#*this is where you hear some broken down car sounds resembling my brain*

[prismaticpichu]

Half-asleep and in this sleep-drunken state my mind’s just casually mushing Pokémon & ff7 together and now I’m making parallels between AGS and the Swords of Justice WEEEEEEEEeeeee

Terrakion is Angeal, big and burly and ready to strangle those other two sock puppets for fighting over the last piece of cornbread.

Virizion is Genesis, graceful on paper yet delicate as a blade of grass (plus that artwork is SMUG).

And that leaves Seph as Cobalion, who’s said to make even the most unruly of specimens obey it. DON’T disobey—you shall be cut into salami slices lest you do! SALAMI SLICES.

*collapses with a snore*

#ffvii #pokemon #virizion #terrakion #virizion wireless #cobalion #sephiroth #angeal hewley #genesis rhapsodos #crisis core #*this is where you hear some broken down car sounds resembling my brain*

[chocosvt]

⚬ pairing: joshua x reader ⚬ word count: 5040 ⚬ warnings: mentions of alcohol ⚬ genres: FLUFF, shallow angst, guitarist/bandmate!joshua, some annoying neighbour tropes, a little bit of pining, wintery pizzazz, joshua is a hopeless romantic :( 

✧✎ synopsis: somebody new just moved into the upstairs apartment. they’re loud, irritatingly sweet, and unfortunately, very pretty. but you’re not looking for a new relationship, even if it comes in the form of joshua hong. 

✧✎ a/n: oooUUooouu YES! this is a gift to my lovely secret santa, @luvshuas !! ♡ in my first ask, i learned that dani liked using paint by numbers, AND I THOUGHT THAT WAS ADORABLE so i helped use it to create this fic! dani, you are such a joy to talk to AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS XOXOXO !! :D

Last week, someone new had moved into the empty apartment one floor above yours. You didn’t know who. Not their name, not their face, just that they occupied the once vacant space of room 24D. Supposedly, their next-door neighbours had already brought them some housewarming gifts. A watering can filled with flowers, a wreath of white candles, and an old sewing tin now converted into a container for oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.

All closely resembling the gifts you received during your first week at the apartment complex. It made sense though, considering most rooms were home to very elderly couples. At first, you planned a brief gap in your day to visit this stranger and welcome them to such a small complex. Find out if they were old or young, endearing or irritable, sensible or flat out crazy. But you never visited room 24D, because you were currently in a moat about your ex-partner.

An extremely deep, inescapable moat.

Not only had they broken up with you on the day you planned to introduce them to your parents, they decided it would be most efficient to do so through a stupid text message. From Monday to Friday, you’d been moping in a curled-up ball on the couch, blowing into tissues and flicking through the holiday romcoms even though they were all so cookie-cutter and dull. To make matters worse, it had been snowing all week, shutting you indoors as a draft built up outside the windowsills.

You had completely forgot about the newbie who’d just moved in upstairs. Until one day, when they decided to make their presence known in the most jarring way possible.

That particular morning, you were finally feeling stable enough to not eat dry, stale cereal straight from the box. You were feeling well enough to avoid another twelve hours moulding into the couch. While a cold wind blew against the windows and rattled the glass, you poured yourself some tea with the new teapot your mother parceled as an early present. And that’s when you heard it: an eruption of electric sound from the floor directly above yours. It sounded like a guitar, if that guitar were plugged into a massive amp and its chords were being plucked by one thousand fingers.

Coincidentally, you spilt tea, scalding and runny, all over the countertop. It started dribbling down your cupboards and creating blotches on the tiled flooring. At random, the sound stopped.

By lunchtime you were unwinding in the shower, your eyes shut as the water poured onto your face and streamed toward the drain. When you squeezed out some shampoo onto your fingers, you heard the chord progression again. This time louder, if that was even possible. The bottle flung from your wet hands and crashed against the floor, startling you half to death, a trail of wasted shampoo then painted to the wall. But the sound didn’t stop immediately. Unlike last time, the stranger railed on their guitar for half an hour at least.

Yet the last straw didn’t come until evening.

Sitting at the kitchen table with a water jar next to your elbow, you were using your new paint by numbers kit. You had been waiting all day to try it, brushing in the mesmerizing colours of a watery-purple landscape. For the last time that day, you were jolted by the riff of an electric guitar, causing you to jerk a huge, thick streak of black paint right across the paper, effectively ruining it. How horrible. How Terrible.

And you were not going to let the incident slide.

Room 24D. 

The room directly above yours. After banging your fist rather inhospitably against the door, you couldn’t lie that the face which greeted you was a definite shock. A young man probably in his early twenties, with curly, brown hair styled neatly yet in disarray, and these wide, glass-like eyes that felt so penetrating you were afraid to glare him down. In fact, you were a bit nervous.

“I don’t know where you stayed at last, b-but at this complex, people don’t usually slam on their electric guitars.”

But so what if you were nervous? You had grown accustomed to sharing this complex with seniors. The thought of someone this young (and admittedly – quite beautiful) had somewhat stunted your brain. The stranger looked at you as though he had nothing to say. He started bobbing his head and shrugged.

“Yeah, well, I’m guessing it doesn’t happen ‘cause everyone here is over seventy and crochets scarves until bedtime. It’s not my fault you’re the only one who’s still got decent hearing.”

Your eyes narrowed; your brow heavily creased.

“What’s your name?” You asked.

 He hesitated at first, then replied, “Joshua.”

“Okay, Joshua, I’d rather have everyone in this building crocheting scarves out the damn window if it meant not listening to a stupid electric guitar all day. You ruined my paint by numbers kit.”

Joshua laughed. “Your what?” He then flashed a grin which suggested he was holding back a satirical comment.

“My paint by numbers kit!” You repeated, feeling your nervousness dissolve into irritation. “It’s ruined, and I’m blaming it on you because it’s your fault. My whole week has been awful and you just made it even worse. So there. I hope you’re happy.”

For some reason, Joshua leaned his shoulder against the doorframe like someone who had all the time in the world. He appeared way too comfortable. Something about it irked you while simultaneously pulling this weird, fuzzy string in your chest. The boy folded his arms and raised a curious eyebrow.

“Why was your week awful?” He questioned.

There was a sweetness to his voice which hadn’t been there before, and you absolutely weren’t going to fall for it, even if it sounded like he ate a spoonful of honey and might taste just as good.

“No. Forget it,” you sighed, waving a dismissive hand, “I said what I had to say. Just be quieter, please.”

You turned around sharply, making your way toward the elevator based at the end of the corridor. Those magnetic eyes of his seemed to be glued to your backside, an almost palpable feeling.

“Okay!” He called out. “Great chat! Nice to meet you too!”

The boy was being wholly sarcastic of course. After returning to your apartment, you cleaned up the kitchen table, sweeping away your paint by numbers kit into a drawer just in case you were one day struck with the motivation to fix it up. Probably not.

“Uh—excuse me? You called me, remember? So don’t go shifting the fault like always. I just can’t believe how immature you are! And, you know what, I’m hanging up now! Don’t call back!”

Smashing your finger against the phone screen, you ended the call, silencing the aggravated voice that had pounded through the line just a second before. An unfortunate misdial resulted in your ex phoning you at the supermarket. The interaction immediately turned south, prompting you to hurry outside into the snow, wedging the brown paper bag of produce underneath your arm and against your chest, all while you barked into the phone with the other hand.

Snowflakes were brimming the edge of your wool hat; your fingertips numb and stiff. Your pacing, impatient footsteps were stamped across the white ground. Things had been difficult enough without your ex invading even the most boring parts of your life, and now a mundane stop at the market had left you intensely unsettled.

As you huffed a web of your breath into the air, you spotted something unexpected: Joshua helping Mrs. Akané load the groceries into her small silver-bullet car. She lived alone on the bottom floor of the apartment complex, one of the kindest old ladies in the whole building. Every winter she had knitted you a pink pair of mittens. When Joshua opened the car door for her, she gave him a gentle pat on his shoulder and her patented rosy-cheeked smile.

Since you scorned him for his abrasive guitar playing, it only happened less often, though it was never any quieter. You realized that he belonged in a band. From time to time they would take the stage at the downtown bar, engendering a space so packed it was nearly impossible to wriggle to the counter for a quick drink. Joshua invited you to his Friday night gig – which was tonight – and while you had contemplated the decision to attend, the disheartening encounter with your ex had officially soiled the mood.

Joshua noticed you, probably looking cold and mad.

“So,” he began, “are you coming tonight?”

Adjusting the groceries underneath your arm, you shrugged, meanwhile the hollow nature of your eyes screamed a blatant no. If anything, you wanted to be back on that living room couch, eating an entire tray of frosted shortbread cookies and dabbing at your tears.

“Seriously?” Joshua frowned. “You’re gonna pass? It is ‘cause you’re still mad about the guitar playing? I’m sorry, okay.”

“No,” you shook your head, “no, no. It’s not because of your disruptive, loud guitar playing. I’m just not having a good day.”

Bits of snow began to powder Joshua’s brown hair. His cheeks were blushed and his nose rosy.

“No offense,” the boy laughed, “but it seems like you’re never having a good day.” He then shook his head, scattering the snowflakes from between the fibres of his hair. “How about you come to our little concert shindig thing, listen to our set – which is great, I promise – then we can talk about it, back at my place.”

For a moment, you paused, and this perplexed expression briefly eclipsed your features. Did he just subtly attempt to persuade you into some sort of… Date? No, it was too soon for anything like that. He was probably joking anyways (despite his straight face).

“I don’t know… I’m tired. Maybe another time.”

You started carrying the brown bag of produce to your car, parked just down the street. Joshua chuckled and tagged along at your side, the snow crunching softly under your feet.

“When’s another time?” He asked.

Throwing open the car door and sliding the bag inside, you sighed. “Another time is another time. It’s self-explanatory.”

“So you’re not coming?” Joshua questioned in finality.

“No.” You replied, rubbing your cold fingers together, attempting to spark some warmth. “I’m not.”

It was then that Joshua took your hands in his, a gesture that completely flicked you off your axis, and started to squeeze them, kneading your skin with his thumbs until you felt the uncomfortable stiffness gradually wear off. He brought your hands close to his face, pursed his pink, very pretty lips, and started to blow on them. A sensation fizzled to life in your lower tummy. Not only were you heating up significantly, but you felt too hot. Scary hot.

“That’s a shame.” Joshua said, releasing your hands carefully, like he’d just touched gold. “But I can wait for another time.”

You couldn’t sleep that night.

Most likely because you were regretting the decision to not attend Joshua’s gig at the bar. The fact that no matter how hard you pushed, memories of your past relationship would still linger like a heavy mist, preventing you from being happy, from detaching, from forming new connections. Wet drops of snow tapped against your window. And then, at around one in the morning, you heard a knock at your apartment door.

Joshua. Evidently intoxicated. His guitar case slung over his back. A foggy sort of look disrupting his usual countenance.

“Hey there,” he mumbled, rubbing at his eye, “couldn’t get into my room. Think I could crash—” the boy stopped midsentence to yawn and hiccup, his face flushed pink, “crash here?”

“Did you walk home from the bar?” You asked, disregarding his inquiry. 

“No, Jihoon drove me.” Joshua answered, bracing his hand against the threshold. “Pretty please? Can I stay?”

“Fine.”

You took the dark green guitar case from Joshua’s back, stamped with numerous luggage stickers that made it seem as though he’d flown all over the globe. After settling the case beside the couch, you helped Joshua lie down, though he flopped rather ungracefully with his face squished into a pillow.

For an awkward moment, you were just standing there, twiddling your thumbs as Joshua squirmed onto his back.

“Do you want a glass of water?” You proposed.

Joshua carded a hand through his brown locks and further dishevelled them. His face seemed to glow and the manner in which his eyes softly shut had you feeling oddly sympathetic. Like you needed to take care of him.

Rather than answering your question, Joshua sighed.

“I can’t believe you flaked on me.” He said. “I looked forward to seeing you there all week. I told my friends about you.”

Your toes dug into the carpet; teeth fastened into your bottom lip. You couldn’t tell if he was rambling drunken nonsense or being wholly truthful. Joshua titled his head to the side, nestling his cheek comfortably against the pillow.

“Like I said, there’ll be another time.”

“Can I have a blanket?” He mumbled sleepily.

Disappearing into your bedroom for a moment, you grabbed Joshua a spare blanket which often lied next to you on the bed, just in case it got a little too cold at night. Your heating was fairly shabby.

“Here you go.” You said, dropping it on him.

After pulling the fabric up to his chin and spending a minute getting comfy, Joshua started smiling, lashes long against his cheeks.

“Appreciate it.” He replied. ”Kick me out early if you want.”

When Joshua scheduled his next gig at the bar, you made sure to be there, settled near the back at the cocktail counter. As you anticipated, the space filled up quickly, and you kept tucking in your legs whenever someone scooted by to use the washroom or find a better vantage point. You didn’t mention that you were coming. It was supposed to be a surprise which had oddly excited you. Like you were someone important to him, even though you probably weren’t.

You enjoyed his band’s performance. While sipping at something syrupy and a little too cherry flavoured, you couldn’t help but smile behind the glass, shake your foot even, as Joshua strummed down on the electric guitar. There was a pink-haired drummer seated behind him, and a bassist with a dashing, heavenly smile. Eventually, the tone of their music shifted near the end of the set. Joshua exchanged his electric guitar for the acoustic one kept in that dark green, stickered case. And when he started to sing a slower, more sentimental song, you felt something cotton-like in your chest.

How could his voice be this soft? How could it turn so sweet? How could his eyes switch from a powerful ripple to calm water? And why were you heating up all over? The glass hit your knee as you continued to watch Joshua sing, as though you’d fallen into a trance, like a sailor caught by the lullaby of a siren.

But then, as your eyes scanned the crowd for a brief moment, they attached to some who looked awfully familiar.

Goddammit. Of course.

Why did your stupid ex have to be everywhere? 

Why did they have to invade every aspect of your life? Especially the enjoyable parts? Once the stage ended and Joshua began thanking the crowd for an energetic reaction, they turned around and grabbed their friend excitedly. Yet, the thrill on their face disappeared the second they noticed you, glaring bitterly, angrily, still clearly hurt. That’s when you decided to leave.

You were halfway down the block when you heard your name being shouted. Pausing beneath a street lamp, you attempted to peer through the heavy flurries sweeping down from the night sky. A silhouette began to take shape. Joshua finally pressed through into the light, without his jacket, his equipment, or even a damn sweater.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” You questioned him, wondering how cold he must be feeling in that white t-shirt.

Joshua took a few more steps forward. “I saw you there,” he replied, still trying to catch his breath, “but then you just stormed out. I nearly threw myself down the back entrance trying to catch up with you, y’know. How do you walk that damn fast?”

“I just—I wanted to beat the crowd home.” You lied.

Joshua took in another big breath, then nodded his head. “So, what did you think? You like the music?”

“It’s cool… Why did you leave without a jacket? I mean, it’s snowing like crazy. You’re gonna get hypothermia or something.”

“Well, I didn’t want to let you get away.” The boy laughed, brushing off some flurries compiling on his shoulder. “It was great to see you there. But, why didn’t you tell me? Why the secrecy.”

You shrugged. “Why should I tell you?”

At that, you weren’t expecting Joshua to have a response. Maybe he’d be a little puzzled and have to think about it. Instead, he seemed to be formulating a surprise of his own.

“Because I have a song for you,” Joshua revealed, “I wrote it with Jihoon. It’s an acoustic thing. But I could turn it hard rock too.”

It felt like someone had turned the table. Ironically, you were the one struggling to reply, your brow furrowing in the dim light as you stared at this boy with his glowing cheeks and his hair disrupted by the flakes of snow. You sniffled, cold air hitting your lungs.

“Why would you write a song about me?”

No one had ever done such a gesture for you before. Not that you had been acquainted with many musicians or lyricists. You felt strange, but also warm, and heart-fluttery, and like you were possibly falling for someone harder than ever before. Joshua approached you tentatively and grabbed your hand, his eyes soft.

“Probably because I like you.” Joshua murmured. “A lot.”

Your heart started to pound, and it felt like someone was banging their fists against your chest. Even if you had denied it in the beginning, the truth was that you liked Joshua too. And yet, those reciprocating words somehow fell to the bottom of your feet. Because as much as you wanted it, you still weren’t ready for someone new.

“Joshua…” you squeezed his hand and looked into those endearing eyes of his, “I-I can’t right now. I was in a relationship not too long ago, and now that’s over, but I’m still trying to get over it. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

The boy shook his head. “You don’t have to be sorry.” Joshua answered, running his thumb between your knuckles. “You’re not ready, I get it.”

Breathing out slowly, you smiled at him. 

You were yanking open all the drawers in the kitchen, trying to remember where exactly you had stuck that little metal whisk. A bowl of unmixed cupcake batter was waiting to be stirred. Each year that it was open, you signed up for the Complex Gift Exchange, and it just so happened that sixty-five-year-old Miss Dupont really liked vanilla cupcakes. You pulled out the drawer that had been hiding the ruined, stained paper courtesy of your paint by numbers kit.

Rolling your eyes, you slammed it shut, only to realize you’d left the whisk sitting behind the big bag of flour on the counter.

Even though you had turned down Joshua that one night in the snow, he didn’t act spiteful or weird about it. And somehow, you two had grown closer since. Joshua was very easy to talk to. He was a good listener. No matter how many times you ran into each other on the elevator, or at the supermarket, the letter boxes in the lobby or at the car lot, Joshua always made time to listen to whatever mishap had bothered you that day. He still railed on his electric guitar every now and then, though you were beginning to accept it. Baby steps.

Apparently, one of his bandmates was visiting today. 

You knew exactly when he’d arrived too, because as soon as you pulled the cupcakes out from the oven to cool, this wave of intense sound; drumming, symbols, guitar, everything, exploded from the floor above, like someone had just thrown a clump of instruments into a hurricane. You stared up at the ceiling winsomely and sighed.

Dressed in a long, thick winter coat, you went outside the complex to visit the garden, now blanketed by snow and sparkling white. You brushed off the bench that had once sat before a fiery pink row of petunias and took a seat. It was much quieter.

“Hey!”

Or so you thought.

Turning around, you gazed up at the apartment complex, spotting two familiar faces hanging out from a fourth story window.

“What?!” You shouted back.

Joshua grinned, then cupped his hands around his mouth as an amplifier. “Were we being too loud?!” He asked.

“Yeah!” His friend yelled. “Were we too loud?!” You had learned the other face was Jihoon, the band drummer, his hair now a rusty shade of crimson. He helped write most of their music.

“No, I’m just sitting out here in the wind and snow and below zero temperatures because I want to!” You replied at the top of your lungs.

Waving at you apologetically, Joshua kept smiling. “Sorry! I’m gonna kick him out soon!” He pointed at Jihoon. “If you want, you can come up here and listen to our last rehearsal!”

Jihoon shoved Joshua’s head out of the way.

“Don’t come up here!” The drummer exclaimed. “It’s not even close to ready yet. He’s just saying that because he’s in—”

A hand clamped swiftly to the boy’s mouth, muffling the remainder of his sentence like it was top secret. Joshua then dragged him away from the open window. Quirking an eyebrow in confusion, you stared at the vacant space until Joshua reappeared a moment later, scratching the back of his head and looking sheepish.

“Sorry about that!” Joshua called. “We’re almost done!”

“I’m in no rush!” You answered, turning back around.

It was true. There weren’t too many pressing things you needed to get done today, besides making the buttercream frosting for Miss Dupont’s cupcakes. The weather wasn’t even as terrible as you made it seem. The wind was light, and the shining sun helped mitigate the usual bitterness of winter. It was quite nice out.

Until about ten minutes later, when Joshua threw a snowball at your back. You spun around quickly, glaring at the boy who was dusting his hands clean of snow, standing near the complex doorway. In that moment, you wanted to be angry at him. But, to be honest, you felt like laughing instead.

“Shouldn’t I be the one throwing snowballs at you?”

Joshua shrugged. “If you could even hit me.”

“Keep your eyes open tonight, Joshua Hong.” You comically threatened him. “Where are you going, anyways?”

“I have to get my person a gift for the exchange thing.” He said, pulling a hat over his hair. “And a new guitar pick.”

“Have fun with that.”

Then, waiting for him to turn around, you hastily packed together a snowball and threw it against the back of his coat.

