaned his forehead against the solid ground, breathing shakily.

"Can you not swim?"

How long had Villain left him suspended over that pool? And yet the hero had never flinched, never lost his cool, despite death only a few feet away. It only fueled Villain's anger. What if the rope had been faulty? What if the Hero had lost his balance when he escaped his bonds?

Villain shoved the hero on his back and straddled him, his fingers digging into the other man's soaked shirt.

"How the fuck do you not know how to swim?!" he snarled

The Hero shook his head, one hand clutching at the Villain's. Not to tear away, not to struggle out of the Villain's hold. Just clinging to it. His fingers shook.

In fact, the Villain could feel the Hero's entire body tremble beneath him. Of course -- the cave was cold, the underground lake even more so. But that didn't explain the labored breathing, the eyes squeezed tight, the fingers holding tightly to Villain's hand.

Villain knew fear when he saw it. He dealt in it, his favorite currency. Whatever bravado the Hero had earlier had left him entirely. All that remained was the pit deep terror that only a near-death experience or severe phobia could bring.

It looked wrong on Hero.

"Hey." Villain cleared his throat. "Look at me." He shook the Hero, more gently, until the other man cracked open his eyes. "You're alright. You're on solid ground again. You're safe --"

The hero snorted.

"Well  -- safe for now," the Villain amended.  He had so much more experience with creating fear than abolishing it. 

"Until you find some other way to try to murder me," the hero said. 

"You can't pin this one on me," the Villain argued. "I didn't know you were an idiot who couldn't swim."

The Hero's brow furrowed. "Why did you save me? You had the perfect opportunity to finally get rid of me."

"I don't want to get rid of you," Villain hissed before he could filter it. 

He froze at the unexpected confession and the Hero cocked his head to the side, eyes alight, fear forgotten. 

"Oh?" he said. 

"I want to -- destroy you," the Villain amended. "Publicly. So that no one could ever doubt my prowess over yours. There are no witnesses here."

The Hero had the audacity to smirk. "Is that why you kissed me?"

The Villain threw the Hero back down in disgust. "I didn't kiss you -- I performed CPR you absolute buffoon."

"To save my life. Like a Hero."

The triumph in Hero's face was unbearable. Villain stood up, brushing dirt from his clothes, trying to ignore the strange fluttering in his stomach. 

"Go home," he said. "We're done here. I trust you can find your own way out. You've done so enough times."

He headed towards the secret elevator, not daring to turn around and look at the Hero still laying on the ground for fear of revealing his red-tipped ears, the flush on his cheeks. 

Ridiculous. 

He only heard the hero call out once, just before the elevator doors closed.

"Maybe next time you should kiss me." Part 2 here

[stainedglassthreads]

Thinking about it. People have discussed to death and debated over whether Chara was ‘good’ or ‘evil’, and talked about their feelings on fandom’s early tendency to cast them as a villain. But now I’m wondering why a lot of fanworks cast them as a hyperactive little shit who swears a lot, gets mad easily, argues with everyone, and is sassy as hell. 

Sassy and sarcastic I can see if you’re going by Narra Chara. But rude, hyperactive, yandere-esque, and especially the swear words... not so much? 

And yeah, I could make arguments about how hiding their face paints a very shy and quiet image. But I’m not going to grasp at straws from still images. I’m going to use dialogue very few ‘Chara is evil’ believers are willing to argue DIDN’T come from them. 

In No Mercy, which is the one route basically everyone agrees they narrate, they’re direct and to the point and usually distant and unemotional. They’re not yelling that you’re a fucking donkey for believing you’re above consequences and can take back control, or heartlessly ripping into the monsters for being so foolishly naive and weak, or gloating over their victory. They calmly explain who and what they are, and what they want. The few times they do insult you, they use sophisticated words like ‘perverse sentimentality’. When they dismiss the monsters they’ve met until now, they don’t go out of their way to be really cruel and insulting. They remain direct and to the point, and are usually cold and harsh statements of fact. 

Toriel’s check in No Mercy is ‘Not worth talking to.’ They’re not wrong. In every other route, talking does nothing, only persistently sparing her lets you make progress. 

Papyrus gets ‘Forgettable’. Again, they’re not wrong. Very few monsters really take notice of him, most only remembering him in relation to other people. As ‘Sans’ brother’ or ‘Undyne’s trainee’. 

Monster Kid is just ‘in my way’. Cruel, but objectively not wrong. It’s less of a ponted insult, and more how little they think of them. 

For Undyne, the narrator isn’t even particularly cold or disrespectful. In two out of three possible flavor texts, they refer to Undyne as ‘the heroine’. Quite a compliment, and one that isn’t wrong, considering how she’s standing up to a mass murderer and protects Monster Kid. 

