#digging and sifting would fix me

[watermelinoe]

soon it will be fossil hunting season and i will be ok again

[whatsnewalycat]

Designated Person | 9

Pairing: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader

Chapter 9: Where The Wild Things Are

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 8.6k+

Tags / Warnings: alternating pov, infidelity, past romantic & sexual relationship, angst, food mention, jealousy, alcohol & alcoholism, lying, conflict avoidance, crying, internal conflict, birthday party, a low-key dudes rule moment (bros! bros! bros!), tried my hardest hardest with Spanish but I am a white girl I’m sorry if its wrong pls let me know, a lot of dialogue like so much dialogue fuck, children, toxic relationships just bad all around

Notes: WELL HI, long time no see! I know it’s been over 6 months since I’ve updated. I went on a warpath with another series (Psychomanteum—it’s finished if you wanna check it out). But I’m back to force these two dummies to walk through hellfire 💘

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———————————————————————————

Nothing seems right. 

For what has to be the hundredth time, you sift through the sparse collection of t-shirts and dresses hanging in your closet. Each time you push a hanger aside to consider a potential outfit, your brain falls into the same pattern. 

First, you wonder if Frankie would like it. Granted, if you showed up wearing a cardboard box he’d still want to fuck you. 

You want him to like it more than that, though. 

You want him to see you and get all weak in the knees. You want him to look at you in that way he does sometimes. That soft, magnetic look that tugs at every part of you. The one that argues against logic and speaks to intuition instead. That can't-eat, can't-sleep, reach-for-the-stars, over-the-fence, World Series kind of look. 

After considering this entirely reasonable and attainable goal, you picture yourself wearing the clothes through Angie’s eyes. 

You dissect each potential outfit as she would. This dress too low cut, that one too frumpy, the other too short. A critical chorus of slut slut slut plays in the back of your head, accented by the memory of her manicured hands wrapped around your throat, the growl she let out when she squeezed around your windpipe. 

“You little slut, I will fucking kill you.”

Throughout this whirlwind of turmoil, snippets from this morning rise to the surface and drown out everything else. 

Frankie’s lips on yours, hungry and certain. His strong hands on your body, digging into your skin. The way he talked to you, voice low and strained—Whose pussy is this?

Every time these words repeat, your heart hammers in your chest. Tingles trickle out from between your legs and work up your spine.

The time before this, right after he moved in, when you fucked on the couch… you felt dirty afterwards. It sent you into a spiral of self-guilt that gnawed away at you for days. It reminded you of how sex was towards the end last time. Like you could have been anyone. Like he needed something to make him feel alive, and you were just the most ready and willing participant. 

But it felt different this time. 

Intimate in a way it hasn’t been in so long. It felt like an act of something bigger and stronger, like he needed you specifically. Not the rush of endorphins. Not just the heat of another person. Not a substitute for the love his wife wouldn’t give him. It felt like he needed you and nothing else would sate him. 

“I won’t do that to you again, mariposa, I promise. I’ll fix it, I promise I’ll fix it, ok?” 

Right about here is when indecision ties your brain off in a knot that seizes the production of valuable output. 

Then you return to yourself, staring into the closet like it’s fucking Narnia, and slide the hanger aside to do it all over again. 

—

Frankie collapses into a patio chair with a groan, running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair before replacing his cap, then tilts his head up towards the blazing sun and closes his eyes. 

When he trekked through the Andes with his team, there were nights where he felt the cold so deep in his bones, he wondered if he would ever be able to get warm again. 

Right now is the opposite of that. 

Right now he would give up fistfuls of cash to feel that bone-deep freeze. 

He casts a longing glance at the cooler and fantasizes about drinking a cold beer. That psssch-ahsound it would make when he opened the tab. He imagines the condensation cooling his heated skin and the alcohol calming his fried nerves. 

Fuck, that sounds perfect. 

Through the open window to the dining room, he can hear Angie and her sister Marta gossiping to each other, talking about how so-and-so is dating what’s his face again and blah blah blah. His ears perk up when Marta segues into their personal life. 

“Speaking of people getting back together… How are things with you and Frankie?” 

Angie doesn’t say anything, but must make a face at her sister because she follows the question up by giggling, “What, can I not ask?” 

“Ay, Marta. No seas metiche.” 

A beat of silence passes. Marta must non-verbally pry, because Angie speaks again, quieter this time. 

“We’ll see.” Then quickly, almost defensively, she adds, “He’s getting his act together, you know. He quit drinking, and he’s doing this parole program. It seems like��� it seems like he’s trying.” 

“Mmm. Is he still living with that girl? Su amante?”

Frankie knows Angie well enough to know she rolls her eyes in response. 

Marta tsks, but any further conversation is cut off by a sudden commotion of squealing and bickering.

He looks down at his watch, reading 1240, and guesses that Angie’s friend Carmen arrived with her five children. 

His eyes clamp shut and he fantasizes about drinking a beer. Maybe three. Hell, make it ten. Ten would do just fine. Ten would anesthetize him just enough to let him clear his head and make this whole ordeal manageable. 

“Just get through today,” he tells himself, “Just one more goddamn day, then you can be done with this fucking charade.” 

The backdoor opens, releasing a burst of chaotic noise. Angie and Carmen step out, and he stands at attention. 

“Oh wow, look at all this,” Carmen tells Angie, “Damn girl, you really went all out, didn’t you?” 

“We don’t really know what the situation will be next year, with Frankie and everything,” Angie’s eyes flick to him, and she shrugs, “So I figured, make it memorable. For all of us.” 

“Sure,” Carmen nods, concern creasing her brow, then she acknowledges Frankie with a quick head-to-toe scan, “Francisco, how’re you doing?” 

“Better than I deserve,” he smirks, and gestures to the gift bag hanging off her wrist, “Let me take that for you. Want anything to drink?”

She hands off the present and glances at Angie, then back to Frankie, “Can I get a beer?” 

“Sure,” he nods to Angie, “How about you, amor?”

“I’ll take a beer, too.” 

“Two beers coming up,” Frankie calls behind him while descending the stairs. 

As he walks to the 10’ x 20’ white canopy tent, he tries to eavesdrop, but the two women talk to each other in hushed tones. He has no doubt it’s about him, though, because he hears Carmen exclaim, “Oh shit, really?” then, quieter but still distinguishable, “Good for you, mamá.” 

After dropping the gift bag on the designated table, Frankie goes to the cooler to grab two cans of beer and a bottle of water, then returns to the deck, where Angie and Carmen both lean against the railing. They both murmur a thanks when he hands them their drinks. 

He rubs between her shoulder blades, “Need anything else?”

“A fucking Xanax,” she jokes while cracking her beer open. He watches foam bubble up from the mouth of the can and his pulse surges green with envy. She takes a long sip, then sighs, “Mmm let’s see. Food is done, Mamá and Marta are bringing everything out. Your mom should be here with the cake any minute. You got everything set up in the tent?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Alright, well,” she takes another swig and shrugs, “Wanna get the slip ‘n’ slide going? We can get the kiddos changed into their suits.” 

“You got it.”

He starts away, but she grabs his shirt to stop him.

When he turns back to her, eyebrows raised in question, her golden brown eyes meet his, then drop to his lips, “Thank you.”

His hand finds her waist and he nods, “Not a problem.”

She kisses him, and he kisses her back, thinking of you—always fucking thinking of you— as he tells himself: One more day.

—

Leah picks up on the second ring. 

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Tell me I shouldn’t go to this party.” 

She releases a big sigh that makes you grimace, then says, “Tell me you’re not actually thinking of going.” 

You glance up at the Morales residence through your windshield, sinking down into your seat when you spot Benny, Will, and Dani making their way up the driveway. 

“I’m outside in my car.” 

Leah is quiet for a moment before she asks, “Do you want to go?” 

“Yes and no,” you watch the Millers open the door and go inside the house, “I want to see Sarah, and I wanna be there for Frankie, just because… I don’t know, everything, but…” 

“But Angie?”

You nod, casting your eyes down to your hands to pick at the frayed cuticles, “I’m afraid she’s going to say something or do something to retaliate against me.” 

“You did have an affair with her husband—”

“I’m well aware,” you snip. 

The silence that follows wrings guilt from your stomach. A burning sensation works up your throat behind your eyes, so you pinch them shut and hang your head. 

“Fuck, sorry. You’re right. She has every right to despise me. I deserve it. I shouldn’t go, it’s stupid.” 

Your words come out all pathetic and warbled by tears, but you continue anyway. 

“I feel so torn. I care about them a lot and I wanna be there. I want it to be better so that… fuck. I don’t know. Nevermind.” 

“Why do you want it to be better?” 

“It’s stupid.” 

“No, I want you to tell me.” 

You take a deep, shaky breath, tilting your head up towards the drooping ceiling of your car. The answer pulses through your body and tingles on the tip of your tongue. If you speak it you might shatter to dust. 

Instead, you offer up a consolation prize to distract her. 

“I did something I shouldn’t have,” you whisper, then swing your head down to stare at your steering wheel, “I… had sex with him.” 

Leah snorts, “I fucking knew it.” 

“Shut up, you did not,” you scoff, “It just happened this morning.” 

“Rach owes me $10.” 

“You bet that—God, you are the worst.” 

You hang up on her, then stare at your phone for a few seconds before sending a text to Frankie. 

< ME:  < Are you sure I should come? I feel nervous

A few unresponsive seconds go by before you flip the visor down to inspect your reflection in the mirror. Not terrible. Some black smudges around your eyes. Could use some lipstick. 

You remedy these problems while trying not to think too hard about what you’re about to do, lying to yourself in hopes that you can somehow warp the truth. 

This will be fine.

—

By the time Frankie gets the hose hooked up to the slip ‘n’ slide, his mother- and sister-in-law are setting the last few food items out on the long folding table under the tent. 

Two of Carmen’s sons dash across the deck in their swimsuits. As he passes them on the stairs, he ruffles the older one’s scraggly dark brown hair, calling after them, “Soda and water in the cooler if you boys are thirsty.” 

They holler an acknowledgment as Frankie makes his way inside. 

The relief of stepping into cool, conditioned air quickly dissipates as the commotion hits him. 

At least a dozen conversations meld together in this wall of indistinguishable sound. He can’t quite focus on any of the vaguely familiar faces or isolate one single voice from the warble of people talking. 

A heavy, frantic pounding starts in his chest. His hands start to tingle. Noises disappear completely for a second, replaced by a high-pitched ringing in his ears. 

Jesus fucking Christ, I’m losing it.

He pulls a chair out from the dining room table and sits down, praying nobody notices him clench his eyes closed to inhale a deep, wide breath. 

Then another. 

Then another. 

Everything starts to come back into focus, and he tunes into someone asking, “Fish, you ok?” 

He startles when a broad palm settles between his shoulder blades. Looking towards the source, he finds Will’s dusty blue eyes studying him with concern. 

“Shit,” Frankie mutters, running a hand over his face before he clearing his throat and standing, “Sorry, yeah. Think I got too much heat or something.” He gives his friend a quick, one-armed hug, “Good to see you, man.” 

When Will parts ways with Frankie, he gives him a look that says he doesn’t buy it for a second, but doesn’t push the subject. 

His wife, Dani, approaches with a cautious smile, “Frankie, good to see you.” 

“Good to see you, too” Frankie gives her a hug, “Thanks for coming.” They separate and he asks Will, “Benny here yet?” 

“Yeah,” he smirks, jerking his head towards the living room, “Shooting the shit with your mom.” 

“Figures,” Frankie chuckles and shakes his head, “I gotta go make my rounds, but, uhh,” he gestures from the gift box in the crook of Will’s arm to the back door, “There’s a gift table outside. Food and drinks and all that, help yourselves.” 

“Catch up later, yeah?” Will nods. 

Frankie mirrors the action as a few waist-high kids race past, budging in front of them when Will opens the door. 

He notices a cluster of aimless partygoers lingering between the dining and living room, and starts directing the halted human traffic out to the backyard. It prods them into action, thinning out the crowded common area as he makes his way to the couch, where he finds his mom sitting with Sarah in her lap and Benny at her side. Benny says something to Sarah that makes her and her grandmother giggle. 

“Is this guy bothering you?” Frankie asks, unable to stop the smile from spreading across his face. 

“Francisco!”  

She passes Sarah to Benny and struggles to get to her feet. 

“Christ, mamá, let me help you” he mutters while taking her well-worn hands in his to pull her upright. 

She’s always been a woman of small stature, barely measuring up to his shoulders once the growth spurts petered out and left him as tall as he’d always be. But each time he sees her, she seems to have shrunk a little bit more. 

As soon as she steadies herself, she kisses his cheek, then pulls him down into a surprisingly tight embrace, telling him, “I missed you so much, mijo.”

“Missed you too, Ma.”

She pulls back from the hug, but holds onto his arms to look him over, “How have you been?” 

“Fine,” he nods, looking away when her keen dark eyes narrow, “What about you, hmm? How was the drive?”

“Bien bien,” she waves off his questions and takes a step back to smile at the birthday girl, “She’s getting so big, Pancho. Such a pretty dress.” 

Sarah grabs at the puffy hem of her skirt and giggles at the attention. 

Frankie snorts in admiration at his daughter, then asks her, “You wanna go see your party, princesa?” 

“Yes!” 

He looks at Benny, “I gotta see if Ang needs me to do anything, do you wanna…?”

“Escort these lovey ladies?” Benny winks at Julieta, “Shit, I’d love to.”

“Jesus Christ,” Frankie mutters, then tells Sarah, “Go with Uncle Benny, I’ll be there in a minute, ok?” 

She jumps off Benny’s lap and runs to the back door, leveraging her weight against the knob. It swings open and she escapes, sending Benny chasing after her, laughing, “Hey, wait up!”

Julieta starts after them just as Sarah’s bedroom door opens, and two little girls come charging towards the back door. Carmen and Angie trail behind, the former carrying a baby tucked into her side, the latter looking around with a puzzled expression pasted to her face. 

“Everyone outside?” Angie asks her husband, slowing to a stop a few feet away from him while Carmen continues outside. 

“Yeah. I, uhh, got the slip ‘n’ slide set up, all the food is out—anything else you need me to do?” 

“Is your girl here?” 

She smirks and tilts her head at him, like she’s joking or teasing, but the humor doesn’t reach her eyes. 

His skittish heart skips in his chest. 

Sensing a trap, Frankie searches her face and shakes his head like he doesn’t understand. 

Angie raises an eyebrow at him, “Don’t act like you don’t know who I’m talking about.”

So fucking sick of this. 

“Whatever,” he blinks, “No. I haven’t seen her yet. Anything else?”

The forced amusement immediately drops from her face and she stomps outside, slamming the door closed behind her. 

He takes a deep breath, pulling his hat up to run a hand through his hair, then glances at his watch. 

1308

He shakes some of the nervous energy from his fingertips and starts to pace the living room. 

What if you decided not to come?

Honestly, it would make today much easier. He could just go out there and play his role. Put on his mask and blame his disposition on the ongoing legal battle. His mother, wife, and friends, they’d be none the wiser. 

Something inside him lurches at the thought. 

Suddenly and very clearly, he understands that if you don’t show, nothing will change. He will drive this ship into the ground. 

As if on cue, the doorbell rings. 

He jogs down the steps, swings the door open, and there you are, wearing a pretty floral sundress and a nervous smile. 

“Hey,” he backs up to allow you entry.  

“Hi,” your smile grows wider, and you step past him as you enter the house, “Long time no see.”At the foot of the stairs, you turn to face him, “Where’s the party?” 

“Backyard.”

“Oh.” 

When you glance down at his mouth, one hundred butterflies start chittering away at his stomach. He licks his lips and notices himself gravitating towards you. It doesn’t help that you’re doing it, too. The subtle way your body bows in his direction, inching so close he can smell the bright burst of your perfume and the damp musk of your sweat. 

“Is everyone out there?”

“Pretty sure,” his eyes flick to the vacant upstairs, then back to you, “Why?” 

Just an inch away, you clamp a grin closed and shrug, “No reason.”

“Uh huh,” he raises an eyebrow, daring to rest his hand on your waist. The contact floods his body with a hot, thudding pulse he can taste. 

Searching his face, you slide your palm over his heart. Beneath your touch, the muscle pounds at its seams. 

Against his better judgment, he leans in to capture your lips in his. Warmth spreads out from his chest through his limbs. You hook a hand behind his neck and pull him closer, your body curving flush against his. 

Only hours have gone by since he last saw you, but it feels like months. It’s like that with you. Timeless when you’re together and an eternity when you’re apart. 

Pulling back, you look at the floor and shake your head, “Sorry.”

“For what?” 

“We shouldn’t, umm,” you swallow hard, shaking your head again as you glance upstairs, “Here, now, you know…” 

He glances at the back door, “You’re right. We should get to the party.“

“Yeah,” you take a big step back and clear your lungs with a deep breath, then hold up your gift bag, “Where should I put this?” 

“Right this way—” 

“Wait, look at me,” you chuckle, tugging at his hand. 

He faces you, asking, “What?” 

You cup his cheek and lick the pad of your thumb, bringing it to his bottom lip, “Lipstick.”

Your brow furrows in concentration, tongue poking out the corner of your mouth as you scrub off the evidence. 

It’s kind of adorable, the way in which you do this. Doting, almost. Reminds him of the times Mamá would catch him with a dirty face in public and try to make him more presentable. 

Briefly, he pictures you as the matriarch of a rowdy crew of children. Driving a minivan to school drop-offs and extracurricular activities and family outings. It suits you. 

He can’t stop his lips from curving into a smile. 

“What?” you grin, eyes flicking to his. 

“Nothing,” he murmurs as you tilt his face around and inspect him. “Better?” 

“Better,” you nod, “How about me?” 

He pinches your chin and looks you over, correcting a smudge before telling you, “All clear. You ready?” 

You give a half-hearted shrug, looking around at the ground, then ask, “Your wife isn’t gonna like… yell at me in front of everyone or pelt me with produce, right? This isn’t an elaborate revenge prank?” 

“Is that what all the tomatoes are for? Shit,” he teases, earning a chuckle and an eye roll from you. “No, but really. She agreed to be nice.” 

“Ok,” you nod, “So I’m like allowed to talk to you and everything without worrying she’ll try to murder me?” 

Frankie snorts, “She wouldn’t murder you—” 

“She has literally told me ‘I will fucking kill you.’”

“That was—” he shakes his head, then brings his hands to your shoulders and stares into your eyes, “It’s gonna be fine, mariposa. We’re gonna go bullshit with people and eat some food, and then we’re gonna home and watch a stupid fucking movie. Ok?” 

You laugh, dropping your gaze for a moment before returning with a bashful smile, “Ok.” 

—

As you make your way down the food table, piling tamales and Spanish rice and fresh fruit on a flimsy paper plate, you feel eyes on the back of your head. Whether it’s just one set or ten, you don’t care to know, but the feeling sends a shiver up your spine. 

When you reach the end of the line, you take a deep breath before turning to find a place to sit. 

Like every other party, the crowd is mostly separated into cliques. 

Parents from around the neighborhood stick together at a few long tables, bribing their children to eat and drink water before returning to the slip-n-slide. At another table sits Angie’s family, including the queen herself, whose pointed stare you gloss over, ignoring her and Frankie at her side. You find some familiar faces at a table near the edge of the big party tent: Benny, Will, and Dani. With them is a small, elderly woman who must be Frankie’s mom or an aunt or something, due to the striking resemblance. 

The whole thing reminds you of choosing a place to sit in your high school cafeteria. Much like you did in those days, you gravitate towards an empty table nearby, but halt when some calls your name. 

 Frowning, you look around to find Benny waving at you. 

“Over here,” he pulls out the chair beside him. 

You approach with a smile, the tension held in your shoulders dissolving just a little as you take the open seat and greet everyone. 

“Thanks. I didn’t know if, umm… it was ok,” you chuckle nervously and drop your eyes to your plate, shaking your head. 

“Oh, come on now, you’re always welcome with us,” Benny grins, leaning back in his chair to reveal the tiny graying woman on the other side of him, “Have you met Frankie’s mom, Julieta?” 

“I have not,” you reach across Benny to shake her hand, “Good to meet you, I’m—” 

She waves you off and pushes her chair out behind her. You half-expect her to furiously walk away at your presence, but instead she wobbles over to you and holds her arms open. 

“I know who you are. Come here, mija.” 

You stand to accept the invitation, stammering out, “Oh—ok—” 

Emotion wells up in your chest when her bony arms squeeze tight around you and she tells you, “Thank you for taking care of my boy.” 

Not sure what to say, you just hug her back for a few long seconds. The embrace says it all. It feels maternal and earnest and brings a few tears to your eyes. When she pulls away and smiles at you, you notice she’s a little misty-eyed, too, and you smile back at her. She gives your cheek a few pats before you both return to your seats. 

“How’ve you been?” Dani asks. 

You contemplate the question long enough for Benny to interject. 

“Well, she’s keeping Fish out of trouble so I’m sure she’s having a hell of a time.” 

You shrug, “It’s nothing compared to some of the toddlers I’ve had to deal with.” 

Your audience chuckles, then awaits a follow up. 

“No, I, umm… I’m doing ok. Going through a breakup, so that’s tough, but… mostly I’m good.”  

Why did I say that?

“A breakup?” Benny leans back and drapes an arm over the back of your chair, “What happened?” 

“Oh, we don’t have to—” you laugh at your plate, stabbing a chunk of watermelon. 

“Come on, give us the dirt,” Benny prods. 

You shove the watermelon in your mouth and wrinkle your nose at him, shaking your head. 

“Let the girl have some privacy,” Dani scolds, “If she doesn’t wanna talk about it, she doesn’t wanna talk about it.” 

“If she didn’t wanna talk about it she wouldn’t’ve mentioned it,” he counters. 

“It’s fine, it wasn’t even a big deal. We were only dating for a few weeks and it wasn’t a good match,” you explain, glancing around the table, “I don’t know why I said it, sorry, I’m just, umm… nervous.” 

You notice Will studying you and hold his meticulous gaze for a moment before dropping your eyes to your plate. He speaks up then, drawing the fire away from you. 

“Hey, that’s alright. Not like Benny has room to criticize,” he gives his brother a lopsided grin, “Remember that girl that tried to stab you?” 

“Not this again,” Benny groans.

“Ok well now you have to tell me,” you say, flashing a grateful smile to Will before nudging Benny, “Come on, give me the dirt.” 

“Well, if you’re gonna twist my arm about it.” He visibly shifts into storytelling mode, sitting up straighter as a glint of mischief sparks in his eyes, “First of all, I had no business dating her to begin with. She had a PT Cruiser with whiskey plates. If that’s not a red flag, I don’t know what is.”

—

Trying to be a halfway decent host, Frankie makes his way around the party checking in with people, introducing himself to all the unfamiliar faces and making small talk, recycling the same lines. 

Drinks are in the cooler if you’re thirsty. Thanks for coming. I’m doing great, how about you? 

Meanwhile, Ang seems to have taken on his former role as the champion beer drinker of the party. Every time he glances at her she’s either guzzling it down or popping open a new aluminum can. 

When she and Carmen start directing slip ‘n’ slide traffic and seem sufficiently distracted, he walks up to the table where some of his favorite people are seated and takes the open chair next to Will. 

“Look who it is,” Will smirks at him, “We were just talking about you.” 

“Christ, do I wanna know?” he leans forward to rest his elbows on the table. 

“Probably not, I was talking mad shit about you,” you tease, looking at him with a grin that makes his heart swell. 

“Figures you would be,” he shoots back. 

You chuckle and shake your head, “No, actually I was just telling them about how I’m teaching you to cook.” 

“Oh yeah,” he looks around the table, “Did you tell them about the stir-fry?” 

“Ok, you tried with the stir-fry and it was almost edible—” 

“Almost edible?” Benny laughs 

“Somehow the rice was both undercooked and burnt, and the veggies were mush,” you share, sitting up taller when you meet his eyes, “But it could’ve been worse. You’re learning!” 

“I’m just impressed you could get him in the kitchen in the first place,” Benny says, then turns his attention to Julieta, “Mamá, you didn’t make him cook anything growing up?” 

She tsks and waves him off, then explains, “His father wouldn’t let me. He was very traditional, you know, said it was women’s work.“ 

“It’s ok, Ma,” Frankie assures her. 

“I am glad you’re learning now.” A smile stretches across her face, “You must be grateful to have such a good teacher.” 

“I am, really,” he nods and glances at you before admitting, “I’d be a fucking mess without her.” 

Everyone at the table seems to sit with this information in silence for a moment before Will clears his throat and asks, “Are you still working on that car?” 

Frankie leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, “Here and there. Lately it’s just been collecting dust.” 

“Mind if I check it out?” Will inquires, “It’s been, what, a year and a half since I’ve seen it?” 

“Sure,” he frowns, looking over at you and your creased brow as if seeking permission, at which point you give a shrug, then he squints up across the yard and spots Angie talking to her mom and dad. “Let me just tell Ang so she doesn’t lose her shit if she can’t find me.” 

The three men stand from the table. Frankie gives you one more glance before starting off towards his wife. With each step he takes across the grass, he wishes more and more that he could kiss you again. Give you reassurance that you’re doing great in this precarious situation. 

Angie’s father glares at him as he approaches, which isn’t abnormal. Angie follows his line of sight, wobbling a bit as she lays eyes on him. Surprisingly, she smiles, “Hey!” 

“Hey—” 

She throws her arms around his neck and kisses him, the action so unexpected he stumbles back a step. Her lips taste of beer and poor judgment. When he pulls away, he plasters on a fake grin and says, “The guys wanna look at the car, is it ok if I slip away for a few?” 

“You boys and your toys,” she rolls her eyes, “Fine, just be back for presents in a couple minutes, yeah?” 

“Alright,” he searches over her shoulder, “How’s Sarah doing?” 

“Good, good,” she nods, “She’s playing with Carm’s kids in the sandbox.” 

“Make sure she gets some water, I don’t think she drank any with—” 

“She’s fine, Francisco. I’ve got it,” she insists, patting his chest. 

He studies her for a moment, then says, “Ok, I’ll be back in a minute. We’ll be in the garage if you need me.” 

“Give me a kiss,” Angie demands, her long nails scraping at the nape of his neck. He leans in and presses his lips to hers, feeling nothing but irritation and disgust. 

—

When Frankie and the Miller brothers disappear into the house, so does your social armor, leaving you exposed. 

For a while you make scattered small talk with Julieta and Dani, discussing Sarah and the party and the weather. You watch Sarah play with her friends from a distance, not wanting to disrupt their sand castle building by approaching. Every once in a while, your eyes cheat to Angie. 

A vile, familiar sensation sits heavy in your stomach. 

He warned you that it might be difficult seeing them together, but you forgot how bad it hurts to witness. 

The way she kissed him doesn’t help. Hanging off him, looking at him with bedroom eyes.

It’s not the same this time. He’s different now. 

The foul thing in your belly goes dead weight, making you lurch. 

What if he’s not? 

Before you can spiral too much, you hear, “Chacha!” and realize Sarah is running towards you

“Hi, pumpkin!” you smile and outstretch your arms to catch her as she slams into you. 

“I’m not a pumpkin, I’m just a girl,” she giggles. 

“Are you having fun at your party?” 

She grunts out an “mhmm” while you pull her up onto your lap. Her face is flushed, skin all heated and damp with sweat. 

“You look like you’re hot, do you want some water?” 

“Um. Ok!” she smiles. 

“Ok let me get you—” 

“I got it,” Dani stands and starts towards the cooler. 

You murmur a thanks and return your attention to Sarah, “Thank you for letting me come to your party. I’m having so much fun.” 

She giggles in response, leaning into you. 

“How are you liking daycare? Do you get to play with your friends?” 

She nods. 

Dani returns with a cold water bottle, twisting the cap open before handing it to you. 

“Here you go, sweetie,” you bring the bottle to her lips and slowly tip it back as she takes big gulps of water. Periodically, you pull it away and let her catch her breath, then start again until she pushes it away. 

“Better?” 

“Much better,” she nods. 

“Maybe she should go inside and cool down for a minute?” Dani suggests. 

Julieta leans over to feel her forehead, “Too much sun, hija.” 

“Do you wanna go inside for a minute?” You ask, tucking her hair behind her ears. 

“Chacha will you go with me?” 

“You want me to—oh, um… should we ask your mom…?” You frown at Dani, who grimaces, then Julieta. 

“Just take her,” Julieta insists, “I’ll tell Angelica if she comes looking.” 

“Ok. Ok sure. Let’s go, sweetie.” 

You rise from the chair, sliding Sarah to your hip, then carry her up the stairs into the house. Once inside, you sit on the couch with her for a few seconds before she wriggles away and scampers off down the hallway. 

“Chacha come see my room!” 

“Oh my fucking god,” you whisper under your breath, glancing nervously up at the back door before following her, “Ok, but just for a minute, then we should go back out to the party.” 

—

“Are you seriously calling him?” Frankie blinks, leaning back against the workbench. 

Will shoots him a look while raising the phone to his ear. 

“Unbelievable. It’s like six o’clock in the morning there, you’re gonna wake—” 

“Hey Pope, I’m gonna put you on speaker.” Will presses a button and sets the phone down next to Frankie, “Now I want Fish to tell you what he just told me and Benny.” 

Gnashing his jaw back and forth, he stares at Will, then Benny. They both watch him expectantly while Santi speaks up, his voice groggy from sleep. 

“Alright, let’s hear it.” 

Frankie clears his throat and rubs his mouth before saying, “I’m gonna ask Ang for a divorce.” 

“Oh shit, ok.”

Will prods Frankie further, “Tell him the other part.” 

“Will you just—Fuck, ok. I’m… seeing someone.” 

On the other line, Santi chuckles a little, “Uh-huh.“ 

“Any guesses on who that might be?” Benny asks. 