Miss Dupont somehow figured out who was responsible for her gift. She asked you to give her the cupcakes early, because she swore, she was had been able to smell them baking through the air ducts. Maybe you added too much vanilla. Everyone was supposed to exchange their gifts tomorrow, leaving them by the door or delivering them in person. You didn’t have a clue as to who could be preparing your gift. As long as it wasn’t another candle wreath to collect dust in your closet, you figured you’d be fine with it.

Tonight would be your last opportunity in a long while to watch Joshua’s band perform at the downtown bar. You’d missed their last show, ruminating over the possibility of encountering your ex again; feeling those horrible emotions which were nothing more than poison in disguise. After the New Year, Joshua was planning to visit South Korea with his bandmates for a few weeks. It would be awfully strange to not hear another symphony from his electric guitar, or Jihoon’s drumkit. Jeonghan never really stopped by much.

It was at least an hour or so before Joshua was scheduled to perform. So, you decided to walk down the street to the lane of trees now wrapped and curled with lights. There were small, twinkling white lights. Large, blue lights shaped like hanging icicles. Some blinked in a specific pattern while others morphed colours. At night, it made quite the spectacle. Many people had stopped, much like yourself, to admire the aurora and pull their significant other a little bit closer. You huffed, hating this lonesomeness inside you.

But then you felt a quick pair of fingers dance up your back, and immediately recognized his eyes shining like stars.

“This is the first time I’ve seen you at the lights.” Joshua remarked, zipping up his jacket. “They’ve been up for a while now.”

“It’s always a magnet for couples.” You told him, glancing around at all the handholding and heads leaned adoringly on shoulders. “And I am—well, I was, standing here alone.” Inside your coat pocket, you played with a piece of lint, realizing that perhaps you finally felt ready and significantly healed to consider another relationship.

Looking at you from the corner of his eye, Joshua nodded.

It seemed as though the lights were a place he visited frequently, even amongst all the couples. To you, Joshua seemed like someone who was inspired by love. The not so subtle nature of awkward yet enamored eye contact which made people giggly. Holding onto the very tips of someone’s fingers because you couldn’t let go of their hand even for a second. Pressing an ear to a comfortable chest, listening for a rhythmic, thumping heartbeat. You bet he liked kisses too. Quick kisses on cheeks and gentle kisses on noses and slow, warm kisses to the mouth which could set a fire in your belly.

Out of the blue, you asked him something personal.

“How fast do you usually fall for someone?”

Joshua’s eyes traced the twinkling lights of the tree, all the way to the very top.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I’ve never thought about it.”

Kicking at a lump of hard snow, you sighed. “I think I fall too quickly. Maybe that’s why my last relationship ended the way it did. I just… I don’t know, it could be that I jumped in without knowing what’s beneath me. I don’t want that to happen again.”

The boy glanced at you, snowflakes already beginning to stick in his hair. “Well, there’s nothing wrong with taking things slow. I mean, there’s always going to be some chance in a relationship. You don’t know until you’re in it.”

“I guess so.” You replied. “When I think about it, anything’s better than getting text message-dumped right before a family dinner.” Joshua wasn’t a stranger to the humiliating affairs of your past relationship. One night, after one too many beverages at the bar, you introduced him to the entire story.

“Bad luck.” The boy said.

“Bad taste, more like.” You sighed. “I mean, what was I thinking?”

Joshua shook his head, his hand rubbing your shoulder. “Don’t beat yourself up. Seriously, the right person will come along.”

Short laughter burst through your nose, and you looked at him with a knowing, lighthearted grin. “Are you supposed to be that person, Joshua Hong?”

“I’d like to think I am.” He chuckled, his cheeks getting rosier. “But I know you’re not ready. I can be patient, though.”

“So, you’re going to wait for me?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

Joshua nodded. “For you, and you only? Of course.”

At that, something deep in your chest began to stir. The feeling robbed you of your words and left you breathless. Afraid of what you might do in the silence between you, quickly, you changed the subject.

“Am I going to hear that special song you wrote? Or have you scrapped it already?”

“You’ll hear it.” Joshua said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out an ivory guitar pick. “Save your applause for the very end, though. I know you might be tempted to start cheering, come up on stage in front of everyone and try to kiss me or something.”

Rolling your eyes, you started to laugh, your breath becoming a thin cloud in the still coldness of winter.

“You wish, Joshua Hong.”

He sighed, a faint smirk on his lips. “You’re right. I do.”

At approximately five o’clock in the morning, you were awakened by a fist banging at your front door. For a moment, you believed it was nothing more than part of a fuzzy dream, and simply tossed over in bed as your arms dug further under the pillow. However, the banging resumed almost instantly, and though it was very muffled, someone was calling your name.

Groaning, you dragged yourself from between the sheets and into the washroom, taking a quick sip of water before splashing some to your face. In a loose pair of shorts and a poorly adjusted tank-top, you stumbled to the front door, throwing it open while yawning.

“J-Joshua?” You mumbled, rubbing circles to your eye.

He stood on the opposite side of the threshold with a glimmery-red gift bag in his hand. For some reason, he was dressed in his jacket, those dark brown locks of his seeming damp or partly soaking as they were brushed back from his forehead. His cheeks and mouth were rosy, eyes glistering, and he was breathing deep.

You thought he looked gorgeous.

“Hey!” He exclaimed a little too loudly, as though he’d forgotten how early it was. “So, uh, weird news. Turns out we’re leaving for South Korea today, and we have to catch this seven-am flight. We’re kinda pressed for time. Jeonghan’s been helping me throw all my shit into these suitcases and—anyways, besides the point.” Taking in another breath, Joshua then held up the pretty red gift bag. “I got you for the Gift Exchange. Well—not really. But I made Mrs. Akané switch with me. This is for you.”

The sudden splurge of information had for feeling even more disorientated than when you first awakened. Joshua had to leave already? Had he been packing ever since you walked home together from his show? He pulled strings to get you for the Gift Exchange?

Reaching into the bag and pushing around some tissue paper, you pulled out a rectangular-shaped kit. It felt fairly heavy.

And then you realized just what he’d gotten you.

“Really?” You smiled, letting the bag drop to the floor because all you cared about was the project in your hands. “Another paint by numbers kit? I didn’t even know they sold these here!”

Joshua nodded, brushing some melted drops of snow off his cheek. “It wouldn’t have arrived on time if I ordered it online. Trust me, it was a process. I had to get Jeonghan’s grandma to make some calls because she’s friends with this craft store lady.” He half-sighed, half-laughed. “I just remembered you were so upset about it when I met you. About a lot of things. And I never stopped feeling sorry. I know I laughed at it and everything, but I thought it was cute.”

You brought the project to sit on the dinner table. Looking outside into the street light, you were shocked at how heavily it was snowing. Huge, fluffy clumps. No wonder Joshua’s hair was so damp and his skin so flushed. You couldn’t believe that just a few hours ago, you were sitting on that barstool near the back of the dim room, listening to him sing and feeling like you were starting to love all over again. Now, Joshua was being whisked away.

“I should really get going.” Joshua said, rubbing his pink nose, “Jeonghan and Jihoon are waiting for me down there.”

“W-Wait!” You exclaimed before the boy could disappear.

Joshua paused, though you could read the look of urgence coloured to his face. It was merely a few seconds you stood in that spot, fiddling anxiously with your fingers and struggling to take another step, yet it felt as though time had stretched itself out like plasticine. 

And even though it was slightly terrifying, you had never felt so warm and full of thrill until you had crossed the space to kiss him. Your hands pushed against Joshua’s chest, searching for stability, as you experienced the soft sensation of your lips pressed so desperately to his. Joshua grabbed your cheek in his cold hand to tilt your head a little more left. He stared at you with a hazy, sort of dreamlike look, just for a moment, before kissing you again.

“Am I making you late?” You laughed breathily in between the heated breadth of another kiss.

Joshua shook his head, taking your face in both his hands, moulding his mouth against yours in a smile.

“They can wait just a minute longer,” he answered, “I can’t believe you’re doing this right when I have to leave. You’re really screwing me over, here.”

“Then finish it when you get back.” You smirked.

This time, you were certain of something: you hadn’t jumped too soon. You weren’t going to crash. You were falling in love.

✧✎ a/n: the end the end!! happy holidays !! <3 honestly think it’s kind of the dream to get joshua as ur apartment neighbour xoxo. HOPE U LIKED THIS DANI AND THAT IT GAVE YOU SOME SMILES heheh. i actually haven’t written for joshua in quite a while so i rly appreciated getting to experiment with this. i also love the idea of joshua in a band and being a sappy romantic who always writes abt his future muse ;_; i’m not a huge fluff person BUT I WILL GLADLY GIVE UP EVERYTHING FOR THAT! 

#caratwritersclub #joshua scenarios #seventeen scenarios #svt fanfic #joshua fanfic #joshua hong #seventeen fanfic #svt fluff #joshua fluff #svt x reader #joshua x reader

[clandonnachaidh]

The Fireballs

Read on AO3

“Just take them and get away from the central belt for a while. It’s nae too far.”

Those were the words that left Geillis McKenzie’s lips as she pressed an unfamiliar set of keys into the palm of the woman sat across from her. Claire Beauchamp sat, chewing the inside of her cheek while she mulled it over. The offer on the table was simple enough. A week off work and a change of scenery in an attempt to wipe the bastard memory of Frank Randall from her mind. She would leave Glasgow and head to another part of the country, barricading herself inside a seaside cottage with enough food and wine to see in the new year in blessed peace and quiet. Her resolution for the burgeoning 365 days would be drunkenly pronounced to an empty room before fastening her fingers around the neck of the wine bottle, relishing in the sweet oblivion it promised.

It was a tempting prospect and the truth was, she was dreading the idea of spending New Year’s Eve in the flat that now sat practically empty after Frank had removed his belongings.

A few days after she took the keys from Geillis, Claire found herself in the small seaside town of Stonehaven in Aberdeenshire, pulling her scarf tighter around her neck as the bitter wind nipped at any uncovered flesh. She thumbed through the information that Geillis had texted her earlier that day, a surprisingly cohesive set of directions to bring Claire from the platform at the train station to the bright purple door of Geillis’ childhood home that now stood in as a place for her to escape to.

Thankful that she didn’t have to drag her wobbly-wheeled suitcase any further, Claire pushed the door past the collection of food menus and pamphlets announcing the next local councillor surgery that littered the doorstep and found herself to be pleasantly surprised with the room that she found herself in. Geillis was fastidiously minimalist in her home, all sleek black furniture and not a single piece of clutter in sight. The quaint seaside cottage that she’d grown up in was anything but minialist. The wooden floorboards were warped with wear and tear, a sneaky bump that had been hidden under a thread-bare rug almost sending Claire flying onto the couch. There was a huge stone fireplace in the centre of the living room but Claire had no idea how she would go about setting it to keep her warm all through the evening. Poking around a bit, she easily found a small kitchen with a huge navy blue Aga stove and a downstairs loo. Geillis had explained that the main bedroom was up a particularly rickety flight of stairs and Claire found herself sweating from the exertion of having to haul her suitcase up them. She quickly set herself to unpacking the few bits of clothing that she’d brought, opened the bedroom window to to let in some fresh air and arranged all of her toiletries in the small ensuite bathroom before jumping into the shower.

Feeling slightly more rejuvenated after scrubbing the travel grime from her skin, Claire heard her stomach rumble in protest. She hadn’t had anything since the hastily grabbed pastry that took her fancy when she ordered her coffee before getting on the train. She remembered that Geillis had drunkenly proclaimed, more than once, that the fish and chips from the local shop in her home town were the best in Scotland and so, Claire grabbed her purse and set off to find it.

Surprised that the streets were quite as busy given the cold sea wind, Claire allowed herself some time to stroll down to the harbour in search of battered haddock soaked in vinegar. It was a good sign that the small shop was queued out the door when she finally found it. She withstood a small wait before placing her order and moving back outside, waiting for her name to be called. She looked out at the sea, forearms set against the weather-beaten wooden fencing that separated the beach from the road and took in a deep lungful of sea air as the wind whipped her curls across her delicate skin.

Someone with lungs big enough to be heard over the wind called her name and she collected her order with a smile, her mouth watering at the smell. There was nobody there to stop her or, God forbid, ask her to share and so she delicately unwrapped the paper and sourced a single, salty chip.

Another voice drifted over the wind and something about it made her look for the source.

“Ye dinna want tae be daein’ yon, quine, the scurry will be awa’ wi’ yer chips!”

That was when she saw him for the first time. His red curls were moving wildly in the air as he sent her a dazzling grin, showing off a set of straight white teeth. His nose was crooked, obviously broken a good few years ago but it gave him a rakish air that Claire found quite charming. The piece de resistance was a pair of bright blue eyes, squinting at her in humour as he fished his car keys out of his pocket.

Despite having lived in Scotland for a number of years, not to mention being around Geillis whose speech became almost unintelligibly broad as she moved through different states of inebriation, Claire’s brain could barely attempt to untangle the mess of vowel sounds and dropped g’s that had carried over the wind in her direction.

There was only one thought in her mind.

What the hell was a ‘scurry’?

The redhead seemed to be taking no small amount of pleasure from having put her on the back foot. His large frame shook slightly as he chuckled, quite pleased with himself, as he slid himself neatly into his small car despite his gargantuan size. Just as Claire was away to dismiss him as some lout, he rolled down the window, trying to give her what Claire thought might have been intended as a wink as he shouted his parting shot over the rising gusts of wind.

“Hae a rare Hogmanay, quine!”

***

“…and with only an hour or so left until the bells, we hope that you’ll stay tuned to BBC Scotland this Hogmanay as we bring you all the best entertainment!”

Claire sat, idly clicking the buttons on the remote as she moved from one channel to the next, not actually paying attention enough to settle on any one thing. She was wrapped up in the sofa under a thick tartan blanket after her attempt at setting the fire had proved fruitless, as she knew that it would. She felt bad for the kindling that she’d wasted in her attempt to get it going but she figured Geillis wouldn’t mind too much.

With a mind of its own, her hand sought her mobile from its space on the couch beside her. Even though she knew it was a bad idea, she opened the usual apps to see that everyone else seemed to be having a great time at various functions and house parties, all sporting alcohol-induced rosy cheeks and arms slung across shoulders of friends that they had spent the whole year bitching about. She counted her blessings that at least she didn’t have to put on any fake smiles, gritting her teeth through another painfully pleasant evening with Frank and his colleagues.

No, Claire Beauchamp was quite happy to be sat on her own, a belly full of deep fried goodness and a glass of her favourite Chablis in her hand which she delighted in pouring down her throat.

“Next to perform on The Hootenanny, please welcome Idles!”

Thumb pressed firmly on the big red button, the screen on the tv reduced itself to black.

Silence descended over room.

If she hadn’t drained the contents of her wine glass mere seconds before, Claire would have thrown the liquid into the air as a series of loud bangs came from the front door. 

Before she could figure out what was going on, the bangs turned into shouting.

“Here, Duncan, open yer fuckin’ door! I’m dyin’ fer a pish!”

Claire pulled the blanket from her legs and got to her feet, feeling irritated at the stranger’s apparent lack of manners. Another few bangs and her worry morphed into anger as she stomped towards the door and arranged her delicate features into the sternest face she could manage.

Unbolting the lock, the wrenched the door open ready to give the stranger an earful.

But there was no face in her eye line to angrily confront. Only a pair of broad shoulders.

The glow from the streetlights creeped its way over the meridians of his almost too large body. Claire’s immediate view was of the man’s chin, slightly dusted with an orange gold smattering of hair, before he ducked down so that he could see underneath the lip of the smaller than average door.

Electric blue eyes, slanted with an air of mischievousness about them. Eyes that had surprised her when they drifted into her thoughts on her return from the chip shop.

“Oh,” he frowned. “It’s you.”

She raised a single eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest, “It’s me.”

“Yer nae Miss Duncan. Fars Geillis?”

He took a step back, allowing her to take in more of him now that he wasn’t cramped into the confines of the small door.

Quickly, she realised that she was staring. And that she hadn’t answered his question.

“In Glasgow. And she’s Mrs Geillis McKenzie now.”

“Och, I ken that fine well enough, ’twas one of my uncles that she married. Although she’ll always be wee Geillis Duncan tae me.”

Claire found herself relaxing a bit to hear that the man wasn’t a completely stranger. Geillis had never mentioned Dougal having any nephews and Claire couldn’t see any family resemblance between Geillis’ husband and the man stood in front of her. Dougal was bald and average height, not anything to write home about. Whereas this man was quite the opposite.

“If you’re aware that she lives in Glasgow, why are you knocking on her door?”

“Saw the light was on,” he frowned as though I had asked the stupidest question possible, shifting from one foot to the other.

There were a few seconds where neither of them offered up any words, waiting for the other to speak first.

When Claire realised that the man was looking at her expectantly, she had to ask.

“Can I help you with something?”

He really tried his best not to blush but failed miserably, “Aye, ye may have heard but ye find me requirin’ the pleasure of utilisin’ yer loo.”

Suddenly the hopping from one foot to the other made more sense. Trying her best not to laugh at his predicament, Claire crossed her arms over her chest and hoped that he would understand the universal symbol of ‘not a chance in hell’.

“Call me crazy but I don’t think I’m going to let an inebriated stranger into the house that I’m staying in, in a village that I don’t know.”

“Am no’ inebriated, I’ve only had a few pints. And as for stranger, any friend of Geillis is a friend of mine.”

Claire rolled her eyes dramatically at the cliche, not convinced in the slightest.

“Well, I’m sure you can find somewhere else.”

The expression on his beautiful face changed from one of mischievous banter to one of grave seriousness.

“Well, I’m guy sorry tae dae this, Sassenach, but I’m afraid I’ll hae tae report ye tae the authorities.”

“Excuse me?”

“’Tis the law in Scotland. If someone knocks on yer door and needs in for a pish, ye have to oblige them.”

“I bloody well do not!” Claire shouted, exasperated. “What absolutely bloody nonsense!”

“‘Bloody nonsense’, she says!” The man countered, grinning wolfishly as he attempted to mimic her English accent.

Her anger was growing by the second, seeing red at his mockery and trying to get up the courage to slam the door in his beautiful face. She would’ve too if she wasn’t glued to the spot, unable to tear herself away from the maddening, handsome, stupid, charming man.

“Yer hospitality is lacking, Sassenach. And on Hogmanay an’ aw.”

Claire’s patience snapped. This man would not make her out to be some uptight English woman. She had heard the term ‘sassenach’ a few times since she moved to Scotland and it had never been said with kindness behind it.

“Fine! You can come in but as soon as you’ve, er… relieved yourself, you must leave.”

“On my honour,” he said solemnly as he raised both hands in supplication.

Claire stepped out of the doorway to let him duck inside and she opened her mouth to explain which door lead to the lavatory when he moved through the small living room with purpose. Of course, she remembered, he knew Geillis. He’d probably been in here more than once.

She watched as his back disappeared behind a now locked door and pondered the idea that that if he knew Geillis, he couldn’t be that bad. If there was one thing that Geillis Duncan nee McKenzie was skilled at, it was taking the measure of someone from a single look. At the very least, the man wouldn’t be dangerous.

And he was rather beautiful. Arrogant but in a way that endeared him to her. Finding that her fingers had a mind of their own as they began to smooth out her curls, Claire looked around the room and embarrassment creeped its way insidiously into her body.

While the world was celebrating the new year, here she was, sat alone in an otherwise empty house with a coffee table covered in discarded fish supper paper, an already empty bottle of Chablis and a box of chocolates that had been dipped into more than a few times. Across the world everyone would be getting on their party outfits while she wore her favourite cosy leggings and big thick socks with her favourite knitted jumper. Anything but glamorous.

With that realisation in mind, the room before her morphed from a scene of quiet solitude to pitiful isolation.

She had been run out of her city by the mere memory of Frank and that enraged her even further.

“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ, you prick,” she muttered exasperatedly, unbridled rage filling her from head to toe.

“Again, I apologise fer disturbin’ ye. But thank ye for lettin’ me inside.”

His voice made her spin on her heel.

“Oh, I didn’t mean—“ she began before deciding it was best to not delve into her dirty laundry with a perfect stranger and sent him a tight, resigned smile.

He made to move towards the door, his head slightly bowed from either humility or inebriation, Claire couldn’t decide on which.

For some reason, she felt disappointed at the thought of him leaving.

“So, any other strange and unusual customs I should know about before you leave? Is a man going to knock on my door in five minutes asking for only my left shoe?”

The man paused and turned around to face her again, his lovely face shining out a look of mischief and excitement.