Mettaton, in No Mercy, gets similarly positive or neutral remarks. ‘Dr Alphys’ greatest invention’ and ‘Mettaton NEO blocks your way’. He sure is blocking your way. And most of the Underground sure does know him as Dr Alphys’ greatest invention. I guess it could be read as sarcastic, but with the tone of all these other bits of flavor text, it feels more like a neutral statement...? 

And of course. Sans. He probably has the absolute biggest variety of No Mercy flavor text. ‘The easiest enemy’ could be read as insulting, but this is corrected to a more objective statement of encouragement. ‘He can’t keep dodging forever. Just keep attacking.’ Other bits of flavor text are objective assessments of how tired Sans is, how YOU feel, and how dwelling on the flavor text isn’t a great use of time. At no point do they call him smiley trashbag, that comedian, or...anything really insulting. 

At no point do they call ANYONE anything especially insulting. They’re not like Flowey, calling everyone idiots. If anything, a villainous and murderous Chara comes off as more cold and distant. Even the Save Points don’t tell you ‘5 more idiot babies to slaughter’ or specifically demand that you finish everyone off before moving on. Until you reach Sans, Chara makes no effort to discourage or persuade you. They just state objectively ‘x left’ or ‘but nobody came’. 

They just... don’t care. They don’t care about any of these people anymore, not even enough to waste energy on insulting them. All they care about is reaching ‘the end’. (Or one could argue they’re at least trying to act like they don’t care.)

Chara states that they were confused upon awakening and chose to follow your lead. Personally I’m inclined to believe that they’re not lying. They choose to follow our orders to the utmost, even when they do not understand those orders, even when those orders lead them to the edge of annihilation. 

On a final note. It’s kinda sad how Chara’s systematic completionist mentality is cold and horrifying in No Mercy... but in the Winter Alarm Clock dialogue, it’s a funny anecdote of a more lighthearted time which both Asgore and Toriel remember fondly, and a behavior Asriel still continues to emulate even after he stops idolizing Chara. 

Any trait, when taken to the extreme, can become nightmarish. 

[yanphobia]

Cleithrophobia - Chapter 11

Cleithrophobia: The fear of being trapped.

Pairing: Yandere Male Drider OC x Reader

Warnings (for the entire story): Yandere, Horror, Graphic Discriptions of Injury and Death, Spiders, NonCon Touching, Possible NonCon (depending on reader's interpretation), Implied Female Reader (although it doesn't really factor too heavily into the plot), Extreme Dead Dove Do Not Eat

Chapter 10 Index

Author's Note: Aaaand that's a wrap! I was going to wait until next week to post this, but you've all been so good waiting for updates that I thought you deserved to get it early. It's been so much fun starting this blog and seeing your reactions to the new chapters, and I can't wait to get started on my next story. I have a few ideas bouncing around, so stay tuned! But in the meantime, enjoy the final installment of our angry spider man!

This story was inspired by cobalt-sphinx's Drider x Reader from Quotev.

You didn't die that night; no. Death would’ve been kinder. 

Every waking moment, the events of that night haunted you. Every time you fell asleep, it was as though you were reliving it all again. 

Mars hadn’t let up the second you fell into his den. You tumbled down the tunnel that would be too steep to ever climb out of and slammed against the cold ground of the hollowed-out nest below, dimly lit with the lantern you had left in your meeting spot earlier in the night. The impact caused you to lose your breath, but almost immediately he was lifting you up again, roughly shoving his tongue down your throat as you weakly attempted to push him away. 

Then he carried you to the newly laid webs in the corner... you shut your eyes. You didn’t want to remember what happened next. 

But even now, you could still feel his hands ripping through your clothes, shredding them and leaving you in your most vulnerable state. You could feel his fangs tearing through the soft, delicate flesh of your body, the wet sound of his mouth slurping up your blood in between his loud proclamations of hate. Your voice was gone from all of the screaming, and crying, and begging for mercy, and you weren’t sure how often you passed out only to wake up again in the throes of your torture. 

He had left no part of you untouched, unviolated, and you haven’t seen him since. 

At some point, you had woken up to find him gone, and although it was impossible to tell how long you’d been here, it had to have been at least a few days. You were forced to lie there, starving and weak in a pool of your own blood and waste, as you fought with yourself to maintain your sanity. There was something inside of you, some weak desire to escape from the hell you’ve been subjected to, that was keeping you alive.  

It was quiet, but eventually you heard the scratching of his legs against the dirt walls of the tunnel. He stopped when he reached the bottom, no doubt confused by the darkness of the den. You couldn’t bear to look at your injuries anymore, and over the course of a few excruciating hours you were able to roll over and turn the lantern off. 

“This,” he said, as you heard him approach, “was supposed to stay on!” 