“Oh, I have one—” 

“Wait wait wait, let me give you a hint,” Benny grins while scrolling through his phone, pushing off the hood of the car to grandstand, “On June 10–only seven weeks ago, mind you—Fish said about her, and I quote: It’s not like that, we’re only friends. To which you said—” 

“—I said bull-fucking-shit!” Santi finishes, then howls, “That is fucking delicious, thank you.” 

Frankie crosses his arms and shakes his head at Will, “See, this is why I didn’t wanna tell him.” 

“How long?” Santi asks. 

“How long what?”

“How long have you been sleeping with her?”

“It’s… complicated, ok?”

Benny giggles and repeats, “Oh, it’s complicated.”

Santi questions further, “Sure, well, let me ask you this: How long have you been in love with her?” 

“Why does it matter?”

“You do, though, right? You love her?” 

Frankie crosses his arms and glares at the phone, “Yeah.” 

“When did that happen?” 

Heat flares through his veins. He wrings his neck and mutters, “That’s a stupid question.”

“Why’s it stupid?”

“Cuz, Pope, that’s like… that’s like asking how long ago mankind came to exist. Or asking what point a chrysalis becomes a butterfly. I don’t fucking know, man, it just does. I just know that I do, I love her, and I have for… a while.” 

The two men before him are silent, along with the voice on the phone. Frankie, on the other hand, finds momentum in his confession. He continues. 

“And Ang… Jesus Christ, I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve felt like this with her. And the longer I think about it, the more I convince myself I never did. Not this way, like I can’t live without her, you know?” He taps his fingers against his lips, then shrugs, “Maybe I could have at one point, if I tried. But even then… I don’t like who I am when I’m with her. It doesn’t feel right. It’s like I’m wearing someone else’s skin and it doesn’t fit me.” 

He glances up at Benny, then Will. Their faces are somber, but understanding. Benny approaches, leaning on the workbench beside him to rope an arm around his shoulders and give him a supportive squeeze. 

“When are you gonna tell her?” Will asks. 

“Soon. Not today, but this week probably.“

Benny withdraws his touch and crosses his arms in front of his chest, “She’ll go right for the jugular. You know that, right?” 

“I know.” Frankie takes off his cap to run a hand through his hair, then puts it back, “She’s gonna try to take Sarah. Fuck, I’m gonna need another goddamn lawyer, aren’t I?” 

“Can you afford that right now?” Will furrows his brow, studying him, “Be honest.” 

“Probably. Well, maybe. I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.” 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but is now the right time? You’re on parole and looking to add felony charges to your wrap sheet. Not to mention the infidelity. On paper, your custody case is shit.” 

Frankie shakes his head, “If I have to keep living like this… all this lying and pretending… I don’t know, man. I can’t do it anymore. Something inside me is about to break. I can feel it.” 

The Millers exchange a look. 

“I don’t think I’m speaking out of line by saying we all just want what’s best for you, Fish,” the voice over the phone tells him, “We want you to be happy. If you need to get out, get out.” 

Frankie glances up at Will, who nods in confirmation. 

“Thanks. It-it means a lot to me,” he shifts his weight to one leg, looking down at his wristwatch, “We better get back to the party. Talk soon, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Santi says, “Hang in there, buddy.”

After hanging up the phone, Will gives Frankie a pat on the shoulder, “We’ve got your back.”

As they file out of the garage into the entryway, Angie walks out from the bathroom. When she notices them climbing the steps, she calls, “Hi boys.”

To his credit, Benny puts on a convincing smile and greets her with a high five, “What’s up, Angie?” 

She steps aside to let him pass, then fixes her glassy eyes on Will, “How’s the carcocha looking?” 

“Better than the last time we saw it,” Will shrugs, glancing over his shoulder at Frankie, “Just needs a little TLC.” 

“Needs to go to the scrapyard if you ask me,” she snorts and tilts her head at her husband as he reaches the top of the stairs, “Hey handsome.” 

He gives her a half-hearted smirk, then frowns, “Where’s Sarah?” 

“She’s fine, still playing. Francisco,” she tugs on his shirt, so he comes to a stop. 

Jesus Christ, her breath smells like a brewery.

His eyes flick to the Millers stalled at the back door. After waving at them to clear out, he raises his eyebrows at Angie, “What?” 

“I need your help with something.” 

“Sure, what?” 

Instead of answering him outright, she takes his hand and leads him down the hallway. His stomach twists with understanding when she pulls him through the doorway towards the bed. 

“If you wanna lay down for a bit, I can take care of every—” 

She turns to face him, placing her palms on his chest and sliding them up to his shoulders, “I want you to fuck me, Francisco.” 

“Ang,” he chuckles with exasperation, shaking his head, “We have a backyard full of guests here, come on.” 

“They’re all having fun, no one will notice.” She takes his hand and guides it to her face, gently folding down all his finger but the index and pouts, “Please, Frankie.” 

He swallows a groan when she wraps her full lips around his digit and sucks. The wet hot plush of her mouth makes his eyelids flutter and weakens his resolve. 

“I don’t think—” 

She pulls his finger from her mouth like a lollipop and bats her eyelashes at him, cooing, “Don’t you wanna fuck me like you did the other night? Didn’t that feel good?” 

“Well, yeah—” 

“We can be quick.” 

As she reaches for his belt, something moves at the edge of his vision. 

“Mommy, Daddy!” 

He looks at the doorway to find Sarah in the hall, holding one penguin toy in each of her pudgy toddler fists. A big, toothy grin spreads across her face and she giggles, galloping into the room. 

Thankful for the diversion, Frankie smiles and takes a big step away from his wife, crouching down to ask Sarah, “Hey sweetheart, what’re you doing in here?” 

“Showing Chacha my penguins,” she tells him, holding up her toys, “This one is an emperor penguin, and this one is a macaroni penguin!” 

“Chacha?”

Something inside him drops to the floor. He looks up and sees you emerge from Sarah’s room. You pause briefly in the hallway, glancing at Angie before meeting his gaze. The pained look on your face rips his heart in two. 

“I, umm…” you stammer, dropping your eyes to the floor and shaking your head, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, I was just—leaving. There’s a thing and-and I have to go.” 

With this, you flee down the hall, then the stairs, your footsteps still echoing heavy in his head while the front door slams shut. 

—

“Whiskey coke?” 

You look up from the bar top’s glossy wood finish to give Bubba a nod. 

“Ain’t seen you around here in a while,” he comments while scooping ice into a glass. 

“Yeah.” 

It surprises you a little, how hoarse your voice sounds. A self-awareness passes over you and you straighten your spine, glancing around the bar before digging a compact mirror from your purse. By the time you finish rubbing the bleeding mascara from your swollen eyes, Bubba is placing your drink in front of you. 

You exchange the mirror for your wallet, but when you fish out your card and hold it out to Bubba, he shakes his head. 

“On the house.” 

“What, do I get the sad sap discount?” 

He chuckles a little at this, then shrugs, “If that’s what you wanna call it.” 

“Thanks.”

Leaning forward onto the bar, you pull the glass closer, then stab the ice with your straw a few times. Little bubbles of carbonation fizzle up to the surface and release the gassy scent of rail whiskey. Nostalgia sours your stomach. 

“Everything alright?” 

A deep ache branches out from the weight beneath your sternum and curls around your shoulders. Every cell in your body feels heavy and burdensome. 

Staring at the glass, you shake your head. 

“I’m all ears if you wanna talk about it.” 

“It’s a long, messy story.” 

“I got time.” 

You glance up at him, studying his concerned expression, and sigh, “You know that guy who meets me here sometimes? Brown hair, usually wearing a hat? Started a fight that one time?” 

“The vet?” 

“Yeah,” you nod and swallow down the thickness in your throat, then tell him, “We’ve been off and on for years. He’s, umm… he’s married. I was their nanny when it started. I fell in love with him. He made it clear he didn’t feel the same and he wouldn’t leave his wife, but I kept seeing him because I’m an idiot.” 

“Sounds like you kept seeing him because you loved him, not because you’re an idiot,” Bubba observes. 

“Same difference,” you shrug and tilt your head at your drink, “He’s an alcoholic. After his wife caught us fucking, he went off the rails completely. Still kept seeing him even though he kept me at an arm’s length and drank himself dumb every night. The thing is… I never believed him when he said he couldn’t love me like I loved him. I felt it, and I thought…” 

Tingles work up your throat behind your eyes, and everything becomes blurry as you choke out a sob. 

“I’m sorry—” 

“It’s ok.” 

You shake your head and wipe away your tears, but they keep coming. 

“I thought if I kept loving him he would see how good it could be and come around. I thought he would admit to himself that he does love me like I love him. I wanted that with him so bad, I just couldn’t fucking let go. Then, umm…” 

You clear your throat and take a deep, shaky breath. 

“I had to give him an ultimatum. Her or me. He picked her. I cut it off and tried to move on with my life. He called me a few months ago from jail and asked me to bail him out. I got roped into being his custodian while he’s on parole, so he’s been living with me. We agreed not to get involved in, umm, that way again. 

“He’s been sober and opening up emotionally while working through this shit. It’s been really hard. But it’s also been good, you know, because we’ve had to hash out all these problems that we’ve ignored for years. I’ve been able to see the real him, and… I love him more than I ever have.” 

“Uh-huh,” Bubba raises an eyebrow at you, crossing his arms above his beer belly, “So what happened that’s got you in a fuss? He still doesn’t love you back?” 

The question pierces your heart. 

Your voice balances a tightrope as you confess, “I thought he did. I really did this time, I was so fucking certain. He promised he would fix it, that we could be together—and I fucking believed him—” 

Waves of emotion swell in your chest and flood your eyes with hot tears. You fold forward, burying your face in your hands, releasing sob after sob as you replay the last two months in your head and wonder how you could be so fucking stupid to think it was real. 

The world around you melts away until it’s just you and that dense, pulsing pain. Like it’s always been. Like it always will be. 

It doesn’t matter how hard you try to help him. It doesn’t matter that you love him more than anything else in this world. It doesn’t matter. 

Nothing matters, because he doesn’t love you and he never will. 

A hand rests on your shoulder blades and pulls you back to reality. So lost in your self-pity, you didn’t notice Bubba come around the bar to console you. You sit up and wipe your eyes, mumbling out an apology. 

“It’s fine, darlin’. Can I do anything to help?” 

Sniffling, you shake your head, “I’ll be ok.” 

“You sure?” 

You inhale a shattered breath and give him a weak smile, “Fifty-fifty.” 

He furrows his brow and studies you for a moment before nodding, then taking a step back. 

As he makes his way back to his side of the bar, you stare at your drink. A fat droplet of moisture rolls down the thick condensation lining the glass and gets swallowed up by the cardboard coaster beneath. 

You wish you could forget about him. 

You wish you could feel nothing. 

You wish you could hurt him the way he’s hurt you. 

So, you pluck out the straw, raise the cup to your lips, and start drinking. 

—

The setting sun paints the wispy clouded sky above a brilliant shade of orange. Beneath his feet, the soles of Frankie’s shoes scuff against the driveway. He glances down at his mom, with her arm hooked in his, and says, “Thanks for coming out, Mamá. I hope you had a good time.” 

“It was a very nice party, mijo.” 

She gives him this stifled polite smile like she’s holding something back. So he prods her. 

“What?” 

She waves him off, “Nada nada.” 

“Come on, Ma.” 

They come to a stop at the driver’s side door of her car and turn to face each other. She studies him a moment, then gives in with a huff, “You have been like this all afternoon. Why?” 

“Like what?”

“So stormy.” 

He deflates, “Don’t worry about it.” 

Her lips purse as she tilts her head at him. The ‘don’t make me smack you’ look. 

“It’s messy, mom. How I’m feeling,” he wrings a hand behind his neck and shrugs, “I don’t know. Everything is a mess and it’s all my fault.” 

“All your fault how? Did something happen?” 

“No—well,” he catches himself, swallows, then corrects, “Yeah. I did something bad. And I lied about it. Then I got caught in the lie, and, you know…” 

She nods slowly, waiting for more. 

“I think I might be a bad person.” 

Her expression softens when Frankie says it. She cups his cheeks and stares straight into his soul. Suddenly, he’s five years old all over again, Mamá comforting his bruised heart. 

“There is a good man inside you. I know him well because he’s my son. Let him be brave.” 

He absorbs this for a moment, then croaks, “Ok.”

“Give me a hug.” 

He hunches over to hug her, burying his face in her neck, “Quiero mucho, mamá.” 

“Yo a ti,” she squeezes him, then pulls back and asks, “Will you call me tomorrow?” 

“Sure.” 

He waits for her to get in her car and drive away before returning to the house. Inside, he finds Sarah and Benny reading a book on the couch, while the siren song of the party still roaring out back rubs at his nerves. 

Frankie pulls out his phone to confirm you, predictably and rightfully, did not respond to his messages or calls. Reconciling with you will be a fucking nightmare. Going home to face the consequences seems less appealing with each passing second. 

He starts to consider other options. 

He could stay and drink. Join the party. Doubtful that Angie or any of her people would give a shit. Hell, they would probably encourage him.

Better yet, he could stay and drink by himself in the garage. There’s enough booze laying around, nobody would notice if he drained a bottle or two in order to reach that blissful numb. 

He plops down on the couch next to Sarah and brings his attention to Benny’s reading. 

“—‘Now stop!’ Max said and sent the wild things off to bed without their supper. And Max the king of all wild things was lonely and wanted to be where someone loved him best of all. Then all around from far away across the world he smelled good things to eat so he gave up being king of where the wild things are. 

But the wild things cried, ‘Oh please don’t go—we’ll eat you up—we love you so!’ And Max said, ‘No!’ The wild things roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws but Max stepped into his private boat and waved goodbye… and sailed back over a year and in and out of weeks and through a day… and into the night of his very own room where he found his supper waiting for him… and it was still hot.” 

Benny flips the paperback closed and looks down at Sarah, who yawns and rubs her eyes, then to her father. 

“Still want that ride home?”

Frankie considers this for a moment before nodding, “Yeah. Let me put her to bed and talk to Ang, then we can take off.”

[peachymilkandcream]

Hi I’m the person who ask for Evelyn is pregnant and Levi finds out. Could you add smut to it. Thanks

Levi x Evelyn -> Why Didn't You Tell Me?

(A/N: I see you request and I raise you one better, Evelyn's pregnant and refuses to tell Levi and then he's angry when he finds out. Just not, not going to be the same amount of rough smut as Levi's capable of because whenever she's pregnant he does chll tf out. Again I see the requests in the inbox I promise I'll get to them as soon as I can)

WARNINGS: noncon, dubcon, manipulation, domestic abuse, yandere themes, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, stockholm syndrome, violence, mind breaking, misogyny, etc.

============================================

How could it have come to this? No matter how much she fought and tried to keep him away she had to wind up pregnant. There was no way she could just tell Levi, who knows what he would do to her? What if he confined her to bed for the next nine months? She would have no way to escape him, and with a child there would be no way to escape. He'd keep her here forever, she would never be free.

Shivers ran down Evelyn's spine, making her push the letter with the results from her test to the very bottom. It would be safe there, Levi never would dig through the trash for anything, he was too clean for that. It didn't fix the problem, but at least it would buy her some time, all she needed was time. Just a little bit of time.

===============================================

Evelyn watched him from the bed, the bathroom door open, he was shaving, his hair slicked back from his shower and nothing more than boxer briefs on. He met her eyes in the mirror, smirking slightly as if she liked what she saw.

She smiled back, it still was odd to her, this man was legally her husband, bound to be with for the rest of her life. So much had happened, he was her best friend, her childhood saviour, now he was her husband and father of her child. Where would she have been by now she wondered, seeing someone else? Maybe with another medal or two under her belt? More than just a wife and soon to be mother of a child. Her feelings were mixed, much to her surprise, maybe it was hormones or something, but she felt an odd connection to her unborn child already, as well as the father. She cradles her stomach and looks up at him again.

She didn't even realize she was staring until he put the towel down and walked over, leaning over her with an arrogant grin.

"Enjoying the view Mrs. Ackerman?" His fingers tilted her chin enough so she had to meet his eyes.

When she doesn't respond he takes the opportunity to feel her body, squeezing too hard, panic rose in her over whether or not he'd unknowingly hurt the baby. Although that thought made her pause, why should she care about the child? It was a burden...wasn't it? But something in her made her push him back.

"I don't feel all that good Levi-"

"Why, what's the problem?" His eyebrows furrowed, skeptical.

"Just a little nauseous."

Levi rolls his eyes and pushes away from her. "I'll get you something to take." He quickly steps to the bathroom, looking through the cupboard.

She lays back again, fighting with her feelings over all of this.

"You're very quiet tonight, what is it?"

"Nothing, just thinking about...what book I want to read next-"

"Mm. You just seem out of it." He grabs the bottle and shakes out a pill, annoyingly dropping into the trash, normally he'd leave it but the last thing he wanted was her to have access to any drugs, just in case.

He bends and sifts through the rubbish, trying not to grimace. As he searches through he sees a letter from their doctor, one he hadn't read. As he reads, his anger burns red hot, how could she not tell him, this was everything he wanted, and she was keeping it from him? For how long! He wouldn't take her keeping things of this magnitude from him. He marched back into the bedroom with the letter in hand.

"You really enjoy punishments don't you?"

She freezes and goes pale as she sees the letter. "Levi I- I was going to tell you-"

"When."

"I...I'm not sure..."

"Wrong answer. It should be as soon as you found out. You don't get to keep this from me." As he advances, Evelyn tries to retreat on the bed, but she never makes it far, Levi pins her down. "Luckily for you, I can't be as hard on you this time. Thank your lucky stars."

A harsh hand rips the nightgown off her body, taking a second to tenderly caress her stomach before sticking a finger inside her. Levi pumps it a few times, not sure if too much pain will cause an issue. Once she's wet enough he pushes in gently, how badly he wanted to fuck her senseless, pound her with no remorse. But he held himself back, he had worked this hard at getting pregnant, he couldn't ruin it now. Levi couldn't wait to see Erwin's shitty face when he told him the news, he could keep her now, she was his permanently.

He twitched inside her as he thrusted, thoughts of twins playing through his mind. He knew it didn't work that way, but one could dream couldn't he? Nothing turned him on more than knowing against her cervix he was pressing into was his future child, his mini-him. He had bred her like the bitch in heat she was, he felt like more of a man, his ego boosted to new heights.

"I love you." He felt like he didn't say it enough, but he really did. He loved her, and he loved her more for this.

Climaxing was easy, cum shooting into her womb before he gently eased out of her. He was so happy, happier than he had ever been in his life. His arms wrapped around her lovingly as he held her close, he was truly on top of the world.

[moral-terpitude]

The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed - Part 6

Word Count: 1004

Warnings: None. (Swearing? I swear a lot so I never think to tag that. Sorry.)

[Masterlist] [Previous Part]

“Why does your dad never drive this?” You asked through the window as Charlie flagged you to stop so he could hook the horse trailer on to the ball hitch of the truck.

He climbed in once he was finished and shrugged as he hooked his seat belt, “He says it’s too bulky for the city, but I really think it’s because he’s gotten a CD stuck in the changer and the radio doesn’t work.”

“What?”

“Yeah, listen,” he turned the volume up, familiar music coming over the speakers.

“This is my CD! Didn’t think your dad was much for rap music.”

You tried to eject it, and the mechanism whirred but didn’t spit out the disk.

“Well, shit.” You hummed, tuning the volume back down, finally getting out to the main road, the trailer rattling behind the truck as you went over the bump.

The two of you had decided to start closest to home in case everything didn’t get done today.

Charlie had explained that when he and Finn went, usually everything got binned, and that despite him trying to tell Finn that there was good stuff in the units that could be sold, Finn never listened to him.

He explained that sometimes it truly was junk and that stuff could be thrown away, broken things that a well intentioned person probably thought they would fix, and things of that sort, but sometimes they would find antiques and collectibles, and Charlie was sure people sifted through and dug it back out of the trash to sell it.

“It’s fucking hot.” Charlie protested, taking another box past you out of the unit and setting it in the trailer before digging through it.

“Language!” You called out, closing back up a box of dishes and setting it aside.

“Dad lets me swear when you’re not around.”

“I know.” You weren’t oblivious, “Do you have a plan of where we’re taking all this to?”

“No. I hadn’t thought that far. Just knew we would need the trailer. The units aren’t usually ever packed but there’s always good stuff left behind.”

You nodded.

Charlie was Tommy through and through. Whether or not he realized that sometimes there’s good stuff left in the storage units, we could sell it, was a loose business plan or not, you had every intention of letting him be in charge of whatever came out of it.

“What’s this?” He came over with a fabric case outstretched in his hand.

“Oh! It’s a GameBoy!”

His brows furrowed, taking in your excitement and waiting for you to elaborate.

“This is what everyone originally played Pokémon on.”

“Oh.” He nodded, setting it in the box of good stuff. “Should we take all the clothes to the women’s shelter?”

“Once we take them home and you wash them up,” you added the box of clothes with the others, “and I mean you, not Frances, not me, you wash them up.”

“Okay.”

Three units later the trailer was full and you could feel the thin layer of sweat coating every inch of your body.

In the middle rows there was no air movement, and it was like being in an oven at the back of the unit.

Charlie had been gone for a few minutes before you heard a few sets of footsteps crunching on the gravel, “Yeah, she’s in there,” he spoke.

One set of footsteps on gravel turned into dress shoes clicking across concrete, and Tommy wrapping arms around your waist.

“Eew, don’t,” you attempted to wriggle away, scrunching your nose in protest, “I’m all gross and sweaty.”

“Don’t care,” his grip on your waist tightened, the threat of being tickled on the horizon, as he trailed quick kisses down the side of your neck. “I’m sorry. For—“

“We’re not doing this right now,” you turned to face him, hands flat on his chest, your voice now serious once again, as you kept firm eye contact with him, “Okay? We can talk about it when we’re at home. I’m fucking exhausted from pulling Finn’s weight today and I don’t want to end up yelling in front of everyone.”

He gave a curt nod, before pressing your foreheads together, despite the heat, “Let’s do a trade, eh? You take the car home. We’ll take Charlie, unload all the shit somewhere, reconvene at home.”

You were trying to be mad at him, wanted to be. But the way that his fingers held lightly onto the back of your neck, his opposite thumb threatening to wear a hole in your shoulder until you picked an answer, had your stomach full of butterflies.

Always.

“Okay,” you agreed, your resolve crumbling away as each second ticked by. “Are the keys in it?”

He shook his head, before handing them off to you, a quick kiss pressed to your temple, “Go rest. I love you.”

“I love you, Tommy.”

No matter how mad you were, you weren’t going to not say it.

It would pass, like every storm that rippled through always did.

By the time you got home, you never thought you’d be so thankful for a glass of water and air conditioning as you were when the cool air smacked you in the face.

You smiled, as soon as you entered the kitchen, because your husband knew you were a creature of habit. He knew exactly where you would go as soon as you got home.

Which meant that the kitchen was exactly where he put, or had Frances put for that matter (and really you did need to email Lynnae about changing her salary on payroll, in all seriousness) a vase of your favorite fresh cut flowers, a small card tucked in the midst of them, with your name scrawled in Tommy’s handwriting.

All the little card had written inside was the word “Dinner?”.

You smiled, tucking the card back in the envelope before heading upstairs to run a bath.

With any luck, in the deep depths of the closet you still had that blue dress somewhere.

[westanthewaterman]

Be Free - Yancy x GN!Reader

Rating: SFW

Word count: 1600+

Content: kissing, very slight angst but a happy ending

AO3 Masterlist

The gates to Happy Trails Penitentiary open with a loud screech. Yancy stands at the entrance for a moment, eyes fixed on the sidewalk outside the jail. Twelve years. Twelve years he spent locked up. He never thought this day would come, never wanted it to.

Until he met you.

Yancy had never cared about a life outside Happy Trails. He could never imagine himself anywhere else. But after you came along, suddenly it was all he could think of - a life, a home…a partner.

It took a year of good behavior, no stabbing, no starting fights. The warden almost didn’t believe him when Yancy said he wanted to apply for parole.

“There ain’t no place out there in the world for you, son,” he had said.

But Yancy disagreed. Wherever you are, that’s where he’s meant to be.

So he pushed and pushed until finally, the warden agreed. He had been scared to tell the gang, worried they’d think less of him, but they were all happy for Yancy. They all knew how much you meant to him. So the gang got together to throw him a going-away party; there was a musical number and everything. And after promising them he’d write often, Yancy gathered the few belongings he had and walked to the gate.

And now here he was, free for the first time since he was a teenager. He almost wants to turn around, go back inside, and tell the warden he was right.

But then a car pulls up in front of him. The driver's side door opens and you climb out, beaming at him.

“Yance!”

Yancy grins ear to ear, taking that last step through the gates and out into the world. He pulls you into a bear hug and you both laugh.

“It’s so good to see yous!”

You smile up at him, patting his arm. “I can’t believe you’re out. I…Yancy, I’m so proud of you.”

He beams.

You hug him one more time before gesturing to your car. “Shall we?”

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road.”

The two of you climb into the car and Yancy looks over at you.

“So, where’s we going?”

“First, we’re going shopping because those clothes the warden gave you are…”

You trail off, looking down at the khakis and button-up shirt that was a size too big.

Yancy rubs the back of his neck, his eyes dropping to the floor.

“Yous know I ain’t got any money.”

“Yes I do, which is why it’s my treat.”

“N-No, I couldn’t ask yous to do that.”

“Shush. We’re going shopping, end of story.”

“Alright…if yous insist. But I’m gonna pay yous back once I find a job.”

You take Yancy to one of your favorite thrift shops and the two of you take as much time as you want, sifting through the clothes racks, giggling while trying on all kinds of silly things. Eventually, you settle on a few outfits for Yancy to get him started. He walks out of the store in a pair of distressed jeans, a white t-shirt, and a nice-looking denim jacket. It’s a good look for him, very greaser style, and you can’t help but stare just a little.

“How do I look?” Yancy smiles, turning this way and that.

You lick your lips, your mouth is suddenly very dry. “Good. Yeah. You look good.”

“Feels weird to be wearin’ somethin’ other than my prison digs, but I like it. Used to have a jacket just like this one.”

“It’s very you.”

The two of you head back to the car.

“Yous really don’t mind me crashing at yous’s place for a while?”

“Not at all, Yance. You’re always welcome. My place is a little small, but we’ll make it work.”

“If yous say so.”

Instead of driving north into town, you take a turn and start down a smaller, less populated road. Yancy looks out the window curiously at the trees and fields of grass that pass by.

“We’s not goin’ home?”

“I got a surprise for you.”

“What? No, yous already done so much for me.”

“And I like doing things for you.”

Blush colors his cheeks and Yancy turns his head to look back out the window. He feels guilty that you’ve done so much for him and there isn’t any way for him to repay you. He doesn’t want you to think that he’s some kind of moocher or that he’s unappreciative.

“We’re here!”

“Huh?”

You park the car in front of a small park and get out, going around to open the trunk.

“What’re we doin’ here?”

You pull a picnic basket and a blanket out of the trunk and shut the door. “We’re going to have a picnic!”

“A picnic?”

“Yeah, I figured it’s going to take you some time to get used to being back in society and everything, so I thought we could do something a little quieter.”

“Hey, that’s…that’s really nice of yous.”

“Come on, there’s a really nice spot up the hill a little.”

The two of you trek through the park to the top of a small hill surrounded by trees. There’s a small river at the bottom of the hill and the sound of the water bubbling and running fills the air.

You lay the blanket down on the grass and put the picnic basket on it before sitting down. Yancy just watches you, suddenly very nervous but he can’t seem to figure out why.

“Are you gonna sit down?”

“I…yous didn’t have to do all this for me.”

You groan playfully. “Yance, I told you already, I want to. I care about you.”

That makes something in his chest tighten painfully. You care for him? That’s not right. Why would anyone care about him? He’s a criminal, a murderer. He doesn’t deserve someone like you caring about him. You’re too good for him. You’ll never feel the same way he does about you. He should leave, tell you to stop wasting your time on him, tell you-

“Yancy.”

He blinks and looks down at you.

“Come here.” You hold your hand out for him.

Yancy takes your hand and you pull him down to the blanket next to you. Slowly, you reach out and cup the side of his face, giving him a gentle smile. The touch sends his heart beating out of his chest. When was the last time someone touched him in such a soft way? When was the last time someone looked at him like that?

“Tell me what you’re thinking about. What’s wrong?”

“I-It’s nothing. Really, yous don’t need to worry.”

“Yancy, talk to me. You can tell me anything, you know that don’t you? Do you not like the picnic? We can go home if you want.”

“No, no, it’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s nothin’, okay? Just nothin’.” He pulls away from you.

You reel back, your eyes dropping to your hands. “I’m…sorry if I’m being too much.”

The sad tone in your voice makes his heart ache and he knows he should just let it be. It’s better if you don’t like him anymore, but he can’t stand the idea of hurting you. Yancy reaches out slowly and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest.

“You’re not too much.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“I’m not worth all this. I’m…not worthy of you.”

“You take that back right now.”

He flinches at the steel in your voice. “What?”

“Take it back. Yancy, you are worth more than anything to me. I don’t care what you’ve done or what kind of person you think you are. I care about you more than I’ve ever cared about anyone and I’m not going to let you sit here and convince yourself otherwise.”

“B-But-”

“No. You are a kind man with a good heart and you mean so much to me. You have to understand that. Yancy, I love you.”

The words slip out before you can stop them. Both of your eyes grow wide as you stare at each other. He doesn’t say anything and you feel yourself starting to panic.

“Yancy, I-”

His hands cradle your face and he pulls you into a kiss. You feel fireworks behind your eyes and you grab the front of his shirt, never wanting to let go.

“I love yous too,” he says against your lips.

When you pull apart, you both have goofy smiles on your faces.

“So.” He smirks. “Was this yous’s plan all along? Take me out to the woods and seduce me?”