“Well, I canna say that we’re nae kent for our strange and unusual customs but I think the fireballs are the only other thing ye’ll hae ti’ deal wi’ the night.”

For a moment she thought that she’d had too much to drink. Had the man really just said the words ‘fire’ and ‘balls’ as though they were the most normal things to come out of someone’s mouth?

He noticed her gormless expression.

“Surely ye’d hiv seen the High Street being cordoned off for the night?”

“I haven’t been to the High Street.”

It was his turn to balk.

“Ye came tae Stoney on Hogmanay and shut yersel’ inside? Geillis didnae think tae tell ye?”

“For the love of God, tell me what?”

He smiled a wry smile, “When the clock gets tae midnight, about 40 folk will walk down the High Street swingin’ massive balls of fire around their heids. All the way through the auld toon and then down tae the harbour.”

When Claire didn’t answer, he dug his hands into his pockets, straightening his arms so that he stretched to full height, the top of his head almost hitting the low ceilings.

“It’s an old Viking thing,” he said with a straight face.

Subconsciously, he flexed the muscles of his shoulders and back, taking up even more space. He really was very large.

Viking indeed.

He jerked his left shoulder up slightly and tried to seem nonchalant as he said, “Usually I swing one masel’ but I dislocated ma shooder earlier in the month and it’s only jus’ healed. Shame otherwise I could’ve gied ye a shotty, get ye the best view over the crowd.”

“I’ll pretend I understand a word of what you just said and bid you goodnight,” Claire said firmly as she shifted her weight towards the door, trying her hardest to appear aloof in front of a man that she was fast forming an attraction to.

The Viking surveyed the state of the living room and looked back at her from underneath his eyelashes.

“Havin’ a quiet een, are ye?”

“Yes. I needed a break from the city. I work with Geillis and she was kind enough to let me borrow her place for a few days to get some peace and quiet.”

He gave her a cheeky grin at that, “And then here a stranger comes, crashin’ intae yer front door.”

He put his hand to his chest and smiled kindly at her before bowing his head slightly.

“My maist sincere apologies tae ye…?”

“Claire Beauchamp.”

“Weel, it’s affa fine tae meet ye, Claire,” he said as he pressed a thumb into his chest. “James Fraser.”

“How do you do?” she nodded her head in acknowledgement of his introduction and tried her hardest not to get lost in his eyes.

Looking into his eyes was like looking into the heart of the sun.

Jamie narrowed them at her with a smirk and Claire felt herself blush slightly.

“Yer affa posh tae be a friend of someone as debauched as the one and only Geillis Duncan. Ye said ye work thegither?”

“Yes, we do. I’m a surgeon as well. And I promise, there is nothing posh about me,” Claire scoffed.

He looked at her again, closely, and Claire could practically see the cogs of Jamie’s brain working as a plan came together.

Even though she had failed to light the fire, she could swear that there were flames dancing in his eyes.

“Ye ken, if ye wanted me tae believe ye werenae posh, ye’d dae somethin’ spontaneous.”

Claire was surprised to find that his words sent a shiver down the back of her spine. She couldn’t put her finger exactly on what she was feeling but she knew it felt good.

“What exactly do you mean?”

Jamie took a step towards her, casting another glance at the coffee table of sadness and then settling his eyes on the front door.

“Take a turn aroon the toon wi’ a manny ye’ve jus’ met? Canna be by yerself on Hogmanay, Doctor Beauchamp.”

The offer had been made and Claire knew that she’d be mad to pass it up. She pretended to think it over, lips pursed in fake contemplation as she waited what she felt was an appropriate time to not seem too eager.

“Might as well see these fireballs, I suppose.”

His smile split his face in two and Claire couldn’t help but feel her stomach flip.

“Ace. Weel, we can get going? It’s only an hour until the bells.”

Claire tried to seem casual as she asked for a moment to change into something more appropriate for the outdoors and quickly extricated herself upstairs.

Standing in the middle of the bedroom, she looked at her reflection in the mirror and panicked.

Her mind was completely blank as she tried to flick through the items that she’d brought with her, trying to come up with something that hit the perfect balance of sexy and comfy. Frustration building, she grabbed her phone and shot a text to the woman who was responsible for all of this.

Claire: James Fraser, alright enough guy?

Geillis: Christ, nae wasting any time, are ye?

Claire: Shut up. Anything I should know?

Geillis: He’s an arse man!

Geillis: Nae many better ways to start the new year than a shag with a ginger god!

Claire: Very helpful, thank you. I don’t know why I bother, you are no use at all!

Geillis: Och wheesht, you love me really.

Geillis: For real, Jamie is a sweetheart. We’ve been pals since we were bairns. You’re in good hands.

Geillis: Affa good hands 😏

Claire huffed a laugh at her best friend and quickly pocketed her phone into her jeans, stripping off her leggings and jumper.

As quickly as she could, she dug around in her suitcase for the single pair of jeans that she’d brought with her. Thankfully they were the black ones that hugged her arse perfectly. She grabbed a plain white t-shirt and her favourite burgundy cardigan before she realised that it was too long and would effectively hide the said perfect-arse-in-these-jeans situation.

Resigning herself to an evening of being frozen stiff, she decided against the warm winter jacket that was hiding downstairs and grabbed her trusty leather jacket.

Thankfully her reflection in the mirror showed that the jacket stopped just above the line of her hips, allowing the jeans do their all important job.

“Doctor Beauchamp?”

She moved towards his voice, opening the bedroom door and quickly closing it behind herself so he wouldn’t be able to see the mess that it hid.

“Please call me Claire,” she implored.

“I like calling ye Doctor, ’tis…”

“What?”

“Och, nothin’.”

Claire raised an eyebrow, “Spit it out.”

She could swear that she saw him blushing as he rubbed the back of his neck with an open palm, looking her straight in the eye.

“Sexy.”

The single word was said with such obvious flirtation behind it that she couldn’t stop the rush of heat and need that spread through her body. But the wine had made her bold and she decided to give as good as she got.

Without responding to him, she crossed the room and put her hand gently against the small of his back as she made it to the front door and pulled her boots on.

She heard three heavy footsteps and then he was behind her, so close that she could feel his steady breath.

A large arm circled around her body, grazing her waist ever so slightly as he went to grasp the doorknob.

“Let me get that fer ye, Doctor Beauchamp,” he whispered into the mess of curls that were tickling his nose as Claire resisted the urge to close her eyes and lean back further.

Shaking her head slightly to try and dispel the haze that had come over her, she tried her best to keep her voice from trembling, “Lead the way, Mr Fraser.”

Once they were out in the cold air, Claire could see why Jamie had made fun of her for not noticing the preparations earlier in the day. The entirety of the small village was alive with light and music and bodies. Doors were propped open to allow for a steady stream of people coming in and out of pubs and homes alike, shouts and laughter filling the air with sound. The colourful lights that were still strung up from Christmas glistened against the wet pavements but thankfully the rain had passed and was on its way north towards the city, leaving a cool freshness to the air. Children scurried around with their parents, thick mittens and hats almost falling off at every opportunity and as they turned towards what Jamie had called the Square, Jamie grasped Claire’s hand in his own so they wouldn’t get separated in the crowd that seemed to be every resident of Stonehaven and then some. Claire couldn’t help the huge grin on her face as Jamie expertly navigated the both of them through the community, returning well wishes and clapping a few people on the back in greeting.

She was completely entranced by it all. Even though she was new to Stonehaven, people hugged her in greeting and raised their drinks, offering sentiments that she didn’t quite understand but could nevertheless feel the warmth that they were uttered with.

“Aye Jock! Fit like en?”

“Aye aye, loon, nae bad, nae bad!”

When they made it to a spot that apparently promised the best view of the procession, Jamie made sure that his massive frame wasn’t blocking the view for any children and spotted an old friend.

“Alright Jamie! Foos yer doos?”

Shaking the man’s hand firmly, Jamie gave what Claire assumed was a response to the nonsense question he’d just been asked.

“Aye, a’wis pechin’!”

Claire couldn’t concentrate on the rest of the conversation that was going on between the two men. She was much too preoccupied with the fact that Jamie was stood so close to her, his chest resting against the length of her arm. Even the small amount of pressure being shared between the two bodies was enough to make Claire’s head spin. Not to mention the heat radiating off the man even though it was easily below freezing out in the night arm. A frisson of energy that she could not put a name to coursed through Claire’s limbs and she jerked, accidentally elbowing Jamie in the ribs.

Ending his conversation, he turned to her sharply.

“Fit wis that fer?!” he exclaimed in mock outrage.

She tried her hardest not to laugh at the pout on his face.

“I’m pretty sure you’re just making up these words to make fun of me. Honestly, ‘foos yer doos’?”

Jamie laughed, air bursting from his lungs and turning into soft curls of mist in the dark. Claire felt the vibrations move through her body, tingling in her own extremities.

“’Tis a common greetin’ roon these parts, Sassenach,” he put his hand on the small of her waist and turned her towards him, eyes glimmering. “Take a guess fit it means.”

“I have no idea,” she said primly as she accepted the proffered hip flask from Jamie’s hand.

She realised that she wasn’t the only one aware of the charge between them when she saw his eyes darken at the sight of her bring the flask to her lips. He didn’t know but seeing it made Jamie’s tongue dart out to moisten his lips.

Claire took a small drink of the whisky that flooded her mouth, already feeling a little more than intoxicated after the bottle of wine and the arrival of a certain ginger Scot.

“I’ll gie ye a hint, it’s tae dee wi’ birds.”

Her features scrunched in confusion, “Human or avian?”

“We dinna call women ‘birds’ around here, we call them ‘quines’.”

“That’s not an answer to my question.”

He rolled his eyes at her, unable to keep the smile from his lips, “Another hint is that up here in the northeast, we replace our W’s wi’ F’s.”

She sent him a death stare that hopefully conveyed the message of ‘stop-taking-the-piss-out-of-me-or-I-will-empty-the-contents-of-that-flask-over-your-head’.

Thankfully, he seemed to take pity on her, “Foos yer doos is how we ask folk how they’re deeing. It translates to ‘how are your pigeons’?”

“Pigeons?!” she laughed incredulously. “You ask people about their pigeons?!”

Before he could answer, the clocktower rang its first bell to signal that midnight had been struck. A cheer could be heard from further up the High Street as the first fire ball started to make its journey towards the water.

Claire had never seen anything like it. Men and women dressed in kilts, their feet clad in sturdy shoes as they swung huge balls that had been set ablaze in a beautiful arc around their head. It was the perfect heady mix of awe and fear as they made a great ‘whoosh’ every time the fire almost kissed the ground. The darkness of the night made them shine all the more brightly and Jamie bent down to Claire’s ear so she could hear him over the excitement of the crowd.

“Yer hair is affa bonnie in the firelight, Doc,” his voice sent shivers down her spine. “Mo nighean donn.”

She didn’t know what it meant, didn’t care really. She just knew that she wanted to hear him say it again and again.

Claire seized the opportunity and pushed herself back firmly against his chest, taking his hands in hers and bringing them to wrap around her body in invitation. She hoped that she hadn’t massively misread the situation but her worries were assuaged when he tucked her head neatly under his chin and sighed in relief.

They watched as the spectacle continued but both of them would have been more than happy simply standing there, holding each other.

The bells finally chimed their last, signalling that it was now officially Hogmanay.

Claire refused to move from the safety of his arms but craned her neck up to look at Jamie whose full attention was on her.

“Happy New Year, Jamie,” Claire whispered, her heavy breath mingling with his own.

“Happy Hogmanay, Claire.”

Jamie’s head dipped, closing the space between them and pressing his lips against hers, deciding that his wish for the coming year would be to never part from the woman in his arms.

#the fireballs #clandonnachaidh #outlander fanfic #outlander #jamie fraser #Claire beauchamp #stonehaven #aberdeenshire #northeast scotland

[quinncupine]

Taken Chapter Seven: Home (not so) Sweet Home

Chapter Word Count: 4,691

Link: A03

Relationship: Izuku Midoriya x Reader

Previous Chapter: Six

Next Chapter: Eight

MASTERLIST

...

The warehouse was dark and the windows were boarded up. It was abandoned a few years prior after an explosion killed three workers. The company would've lost more money rebuilding and no one wanted to deal with the fallout so they cut their losses and abandoned the place. This wasn't the best part of town anyway, many of the other buildings were in various states of disrepair. Most people kept to themselves or turned the other way when something bad happened, the perfect place to commit a crime. The two main doors were cracked open slightly, creaking in the breeze. It was strange to be sneaking around in the middle of the day, but here he was, slipping through into the darkness of the depot.

He quieted his breath as he listened for any sounds. It was amazing that no light peeked through anywhere, it must have gone through some heavy repairs. Behind him, a metal barricade slammed down over the doors, effectively sealing him in. A faint buzz echoed above, growing louder as a giant light slowly flickered on. He squinted as he looked up at it, it was like looking into the sun, and when he looked around, he realized it was supposed to resemble the sun.

 The entire interior had been redone to look like a lot with a house and yard, but not just any house... his house. Your house. It looked so similar, he wasn’t sure if Tatsuya didn’t just take his house and figure out a way to transport it here. He would have been impressed if he wasn’t so disturbed.

In the driveway sat Tatsuya’s car, he'd memorized the license plate number. Tatsuya was here just like he said he’d be, which meant that you were most likely somewhere inside. The only question now was what kind of trap he had set.

As Deku neared, he noticed the smaller details; the little luminaries and cranes that you had placed around the koi pond. The stone steps leading up to the door that even had both your handprints from when you had set them all those years ago. Even the misshapen bust of a kappa, when you thought sculpting was your thing (it was not), that you proudly displayed like a trophy on the porch. Everything just got creepier the more he stared at them.

Slowly he picked his way up to the door, mindful of any traps, he had to play this one safe. The door was unlocked and he couldn’t help but feel that same sense of trepidation he had felt the first time he had done this exact same thing. With slow movements, he pushed open the door, ready for anything.

No one was in the entryway, if that was a good or bad sign, he couldn’t tell. As quietly as he could, he tip-toed into the living room, taking in every detail. It was scarily accurate, from the furniture right down to the small hole in the wall that Izuku had sneakily tried to cover with a picture frame after he was practicing one of his newer quirks in the house. You’d banned quirk usage in the house after that mishap.

If the entire house was this detailed, then that meant he’d snuck into your home, on more than one occasion. How long had he been obsessed? This amount of detail would equate to months of dedicated, time-consuming work.

He passed the entertainment center and froze, the picture frame that held one of his favorite moments with you, on one of your disguise dates as you called them, was there, well sort of. It was the same picture but instead of Izuku’s face, Tatsuya had photoshopped his own face in. He glanced at all the other pictures in the room, they all had received the same treatment. Now that was just all sorts of wrong.

The house was so quiet and for a moment, he feared that this was the trick all along, distracting him here while he had yet another chance to get away with you. That was not going to happen a third time, he swore his life on it.

He crept into the kitchen. On the counter was the same Kappa stuffed animal that he’d left there, well at the original house, yesterday as a gift for you. Next to it were two glasses filled with a dark liquid, he assumed was some sort of liquor.

“Deku!” Tatsuya beamed as he stepped into the room on the opposite side. “You’re early!” He sounded genuinely happy to see him.

Deku froze as Tatsuya casually strolled into the room as if everything was right with the world. The first thing he felt was absolute hatred for this man, there was nothing he despised more in the world at that moment than Tatsuya. The second thing was shock. Tatsuya had dyed his hair green, the same shade of green as Deku's. He was even wearing what looked to be a homemade version of Deku's costume.

“Tatsuya,” Deku had to suppress every cell in his body screaming at him to smash this guy's face in. “Where’s Y/N?”

“Oh, she’s resting at the moment.” He waved the question off. “Come, have a drink with me.”

Deku didn’t move. He could easily take him out now and search the house for you. But there was no guarantee that you were even here or that he didn’t have a failsafe plan in case Deku did try to attack. Too many variables to account for, better to play it out and wait for the extraction team. He had to keep him busy, distracted.

“Come.” Tatsuya patted the counter with his good hand as he hopped on one of the bar stools.

One wrist was wrapped up tightly and he kept it close to his chest. His nose looked almost crooked and very bruised, the darkness spreading underneath his eyes. For a moment, he wondered if Kagome did that or if that was your work. He hoped it was you.

“Now.” Tatsuya's voice was layered with ice.

Deku stood rigid, analyzing the situation. If he could get this guy to talk, tell you where you were, then he could act. That was the safest bet at the moment. He slowly sat on the stool and took the glass that Tatsuya handed him. It was quite a strange feeling to sit in his house that wasn’t actually his house. It felt so cruel to attempt playing nice and he had to mentally tell himself not to squeeze the glass too tight, not to glare murderously at this man, not to strike him down with the vengeance of a thousand All Might's. But he was unstable, unstable meant unpredictable and he couldn’t have unpredictable.

“You have no idea how happy I am.” Tatsuya said after he took a sip of his drink. “Everything is finally in place.”

Deku remained silent, not trusting his tongue.

“Everything is finally perfect, well, almost.” He grinned at Deku. “Did I ever tell you how I met Y/N?”

He wasn’t seriously trying to tell stories was he? Deku glanced around the room, looking for any telltale signs that you were here, but found none. He needed a game plan but it was so hard to come up with one when all he could think of was the horrible things you were going through. Maybe they were right, maybe he was too close to this case, but that didn’t mean he was leaving it to someone else.

“There I was, a simple programmer,” he began. “On the ground with a broken arm if you can believe it. It wasn’t even a tall ladder, one of those three-step ones!” He laughed. “I went to the nearest hospital which happened to be the one Y/N worked at.”

Tatsuya set his glass down, leaning his elbows behind him on the counter, careful to avoid touching his wrist. Deku was sitting straight, his hands angled for a quick defense if he needed it, but Tatsuya only continued on with his story.

“She was so kind and so beautiful, I just couldn’t take my eyes off her. There was just something special about her, something amazing. Come to find out that she didn’t even have a quirk, yet there she was, still finding ways to help people, just like a real hero. Naturally, I needed to see her again.” He looked into Deku's eyes with a calmness that held back a tidal wave of insanity. “Do you know what I did?”

Deku knew exactly what he did, he’d seen the hospital records.

“I broke my finger,” He winked at Deku. “You know how that goes, right Deku? It wasn’t enough though, I had to keep coming back, to hear her voice. “

Hearing the story from him only grew more twisted as the images rolled around in his mind. Did he even care if he broke his limbs or did he feel nothing at all?

“Have you ever been in love?” He sighed. “It was love at first sight, I knew I needed her and that she needed me. I had to find a way to have her.”

Have her. It wasn’t love, more like a demented idea of possession.

“She was so beautiful but I just couldn’t get it right.” He frowned and picked up a spoon. Deku tensed, ready to attack but Tatsuya simply tapped his glass with it. The chime that echoed off it seemed to swirl around them until the air turned hazy as if it wasn’t sure what to do and then you appeared in front of them in your scrubs, smiling without a care in the world.

“Y/N!” Deku leaped off his chair, reaching out to pull you close, but as soon as his hand touched yours, your image wavered and disappeared.

“See, they never turn out right and they, of course, can’t talk.” He pouted. “That was the one thing I could never make them do. I wanted to hear her voice.” he stared sadly at the spot you vanished from.

Deku still had his hand outstretched, realizing it was a quirk, it wasn’t the real you. He only created an illusion of you. How exactly did his quirk work? It was created by the sharp noise, did any noise do it or just specific frequencies? Or did certain sounds and frequencies mean stronger illusions? He’d faced the illusions on the rooftop but those felt so real, he felt every punch, yet thinking back on it now, he didn’t have any bruises and he didn’t feel sore after the fight, just mentally exhausted.

The details of the quirk on the registry form were minimal at best. Figment was able to create mental images specific to a person using sound, but they shouldn’t have been physical. Could Trace alter a quirk like that? No, that couldn’t be it. Maybe the drug enhanced the quirk’s power, tricking the brain into believing the quirk was physical? Using a drug like Trace could make you seem ultra-powerful, but it has many drawbacks on the user, specifically their own health.

He was so lost in thought he almost missed when Tatsuya stood up, a smile back on his face. “But no matter, I have the real Y/N now.”

“Bring her here then.” Deku said.

“No,” He shook his head. “That’s not why I called you here. I couldn’t face her again, not without this first.”

That didn’t sound good. “Without what?”

“Your quirk.” He sounded so casual like he was asking to borrow a cup of sugar.

“My-” Deku faltered, did he know?