The lights flickered on and you saw your captor’s irritated face, which quickly turned to surprise. It would’ve been almost comical, if you had the heart to laugh. The two of you looked each other over, him, holding the corpse of a goat by its broken neck, and you, looking like a prey animal that had met a much slower end. As he took you in, his confusion turned to an obvious disgust, and the embarrassment and shame you felt at your current state overtook you. 

“...” 

“They’re infected.” You were quick to explain. “The wounds, they’ve, uh... they’re festering. They need to be treated.” 

It was awful and seeing them again was nothing short of nightmarish. There had been nothing here to clean them when they were fresh, and you wouldn’t have had the strength to do so anyway. In your solitude, you slowly watched as the area around the lacerations swelled and reddened, while a thick, foul-smelling pus leaked out of them. They burned and the redness spread around your body, along with the fever that’s been plaguing you ever since. Your skin glistened with sweat as you watched your skin begin to yellow, and then blacken, shriveling away to reveal the deep-seated fascia and layers of fat underneath. You laid there in agony as your condition worsened, all the while remembering your readings about the necrotizing properties of spider venom.  

You were rotting away, from the outside in. 

“Please...” you begged, your voice so weak and pathetic sounding that it only embarrassed you further. “Please, let me go. I just have to... have to treat it. I have to go to a hospital.” 

He remained unimpressed. “Do you really think that will work on me?” 

“I’m serious!” You begged. “I’ll do anything... I’ll come back the second that I can. But I can’t put it off any longer...!”  He eyed your injuries again, observing old blood stains on the webs underneath you. The smell was nauseating, and perhaps that was what made him compromise. 

“I’ll get you water-” 

“No! Water would not do anything at this point, not this far along.“ The only thing that could save you now was a clean environment, with plenty of antibiotics, steroids, skin grafts. 

“Please,” you tried again, “I swear to you that I will come back. I’ll die if I don’t!” 

“You’ll die?!” He scoffed. “What do you think I do every day? How do you think I feel, knowing that you’re here, wanting to be close to you, but then remembering all of the shit that you did to me?! What I suffer, [Y/N], is a fate worse than death, and all of it is because of you.” 

He leaned closer and held up the dead goat. 

“This-” he said, shaking it in front of your eyes, “is what I’m supposed to be. An apex predator, one that listens to no one, especially not a useless human like yourself!” 

And with that, he tore into its flesh. He maintained eye contact with you as you watched the meat of its body break down and liquify. You imagined yourself in the later stages of your necrosis, with your internal organs falling apart the same exact way.  

You didn’t have it in you to be sick anymore. You were too numb. As you watched Mars devour his meal, you realized that this was the exact fate that you deserved. For all of the things that you’ve done to the people you claimed to care about. For Laura, Stan, and Shadow, whose deaths you had caused. You could never be allowed to make a full recovery, physically or mentally, because you have not earned it. 

You sighed, closed your eyes, and waited for nature to take its course. 

--- 

Mars stared down at your unconscious form. You hadn’t been responsive for a few days, and he had lost the last of his patience. He knew, in his heart, that you were being dramatic, that your injuries THAT HE INFLICTED UPON YOU were not nearly as bad as you claimed. He even cleaned your wounds for you, scrubbing them down using water from a nearby pond YOU’D TOLD HIM WATER WAS NOT ENOUGH TO HEAL YOU and the scraps of your old shirt. 

He’s done everything he could NO HE HASN’T but you still refused to wake up. 

“Hey.” He barked out. Silence. 

“HEY.” This time he kicked you. Again, silence. 

He knelt, taking one of your hands in his. He briefly glanced over the withered, blackened fingertips and yellowed, peeling nails, before biting into your cold palm. Blood gushed from the puncture, and he waited intently for you to wake up screaming, but he was still met with silence. 

He stood and dropped your hand, which fell listlessly to the ground, and licked your blood from his lips. It was off, somehow, extremely sour and not at all as warm and sweet as it used to be. 

His hands raked through his hair as he thought to himself. He wasn’t stupid, he knew what a rotten carcass looked like, he had seen them many times out in the woods. But you weren’t dead. You couldn’t be. 

Slowly, he approached you again, and even slower, he lowered his ear to the marred flesh above your heart, ignoring the bit of yellow puss that rubbed off onto his cheek. 

A heartbeat. He could barely feel it, much less hear it, but it was still there. He looked again at your disfigured face, at the deep cuts in the muscles that so closely resembled the raw meat that you used to bring to him. 

He wasn’t stupid. He knew what a creature in its final moments looked like. 

--- 

You had no way of feeling your naked body being wrapped in a dirty threadbare blanket, or the night’s cool air on your face. You couldn’t feel the way it rocked back and forth as it was carried through the forest. You couldn’t feel it being propped up against the wooden balusters of a front porch, either. 