You can feel your face heating up and you groan. “Don’t make fun of me, okay? I thought it would be romantic.”

“Well, it is. Yous did a good job. Coulda used some candles though, woulda really helped set the mood.”

You groan, shoving him away playfully. “No. You’ve ruined it. Ruined it. Here I was, trying to have a nice, romantic date and you’re making fun of me.”

“I would never!” Yancy reaches for you but you bat his hands away.

“No, it’s too late. The moment is gone. We might as well just pack up and go home. Love is dead.”

He laughs and pulls you in for another kiss, smiling against your mouth.

“I love yous.” He whispers.

“I love you too, Yance. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too. Now.” He claps his hands together. “We gonna open this picnic basket or what? Let’s get some food goin’, I’m starvin’.”

You open the picnic basket and pull out drinks and two sandwiches.

“Alright, I wasn’t sure what you like so tuna or pb&j?”

Yancy looks at you with a fond smile as warmth fills his chest. He’s found his place in the world and it’s right here with you.

[ao3feed-piltovers-finest]

Hi! A while ago you made a post with some great Violyn recs, and I bookmarked and went through and loved all of them, but I didn’t do the same with some that were in progress, so could you link them again? And then also, do you have some new recs? :)) There’s so much stuff out there right now and it’s a bit hard to sift, so unbiased suggestion for something interesting and well written would be much appreciated. I don’t really care about the length as long as it’s good, in character and hopefully canon compliant? Or anything else that stands out, really. As for ratings everything is a go, just a big NO to abo (even if we put noncon issue aside, sorry but there’s only a limited amount of blowj*bs I can take in my basic lesbian p*rn, lol) or gross monster stuff unfortunately abundant these days. Also, nothing wrong with WIPs but preferably finished stories? And TYSM. For what you’re doing there, and for all the recs, past and present! <3

Hey there! :)

First of all, thank you for your kind words, and second - apologies for a relatively tardy reply (also, if you sent this message twice by mistake, the reply's to the greyface one - in case you wanted to retain anonymity, if that's okay?) since it took a bit to compile appropriate thoughts and words for a decent response. But since below the cut you'll be able to find not only links but also (unsolicited? :) reviews, I hope it'll at least give you enough of a fix - for a while?

:)

Now, let's start with...

That post, that I think you can still find under 'fic recs' section on the main page, there were two WIPs there, if I recall? One of them is still a fun read (the unpretentious, fun AU one that I think I tagged as my 'guilty pleasure' at the time?) and the other, well - despite having a really intense beginning it got convoluted and overly watered down half-way, and lost me. (So, no more recommending WIPs, yes - check. Lol.) But to answer your other question - in the meantime I read, loved, and would wholeheartedly recommend... hmm. Ok, since you basically gave me free range apart from the omgaverse (for which - no worries, I don't care for it either, I've seen dozens of them passing over this page, but only one well-written, with an actual interesting plot and character dynamics - but a WIP, so we might go back to that one at some later point? ;) the ONLY criteria now I guess would be...

The works of some new and/or underrated authors? How's that, to fulfill the primary intent of this blog, which is to promote and/or send appreciation to those who really truly deserve it?

So, yeah. In no particular order, here are some of my recent faves:

Digging Like You Can Bury Something That Cannot Die series by shoutoutout

@shoutoutout

Canon compliant, a study on guilt, loss and acceptance. A truly gripping study, a recontextualization if you will (expanding the context span, filling in gaps) with emphasis on that residual emptiness that one never truly accepts, just learns how to live with. The way in which Vi is given facing, then coping with all of it in such a simply human, fight or flight way - is incredibly relatable. While the first part written from Cait's perspective gives a unique insight into her upbringing, her heritage, her relationship with her mother (which, perhaps it's just me - but I love seeing it explored beyond what we've seen onscreen, especially with that last scene, where it's evident that no matter how much she disagrees with her mum she still looks to her for comfort when she is despair) and then of course - grief flooded with regret. Really masterfully written.

Grenadier by antistar_e (kaikamahine)

@kaikamahine

Set post-finale, this is basically a character dynamics piece, written from Vi's perspective. It's a gentle, at times funny and yet gritty and profound exploration of regret, mourning and unhealthy coping mechanisms - on everyone's behalf, with developments between Vi, Cait and Jinx (yes, all three of them - but don't let this deter you just because Jinx has absolutely no boundaries ;) this is uniquely beautiful portrayal of sisterly relationship. The simple way Vi explains her love for Jinx will break your heart, because she loves her despite everything, the guilt, lack of remorse - it's the love that doesn't preclude justice or exempt her from consequences, but just grows, adapts, restitches its seams. It has elements of romantic developments (in different directions?) but the central part is the sisters, and to be completely frank it's the best fic I've ever read exploring these dynamics, post finale. Both characterisation as well as style wise.

Drink from the Cup of Fortune by xanthinriff

@xanthinriff

'Does happiness bloom from the soil of pain, or is pain a byproduct of happiness lost?' If you've ever read anything else written by this author, you'll know that their writing simply cannot be summarized, objectively or rationally. And this one is not an exception, it is post finale, post everything and beyond, and it gives us Vi's perspective on - grief, guilt, need to belong, the feeling of loss, helplessness, selfishness, mental self-flagellation... gosh, I've said it before and I'll say it again, xanthinriff has a uniquely, gut-wrenching writing style that packs a punch - undaunted to tackle even the most complex, or darkest of emotions so it's definitely not for those who want a sappy, trite emotional lemonade. But rather real raw human emotions, such as... well, those listed above?

Now, the author has deleted their A03 account for personal reasons, but this specific work is still available per request, exclusively here (author's prerogative, of course) so if what you read there got you intrigued - send us a DM and we shall deliver.

(This is also valid for some of their other work, previously referenced and recommended on this page)

sweet & bitter by garcondencre

@garcondencre

Canon compliant. An exploration of what happened between the moment Caitlyn and Vi found themselves alone in Cait's bedroom and the moment they left each other in the rain. A beautifully heartfelt character study, a train of thought from Vi's perspective, if you will. Characterization is spot on, emotions are intense and tangible, and the inner conflict fleshed out so viscerally, painfully well.

The Power of a Name by kendricked

@caitkirammans

One of those 'five times' prompts, written from Caitlyn's perspective. A very interesting take on how she viewed things that happened, and then those that [spoiler]. It contains some missing bits, or interludes, if you will. They speaks volumes on Caitlyn herself, seamlessly showing that cross between that naivetee and genuine selflessness - and also how she saw, and sees Vi. Emotional intensification written and depicted at its best.

keep your head low by espressbian

@espressbian

Canon compliant. An amazing dive into Caitlyn's mind (ok, I guess Vi’s as well - in the second chapter?) showing us their respective perspectives on things that happened - through this very skillfully written inner dialogue, depicting the inner workings of both of their minds, but especially Caitlyn's... I found it gripping, touching and impressively intense all at the same time.

no powder but stardust by softnyx

(tumblr unknown - let us know, if you do?)

I think I already mentioned this one? It's a one-shot, but is contained of eight episodes with time gaps, featuring snippets of scenes from different, not-so-random periods. Starts with that beautiful childish pure innocence and veers off into... well, two diverse worlds, a canon divergence AU (star-crossed lovers of sorts, comes to mind) that grows close to the one of game canon-world? The characterisation is endearingly tangible and wholesome, and it is absolutely amazing what a skillful author can do in such little space and with so few words.

Wrap ya gun in giftwrap by Latenightsgunfights

@latenightsgunfights

This is quite a short piece, basically just smutty. Why on this list, you might wonder? Well, the way it shows Vi struggling between how she sees herself, the subtly shown conflict between the tough front and bravado and how she feels about herself in regards to Caitlyn, how it manifests in their physical connection - the implication how certain feelings can be put into submission... it's quite a lot (yeah, no one's immune to hot smutty ones, but I prefer them with some substance, alright? ;) for a short piece with barely 1k of a wordcount.

Chances by mira_blue

@mira-blue

To be completely honest, this is not really CaitVi (they're just acknowledged in the passing) but rather a canon-compliant take on Vi's complicated relationship with her sister, post S1. (Yeah, I've been kinda leaning towards those, recently - can you tell? :) Pieces like this, exploring this kind of dynamics of theirs are quite rare, and this one may seem like just a drabble - but try to get into Jinx's fragmented stream of consciousness. It's uncomfortable, realistic and tangible, all at once. I've seen very few well-written ones and this one is my absolute favourite one.

Shadow of Nothing by UmbreonGurl

@umbreongurl

Quite sure you've read some of the other works of this author as well, but this one is a bit different from all of their other (AU? fluffy? comedy? romcom?) work, and a bit underrated in my opinion. In a span of a single chapter it covers literally everything, from the prison break till post finale - while at the same time being a character study of Cait. It's simple, unpretentious, with effective time lapses, and an interestingly different, more realistic view of Vi - as it makes more sense that she'd be more distrustful, standoffish and defensive to start with in the beginning. But it's a quite fresh and intimate take on Cait, and it's not that angsty (like the rest of the stuff from this list), so...

Dust Collected OnMy Pinned-Up Hair by tailoredjade

@tailoredjade

Ok, there are so many high-school AUs out there, but there's just that something about the pacing of this one. It covers a longer timespan, with smaller/larger gaps and ellipses, but the way it captures the yearning and pining is incredibly palpable. It's friends-to-lovers, but in a way also a compelling character piece that captures Cat's inner workings (exasperation? anxiety?) rather well. Quite interestingly written (in terms of sentence structure, or how it follows the character's thought-process) it's a fittingly positive one, for the end of this list?

:)

Aaand - that'd be all.

As always, if you enjoy any of these (and even if they're not really new for you - and you already had, lol) go drop these lovely people out there a positive note, some appreciation and encouragement - and then let us know as well.

Cheers! 🌈💖

[writing-vault]

summary :⠀When Arven went to Lab Zero, he expected to be tearing his mother apart for everything she put him through. For abandoning him. Only to find yet another that was left behind in the wake of her mistakes. But some small part of him held out hope. Hope that together they could fix things, and not let anything else be ruined by her.

content warnings :⠀parental neglect

fandom :⠀pokemon⠀( scarlet version )

word count : 3109

ao3 link :⠀link

previous chapter : link

The trio sat around the room, silently staring at Arven and Sada. Listening closely as they finished their recounting of the past hours' events. None of them could think of anything to say, just in pure shock. Nemona finally broke the silence that had settled over the lab,

“Dear Arceus… I can’t believe you two had to go through all that…” She whispered.

“Well, it does seem in character. At least from what Arvens told me about his actual mom.” Florien said with a small shrug.

“This is absolutely unbelievable. How did the professor manage to program a truly sentient AI? If this could be replicated…” Penny murmured, closely examining Sada.

“I was programmed with the professor's memory and personality. That’s why I seem more lifelike than an average AI. Replicating me without a human as a basis would be near impossible.” Sada said, enjoying the younger students’ fascination with her creation.

“Interesting. But you also mentioned you’re the ‘vessel’ for the time machine security system. How did Arven shut it down without… Uh…Getting rid of you?” Penny asked, finally backing off from the professor.

“Well, that’s what we need some help with. She’s linked heavily with this lab, but if we can rewri-” Arven began, getting cut off abruptly by Penny-

“That’s impossible.” She said flatly, not bothering to let him even finish the word.

“Yeah, even with Penny that would be an impossible task,” Nemona said, looking sympathetically towards Arven.

“It’s not entirely hopeless. The professor wasn’t the only one developing me. My programming should be documented thoroughly. You would have to dig around for it though.” AI Sada explained, placing a gentle hand on Arvens shoulder.

“Still… It would take a lot of work.” Penny said, remaining unconvinced.

“Look, if I could do this myself I would. There’s no other way. And I refuse to leave her behind without trying.” Arven replied, his voice cracking ever so slightly. The trio shared a concerned glance before Penny let out an exasperated sigh.

“Fine. But you’re taking care of the body yourself, Arven. And helping me find that documentation.” She said, freezing up as she was suddenly captured in a hug. Arven couldn’t stop blurting out ‘thank you’ as he tightly squeezed the other teen. After a few seconds, he let go, regaining his typical standoffish composure.

“Anyway… We can’t exactly move in here, so we need to get a copy of the code to take out of the lab. Uh, how big would that be?” Arven asked, turning to face the AI.

“I hope you can afford a lot of hard drives.” She said bluntly.

Arvens knees buckled as he struggled to lug the final boxes of SSDs into the lighthouse laboratory. He carefully placed them with the others. He collapsed onto the floor immediately after.

“You know when she said the size was in petabytes… I did not imagine it would be this many terabytes.” He groaned, gasping to get oxygen back into his system while Penny stepped over him.

“Well at least we know how many SSDs a Mudsdale weighs now.” She said, plonking herself down in the creaky office chair in front of Sada’s computer.

“You were more than welcome to help, Penny.” He mumbled into the floor.

“I’m already dealing with the programming for you.” She said, waving her hand dismissively as she logged into the massive desktop.

“Now. Where’s this documentation she was talking about? It wasn’t in the Zero Lab or the research stations, so this is the only place left.” She said, talking to herself as she began sifting through the heinously messy hard drive. 

Years-old note files, random photos and downloads. It was a miracle the computer even ran with the amount of junk clogging it. Even now it took minutes at a time to load a single folder.

“Arceus knows. She left the place a complete mess when she went down to Area Zero permanently. It should be on this first floor though-” Arven said, properly sitting up from the floor.

“Arven, how do you think the documentation was stored?” Penny asked, cutting him off and slowly turning around to look at him.

“I mean, she kept almost everything handwritten…” He mumbled, fidgeting slightly in place. Suddenly hyperaware of how long the cable for the computer mouse was.

“Arven. Please for the love of Arceus. Tell me you don’t actually think the professor wrote down the documentation for a sentient AI in a PHYSICAL. NOTEBOOK.” She said, raising her voice slightly in the end. Something that Arven did not think the programmer was capable of.

“So anyway, I’ll get to building the SSD rack.” He said, scrambling upstairs, Penny following closely behind yelling at him.

“WE ARE NOT JUST DROPPING THIS SUBJECT SANDWICH BOY-”

Arven slotted the final SSD into the rack. He plugged in the cables finally connecting AI Sada’s programming to the computer. Penny sat at the desk reading through the documentation that she had finally found. Though it was almost as messy as the hard drive itself, it at least made the code decipherable.

“The SSDs are all up and running. You can edit her programming now.” He announced, walking over to the wall of monitors.

“I just found the section about the security protocols. They don’t seem to be baked into her core functionality. So they should be removable while keeping her working. It's going to take a while though. I need to be a lot more cautious than with the league” Penny said, not looking up from the screen.

“Thank you again, for this Penny. I can’t say it enough.” He said quietly, hugging his sleeves.

“It’s fine. I might not like my dad constantly being around… But I can see why you want to salvage Sada.” She said, giving Arven a sympathetic glance.

“I’m gonna go get the robot from the Zero Lab. I’ll be back soon, alright?” He said, walking out the door to meet with Florian and head back down to the crater.

Arven sat on the floor with the robot. silently chipping off the tera crystals that had formed around her. It was tedious work. The tera crystals embedded themselves into her. It was impossible to scrape off completely. Though it was only a millimetres thin layer of crystal left after being scraped.

“I’m going to fix this. I promise… I’ll fix her mistakes.” He whispered, knowing that she was unable to hear him. He diligently continued scraping her exterior nonetheless.

Over the next week, Arven managed to clean up the exterior as much as he could. His time to work on the repairs was limited but he made do, pulling a few all-nighters. Now, he had to deal with a much more delicate operation.

Arven took in a deep breath, carefully removing her exterior shell. As he held it, the reality of just how human-like she was hit him. The synthetic skin felt so realistic. Almost like he was holding a corpse, ice cold in his hands. He writhed uncomfortably at that feeling, barely resisting the urge to chuck it away from him. 

He set it aside safely and out of view before examining the robot's internal mechanisms. A pristine metal skeleton sat inside, almost mimicking a human exactly. Even down to a ribcage, providing extra protection to her central battery and motor. Behind the skeleton, a massive motherboard covered her entire torso.

The damage wasn’t too severe overall, only a small amount of tera crystals got inside. Though her legs were badly crystallised, they only broke a couple replaceable cables. He got back to scraping away tera crystals, extra careful not to damage any more of her internals. He hummed quietly as he worked, trying to distract himself from the utter emptiness of the lab.

He should be used to this. But being back in his mother's lab… It felt a lot more lonely. Surrounded by mountains of documents and work. Work that she always prioritised over him. Now stuck fixing another of her victims.

In a few days, Arven finished his work on the body, reaching her head. He recoiled back feeling the hair. It felt… Real. He knew it was likely some type of synthetic material, but it was still unsettling. The subtly bumpy texture. The way the strands so naturally fell between his fingers. Another reminder of the AI’s humanity.

He carefully removed the face plate, luckily not causing any damage. Like her main body, only a little bit of the tera energy had gotten inside. Though, unlike her body, the mechanisms of her head were infinitely easier to break. The electronics inside were crammed tight. There wasn’t even a millimetre of wiggle room.

Stress began to get to the teen. He knew that this was the most important part. One wrong move here could potentially break everything. With that in mind, Arven began to methodically scrape away at the tera crystals.

Over the days working on it, he found a comfortable groove. But at the last possible moment. A deafening crack sounded throughout the silent lab. Panic instantly set in, throwing his tools to the side. Frantically trying to find the damage. In the end, it was the port for one of her eyes that fell victim to his slip of the hand.

Arven let out a deep sigh of relief, removing the wire from the broken port. He thoroughly checked for any more damage to the circuit but didn’t find any. He reattached the face plate, sure to not make any more mistakes.

He took a few steps back, looking at the reassembled robot. The leftover crystallisation on her skin gave it a crystal vitiligo effect. Hopefully, it wouldn’t interfere anymore with her motor functions. Her hair was still laden with tera crystals, though due to the nature of the material he couldn’t help much with that.

“Sorry about your eye. Hopefully, everything should be working though. Even if your legs were a bit rough with tera crystals.” Arven said quietly, waiting a moment for a response he knew wouldn’t come.

“Penny isn’t finished adjusting your programming yet. But she’s down to removing the Paradise Protection Protocol now. You should be back soon…” He continued, standing next to the robot. He glanced over at her, greeted by empty voids for eyes.

“Goodnight Mom… I’ll make sure you don’t get dusty before we can reboot you.” He whispered, wrapping her in a small hug. 

She was still completely cold. 

The wait for Penny to finish fixing Sada’s programming was torturous. But Arven finally heard the familiar ring of his rotom phone late one night. 

“Hey, I think I finally cracked it. I can’t be sure, the code was a complete mess. But I’m pretty sure the security protocols are gone.” A tired voice rang through the speaker. Only conscious via the power of copious energy drinks.

“So if we link her to this code we can safely deactivate the time machine?” He asked, a hesitant hope seeping into his voice.

“If everything goes well, yeah. I’ll meet you at the lab tomorrow and we can see if she functions right.” Penny mumbled, her voice barely picked up by the microphone.

“Thank you, thank you so much for doing all this.” He said, barely containing his joy. The only response he got was a low groan followed shortly by the call disconnecting. After putting his phone away, Arven crept up to the lab's second level.

The robot stood as motionless as ever. Still exactly where she was left last. 

“Hey, Mom. Penny finally fixed your programming. At least we think she did… Either way, you’re going to be back tomorrow. You’re… You’re going to be better tomorrow okay.” He said, hope lacing his voice. “Please… Please be better tomorrow. And if you aren’t…” He continued, tears beading in his eyes as he stared at his imperfect repairs.

“Please just know we tried, Mom. We really did… I really did… I never wanted to abandon you. Not like her.” He whispered, voice cracking as he hugged her tightly. With no one else around, he let the tears fall. Crying silently into her chest as his grip tightened.

Arven stood by Penny, uncharacteristically fidgety. Watching Penny link the fixed AI to the robot shell. Switching on the power, nothing happened for a few minutes. The only sound coming from the robot was the sound of internal fans running. Suddenly, her eyes snapped open, only showing a dim electric blue iris in the still functional one.

The pair stayed silent, watching the robot continue to boot up. Another minute passed before she started rapidly blinking. Soon revealing her more human eye once again. 

“Arven? Penny? Where… Where am I?… This isn’t the Zero Lab.” She said, looking around the messy room. It felt familiar. But she couldn’t specifically identify any memories of the place despite that. Her vision was also drastically limited.

“This was the professor's ‘home’ lab. Is everything in you functioning properly?” Penny asked, trying to assess the AI’s condition as best she could.

“My vision… It’s much reduced from before.” She murmured, her words slurred as she continued to boot.

“That’s on me. While I was getting the tera crystals out of your head I slipped. Sorry…” Arven said, avoiding her gaze as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“I should be able to adjust to it. Is everything else inside functional?” Sada asked, a small smile resting on her face.

“The tera energy was pretty thick around your legs, but otherwise you should be fine.” He said, looking over to Penny to take over.

“Do you feel anything different inside? Memories being hazy, forgetting things, stuff like that.” Penny asked, examining the professor's exterior for any other defects.

“No. Now that I’m fully booted I don’t feel any different. Thank you for your help, Penny.” Sada responded, all lack of clarity finally leaving her voice. She seemed to be running completely normally now.

“That’s good. If you start bugging out, uh, I apologise.” She said quietly, looking over at Arven. “I have Eevees to get back to, I’ll leave you pair be.” She said before walking out of the lab, leaving the others by themselves.

Once Penny had left, Arven leapt into a hug with Sada, clutching her as if she might just disappear if he let go. Sada tenderly wrapped her arms around Arven in turn, the pair staying still and taking in the moment. It was nice feeling her warmth again. Her arms wrapped around him again.

“I knew you and your friend could do it, Arven.” She whispered, breaking the silence that fell upon the room. 

“I mean, Penny did all the hard work. I just fixed your internals, and I didn’t even get that right.” He murmured, feeling guilty over breaking her eye. Sada’s only response was hugging him tighter before she spoke again.

“I’m still proud of you, regardless. And thankful… I’m finally free of that lab.” She said, tenderly running her hand through Arvens hair, “I… I can go explore. I can pursue my own dreams.” She said, joy apparent in her voice despite its robotic undertone. 

“Well, before you do that there is one issue we need to take care of,” Arven said quietly. Tension quickly entered the air around them. He reluctantly parted from Sada.

“Of course… Hopefully, your friend was successful in removing my security protocols.” Sada said, the prior emotion leaving her voice. Only leaving behind dread and concern.

They had a time machine to shut down.

Arven and the professor stepped out of the elevator. Once again greeted by the blinding brightness of the tera crystal walls. The cracks left behind from Koraidon’s battle were as it was when Arven had first left. 

Embedded in the ceiling was the camera shutter-like machine, as imposing as ever. It was in sleep mode, but they knew at any point it could reactivate itself and wreak havoc. 

“Would you do the honours… Mom?” Arven asked, the last word coming out barely audibly. He’d said it before, but when she was actually conscious… It came a lot harder to him.

“Of course. Hopefully, it won’t happen, but being out of raising floor range is good.” Sada said, taking the Scarlet Book from the teen. Her grip on it tightened as she approached the pedestal in the centre of the room. She couldn’t stand the thought of possibly hurting Arven again. 

He didn’t have Koraidon with him either, so in a worst-case scenario, he would be completely defenceless. She was taken out of her own head feeling a hand grab her wrist, just now noticing her hands shaking out of control. She looked down towards Arven, calming herself down enough to place the book into its slot. The pair stepped back, hearing the familiar voice over the speakers.

ID CONFIRMED: PROFESSOR SADA. 

ACCESS GRANTED. 

EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN INITIATED. 

PLEASE WAIT… 

PLEASE WAIT… 

Arven and Sada stood still, staring up at the time machine. Sada had Arvens hand in a vice grip, trying to calm herself down as they kept waiting. Waiting for something to go wrong. 

For the security protocols to be reactivated. 

For history to just repeat itself.

EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN SUCCESSFUL. 

The announcement cut through the suffocating tension that took over the room. The once blinding walls gradually shut off, becoming obsidian black like the floor. The shutter up in the ceiling groaned to life. This time instead of blooming outwards, it twisted itself tightly shut.

If she physically could, the AI would have been in tears. Instead, nearly collapsing she hugged Arven crushingly tight.

“You did it! You actually did it! Dear Arceus, thank you. The professor's dream is finally over.” She said, small convulsions running through her body. “And I’m… I can leave this all behind… I can be the parent you deserved. I can go on my own journey, without anything or anyone telling me what to do.” She whispered, her voice breaking slightly.

“Arven, I can never truly tell you how thankful I am… Thank you for not leaving me behind. For letting me… Us… Have a new beginning.” She said, releasing the teen from her grip and replacing it with a gentle hand holding his cheek. 

Arven stayed silent. Tears trickled down his face as his lips pulled themselves into a tight smile. They couldn’t just go back to rewrite the past, to erase his mother's mistakes. But now… The future looked a lot more hopeful.  It wasn’t at all certain, but it was theirs to write. For themselves. With no one else to answer to for once in their lives.

I hope you enjoyed reading, likes and reblogs are extremely appreciated!

[clover-exe2009]

Y/n: name

L/n: last name

E/c: eye color

Fandom: hazbin hotel

—————————————————

You where in the your kitchen of your large apartment fixing some food when your lover husker in the he's been awfully quite today he call in sick from his bar Tending job when he's perfectly fine which you can understand why He would be faking

Working a job in hell was something but he has magic so you really don't worry to much and he was friends with the infamous radio demon alastor so you didn't have to worry one bit

but he was in your shared room all day *knock* *knock* you knocked on the door "husker hun foods done" you could hear sifting in the room "husky honey are you ok do you need something your worrying me"

He opens the door and lends on the door frame he's not drunk he never does that drinking think home in front of you looking more closely though it seems or looks like at least he's not wearing any clothes his red wings stretched out they never fail to

Make you feel small which you are he's build like a ex army soldier which he was when he was alive

Now cursed to by stuck a cat like demon with blood red bird wings

That where fluffier then they should why is his crawls diggings to the door Fram "husker bud you okey?"

You asked still know reply you look at him in the eyes they stared at like at Profiter the hunt it's pray you step back he step forward the lighting hitting you can see his in his boxers

"H-husker your scaring me" you say

"No need to be scared toots it just me after all~" he said hovering over you

"Why don't we~..." in a flash he was behind you wrapping his arms around your waist end shoved he face into your neck you could feel his nose against your nape "husker are okay" you decided to ask hoping for an answer "ya smell nice" he replied picking you up and walking into the room and throwing you on the bed an crawling up the bed now above you *purr~* he purrs as he buts the top of his head under your chin and lays kisses on your collarbone and neck y/n:" HUSKER" husker:"hmm~ what?". Y/n:"What got in to you". husker:"..."

husker: "I'm just try'n a play~ game of cat an mouse~" he says going back to kissing you collarbone and slightly going do then rips off you sweater and continues to kiss then coming to a stop tugging at your shorts pulling them off and licks a strip up your underwear "h-husker~" you wine squeezing his

head between you thighs make him nip at you inner thigh "little mouse~" he says tugging at your underwear pulling them off you can feel him shake with excitement before shoving his face into your clit eating you out like your

his last meal "hmmm~" "ah~" you moan his claws dig into the skin of your ass you feel the knot in you stomach "husker I'm-" before you know it you came you and husker pulls away from your clit and plops down in bed next to and raps a arm around you *purrr~* "what was that all about" you asked "hush" "love you too husk"

[jawllines]

He’s too far in thought, he realizes, when Ellie comes and waves her hand in his face, “Are you okay?” She asks quietly, eyes wide as saucers, “Maisey said you look like her aunt when she zones out and she’s depressed.” 

Harry huffs out a laugh, one that expels the air from his lungs as he nods, “Yes, Ellie, I’m okay. What’ve you painted, hm? Can I see it?” She grins, her cheeks pudgy and rosy as she runs back to her seat and picks up the canvas she’d been working on. It’s a sun and a moon, both with rather cryptic looking faces on them, and Harry had never so perfectly had to manage his poker face, “Whoa!” 

“I think that might just be the coolest thing I’ve seen in my entire life,” Y/N appears behind him, Oliver more or less clung to her pant leg as she’s reaching over his body to set a box of juice down on the oak table for him to disperse among his campers, while holding her hand out for the canvas, “May I see it, Miss. Ellie Bellie?” 

Ellie smiles shyly at her — she always got so shy around Y/N, but never in the way where you would think she’s nervous. No, she gets shy the way you might when meeting an older sibling’s friend and wanting to desperately try to impress them. Harry knew as much, considering he would attempt to perform for each and every single one of his sister’s friends growing up (and each time, Gemma would make a few colorful threats to deter him). No matter how quiet Ellie gets with her though, she’s always the first to ask if they got to play with Y/N that day. 

or

Harry still doesn’t like the other camp counsellors but Y/N’s an exception 

part 1

(tw: mentions of suicide) 

ii.

Psst. 

Harry was typically a heavy sleeper. When he was younger his mum used to joke that he could sleep through an earthquake-induced tsunami if someone allowed him to. An alarm would have to be pretty loud to stir him from his slumber, and unless he was on edge, a mere call of his name would not drag him from whatever dreamland he’d submerged himself within.

Psst. 

There had only been two things before that could notably wake him. His mum, who was the sweetest person on this planet yet managed to be the cruelest being on earth when he needed to be up for something, and his childhood cat Molly, who sits on his chest and makes it hard to breathe (which, from what he’s learned, encourages his brain to panic and wake him up so he could fix it). Other than that, he was blissfully unaware of the world for hours at a time. 

Yet, there was something stirring him now.  A low sound that puzzles him as he toes the line between consciousness and his dreams, aware of the blankets that cover him but still dancing on a stage with his limbs thrashing wildly and people shouting his name. 

Psst. 