No, he couldn’t possibly, that was one of the most closely guarded secrets of this world. Only a handful of the people Deku trusted with his life knew this information, there was no way someone like Tatsuya could figure it out. Of course, he'd faced criticism trying to work out how all his new quirks fit into his supposed "superpower" quirk, but his mentors have helped him work that one out. Besides, at this point it was a baseless claim, better to play dumb.

“Yes, you can only willingly give it up, right?” Tatsuya shattered his hopes.

He knew.

Somehow, he had figured it out. Did someone tell him? Could it have been someone connected to All for One? All for One had gone underground again, maybe he was trying to start a second wave of rebellion? No, Deku was keeping tight tabs on anything that had to do with him, that couldn’t be it. How did this man, of all people, figure this out?

This new revelation had Deku lost so deep in thought he almost didn’t hear Tatsuya's next words.

“One for All is the name, right? Must have been terrible to be quirkless as a child. I can’t imagine, but look at you now.” He gestured to Deku. “That’s why you’re my favorite hero.”

Deku was once again at a loss for words. This guy was throwing earth-shattering bombs left and right, he had no idea how to counter. All the thoughts were crashing together in his head as he tried to think of the right thing to say. Is it too late to still play dumb?

“Once I have your power, everything will be perfect, we can live our lives happily again. Nothing can stop us.” He said proudly.

He was trying to become Deku.

“No.” He heard himself say it and it probably wasn’t the best thing to say, but he was so shocked that that was all he could muster.

“No?” Tatsuya didn’t like the taste of that word.

“No.” Deku narrowed his eyes and stood up. “I’ll give you one more chance to tell me where she is.” He was done playing games, this had to end, now.

“But...I need it.” He sounded confused, completely ignoring Deku’s demand.

“That was your last chance.” He felt the power surge through every fiber of his body, he was so tense that electricity flickered over his form.

Tatsuya watched in awe as Deku’s whole demeanor took on a new level of rage. Even some of the heroes would admit that while working with Deku was always amazing, even they were sometimes stunned by his intensity in a fight. No one dared get in his way when he was like this, they were all just glad that he was on their side.

It dawned on Tatsuya that Deku was about to hit him a second too late. He went flying across the room, crashing hard into the wall. Tatsuya slumped over, clutching his chest, gasping for air.

“What are you doing?” He cried out, looking at him in fear. “You’re supposed to be a hero!”

Deku hesitated. Why was he still trying to play innocent, after everything he’d done, this man deserved much worse. But his face was pleading with him to stand down, tears found their way into his eyes like he was genuinely disappointed in Deku. He’d never fought a villain that admired him like this, it was disconcerting, to say the least.

He tried to push that aside and walked over to him, fists held out in defense. “Stay down.”

Tatsuya leaned against the wall and sucked in a deep breath. Before Deku could react, he let out a deafening wail that could rival Present Mic. It was horrible and tinny, like a robot that met a grisly fate in a wood chipper. No one should have been able to make such an inhuman sound.

The force of the cry blew Deku’s hair back and he had to ground himself to keep upright. It felt like someone dropped little chainsaws in his ears and he squeezed his eyes shut to block the pain out. Once it died down, he looked up, but Tatsuya wasn’t there anymore. Instead, you were sitting against the wall in his place, clutching your ears, staring at Deku in fear.

“Y/N?” Deku’s voice sounded far away, a side effect of the tinnitus he was now experiencing.

His head felt strange like someone inflated it with helium and he had to concentrate to keep himself from floating away. Your form was wavering, but that might have been because of his blurry vision. It was hard to think things through clearly, all he knew was that you were in front of him, terrified, and he would do everything in his power to keep you safe.

He knelt down next to you, reaching his hand out, but behind him, a blast shook the house. It came from the foyer. He whipped around, smoke drifted through the living room and a small army of masked men stepped into the hall, all pointing their guns at the both of you.

The lead man stepped forward, holding a large grenade launcher. He took aim at Deku, but Deku was faster. He was in front of the man in a second, knocking the gun aside just as he pulled the trigger. The blast was closer than Deku was expecting and they both were knocked to the ground. Deku could barely hear anything, the ringing was so intense in his ears that he was having trouble focusing. His head felt like it was going to split open any minute. Maybe he had a concussion too? Could you get a concussion from a noise? He shook his head but it only seemed to make it worse.

The masked villains rushed him, but Deku was ready, he ducked as one tried to punch him and rolled out of the way as another attempted to tackle him. Two more rushed past him, towards where you were still crouched against the wall, rubbing the smoke from your eyes.

“No!” He screamed, jumping at them.

He landed on top of one of the runners, using his body weight to twist around and slam them into the ground. The man in a ski mask went still underneath him, bringing his attention to the second runner. He was fast. Deku summoned black whip, the dark tendril wrapped around the man's leg and pulled him back. The man slammed hard into the ground and was sent flying straight towards Deku’s fist. He went out like a light.

Just as Deku recoiled black whip and stood up, the leader had picked up the grenade launcher and fired two shots at him. He covered his face at the first blast, but the second one knocked him off his feet. He went tumbling through the kitchen and pulled up just in time to see the leader almost on top of him, ready to strike again.

Deku kicked up his leg at the last minute, using the air pressure to force his opponent back. He flew back alright, but so did the roof of the house. He had to be careful not to use too much power or he could bring the house down. Where were the others, surely they would have noticed an entire assault force entering the building.

“Y/N!” He yelled, turning back to you, but someone else had reached you first.

A woman in the same black mask everyone else was wearing, had you pinned against the wall, your hands tugged sharply behind your back while an arm dug into the base of your neck. Deku jumped to help you, but the leader with the grenade launcher was suddenly back, taking up his attention.

Deku jumped to the side to avoid another direct hit, they were strong blasts with enough heat to sizzle his skin. Two more shots on either side of him boxed him in. How was he firing off so many shots at once? He took up a defensive position as the man pummeled into him with a barrage of fists. Whoever this guy was, he seemed to know just when to counter, like he could read Deku's moves. This guy really knew how to fight. Deku needed to end this quickly.

He propelled himself straight at the leader, taking the brunt force of another attack, but he made it through and slammed into him. They both crashed through a wall, into one of the bathrooms. The toilet exploded, drenching them both but that didn’t deter either of them.

Deku grabbed the man by his arm, but the man just as quickly grabbed his own. For a moment, it looked like some strange handshake, but then the man launched another grenade blast and propelled them both through the ceiling of the house, into the yard.

Deku crashed into one of the cement cranes by the koi pond while the man splashed directly into the pond, scaring all the fish. Deku hauled himself up and looked down into the pond. Before he got a good look, the water exploded. Deku didn’t have time to dodge and a fist pounded straight into his stomach so violently that he was sent flying across the turf. That was a lot more power than Deku thought this guy had. It almost reminded him of someone else, but the ringing in his ears was making it hard to think clearly. He shook his head again and pulled himself to his feet, ignoring the protest of his ribs. He wasn’t done yet.

The man launched himself towards Deku yet again. Deku jumped, preparing to kick, but at the last second changed directory and punched him across the face. The man didn’t even seem phased, instead, he grabbed Deku’s fist and used an explosion to turn them around midair before slamming back into the ground.

Deku sucked in a breath as his back broke the concrete beneath him. Who was this guy? He fought just like-no that couldn't be right, he wasn't with the backup squad.

Deku blinked, staring at the masked man. He stopped fighting too now that Deku was pinned beneath him, but he didn’t let up on his grip.

He tried to focus, but the ringing in his ears was making it hard.

The ringing.

This was because of Tatsuya’s quirk, which meant that this guy was just an illusion. It really didn’t feel like an illusion though. He tried to escape bone-crushing grip but was slammed back into the ground, another explosion kept him in place. It sure felt real enough.

Deku glanced back at the house, the entire front porch seemed to be blasted away and some of the house was on fire, but one important detail caught his eye. How could it not, there was a giant shard of ice sticking out of the house. That was definitely Shoto, which meant his backup was here.

He summoned his power again with renewed strength, even if this thing was an illusion, he was still a problem. Deku flicked his fingers with enough power to at least loosen the man’s grip. Once he could move his arm he punched out with all his strength, shoving the man off him. Well, he was supposed to. Instead, the man had curled around his hand, pulling it back so hard that it threatened to crack.

“Stop fucking around!” A distant voice yelled over the ringing.

Deku stopped struggling long enough to look around. He didn’t see anyone, but the voice sounded familiar. The ringing was slowly going away, not quickly enough, but at least his hearing was coming back little by little. Now, he just needed to deal with this guy.

He grunted as he used his legs to entangle the man’s and used all his power to twist them around so he was on top. He didn’t waste time, hitting him with his own barrage of punches. An explosion came out of nowhere, strong enough to throw Deku off of him.

“Get it together you fucking nerd!” He only knew one person who spoke to him like that.

“Kacchan?” Deku looked around, momentarily unfocused.

The man took the advantage and punched Deku. He stumbled back, but the air was shimmering around the man. No, it couldn’t be, he wasn't supposed to be here.

“Kacchan?” Deku asked the man.

The man stopped, still in a defensive position but he didn’t seem so inclined to attack now. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Deku blinked, rubbing his eyes. The form of the man in the mask wavered like a mirage and he could sort of make out the all-too-familiar spiky hair and angry red eyes underneath. It was like two images were spliced together, extremely disorienting to look at.

He squinted. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to help dumbass!" He said. "Why the hell are you attacking everyone!"

Deku chose to look back at the house, it was far easier on his eyes than the flickering form that was Ground Zero. That was one powerful quirk; Tatsuya managed to turn him against his allies without Deku even realizing it. Who else did he accidentally take out?

"The others? Did I-" Deku was cut off.

“Get it together. If you’re done playing around, then we’ve got work to do.” Ground Zero growled out.

“I’m sorry,” Deku rubbed his eyes again, trying to get rid of the illusion, but it seemed it was only going to melt away in its own time. “Y/N! Was that her in the house?”

“I didn’t see much before you decided to attack me.” He crossed his arms. “You had the stalker bastard pinned down though.”

Deku rubbed his head. “It was him the whole time, he tricked me.”

Ground Zero rolled his eyes and took off towards the house. “If you have time to cry, you have time to fight!”

The two ran back to the house just as another icy spike destroyed another part of the house. Deku could only guess that Tatsuya had managed to turn the others on each other as well by now.

“Wait!” He stopped, grabbing Ground Zero’s arm. “If we run back in, we could turn against each other again, we need a way to counter his quirk.”

Ground Zero ripped Deku off his arm but looked at him like he was ready to listen. Deku looked around, muttering to himself. This was always the thing that irritated Ground Zero the most, even now as adults, Deku still kept the habit much to Ground Zero’s chagrin.

“Come on!” He grumbled. “I’m not going to wait all day!”

Deku stopped and finally looked at him. “Right, so his quirk uses sound to manipulate the brain. We need a way to either cancel out the sound or stop him from using it altogether.” He glanced at the half-destroyed house. “The problem with that, we need to get close enough to stop him without getting hit with his quirk again.”

“Get to the point.” Ground Zero crossed his arms.

“Do you have extra earplugs?” He asked.

Ground Zero scoffed. “Course I do, I deal with explosions all day.”

Deku nodded. “Okay, we seal our ears, but I don’t know how effective it’ll be with his power output. We need to neutralize him as quickly as possible. The other problem is our teammates. I think they might have also been hit with it as well, they might try to attack us when we go in.”

Ground Zero searched through his belt for extra earplugs. “You distract him, I’ll take him out.”

Deku nodded. “No big explosions, Y/N might be somewhere inside.”

“Yeah yeah.” He waved him off. “Hurry up, I want to kick some ass already.”

“Okay, here’s the plan-”

A shriek came from the house, one that was distinctly a woman's.

Deku didn't even wait for the earplugs or to explain his plan. He jumped into the air, heading for the house as fast as his quirk would let him. He was sure this time.

That was your scream.

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...

Chapter 8

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#midoriya izuku x reader #Deku #Pro Hero Deku #Izuku x reader #Deku x reader #bnha #mha #midoriya izuku #katsuki bakugo #pro hero bakugo #kidnapping #reader insert #izuku x y/n #Deku is having a bad day #fighting #violence

[hufflautia]

Where it all started [Part 1]

Chapter 1 

Sometimes links don’t appear on posts. if you can’t see the link to “Chapter 1”, my masterlist is pinned to the top of my blog, and you can find it there.

Summary: Slytherin’s parents have another argument, but at this point, no one’s surprised. After all, they’re her parents. It would be abnormal if they didn’t argue. However, this one’s a biggie. The fight ends with the slam of a door and her dad packing his bags into the car and getting ready to leave. Desperate for him to come back, Slytherin’s mom forces her to go to him with a message that will surely make him stay. Buckle up folks, for this is where it all began. 

Slytherin stood on the sidewalk as she watched her dad pack up his things into the van. 

She dug her fingernails into her arm, her heart stinging with ache as her dad turned around with a smile on his face, a failed attempt to reassure her that it was going to be ok. It was all gonna be ok. After all, this was normal, right? It’s not like it was unusual that her dad was leaving again to go back to Florida, where the homewrecker waited for him, her outstretched hands eagerly opened up to him and his credit card. 

However, this was the first time he left abruptly. A spike of sorrow stabbed at Slytherin’s heart as she thought back to the sound of her parents’ door abruptly opening; soon after, she could hear angry stomps that quickly descended down the steps of the staircase. 

She could almost hear the hiss in her ear as she stood in the archway of the living room, watching her dad leave in the far distance. “Tell him that Ravenclaw’s crying,” her mother spat, pushing her towards the front door. “Quickly, before he leaves!” 

Slytherin internally sighed. How typical. Instead of resolving their relationship issues by going to couples therapy, her mom decided to throw all those burdens onto her daughter, who had already grown tragically used to being used as her puppet. 

She decided not to argue against going after her dad and trying to guilt-trip him into staying home as her mom wanted. Otherwise, she would be lectured on how she’s selfish and wouldn’t do this small thing for her mom, how she’s basically ruining this family by letting her dad leave, how family is so fucking important and manipulating her dad into staying would be vital to their happiness as a whole, how family this and family that. 

You get the point. Slytherin certainly did. That’s why she was currently standing awkwardly behind her dad, staring at his back as he lifted boxes into his car. 

“Um, Raven…” She paused. Her throat felt dry and tight. Swallowing with difficulty, she tried again. “Ravenclaw’s crying.” 

It wasn’t the crying itself that mattered. That wasn’t the main reason why her mom rushed her out the door to deliver the message to her dad. It was simply the fact that it was Ravenclaw who was crying. Let’s just say that he and his dad had a complicated relationship. 

Things were never the same between them after Ravenclaw sent an angry message to him via text when he was in Florida a year ago. The contents of the message reeked of disdain for his constant infidelity. When his mom found out, she shoved the phone into Slytherin’s face in the dead of night and asked if she knew about this. The glaring light from the screen nearly blinded her. 

Slytherin read the text messages through squinted eyes and could make out a few curse words here and there. Though she was slightly disoriented from the sudden ambush of information, it was clear to her that her brother resented their dad for what he did.  

That made Ravenclaw’s anguish even more useful in their mom’s opinion. Seeing the tears streak down his face when he heard that his dad was leaving again, she had a glorious idea. Perhaps if her husband knew of their son’s sorrow, he would reconsider his abrupt departure. After all, it was Ravenclaw who was crying. 

If it were Hufflepuff, that would be understandable—she can get quite emotional sometimes. But it was Ravenclaw, who was usually guarded and distant. One might suggest that he was secretly broken inside. But that’s not the point, at least not in his mom’s opinion. The main thing she was concerned about was that she could use his misery to her advantage! Maybe if her husband knew of his sadness, he would feel guilty enough to stay behind. After all, if his son, who despised him, was upset over his departure, perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to stay home and endure his wife’s temper for a little while longer. 

Slytherin’s words did produce somewhat of a reaction. Her dad didn’t turn around for a while, but when he did, his eyes were slightly red and puffy. It was evident that he was trying to hold back his tears. One might think that this means that he’ll stay. He seemed distraught over the news that his son was crying because of his leave. Surely, he’ll stay, right? 

It wasn’t enough. Nothing ever seems to be enough.

“I’ll be back soon, okay?” He hugged her briefly and gave a light squeeze as a sign of reassurance. As a silent message that it was going to be ok. Even though everything was most definitely not okay. A thousand hugs and gestures of reassurance wouldn’t change this. 

Slytherin didn’t react angrily to his refusal, the unspoken declaration of No, I will not go back home. In fact, it seemed as if she didn’t react at all. However, if one were paying close attention, they would notice the sparkle in her eyes dim. But maybe there wasn’t a sparkle to begin with. She had been enduring this shit for so long that she forgot what it was like to be normal, to feel like the white kid you see in commercials, the one who seemed to radiate mirth, a type of energy that said, I don’t have a care in the world because life is so fucking great and I can’t stop smiling. She didn’t even bother to smile, a common facial expression when one is in a difficult situation and tries to diffuse the somber atmosphere by slapping a facade on their face, the corners of their lips upturned to form a grimace that resembles some sort of a smile—a twisted kind of smile, that’s for sure. Why should she pretend that everything was okay when it wasn’t? Instead, she merely nodded in response. 

When her dad pulled away to pack the last box into the trunk, she took a deep breath to diminish the familiar sense of abandonment that flooded her senses, to clear the warning signs that flashed in her mind. He’s leaving! Your dad is leaving! He’s abandoning you again. You’re apparently not important enough for him to stay. 

She stared at the ground, only looking up when she heard the sound of a car door slamming shut. The resounding click was all it took for the waterfalls to finally pour from her eyes, for it was at this moment when she realized that this was actually happening. This was no dream—it was reality. Her sad, devastating reality. Tears blurred her vision as she watched the car drive away, leaving her in the dust. 

Slytherin gasped in erratic breaths between her broken sobs as her eyes hung onto the tiny speck that resembled her dad who was driving 

away, 

away, 

and a-w-a-y.

Through the jumble of thoughts that clashed in her head, one thing was clear. Her dad was her dad, but only sometimes. 

Tears streaking down her face, she tried to soothe her pain with the belief that he would be back soon. If only she had known that it would be a while before he returned. If only he hadn’t left. Perhaps things would’ve been different for her if he stayed, for this was where it started. 

This marked the beginning of it all.   

Comments and reblogs are a writer’s gold!

MASTERLIST ; sometimes links don’t appear on posts. if you can’t see the link to “MASTERLIST”, the masterlist itself is pinned to the top of my blog. check it out if you haven’t already! 

Author’s note: HI! Were you surprised to see that I posted two fics in a row?? I hope you enjoyed this. Most of it was unfortunately based on what happened to me a year or two ago. I based Ravenclaw on my brother, who did actually cry when my dad was leaving after an argument, and yes, my wack mother did force me to run after my dad to tell him. One of the few differences is that I’m not a drug addict and I’m fine now so dont worry. 

Idk how I feel about this series, it is a lot darker from what I usually write. I know I’m gonna have to write more for creative writing class, so maybe i will continue it. I will try to think of how to turn these fics into something more positive, because this stuff is very heavy and depressing. however, that will be a little difficult because the plot itself is naturally drab. however, i will try to think of a happy ending for Faye/Slytherin. 

Shall we look at some wholesome pictures? 

lmaoaoa i pasted this picture from the internet and tumblr glitched and pushed the pic all the way to the top. imagine seeing this dog at the beginning of the fic, that would be funny :’) 

AWWWWWW I THINK THIS MIGHT BE MY FAVORITE

ok hold up i just realized that is probably a stuffed animal 😐 this is so embarassing lmaoaoa when i saw it i was like THAT IS SO FRICKIN CUTE

OK WAIT WTF NOW I THINK ITS AN ACTUAL DOG??? CAN SOMEONE HELP AND TELL ME IF ITS REAL OR NOT?!! at first, i thought it was real, but then i looked at the paws and it looked kinda fake and i was like this dog is too fluffy and wholesome to be real. BUT THEN I LOOKED AGAIN and i think the owners just put the pooh outfit over the dog?? what is going on with my brain.. but at the same time, its 2 am for me rn so maybe i should get some sleep BUT FIRST, LETS LOOK AT MORE DOGS <3 (lmaoaoa i feel like my friend would say “gosh ur such a hufflepuff” (menna im talking about u lmao omg hey gorl)) 

After seeing this gryffindor pup, i immediately searched up “dog costumes hufflepuff” lmaoooooo

OK THATS ENOUGH DOGS FOR NOW. Part 2 is coming soon. I already have it ready but I might not post it right away. 