You could, however, hear a voice pulling you back from the darkness that you had been lost in. 

“Alright, you’ve won.” It said. It kept tugging on the fabric around you. Adjusting it. 

“I’ll take your previous deal.” 

When a star is about to die, it receives one final burst of energy before it diminishes completely. Why that was the first thought you had as you mustered up the strength to open your eyes... you could not tell. 

Your vision was blurry, and in your left eye it was almost entirely gone. You didn’t have a way to see how milky and deteriorated it had become. But somehow, you were able to make out a few pairs of red eyes staring at you, and a wide, thin mouth which revealed black fangs when it spoke next. 

“Go, then, to your little human hospital and sort all of this out. And then afterwards – immediately afterwards – you'll come home again. Don’t... don’t you di-” 

His voice caught in his throat, then he huffed in annoyance. 

“Don’t you try to screw me over, okay? I’ll know if you try to get out of this one...!” 

He stood up then, seemingly miles above you, and gave one final warning: 

“Go there and come right back, [Y/N]. Just like you promised.” 

Your eyes began to defocus as you heard him bang loudly on the front door and run away, into the pitch-black forest behind you. The door opened, and you heard the woman’s voice change as she processed the macabre scene before her. 

“Hello? What is...? Oh... oh my God! Kids! Brandon, Kayla, get in your rooms! Get in them, right now! Charlie, I – Charlie, call 911! You- hey... are you alive? ...Listen, we’re going to get you help! We’re calling an ambulance! Just... just stay awake, alright? Just don’t fall asleep...!” 

You held on to her words as much as you could. Deep down, you still felt the animalistic urge to continue living. No, a part of you still wanted to believe that you could get through to the other side of this, as little as you may deserve it. But as your eyelids pulled themselves closed, and as you felt your conciousness begin to slip, you weren’t so sure that you had the strength to hold on anymore... 

THE END.

[serickswrites]

Aaaa may I please ask this for the sole reason that you write the best comatose scene in the site? 😭 A wakeup scene of whumpee who had been in the coma for months. They feel awful, they’re breathing through a tube sown on their throat, and they’ve yet to look at any mirror but can see their hand is significantly wasting. Worst of all is of course, the sight of caretaker. Tired, thinner, near-irrecognizable caretaker who had been by their side the entire time, the wait took a toll on them.

Oh my gosh, thank you! So glad you like what I put out there!

And yes! I can definitely write this! Please feel to make a request any time!

Warnings: hospital, coma, hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, caretaker and whumpee

Whumpee clawed their way out of the darkness. The world had been dark for so long. So dark. So silent. So empty. It had gone dark.....so long ago, Whumpee couldn't remember the last time they had seen light.

Whumpee blinked against the dark as light started to filter through. Just a bit further. They blinked once more. Blinked and realized their was something in their mouth. Something down their throat. Something forcing air through their lungs.

No. NO. NONONONONO.

Panic gripped Whumpee as they tried to move to rip whatever was in their mouth out. "You need that, Whumpee. Don't touch it," Caretaker's raspy voice came from their right side. "Just let it be."

Whumpee blinked again. Caretaker? Had Caretaker been in the dark with them? Why wasn't Caretaker helping them? Whumpee tried to lift their head, tried to get up, but couldn't. Their body felt impossibly heavy. They couldn't even lift their hands. Why won't you help me, Caretaker. Please. Help.

Whumpee tried to turn to look at their hand, but couldn't. Their head weighed too much. They tried to look out of the corner of their eye at their hand and their mouth went dry. Their hand was so pale, so thin, bony even. When did that happen? What happened?

They looked further up out of the corner of their eye to where they thought Caretaker would be. If Whumpee could have gasped, they would have. Caretaker was a shell of who they once were. Their once full face was now nothing but bones. They were pale. Empty looking. Caretaker! What happened? Caretaker!

"It's ok, Whumpee," Caretaker said as they cleared their throat once more. "You're ok. You're in a hospital."

Whumpee blinked at Caretaker. I figured as much.

"You had a terrible accident. You've been in a coma." Caretaker's eyes were filling with tears as they spoke.

Coma? That explains the breathing tube. Accident? I don't remember. How long ago was that? How long have I been like this?

"You've...you've...you've," Caretaker's voice broke, "you've been here a while, Whumpee. But I never left you alone. I'm not going to leave you alone. And you're still here," Caretaker reached out to touch Whumpee's cheek. If Whumpee could have jerked away, they would have, Caretaker's bony hand was icy cold. "You're still here."

I'm here. I'm here. I didn't leave. I'm not going anywhere, Caretaker. I promise.