Was it an insect? Maybe he was performing outside then -- a crowd of thousands in an outdoor field to see him for... .what was it that he did again?

Psst. 

Oh, he’s dreaming, isn’t he? How deep in his dream is he? He thinks this is the first time he’s ever been asleep and realized that he was asleep...he could probably conjure something up, right? Manifest something that he’s always wanted, try his hand in lucid dreaming. If only he could focus apart from the insect zipping past his eardrum. 

Harry, please wake up, we’re being haunted -- or murdered, or something. 

Harry’s eyelids flutter like swallowtail wings, his gaze blurry and unfocused as he comes to. He’s confused, piecing together the puzzle that always presents to him when he’s just woken up and has to readjust to the world around him. The whole process of it took nothing more than 10 seconds, maybe 15 if he’s really out of it, but that’s only because thoughts run through his mind at a hundred miles a minute. 

 What time is it? The room around him his pitch-black apart from a very small amount of light illuminating beneath the curtain covering the window he’s beneath, so it couldn’t be morning. Potentially early morning, but he would say that would be 3-4 AM. Did he need to be up? He didn’t think so, actually, because there’s no alarm buzzing him awake and as far as he’s concerned, he hadn’t signed up for any early morning shifts at the bookstore as of late. The last time he went in at 5 to open up shop while the owner was on vacation and Harry was more or less ran down by a mother raccoon when he’d stumbled upon her babies after getting out of his car -- Harry had been reluctant to go before sunrise since. 

Where was he? He knows he’s not at home, that’s for sure. The sheets smell like him but not him enough to be at his own place -- and the bedding isn’t as soft either. He knows he hasn’t passed out at someone’s house because he only does that if the person is close enough to him that he would recognize their scent, or if he was too drunk to get home, but that was usually accompanied by a wicked headache and a sour stomach. No, where he was smelled like wood and generic fabric softener. There was an air conditioning unit that rattled and rumbled from where it was fixed to the wall, he felt a tension in his neck that he only experienced at one place and, yeah, he was at the camp. 

He was at camp, in a cabin with Y/N, who slept with the lamp on because she hated the dark, was the owner of the voice that had woken him up in the inky black room. 

“Hm?” He hums, brows pinching as he lets his eyes shut again, only to open them a few seconds later, “Wha’s wrong? Why is your light off?” 

“I don’t know,” her voice is still just a bit over a whisper, and Harry wonders why she doesn’t just speak up now that she knows he’s awake, “I woke up a little bit ago and thought maybe there was a storm that knocked the power out or something, but I checked the weather and it’s been clear skies all night. I think our power line was cut which is like -- straight out of a horror film.” 

Harry sighs, a bit of him regretting the number of horror movies they’ve been watching once they finally got to watch Midsommar (in three days, they’d sifted through six different movies -- two movies a night and each one managed to horrify Y/N more than the last). He begins to press himself from the bed, his eyes adjusting to the dark around them, making out slivers of shadows, “I’ll go check --” 

“No! Are you crazy?” He hears her bed frameshift with her as she moves, “That’s just asking for a maniac to come for us. Plus I keep hearing noises and I can’t tell if it’s like...like little raccoon feet or a one-armed hook man.” 

“Alright, then go back to bed.” Harry begins to lower back down to the mattress but a sharp whine leaves her throat, “It’s dark when you close your eyes.” It’s silent for a moment, but then Harry feels a bead of guilt dribble through his body. He sighs, reaching up and wiping his hand down his face, “What do you want to do, yeah? If you don’t want me to go out there. Do you want to stay up?” 

She’s quiet, Harry is straying further and further from the state he would’ve been in to fall right back into his dreams but he tries to wipe away the irritation the best he could. What he reminds himself is that four days prior, Y/N had trekked out in the forest toward a lake despite her unremitting distaste for the woods in the dark and slapped Jack clean across the face because he was being rude to him. And he was going to ignore her? Fall asleep while she’s frightened? Harry could be a prick, but he wasn’t the bleeding antichrist. 

“I...um, well, I don’t want us to stay up, no, we’ll be so cranky tomorrow,” she shuffles in the sheets, “I dunno’, I’m sorry, you can go back to bed, I’ll be okay.” 

Harry isn’t sure what to do but in his half-awake state, the next few words that leave his mouth seem like just the temporary fix necessary for them to get the last few hours of sleep that they can, “Do you want me to read you a story or summat?” 

She giggles quietly, “No, it’s okay, really, go back to sleep, okay?” 

What Harry could have said was I can’t now, knowing that you’re awake and scared, but instead he utters a simple, “No.” He sits back up, patting blindly for his phone in his sheets, slipping his fingers around it, and tapping it awake. His screen blinds him with its brightness, so he lowers it before finding the flashlight. It lights up the floor at his feet and subsequently at its edges, he can make out Y/N’s shadowy figure. She’s sat up, curled in her blanket, wrapped around her head, and giving her a pseudo-nun appearance. She waves at him lamely and he struggles not to roll his eyes, “Maniac be damned, I’m gonna go out there and look for the breaker. Maybe the arseholes broke their vow of integrity.” 

He wouldn’t be surprised if Jack or one of the others came around and switched the breaker off, just to be inconvenient for the morning. They’d left them alone for four days sure, but Harry figures that it’s not so much four days of silent reflection and questioning why they feel the need to be such pricks to him, and more so four days for their anger to fester and brew. If not for the fact that Y/N slapped him then made him find laundry detergent and commanded the others to go get his clothes, then for the way she acted like nothing had happened the day prior. Jack’s cheek was still a stingy, red splotch, Oliver and Brandon were straight-faced looking irritated, and Y/N -- well, Y/N had never been more content with her day. She was having a blast with her kids playing bean bag toss, they did their little dance when one of them got it in the hole of the board, and when they were all getting drinks, Y/N offered to grab Harry his. He watched as she went to the cooler around the same time Jack did, they both reached for the last Dr. Pepper, and Y/N plucked it up and handed it to him before grabbing both her, Harry, and Mitch’s lemonades. 

He thinks it’s the sincerity that she holds, that would aggravate him had he been in their shoes. Y/N was completely unbothered by the night prior and Harry could tell, just like when he doesn’t reciprocate their maleficent tendencies towards them -- it was digging under their skin.

(She makes Harry laugh when she comes back with their lemonades, handing him one and uttering, “I let the prick have the last Dr. Pepper, and I’m regretting it.”) 

And while he’s hoping that they haven’t turned their target to her out of spite, he wouldn’t change what had happened for the world. It had made the two of them that much closer, and in the following day’s Harry had poked and prodded Y/N’s brain a bit more. Especially after what he’d seen on her page, he was intrigued by her. Intrigued by how she saw life, why she came at things the way she did, what built her up to be the person that she was in these very moments that he’s speaking to her. Harry hasn’t asked her about her old college roommate and he doesn’t plan on it either -- he doesn’t feel like he could, or he should. 

Harry has lost people before and he thinks the worst thing someone could do was to bring it up unprompted. He knows that it’s probably always on her mind but even then, maybe it isn’t at the forefront of it. Maybe she’s just trying to have a good few weeks, separate herself from the real world for a while, and he would be cruel to dig up something that she may not be ready to just up and chat about. No matter how curious he is about the whole situation, and no matter how much he wonders if she treats him the way she does because of what happened. If the topic was brought up by her he would openly and freely discuss it as long as she was comfortable, but he wouldn’t give her the third degree. 

So he minds his business and focuses on trying to get to know her better instead. 

He can’t say that it doesn’t change how he treats her a bit though. Harry is much. . .gentler, than he had been. He tries to be less critical of her unwavering optimism and seeks to understand where it was coming from instead. If he’s in the right mood he’ll attempt to match it, which makes for a good day with their groups, who he finds -- despite the small age gap -- have begun to kindle very close friendships. Mrs. Graham had even commented on it one of the days after they had a riveting game of balloon tennis. 

“You two make a good team -- putting all these other counselors to shame. And to think you were pouty about having to share a cabin.” 

It was true, they did make a good team. Harry thinks that them sparking a friendship had made the whole experience much more enjoyable for everyone involved. 

All of this together gives insight into why Harry is willing to stuff on his shoes at 3 AM and go out in the dark, muggy night to check and potentially fix a breaker. And no matter the number of times he assures her she does not have to come out there with him, she keeps hold of her ‘no man left behind’ mentality, pulls on a pair of flip flops, and pads out after him. 

Had they been in any other cabin, finding the breaker would have been much easier. They’re typically on the backside in the upper right corner, surrounded by a little cage with a lock similar to that of an animal crate. The struggle with their cabin was that the backside was basically in the woods, so he had to dodge low hanging branches and tangles of ivy to get even remotely near it. He hands Y/N his phone and she shines the light over the metal box, her hand steady despite how she looks back and forth and all around them like she’s making sure there are no red eyes glowing at them. The world around them is silent apart from the chirp and groan of insects, the scutter of an animal somewhere in the far distance makes Y/N huff a weary sigh but otherwise, nothing comes out to attack them. Harry restarts the breaker, they go back inside, and the lamp on its dimmest setting is switched on how they had fallen asleep with it. 

They both breath out in relief, Y/N dives back into her bed and Harry flops down atop of his covers, giving himself a second to feel the cool air from the conditioner fan over him. 

“Theoretically,” Y/N begins as Harry lets his eyes fall shut, “If there were some creature in the forest --”

“There’s no creature in the forest.” 

“I know, but theoretically --” She continues again, but Harry is quick to cut her off once more. 

“I wouldn’t let anything happen to you,” he tells her, “Go to sleep.”  

Once more, Y/N falls silent, but a quiet, “Thank you,” was the only thing to leave her mouth. 

                                                      .                               .                              .

A summer thunderstorm wasn’t abnormal during camp, which is why the recreation center and the art building are beneficial. It keeps everyone preoccupied and entertained with well-insulated walls to mute whatever carnage is taking place outside, which makes for less frightened children and an easier time for everyone involved. Harry liked being active and running around with his campers, sure, but he also really enjoyed a nice, calm, relaxing day trying his hand at DIY projects and abstract paintings. Plus it gave him the chance to wear the camp hoodie that he had spent a pretty penny purchasing, which was made of the softest fabric he’s ever felt and was far more comfortable than the t-shirts that they normally wear.

Y/N had also bought the hoodie, Harry saw as she stepped out in it after her shower this morning, and she seemed to be drowning in it but in the best way. The fabric pools off of her, but she looks cozy, and well-rested despite them waking in the middle of the night. He thinks she looks pretty cute, but he kept the thought to himself and instead asked her if she wanted his extra granola bar for breakfast. 

They alternate throughout the day, between the rec center and art building, and on the schedule, it appears that most the day he would be with Y/N’s group (which he prefers) and a few times he’s even with Mitch as well, which is nice. Mitch doesn’t grow to like many people, but he liked Y/N well enough -- he thought she was oddly entertaining (or so he’s told, Harry) and good for a chat. The only times he and Y/N were not with each other were when the activities were age-specific, but even then, it wasn’t like anyone was in a different room. They were all just at different stations within a big room in the art building and the recreation center was more or less free for all. 

Harry wondered when he started basing whether or not a day was going to be good by whether or not he and Y/N were able to be around each other, but he decided not to think about it too much. Lately, he’d been a little more on edge with whether they were together, simply because of Jack and the others. He didn’t want them fucking with her, and even though she’d proven that she was more than capable of taking care of herself, he still worried, especially knowing he would be the cause of it. 

Y/N doesn’t seem the least bit distressed about it, or as far as she was letting on -- she’d not expressed any thoughts or concerns that they would be spiteful towards her. Hell, the only thing she had told him the night after was that she hoped she didn’t make things worse for him. For him. Why was she so willing to defend him? What did she get out of being so kind? 

He’s too far in thought, he realizes, when Ellie comes and waves her hand in his face, “Are you okay?” She asks quietly, eyes wide as saucers, “Maisey said you look like her aunt when she zones out and she’s depressed.” 

Harry huffs out a laugh, one that expels the air from his lungs as he nods, “Yes, Ellie, I’m okay. What’ve you painted, hm? Can I see it?” She grins, her cheeks pudgy and rosy as she runs back to her seat and picks up the canvas she’d been working on. It’s a sun and a moon, both with rather cryptic looking faces on them, and Harry had never so perfectly had to manage his poker face, “Whoa!” 

“I think that might just be the coolest thing I’ve seen in my entire life,” Y/N appears behind him, Oliver more or less clung to her pant leg as she’s reaching over his body to set a box of juice down on the oak table for him to disperse among his campers, while holding her hand out for the canvas, “May I see it, Miss. Ellie Bellie?” 

Ellie smiles shyly at her — she always got so shy around Y/N, but never in the way where you would think she’s nervous. No, she gets shy the way you might when meeting an older sibling’s friend and wanting to desperately try to impress them. Harry knew as much, considering he would attempt to perform for each and every single one of his sister’s friends growing up (and each time, Gemma would make a few colorful threats to deter him). No matter how quiet Ellie gets with her though, she’s always the first to ask if they got to play with Y/N that day. 

“I especially like how multidimensional it is — purple and pink stars? Beautiful, I love those two colors together,” she places her hand on Oliver’s head, and it’s then that Harry notices he’s holding something, “Harry, Oliver here wanted you to see the flower he drew because I told him how much you like lilies.” As bashful as he always is, he holds out the paper toward Harry. It was cute — a singular, yellow lily and he could tell that Y/N helped him draw it, but the paint and crayon marks all over the page suggested she left the color duties up to him. 

“Oh my goodness,” Harry gasps, looking at the painting, flipping it to Oliver and pointing at it, “You did this?” Oliver nodded excitedly, “It’s gorgeous.” 

“I think our groups are the best artists,” Y/N motions to her table, only a meter away from them all working diligently on their projects, “Charlotte is over there doing an artistic interpretation of the both of us, we are not allowed to see it until she’s finished. Mikey is doing his own rendition of Disney world, I see Maisey is creating a beautiful tree  -- Noah is that a cowboy you’re drawing?” 

Noah barely looks up from his paper, very carefully dragging the tip of the marker in a circle, “Yes.” 

“And Noah is drawing a cowboy! Modern-day Van Gogh’s, all of them.” Harry smiles as Y/N drags a stool up beside him, positioning it in a way so that she could watch both her kids and speak with him, “I heard they’re having one of them party things tonight, I didn’t know if you wanted to go or not.” 

“Hm, I dunno,” his brows knit together as he lightly scratches a mosquito bite on the inside of his forearm, “Do you feel comfortable with going after what happened last time?” 

She suckles her bottom lip into her mouth, gnawing on it as she nods her head, “Mhm,” she looks around them for a second, making sure that none of the kids are paying attention to them before she lowers her voice, “Mitch said that you used to go to all of them last year, and would like -- have a good time. I hope that I’m not ruining that for you.” 

“How would you be ruining it for me?” It’s true, Harry hasn’t gone to any of the parties that they’ve been doing since the very first one he’d escorted Y/N away from. Not for any other reason apart from he was just spending time and hanging out with Y/N, or he’d be too knackered to even think about leaving the nice, cool setting of their cabin to be in the muggy heat with drunk college students. He had much more fun not attending, and other nights Mitch would come around and chill with them too. . .he had all he needed then. Didn’t need the booze for a good time. 

“I don’t know, I just didn’t know if you weren’t going ‘cos of what happened the first time and you felt like you couldn’t leave me out or. . or something like that.” 

Harry shook his head, “No,” he answers, “We can go tonight if you would like, but it’s unnecessary for me. I’m good either way.” 

Although Y/N appears unconvinced, they have little time to go further into the topic because Charlotte is running up to them, a big grin on her face, “I finished!” 

“Well give it here,” Harry holds out his hand, waving her over, “Let’s see it.” 

On the paper are stick figure versions of he and Y/N, with big grins and 12 other little stick figures surrounding them. Above Harry’s stick figure, there’s a pink arrow and a very five-year-old esque writing of HUSBAD (Harry presumes it’s supposed to be husband), and above Y/N’s in the same fashion, she’s written WYFE. It’s then Harry realizes that Y/N’s figure has a veil on and Harry’s has a bowtie, “This is for you twos wedding! So thens when they take pictures you can has this one.” Charlotte chirps brightly and Y/N and Harry both cast each other a disbelieving glance. 

“Whoaaaaa,” Y/N is the first to break their silence, a smile pulling at her lips, “This is really good Charlotte! I didn’t know Harry and I were getting married, though.” 

Charlotte nods quickly, still grinning at them, her bottom canine missing as she gleams, “Me n’ Mikey thinks you should!” 

Y/N turns toward him, nodding toward Charlotte, “Well, the god’s have spoken. Where’s my ring?”

Harry coughs on a laugh as he hands the paper back to Charlotte, “This is really good, Bug. Why don’t you and Oliver go help Josie finish her coloring pages, hm?” 

The both of them head the short way back to their table, hiking up on the small stools and Harry makes sure they’re all settled before he turned back to face Y/N, who was biting down on a grin, “Don’t start --” he began but she’s already started, shaking her head. 

“Listen, it’s okay to be in love with me, but you should really try to tone it down. . .the kids are starting to notice.” 

Harry scoffs before he proceeds to tease her,, “How d’ya know they aren’t basing it off your actions, huh? Giving me love eyes every couple minutes like nobody would see.” 

Y/N mocks offense to his words and he tries to keep up the facade, but his sheer delight for getting in a teasing match with her overcomes him and he can’t help his smile. Harry loved teasing people -- loved making them flustered or reducing them to a bashful mess by his words alone. Y/N, however, was much less into flustered gazes and sheepish tendencies, and more so ready and willing to give him it right back. He’d met his match -- if he teases her she’s teasing right back (if she hadn’t started it in the first place), and both of them found mutual pleasure in it. 

“You can’t use my love eyes against me, I can’t help but give them to everyone I’ve ever met” she tells him, feigning sincerity before an additional anecdote, “You know my college roomie always told me they’d get me in trouble one day, and she had never been more right, ‘cos they did once at a party. She wouldn’t shut up about it weeks after it’d happened.” 

Harry feels his body tense just a bit at the mention of her, and he tries not to let it show on his face that he’s surprised how she so casually brought her up, “Yeah? What’s the story?” 

“The little ears around us suggest that I tell that story later,” she checks her watch, before looking back up at him, “Oi, we’ve got five minutes until we’re in the rec center. You get to pick what we all do since I picked the last rotation.” 

                                                             .                           .                          .

This time when they’re on their way to the party, Harry lets Y/N walk in front of him as he directs where she was to go. Opposed to when they had first made this journey together, Harry feels far more protective of her than he originally had. Plus, he’d seen how clumsy she could be and after the earlier storm, the softened dirt and broken off tree branches from the billows of wind made for a much harder terrain to navigate, so he felt more comfortable being able to reach out to catch her if need be. 

Harry was wary of going to the party tonight but Y/N had been borderline insistent that they attend, “Mitch says he misses you at these things and Niall told me he could only stand Shaun theorizing about the universe and us not being the only life form so many times before he snaps. I say we’re needed.” Harry never minded free drinks, and a potential fuck at the end of the night, so he wasn’t all too worried that he would be having a good time. He just hoped that the others would allow Y/N to have a good time. And he knows he’s being paranoid, because they hadn’t necessarily targeted her for anything prior to or after the lake incident, but he still worries. . .he can’t help but worry.  

But he wouldn’t hover. Once they got to the clearing, he helped Y/N get her drink and she sought off after Niall while Harry went over to Mitch, the two of them promising to meet up again in a little bit. He didn’t hover, but he did watch semi-closely, eyeballing Jack and the others, making sure they were staying away from her. Apart from a few less than friendly looks thrown in his direction though, they seemed to be keeping to themselves which Harry was ultimately very thankful for. 

The night goes by as these nights usually do -- he and Mitch drank, had a laugh, gabbed about music for a while, some of the drama going on around the camp (Y/N had an ear for gossip and eyes that could make anyone tell her anything, so Harry’s had a door to all the melodramatic events happening throughout the counsellors). It was a bit weird when Stacey -- one of the counsellors he’d only ever briefly spoken to --  had come up to them, and a little weirder when she borderline propositioned him for something more than a chat in the woods, but Harry politely declined. Told her that he was pretty exhausted after a long day and was probably just going to have a few more beers and retreat back to his cabin. 

He passes it off as a fluke. . .maybe he’d been making eyes at her and hadn’t realized it. But then Mia makes her way toward him and Mitch, and this time Harry’s brows furrow when she starts chatting him up. This one he entertains for a little while before eventually ebbs away from the conversation, because he and Mia had a fling once, but Jack convinced her and the free world that he was a prick, so she called it off. He didn’t necessarily understand why she would want to start that up again, or what “little birdie” put a bug in her ear that he still thought about her (as she said one did). 

It was after Cara had finally left after coming around to chat with him, that Mitch began to chuckle lowly at his side, shaking his head slowly, “Jesus Christ,” he tilts the nozzle of his beer against his mouth, and when he pulls it away, his lips are shiny from the liquid, “She really is working hard.” 

“Huh?” Harry feels desperate for an explanation as to why three times he felt as if he were being propositioned for a romp in the woods when he was not actively pursuing one. He had a feeling that it was the others trying to get him alone so they could enact some sort of piss poor attempt at fucking with him without Y/N spotting and tearing them a new one over it, “Are you in on something that I’m not, ‘cos m’feeling pretty fucking lost here, man.” 

Mitch nods his head, and Harry follows his gaze to Y/N, who is speaking with her brows dipped inward to Cara, “A few days ago she’d been asking me and Niall what you were like last year, and we told her just the same, jus’ a lot more ‘fornication’ is how Niall put it,” he smirks softly with a shake of his head, “And she seemed all concerned, asking us if we thought she was holdin’ you back or something. Personally, I told her if you wanted to sleep with someone you would have whether she were around or not but she didn’t seem very convinced.” A snort leaves him as he motions towards her again, still as amused by her ideas as he had been when she’d first explained them,  “Guess she’s trying to set you up.” 

“Oh fuck me,”  he exhales so forcefully, it whips the delicate plumes of smoke from Mitch’s cigarette into a misshapen huff. Why was she so concerned with it? Harry hadn’t once expressed any avidity in needing to spend time with someone in that manner -- he could go without sex for three weeks. . .did she not think he could? Was he exuding nymphomaniac tendencies? He surely hadn’t thought he was -- a few quick handies in his nightly showers typically tide him over just nicely for a bit of a dry spell. And what was her business that he hadn’t slept with anyone since they’ve gotten here? Why was she speaking about him with the others what she could as easily ask him? What she had as easily spoken with him about, albeit leaving out a pretty large portion of it. 

For the first time since they had begun getting along, Harry was irritated with her. He’d never been one to brood, however. He liked things to be up front and honest as soon as possible if the situation allowed for it, to stop his mind from taking an idea and running away with it. He held little interest in playing mind games with people. 

Which is why he hands Mitch the rest of his drink, fixes his heavy cardigan around his shoulder, and sets off in her direction. He dodges many bodies, avoids an empty cup on the ground beside what he could only presume to be a sticky puddle of liquor, and narrowly makes it past a playful fight between Oliver and Brandon who were wrestling one another. Y/N doesn’t realize that he’s making his way to her until he’s just a meter or so away, when Niall catches a glimpse of him and attempts to be inconspicuous in the way he pinches her side. She gasps from the way his nails had accidentally bit into her skin, flinching from the pain before her gaze had settled on him, “Harry!” She cheered but his face doesn’t soften as it usually does when they see one another, which alerts her to his disapproving gaze, “Oh, what’s wrong?” 

“Can I speak with you for a moment?” He inquires, motioning out past the trees. Enough trust had been built into the foundation of their friendship for her to not question him. Instead, she passes her drink off to Niall and follows Harry into the woods -- he wouldn’t go so far that they wouldn’t be able to see one another from beneath the curtain of leaves shielding away the moon, but just far enough that nobody would be eavesdropping. In any other situation he might wait to bring this up until they’ve made it back to the cabin, but Y/N’s intentions had been clear that the person he was taking home tonight wasn't supposed to be her. 

She pauses with him at a particularly thick tree trunk, and places the arch of her foot against one of the jagged roots that carved its way through the earth, “Is everything okay?” She balances herself with a hand against the bark, wincing when it jabs into her skin, “I was keeping an eye on Jack n’ them I thought so they wouldn’t try messing with you, but did they say something?” 

That does melt him some, Harry was strong enough to admit that. Just as he had been concerned with her wellbeing, she was just as much concerned for him, and he appreciated that. And while it does threaten to soften him down to his core, he still had questions that needed answers, and he wouldn’t let up until she responded to them. 

“Why are you sending girls over to me?” 

Her brows raise, but less in shock of learning the information, and more so with wonder how he’d found out she was the one sending them their way. The surprise dissolves into embarrassment quickly, her shoulders slump and she casts her gaze deeper into the forest, “Dammit,” she doesn’t hide her disappointment from being caught, or even feign confusion to try and pass the blame off coincidence that every girl who had come up to him had subsequently talked to her prior, “I was hoping you would be less observant.” 

“Y/N.” He says her name sternly, and her shoulders drop dramatically further as she steps down from the tree root. 

“Listen, in my defense I just felt awful!” She admits, waving her hand toward the party, “Jack had tried telling me a few times about how you just fuck people and leave them, blah, blah, blah, right? And I wasn’t paying any attention to him, but it made me curious to what you were like last year, so I asked Mitch and Niall. You came to these things all the time and you had fun -- then I come ‘round, ruin the first one, and you’ve been hanging out with me since. I just. . . I wanted you to be able to have fun and not feel like you have to worry about me, y’know?” 

A ‘v’ sits between Harry’s brows, “What is it your business what I’m doing, hm?” He fixes his cardigan from where it slumps off his shoulder once more, “If I wanted to sleep with someone then I would. Do you think I can’t set something up myself?” 

“No, of course not, I just thought --” 

“You didn’t think,” he cuts her off, and Y/N’s arms curl over herself instinctively when a cold brush of air rolls past them, “You should have just came to speak with me about it, I could have told you that I didn’t need anything like that, and that would have been that. Don’t go behind my back trying to orchestrate things for me, okay?” 

He wanted to say it -- he needed to say it, because Harry wasn’t some sex driven lecher that everyone at this camp tried to make him out as. He thought Y/N had known that too, but he guesses he was wrong. 

But he wasn’t expecting her to look so fucking defeated by it. A guilt weighs on his being when she nods, tipping her head down, “Okay, yes, I won’t anymore. I’m sorry,” her fingers dig into her bicep, as she breathes out, a shiver rattles through her that she tries to be inconspicuous about it, “I wasn’t thinking -- I wasn’t thinking how it would look.” 

Harry sighs, peeling his cardigan off of his arms, revealing his bare arms to the chill but he ignores it in favor of holding it out to her, “Put this on,” he wiggles it some, “I know you’re cold.” She takes it from him carefully, looking up, brows raised slightly as if to ask if he’s sure, “Go ahead.” 

“I really am sorry,” she tells him, pulling the patchwork cardigan over her arms, it hangs off of her, and Harry swallowed thickly. She’s. . .cute -- Harry had always been able to admit that. Her face is sweet, her eyes exudes nothing but understanding, kindness, and such a soft glow that Harry couldn’t quite explain. He finds that those eyes give him great comfort and warmth, because now when they’re tinged with the contrition she feels and Harry feels cold. 

“I know,” he murmurs, he holds out his hand for her, and very carefully Y/N slides her hand into his own, “Do you want to go get pudding?” 

A small smile pulls at her mouth. 

“Yes please.” 

                                                          .                          .                         .

Niall lets them use the key after a few dozen promises to be careful with it. They trek the familiar way, mindless chatter fills the air around them until they get to the cafeteria and their voices quiet in case the security guard is looping around. Y/N reveals her hand from the shield of his cardigan sleeve, Harry watches as the fabric pools around her arm, toward her elbow, and produces the key (that Niall only trusted her with). They creeped into the kitchen, pulled open the large refrigerator door, and the pudding sat in rows on the bottom shelf. 

They both choose vanilla this time, having tired themselves out on chocolate, and they sit at the spot they had last time, across from one another. He can tell, despite his peace offering, that Y/N still feels upset about what had happened earlier and it sullies his mood. She’s still chatting but not with as much heart as she typically has, and Harry couldn’t stand it. He just wanted her to giggle as she teases him again, without feeling like she’s tip toeing on eggshells around him. 

“Hey,” Harry starts, dragging her attention towards him where it had previously been scooping the sides of her pudding container, “Would you stop being so. . .tense? Is this about earlier?” 

Y/N clears her throat, opening her mouth and furrowing her brows like she was about to deny it, but she relents, shoulders dropping, “A little. I still feel bad about everything,” she shakes her head, dragging the edge of the spoon around the plastic, “About everything, not just that you aren’t able to sleep with someone. I came in late, ruined you having your own cabin, woke you up with my alarm, made you get out of bed ‘cos I’m afraid of the dark and -- I just feel like this massive burden. I feel like this massive burden on everyone.” 

Harry is alarmed by this sudden confession, but his body ultimately rejects the notion that she could ever be a bother, “How are you a burden to anyone?” He inquires, shaking his head, “You’re such a ball of light that just swarms through rooms. The thought of you being a burden is akin to the thought of Satan being a saint. . .it doesn’t sound right.” Harry sets his pudding down, though he keeps his hands fixed around the cup and the spoon, “Don’t know what gave you that idea, but the last thing you are is a burden. Who gave you the impression that you were?” 

She wipes tiredly at her eyes, “Nobody in particular, it's just,” she shakes her head, “Even now, I wanted to make your night good, and then I fucked it, and now you’re here with me instead of having fun at the party. I just feel silly.” 

“Don’t.” Harry tells her simply, “I like to spend time with you, and I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.” 