That’s all for now. Be sure to let me know what you think. TOODELOOO!

TAGS:  @slytherpuff-shenanigans @lokijiro @xxkitsurikaxx @sara-is-boredd @skylee-skz   @determinedpines @draco22malfoy @pancakes-and-sugar  @casteel08 @indigosimon1998 @tell-that-to-my-feather @the-ugly-duck0 @prettyblueskylark  @okiguessimawitchnow @daisyinmyheart @peachyblue @korra4321 @shoyoockbby  @ravenflowersposts @walkinganomaly @parkerthemarker02 @hummingbird-hufflepuff @bumbblebeeeeee @luciferswife16 @iknow-im-cute @maisen98 @shadowsinger11 @tuonglam03 @fanfic-reblogger @mygc0re @rellasworld @sha3thehunter @croctusjuice @jadefox05 @d0uxs @charleii @kaylenthegreat @hufflepufflepukwudgie3897 @insertlongnamehere @trashpannda @ihate-myname @nowheredreamer @history-geek101 @strawberrypanda99 @nikkijovanic @hannanshi @sirenofthe7seas  @johannamariemst @badass-like-damon  @willow-salix @remmyswritings @x-whatsupdoc-x @dracosvftie @hitchhiker-of-the-galaxy @akerlizzie @thatfann @justanxiousme @another-witch @bucinjisung @elegantcroissantplaidpony @treefroggo @narritydream @hufflpuffles @adreameratdawn @leftpeanutturtleegg @turbulentbluebird5 @geekgirl69 @praiseourlordduck @quakemebacktothe50s @nomad-of-the-realms @stardustzainy  @theblackwolf21 @crakencc @introvertedrae @cryinbisexual @bojelina @cocoqueenstheword @manicpixiedreamtarot @velvetstrawberry @jxmpsuitx @simpering-simpleton @urfaveslytherin @asterinatlas @simpforkpop @pufflehuff929 @morallyambiguoussimp @applekenm @chunwest @oncergleekpotterhead @no1-importan @qiaopao  @dulduldoldul @schlongbottom @vickeyunicorn @peanut-in-the-goal @hufflepuffgirly @flvrqnce @nothingtoseehere812 @maxwellsgang @1d-killed-me @betacaroteno-lanudo @dragon-slayer-fairy1 @thatonebislytherin @dragonsandbread @justanotherperson @sophiexteresa @hmilkwhoney @writertwiddle @questionsbecameourocean @anomiatartle @coldsweetharmony @dont-hyuck @fixstationed @kindawannadietbh @trippy-morgan @xo-angel-ox @fangirlgeekandfreak @evolnura @mossy-axolotl @verylovelystars @boilyourteeth @megand2017 @malfoys-demigod @booksntings @joshirlangford @staymoarmyzen @poojxshxh @hedgepuffgirl @alverniaphi @verifiefangirl-mainblog @purpleskymalfoy @roxy3457 @rayanicaraynbow @jess-harrywars @starrysonic @tonksichu @lauxtbs @tumlbr-trasher @chelseasosa @thebiggestnaturaldisaster @swagangelhorsepickle @princessstoopid @pymmoon @emilyaneliperry @pond-waterr @pandapillow @saraleo95 @astrartss @trentalexanders @theoriginaljohnwatsonsblog @nevilletheplantboi @just--another--hufflepuff @yoongifiess @ajdqueen @annie-mcl @coloring-bud @majorfangirl37 @eatacrackerandstop @weasleytwinswheezes @imscaredofhorses @dontmindmeimjustabox @glitterykidlightmug @multi-fandom-nutjob @littleemotionalpanda @thewitcheswords  @blueberry-9-pancakes @worldsbestdilfbecky @qixnsriess @inexperiencedpotathoe @notsowiseravenclaw @captiniminnie @ruinyourface @da-fox-rangerrr @inkedintothepaper  @happy-puff @grandcyclecreation @dawinehouse @catiwisspuff​ @aasa2102​  @mae-25​ @sydthekidd98 @kokichismango @xxavaloraxx​ @iamahufflepuff​ @adoregin​ @sunnniiee @lewispoolerpayton @dumbbitch85​ @bumblebirbs​ @diggorycullen​ @protectorofsk8topia​ @silverhetdanes​ @zuko-28​  @beardedhumanoid​ @arianatorpotterhead​ @shipping-book-keeper​ @marvelenthusiast10​ @i-cannot-do-aesthetics​ @a-huffleing-lesbean​ @kaslec​ @hufflepuffwritess​ @mouthfacereborn​ @kodeinekissss​ @ihavenocontrolofmylifeeither​ @pinqgchuu​ @im-a-solanum-lycopersicum​ @clementines-x​ @stressy-depressy​ @sweetinvisiblewriter​ @absentmindeduniverse​ @asnowpuff​ @theofficialgaybestfriend​ @violayaxley​ @sunshinyyb @colettedelaurel​ @theoriginalsherlockholmesblog​ @i-have-a-bad-feeling​ @jpow345​  @gay-disaster826​ @bloodyxheaven​ @autumnpleaves​ @froggy-failure​ @toomanybandstocare​ @pink1babez​ @untitled-2424​ @sleepdeprivedgurl​  @chaseanders​  @wolfpack-arts-industries99​ @nugnugchick​ @queenofwordsandnerds​ @ganjeolhiddaeng​ @wordy-escapades​ @writtenfoxscreams​ @w0odr0ses​ @coolpetsmcubandit​  @crypticcandi​ @widowsgranger​ @fantasyprincess101​ @wiiltedflowers​ @aestheticworldd​ @miniaturefunnytraveldonkey​ @bucketofdeadroses​ @uwuplsh​ @softedits-exe​ @cel3stialone​ @sofiapeachyy​  @wanderaven92​ @eunnieah​ @marsupialsgotbloodyears​ @eurydicedior​ @neonuzumaki​ @uhhhem​

#Hogwarts #harry potter #slytherpuff #hufflepuff x slytherin #hufflepuff #slytherin #hogwarts imagine #hogwarts houses #hogwarts would include #harry potter would include #slytherin x hufflepuff #ravenclaw #gryffindor #hufflepuff-x-slytherin #slytherin-x-hufflepuff #slytherin and hufflepuff #hufflepuff and slytherin #slytherin friendship #hufflepuff friendship #cedric diggory #hufflepuff pride #slowburn #hogwarts fanfiction #harry potter oneshot #hufflepuff and slytherin fanfiction #slytherpuff friendship #harry potter fanfiction #ravenclaw and slytherin #slytherin and ravenclaw #ravenclaw and hufflepuff

[themurphyzone]

Pinky the Snowmouse Ch 2

AN: I’m glad people like this idea so much. Sorry for calling you ugly in the last chapter, Brain. You’re adorable and I love you.

Ch 2: A Jolly, Happy Soul 

AO3 Link

Brain laid on his back in the cold snow, staring up at the snowmouse that was now moving and talking so fast that not even his logical mind could comprehend anything he was saying. 

“Happy birthday! Or happy early or belated birthday! Sorry, I don’t know when yours is!” the snowmouse exclaimed as he danced around with his stick arms in the chilly December air. He pirouetted and sashayed with ease, like he hardly weighed anything at all. 

“Surely, I ate a bad food pellet. Or a piece of moldy cheese. Perhaps indigestion or a nutrition deficiency,” Brain murmured. He didn’t bother getting up. His mind was overstimulated and he just needed the snow to numb his neurons. 

“I’m alive! I’m actually, really, truly alive!” the snowmouse trilled in a strange Cockney accent. “Egad, I can dance the Macarena and sing Joy to the World! Joy to the world, narf narf narf narf! Oh...well, I could sing if I knew the rest of the lyrics. But I do know the continents! There’s Antelope, Liverpool, Gobbledegook, Aloe Vera, Recess, Narnia, and Char-ooh, are you making a snow angel? That’s brilliant! I’ll make a snow angel too!” 

The snowmouse flopped down next to Brain, spraying snow everywhere as his limbs and tail flailed in every direction. 

Brain inclined his head towards the strange entity, shielding his eyes from the onslaught of snow. He expected the snowmouse to sink into the ground, leaving no trace of his existence behind. 

But the snowmouse didn’t disappear. 

“Well, there’s my angel!” the snowmouse said, blithely hopping to his feet. “Lovely, isn’t he? Anyway, let’s see yours!”  

The snowmouse had left an imprint behind. Brain could only stare at the newly formed snow angel. He didn’t move. He hadn’t yet determined if the imprint was real or if it was just an illusion. 

“Er...do you need instructions?” the snowmouse asked. “It’s really easy. All you have to do is swish your arms and-” 

“I don’t require instructions for such a frivolous concept!” Brain snapped as he leapt to his feet and pushed past the snowmouse. “And certainly not from a geographically challenged lump of frozen water.” 

He grabbed the string that was attached to the windowsill and hauled himself up, intending to go back into the lab and continue his plans for world domination. But a stick arm grabbed hold of the string just above his head, stopping him in his tracks when he was just a few inches off the ground. He clung to the string, glaring at the snowmouse who refused to leave him alone. 

“But I can play and move and talk just like you,” the snowmouse said quietly. His earlier playfulness vanished, an odd tinge of hurt in his tone. 

“Because you’re nothing more than a hallucination,” Brain replied. “Either from sensory deprivation or dehydration. Both conditions could potentially cause vision disturbances.” 

The snowmouse wiped his eye, several ice crystals collecting on the tip of his finger. But it was the high-pitched, broken whimper that made Brain pause when he was halfway up the string.

Could hallucinations make those noises? It sounded agonizingly real. 

And the snowmouse was still holding the string, which made it strangely easy for Brain to climb up without exerting himself too much. 

He wasn’t sure what compelled him to slide to the ground instead of going inside, but perhaps the snowmouse deserved a chance to prove his existence. 

“Listen, I’ll give you an opportunity to prove that you’re corporeal if you’ll stop crying,” Brain sighed. He hoped that would do the trick. He’d never been great at stopping tears.  

The snowmouse dabbed his eyes with his scarf, looking rather confused. “But I’m not in the military.” 

Perhaps the migraine he was currently developing was proof enough. 

“That’s a corporal, and this test has nothing to do with the military,” Brain explained. He pointed to the string in the snowmouse’s hand. “Tug that as hard as you can. If you’re real, the string will follow the laws of physics. If you’re not, the string won’t react at all.”

“Tug o’ war with the window latch! This’ll be fun!” the snowmouse exclaimed, his twig tail perking up, even though it lacked the proper musculature to behave like a real mouse tail. 

It seemed his emotions changed as easily as water. Flowing from joy to sorrow, then back to joy. 

The snowmouse took hold of the string. “One, ninety-six, three hundred and nine!” he called, yanking the string so hard that there was a distinctive snap, and the end that was attached to the latch fell to the ground.

Though part of Brain wanted to blame it on the wind, logically he knew the wind couldn’t have caused that snapping noise. And the frayed tip could only result from a sufficient, deliberate force applied from the opposite direction. 

There were no other possibilities to explain what he’d just seen and heard.

Which meant…

“You’re actually real,” Brain said breathlessly, unable to take his eyes off the frayed string. He touched several of the individual fibers that stuck out in every direction, and they weren’t an optical illusion. 

“Told you so!” The snowmouse twirled around on one foot as he tried to catch snowflakes in his mouth. 

"How are you alive though?" Brain asked. Nobody else's snow structures came to life. So why his? 

"How?" The snowmouse stopped twirling and grinned at Brain. "That's easy! You made a wish on Christmas snow!" 

What a ludicrous concept. 

"I don't believe in wishes," Brain scoffed. "And Christmas snow isn't any different from any other kind of snow either. The only difference is that you've proven you can affect the real world and I intend to find a logical explanation for it." 

"But it's true that Christmas snow makes all your hopes and dreams come to life!" the snowmouse said, leaning in so close that Brain had to step back to avoid the frosty breath against his face. “Don’t you have something you want more than anything else?” 

“I desire the world, but wishing on stars isn’t going to help me acquire it,” Brain admitted. 

The snowmouse tilted his head. “Have you ever tried wishing on a star?” 

Several times, when he was younger and more naive. When he believed that moronic Disney tagline of wishing on stars to make his dreams come true. 

Though he wanted to dismiss the foolish notion entirely, part of him wondered if he still had that childhood naivety somewhere. But there comes a time when everyone realized how cruel and harsh the world could truly be, and that innocence was forever lost. He was no exception. 

“I want that explanation, snowmouse,” Brain sighed. A change in subject was in order. It occurred to him that the snowmouse had no name either. And if he was going to be alive, then he needed one. But that could be remedied later. 

To figure out how the snowmouse was alive, he figured his best option was to retrace the creation process. 

“I rolled the main body first,” Brain said as he gathered a handful of snow into a pile. “Then I added a tail and legs.” 

The snowmouse tossed his own snow onto the mound, and Brain shooed him off. He didn’t want anyone disturbing his replica. 

Next came the head and ears. The snowmouse clapped his hands together. “It’s a very nice snow leopard! I’m calling her Stripes!” 

It didn’t resemble a snow leopard at all. Just a rough facsimile of the living snowmouse in front of him. 

“This is where your silk hat blew over with all your non-snow components,” Brain said. 

But the snowmouse wasn’t paying attention. “Lalala! Stripes the snow leopard was a happy, jolly leopard!” he singsonged as he wrapped his scarf around the lifeless mound of snow. 

“Cease your nonsense! I’m pondering,” Brain snapped. 

The snowmouse’s song trailed off into a soft hum, which wasn’t as disruptive, so Brain let it slide. 

“Zort! She needs a hat!” the snowmouse declared, and he removed the black silk hat from his head. 

And then he froze, the hat hooked on his fingers, just inches away from the so-called snow leopard’s head. His gravity-defying tail fell limp, his blue eyes nothing more than a pair of pebbles.

Cautiously, Brain prodded the snowmouse’s belly. No response. 

“Snowmouse?” Brain asked. “If you can hear me, say any of your nonsensical phrases.” 

But there was only the howling wind and engine noises from the slow-moving cars on the road. 

The once-lively, dancing, jolly to a fault snowmouse was silent and still. 

It was...uncanny. Disturbing. Quiet. 

An odd pang of loneliness crept into his chest and remained there. Though annoying, the snowmouse wasn’t bad company. 

The snowmouse didn’t become inanimate until he took off the hat. 

With trembling fingers, Brain lifted the hat off the snowmouse and examined it thoroughly. Could there be a degree of truth in that incompetent magician’s claim? 

He stared at the old silk hat with the pink flower. Then he looked at the unmoving snowmouse. Though the hat would be a valuable asset in world domination, he didn’t know how its magic worked. If it was unreliable for Hinkle, he wasn’t sure if it would work for him. 

And it just seemed to belong to the snowmouse. 

Brain placed the hat back on the snowmouse’s head, and a flurry of snowflakes swirled around his form. The tail lifted, the pebbles became a pair of blue eyes, and his arms cheerfully waved. 

“Happy birthday!” the snowmouse exclaimed as he did several pirouettes in a row. To Brain’s relief, he was skipping around without a care in the world. “Happy Valentine’s! Happy Opposite Day!” 

Brain took the scarf from the replica and threw it around the snowmouse’s shoulders. “I figured it out,” he announced. “The hat’s animating you.” 

The snowmouse’s eyes brightened. “Really? Narf! I thought I was animated by a bunch of overseas studios!” 

For the sake of his sanity, he was definitely better off ignoring some of the things that came out of the snowmouse’s mouth. Apparently, magic hats didn’t grant intelligence along with sentience. 

But he could finally move onto naming his creation. 

“You’ll need a name,” Brain said. “I can’t keep calling you snowmouse.” 

“How ‘bout Sam? Or Olaf?” the snowmouse suggested.

Brain shook his head. “You don’t resemble a Sam. And I refuse to call you Olaf.” 

“Hmmm, okay...call me Oatmeal then!” The snowmouse placed his hands on his hips, like he was actually proud of being named after a breakfast food. 

“Absolutely not,” Brain said. Since the snowmouse couldn’t come up with anything suitable, the responsibility of a name fell to Brain. 

The snowmouse’s simple nature would make him unfit for being named after any part of the brain. And Brain didn’t really care for winter-associated names either. 

A physical attribute would have to do. 

As the snowmouse waited for his name, he rocked back and forth on his heels, the pink scarf and flower swaying with the motion. Pink was for innocence and playfulness. 

“I’m naming you Pinky,” Brain declared. 

“Pinky,” the snowmouse tested his newly-bestowed name. “Pinky. Pinky! Egad, you’re very good at this naming business...er, I never got your name?” 

“The Brain.” 

Pinky grabbed Brain’s arm and shook it vigorously. “Well, thank you very much for naming me, the Brain!” 

Brain pulled away and clamped down on his still-vibrating arm with his other hand. “You don’t have to tack ‘the’ on every time. That’s reserved for more important functions. Just Brain will do.” 

“Okay, Just Brain!” Pinky giggled. 

Brain rolled his eyes. “Now that we’ve taken care of important matters—umph!” 

He was hushed with a twig finger over his mouth. 

Pinky tilted his head from side to side, taking in their surroundings curiously. “Where are those pretty bell sounds coming from, Brain?” 

Brain shoved Pinky’s finger off his mouth. His ears twitched at the sound of bells and carols in the distance. Despite the below freezing temperature, the sound was joyful, welcoming, and somewhat cacophonic. 

“It’s from the town square. It’s just your typical Christmas fanfare for when they light the tree once darkness falls,” Brain said. With the overcast sky, it wouldn’t be long before dark. Most cities had a giant Christmas tree as decor for the holiday season. It wasn’t anything special or unique. The reminders for the event were posted all over the place. 

“Narf! A Christmas tree lighting!” Pinky gasped, clasping his hands in excitement. “Have you ever seen such a beautiful sight before?” 

Brain had passed by the tree many times in the past few weeks during his nightly quests for world domination. It was just a large tree with added baubles and lights. No different from any other Christmas tree. 

“They light the tree every night throughout December. I doubt it’s worth the excitement. But the light from the tree is so great that the lampposts in that area don’t need to be turned on for visibility,” Brain said. 

Though he had far more pertinent matters to attend to, Pinky was far too enamored by thoughts of the Christmas tree lighting. Brain had the feeling he’d be dragged into this while kicking and screaming. 

“Then what are we standing around here for, Brain?” Pinky cheered as he pulled away from Brain and recklessly darted towards the street. “Follow me! O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree, lalalalala!”

“Pinky, stop!” Brain shouted, running after him at a speed he never knew he was capable of. His fingers closed around the back of Pinky’s scarf and hauled him back, just before a plow could smash into him at full force. 

Breathing heavily, Brain watched as the plow barreled down the street, steadily pushing snow as it disappeared around a corner. 

He crossed his arms and glared at Pinky for his lack of awareness. The only sound was the distant sleigh bells. 

“Um....on second thought, maybe you shouldn’t follow me.” Pinky ducked his head sheepishly. “Thanks.” 

“First sensible thing you’ve said in your entire existence,” Brain sighed, clutching his chest as his heart rate went back to normal. “If you want to survive long enough to see the lighting, I suppose I have no choice but to come with you.” 

“Pretty lights, here we come!” Pinky perked up and took off running, thankfully staying on the sidewalk this time. 

Unfortunately, Pinky was too caught up in Christmas festivities to notice something so vitally important. 

“You’re going the wrong way!”  

End AN: Decided to split this chapter so that Pinky’s introduction and the events at the city square are separate.

I just think it’s cute how Frosty’s first words are ‘happy birthday’, so I kept that intact. Similarly, he can’t count either. Sam the Snowman is the name of the narrator of Rankin Bass’ Rudolph. And I had to include the gag where the weird kid tries to name Frosty ‘Oatmeal’. I just find it funny. And I have no idea where Olaf is from.

Some elements of Christmas Carol and Polar Express kinda snuck their way in (sue me, but not really cause I’m not doing this for profit.) The 1984 Christmas Carol movie and Polar Express are my favorite Christmas movies, mostly with Brain thinking he ate something bad that caused him to hallucinate a snowmouse coming to life.

Also borrowed a gag from the Phineas and Ferb Christmas Vacation special (also a favorite!) with Pinky nearly getting run over by a snow plow. I can’t help but laugh at that Frosty gag every time I see it.