The tension in her shoulder releases, “Thank you for this, I’m sorry m’just saying the same thing again and again. Back at home it feels like everyone is just. . .so hyper aware of me -- they’re always being so careful, or overly concerned and I always wonder if it feels like a heavy weight on their shoulders, like I’m forcing a piggyback ride.” She shrugs her own, reaching for the second pudding cup, “It’s just shit, so I overthink everything all the time to try not to be a burden, but I keep making it worse. Or at least that’s how it feels.” 

Harry tilts his head to the side some. He’s not usually someone who pries and probes people for information, but he’s never been more curious about Y/N than in this moment. When he thinks of Y/N at home, he thinks of sunshine pooling in the hallways through casement windows, her spinning around the kitchen in a dainty floral dress that billows around her as she stirs homemade jam. Harry imagines her amongst woodland creatures who coax her to the forest with songs, escorting her there as she gambols freely. 

He could not imagine her going home and feeling like a burden. Hell, he would have thought that she considered everyone else a burden -- that maybe it was draining to be the absolute light of everyone’s life. Yet here she stood, seeming worn, and broken. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, why is everyone hyper aware of you at home? You don’t have to answer if you’re uncomfortable.” He says it delicately -- he means it. . .if she didn’t want to share this with him, then he wouldn’t force her, but he wants to open up the possibility. He wants her to know that he’s an open ear if she so chose to utilize him. 

“Um,” her gaze does shift downward -- she suddenly appears so small, “Are you sure?” 

Harry nods. 

“I just -- it's not that I don’t like bringing it up, I just don’t want you to treat me any differently than you would knowing it, yeah? I think that’s what I hate the most.” She notes, “So do you promise that you won’t -- you won’t start tiptoeing around me?” 

“You’ve got my word.” Harry vows, but he has a feeling he knows what she is to say.

The sleeve of his cardigan covers her hand as she brushes the hair from her face, “In freshman year of UNI, my roommate was Mrs. Graham’s daughter, Penelope.” She straightens out in her seat, “We didn’t like each other much at first but we had grown very close -- um, once she threw away my fruit snacks and so I dunked her toothbrush in the toilet, but I felt guilty and went out to buy her a new toothbrush,” a laugh leaves her at the memory, as she rolls her eyes at herself, “That was what we had going for a while, but a late night heart to heart kind of made us closer. She told me things that. . .she’d been through a lot that nobody should have to go through, you know? She was bullied a lot growing up—in high school it was bad, people used to always gang up on her over stupid shit.” Harry hums, encouraging her to continue, and she stirs the pudding around mindlessly, “And we were just close after that. We had a flat together sophomore year and most of junior year, she’s my best friend,” she swallows thickly, “I didn’t realize how sad she was. . .I didn’t realize what she was still holding onto, and she -- we went home for Christmas break, and she never came back.” 

Harry feels his stomach sour as her eyes bead with unshed tears, “Oh, Y/N,” 

“It’s alright. I’m okay, I’m fine as I can be --  I’ve -- I’m mourning and I miss her, but I’m trying to be strong. Most days I am, but everyone at home just expects me to be this fragile thing, y’know? The days I’m happy, and chatty, they think I’m faking it. And some days I do, yeah, but. . .it’s just disheartening when everyone pretends to know what’s going on in my head.” She plants the pudding directly in the center, leaving it there and retreating her hands to her lap, “Mrs. Graham told me she felt the same. That’s why I came in last minute -- I’ve got all my volunteer hours settled and everything but she said it might be nice to get away.” A slow, easy sigh leaves her lips as she blinks the tears away, not one drop trickled down her cheek, “It is nice, but I still worry that I’m a strain on people around me, even if not for the reason I am at home. And I’m sorry to like, info dump all this on you,” she laughs a little in spite of herself, “You can’t ask me things, unless you want an hour long explanation.”

Harry reaches out his hand for her, for the second time that night, and once again she slowly slips their fingers together, “Thank you for sharing that with me, I know it must have been hard,” he squeezes her hand, “But I understand you a bit more now. I’ll keep my promise, I won’t treat you any differently, but before that --” she blinks at him, waiting, “I think you might just be one of the kindest, strongest, most caring people that I have ever meant. I know you would never do anything to intentionally hurt me or add stress onto my life, so you don’t have to worry about that. You don’t have to try with me. We can just exist together, yeah? We’ll exist without burdens and without worry.”

The look in her eyes, was one that Harry had never seen before. One that makes him melt in her touch. 

“I would like that.” 

                                                             .                                    .                                  .

 “I can’t swim.” 

Harry was crouched down to Maisey’s height, fixing purple mermaid floaties around her arms. The day was not unusually muggy, but there was an additional itch to jump belly first into the cool watered lake. He had woken with a revitalized need to pry a star from the morning sky as it shifted from an inky purple to an early, dusky morning blue -- and give it to Y/N. He had decided after their conversation last night -- after they’d gone to bed and Y/N fell asleep cuddled in his cardigan -- he had an overwhelming, and an all encompassing want to hold her. 

Which made it hard to part ways this morning, but he managed. And maybe he played out an image in his head where he pressed a kiss to Y/N’s cheek before they went to wake their respective cabins, or maybe he didn’t (but if he did that’s his own problem). He is quick to convince himself it was because she’d shared a piece of herself with him that he doesn’t think she lets many people see, and Harry always develops a bit of a platonic crush on his friends at some point or another. He questioned whether or not he was in love with Mitch for a solid four days once. . .sometimes he just let his heart get carried away. 

He had been enmeshed in these thoughts as he got his campers ready for their time in the lake. At first glance, a ton of children in the lake seemed like a horrible, and faulty idea, but they took precautions so that everyone was safe. Every child wore floaties and/or life jackets no matter how proficient their swimming abilities. There was netting about ten meters out so that the children and counsellors couldn’t float out toward the middle, and they worked it so that only three children could be in per counsellor at a time, so that they could keep an eye on everyone. Harry wasn’t so nervous because he was a strong swimmer, and his kids were a little older, but he could tell Y/N had been a little jittery about it. It’s why Harry told her that while she was out in the lake with her little ones to let him know, he would come out with her to bring her some additional comfort that even the floaties could not provide. 

Harry had been pretty sure all of his kids were excited to go to the lake and he was grateful for that, until he looked up to see the nervous, large blue eyes of Jackson, downcast after he had spoken the words. The unprompted admittance confused him as he turned to face him, “That’s okay, buddy, we’ve got floaties for that.” 

Jackson did not seem convinced, shaking his head fiercely, “No, I -- I can’t swim.” 

“J.J. is afraid of the water,” Noah exposes the truth just as easy as he takes a sip from his juice box, equipped with his own blue arm floaties, “He didn’t want to say though ‘cos --” 

“Noah!” Jackson cuts him off, betrayal laced within his features. 

“--’cos he didn’t want to seem like a wimp, but he almost drowned when he was little.” 

Jackson looked as if he could cry, and Harry shook his head quickly, “Hey, hey, hey, c’mere buddy,” he motions him over, and he comes easily, stepping before Harry who had not bothered to leave his already crouched position, “Explain to me what’s going on, yeah?” 

He shifts his weight from foot to foot, a frown prevalent on his mouth, even as he speaks, “When I was little little, my big brother pushed me into the pool and I went under the water and my mom had to come in and get me because I can’t swim good.” 

Harry pulls his lips back, reaching out to squeeze Jackson’s shoulder, “I’m sorry to hear that buddy. I won’t force you to get in the water if you don’t want to, but I do want to tell you that if you feel more comfortable, we could try a life jacket instead of the floaties? It’ll keep you more buoyant -- more bouncy in the water.” 

“Aren’t those for little kids?” Jackson inquires, brows pinched, but Harry shakes his head and points toward Y/N, never more glad in that moment that she had the age group she did, along with her views on not making them do, wear, or say anything that she wouldn’t herself. She’s got the life jacket swung around her arm as she clips Oliver into his own. 

“Y/N’s going to wear one too, and she’s not a little kid. I’ll wear one as well if you’d like.” He promised him. Albeit looking reserved, Jackson nods softly with his hands in little fists, worrying his lip between his teeth. The poor thing, Harry thinks -- he used to be afraid of water too. Nobody wants to conquer that fear suddenly, let alone with a group of people that may or may not poke fun because they’re kids and kids are jerks sometimes. 

Harry finds him a life jacket -- a cute one with a shark on it, that he helps him clip on, and fits it to his body with the straps. Next, he needed to find one for himself, but he wasn’t entirely sure where they kept the counsellor life jackets, so he called for Y/N where she’d been a few meters away and she popped her head up from where she was like a meerkat. Her eyes softened when she realized who had called her, and a gentle smile pulled at her mouth, “Hey hubby,” she greets him, much to the delight of Charlotte, who claps giddily, “What d’ya need?” 

“A life jacket, please. Where’d you get yours?” Harry tries to be decent -- tries desperately to keep his eyes to himself, but he finds that this is surprisingly difficult when Y/N is in her swimsuit. It wasn’t obscene in any sense of the word -- in the pamphlet they get when they sign up, it is very clear that speedos and bikinis were not appropriate, and therefore not allowed. If a child couldn’t wear it, then you shouldn’t bring it -- was the apothegm that they chose to live by in reference to dress code. 

This, however, doesn’t mean that Y/N’s swimsuit didn’t suit her well. It was fitted in a way that wasn’t too tight, yet wasn’t too loose -- like it might have just been made with her in mind. A simple one piece of nylon and lycra colored a powder blue, that barely showed off that much more of what she wears to bed, and yet his mind still flutters elsewhere. To unwise places, that he drags himself from before clearing his throat and forcing himself to look around the lake so it appeared his eyes were just scanning everything. 

“You’re in luck,” Y/N jogged the short way from where they stood, back to where her kids were all gathered, playing happily in the sand. Beneath what Harry had assumed was just a cluster of towels, another life jacket was hidden beneath the fabric. She hands it toward him with a triumphant grin, “This was the last one. I grabbed it for you in case you just wanted to float rather than keep your legs kicking -- you had a big lunch, didn’t want you to get a cramp.” 

Harry hates how his heart balloons in his chest. There was no reason to be a melt because she had thought of him -- that she had him in mind, so she snatched the last life jacket, and hid it beneath towels so nobody else could have it. No reason to feel all mushy from the way that she unfolds it for him, a silent prompt that she’s going to help him pull it on. And there was certainly, absolutely no good reason for how stupidly affectionate he feels when she strokes her finger along the heart tattoo on his forearm mindlessly, before murmuring, “You make me wanna get covered in them. Maybe I’ll just go and get all of yours.” She looks down at the ground, “Maybe not the toe, my feet are ticklish -- think I would kick the artist.” 

He recruits Y/N for the process of easing Jackson into the water -- Noah and Elinor are floating and bobbing about happily at their sides, while Charlotte and Mikey playfully kick and float close to their older counterparts (if not practically on top of them). There was a chill bite to the water when they had first stepped in, but as they walked out further and sunk a bit deeper, the cold eases up. The cool air soothes them from the sharp bite of the scorching sun, Jackson holds his hand so tightly Harry thinks his fingers may go numb, and he figures Y/N is feeling the same way, if her soft, “Loosen your grip up a bit, Sweetheart, you’re gonna take off my hand.” 

Eventually, Jackson relaxes. He finally understands that the life jacket will keep him afloat and holding onto Y/N and Harry wasn’t a necessity. Once the idea of this settles in his brain, he is more willing to let go and enjoy himself. It feels wonderful to see that he’s having fun, and even better when he sees the smile on Y/N’s face from this small victory. Last year, he hadn’t felt this parental over the children last summer, but something had changed. . .something that made him feel like he was a bit of a parent. 

It has to be Y/N. There was something about her that just oozes mother figure for these kids, even if she wasn’t intending to do so. She kissed the bandages over their wounds to take away the hurt, she praised the ground they walked on, picked them up if they asked, danced with them, encouraged them, treated every single child as if they were her own. Harry believes she’ll be a beautiful mother one day, if that’s what she’d like, and whoever the father or mother was she had chosen to spend her life with, they were unbelievably lucky. He just hoped they would understand that. 

Y/N floats into his line of sight, “Are you okay? Ellie said you look like Maisey’s aunt again, whatever that means.” 

Harry snorts, before nodding, “Yeah, I’m fine. A bit tired.” 

An understanding gleam overtakes her, “Y’know, I did think you seemed a bit snoozy,” she reaches out for him, squeezing his shoulder softly, “D’ya want to have a sneaky nap? I could watch the kids.” 

“But I like having you both,” Jackson whined, shaking his head quickly, finding their hands once more, reassuring that his grip was tight as ever, “Please stay.” 

“Yeah,” Noah splashes over to them, sliding his arms around Harry’s neck, wetting his hair with the water clinging to his life jacket, “You two are fun together! We always have so much fun -- Brittany said her counsellor always yells at them when they ask her to play with them.” 

Elinor was quick to add, “And Ro’s counsellor falls asleep during art days! He doesn’t even help them stay in the lines, and they’re little like Oli, and Charlotte.” 

Y/N’s bottom lip juts out in the prettiest little pout -- Harry finds himself wanting to pluck it with the pad of his thumb, “That’s silly, isn’t it? I have so much fun with you guys, I couldn’t imagine not playing. Right Harry?” 

Nodding his assent, he reaches up, settling his hands around Noah’s arms and bring him along with him as he kicks them closer to Y/N and the other three, “It is silly. Some people just aren’t as fun as Y/N and I, Bug, it’s proven fact. They did the scientific method and everything.” 

Oliver gleefully pushes himself up on Y/N’s shoulders, flopping back into the water and bobbing, “I love yous!” He chirped brightly, “Yous guys are my favorites! I love yous.” 

The sight is adorable, especially as Y/N wriggles around and holds her arms out so they could hug, which Oliver happily accepts, “I love yous too, button.” 

They have fun -- for hours, as they switch out which kids are in the water, spend time on the beach with all of them, making sandcastles, burying one another, chatting and playing. It was very freeing; Harry could easily tell that he and the others were having far more fun than any of the other groups were -- Mitch and Niall had gravitated their groups closer to them when Y/N and the kids began to pour sand over the top of him. Even Cassidy came around with her kids after they had heard them all giggling and laughing and wanted to know what was going on. Harry was having fun, and maybe he was just mushy, but he credited it to the joy Y/N was exuding. It was hard not to be in a good mood when he was around her. 

By the time the sun sat a little lower in the sky, casting the shadows of trees over the sand and cooling them to the point of chilling. The kids washed their feet and hands beneath the rush of water from a yard hydrant, wrapped up in towels, and headed toward the dining hall for their dinner. There was a taco bar today, and Harry found that Y/N and he had a mutual love of tacos as a whole. She showed him how she adds feta crumbles, even let him have a bite of hers to see if he would like it so he could decide whether or not to put it on his own (it was delicious, she was right). 

Once dinner was finished, everyone was exhausted. They all gathered around the campfire, one of the counsellors strummed a song on his guitar, they all had s'mores and then they dispersed. Not even the rush of sugar from the chocolate and marshmallow gave any of the children an umph in their step; they were all so sluggish and slow, dragging their feet through the dirt on their way to their cabins. Harry’s group barely kept their eyes open as they stalked to the showers, washing off the lake water and sand that had been clinging to their bodies. After they brushed their teeth, they all but face planted in their beds and snores soon filled the quiet air of the cabin. They only made him realize how exhausted he was from the day spent baking in the sun, floating and kicking in the water. 

He trudges back to his cabin, where he finds Y/N had already showered off. She was face down in her pillow, her back slowly rising and falling with each gentle breath she took. She hadn’t covered in her blankets -- no, instead she used his cardigan as a makeshift cover over her body, and Harry thinks it might just be the cutest thing he’s ever seen. The patchwork swallows a good portion of her body, the sleeve flopped limply by her head. . .he could imagine her crawling into bed. Could imagine her putting her knee up first, dragging the cardigan that had been lying limply over the post with her and just letting it drape over her body. She probably wasn’t thinking she would fall asleep. . .probably thought she would just lay there for a minute before gathering the strength to get beneath her covers. 

It’s adorable -- Harry hates how adorable he finds it, actually. If he could crawl in beside her he would, but instead he ambles to the bathroom, starts up the shower, and climbs in. 

The water his hot -- boiling drops pelt his skin, washing away the grime and sweat that felt as if it’d been caked onto his skin. It felt good; to cleanse and scrub himself free of the lake, massage shampoo into his scalp, soften his curls with the conditioner, and just allow himself to revel in the feeling. Showers feel wonderful - a renewal that he deemed necessary by the end of the day. And when he gets the temperature just right, it soothes the aches and soreness in his bones, turning his muscles to softened jello. By the time he slipped out of the shower, he was practically boneless and thought he’d be lucky if he made it to his bed before dropping to the floor and falling asleep. 

He expects Y/N to still be asleep when he leaves the bathroom, but he’s surprised to find her sat up in her bed, his cardigan pooled around her body and a deep frown on her face. 

“Oh!” He’s started some -- he really thought she was out for the night, “Good morning, sleepyhead.” 

“It’s morning?” Her face further turns to that of distress and Harry bites down hard on a chuckle. 

“No,” he responds, “It’s not morning. Only about 10PM, so you’ve got plenty of time to rest still.” She looks around groggily, rubbing at her cheek with one hand while she fisted his cardigan in the other, pulling it closer around her body, “Why don’t you get beneath the covers, Babe?” He asks her, and she’s quiet for a little while. The only inkling Harry receives that she even heard him was how she tries to shuffle and wriggle the covers down with her still stretched out on the bed, stuffing her legs into the blankets first, then sliding the rest of the way smoothly. All the while she clings to the cardigan, holding it tightly, resting her cheek on it. Harry doesn’t know if Y/N’s just far more affectionate than he had even thought prior, or if she was just half awake and doing things she wouldn’t do if she was fully conscious. Vaguely does he remember her saying something about typically cuddling with a teddy at night -- how she stuffs her face against it because it always smells like her fabric softener. 

He wonders if that’s why she snuggles with it -- he wonders if she likes the smell of him, so she buries her nose in the fabric and breathes it in as she rests. 

Harry hates this. He hates how inconceivably soft he’s been feeling, but he can’t help it. Y/N had found him worthy enough to poke inside her brain -- she opened up to him in a way she expressed she’d not been opening up to many people about.  It made him feel closer to her.

But he told her he wouldn’t treat her any differently after finding out. And if he suddenly started expressing more affection, he fears she would think he was only doing it because of what she told him. He just wants to be. . .he just wants to be gentle with her. Doesn’t want her to ever think that she’s a burden to him, because the anecdote had made him question and second guess how he’d been treating her their entire time here. Of course, he was never intentionally cruel, but some of the situations he thinks about the two of them in, and how he responded, makes him cringe. 

He switches off the overhead light, her dimmed bedside lamp and muscle memory guide him to his bed. Harry climbs in, shivers as he adjusts to the warmth beneath his covers, and breathes a soft sigh of relief to have finished with the day. 

“Harry?” Y/N’s voice startles his eyes open, which he’d not been aware he’d closed. 

“Hm?” He hums -- he had thought she’d fallen back asleep already. 

“You’re okay?” 

A soft smile plays at his mouth -- she asks him every night before bed, he’s noticed. 

“Yes, I’m okay. Are you okay?” 

She nods, “You did really good today,” her voice is muffled from her cheek mushed against his cardigan, “The kids had a lot of fun, they were telling me. I had a lot of fun too.” 

“Yeah? Me too,” he reaches to thumb the hairs of his eyebrow down, “And thank you. You always do really well with the kids.” 

She’s quiet for a minute, and once more, Harry thinks she must have fallen asleep, but the shift of the mattress tells him she’s changing position and Harry notices once more that his eyes have closed, “I’m glad you’re my roomie.” 

Harry utters the words, that two weeks ago he thinks he would have spit at. 

“Yeah, I’m glad you’re my roomie too.” 

                                                     .                                   .                              .

Harry was drunk. 

Typically, he didn’t allow himself to get very drunk at these little parties. He trusted the others so little, he had no doubt in his mind that any moment he was slightly impaired in some way they would take it upon themselves to prey on his weakness. This means he only ever gets mildly tipsy -- drinks enough to feel good but caps himself when he thinks he might start stumbling. 

But he just didn’t cap himself today. Not for any reason in particular -- their day hadn’t been difficult. They helped their kids through a mildly strenuous obstacle course throughout the morning, cooled down with them drinking juice boxes and eating popsicles and by 2PM they were inside doing little DIY projects. Harry burned his finger with some hot glue, but otherwise it was a pretty easy smooth kind of day that they didn’t get often. He and Y/N hadn’t gotten to spend much time together, which he wouldn’t admit loudly was a disappointment, but he and his kids had all agreed that they missed her. 

(And when they had seen her and her group walking into the art room, the lot of them had erupted in cheers, Noah, Eli, Maisey being the loudest of them.) 

They had a pasta dinner that was surprisingly filling, they told “spooky” campfire stories and ate s’mores, he got his kids ready for bed and he went off to the cabin. He and Y/N were going to one of the parties tonight, not because they had such spectacular luck with a good time before, but because they were coming up on some of their last nights here at camp. It was a bittersweet feeling -- Harry remembered being more than ready to flee last year, counting down each day, each hour dragging on longer than the last. This time, it felt like it was coming too quick. He would miss the kids, he would miss the busy days some. . .and sure, he was happy to go home and take a shower that stays hot longer than five minutes and rest on his soft, cozy bed, but he would miss not having Y/N right across from him. 

That was what he was having the most trouble coming to terms with, he thinks. The idea of them not having to spend every moment of every day with one another after doing it for three weeks almost sounds wrong. It's the same feeling he gets when  he knew he and Mitch wouldn’t have such easy access to one another once they went back home. Being at this camp sort of felt like being stuck in a time loop where the outside world doesn’t exist, so it’s very easy to forget that they all have lives outside of here. They all go to class, go to work, go home, study, eat and sleep. 

He and Y/N live relatively close to one another -- only about a ten minute drive up the street with only one turn and it's into her apartment building -- but he wonders if they’ll utilize it. He wonders if their friendship is tied to this camp and if that’s where it will remain, or if she even wants to be friendly with him after. Harry hadn’t considered that maybe she was only putting up with him because they had to live together and she didn’t want it to be miserable. Had he questioned if he was even enjoyable to be around? How does he ask her that without sounding entirely too desperate or needy?                   

So partially, he drinks to ease some of the worry in his mind. Harry doesn’t think he would “break down” or something like it if they weren’t able to continue being friends -- like a forgotten summer love that he might think about throughout the fall, and message her to see how she was doing -- but he certainly wouldn’t be delighted if that’s how it ended up. Harry thinks there’s so much more to Y/N that he would like to see, and know, and hear. Three weeks isn’t enough time, Harry decided, but in the same breath he wondered if she had thought it was more than enough. 

Harry knows she cares for him, at least a little bit. He knows that he cares for her and her wellbeing; he was fond of her. From what he knew of who she was fundamentally, down to her core, Harry knew she was selfless and kind -- it was hard to find people like that, who were that, without it being cakey or clouded by something else. She was transparent in who she was and her feelings regarding most things, and Harry valued her honesty. 

And she was just so damn fun. Every moment with her he spent, the air filled with laughter; she brought a slice of sun in her pocket wherever she went and Harry was consistently being warmed beneath it. 

The fact of the matter is, Harry doesn’t know how he could meet someone like Y/N, and get used to the idea of her not being in his life after three weeks. If he could refuse it he would, but what was he going to do? Kidnap her and take her home with him? 

He’s sat on the tree root, opposed to standing beside it like he usually is, with his back pressed against the bark of the tree and he ignores the jagged, uneven trunk against his skin. Mitch was beside him, leaning lower than he was with his jacket bundled up and stuffed behind his head, his legs kicked out as far as they would go and because of this, his foot rested against Niall’s lap. Niall was pleasantly gone himself, a bit louder than normal but also zoning out every so often. 

He was a good guy, Niall -- he had good opinions, and he chatted him and Mitch up about guitars often (he was typically the camp’s go to for an acoustic guy if they ever wanted campfire songs). Harry thinks they could probably be really good friends, if not for the fact that Niall was so barefaced in his crush on Y/N. 

It was obvious, Harry thought. He’d thought it was obvious from the first moment he spent a prolonged period of time with both he and Y/N -- his cheeks got rosy when she touched him, he stuttered over his gratitude if she complimented him, and if she went out of her way to do something (like when she’d stuffed her hand into a thorn-bush for his guitar pick that had flung from his fingers, and subsequently got all scratched up), he would look at her how someone might stargaze. 

Harry doesn’t know why he doesn’t just ask her out, if he likes her so much. It almost irritates him how skittish Niall seems to get at the prospect of it; to run away from those warm, nice feelings that she provides is silly. It reminds him entirely too much of himself and he loathes it. 

Tonight had been no different, only Y/N was dancing back and forth between them and a few other counsellors (Harry only recognized one of them , who was called Rosie and had been in his first year maths). Harry watched her most of the night, in the least obnoxious and creepy way he could, just because. . .well, she was nice to look at. He liked how her body animated as she spoke, or how she nodded her head as someone was speaking to her -- it was an encouraging nod, and her eyes locked onto theirs like they might be telling her where the fountain of youth might be located, or the secrets to the universe. 

She was cozy today -- it was cooler out than most of the nights that they had experienced, with a chill breeze that had even stirred goosebumps on Harry’s arms (and he was all but swaddled in his hoodie). Y/N had a light fitted sweater that she sometimes slept in -- not heavy enough to shield her from the icy terrain that winter would provide, but enough to fight past the harsh summer night breeze that threatened to help a storm roll in within the next few hours. Loosely, he let the images of her cuddled close to him invade his brain. What it might feel like, how the knit would brush against his skin, if she would hide her face in his neck or spider around him as the big spoon and burrow against his hair. Y/N struck him as someone who liked to do more of the cuddling than being cuddled herself.

He would miss her when they had to leave. Harry worried who would just exist with her, like they had been doing. He worried about her going back to a place where she felt like a burden -- he would be around, wouldn’t he? If she allowed him to, he could be there for her, but he doesn’t want to seem pushy. By all definitions, they had really just met -- Harry had known Y/N for approximately 17 days, but it felt like so much longer. He wonders if he had known her in a past life, or if it was the fact that they spent almost every day all day with one another for at least 15 of those 17 day -- he finally understands how everyone in the Love Island villa always goes on about how a day in the outside world feels like a week where they are. 

It’s not like he’s professing his love to her, for fuck sake. He just likes her -- whether it be platonic or not, Harry thinks Y/N is just delightful. 

“Your little girlfriend’s not with you?” 

Harry had forgotten how Jack’s voice sounded how grating nails against iron pipes might make someone feel, mostly because they hadn’t spoken in quite a while. After Y/N had slapped him, he had kept to himself, resorting more to disgruntled glares and probably pissy comments he was murmuring to his mates about him. If someone asked Harry, he would say that him and his friends were afraid of Y/N -- she posed a good threat to them. Sure, they hadn’t understood the extent of her words that night (like how and why she knew Miss. Graham), but they were enough to rattle them. No matter being in university, or within the range of 20-23 years old, nobody wanted to be scolded by a woman in her 40s, nor did they want to be kicked out of a camp counsellor position, or to have their volunteer hours revoked. 

So they had left him alone, which Harry thinks may have been such a strain for them he would be surprised if they hadn’t popped a blood vessel. Even if they wanted to, he was always with Y/N -- they never really had the chance, and if they did, they didn’t really take it. 

Which is why he is both surprised and incredibly annoyed with Jack’s sudden appearance. 

“Piss off.” Harry responds, nursing his beer bottle closer to him. 

“You’re always so ill-tempered,” Jack leans up against the tree, “Just wanted to have a chat. Like why Cassidy suddenly wants to break things off after chatting with you and Y/N. Got any ideas?” 

Harry’s brows dipped in confusion, “What? What are you on about?” 

“Don’t act like you don’t fucking know,” Jack rolls his eyes, “Cassidy and I are doing just fucking fine for six months, but we come here, she starts chatting with you and now all the sudden she’s ready to break up. What the fuck did you say, hm?” He nudged Harry’s side with his foot, “Fucking Y/N wasn’t enough, you had to fuck Cassidy too?” He kicked him this time, harder than before.

Harry, who did not take too kindly to being kicked, rolled his eyes and pushed himself to a stand, “Dunno why you’re so fucking insecure that you think me being around has anything to do with Cassidy finally seeing what a prick you are, but this needs to stop,” he handed his bottle to Mitch who took it wordlessly, “I’m not fucking Cassidy, I’ve never fucked Cassidy, so if you could just grow the fuck up and recognize that maybe she broke up with you, because you’re awful to be around, that would be great.”            

Jack, which Harry had expected, took more of a physical approach, giving a shove to Harry’s shoulders, and Harry’s back slams against the tree behind him, “Fuck you,” he spit, “You all holier than thou ‘cos you’re dipping your dick in Miss. Rainbow Bright? What do you know about me, hm? You’re just a dumb fuck who has to be here because you’re a no good druggy fuck with anger issues. How does it feel knowing you’ll amount to nothing after UNI?” 

There isn’t a lot that could get under Harry’s skin. A lot of people could say a lot of shit that he brushes off and lets go, but there are two things that he really just can’t. One of them is when people try to speak poorly of his mum, and the other, was when someone pretends to know his situation when they don’t have a fucking clue. Who was this trust fund bastard to tell him he was a druggy fuck? That he would amount to nothing after UNI? Harry worked two jobs to set himself through school and keep himself fed, with a roof over his head, just so that he could live the life he wanted to after university. 

Maybe it was silly to punch him, but it felt good to. Harry reared back his fist and it collided with his jaw, making Jack stumble backward, his hand flying to his face, “You fucking --” he swung in return, only he catches Harry’s shoulder because Harry moved out of the way in anticipation. Niall narrowly dodged being caught in the crossfire as he rolled out of the way. 

The fight didn’t get too far, however, because when Jack was gearing up to swing again, Y/N appeared and easily wormed her way in between them, “Are you serious right now?” Her brows were furrowed -- she looked legitimately pissed off, and, well. . .it made Harry take a step back at least, “Thought we had a chat about this, hm? You were going to leave him the fuck alone -- no, look at me, not him,” she grabbed at his collar, giving a sharp tug when his angry gaze had flittered back toward Harry, “I’m not an angry person, Jack, I don’t like being mean, or cruel like you seem to be so fond of, but I can and will be if I need to and I promise you that. Don’t you ever speak to someone like that again, yeah? What you were saying was just awful.” She lets go of his collar, taking a step back and sighing in a sharp huff, “I can’t speak for Cassidy, but if I had to guess she probably cut things off because you’re a jealous bastard who questions every interaction with another person and try this alpha male persona to scare other people away. It must be exhausting.” 

Jack shook his head, “We were fine --”

“You thought you were fine. Things aren’t always what they look like, alright? The sooner you understand that, the easier your life will be.” She nods toward the center of the clearing they were in,  “Go get some ice from the cooler, and go the hell back to your cabin. You’re not a fun drunk.” 

Albeit reluctantly, Jack follows her orders and slinks his way to the cooler. The others around them had grown quiet as they had watched the confrontation unfold, but they soon all lost interest once they realized nothing more would happen. Y/N turned to face Harry, the anger on her face immediately dissolving, as she shakes her head, “What a dick. I’m so sorry he spoke to you like that,” she takes ahold of his wrist, the hand that he had punched Jack with, running her thumbs over his reddened knuckles, “I told him -- after the lake, I told him that he needed to leave you alone or I’d do something about it. Dunno what I was gonna do, but I was going to do something -- I will --” 

“Hey, hey,” he cuts her off, “It’s okay -- it’s okay, come on, let’s. . .let’s go to the cabin, yeah? Should we go back to the cabin?” 

Y/N looks at him like he was batty, “No shit we’re going back to the cabin! I’ve got to give you like a full medical look over. He slammed you into the tree, and honestly, you bruise like a peach.” 

They make the trek back to the cabin, relatively quiet, Harry still attempting to process what had happened and what Y/N had said. Had she really spoken to Jack after the fact and threatened him if he messed with Harry again? The softest, probably sweetest person he knows, had taken Jack off to the side and told him if he didn’t leave Harry alone she was going to do something about it. Not only that, she grabbed him by his collar and told him off in front of everyone. It made his heart race, the thought of it, and his cock twitches in his pants at the moment on repeat in his mind. 

Once they get back to the cabin, Y/N has him take his hoodie off with her in the bathroom so she could visualize his back and shoulder. Jack may be short-tempered and smaller than Harry, but his punches still packed a great deal, so a nice, reddening bruise was forming quickly around his shoulder. On his back there were scrapes from the tree bark, Y/N tells him, and a ton of little bruises that had begun to form as well. She makes him stay still as she retrieves the first aid kit from their medicine cabinet. 

“Y/N,” he started, and she hummed to encourage him to continue, “When did you speak with Jack privately?” 

She clears her throat, plopping the first aid kit down on the sink counter and unclipping it open, “The morning after the lake,” she answers without hesitation, “I wasn’t trying to like, fight your battles or anything, but I needed him to know I wasn’t bluffing when I told them I would rat them out, and worse if the situation allowed it. I hate bullies,” she pulls out a small tube of bacitracin, tutting her tongue as she squeezes it out on the tip of her finger, “And I hate how they treat you. I’m sorry if I overstepped.” 

“You didn’t at all,” Harry remarks softly, jolting when her fingers very carefully graze over one of the tender areas on his back, “Thank you, actually, for sticking up for me again.” 

“You don’t have to thank me. I think I’m pretty scrappy when I need to be,” she giggles to herself, “Like, if need be, I would take on the Queen for you. Might be an uneven match though, she’s pushing 100.” 

Harry spins around to face her though, “Y/N, I mean it,” he tells her seriously, their gazes locking, “Thank you for everything. For dealing with my attitude, for sticking up for me, for helping with the kids, for making this experience bearable, for being such a positive light,” he sighs, “You’re amazing, you deserve amazing things.” 

Y/N looks taken by his words -- he wonders if she’s as lost in his eyes as he is in hers. Her mouth falls open gently, like she may be searching for what to say back to him but can’t come up with anything. He worries that he’d said too much -- that he freaked her out or something. He wasn’t trying to, he was just so grateful for her, he didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know how to express it. 

He is about to apologize for being too forward, when Y/N pushes the short distance and connects their lips together. 

Harry’s confused for a moment as his brain registers what’s happening, but when he feels that she might pull away, his body finally seems to wake up. His hands find her face, cradling her jaw in his hands as he reaffirms the kiss and lets the butterflies in his body take over in hoards. He’d given thought to kissing Y/N, sure, but he’d never thought it would happen. Not only that, he’d never thought it would feel this nice. She tastes like the pineapple wine coolers she’d been sipping on that night, her lips still a bit sticky from the residue of the alcohol on her soft lips.

She’s gentle in how she kisses, like Harry would have guessed -- careful too, and cautious with how her lips parted from him only to fix back together. A pool of heat had formed in Harry’s lower belly and rose to his chest, stirring his heart in flutters when her tongue slid into his mouth and met her own. Harry hadn’t realized just how badly he wanted to kiss her until their tongues are sliding against one another, and his hands are slipping down from her jaw,  caressing the delicate skin of her throat, skating down her chest to her hips. He squeezes her sides and pulls her closer to him, feeling the knit of her top rub against his bare torso. It was as soft as he’d imagined it’d be. 

Had she been wanting to kiss him for as long as he wanted to kiss her? Normally, Harry could tell how badly someone wanted to kiss him by the act alone, but with Y/N he was so caught up he couldn’t focus. She was calm and soft, but the longer they kissed, the more ardent she became. It was the tiny moan that had left from her mouth into his own, that made him lightheaded. He had to pull away to breathe but his forehead pressed against hers as he breathed in, “Harry?” Her voice is low, she says his name like a secret, “Was that okay?” 

His response is to press their lips back together, but this time only for a moment, before he withdraws. Harry loops his fingers around her wrist and brings her with him back into the main room, flopping onto her bed since it was the closest and urging her to climb into his lap. She straddles him, and just as soon as she’s within reach, he slides his fingers at the nape of her neck and pulls her back to his mouth. 

It was good -- it felt so fucking good, Harry couldn’t begin to describe it. He held her close, and tried as he might to stave off his cock from ruining the moment, the longer they kissed the harder he got. How she was positioned at first made it so she couldn’t really feel him, but when she tried to get closer to him, she scooted her hips forward and rubbed up right against him. A gasp leaves her as she parts from him, looking down, having lifted her hips, “I’m sorry,” she apologizes and Harry gives a startled laugh. 

“I’ve got a stiffy, and you’re apologizing?” He chuckles with a shake of his head, “I’m sorry, Sweetheart. I’ve got a pretty girl in my lap kissing me, s’kind of hard not to get hard. We can stop if you want.” 

“I don’t want to stop,” she answers with no delay nor doubt, as she lowers back down, resting her front on his prick and with this she gives an experimental roll of her hips. Harry hisses in a breath as she does it again, her own little moan slipping from her mouth. She was only in a thin little pair of shorts, and Harry had chosen sweatpants for the night, so there was little fabric truly separating them. Harry was thankful for it as she continued to roll her hips against him, sponging kisses from his mouth, down his jawline, to the curve of his throat. She fixed her lips there, lulling her tongue over the skin before she started suckling at him and Harry’s hands danced along her back, stroking up and down it, feeling her, holding her closer. Each roll of her hips made him harder, and he was desperate to know if she was wet. If he pushed his fingers into her shorts, would they come back slick from her arousal? Would she watch him as he slid them into his mouth to taste her? Would she let him split her thighs and lick straight from the source. 

His mind was overcome with filth, smutty images entangle once innocent thoughts as she brought the blood to the surface of his skin. When one of his hands left where it had latched onto her hip and slowly maneuvered around to her front, she paused, but left her face dipped in his throat, “Are you wet for me?” He asks her quietly and she nods through a little shiver, “Yeah? Bet you soaked through your little panties,” he murmurs as he slides his fingers past the elastic bands of her shorts and underwear, but left his fingers just past them, “Answer me.” 

“Yes,” her voice trembles, she swallows thickly and the muscles in her abdomen contract beneath his fingers. 

Harry hums low, slipping his fingers down further and he dips between her slick folds, “Oh, Sweetheart,” he presses a chaste kiss to the side of her head, “Is this your first time getting wet for me?” She shakes her head, “Hm, really? So you’re like this often? Do you take care of it?” 

“I -- yeah,” she stutters over a moan as the pads of his fingers roll over her swollen clit slowly, feeling it flick beneath them, “At night, sometimes I will in the shower if I can’t. . .if I can’t wait anymore.” 

He feigns a gasp, “Oh my goodness,” he speeds up the slow lull of his fingers, “Your showers are always so fast, doll, you’re really that quick to cum?” 

Harry may not be able to see her face, but he can hear the pout clear in her voice, “It usually isn’t that fast! Just with you, it is -- when I think of you, it’s always quick.” 

He thought it would be impossible for his cock to be harder than it already was, but her words make pre-cum bubble at the tip, and when he dips his fingers back into her slick little hole, he gets even harder. Gliding his fingers from her panties, he draws them up to his mouth and presses them past his lips as he’d wanted to. Y/N has withdrawn from his throat, watching him do it with glassy eyes, her hands resting on his shoulders, digging her fingers into grape sized dents at the muscle. Her mouth falls open as he sucks her juices away, his eyes fluttering and a groan torn from his throat. 

“Get on the bed,” he instructed and Y/N followed without question, crawling from his lap and lying her head on her pillow as Harry stood, and repositioned himself. He takes a hold of shorts and drags them down her legs, wriggling them off her ankle and tossing them elsewhere. His lips finds her ankle first, before he’s peppering and sponging kisses down her leg, the parts that he had tended to throw over his shoulder. When he gets to her thighs, he makes the kisses slower, softer -- he suckles and nips at the supple skin until he’s right before her center, only to switch to her other thigh and push kisses up and down the length of it. 

Y/N’s whole body trembles with each shaky breath she gives. She’d spoken no words until he was positioned right in front of her core, looping his fingers in the waistband of the little cotton pair she had on, pulling them up toward her hips so the fabric stretched out over her. He could see her pussy beneath it, made out the outline of her swollen lips and engorged clit -- it made his mouth water. 

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want,” she tells him, and his gaze is pulled back up to her -- she looks apprehensive. 

“What?” 

She shrugs, “I know some guys don’t really like to so --” 

“Do you want me to eat your pussy?” Harry asks her bluntly, and he revels in the way her eyes widen, and how bashful her face turns as she looks away, “It’s a yes or no question, honey, if you don’t want me to, I can come back up and kiss you while I make you feel good with my fingers. If you do want me to, I’m g’na pull those panties to the side and make you cum on my tongue -- either I’m good with.” 

“I -- yes,” she answers, her voice meek, “Yes I want you to.” 

Harry smiles softly, “Poor thing, How many stupid boys were refusing to eat this sweet little peach?” He runs his thumb up and down her slit, visualizing where the wet spot had grown and soaked her panties so that the fabric thinned. Leaning in, he nosed at her clit and she inhales, “God, I’m so excited — you’re okay with this? You’re okay with me eating this little pussy out? Need you to let me know because once I start sweet girl, I’ll be in heaven.”

“Yes, please, please lick me.”

“So polite,” he suckles a kiss at the very innermost part of her thigh, before licking one, long stripe up her center through the fabric. She moans, pushing her hips down toward his mouth as he drags his tongue over it again, and again, and again. He soaks it with his spit, teasing her — he wanted to pull her panties to the side and suckle and slurp between her lips until she came — but he wants her to beg for him. Wants to hear that she wants him just as much as he wants her. 

He smiles against her as he hears her getting impatient, little huffs between each moan. She whines, her hips bucking up against his tongue — he looks up to her, watching as her chest rises and falls quickly. The fingers of one hand are dug into the sheets beside her, while the others rest between her teeth. Her brows were tilted, lips pouted, whimpers come more frequently the longer he suckles and laps on the fabric, drenching it. 

“Harry,” she finally works out, shivering when he pauses just over her clit and flickers his tongue over the top of it, “Oh, please just -- please.”

“Hm?” He hums against her, jolts, inhaling sharply, “What is it, baby? You’ve got to use your words.” 

“Please stop teasing me,” she tells him, “Please take them off.” 

And Harry may love to tease, but he wasn’t cruel. Wasn’t a bloody monster, was he? So he slides his index and middle finger in between the fabric and her core and tugs them over to the side -- he didn’t want to waste any time wiggling them down her legs. No, instead he dips his tongue in between her lips and slides it flat and straight up to her swollen clit. The groan that leaves her is sinful -- it makes his cock twitch in his pants, his heart slamming against his sternum as he suckles and her fingers find his curls. She digs her fingers within the strands, rocking her hips up to meet his mouth, and for a moment, Harry just leaves his tongue out and flat for her to grind against. Harry thinks, if he could spend the day just strapped to Y/N’s bed, willing, ready, and waiting for her to come use his mouth how she pleased -- he would be inconceivable happy. 

Eventually he wiggles his face back into her, sliding his tongue back and forth before he latches his lips back around her silky folds. The swollen little button crying desperately for his attention was where he spent most of his time, lapping, or lulling his tongue in circles around it. She keens, her heel digs into the mattress and begins to slide down but Harry grabs a hold of her thighs and pushes both of them up, so her knees are to her chest. The new position makes her cry out his name raggedly, and Harry was teeming with carnal desire, and so horny he thinks he would barely have to hump against the mattress to cum. 

“I’m close,” she warns him, mewling, “I’m g’na cum, I’m -- oh, please don’t stop, please don’t stop.” 

Harry doesn’t think he’d stop if he was paid to do it. He doubles his efforts, sucking harder, sliding down to tongue at her hole while his fingers wrapped around and spun little circles into her clit. His other hand he reaches up with and slides his thumb into her mouth and she accepts it graciously, as it muted her moans that grew louder and louder the closer she got. 

When she cums, it’s beautiful -- Harry wishes he would be able to see it on repeat, how her back arched upward and her hips bucked loosely as she pulsated around his tongue. Her mouth hangs open around his thumb, her eyes squeezed shut, the fingers in his hair tighten and her other hand wraps around his wrists and holds him tightly. The initial lurch of it subsides and she melts into the mattress, trying to catch her breath, her chest heaving beneath her sweater. 

After he thoroughly cleans her (until she’s twitching and jumping away from his tongue), he crawls up her body, pushing her sweater up over her breasts, “Can I fuck you, Darling?” He asks her, a small smile on his mouth when she leans her chest closer to him so he can reach behind her and unclip her bra. Tugging the cups away, he grabs them carefully, thumbing over her nipple, “If you don’t want to, that’s okay, don’t feel bad about it, just let me know.” 

“I want you to,” she rushes to tell him, nodding, “Do you have a condom?” 

He dips his head against her chest, breathing out a sigh, “Fuck me,” he utters, shaking his head, “No, I don’t. I’m sorry.” 

He usually does -- Harry always keeps a few on him, but he remembers very vividly he and Y/N had blown his last one up just a few nights prior and drawn a face on it. For a moment he feels hopeless, a sad pit forming in his stomach because the thought of fucking Y/N sounded like paradise and he only brought one bloody condom that he wasted. 

“It’s okay, we’ll do it next time then,” she tells him, and Harry feels a joyful spike in his overall demeanor. Next time -- she wanted there to be a next time? And if she wanted there to be a next time, then they would have to see each other after the camp. . .they would spend time together, Harry could learn what she was like in her normal day to day. He was eager and delighted, and not even just at the prospect of pushing into her (which he was also pretty damn excited for), “I mean, if you wanted to do this again, then, yeah -- right? We’ll hang out after camp is through?”

A smile threatens to split his cheeks, “Of course we will,” he tells her, nosing at her jawline, “And not just ‘cos you promised to let me fuck you. I was hoping we would see each other still but was worried that you might be sick of me.” 

Her brows pinch, “Sick of you? Dummy, I thought you would be sick of me!” She shakes her head, rolling her eyes at the both of them, “We’re so stupid, we ought’a communicate better.” Y/N presses at his abdomen, “C’mon then, I’ll spin around and you can fuck between my thighs. I did it once with a boy -- I just shaved in the shower last night too so it should be soft.” 

Y/N flips over, scooting her bum in the air for him as she cuddles a pillow to her face, her ankles locked in place and her thighs squeezed together. Harry wiggles out of his pants and boxers before he lets a glob of spit fall onto his stiff cock that had soundly slapped up against his stomach, slicking it up nice and wet so the glide between her thighs wouldn’t be too dry. One hand he lays palm flat to her bum, stroking the skin there with his thumb while the other hand navigates his prick, tipping it down and fitting it between her warm, soft thighs. 

It felt good; Harry groans wantonly as he pulls out and sinks back in, watching himself disappear between them. She wiggles her bum at him and Harry playfully swats it, chuckling when she squeals and giggles, “You’re so fucking cute,” he coos before bending over, stretching himself over her so his chest was pressed to her back as he started steadily fucking in between her thighs. One hand he uses to cup her breast and tweak at her nipple while the other he slides down to her pussy, finding her swollen little button and rubbing it. 

Harry’s skin prickles as she moans, her legs falling open just slightly but he tuts his tongue, “Keep them nice and tight for me, baby,” he murmurs, and she nods, tightening the channel for him once more. He won’t last long, he knows it -- he can feel that pool of heat crackling in his lower belly. His blood buzzes in his ears as he fucks his hips forward, their skin slapping together sound in their little cabin. Her breasts bounce with each thrust he gives, she’s beginning to cum again from the ministration of his fingers, and Harry’s nearing the end of his rope. 

“You feel so fucking good,” he’s just a breath away from her ear, “You’re gonna make me cum.” 

He nibbles at the shell of her ear and lets his eyes flutter closed, his senses on overload. All he can hear, and taste, and smell, and feel is her. Dizzy and overwhelmed, Harry feels as if he may burst at the seams. 

“Cum,” she murmurs, “Please, I want you to feel good -- I want you to cum.” 

That’s all it takes -- the little push of her words has his hips stuttering as he cums, spurting long stripes between her thighs, some catching her skin, some landing on her sheets below them. His world fizzles out, static splinters through his body as warmth rushes through his veins, and his toes curl hard enough to lock up. As he comes back to, he giggles, the last of his orgasm drooling from the tip as he pushes a kiss to the back of Y/N’s head, “Stay still, lemme go get us a rag.” 

His legs feel like jelly when he stands, fleeing arse naked to the bathroom and returning moments later with warm, wet rags. He cleans her first, careful in how he works her underwear down her legs before he pats gently around her thighs and at her center. She’s sensitive, so a few times she twitches and flinches from him but eventually relaxes as she holds tightly to the pillow. He wipes himself off a bit haphazardly, more concerned with getting Y/N somewhere to lie down as he gently tugs on her arms, “C’mere, poor thing, I came all over your bed.” 

“Yeah, you jerk,” she says puckishly, letting him guide her over to his bed, climbing in and immediately snuggling beneath his covers. Harry is not too far behind her, and at first she snuggles up close to him, she hisses and squeals before trying to shuffle away, “Why are your feet like ice?” She asks him, her words accusing, like he’d come in the bed with intent to freeze her. 

Harry shrugs, “I dunno’ I usually wear socks to bed to keep them warm.” 

“Socks? To sleep?” She slowly wiggles her way closer to him, despite the words that follow, “I don’t think we can share a bed, you’re batty.” 

“Guess you’ll have to go sleep on the jizzy bed then.” 

Y/N laughs, and Harry feels it vibrate through his body as he holds her close to his chest, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. They’re quiet for a moment, as they both settle, taking deep, slow breaths, allowing themselves to slip towards sleep. 

Before Harry could get there, Y/N murmured his name. 

“Thanks for being my camp ‘husbad’.” 

Harry smiled to himself, and held her a little closer before he teased her. 

“You can say thank you next time with an 18 carat diamond.”  

[jisungscaramel]

vexation | hyunjin

❀ genre; smut, college au, enemies au  ❀ pairing; hyunjin x reader (fem) ❀ word count; 2.7k 

[warning] strong language, explicit sexual content, dry humping, (mild) begging, hate sex

There it was: Hwang Hyunjin, name beautifully printed right above yours. You shuddered in complete disgust, not believing that you were paired with him of all people for your history presentation. There were 34 students in the class; that meant you had a whopping 97% chance of being paired with literally anyone else, but no. Your professor, Dr. Zhang, just had to pair you with him. 

Overachiever: that was an understatement. He was the type to want all of the glory for the taking, the type to enjoy making others feel like they were dumb, the type who had no issue in forsaking common morals for his own gain. 

You couldn’t fucking stand him. 

Begrudgingly, you stood up from your original seat, trudging your feet to sit next to him - at your professor’s instruction, of course. You planned on at least being polite, and you thought for a second that he might do the same, but he didn’t even bother looking at you, staring through to the front of the room, eyes stoic. If he was trying to provoke you, it was definitely working. 

You dropped your backpack to the ground, unceremoniously, sound drowning in the increasing levels of chatter in the small lecture hall, but clearly loud enough to make his composure teeter; his head jerked back a millimeter, a minuscule gesture but it was painfully obvious to you. And you let out an equally obvious slew of snickers before sitting back in the seat, neck meeting the old frayed fabric as you tilted your head back, arms stacking on one another as you folded them, woman spreading to occupy more real estate than you actually required.

You had to at least try to keep yourself amused. 

Hyunjin began scribbling mindlessly on a blank piece of paper - still acting as if you were not even there. 

He slammed the white sheet down on your knee, sending vibrations straight up your leg rather rudely. 

Asshole. 

Oh, baby, he hadn’t even started yet. 

“Okay. We’re doing our paper on I-Hotel and… I’m gonna write it. All you have to do is find these books for me at the library.” He turned to look at you with a very aggravating smirk… maybe you’d notice the tiniest hint of flirtation if the feeling of overwhelming irritation didn’t encompass you. 

But the chance passed when his countenance morphed into counterfeit concern, tapping his chin in contemplation for added effect, “although, I think the library’s computer system is down… I guess you gotta find them the old-fashioned way.” God, you just wanted to smack that smug grin right off his face. “I’d love to help you with that... but I’m just too busy…” It should’ve been illegal for intolerable people to be that gorgeous.

You blinked in complete confusion. “Ummm… excuse me?” 

“I’m… sorry… do… I… need… to … talk… slower…?”

You gingerly picked up the piece of paper, promptly getting up from your chair, glaring at him. You made sure your backpack was secure on your shoulder before dramatically lifting the note in front of his face to tear what he wrote to shreds, scattering the bits over his laptop’s keyboard. “Stick a motherfucking cactus up your ass.” 

You stormed out of that hall with your head high, not daring to look back despite your innate desire to see his response - you were sure it was priceless. 

‘I’ll just have to do this damn thing on my own.’

Oh, if it could only be that simple. 

The first thing that popped up on your laptop when you opened it from the safety of the library was an unexpected email. 

Since you ripped up my list - rather rudely I might add - I’ve attached the list of the books I require. I will be at the library at four PM sharp. Please plan accordingly. Hyunjin 

“Fuck.” 

‘Plan accordingly,’ your ass, according to you, your plan was to minimize the amount of time you had to spend dealing with Hyunjin, and you had been 100% sure he had the same sentiment… so much for that. 

Speaking of the devil, as soon as you decided to dismiss his outlandish request and settle in to get some of your research started, Hyunjin yanked your attention away from your laptop with merely his presence, almost as if your nerves were hypersensitive to his saccharine dipped aura, and most definitely not to the signature sway of his frame as he walked. 

You didn’t dare grant him the luxury of your direct gaze. Instead, you kept a close eye on him in your peripheral, hoping you’d blend in with the people around you… but there was still at least a 92% chance he’d see you.

“Did you get my sources?” and now he was right in front of you, nothing but a measly table in between. 

Your nostrils flared in an effort to not retort back at Hyunjin, eyes still fixed on your screen in a successful attempt to ignore him. 

Then he pushed your laptop closed, hand planted firmly on the device rather invasively. “Excuse me, I’m talking to you.”

You gritted your teeth, tilting your head up in a menacing stare, eyes narrowing, eyebrows furrowing. “What do you want?” 

God, you didn’t know his smile could get more fake than it already was. “I told you to get my sources for me,” his tone was exaggeratedly slow, “did you get my sources?” 

You shoved his hand away from your laptop. “Get your own sources.” 

Immediately his fake smile turned into a sincere snicker, rolling his eyes off to the side. “Uptight bitch.” 

His words sank in for a moment. “You wanna say that again?” 

He leaned over the table, face a mere six inches from yours. “Uptight,” you could feel your fists involuntarily clenching, digging into your palms what would soon be prominent crescents in a matter of seconds, “bitch.” 

You almost raised your palm to gratuitously slap him across the face but the simmering mellowness in you kept a tight grasp of your boiling anger. You leaned back in your seat in an effort to widen the physical gap (or the lack thereof) between you. “Fuck off.”

<><><><><><> 

“Hyunjin, y/n, can you both come down to the podium,” Dr. Zhang added at the end of his lecture, halting your plans to b-line straight to the library. 

As the aisles began to empty, you made your way down the steps to the front of the room, purposefully standing at the side opposite of Hyunjin, frankly paying no mind to him for all intents and purposes. 

Your professor glanced between you two, clearly noticing the oddity of the image but purposefully choosing to ignore it. 

“I noticed that both of you submitted first drafts for your paper, and at first I thought it was an accident, until I opened both files and realized you’re writing completely separate papers. Care to explain?” 

“Yeah y/n, care to explain?” What a fucking dicktard. 

Your lips pressed into a thin line as you wracked your brain for some feasible excuse. “Well,” but nothing came to mind… oh fuck it, “we’ve had issues working with each other.” 

Dr. Zhang raised an eyebrow cautiously. “Elaborate.”

“We really don’t get along.”

He sighed, crossing his arms. “Well you’re gonna have to try to find some middle ground. I’ll give you two a second chance to put a first draft together. If you can submit a collaborative piece by midnight, I’ll still give you full credit for that part. If not, it stays as a zero. Subsequently, you will keep getting zeroes for the following checkpoints if you submit them separately. Any questions?” 

“No, sir,” much to your surprise, that was the first moment thus far wherein both you and Hyunjin were on the same wavelength. 

“Good, that is all.” 

You felt like two negatively charged magnets as you walked side by side up the aisle to the exit. “I’m not getting a zero for this,” Hyunjin spoke up. 

You rolled your eyes. “At least we can agree on that.”

As the cold, crisp air of the outside refreshed your nerves, he lightly gripped your shoulder, swerving you to face him. “Look, I know we’re like oil and water, but I’m willing to at least try to get along for the grade.” His fingers trembled on your shoulder; his teeth lightly grazed his bottom lip, eyes searching yours for a sign of truce. 

Needless to say, the sentiment from him was unexpected. You exhaled deeply, brushing his hand from you. “Fine.”

<><><><><><><> 

But two hours spent alone in a library study room proved to be more difficult than originally anticipated. Trying to work together felt like pulling teeth - a true collaboration of absolute vexation.  

“What about this passage?” You pointed to some text in a book you were sifting through. 

He swiveled his chair around, only looking at your find for a solid half a second before, turning back around. “Nah, that’s not good enough to use as evidence.” 

“What the fuck, Hyunjin? You didn’t even read it.”

“I didn’t have to. I assumed whatever you found was as subpar as everything else you’ve ‘found.’”

You dropped the book on the table with a loud plonk, partially in shock at what he said and partially due to a natural tendency to want to irritate him. “Well let’s see what you ‘found,’” leaning over the table in a relaxed manner, carrying a dash of nonchalance as you scrolled through his writing. “You call this good evidence?”

“What on earth are you talking about?” You wanted to laugh at his defensive tone. 

“It’s obvious that you’re framing your own narrative by taking shit outta context. Not to mention all the ellipses and brackets are terrifically horrendous, visually. You’re taking literally all the credibility out.” 

“What do you know? I doubt you even read that article,” he dismissed your legitimate critique in a manner you unfortunately predicted. 

“As a matter of fact, I did… two. hours. ago. And you told me the article didn’t seem ‘reliable’ enough for you, but here you are… you must think I’m fucking stupid.” 

The side of his lips curved up in the slightest smirk. “Not true, I think you’re annoyingly absentminded.” 

You rolled your eyes for the umpteenth time in the past minute, whispering, “fucking cockmaggot,” under your breath, diverting your attention back to your screen. 

“What did you just say?” His tone suggested he wasn’t being rhetorical - he really didn’t hear you. There was something cute and innocent about his ignorance, the way his lips formed a subtle pout unintentionally, nose wrinkling in distaste. You mentally shook the image from your head, cursing yourself for thinking he was… ‘cute’ to begin with. 

“Nothing, My Liege, nothing at all,” mocking sarcasm spilled from your lips as you parted them to give them a disapproving smack. “This is complete shit; we can’t submit this.”

Hyunjin slammed his laptop closed, standing up abruptly. The action took you by surprise, making your neck shudder in a startle. “I can’t fucking do this anymore. Why do you have to be so fucking difficult?” Pent up rage was slathered all over his face, eyes twitching, eyebrows tightly knitting together, jaw unhinging from an excess of epinephrine. 

His anger diffused to you, violently charging your nerves. There was no way you were just gonna take his shit sitting down. “Why do you,” you stood up, chair rocking back from the velocity of your limbs, “have to be,” you turned around and gripped his collar with both hands, “such an insufferable asshole?” 

He was dumbfounded, wordless much to your satisfaction, but his eyes were unwavering, devoid of reaction. The time you spent stabbing each other with your unfaltering gazes felt like a goddamn eternity, tension coarse, sinfully tangible on your skin. 