#pinky and the brain #patb fanfiction #pinky the snowmouse

[phantompearlsalt]

Sour Cherry, Chapter 16

And so the angst continues...for those who enjoyed Chapter 6/the engagement chapter, here is the angsty counterpart! But in all seriousness, I promise it’s not all doom and gloom by the end 😭 Plus the next one will be much more ~spicy~ for those who like those chapters. As always, please let me know what you think as I simply adore your asks, comments, etc.! Do feel free to check this out on AO3 too ❤️

Something shifts in Kuvira after she meets with Suyin in Zaofu. When she returns to the train, almost everything about her looks the same but you instantly notice the added hardness in her eyes. When you look closer, you see that her jaw is clenched tighter than usual.

It doesn’t help that more chaos ensues when Varrick, Zhu Li, and Bolin unsuccessfully attempt to defect from the army. Baatar and two other privates manage to haul them back. Kuvira decides to keep Zhu Li around after an admittedly impressive display of her devotion to the Empire and more importantly, Kuvira.

You try to ignore the twinge in your chest when Bolin is carried away. He had committed a grave mistake, this was true, but you know he is a good man at heart. You only hope he will see the error of his ways and return. However, the more realistic part of your brain knows his departure doesn’t signal a positive outcome.

Varrick is shipped off shortly thereafter and then Kuvira decides to call you, Zhu Li, and Baatar for an impromptu meeting in her office.

You all follow closely behind and you notice the stride in her step is slightly faster now, almost heavier. She won’t express it, much less admit it, but you know the treason is affecting her deeply. Not only had she been shunned yet again by the woman who so carelessly thought of herself as Kuvira’s mother figure but now faced the uncertainty of whether those closest to her actually had the Empire’s best interests at heart.

For a fleeting moment, your stomach feels like it sinks to your feet when you wonder whether Kuvira is questioning your own motives as well.

You step into the train car and hope the conversation starts immediately. It’s wishful thinking.

There is a moment of uncomfortable silence so thick it feels like it’s plunging your feet into the metal flooring. In reality it probably only lasts five seconds, maybe ten, but they drag on like hours, emphasizing just how grim everything really is.

“Zhu Li,” Kuvira starts. The young woman looks up with a convincingly neutral face. As you stand by Baatar’s side across the room, you see the faint quiver in her neck when she swallows.

“Yes, Great Uniter?” she responds. Kuvira takes two steps forward until her chest nearly touches Zhu Li’s. She looks down at her, cold and menacing, before lifting her hand to rest it on the smaller woman’s shoulder. Beside you, Baatar shuffles around on his feet.

“You have proclaimed your allegiance to the Empire and myself admirably. Keep in mind that I haven’t kept you around because you’re indispensable — you aren’t. You do however have one final opportunity to demonstrate the depth of your commitment,” Kuvira explains.

She turns to face you and Baatar. “Suyin is planning to attack me tonight,” she says. You feel the sensation of ice cold water crash down your spine. Obviously, it’s a purely emotional response but a violent tremor rushes through you nonetheless.

You’re about to speak when Baatar jumps in. “There’s no way Mother would do such a thing,” he gasps. “She is stubborn and ignorant, yes, but I can’t believe she would resort to something so...barbaric.”

Anger flashes in Kuvira’s eyes or perhaps it’s distrust. It’s likely both.

“If you know what’s best for you Baatar you will cease to let your emotional attachments cloud your judgement,” she snaps. The man instantly falls back at your side, pressing his back against the metal wall.

“I never once doubted Suyin would turn to violence,” Kuvira continues. “Zaofu is no longer about innovation, about progress. It’s about an outdated system of government that clings to a single woman’s vision of what should be and what shouldn’t. I told Suyin we would take the city by force if she did not relent and she will use that to justify her plans.”

You want to speak so badly, you want to interrupt her and somehow convince everyone that it can’t possibly be true even when the weight in your stomach tells you otherwise. Instead, you try to swallow around the lump in your throat and fail. It feels like it’s expanding, growing wider and denser upon realizing Kuvira’s life is in much more immediate danger than before.

It’s not like you ever acted like she was never in danger — her position invited threats from all angles. But now it’s closer, it’s far too real and when you think about waking up in the morning and realizing Kuvira is no longer there, it makes you sick to your stomach.

So you stay silent. There’s nothing else you can do that wouldn’t exacerbate the already growing tension.

“What are we going to do then?” Baatar asks. His voice wavers, much like you imagine his mind does between his devotion to Kuvira and his deep-seated attachment to his family.

“That’s where Zhu Li comes in,” Kuvira says. At this Zhu Li’s eyes widen, the first indication of any emotion you’ve seen from her during this entire conversation.

“Suyin’s strategy is simple: cut off the head of the snake and all else will fall into place. My tent is easily identifiable — she’ll aim there. She wouldn’t be foolish enough to take this on by herself and there are only two others who have the necessary metalbending abilities to assist her. Wing and Wei.

Therefore, Zhu Li will serve as the pawn. The tent itself is rather dark so there won’t be a great deal of making up to do. You’ll give her the necessary items she’ll need to vaguely resemble my appearance,” she explains, turning to you.

She waits for a response, unmoving but somehow still looking expectant. You can’t find your voice so you simply nod.

“Zhu Li, you won’t be in any legitimate danger,” Kuvira reassures, turning back and marginally softening her expression. “My guards will be outside ready to intervene and I will have additional reinforcements sent to arrest the intruders. All you have to do is stay calm and play your role. Do I make myself clear?”

Zhu Li schools her face back into something indiscernible and she clears her throat. “Affirmative, Great Uniter. I’m grateful for the opportunity to prove myself to you again. I promise I will not lose your trust a second time.”

“I’m sure you won’t, as a second time won’t bode well,” Kuvira responds. She finally removes herself from Zhu Li’s space and walks out of the room, leaving the three of you stunned and disoriented.

You’re the one who finally breaks the stillness by yanking the door open and running towards Kuvira. You shout her name once, twice but she doesn’t turn back. The guards watch with piqued interest which annoys you but not enough to actually care.

Eventually Kuvira stops and you nearly ram into her back. Your hand starts to reach towards her elbow but she tugs it away just enough for it to be out of reach. When you speak again, your words come out shakingly.

“Kuvira I...we can’t do this. We can’t risk it, please. Please, I-I can’t stand the thought of anything happening to you, not when we’ve gotten this far. Your plan is sound, I know it is, but—”

“But what?” Kuvira interrupts. She doesn’t turn around but her shoulders roll backwards and her voice is barely above a growl. “There’s still some fault in it? Are you going to take Baatar’s side now too?”

“This isn’t about sides, Kuvira,” you nearly sob. “I don’t care what Baatar thinks. I care about you and I care about what Suyin could do to you. I swear if she so much as brushes a hand over your head and takes you away from me I won’t...I won’t be able to cope with that. I’ve lost too much already and I don’t regret it. Not for a moment. But you’re the one person I can’t...I just can’t lose. Please. Please, let’s just go and...and we can figure it out later. We don’t need Zaofu.”

Kuvira is still. All you can hear is the roaring of blood in your ears, pounding in your skull with relentless force. Your vision starts to blur around the edges.

“I understand your concern...but this isn’t about Zaofu. This is much bigger than that and I should hope you understand,” Kuvira says quietly. She turns around and she looks at you, aimless, distant.

She makes a move as if to close the gap between you but you see the way she holds herself back. She clasps her hand behind her back and presses her lips into a firm line. “You will stay in Bolin’s former tent. Don’t wait up for me tonight.”

Kuvira doesn’t wait for a response. She walks away and you fear your chest is caving deep into your body, collapsing and splintering until it feels like you’ll be engulfed by your own self.

Beneath the layers of twisted, broken emotion, you wish you actually could be.

---

The buildup to the actual event is intolerably slow. So much so that your body grows sore with the force of holding your limbs tight. Bolin’s tent had been cleared of his meager belongings and though there was nothing there to remind you of him, there was still a faint presence that could be felt.

Even so, it did nothing to assuage the terror swelling in your bones.

The metal walls are thick so it’s nearly impossible to hear anything outside unless it’s especially loud. You don’t expect Suyin to come barging into the encampment with blaring sirens and a horde of soldiers but you aren’t prepared for how the silence will affect you either.

Your mind shifts between believing nothing will actually happen and wondering whether they’ve already taken Kuvira away, or worse…

When it happens though, it feels like every sound and movement is condensed into the span of five seconds.

There’s a faint commotion before the alarm starts blaring and you hear the sound of Kuvira’s tent coming down. Despite her orders to stay inside, you fling yourself off the bed and run. The guards outside shout and follow behind but you can’t stop. You need to get close. Not close enough where you can be seen by Kuvira but enough to see everything unfolding and know she’s alive.

The guards in the mecha suits don’t try to subdue you — clearly they’re just there to make sure no one gets to you either. However, you’d rather anyone take you first before ever considering getting close to Kuvira.

There’s too much distance for you to discern what’s being said but you can see everything in vivid detail. Kuvira was right.

Suyin stands at the center of the tent with her twin sons at her sides, surrounded by what seems to be a dozen mechas and an equal number of privates who bring the tent down. Zhu Li sits upright and you release a bated breath when you see they hadn’t actually harmed her.

The exchange passes quickly. Kuvira walks away, you see the neon glow of electricity that folds over the three Beifongs like sheets of paper, and Kuvira’s shadow becomes solid flesh as she approaches you.

She pauses before her eyes narrow. “I told you to stay inside,” she hisses. The rancor in her voice is unexpected and you don’t know how to react, how to feel. You’re still trying to process what just happened, trying to convince the part of your brain that refuses to believe she’s here that she’s really okay. Your hands hang limply at your sides.

“Go back to the tent. You had nothing to worry about but it seems you couldn’t even believe that,” Kuvira says before walking away. You can’t tell exactly where she goes, you just see her silhouette fade into the shadows.

The guards call your name and inch you towards the tent so you finally make your way back. Your body collapses onto the bed and when you rest your head on the pillow, you feel moisture pooling onto the cool fabric.

To no one’s surprise, you don’t sleep that night.

---

The next day Kuvira fights the Avatar. She never came back to the tent and you didn’t see her all morning.

You feel that same fear grip your heart when Korra goes into the Avatar State and nearly kills Kuvira. Your body goes numb before it thrums with panic and it’s all you can do to not throw yourself past the throngs of soldiers and beg her to stop.

But Korra fails. Kuvira is safe. Opal and Tenzin’s eldest daughter blast Kuvira with a powerful gust of wind that sends her flying onto her back. She’s lifted up by two privates and within moments the army charges forward.

Zaofu falls not long after. Kuvira stakes her claim to the city and then it’s over. Opal manages to flee but the rest of the Beifongs are now locked away. Zaofu has been annexed and all that’s left is Republic City.

Zhu Li is tasked with assisting Baatar in building a spirit cannon that will force President Raiko to yield if he chooses not to do so voluntarily. The army makes it way to the spirit vines and you watch as information is gathered and the plants are harvested.

Everything should feel normal. The army just won. Kuvira certainly seems satisfied.

But something still isn’t right.

Ever since Zaofu, you’ve only caught glimpses of Kuvira in your time alone: when she slides into bed beside you but makes it a point to avoid your touch. Or when you awake in the morning and she’s already dressed, slipping out of the tent without a word or glance in your direction.

These days you find yourself looking down at the metal band around your finger more often, tracing the detailed curves and engravings, and remember the night you accepted Kuvira’s proposal. It doesn’t feel like any period of time has passed...it feels like another world entirely.

Kuvira doesn’t wear a band — it’s not really her style plus it’s inconvenient given the gloves she wears everyday. Nevertheless, she had made it an unspoken ritual to touch your ring at least once during the day, gliding her finger over the design her hands crafted or holding it up to the sun to watch it glint in the light.

It’s not lost on you that she hasn’t done this for a while now.

But that’s not what stops you. It’s the distance hovering inside Kuvira’s eyes.

She carries herself proudly, almost arrogantly, now that they are so close to the end. She nearly preens under the exaltations and praises of her following.

And yet, she’s not entirely there.

You can’t tell if she’s looking for something far away from here or if she’s somewhere else completely in her mind. You try to broach the subject one night but to little avail.

“Kuvira...I...I’m worried about you,” you say, keeping your arms folded over your blanket, resisting the urge to reach over and touch her. It’s been over a week.

Kuvira’s back faces you and she doesn’t move, doesn’t make a sound.

“What happened with Suyin —”

“Nothing happened with Suyin,” she snaps. It startles you and you bite your lip to refrain from speaking again. She continues in your place. “We are closer to uniting the Empire than we’ve ever been. Zaofu is under my control — that’s that. There is nothing to dwell on.”

You want to believe she falls asleep soon after but the uneven breathing at your side indicates you both lie awake for the rest of the night.

--

Things don’t get any better with time. When you’re alone in your tent, or caught up in the neverending stream of paperwork that still needs reviewing and filing, you find yourself chuckling. It’s humorless. Pained.

What was that whole thing about time healing all wounds?

You’ve argued with Kuvira before, both minor altercations and ones that fundamentally influenced how you approached each other. Regardless, you grew from that. Each conflict allowed you to learn more about Kuvira and what she needed from you and she learned the same for you. Even in disputes that felt insurmountable.

Nothing gets better now. At one point, Commander Zhen looks at you questioningly during a morning assembly. People are starting to notice but it’s not like there’s anything you can do.

Time proceeds, paying no mind to these hiccups of little people’s lives that mean nothing in the grand scheme of all that’s to come. Baatar and Zhu Li make great strides in the spirit beam cannon and it seems to be the only thing that brings Kuvira any sense of contentment these days. When she’s not preoccupied with observing the cannon’s construction, she’s quiet. Closed off.

Then the day comes when Kuvira realizes Zhu Li has been plotting to sabotage her plans for the cannon all along. Whatever inkling of hope remained in Kuvira’s eyes up until that point is consumed by something else that’s ruthless and sour.

Then the Beifongs come in and take everyone away. You see Bolin. You make eye contact for a second and you look at each other like strangers.

Everyone manages to scuttle onto Opal’s flying bison and just before they leave, you see Toph Beifong. It’s the first time in weeks you’ve felt anything other than despair and your eyes widen upon seeing the inventor of metalbending standing right before your eyes.

“You give metalbenders a bad name!”

Toph’s voice rings fierce and indignant as she throws the words in Kuvira’s face. No one else says a word. You stand behind Baatar so you can’t see Kuvira’s face but you do see the way her fingers tighten around the metal bars on the deck.

She looks...sad from here. You aren’t sure if she feels sad but for the first time since you joined her army, it’s the first time you’ve seen Kuvira shrink in on herself. It’s not something you see in her body language — she manages to stand upright, seemingly unaffected by the accusation.

It’s the way she stays still when Toph flies away. The way that Toph, the creator of the discipline, diminishes the one thing Kuvira has always known to be her strongest point, the characteristic that people admire her for the most.

This seems to be the breaking point.

That night, Kuvira doesn’t come back to your tent at all. You sit up in bed, staring into the empty room, wondering how on earth this can be salvageable when too much time has passed. The wedge digs deeper, grows wider, and there’s no sign that it will ever leave.

Eventually, you break your gaze to look back down at your finger.

You twist the metal band around, feeling the material slide and tug on your skin. Even since Zaofu, you haven’t thought of removing it.

But now, it feels heavy. Too tight. You slowly slide it off and set it on the bedside table, wondering if you’ll ever put it on again.

The possibility is agonizing so you pull your uniform on, step into your boots, and make your way outside. There are no guards milling about too close-by so you’re able to slip away quickly towards the shadowy mountains.

In a few days time, the army will be in Republic City. You wonder when the president will start evacuating, if at all. You wonder what will come after, when the city inevitably concedes to the Empire and everything is complete.

It’s all that Kuvira’s dreamed of for years now, to see her people reunited and moving into a new era of progress and modernity. She ushered you into this dream, allowed you to see how much was actually possible under her guidance and your knowledge, and you believed it too. You still do.

Everything had once seemed so clearly laid out. The Empire would be one at long last and you would marry Kuvira soon after. You would rule at her side, endeavoring to make life better and more meaningful for your citizens.

How true is that now?

Without the ring on your hand, you feel different. Or rather, you feel like nothing at all. You had expected to feel so many other things but instead you simply exist, feeling totally disconnected from your body, your thoughts, and everything else that breathes and moves around you.

When Kuvira finds you, it’s not surprising. You didn’t leave because you knew she’d follow. Frankly, you almost wish she hadn’t. Her being here now means you have to face reality, to determine exactly where you stand with her.

You’re not ready for that answer.

You turn to face Kuvira because she doesn’t step towards you and before you see the look on her face, you see her hand extended. She isn’t wearing gloves. Cradled in her palm is a familiar silver band. It twinkles in the hazy moonlight before her fingers close over it.

“I didn’t mean…” You start to say but then Kuvira’s face tightens, immediately making you stop.

She seals her eyes shut, swallows hard, and walks towards you.

“You were right,” she whispers. Her voice is hoarse, similar to when she first wakes up in the morning except right now it’s troubled. Hurt.

She sits to your side, never once unfolding the hand that holds your ring and sits upright. “Suyin tried to kill me,” Kuvira whispers and it sounds like disbelief. You wonder how long she has repeated those words, trying to convince herself that they’re true.

What can you say to that? Yes? The woman who took you in when your parents left you for dead, who dared to call you her daughter, had decisively elected to end your life? What good would it do for Kuvira to hear that from your mouth? She already knew this anyway, so what exactly were you right about?

So you stay quiet. You look at the mountains towering over you, feeling the smallest you’ve ever felt.

“She wants me dead,” Kuvira continues. “She forced Korra into the Avatar state. When she escaped, I knew she would stop at nothing to end my Empire even if it meant seeing me lifeless at her feet.”

“Kuvira...” Your voice doesn’t sound like you at all.

She doesn’t move, only stays silent. When you finally decide to look at her, the darkness isn’t enough to obscure the myriad of emotions cascading over her face. You see disbelief, anger, disgust.

The one that lingers: sadness.

“I think I always knew it would come to this, after I left Zaofu,” Kuvira says. “When we came face to face in Republic City after three years, things were just as we had left them when I set off for Ba Sing Se. I think worse even. There was nothing between us anymore and I accepted it.”

“But you couldn’t...you couldn’t have known she would take it this far,” you insist. Kuvira’s jaw tightens and she inhales sharply through her nose.

“But I did,” she says coldly. “You and Baatar were too invested in who you thought Suyin was. You didn’t see her the way I did, the way she discarded me without a second thought when I first left. The moment I returned, I knew what she had planned for me.”

For a moment there’s a pause where you think Kuvira’s going to continue speaking but she doesn’t. Those last few words echo in your ears.

I knew what she had planned for me.

You ignore the conflicting thoughts in your head and listen to your body, reaching towards her instead. You let your hand hover in the air just above her leg and wait for her to respond. She looks at it for a second before she slides her fingers against yours.

Her hand stiffens and you realize this is the first time she’s touched you in weeks.

You sit in silence for a while, letting the angry streams of tears roll down Kuvira’s face. Her breathing grows hard and shallow but it doesn’t break. She looks straight ahead, never once turning to face you, but her hand stays clasped over yours. The other stays clenched around your ring.

“You have the choice, you know,” Kuvira eventually says. You look at her, confused, and her face is stony again, the only hint of any emotion in the wet lines stretched over her cheeks.

“When this is all over, you have a choice. I never want you to think you don’t and I’m sorry if I made you believe that,” she murmurs, finally opening her hand to look at the ring.

There is so much you can say. You know there is so much you have to say but you fear it will come out wrong and you’ll shatter this precarious offering Kuvira makes. So you reach out with your free hand, letting it rest over Kuvira’s fingers entwined with yours, and wait.

She stops breathing for a second before tentatively, almost fearfully breaking your hands apart just enough to press the ring over your finger and slide it down.

You don’t look up at Kuvira but you feel when she leans forward and rests her forehead against yours. Hot tears fall against your wrists and you breathe in. You can’t tell if they’re yours or hers. It doesn’t feel right to break this moment with words that hold little meaning when compared to the weight of Kuvira’s hand in yours.

Instead, you sit with her for most of the night outside, waiting, always waiting for Kuvira for as long as she needs.

#sour cherry #kuvira/reader #kuvira x reader #kuvira legend of korra #kuvira lok #avatar lok #x reader #reader insert #angst #we be puttin kuvira through a LOT huh....

[hs-devote]

20. E N D G A M E

Moodboard // Content // Masterlist

Disclaimer:

All characters and situation in this story are fictitious. Resemblance to any person living or dead is only God knows. Previous chapter;

"And it will be better for us, to help us to move on with each other's lives."