It was fucking stifling. 

Before you even realized what was happening, your lips were latched together in a fervent frenzy, tension thickening for an entirely different reason now. 

There was something so breathtaking about the way his lips tightened against yours - literally. It felt like he was siphoning your soul from your body - any thought that dared to grace your mind oddly dissolved into nothingness as Hyunjin molded your lips into submission, tongue colonizing your oral cavity in an authoritative manner that was so in character for him. 

Not that you gave a fuck. 

His hands aggressively tugged at your waist; the impact of your body crashing onto his sent pangs up your spine, and in seconds, your back thudded against the wall, maintaining the momentum. You had to grip his shoulders purely for support, and definitely not because you were immersing in the moment.

You felt his grip loosen as his hands roamed downward, playfully drawing patterns on your skin with his fingers en route. And then they constricted around your thighs, lifting them up to his hips, and you hooked your ankles around his back as if it was the natural thing to do. 

The fabric of his pants became taut around the building frustration underneath, becoming oh so apparent to you when he started steady grinding against the thin fabric of your underwear - why did you have to wear a skirt today of all days?

You passed a reluctant whimper through his lips, wholly unable to deny the way your pulsing desire radiated heat through your core at the increasing friction. 

You broke away from the kiss, gasping. “Hyunjin…” you whispered almost breathlessly, desperation filling you as he continued his tantalizing test of your patience. 

“Hmmm?” There it was: that signature smug grin, but by this point, your senses were too preoccupied to even register it. 

“I can’t take this anymore.”

“Is that so?” He lifted you off the wall, pushing your laptops to either side so he could lay you on the table, spreading your legs to give him clear sight of your dampening sex. He snickered. “You look much better like this…” While ghosting one hand around your inner thighs, conveniently avoiding the place you needed him the most, he undid the button and zipper of his jeans with the other, sliding them down to his knees. 

You found yourself licking your lips at the silhouette of his bulge, now more prominent with less restricting fabric. Of course, he noticed; “so these are you true colors… I never would’ve thought you were such a dirty girl.” He brushed his fingers over the waistband of your underwear. “Where do you need me?” He pressed his thumb on your clit, “here?” 

Your teeth pressed down on your lips in an effort to stifle a moan. “Yes…” and even though you were successful the first time, there was no stopping the sounds from seeping through your lips when Hyunjin slammed his clothed erection on you once more, picking up exactly where he left off just moments ago. 

“Please, Hyunjin…” he pushed your thighs further apart, keeping them in place. 

“‘Please,’ what?” 

“I need you inside me, please.” 

His sinister laugh filled the small room. “I don’t know if you deserve it.” 

“Fucking asswipe.” 

“Now that doesn’t sound very convincing…” 

You groaned in pleasurable displeasure. “Hyunjin… please, I’m begging you. I really can’t take this.” 

“Don’t you care if someone tries to come in?” He raised an eyebrow, partially in curiosity, mostly in amusement. 

You glared right into his eyes. “No.” 

He shook his head, clicking his tongue as he stood back. “Get up.” Any urge you had to defy him before was long gone; you did as he asked and he harshly turned you around by your waist, pushing you toward one of the windows. 

While pushing you down against the glass with one hand, he reached in his front pocket with the other, grabbing a condom. He ripped the packaging with his teeth, skillfully sliding his boxers down to slip the vinyl over him. 

Not wanting to wait any longer, you aided him by pulling your panty down leaving yourself completely exposed for his taking, and you quickly pushed your hands on the glass, bracing yourself for the next few seconds, but nothing could’ve prepared you for that stretch that came. Your wrist slid down on the window pane to bite back a scream. 

“So tight.” 

 ><><><><><><><

A/N I’mma be honest: I had a fucking field day coming up with all those weird insults

[assassins-and-hidden-blades]

Miracles -- Part 3

07/04/2021: Here it is!! The one, the only, the... 6.1k words of purely self indulgent protective!Jacob (lowkey been doing it for everyone and their mother except for when with the reader and idk why bc i dig that shit too)

I really hope you guys enjoy this, because I loved writing it!! There's a chance I could sneak in a last chapter if people wanted that? Feedback would be greatly appreciated!! This is super long, so sit down and get comfy :)

Pry these commas from my cold, dead hands tho. Also, I HC Jacob to be predominantly left-handed, but that's just me aha.

Warnings: Bit of violence, swearing, corporal punishment, arson (without giving too much away)

Tagging: @marshmallow--3 // @missingfrye // @ct-5445 // @iceboundstar // @rahdaleigh // @pink-polarfox // @b3k1720 // @itseivwhore // @sofiewithat // @missbenzayb

Assassin's Creed Mobile Masterlist

Red Dead Redemption 2 Mobile Masterlist

Part 1 HERE, Part 2 HERE

The night was cold.

You retreated further under the blankets, turning to rest your head on your beloved’s chest. You wore an oversized shirt, and he wore a loose pair of breeches. His arm pulled you closer, fingers stroking your bicep. In turn, you traced the Rook painted on his chest. “Jacob?”

He turned to gaze down at you, lips inches from your forehead. “Yes, my love?”

“My family have written to me; they would like me to visit them in Warwick.”

“Your family lives quite far,” Jacob remarked, smiling adoringly at you. “Will you and Lily be alright travelling by yourselves?”

You sighed. “That’s the problem.” Sitting up, you gently grasped Jacob’s hand, playing with his fingers. “They don’t know that Lily exists, and I have no chance of telling them that I have a child without the status of ‘wife’.”

“I see…” Jacob watched you trace the lines on his hand. “Is there anything I can do?”

Propose, you idiot.

“Could you look after Lily while I’m away?”

“On my own?” His fingers tightened around yours.

“I trust you with her, Jacob. You’re the only one I can trust her with.”

He sucked in a breath. “Are you sure?”

“Stop doubting yourself.” You kissed his temple. “Besides, she adores you; she’ll listen to you.”

“Alright then. It’s decided.”

“Thank you, my love. However can I make it up to you?”

Sensing the humour in your tone, Jacob winked. “I can think of a few things.”

You laughed to yourself as you blew out your candle, the darkness enveloping the room as you pulled yourself closer to Jacob, the security of his arms lulling you to sleep.

----------

Before you knew it, you were packing a carriage with your luggage, setting off for the journey ahead. Jacob was standing in the doorway of your house, Lily resting on his hip. “Mama, do you have to go?”

“Sweetheart, if I don’t, then horrible Aunt Susan will come marching all the way down here herself, and we don’t want that, do we?” Lily shook her head, giggling.

“She’s not the only one who’s going to miss you.” Jacob wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side. Smiling, he dipped his head to lock his lips with yours.

“Yuck!”

The both of you pulled apart, chuckling.

“Well, I best be going. Don’t get into any trouble; I know what you both are like unsupervised.”

Sharing mischievous looks, they began to wave as you got into the carriage.

“Bye, Mama!”

“Safe travels, my love!”

You watched as they recede from view, the picture of your perfect family playing in your mind as hooves against cobblestone played in your ears.

As soon as the carriage turned the corner, Jacob turned to Lily. “What do you fancy doing?”

Lily giggled. “I have school!”

Jacob mockingly rolled his eyes. “That is the worst answer I’ve ever heard.”

“Are you saying I can skip?”

As much as he’d want to say yes, you would have punted him six ways from Sunday. “‘fraid not, love.” He took her inside. “But I can promise that afterwards, I’ll take you to get iced cream.” Lily cheered in victory before she hopped down, scurrying to collect her things for the day ahead.

----------

Jacob walked Lily to school that morning, keeping her on his left and away from the curb. He grasped her hand firmly, lest she get lost in the rushing crowd. When he approached the building, he saw various parents saying goodbye to their children, as well as some children arriving on their own.

He knelt down to her height, tidying her windswept appearance with a reassuring grin. “You have a good day, alright?”

Smiling widely, she nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Thank you, Papa.”

Wait, what?

Jacob’s breath caught in his throat. Lost for words, he kissed her head and returned the hug tenfold. “I love you, angel.”

“Love you too!”

The bell rang moments after, causing Lily to pull away. “Don’t be late!” Waving, she ran to catch up with her friends and disappeared into the building. Standing up, Jacob cleared his throat and tugged on his waistcoat to compose himself, though he could barely stifle his grin. The warmth in his heart engulfed his chest. He walked past the rest of the parents as if he were walking on clouds, his happiness fixed for the day.

----------

“What’s got you in such a good mood today?” Evie asked her brother, watching incredulously as she found him tidying his train carriage.

“Oh, nothing.” Although his tone was dismissive, his face told a completely different story.

“Did you… have a good night?”

“Oh, no.” Chuckling, he sifted through the papers on his desk. “Y/N’s headed to Warwick.”

Puzzled, Evie tilted her head. “Free beer?”

“Nope.” He popped the ‘P’.

“Come on, then; what is it? You can’t expect me to keep guessing forever.”

Restraining himself from jumping for joy, he turned to his sister. “Lily called me ‘Papa’.”

Evie’s face lit up. “Oh, Jacob, that’s lovely! Does this mean you’ll…” She mimicked opening a ring box.

Blushing, he nodded, a toothy grin plastered on his face. “I’m excited, Evie. I… I need to sit down.”

He leaned back on the sofa, tossing his hat beside him. Running a hand through his hair, he sighed. “Are you alright?” Evie took a chair to sit opposite him.

“I… I’ve never felt this much joy in my life.”

“Jacob Frye, you’re practically speechless.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“You have to buy the rings before Y/N comes back.”

“I will. Maybe Lily will want to come with me. Not yet, though; I don’t want to spring the news on her immediately.”

Evie began to talk about the type of engagement ring you would find the most appealing, but Jacob had all but zoned out. He was fidgeting with the iron band on his right index finger, engraved on the inside with the Assassin’s Insignia. Barely thinking, he removed it and switched hands, sliding it on his ring finger.

He was going to get married. You were going to be his wife.

“What if she doesn’t say ‘yes’?” A sudden anxiety clutched his heart as he looked up in worry.

Evie was stunned into silence. “What are you talking about?! Of course she’s going to say yes!”

“She has a child to think about; what if she doesn’t want to get married at all?”

“Jacob,” she sighed. “She knows you’d do anything for Lily. You’ve done it right from the beginning.” He shifted in his seat as a phantom pain clutched his side, remembering his tussle with Thomas Lynch. “She would be insane not to want someone like you as a husband, and as a father to her child.”

“When did you learn to talk like that?” Jacob smirked.

“When you’re the eldest, you learn a thing or two.”

“Bullshit.” He scoffed, but wordlessly thanked her for the reassurance.

“Knock knock.” Eyes fixed on the doorway as Henry peered around the corner. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but I need some papers from Jacob.”

“Right; which ones?” He stood up and closed the two meter gap to the pile of half sorted paperwork.

“The ones on James Brudenell.”

“Who?” He frowned.

“Lord Cardigan.”

“Oh, that prick…” He thumbed through the various files, quickly getting to the end with no sign of the desired intel. “I must’ve left it at the house. I’ll head off there now and bring them to you tomorrow.”

“Can you not come back straight away?”

“I need to get to the school; there won’t be enough time. I’m taking Lily out for that new iced cream.” Evie quirked her lips into a knowing smile. “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” she shrugged.

Shaking his head, Jacob grabbed his hat and opened the door, watching the train slow into the station. “See you tomorrow.”

“Don’t forget the--”

“The papers, yes, I’ll get them!” By then, he had already jumped onto the platform, disappearing into the crowd.

----------

On the stroll back to the house, Jacob checked his pocket watch, planning his time accordingly. He’ll find the papers, finish the paperwork that should’ve been completed two weeks ago, and head to the school.

The street seemed unusually quiet at this time in the afternoon, but Jacob only grew concerned when he noticed a lack of Rooks. Usually, there would be more and more scattered around the closer he grew to the house, but so far he could count them all on one hand. A scuffling from behind him pricked at his ears. He spun, brows furrowed, but the road was empty, save for a carriage calmly trotting past. He used it as a reassurance that he was probably acting paranoid, and continued where he was heading, albeit at a faster pace.

The secure feeling he felt upon approaching the house eased the weight on his chest. Pulling out his key, he wasted no time in disappearing inside. It was quiet without you, and there was the familiar longing he felt in his heart. Sighing, he mentally crossed off another minute until he could hold you in his arms again.

He moved upstairs and into his study. At the prospect of spending more time with him, you jumped at the chance to make a spare empty room a working office. He hung his jacket and hat on a coat rack, taking a seat at the desk. The natural light coming through the window landed perfectly on the wood, illuminating the workspace without the need for candles. Jacob searched his drawers, finding the file with relative ease. He grabbed a dip pen, opened an ink pot, and quickly began scrawling details down.

He was lost in thought at the memory of his encounter with Lord Cardigan when a crude knocking hit the door downstairs. Jacob froze, focusing on the noise outside. All business was kept around the train; he sternly told Evie and Henry not to give out the address to anyone. The only other people who would have had an idea where he was were the Rooks stationed around the street, but they were loyal -- were they not as trustworthy as he thought? Who was at the door?

Harsher thuds against the door made his heart leap. He moved slowly; inch by inch, he stood and crept towards the door, pulling out the cane from his coat as quietly as he could. His boots barely made a sound as he headed down the stairs, hand calmly turning the knob to open the door.

On the other side stood two gentlemen, waiting almost expectantly. “Can I help you?” Jacob asked, tone laced with suspicion.

The two exchanged looks before one started to speak. “Pardon me, sir, but would you be interested in purchasing some humbugs? We’re opening a new shop not too far from here. We thought we could go from door to door to begin our business endeavours.”

Eyes flitting between the two, unease began to set in. “No, thank you.”

“Understood. Have a nice day.” The other tipped his hat and turned to leave as Jacob slowly shut the door again.

“What…?” He’s had bankers act more persuasive than these men. They did not seem that interested in sales. His eyes scanned the room, as if that would give him answers to a most peculiar interaction. In a second, his heart jumped as they landed on the clock. If he didn’t leave now, he’d be late to pick up Lily. He grabbed his coat and hat from upstairs and burst out of the door, rushing in the direction of the school.

----------

He made the journey by the skin of his teeth, jogging almost the entire way. As soon as he approached, the bell rang, and children began to flood out of the doors. He stood by a tree and scanned the children as they continued to rush out. A few moments later, Lily emerged, nervously clutching her hands together as she scanned the adults around her. Jacob frowned and walked towards her, concern growing. He could see the upset growing as she at first couldn’t see him. “Lily!”

As soon as she heard her name, her gaze immediately landed on the source and took off running towards him. He knelt just in time for her to jump into his arms, face hiding in his neck. “Hey, are you--” He was cut off by the sound of sobs. “Okay, alright, it’s alright, angel.” Confused, he picked her up and went to sit on a bench overlooking the playground, shushing her gently.

Cradled in one arm, Jacob used his free arm to reach into his pocket, bringing out his flask. “Take a drink, sweetheart.” She gingerly took the container, taking a few gulps of the fresh water inside. “Now, tell me what happened.” He tried to speak softly, to not provoke more tears.

“I didn’t do it! They think I did, but I didn’t!”

“What didn’t you do?”

“Throw a rock.”

“Even if you did do that, it’s only a rock.”

“It hit the teacher!”

Jacob was silent for a minute. If they thought she pelted a rock at the teacher, there would have been harsh punishments…

“Please believe me; I promise I didn’t do it!”

Shocked, Jacob pulled her closer. “Of course I believe you! Why wouldn’t I?” His eyes landed on her fists, which have barely opened since he saw her, save for the flask. “Can I see your hands?”

She nodded, and Jacob shifted her against his shoulder so he could use both hands as he slowly uncurled her fingers. Her palms were a stark red, the clear markings of a cane riddled her skin almost completely; and they looked like the instrument hit hard. He quietly asked for the other one, inspecting them with the care one would give to a newborn, brows furrowing at the sight. Lily watched his eyes moving constantly across her hands. The thought of letting her father down ushered tears to the surface. Jacob’s eyes caught hers watering. “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry…”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, love. Do you know who really did it?”

Nodding slowly, she pointed to the playground to a boy who was laughing by a group of children who were playing with marbles. “Oliver.”

“Okay.” The two of them stayed there for a while as Lily continued to calm down.

Just as Lily began to smile at Jacob’s conversation, a shadow overcame the both of them. Jacob felt her recoiling into his side. He looked up to see a weathered looking man with a styled moustache and a stiff looking suit, a hand against the back of his head. “So, she’s yours.” The slight tone of disapproval channeled an urge of protectiveness inside him. He sat Lily behind him on the bench as he stood toe to toe with the teacher.

“Is there a problem?” Jacob’s eyes assessed the man from head to toe, noting the thin cane that he leaned on.

“You should be ashamed of your daughter’s behaviour.”

“Why? She did nothing wrong.”

“On the contrary…” Turning around, he removed the cloth on his head, revealing a jagged cut along the back of his head.

“It wasn’t me, sir! It really wasn’t!” Lily was begging for her teacher to believe her.

“Then who was it?”

Lily stood up on the bench still hiding behind Jacob’s shoulder but managing to equal his height. “Him.”

Her finger showed Oliver laughing at someone who had tripped over a skipping rope.

“Do you really think that she would do something like this?” Jacob raised an eyebrow.

Neither agreeing or disagreeing, he instead gestured with his cane. “I’m watching you, Y/L/N.” Jacob narrowed his eyes. “I would be mindful of your attitude towards my daughter.”

Grumbling, the teacher turned and walked away. “Oliver!”

“Th-Thank you.” A sniffling from behind him softed his face and melted his heart.

“Let’s go, angel. There’s some iced cream with our name on it.”` He hoisted Lily on his hip and headed in the direction of home, hoping that the anger would dissipate with each passing step.

----------

The house came into view shortly after Jacob left the sweet shop, two cardboard pots of the cold dessert in their hands. “This is delicious!” Lily was almost her normal self again over the journey home, relinquishing details of the day as they closed the short distance to the house. Placing Lily on the floor, he took out his key and pushed it into the lock, turning the knob. Without turning the key, the door opened. He must’ve forgotten to lock it when he left the house earlier. Brushing it off, he opened the door the rest of the way and stepped aside for Lily to enter first. He checked the rest of the street one more time for anything out of the ordinary before shutting and locking the door behind him, acting safe rather than sorry.

A slight smell filled his nose as he walked into the room. It was barely there, but he could smell something. Unfocusing his eyes, he watched as colours flooded his vision. Looking around, he couldn’t spot anything strange right away, but the smell was in the air and it set him on edge. Shaking his head, he rubbed his eyes. He had felt more emotion in one day than he had for a long time, and his body had worn him out. “Are you hungry, Lily?”

She sat at the kitchen table. “A little bit.”

“Anything you particularly fancy tonight?”

“Hmm… Sausages and potatoes!”

Jacob chuckled at her excitement. “Consider it done, my lady.”

----------

Dinner was over and done with by the time the sun set below the skyline. Jacob helped Lily get ready for bed before tucking her in. “When’s Mama coming home?” she asked, playing with Jacob’s hair.

“Hopefully in a few days; Warwick is surprisingly far, even by carriage.”

“Thank you. For believing me.”

Jacob smiled sombrely. “I will always believe you. That also reminds me…” He reached into the bedside drawer and pulled out a small pot of salve. “May I?” Lily offered her hands, and Jacob gently rubbed the ointment over her raw skin.

“It’s cold.”

“It’s supposed to get rid of the pain. How do they feel?”

She nodded. “Good.”

As he returned the salve to the table, he took a breath, steeling himself to give either the best news or the worst news.

“How would you feel… if I asked your mother--”

“To marry you?!” Her eyes widened, her smile reaching her ears. “Yes!”

She jumped out of the covers to hug Jacob tightly. He reciprocated, closing his eyes to savour the moment. “Please ask her,” she whispered.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Giggles filled the air as he pulled the covers over her again.

“Thank you, for letting me in.”

“You make Mama happy. That’s all I want.”

Jacob sighed, a small smile playing on his lips. “You’re wise beyond your years.” He leant down to kiss her forehead. “Goodnight, angel.” He stood up and blew out the candle.

“Goodnight, Papa.” Lily didn’t miss the way Jacob’s eyes crinkled as he smiled, shutting the door quietly.

He poked his head into his study, sighing when he saw his half-finished paperwork that needed to be handed to Greenie the next morning. Every fibre in his being resisted, but he knew his procrastination would catch up to him eventually. So he sat down, lit a candle, and tried to wrap everything up in as little time as possible.

About half an hour went by before Jacob finished the long overdue paperwork. Struggling to keep his eyes open, he went downstairs to the spare room he kept his bedclothes in. He fell backwards onto the bed. “Just five minutes…” he bartered with himself, resting his eyes.

----------

A scream made his blood run cold.

Bolting upright, Jacob immediately noticed plumes of smoke coming in from underneath the door, the burning smell inviting a cough from his lungs.

The house was on fire.

He lunged for the doorknob, the metal quickly searing his skin. His fingers clenched around the knob reflexively. “Ah, fuck!” He shook out his hand, watching as the flesh blistered in front of his eyes. Turning around, he dug around in the chest of drawers for extra clothes to wrap around the knob, turning and pulling swiftly before the heat travelled through the fabric. The door burst open. Jacob ducked as the flames whipped around the open space, newly fed by the released oxygen. Fresh smoke engulfed the room; Jacob inhaled a lungful as it blew towards him. He cleared his chest as he fanned the smoke away. Wrapping the clothes around his arm as a guard, he braced himself and ran upstairs, only one thing on his mind.

“Lily?!” The flames had almost completely engulfed the lower floor; he was surprised and relieved that he had managed to dodge any falling debris. “Lily!” He covered the metal with the clothes as he reached her door, slowly peeling the door away and slipping through as small a gap as he could, avoiding the mistake he made earlier. He closed the door behind him, the air luckily cleaner in her bedroom. “Lily, where are you?!”

He checked under the bed, and began to grow panicked when he couldn’t find her. He heard the scream, but nothing else. What if…

He swallowed, trying to ease the tight band in his chest.

Opening the wardrobe, he practically collapsed in relief when he saw Lily cowering in the corner. “Come to me, angel.” She dived into his arms, quivering in fear. “It’s alright, we’ll get out. I need you to be brave for me, okay?”

“Okay.” Her voice was shaking.

He looked around for a quick exit, eyes landing on a window. He led Lily over and unlatched it, pushing it with his uninjured hand, albeit with difficulty. Leaning out, the air cleansed his lungs. He hoisted Lily onto the windowsill to give her fresher air, holding her to make sure she doesn’t fall out. She clutched onto him tightly. He noted how it opened into an alleyway. He heard the bells of police and fire engines around the front of the house.

“HEY! OVER HERE!” A man peered around the corner. “HEY! HELP!”

“We can’t fit the ladder through here! You have to go around the front!”

Jacob blinked. “Have you gone mad?!”

“There’s a small window around the front, looks like the landing. You better make a move before it’s no longer an option!”

“Can’t you just climb down?” Lily mumbled, mind in shock.

Jacob inspected his blistering palm; it felt as if he was still holding the doorknob. Slowly, he put pressure on his hand against the windowsill. The pain immediately bubbled up his arm. Biting his lip, he tried to pull himself onto the windowsill. With his weight, it was maybe possible, since he could drop higher than normal and roll once he hit the floor. With Lily, that wasn’t an option.

“I can’t risk it.”

“Well?!” The man was still there, watching him.

“Be ready!” Jacob pulled Lily into him. “I need you to breathe into this, alright, angel?” She nodded slowly. He gave her one of the shirts wrapped around his arm. “Close your eyes.”

“Should I count to ten?”

“It shouldn’t take any longer, love.”

Taking a second to compose himself, he wrapped his hand up and opened the door, squeezing through as little as he could before shutting the door again. He made a beeline for the end of the hall, dodging the flames as they grew nearer, licking the edge of the wooden floor. Reaching the window was the easy part. The hard part was opening the damn thing. It felt heavier than it usually did, and he strained his free hand to push it to the top. Outside, firemen were already level with the window, waiting for the two of them to emerge.

“One of you at a time.” Without hesitating, Jacob leaned out of the window, one arm reaching Lily out of the window, while the other stopped him from falling out himself.

Just as the firemen approached, Jacob heard a crack above him. “Take her. Take her now!” The urgency in his voice paid off, as he jumped out of the way of a falling support beam, blocking his way out. He hit the floor, covering his face as embers flew around him

Lily crying out caused his heart to flip, but he managed to catch a glimpse of her safely in the arms of the firemen. “No! PAPA!” His anxiety eased slightly, but only just. He scrambled to his feet just as the beam crumbled completely, blocking the window from view.

“Shit!” Coughing, Jacob looked around for another exit. His mind thought back to Lily’s bedroom; he could probably climb down carefully one-handed if he was quick enough. His study also seemed to be the furthest from the rest of the flames.

However, he was on borrowed time.

Downstairs was fully demolished; there was no way out there. Upstairs was closing in on him fast, the heat beginning to singe the hair on his arms and sear his skin. He ran for his study, narrowly avoiding falling debris. As he slammed the door shut, he was relieved at the sight of the room being unscathed. For now. He looked over the papers; they were definitely worth taking.

He emptied his desk of the files and stuffed them in a satchel that hid under his desk. He worked tenderly with his burned hand, careful not to aggravate the wound more than he already had. He coughed some more as he slid the satchel over his head, tightening the strap so it would lay fast against his back. As the cold leather touched his skin, he hissed. The flames must have licked him on the way in. He turned to check how much time he had left.

The fire had crept inside the doorframe, taunting him in a turbulent tango.

Jacob hurried for the window, looking for the latch. His fingers felt around the edge, but he couldn’t feel anything. He tried pushing, with no luck. Does this window not even open?!

Frantic, his non-dominant and uninjured hand went for the first thing that he could always rely on.

Two wide shots rang out, cracking the glass in a spider-web mosaic. He moved to shatter the glazing, but the world began to spin. Knees wobbling, he fell against his desk, hitting the floor. Coughing hurt, breathing hurt, thinking hurt.

But he was so close.

He blinked away the world that spun around him, shakily getting to his feet. He threw the force of his whole arm into the window, the gun providing the force to break the shards completely. Clearing the way for his hands, Jacob holstered the gun and slowly began the climb onto the roof.

He wasn’t dying. Not today.

Wincing every other second, he pulled himself half-heartedly onto the tiles. Jacob took a second to try and stabilise his vision, securing extra fabric around his hand. He manWeuvered his way around the burning holes, hoping instead to find a way down that doesn’t involve jumping or falling.

Unfortunately for him, that choice was made for him.

A tile came loose under his foot. He slipped, the edge of the roof coming almost too soon for him to react. His fingers grasped the gutter, which did nothing but snap under his weight. Upon hitting the ground, Jacob managed to roll, but instead of ending on his feet, he slumped across the floor. Groaning, he lay still as he recollected himself. To anyone else, he looked dead.

A pained cry set his heart pumping again, yet he didn’t realise at first that the cry was because of him, not for him. Light footsteps rushed over to him. “Pa? Papa?” He felt fingertips dance across his cheek. “Please wake up!”

He reached for the source of the voice. “I’m okay. Are you alright?” He managed to open his eyes to check over Lily’s state. Her eyes were bloodshot, her skin was dirtied in soot, and one of her hands was bleeding. “Has anyone said they would help you with this?”

She shook her head, the worry not leaving her face. “I’m scared.”

“Don’t be; it’s over now.” He began the arduous process of standing up; from his stomach to his hands to his knees to his feet. Offering his hand to her, Jacob led the two of them out into the street. When everyone gathered in the street saw them, they cheered. Rooks quickly came to assist Jacob and pick up Lily, but he waved them away. He limped his way to the ambulance wagon waiting in front of them. Lily was hoisted onto the end while Jacob leaned heavily against the side. Lily faced him for reassurance.

“Mr Frye, sir!” He tilted his head as little as he could to get a view of who was calling his name. “Are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine; just a bit singed.” He tried to joke, but the pain in his face betrayed his laidback attitude. He grasped his ribs, as if it would ease the burn on the inside. “Where’s Evie?”

“As soon as we heard what happened, we sent for her. She should be here any minute now.”

“Lily goes with Evie. As soon as she shows up, take her to the train. She’ll be safe there.” Another hard cough shook his chest.

“With all due respect, are you sure you’re well?”

“I’m… I…” The floor was ripped from under him. Jacob’s knees buckled as his vision went black. After a few seconds, he came to. The Rooks had caught him on the way down. Disorientated, he blinked, trying to process what was going on around him.

He heard a familiar voice. “Where are they?” Rooks wrapped Jacob’s arms around their necks, pulling him to the edge of the wagon. He barely registered arms pulling him from behind to lie down. He noted how he was staring up at the stars.

“Evie!” A young, panicked yell drove Jacob to sit up, but hands pushed him back down against the wood.

“You don’t want to make things any worse, Mr Frye.”

His body jolted between consciousness and unconsciousness as Evie came into view. She also looked worried. “Jacob? I’ve got Lily; she’ll be safe. I’ll come to the hospital as soon as I can.” Lily was snuggled against Evie, a bandage wrapped around her hand.

“Let’s hope I don’t fall off.” It was weak and hoarse, but there was humour in his tone.

“You better not.”

“Take the bag.” He gestured to the leather satchel underneath him. Slowly, she undid the strap and pulled it out from under him, barely able to avoid causing a wince. She looked inside to find the papers in impressive condition. “It’s the paperwork Greenie asked for.”

Jacob’s smile was weak as the wagon began to drive away. The rocking of the cobblestones was rough, and although jarring, also brought comfort. He fell in company with the stars as his consciousness left him yet again.

----------

The next time he became lucid, he immediately noticed that he could breathe better; oxygen was easier to take in than before, and although not perfect, kept the lightheadedness away. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking to adjust to the light. The feeling of rough gauze was not unfamiliar to him, so he assessed the wounds on his back based on how rough it felt to lean on.