Move on with each other's lives.

Was that what she wanted?

20. ENDGAME

“How's him, Niall?”

“He's .. he's getting worse.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don't even feel him anymore.” . . . .

It had been months since Y/N decided to take proper rest to help her syndrome. At the first few months, she was overwhelmed by her poor brain performance. She had almost burnt her kitchen because she forgot how to turn off the stove all of a sudden. One day, she even forgot where her apartment was after going out for grocery shopping. The poor woman was anxious, making her cry in the middle of the street. Luckily for her, her neighbour found her and drove her home.

Her parents were worried, of course. They both were agreed to Y/N to came back home in Swansea,  for them were easier to look after her. After all, she had no one in London anymore.

During that time too, she underwent routine treatments to restore her condition. From drugs to a few therapies. To this day, her condition was better, although sometimes she still got light headaches.

If her health had improved, her heart wasn't completely healed.

No matter how hard she tried to forget her broken relationship, especially him, she couldn't. Harry was too beautiful to be forgotten. Despite what happened last time, she couldn't lie even if her tongue said another.

She remembered the last time, really last time, when she met him in his penthouse to pick up her things. Y/N indeed hadn't lived with Harry yet, but since she often stayed at his place, he suggested her to bring some her things to his penthouse.

He looked skinnier, and his face looked tired. From what she heard from Suzanne, Harry's loss of appetite made him lost weight. Plus, time-consuming work also made him forget to rest. Y/N had scolded at him for refusing to eat his lunch at that time, and made her had to force her ex-boyfriend to eat even a little.

But Harry was Harry.

He would eat if she also had lunch with him. She refused at first, yet because she felt bad with Suzanne who had made the food, then she finally agreed. On the other hand, she was a bit sad that their lunch at that time was so different. If usually they would have a conversation, for the first time, only the sound of plates and cutlery between them.

Harry.

Harry.

She missed him very much.

The two of them no longer in touch after that. She still had his number, but did he?

She didn't know.

Nevertheless, he sent her a flower bouquet for her twenty-fourth birthday. She remembered very well what Harry wrote on the card. A simple birthday wishing. Yet, he didn't call her nor text her.

Well, what did she expect?

They broke up.

She was the one who broke their relationship first.

She was the one who told him to move on.

Why was she still yearning for him?

Because Y/N broke them when she was falling in love for the first time.

Did she regret it?

Y/N couldn't answer that. . . . .

Y/N just returned home after buying food for her fish. Yes, she had two goldfish to keep her company if she got bored. Her eyes caught an unfamiliar car parked in front of her house, a quite expensive car for the neighbourhood where she lived.

Shrugged it off, she ignored her thoughts and immediately went in. In the living room, she saw her brother was talking to a woman. Was this his girlfriend? But, he didn't say anything.

When she was about to say hello to them, her smile faded as she recognised the lady who had been sitting back facing her.

“Clementia?”

“Hi..” Clementia shyly waved her hand, smiling softly. Y/N averted her gaze to Connor, raising an eyebrow – asking for some explanation. How did he know Harry's sister?

“She comes looking for you,” he shrugged, “Well, I'll leave you two.” then leaving both the girls alone.

“How are you, Y/N?” Clementia asked her once she took a vacant seat available, “It's been too long.”

“I'm fine, Ce. You?”

“Good.”

She nodded, “What are you doing here?”

“Err..” Clementia bit her lip, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. Looking confused to answer Y/N question.

“We need your help.”

Y/N arched an eyebrow, “What kind of help?”

Something must gone wrong. There was no way Clementia had come all the way here asking for something unimportant. She wouldn't ditch her school in Italy and come to Swansea for only meeting her and having a casual conversation. Or, maybe she was on her semester break?

“It's Harry.”

“Harry?”

“Yes,” Clementia sighed, “You're our only hope, Y/N. Just like Niall told me.”

What did Niall say to Clementia? What actually happened?

"I... I don't understand," Y/N laughed nervously, "We're not a relationship anymore if you don't know."

“I know. But– ”

“Harry's condition is worrying, Y/N.”

Her head snapped to the where the voice came. There, Niall was standing at her door, with his arrival that she didn't know. Since when he was there?

“I'm sorry I just come,” Niall spoke, “Traffic was quite shit today.”

While Clementia just rolled her eyes, Y/N stared at Niall anxiously. What did he mean by that? Did Harry have an accident?

“What do you mean, Niall?” she asked quietly.

“Harry.. has been so stressed lately. Making him lost control of his emotions. He seemed not to care about his life anymore, and that makes Marcel take the opportunity.”

Y/N's eyes widened the time Niall said Marcel. He was sitting next to Clementia, how could he slip like that?

“I already know Harry's condition and who is Marcel.” Clementia spoke to answer her thought.

“And your mother?”

"She knows too. That's why she didn't come here, have to set an eye to him." Clementia nodded, "It broke my heart that Harry has such a hard life. It's not his fault that he.. he grew another personality that eats him alive."

“What exactly happened to him?” Y/N questioned after a minuted passed in silence. Hearing Marcel's name, made her shudder a little. It had been so long since she had heard Marcel and Harry's name pronounced in one sentence.

Marcel.

How was he?

"Marcel is the one who lives in Harry's body as we speak now. Harry is getting weaker, and hasn't been able to come back with us for more than a month." Niall rubbed his face, "We're afraid that... Harry will gone.”

Her heart felt like being electrocuted when she heard that. Marcel took over Harry's body, and her ex-boyfriend had no strength to fight him. And it had been going for a month. A month.

A month, Harry never came back to his place.

And he didn't care anymore.

Why?

“No way,” she chuckled incredulously, “The last time I met him, he said that Marcel refused to show up.”

“It's because he took his time,” Niall answered, “He saved his energy and knocked Harry out when he was weak.”

“And why couldn't Harry fight him? Why didn't he care?” Y/N bombarded him questions, “Harry should be strong enough. He has no more burden because Erskine was back to normal.”

“It's you, Y/N.” Clementia squeaked.

Y/N pointed her finger dumbfounded to her chest, “Me?”

"My brother is very sad and depressed with your break up," Clementia murmured, "He thought too much of your separation to make him forget about his health, and he feels guilty for failing to protect you from the incident with your head."

It was because of her..

Y/N speechless.

She didn't think this would all be bad for his condition. She didn't know Harry would take it too seriously.

“Has Marcel done anything... bad?" she asked carefully. She wasn't sure if Clementia also knew what crimes Marcel had committed. Her feelings worsened when Niall looked confused to answer while Clementia just lowered her head and leaned back.

“He killed Dale.” . . . .

Returning to London was quite nice. For a long time she left this city, made her miss some places.  Y/N would stay for two days in London, and since she was agreed to help the Styles family, she would try to talk to Harry, or Marcel.

She couldn't refuse their request, especially Anne also called her and begged her to meet her son – hoping that Harry would listen to him, even though he was deep in his subconscious.

One more fact she wanted to know, why Marcel killed Dale?

That disgusting human had already rotten in jail, why did he have to get his hands dirty – again?

Despite her worries, she was a bit happy to meet him despite this difficult situation.

Back to set foot on his building, pulling her to play back the memories of her and Harry. She remembered when they were pretty drunk, and luckily only his penthouse was on that floor, they were making out all the way to his home. Moaning out loud in the hallway, stumbling in the dim light as Harry tried to unlock his door. It was midnight, and there was only two of them there. And the rest, their scattered clothes on the floor being the silent witnesses.

Her cheeks became hot just to think about it.

Harry.. Oh, fuck..

She was startled when the door in front of her being opened, showing Anne who smiled kindly at her.

Since when had she gotten to Harry's floor and rang the bell?

Anne brought her body to her warm embrace, “Hi, darling. How are you?”

“I'm good, Anne.” Y/N smiled fondly.

“You must be tired of the long journey. Where's Niall? You should have come with him right?"

Niall?

“Yeah, yeah. I'm here.” An Irish voice came from behind her.

How could she forget that she came here with Niall?

Y/N laughed at her stupidity inwardly.

Harry's penthouse was quite quiet. She didn't see Suzanne, only Clementia who was busy on the stove. Anne kindly poured them a drink before sitting down with them. Her happy face now turned sadder than before.

"Thank you for coming, Y/N. It means a lot for us." Anne smiled apologetically, "I'm sorry if it bothers you. I don't know anyone else to ask for help."

"It's okay, Anne. I understand." Y/N gave her a small smile, "How's him?”

“He's still.. Marcel.” Anne carefully answered, “I don't see Harry in him. He isn't annoying as before, but it still different.”

“Has he done anything all this time?”

“Besides.. killed Dale?” Anne whispered, “Not really. He was just been awful, a bit rude, but he wasn't physically abusive.”

Anne knew Marcel killed Dale.. “But, still. We don't know next.” Niall murmured, “We have to be careful and not make him angry.”

“He wouldn't lay off  his hand at a female." then, Y/N stared at Niall, "But, I agree with Niall."

Suddenly, they flinched when they heard a scattering loud from Harry's bedroom. When Y/N looked at Anne, the old lady just closed her eyes and rubbed her face while Niall swiftly getting up from the couch.

“I'll prepare his medicine, and shot– just in case.”

“Can I see him, Anne?" she spoke quietly. Anne just nodded and warned her to be careful. Giving Harry's mother reassuring smile, she brought her leg to his bedroom.

She wasn't too surprised to find broken glass scattered near the door. She entered slowly and found Marcel staring at his laptop screen. The man didn't seem to have noticed her presence yet. After gathering courage, Y/N stepped closer to him.

“Marcel.”

Hearing her voice, Marcel averted his gaze towards her. His forehead creased in surprise, looking at the woman who hadn't he saw for months. He shrugged, shaking his head unbothered.

“What are you doing here?”

His voice was surprisingly calm. Yet, Y/N still had to be careful. He was Marcel after all, not her Harry.

“Didn't you miss me, huh?” she tested the water, she even didn't know if Marcel wanted her presence let alone miss her. She couldn't straight to the point asking why he threw Harry's favourite mug, why Harry didn't bother to back in his body, and why he killed Marcel.

“Wrong person, Y/N. Harry was the one who suffered because he missed you, a lot.” Marcel snickered, “Poor Harry was so fragile about love, pathetic.”

“Marcel, I didn't come here to fight with you.” Y/N sighed, “I just want to.. talk with you. Like a friend?”

Her last sentence was more a question to herself, because she wasn't even sure.. they were friends. She sighed heavily when Marcel still unbothered, and with careful steps, she walked closer to him.

“Why are you so selfish like this, Marcel? You took the opportunity when Harry was weak and control his body at will. You must remember, Harry is a part of you. You're nothing if it's not because of him."

“You know nothing, my darling.” Marcel shook his head, lifting his head up to stare at the girl who was looking at his dark irises. “When Harry had given up on his life, I couldn't let him leave it all. If Harry didn't want to stay and I didn't act fast, this body would be lifeless. He would be sleeping, so would I. And then, what?”

She didn't mishear that, did she? Why Harry gave up on his life? He still had so much more in his life, why did he think like that?

“Why?” she murmured, “What caused him to think that way?”

“You.”

Y/N widened her eyes, “Me?”

“Like what I just said. He was so desperate. He feels like everything is wasted if you're not with him anymore.” he rolled his eyes, “He was very hurt because he loves you very much.”

He was drowning on his own love..

"And you didn't try to persuade him?" she changed the topic. Y/N couldn't keep hearing Harry who was sounded unable to move on and be the most hurt. She was hurt too, but she realised the reality that had slapped her sweet dream.

“Believe me, Y/N. Despite I'm satisfied with this opportunity, I also miss my dark corner.” Marcel  worked his jaw, “Being him is not easy.”

“Fine,” Y/N whispered, “Then, why did you kill Dale Jespersen?”

“One of the reasons he was tired of everything was also because I killed Dale," Marcel put the laptop away, going to the chair facing the window. His fingers rubbed his chin while staring at Y/N who was still standing next to the bed.

“Dale Jespersen appeared all of sudden and blocked Harry's car one night. Your ex-boyfriend just came back from the office and was so shocked. How could someone who was supposed to be in a prison roam freely at night? Long story short, that prick bribed the officers there to release him that night, only to meet Harry. And of course, for revenge."

Y/N shook her head in disbelief, “How could that be?”

“He said something offensive and... he was gone.” he gave her innocence look, “Don't think about how I got rid of him. Be glad Harry didn't end up in prison.”

“But your family know!” she cried, “How fucked up was that?”

“Yes, they do. But the world doesn't. Good thing Harry has money and connections so I can use that. After all, Dale was alone on his own self in this earth. Why was he still in this world."

“I can't.. with you, Marcel.” she pinched her forehead, “I just.. I just don't know the way you're thinking.”

“Then, why are you here?” he scoffed, “If you're trying to call him, good luck then. Because if you don't hurry, you'll lose him.”

Grunted irritably, Y/N got up from her spot and left Marcel who still seemed not care about her. However, she was sure Harry still could her and felt her presence despite he didn't want to reveal himself.

“I know you're there, H. Please come back. Don't be scared. I'm here, and we'll be alright.”

And that was all she said before leaving him alone. Letting the words crawling inside his mind and soul. . . . . Y/N had no luck talking to Marcel. Not her fault, but it looked like Harry indeed had given up. Yet, she was also wondering if he could feel her presence that day. Didn't he want to meet her?

She also stayed longer in London than she planned. Her parents didn't mind, but Connor was the one who scolded her on the phone. Her brother knew why she went to London, and he didn't like that. He didn't like the idea of her sister help the man who made her cry for days after their broke up despite he didn't know why exactly they broke up. He just knew that things couldn't work between them so she decided to back off. He didn't know which one was wrong. But, one thing he knew, he would do anything to protect Y/N, no matter what.

Anne insisted her to stay at Harry's penthouse at first, but she remembered the circumstance, so she understood when Y/N refused gently.

The girl stayed at a hotel that Anne booked for her for another week, and she was very grateful and making a mental note to pay Anne's kindness someday.

That night, Y/N was trying to find a new job because she thought her condition had improved. She was also thinking about trying to apply for a postgraduate scholarship if she couldn't find any job. There were several vacancies on the internet that made her interested.

It was one in the midnight and she had to get her things ready as she would get back to Swansea tomorrow. After closing her laptop, she quickly packed her things and got to bed early because her train would leave in the morning. But, when she was about to brush her teeth, her mobile phone rang a few times. She frowned when seeing Niall's name on the screen.

“Hello, Niall?” she said softly, her palm closed her yawning mouth. Her eyes, which were heavy with sleepiness, suddenly opened up widely after hearing Niall's panicked voice at the end of the call.

“You're joking, aren't you?” Y/N didn't know if she was screaming or not. It was clear that her tone was quite high and she realised that. Her hands suddenly sweating, making her almost drop her mobile phone.

The last thing she knew, she sprinted to grab her jacket and hurried out of her hotel room.

. . . . Here, everything was so quiet. Y/N heard almost nothing but the beeping machine. Her heavy eyes grew heavier because of the tears that flowed when Anne hugged her while sobbing violently earlier. She had never seen Anne so frail and sad before, and that made her heart ache even more.

Her sleepiness disappeared at the second Niall called her and giving her the news that sucked her life out.

Harry was involved in a car crash and in critical condition.

Niall didn't give the full chronology. As far as she knew from him, Harry drove off the track and his car was hit from behind before hitting the divider. Also, he was drunk while driving.

Now, the man was lying unconscious with wires connected between his body and the machine beside his bed. A few scratches on his face didn't make any better. The bandage wrapped around his head reminded her when she had the same one back then.

The doctor said, if Harry would get through his critical condition tonight, he would probably survive. If he wouldn't, Y/N couldn't imagine what would happen.

If Y/N now was sitting beside Harry's bed and watching every inch of this man in front of her. His family was outside giving her time to see her ex-boyfriend.

She slowly took Harry's free hand and hold it tight. Her wistful eyes stared straight at him who still sleeping soundlessly. Smiling sadly, she could still sense the confused and panicked feeling ran through her body when she was leaving her hotel room and rushed to meet Niall who was waiting for her in the lobby.

The poor man got a slap from her when she thought he was lying and joking around. But, when he said it with a serious face, almost screaming at her, Y/N knew Niall wasn't joking. She felt that was real when he grabbed her hand quickly and pushed her into his car. They didn't have much time. Niall was driving fast, with her still dumbfounded. She felt even more dumbfounded when she realised she just wore shorts and a baggy shirt. But her jacket was likely saved her from such an inappropriate clothing choice.

“You can do it, H.” whispered her, taking his hand to rub her cheek, “Get better, please.”

Y/N knew everyone wouldn't sleep tonight waiting for him to go through his critical moment. It was almost four in the morning, only a few hours until the doctor could say that he was successful and she couldn't wait for it.

“I feel bad that I'm the one who sitting here and not your mother. But, that's okay. Anne should take a rest, as well as your family." she hummed, her eyes constantly glancing at the machine displaying the rhythm of his heartbeat.

Normal..

“I haven't told you that I like the flowers. The one that you sent me on my birthday. They were beautiful, H.”

“I also sent you a sunglasses for your birthday. Did you like it? Because I heard no words from you.” she sighed, “I know it's not Gucci but I think it suits you.”

Y/N chuckled slightly, looking at his bare fingers. “They removed your rings? Or, you didn't wear any?

“Why were you driving drunkenly, H? You told me once that you avoid that it as much as possible." she frowned, "Was it Marcel? I–"

Weird.

She heard a strange sound.

Her eyes stared at Harry who was still unconscious. Then, who made that sound? It was just both of them there.

Suddenly, the colour on her face was drained out like she just realised something. No, she didn't want to say that. She didn't want to lift her head or averted her gaze. Her vision still fixated on Harry who looked so calm in his deep sleep.

No...

No way.

Y/N flicked her head to where the machine was, only finding that his heartbeat was flat line.

Flat.

No rising or falling charts.

Like before.

No.

“No!”

The chair she was sitting on, fell backwards when she stood up and immediately grabbed Harry's shoulders, shaking him as hard as possible.

“Harry? Harry! Harry, please!”

Her finger quickly pressed the emergency button and again tried to wake him who she knew was impossible. Her mind was chaotic, it felt like her brain was paralyzed to digest everything, her hands were shaking and sweaty and so cold. She hed never panicked and feared this much.

“Harry..”

Her voice was shaking, head began to feel dizzy. Her eyes began to blur because of the tears that were ready to flood, and repeatedly stared at the machine and Harry's face back and forth.

The line was still flat.

And Harry still had no movement.

She couldn't help it. Finally, she let the tears fell down her face. Sobbing violently, her inner goddess was cursing the doctor who hadn't come yet.

“Harry, please. Wake up! Don't do this!" she whispered, stroking his face which still felt warm under her fingertips.

Why were they taking so long!?

She choked in a sob, "Harry, please. Please. We're not doing this!"

“Don't die on me, please!" screamed her in agony. She couldn't bear the thought she lost him. She didn't want to lose him. Not now, not later, not ever.

“H,” she cried, holding Harry's head and stroking his hair softly. “No, please. Don't – don't.. leave me. I – I can't.. lose – lose you. Please.”

“I'm so – sorry that .. that I haven't – haven't said that. I forgive you, H.”

“I'm sorry – sorry for.. everything. You're – you're not... the only one was – was wrong." she cried harder, "I shouldn't – shouldn't … given up on you."

She shook her head, didn't want to accept the reality that had happened. Harry couldn't die. He wouldn't.

“Harry, please.” she once again shook his limp body. The sound of the machine that had been her nightmare now was filling her head, it got louder and louder and made her nauseous. They were still flat, and Y/N didn't know how long it had been.

“Don't leave me, Harry. Don't leave your mother, your sister. And everyone who loves you.” she stammered, eyes squeezed tightly.

With shaking shoulder, Y/N stroked his jaw and brought her mouth closer to his ear, "I love you, don't do this to me, please. We still have so much together. I love you, H.."

She flinched when the door opened suddenly and a nurse tugged her gently so the doctor could check on him. She couldn't hear what they were telling her. All she knew, the next second she got out from the room with tears flowing profusely and body shaking. From her blurry vision, she could see Clementia and Niall approaching her. She shook her head, was speechless and head was spinning and ears ringing badly. The last thing she felt, her body fell to the floor. . . . .

Two years later.

Y/N's tasks that day almost made her head explode, plus her co-worker being uncooperative doubled her irritation. She knew, working in an international financial institution had its perks. Her previous job was nothing compared to now. Not that she underestimated them all, yet this was the first time she felt her energy and mind really drained out. Moreover, she would likely to travel to Washington D.C to attend conferences, a lot.