He brought his burned hand up to see that it had also been wrapped neatly. Although that was the majority of his wounds, his entire body ached. He leaned back into his pillow and closed his eyes, assessing the situation. Approaching footsteps made him roll his head to the side, and a doctor appeared with a clipboard. “How are you feeling, my boy?” He asked with a pencil in his mouth, flipping through the various pages.

“Like I’ve been run over by a carriage. Multiple times.”

“I’m not surprised; you inhaled half a factory.”

Jacob prepared himself for the question he knew he had to ask but would hate the answer to. “How long has it been?”

“Oh, a few days, give or take.”

“How many days are we giving or taking?”

Just then, a door opened on the far end of the ward, a few people rapidly approaching. As they turned the corner, Jacob’s heart sank a bit. You were hurrying towards him with the look of a mortified wife, but he dreaded what you thought would be more mortifying: your house burning down, putting your only daughter’s life in danger…

“Thank God!” You swerved around the bed and kissed him, one which conveyed a hundred different emotions, the most evident being relief. After the initial shock, Jacob’s fingers came to your jaw, lightly directing as he kissed you deeper.

He slowly pulled away, worried eyes scanning your face. “I’m so sorry, Y/N, I haven’t the foggiest what happened--”

“You’re both safe; that’s all that matters.”

“But the house…”

“I’ve been prepared for disasters like this for a while. Everything I couldn’t stand to lose went in a fireproof box. There’s nothing gone that I can’t replace.”

“Papa!” Your eyes widened as you exchanged an impressed look with Jacob. Lily had crawled onto the bed and nestled her way into Jacob’s arms.

“Are you alright?” Without speaking, she nodded, deciding to play with his hand, fidgeting with his fingers and tracing the lines. Jacob looked to Evie, who followed her in.

Shepulled a concerned face, coming up to her and putting her hands over Lily’s ears. “She’s been crying herself to sleep, sometimes waking up in the middle of the night calling for one of you, sometimes both. She’ll heal, I’m sure, but for now I think time needs to pass. I investigated what could have happened that night; it wasn’t you.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they were Templars; pisses me off though.” He turned to you. “If you hadn’t visited your family…”

“Don’t ponder the ‘if’s, Jacob. It leads to all sorts of grief.” You threaded your hands through his hair.

Evie nodded. “All I know is what happened, not necessarily who did it.”

“Go on.”

“The house was rigged to burn down. Someone must’ve broken in, set down some oil or gas, and set it alight. It all happened very quickly -- it’s a miracle you got out when you did.”

At the explanation, Jacob ran a hand down his face. “The fun never stops.” He shifted to stand up.

“What are you doing?” You put your hand on his shoulder.

“I’m going to find whoever did this, and I have a feeling I know exactly where to start.”

“Not in this state you’re not.”

He stood up, much to your protests. “Honestly, Y/N, I’m…” His vision went black immediately, blood rushing to his head.

You quickly caught him. “‘Fine?” Sitting him down again, you brushed his hair out of his face. “Just take it easy.”

“I have errands to run.”

Evie whispered something to Lily, who gave the couple a mischievous grin. “We can do it!”

Jacob smiled, catching on. He leaned down to Lily’s ear. “Pick something Y/F/C,” he whispered. She nodded, grabbing Evie’s hand and running away.

The both of you laughed as Evie was dragged out of the ward. “What was that about?” You raised an eyebrow at the secrecy.

“It’s a surprise.”

Rolling your eyes, you joined him on the bed. “Don’t keep me waiting for too long.”

Jacob smiled to himself, the familiar excitement climbing. “I won’t.”

[sumoattack-gooddog]

DBH Hankcon fic - Human!Au where Connor was the other car

Chapter 21 - Stay (Set Me Free)

If this were a crime scene, the first words that would come to mind would be “conspiracy theorist,” based solely on the number of documents, photos, and notes taped up across the kitchen table. Red sharpie circled the points Hank found interesting, blue for Connor – there was much more blue.

“I hate to be pessimistic, and yet,” Connor held up the same stack of documents Hank had delivered to him. Annotations lined the sides, highlighter dappled here and there. “I can’t help but feel like we’re wasting time.”

Hank had no choice but to agree. Not that he wanted to or would aloud. Connor’s demeanor had improved dramatically since they first met up in the late morning, but he could still see the fragile edge to his state of mind in the way he tapped his fingers as he read.

Desperate for something.

Maybe Niles was right. A silent sentiment with every slow sigh that escaped the younger man’s lips.

“Sometimes leads take time,” Hank said. “And sometimes it benefits to have connections.”

“Connections we don’t have,” Connor grumbled.

The lieutenant smirked from his seat at the table.

Connor furrowed a brow, eyes skimming Hank’s face for understanding. He sat up from his stiff recline on the couch – unlike the sprawled manner in which he’d taken up his own. “Hank,” voice curious. “What haven’t you told me?”

“If you must know, Connor, Jeffery has promised to do some digging on our behalf. Discreetly.”

Connor shoved himself from the couch, long strides carrying him into the kitchen. “You’re serious?” He withdrew the spare chair beside Hank, throwing himself into it.

The older man couldn’t stop his laugh at his partner’s excitement. “He wouldn’t tell me much, but whatever this is… He’s on our side about it. It seems like he doesn’t totally know himself,” Hank admitted. He picked up his reading glasses, which he seldom wore – always a bit shy about his decline in age – and pushed them atop his nose, thin, wire frames slipping down the tip.

Connor bit back a soft smile. Those eyes always seemed to hold the world, Hank thought. So vast in their richness. The honey specks like minerals sifted from rushing water. Gold flakes, imperfect and priceless. Delicate as a doe.

“What?” Hank asked, voice low at the intensity of the gaze.

Connor chuckled, a delicate crescent forming within the curve of his cheek. “I’ve just,” his eyes flickered over Hank’s face, again, taking him in with a fixed focus. “I’ve never seen you wear glasses before.”

Hank groaned, hiding himself behind a hand, ducking away. “I hate them. They make me feel like a grandpa.”

Connor’s laugh was a sound Hank didn’t think he’d ever get enough of. It was breathy, always, no matter the enthusiasm behind it, as if it were just for himself. In a way, it made Hank feel all the more special being privy to it.

“You sell yourself short,” Connor said. “I think they look quite good on you, actually.”

Hank rolled his eyes with a dismissive huff, returning to his laptop.

The footage was pulled up, but he hadn’t worked up the nerve to play it. He didn’t know if he ever would. The silver Honda of his partner centered, the edge of the black Suburban creeping from the right of frame. “We could maybe pull city CCTV footage from the area. See if we can figure out where the driver was going.”

Connor perked up all the more, “Yes, that seems like an excellent idea.” He pulled his steno, battered as much as Hank recalled, out of his pocket to make note. “Who should I ask?”

“Ben. We’re close. He’ll make sure no one else knows,” Hank said.

“Very good.” Connor pushed himself to stand, fingers grazing the tabletop with a featherlight touch as if pressing too hard would crack the wood like ice. He swayed softly to the jazz album that hummed from the living room. Hips shifting weight from foot to foot in time with the music.

Between fruitless files, Hank allowed his eyes to stray to the gentle movement of his partner. To the soft bob of his head – cowlick in time. To the ripple of his unoccupied hand’s fingers.

“I’ve always loved this song,” Hank said.

“It’s beautiful,” Connor noted.

Thornetta Davis belted, deep and full. Her words a familiar poem that Hank had long since memorized.

“You’ve told me a lot about you, but I haven’t done much to reciprocate that.” Hank said, arms folding over his chest. “Not for your lack of trying in the beginning.”

Connor exhaled a laugh through his nose, easily overlooked for those unfamiliar with the nuances of the young man’s chuckles.

“You asked me, uh,” the memory was sour. A pungent and bitter pill to swallow.

Connor waited patiently, cautiously curious as to what held Hank back.

“That night at the pier…”

The younger man returned to his full height, a defensive instinct Hank couldn’t blame him for, but his features remained soft and kind.

“You said it seemed that I was familiar with Alice’s situation from,” he gestured a hand as if he could conjure the word rather than speak it. “Personal experience as opposed to time on the force.”

Connor nodded.

“Ever the detective, Connor, no wonder you were top of your class.” Hank chuckled, humorlessly. “Miranda and I were hardly a healthy couple. We were young and excited and stupid. We latched onto the word love because it sounds easy. Four letters? How can something that sounds so simple be anything but?”

Connor drew nearer, face unreadable.

“We got married as soon as I graduated from the academy. I was 22? She had just turned 26,” His eyes fell to his hands as he spoke. “I thought she was incredible. Mature and put together. Ambitious and cut throat. She wanted to be a journalist, and if she wanted an answer from you she’d fuckin’ get it.”

As if not to spook Hank, Connor lowered himself back into his chair, tentatively. Attention unwavering.

“Work got busy for both of us, and the time we spent together was like a dance where neither partner can agree on the tempo. Everything just felt a little bit off, but we were in love. We said it all the time! Or we did. Slowly the time between reminders stretched from hours to days to weeks to months.” Hank met Connor’s eyes with a distant sadness. “We decided we should start trying to have a kid when I was 35. It fit the budget and we were hardly the first couple to trick themselves into believing a kid would fix everything.”

“You didn’t have Cole until you were 44, though. Am I wrong?” Connor inquired.

Hank shook his head, “No. You’re not wrong.” He rubbed his eyes, fingers clunking against the lens of the glasses. “We tried for a few years. When I was 38, we got lucky, she was finally pregnant. Things weren’t perfect, but we were happy. Excited. I thought maybe all those parents who failed to reconcile after children just didn’t have what we had… When Miranda had a miscarriage, she was twelve weeks pregnant. No discernible cause.” Hank bit his lip to still it from quivering. “I thought that would be the worst pain of my life. Miranda was broken. Every time I saw her she would cry. She would scream. She would find something to push us apart, and every time I took the bait. I would retaliate. I’d yell. She’d curse at me and, after all the times I’d tell her I’d never swear at her, I did. I lost my resolve and myself.” He looked to the ceiling a prayer for help from the pain of the memories. “I was never a perfect partner, but… At a certain point I stopped knowing whether things she accused me of were true. If I could trust myself, my memory, my judgement. She would try to question me with all the tricks of her job. She’d find the narrative she wanted and force it down my throat. After a particularly bad fight, she threw a lamp at me. Things stayed physical for a long while after that. I guess I figured it was easier to take it than consider that loving her meant losing me… And then we had Cole.”

A single tear slipped from Connor’s eye at the weak smile Hank cracked and the detective brushed it away with the back of his hand. Eyes never straying.

“He was my miracle,” Hank said. “I knew I could never let his mother treat him the way she treated me, so I filed for divorce and full custody. It wasn’t the easiest case to win, but I recorded the fights. I took photos of the injuries, I showed the scars across my chest… And when they announced Cole was mine… I thanked God.”

Connor gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white as he fought back the urge to reach out to Hank.

“This song played as I held my boy the night I decided. Listening to it, everything clicked… I would rather be alone than be lonely with her.” Hank stopped speaking, allowing the chorus to recite those same words and he hummed. Eyes closed. “Said I’d finally given up on you. Got my life back on track,” he crooned, deep and hearty.

The music washed the room in warmth. Every word a promise, a plea, a message of devotion first and foremost to self. A heavenly intertwining of heart, breath and bronze.

“Cole was lucky to have you,” Connor choked out.

Hank sighed heavily, “I was lucky to have him.”

The sadness was a thick blanket, suffocating in its relentless hold, and the men allowed themselves a moment to carry the intensity of it before Connor rose to his feet.

He approached the record player, the song coming to an end and a new one taking its place. Slender fingers cranked the volume dial, Thornetta’s throaty tones flooding the room. Gingerly, Connor returned to the kitchen a sway in his step.

Face somber but wearing that look that reminded Hank that Connor understood his hurt deeply despite the differences in which it formed.

“Hank, I believe it is imperative that I ask you to dance.” Connor decreed. “Otherwise I will look very foolish dancing alone.”

Hank snorted, “Uh, no. I don’t dance, Con.”

The younger man stared at him with those big brown eyes, his smile bashful and kind, and Hank relented with a mortified groan.

“Fine,” he clambered to his feet.

Connor took his wrist, pulling him in the direction of the record player.

The light of the living room was a hazy glow, spilling from the kitchen. A spotlight for their rendezvous. Diffused like a dream.

The detective’s fingers grazed the lieutenant’s skin as he rocked back and forth. The choir a heartbeat for their pace.

Hank forced himself to sway, pitifully, but his moments strayed little.

Was he allowed to touch? Was he allowed to step closer? Where was he meant to look?

He took in the vast plain of Connor’s elegant, pallid neck as he rolled his head back. Freckles dappled the skin down to his collar, and Hank’s fingers tensed with a desire to trace them.

Connor’s free hand trailed up Hank’s arm, fingers grazing him for a moment before making their retreat. He tugged Hank closer, movements mimicking the building pace of the song. Slender fingers petting a larger palm.

Their feet found rhythm, rocking from toe to heel and back again. Hands colliding, messily, as they laughed. Hair damp and wild.

Connor beamed, forehead dappled with the lightest shimmer of sweat. A marble statue catching the light’s reflection.

Hank couldn’t help but giggle – giggle for god’s sake – breathless as he leaned into Connor’s touch. Every point of contact searing hot. A steady shock to his senses.

As the music crescendoed, symbols, piano, sax all building, Hank cupped Connor’s hand in his own, guiding the younger man into a delicate spin. Their breaths rising with the pitch of the choir.

Connor’s back lean yet lithe hit Hank’s chest squarely as the song tapered into the next. The brunet let out a breathy laugh, head lolling onto his partner’s shoulder for a moment, dark eyes peering up at Hank.

The gaunt cuts of Connor’s face were tainted pink, dewy with exertion. His lips, plush and red, held a loose smile. Broad and immeasurable. He traced Hank’s face with those velvety eyes, taking him in like it was the first time he’d ever saw him clearly.

Hank pulled back, retracting himself from the embrace. Hands shaky from the loss.

Swift feet carried him to the kitchen as he muttered, “I need a drink,” fetching a glass and his open bottle of whiskey. He sloshed a mouthful into the cup, all the while those eyes – earthy and unrelenting – bore into his back.

Hank returned to his seat, ignoring – well, trying to ignore – the hammer in his chest, the swiftness of his breath, the dryness of his mouth.

He forced himself to take Connor in. He was just a man, not a star that could blind him, and yet, the sight before him might as well have been from the sky. Heavenly. The way the brunet unbuttoned his collar, rubbing the tips of his fingers across his clavicle. Divine.

The younger man sauntered nearer, gaze fixed. “You shouldn’t drink so much, Hank. It’s not good for your health.”

“I’m sorry, which one of us didn’t show today because of a hangover?” Hank asked, a finger extended in playful accusation from the vice around his glass.

The detective stalked nearer, pupils blown wide as he studied the lieutenant. “I’d rather not force it away from you.”

Hank ran his tongue over his teeth with a dark chuckle, placing the cup down. “You’re going to force it away from me, Connor? Really?”

The younger man took a final step closer, directly towering over his partner now. He planted a hand on the table, flat and steady. “Do you intend to finish this drink, Hank?”

“You know I fucking do.”

“A shame,” Connor shrugged, slipping the glass from Hank’s thick fingers, and with an unwavering gaze he brought the drink to his lips and swallowed it down.

Hank blinked dumbly, mouth parted in a loose ‘o.’ “How dare you?” he asked, the words a low rumble.

Connor offered him a lazy smirk, leaning in as he returned the drink to its rightful place within Hank’s grasp. Their fingers colliding roughly. Neither withdrew. “I’m just looking out for your health, Lieutenant.”

“Okay, you little shit,” Hank growled, pushing himself to stand, a heavy hand – fingers splayed – falling centered on Connor’s chest.

The brunet stumbled back at the force, feet working to recenter himself. He pitched his chin down, eyes blown wide and smile tipped. He cocked his head the slightest bit, the innocent motion a deception as he sized up the lieutenant through dark lashes.

Hank licked his lips, heart thrumming against the cage of his ribs as he drank in the sight before him. The broadness of Connor’s nose, the slope from his jaw to his chin – sharp yet delicate – the constellation of freckles on his skin.

With tender excitement, he allowed his attention to stray to Connor’s lips, full and lingering with amber liquid. Parted with anticipation as his smirk fell apart.

It would be so easy to bridge the gap. Just a step forward.

And step he did.

Backward.

A retreat.

Hank had always been a cowardly man.

He laughed, sheepishly, returning to his chair with a scratch to his beard. Blue eyes cast to the floor.

Connor exhaled, the sound faint enough Hank could’ve passed it off for the wind beyond his poorly boarded window.

“I, uh,” the younger man stepped back. Hands fisted and white, eyes not meeting Hank’s. “I should go. Goodnight, Hank.” Connor spun on his heel, he left his steno on the table, his notes beside the couch, his coat on the chair as he charged for the door. Head down.

Stay. The word was caught in Hank’s throat, tongue swollen and mouth too small.

Hank’s footsteps hit him like a distant ring. A buzz after a flash bang.

He caught the door before it could close, hand wrapping around the wrist that he’d only ever dared to brush with tentative curiosity. Like this, he could feel the swiftness of Connor’s pulse, the muscles tucked beneath the fabric of his shirt, the tension he held.

He captured the attention of those almond eyes with a need he’d never been possessed with before. “I might be about to do something stupid,” Hank said. “Will you stop me?”

Connor breathed out, “Never.”

And so, Hank pulled him in by the wrist as if the touch were a lifeline. His other arm circled Connor’s neck, broad fingers cupping the pale expanse as he crashed into the younger man.

Their lips found each other without regard for time or temptation. No need for niceties as they clung to one another.

Connor’s lips were impossibly soft despite their urgency, his free hand fisting into Hank’s shirt, desperate, as he worked to steady himself.

Hank drank him in, hungrily, and he knew no alcohol would ever compare to this buzz. He’d swear to sobriety if Connor could become his new addiction.

“Stay,” Hank begged as he parted for air, and if he didn’t already think Connor was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, he did now. Lips puffy and slick. Pupils so wide his eyes were a sea of charcoal. Fingers still tight against his clothes. “Please.”

The younger man unraveled his fist, hand planted firmly over Hank’s heart. His lips lingering close, just a breath away. He rose to his toes, nose caressing Hank’s and he adorned him with a kiss so chaste it robbed the older man of thought and breath. Against his lips, Connor promised like a prayer, “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

[captainsassmanes]

Here’s my Malex remix gift for @cosmicclownboy! I took a little bit of your meta, some of the small things you like (Alex + leather, yes please!) and created this drabble. I hope you enjoy :) 

Open Up My Eager Eyes

“You’re either cruel, stupid or a bit of both.”

Michael huffed out an unamused laugh and rolled his eyes as he brought the rim of his beer glass to his lips. Kyle didn’t move, his smirk and raised eyebrow still perfectly in place.

“Not that I give a shit but,” Michael sighed and turned in his seat, “what exactly are you talking about?”

Contrary to what was probably popular opinion, Michael wasn’t stupid. He was well aware that the only time he and Kyle exchanged more than a passing nod, the topic was always the same.

Alex.

“There’s no way,” Kyle said leaning against the bar top, his bicep flexing in his perfectly fitting denim jacket, “that you haven’t noticed what Alex has been doing.”

Michael smirked and shrugged, helpless against the urge to rile Kyle up. “What’s he been doing, Doc?”

Shaking his head, Kyle threw back the rest of his beer, smacking his lips before standing and tossing a few bucks on the bar.

“Alex has been sad and lonely for way too long. You and I both know the man’s incredible and deserves the best so,” Kyle smiled as he pulled out his keys. “Tomorrow night, Isobel and I are taking him to Planet 7.”

Michael’s façade fell with no hope of keeping it in place. His cheeks paled and he swallowed past the panic rising in his throat. If the smile on Kyle’s face was any indicator, he knew his words had hit their target.

“He might not find Mr. Right at the club but Mr. Good Enough for Tonight will probably be there.” He clapped Michael on the shoulder before heading out the door, arrogant swagger followed like a cloud.

Michael was frozen, brain sifting through too many thoughts at once. Why was this always happening? Why were they always on two different paths when he was so desperate to be right next to Alex? He figured he’d had time after Alex and Forrest fizzled out, do the awkward acquaintance thing then move into friendship then -

“If I were you-”

“Jesus Christ!” Michael jumped, hand moving to his chest as he caught his breath. He was so lost in his own thoughts he didn’t notice when Rosa had taken the seat next to him.

She just laughed. “If I were you, cowboy, I’d show up at the club and tell him how I felt.”

“How I’m – “

“We all know you’ve been in love with each other forever. You’re just too stubborn to deal with your shit and communicate. You people keep claiming to be adults, but I just see one idiot after another.”

“Ouch,” Michael chuckled, giving Rosa a playful push. He sighed, pulling on his hat and digging out a few bucks. “I’ve messed up so many times for so many years. I guess, if I were him, I’d probably tell me to fuck off.”

“Nah,” Rosa stood, heading back to her friends. “Just be honest. Talk, for god’s sake.” She put her fingers to her lips and then shoved her kiss aggressively against Michael’s cheek with a wink.

Talk, Michael thought. Easier said than done.

***********

It took Michael longer to get ready than he’d planned. No one seemed to realize it, but it took a considerable amount of time and effort to get his curls to fall just the right way. He showered, shaved, fixed his hair and tried on every shirt he owned. Ultimately, he went with his usual style: jeans, clean white t-shirt and a relatively new purple, long-sleeved flannel.

The night air was cool, whipping his hair in front of his eyes as he drove to the club. In his many years living in Roswell, Michael never visited Planet 7. He didn’t know why. He certainly wasn’t ashamed of his sexuality, though he wasn’t walking around with a pride pin on his chest, either.

There was a first time for everything.

He parked the truck and took a few deep breaths, tapping nervously against the steering wheel. Michael watched as more than a few very attractive people walked in and out of the door. He’d been so focused on the environment, how he’d fit into the club, what he’d say to Alex, that he forgot Alex would be here, looking gorgeous he had no doubt, surrounded by other gorgeous, and horny, people.

“Just be honest. Just talk.” Michael repeated his new mantra to himself as he walked into the noise and flashing lights. He did his best to kiss the wall, wanting to survey the scene before diving right in. He’d planned an entire speech for Alex, practicing parts of it over and over again in his tiny mirror while he fought with his hair. Michael found the bar and ordered himself a beer, nodding politely at the blonde with the bright smile who handed him the bottle.

Across the room, highlighted in shades of pink and purple from the lights, Alex sat at a table by himself. He had a small smile on his face though Michael could tell, even from so far away, that it was laced with sadness. He followed Alex’s eyes and watched as Isobel and Kyle danced drunkenly with a small group, laughing and smiling, hands and drinks everywhere. Kyle waved Alex over, trying to get him to join in, but Alex just smiled wider and shook his head, taking a sip of his drink.

He looked stunning. Alex’s hair had gotten long and he’d let some facial hair grow around his perfect mouth. A blue t-shirt emphasized the shape of his chest and his arms and, Michael noticed with a flush to his cheeks, a leather jacket was thrown carefully over the back of his chair.

He shouldn’t be alone, Michael’s brain supplied as he felt a wave of confidence and a pure need he had been ignoring for too long.

Moving across the dance floor, Michael did his best to move between the sweaty, dancing bodies, his eyes never leaving Alex. He stood in front of Alex, whose eyes lifted, and jaw slightly dropped. Michael offered his hand with a serious look on his face.

“Dance with me.”

Alex placed his drink on the table and slid his hand into Michael’s, strong hands holding one another. They found their own space, as far from the crowd as they could go, as a slower song played through the speakers. Michael slid his arm around Alex’s back, fingers finding bare skin beneath the soft cotton. His other arm moved slowly between Alex’s muscled shoulder blades, pulling with a desperation at the neck of the shirt. Alex hesitated for just a second, seeming to process what was happening. His hands moved up Michael’s chest, arms coming to rest once they were wrapped around Michael’s neck, one hand moving into those chestnut curls where his fingers couldn’t stop running through the strands. They rounded into one another, practically becoming one. Their faces rested in the crook of the others neck, both taking deep breaths and closing their eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Michael whispered, breath tickling the shell of Alex’s ear, causing goosebumps to race down his neck. “I was terrified.”

“Of what?” Michael thought, if he could taste Alex’s voice, it’d be sweet like berries in summer.

“I can’t mess this up again, Alex. I think it’ll kill me.” He felt Alex nod in understanding, hair brushing against his cheek. Alex stood straight to meet his gaze. “I’ve been trying to talk to you for weeks. You just seemed to – “

“I know.” Michael said, eyes squeezing shut from embarrassment. “I knew what you were doing, and I wanted to talk, to start over, so badly. I just kept picturing messing it up or you walking away, and I couldn’t - “

“I’m not going anywhere this time, Michael. I’m right here.” Alex’s hand moved to Michael’s face, thumb dragging gently across his stubbled jaw.

Michael’s shoulders relaxed and his chest lost some of its tightness as a calm washed over him. Alex rested his forehead against Michael’s as his slid his thigh between the other man’s legs, both hands returning to the curls he never seemed to get enough of. “I’m not going anywhere, Michael.”

Michael sighed and pulled Alex closer, their bodies moving with the music, lost in their own world while the universe spun around them.

“I forgot what this felt like,” Michael laughed, rubbing his nose against Alex’s. Alex smiled and asked, “what?”

“Happiness.”

[magicaltraveler3]

First Lines

Thank you for the tag @amarillis39​! 

Rule: List the first lines of your last 20 stories. (If you have less than 20, list them all!) See if there are any patterns! 

Tagging anyone who would like to join! 

Bound

Murmurs. The first thing she heard when she awoke.

That’s Another Story

Hermione sank down on her sofa, Crooks by her side, and sipped a cup of tea while she sifted through her post. A letter from Ginny, another from Pansy. Some letters from various fellow researchers asking for reviews and ideas in their own research. She opened the letter from Pansy.

Hermione,

In lieu of your singleness this year, I am sending this “Galentine.” While this Muggle tradition is still odd to me, I wanted you to remember you are amazing! Don’t let your status keep you down! Let me or Harry know if you need anything.  

Pansy

The Bewitching Flower

Her copy of Arthromancy for the Advanced Wizard flew over to her and she opened it, the leather feeling familiar in her hands. She carefully perused the pages to make sure he didn’t deface her property. Each chapter was scanned for any new ink marks or tears. This could be done with a spell, she knew, but doing it by hand just felt better . 

They Were...

They were…happy? Hermione scribbled out the words with her quill. She cleared her mind and tried again. They were…content. The words looked out of place and she shook her head. She tapped the tip of her quill on the paper for a few moments, eyes fixated on the letters scrawled across the page. 

Drabble Collection

His finger touched the Lilac petal, soft and delicate. It brought back the memory of the first time he held her in his arms, her skin soft as silk and she fit perfectly under his chin. 

Holiday Ties

All she had on her mind was this dinner. 

Severn Way

Draco leaned against the door frame of Hermione’s office. She was hunched over her desk, hair frazzled like it was during their Hogwarts days. Quills were poking out this way and that. One quill was in her mouth while another was scribbling on the newest parchment victim on the desk. 

The Luckiest

Draco awoke to a warmth digging into his ribs. A moment later, he felt a bright light assault his eyes. He grumbled. Morning again. He looked down to find an untamed bush of curls moving with the rise and fall of his chest. A smile worked its way across his lips and he sighed.

A Day at the Zoo

“Mum! Mum, wake up!” Scorpius tugged at her pyjama sleeve and leaned in close to her face. “Is today the day we go to see the animals?”

Perfect Timing

Draco couldn’t pinpoint the moment he knew he wanted Hermione Granger, but he did know that he’d loved her for a while. Even if she never saw him as an option to date, or hell, marry, Draco convinced himself that friendship would be enough.

It had to be.

The Kiss

He was in front of her in an instant.

Suddenly, Draco’s eyes were boring into her and she felt light. Her heart dared to beat out of her chest. Her nerves prickled with anticipation.

Then his fingers were tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck and his lips were against hers.

Painfully Ironic

Draco didn’t mind patrols, not really. They were a trivial inconvenience he had to endure, but what made it worse was having to do them with Granger. Swotty, intelligent, puffy haired Granger. She smelled of lilacs, ink, and parchment. The scent was overwhelming, invading his senses and claiming them for her. 

The Black Lace Anniversary

Hermione looked at herself in the mirror. She eyed her body, scrutinizing it.

Multiple pregnancies had been hard on her body. Scorpius left her with a few new stretch marks, Norma too left her own set. The twins came along and left ones on the inside of her thighs, and more around her hips and stomach.

The Path Unexpected

Hermione stared at the glowing orb above her abdomen. The charm had been cast five times to be sure.

She was pregnant.

Simple Fix

Hermione marched into the main room of their flat. Her body was fuming with rage.

Draco turned to look at her, confusion plastered on his face. “What Granger?”

I want your midnights

Draco felt a chill run down his spine. She’s around he thought to himself. The melody of her voice danced in the air. It was haunting the way it made him feel. The way her lips shifted to form every word she spoke was mesmerizing. 

The Melody of Touch

One of Hermione Granger’s favorite things about playing in an orchestra was when the orchestra began to warm up on stage.

Tonight, however, was a different story. The London Philharmonic and guest pianist, Draco Malfoy, were performing together in concert. The program was beautiful but Hermione halted at the fact she would have to sit on a stage and perform music with him. They would be making something together. But all she could think about was the way his fingers caressed the piano keys, and the fact her body knew what it felt like to be touched by those same fingers.

The Borrower

Hermione held her head in her hands and stared at the back of his head. His hair glistened from the afternoon sunlight gleaming through the window of the charms classroom. It looked like the reflection of stars on the lake.