“Yes, yes. Send them all to me by tomorrow afternoon. Thanks, Bobby!” Y/N gave her co-worker thumb out before waltzed out from the meeting room, heading to her office.

“Tough day, Y/N?” Sienna wiggled her eyes, teasing Y/N who just entered the break room to grab a drink first. Y/N just nodded, filling up her tumbler with mineral water.

“Everyone almost gets my nerves today," she murmured, "Plus, I just landed from New York last night and the jetlag was a nightmare. I couldn't sleep during the flight and my eyes wouldn't let me rest."

“Lucky for you, it's Friday! And, I think your fiance won't mind to help you to get relax for the rest of weekend." Sienna winked her eyes, "Don't be so tense, Y/N!" and leaving Y/N alone with a bursting laugh.

Y/N shook her head, leaving the break room unoccupied since she had a lot to do and must be finished today. When she got her office, she found a bouquet of her favourite flowers with her favourite chocolate bar. Chuckled giddily, she closed the door behind her and walked closer to her desk. Her manicured fingers picked up the card laid on top his desk, her eyes immediately recognised the familiar handwriting.

Hard day? I hope you love the flowers and enjoy the chocolate bar. I know you're on a dairy diet but nothing is better than seeing you happy.

Ps: I made a reservation at the Royal Lancaster tonight, 8 p.m sharp. Your darling fiance

Fiance.

He always knew how to made her smile even at any time. Smiling softly, Y/N grabbed the flowers and smelt them before putting at the vase. Her hand then took the chocolate while turning on her computer,  but when she saw the ring on her fourth finger on her left hand, her memory pulled her back when he popped the question.

They were in Switzerland for Christmas holiday. It was when the Christmas morning, and was snowing heavily. She had just made them hot chocolate since they stayed at the Bernese Alps and the cold was crazy, and he told her it was the time to open their presents. At that time, she didn't have the clue if the proposal being her present.

When he pulled the red box out and slid it open, her eyes fixated to the ring sat on the cushion. It was the Cartier platinum ring paved with diamonds cut. That shiny and beautiful thing caught her attention, ignored him who knelt in front of her. When Y/N just realised it, she quickly jolted and gasped – closing her gaping mouth. Even though he proposed her with simple words, she knew that her man was nervous as hell because his hands were shaking while holding the ring.

With an ugly sob, Y/N nodded meekly and said yes to his proposal.

What a beautiful moment.

She chuckled lightly and then returning to her work, excited to get them done as she couldn't wait to meet him. Five days in New York made her missed her fiance so much.

Later that evening, Y/N succeed to have her task done by 6. She hurriedly shut down her computer and took her things to immediately meet her fiance who was waiting in the parking lot, even made Sienna teased her in such a haste. Her smile grew bigger after spotting a silver Porsche in the VIP section. Wasting no time, she jogged to the car and opened the door.

“Hello, there.”

“Hi,” she waved at him and get in, “I'm sorry for taking to long.”

“Looks like you did have a hard day."

Y/N hummed, closing the door and putting the safety belt. Then, she turned her head to him and grabbed his neck to land a kiss on his plump lips. The fiance himself happily savouring her lips like it was the only antidote in the universe. The kiss only lasted for a few seconds before she pulled back, grinning at him. "Thank you for the flowers and chocolate. I love it."

He chuckled, wiping her wet lips affectionately, “Glad to hear that. Shall we go now?”

“Sure.”

She leaned back to the seat as the car moving down to the street, sighed happily because she finally could relax after a full day of stress plus the lacking of sleep.

“Is there anything special that you take me out for fancy dinner tonight?” asked her while looking at her fiance. A little smile formed on her lips while caught her fiance was so focused behind the steering wheel.

“Eh, no. Why?” he asked back, throwing her a quick glance.

She shrugged, “I'm wondering. I mean.. it's not saturday night.”

He chuckled, “Is it a crime that I take my fiancee to have a dinner not on saturday night?”

“Heyy..”

“Little birdie told me that you pissed all day long. So, I think a nice dinner will cheer you up.”

“How thoughtful of you.” she grinned, “Thank you, though.”

“I'm doing my best.”

If her fiance hadn't realised yet, Y/N kept her eyes on him all the journey. She found that the way he drove was so endearing. Especially when he was biting his lips or licked them while waiting for the red light. While his right hand remained on the wheel, his left hand never left her grasp unless he had to shift the gear.

“Why did you keep staring at me?” he questioned, even though they had been together for a long time, but such a small gesture still made him nervous.

“Why do I find a man is so attractive when he's driving,” she whispered, “Especially you.”

“Don't start, darling. We're in the middle of street right now.”

“I'm not.” she widened her eyes, “Do you think I was.. teasing you?”

“Obviously,” he snickered, “If not, you wouldn't squeeze your thighs together, darling.”

How obvious he did know that?

“We don't want to be late because I fucked you at the gas station over there, do we?” he smirked, “We just have forty-five minutes to get there.”

“Challenge accepted. We both know you can finish me in twenty minutes anyway, H.” . . . .

Harry felt numb.

The second he opened his eyes, the lights blinded his eyes and made him wonder if he was in heaven. Yet, he breathed in relieved when his gaze sharpened and he heard the beeping machine beside him. His suspicion strengthened when he lifted his hand and finding an IV stuck in his hand.

He was in a hospital.

And he was survived.

Then, the door bursting open quietly made him turned his head, looking at Anne who just entered with a shocked face. A relief radiated from the eyes of the woman who gave birth to him.

“Mum?”

His throat was sore along with hoarse voice, but he made it clear that he was fine by flashing his mother a small smile.

“Oh, Harry.” Anne mewled, stepping closer to her son, “You're awake.” and peppering kiss on his cheek.

“I am.”

“How do you feel? You're pretty banged up.” Anne stroked his unruly hair while sitting on the chair beside his bed.

“My body hurts, but it's okay. I'm fine.”

Anne gave him apologetically smile, “Okay, then. I'll call the doctors so they can check your condition.”

Harry was checked up not long after that. The doctor said he had improved and could go home within a week. He was being told that he was lucky because the car crash was quite fatal yet he had no serious injuries, jut a few stitches on the temples. But, he was quite surprised when Anne said that he had lost his heartbeat for a while.

He didn't know how long he had been asleep. The last time he was awake when Clementia was out for lunch and left him alone in the room. He loved to sleep, but he hated the pain hammering his head when he just woke up.

“Fuck.” he mumbled while touching his bandaged head.

“Is it hurt? Do I need to call the doctor?”

He never snapped his head that fast, was surprised to hear the voice he missed so much. He felt he was hallucinating when he saw Y/N looking at him worriedly.

“Y/N?”

“Hi, Harry.” she said timidly, “How are you feeling?”

“Hi.”

Harry didn't know how to feel. He was happy, but on the other hand, he also confused. During Y/N talked to him, he couldn't focus. Not only his head still feel dizzy, he felt like he was high on drugs. Everything felt like floating.

“I'm sorry it took me almost lost you to realise how wrong I was.” Y/N fumbled her fingers, “I'm too late to say I've forgiven you.”

“It's okay, Y/N. I understand.” Harry exhaled, “It's not your fault alone.”

“Why were you driving drunk?” seeing the hesitant on his eyes, Y/N felt bad and changed the topic, “It's okay if you don't want to talk about it. I just.. worried.”

“Marcel was drunk, and took the opportunity to have one night stand with a striptease dancer there. I couldn't let it happen. So, I tried to take over and quickly left." he sighed, "Even it was him who was drunk, I would also get drunk when I got over the body."

“And why would you choose to take over?”

“Because I don't want to disappoint you, Y/N.” he admitted while looking through at her eyes, “I knew if.. if that happened, you would hate me even more.”

“Harry.." Y/N whispered, "If.. if that really happened, it wasn't your fault. It was Marcel. Even though you and him are one, you both are still different and I have to understand that. Not all his fault should I blame on you. If I can understand you, I should be able to understand him too."

“It's impossible, Y/N. No one would accept a disorder like me.”

“You're not a disorder, Harry. You're just different and special... "

“... If I can love you, I have to love him too.”

It caught him off guard.

Did he hear correctly?

He didn't mishear, did he?

Y/N smiled softly seeing Harry who looked dumbfounded, staring at her like she just grew an antler. Then, she grabbed his free hand and rubbed his knuckle, "I'm sorry for the long waiting. I'm sorry it took me almost losing you to realise that I love you."

“When did you first know?” his voice was barely audible, he couldn't believe his voice to speak. It was more like his soul spoke for him.

“I always knew.”

Harry laughed, and laughed. Until a single tear rolled down his lids. He was never this happy, he could never be this relieved. His love wasn't unrequited. He loved her, and she loved him.

His free hand brought her face closer to him, landing a short kiss on his love lips. She grinned widely and kissed him back.

“I love you," he spoke quietly and rubbing their nose together, "Very much."

“I love you, too much.” and she kissed his jaw.

“Harry?" she pulled back, "Why did you give up? Why didn't you care about your life at that time? Your family was worried sick.”

Harry's shoulder slumped back, “I was.. I was so depressed because.. I thought you didn't want me around anymore. I felt helpless, I thought my life has no meaning anymore. That's why I don't want to face the truth.”

“And thinking it was the best if Marcel was present?” she shook her head, “You have more right to this life, H.”

“Honestly, I wanted to wait. I didn't care if the wait would cost a million years. But, the wait was worth it because I'm in love.”

Y/N never saw this vulnerable side on him, and it was surprised her. She never thought someone like him, was so fragile yet tough at the same time. She smiled at him while rubbing his cheek.

“How's Marcel?" asked her carefully. She was quite curious about Marcel because he was the master of Harry's body lately. What did he feel, for now?

“I don't know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don't feel his presence anymore. He's not weakened, though.”

“He's just.. not there?”

“He's gone.”

. . THE END What did you think?

#harry styles #harry styles au #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles series #harry styles angst #romance #angst

[slaughtervoid]

DOPPELGANGER

JOURNAL ENTRY 01/09/2017

I think my son isn’t my son. 

There’s a child sitting across from me at the table every morning that looks just like him. Sounds just like him. The laugh is the same, the hair, the eyes, the clothes. But he isn’t my son. 

If you asked me to explain how I know, I couldn’t. I just know my son, and I know that the child in my house is not him.

… I’m a shitty mother. I need to go to the doctor.

—

James was in a car accident a while back.

The hospital had called me when he was already in surgery. The attending told me that there had been no time to waste- at my request, she rattled off the broken bones and lacerations and complications in a list that seemed to never end. It was dizzying, numbing- I remember distantly wondering, at one point, if this was what out of body experiences feel like.

I stayed there overnight three nights in a row. Held his pale, cold hand while he slept. My friends brought his quilt from home, the one his mom made him. In that paper-white hospital bed, hooked up to machine after machine, my baby boy looked utterly foreign to me. Like a stranger who bore a striking resemblance to the person I loved. It was heartbreaking. It still is, just to remember. He was so unbearably fragile- I hadn’t felt so helpless and protective since the first time I’d held him in my arms as a newborn.

When he finally woke up, I could’ve wept with joy- but I didn’t, for some reason. Just told him where he was, what had happened. I actually had to a couple times before he really came to.

There was confusion, disorientation- I was ready for that, had been warned. What I wasn’t prepared for was my own confusion. My strange loneliness, and grief, and the persistent sense that James wasn’t lying in the bed in front of me at all. 

I couldn’t reconcile the feeling of missing him with his exhausted but living presence; its continuation all through recovery, moving him home, the totally familiar banter and complaining over still having to do schoolwork (“I almost died, mom! You’re not seriously gonna make me do calc right now?”). 

It was bizarre, deeply unsettling. And believe me, I knew it was probably me. Once he was well on the road to recovery, two months safe, I started going to doctors.

I saw two psychiatrists, a neurologist and a brain injury specialist trying to figure out what had given me Capgras delusion. None of them could identify anything wrong with me. Beyond a bout with depression in my youth, I’d never had any indication of mental illness, and no one could identify any physical issue with my brain at all. As far as they could tell, I was in sound mind and perfectly healthy- except that some part of me was convinced my son wasn’t my son.

The second psychiatrist was probably the most helpful. His priority was James, and I appreciated that more than I could say.

“As long as the primary part of you knows James is still James,” he said, “As long as you are treating your child as your child, that is my concern. The rest, you will be healthy, we will deal with it. The child is safe, you are aware of your failing, all is well.”

And you know, I agreed with him. It didn’t matter if I was sick, as long as I still loved and cared for my son, as long as I was there for him when he needed me.

We discussed telling James. The doctor approved of my choice to let him know. I knew that I’d been acting strangely, distant, and it was my responsibility as a mother to explain to him what was going on, to spare him whatever upset I possibly could and be honest with him about our lives.

So a couple nights later, I sat down with him after dinner, and I told him I had something I needed to talk to him about.

“James,” I said, “This is going to be hard to hear, and hard to explain. Bear with me, okay?”

He nodded, looking concerned. I took a deep breath.

“Something- something happened, after your accident. There’s been something wrong with me, with my brain. I haven’t- I haven’t recognized you. You still look like my son, I know who you are, but something in the back of my head is telling me, just, ‘This isn’t James’. I’ve been to the doctor a couple times, but there haven’t been conclusive results yet, and I...”

I trailed off as I glanced up, trying to reconcile the barefaced terror in his expression with what I had just said, backtracked desperately.

“Honey, it’s okay- it’s okay, the doctors aren’t worried, I’m okay- I KNOW it’s you, it’s okay! I love you, I know you, I just- have this super weirdo symptom. And I’m not letting it change anything, I swear. You just deserve to know what’s going on.”

James was- he was sweating. He visibly recollected himself, put on his brave face.

“So they- they don’t know what’s wrong?” he asked, voice cracking, and before I even tried to start telling him about the tests that had been done I had to stop and pull him into my arms for a hug.

I could feel him shaking.

—

JOURNAL ENTRY 04/22/2017

James has been acting weird. More weird. I think he might’ve gotten in some kind of trouble, because he’s got this guilty look to him, and he’s kind of avoiding me? Not a ton, just a little. 

I talked to Dr. Baine about how it feels like I’m relearning him. He said that was good, and we discussed the possibility that I don’t have Capgras at all- apparently Capgras is much more persistent and pervasive than that, and patients don’t typically become at ease in the presence of subjects of their delusion, no matter how much time passes, unless the root cause is treated. He said I might have something else entirely going on, and even suggested the idea that it might’ve been a one-time thing, since it hasn’t recurred.

He also encouraged the idea of “getting to know” the “new James”. He and I are both really pleased with my emotional progress, and how easily I’m associating memories of James to the current James lately. I have to say, it’s a relief. The guilt and sneaking might be worrying, but as a silver lining, today he gave me a funny look and I recalled a nine-year-old James with the exact same look on his face as I caught him sneaking off with a whole pack of Oreos. No internal conscious prompts or anything! I think I confused him when I laughed.

—

We fell back in step easily enough, but at about the half year mark, James started going downhill.

He finished the school year in good spirits, bouncing back from the accident with barely a limp to show for it. The doctors were all pleased and impressed with his progress, and he was his physical therapist’s favorite client ever, I’m pretty sure. It was all going amazingly well. 

Then it was summer, and he started spending more time with me.

It’d been so long, my therapy was going great, and I was so careful to treat him normally, ignoring every twinge of unfamiliarity and suppressing every flinch. If I’m honest, I felt like a real piece of shit sometimes- what kind of mother jumps a mile at her son coming up unexpectedly for a hug? In broad daylight, dammit. I made progress, but I could tell it wasn’t fast enough. All my effort just too little, too late.

We got him to a psychiatrist recommended by Dr. Baine, because the guilty behavior didn’t subside, but his enthusiasm and natural good nature did. I was worried about depression, and I also wanted him to have a safe adult to vent to about me. Can you imagine? Your own mother, looking at you like a stranger? I couldn’t take the thought, and he had to deal with the reality. 

Nothing got better. If anything, it got worse. He stopped trying to hug me, started avoiding me in earnest. I couldn’t decide between giving him space and frantically doling out affection, redoubling every expression of love I could. I’d nearly lost him, and I was terrified of losing him to his own mind. And mine. Again.

He seemed to crumple under my touch, and it was impossible for me to figure out whether it was good or bad, because sometimes it brought him to tears, but at the same time, he leaned into me like if it wasn’t for my presence he would fall and never get back up again.

It was a hard time. When he had come home from the hospital, I had known exactly how to help him recover. Now, I didn’t have the slightest clue. My days were consumed with self-help and forums on loved ones with mental illness. 

I was so busy trying to fix him that the break took me completely by surprise.

The day was entirely our new normal. James, reserved and quiet. Me, bustling around, trying to fill the empty spaces. I’d had a particularly busy day yesterday, remoting in from my home laptop to fix a huge accounting error and emailing and calling what felt like everybody in the fucking world, so I was trying to make up for basically ignoring him for 24 hours. 

That was probably what did it, I think. The proverbial straw. My attention, my affection, all day long, focused. Made his favorite dinner, played his favorite game with him for a while, and when I asked if he wanted to play another round or if he was tired and wanted some alone time, he just… collapsed in on himself. I called his name, alarmed, and he started shaking, breathing strained.

“I can’t do this,” he gasped, “I tried so hard, I’m sorry-”

“James,” I said, “Honey, are you alright? Talk to me, honey, what’s going on?”

“It’s my fault it’s my fault I’m why you can’t recognize me,” he babbled, “It’s my fault, I can’t do this, I can’t do it right-”

He was hyperventilating, trembling. My head was going in bewildered circles, trying to make sense of why he would blame himself for my delusion, why he could think he had caused it somehow. I extended my arms, helpless, and he shrank away, drew his legs up to his chest.

“I can’t do this,” he forced out, breathless, “I can’t, I wouldn’t have done it if I knew it would be like this, I don’t wanna be human anymore, I don’t wanna be James-I knew I wasn’t good at being James, I knew I would fuck it up, I broke my promise, I told him I wouldn’t fuck it up-”

Caught in the middle of reaching out, I went very still as I worked through what he was saying, one word at a time.

“James,” I said, very carefully, “Can you tell me more, please? I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m not James,” he shouted, and then burst into tears.

I was left speechless. Obviously, my first conclusion was complete and utter horror that I had somehow drawn my son into my delusion with me. 

“No,” I blurted, “No no no, honey, of course you are, you’re my son. Shit, oh fuck, I’m so sorry, baby, let’s call the doctor right now, it’s gonna be alright-”

And then James looked up at me and everything about him changed.

Every feature seemed to suddenly come into focus, like I had put on glasses after months of living without. Too many teeth, sharp and pearlescent behind lips drawn back in distress. Eyes a striking, shocking yellow, like a wolf or hawk, predator’s eyes. Spattered across the cheeks and the bridge of the nose were freckles James didn’t have, the same bright gold, and as I stared in the evening light I realized, dimly, they shed a warm glow across the planes of the face and reflected oddly in the eyes above them, the tears streaming down over them. Bioluminescent.

Even the body had a sudden gangliness to it that James had left long behind in his childhood. The sweatpants I had tailored for him ended an inch above the ankle, and bony shoulders swam in the shirt that I could have sworn had stretched over them a moment ago.

I didn’t want to believe it. I wanted to tell myself I was hallucinating. I wanted to call my doctor.

But this was what my lizard brain had blaring for months, endless, while I worked diligently to wear the alarm down and shut it off. It was so present, so real. It didn’t swim, or fade, or change, as I sat there, struck dumb.

The creature- the doppelgänger, the shapeshifter, the fae, whatever it was- had begun to shake in earnest, visible. “I’m sorry,” it gasped, “I’m sorry. I didn’t think- I thought- I thought it would be fine, and you wouldn’t have to lose him and I could have- I could be-“ 

“Who are you?” I whispered.

The thing that had become my son sobbed, took a rattling inhale, made a heartwrenching noise I had never heard James make in his whole life.

“I’m sorry,” it managed, just barely, “I tried so hard, I tried to keep my promise but I’ve never been anybody before, I didn’t know it would hurt, I don’t know how to make it not, I fucking suck at this I didn’t know it would hurt I’m sorry-”

It couldn’t shape any more words after that, it was crying so hard. Just inarticulate noises, little catching syllables of apologies.

The only thing I could do was ask, barely audible, “Did you kill my son?”

Its head snapped up in shock, horror writ large across its face. “No,” it wheezed, emphatic, “No no I didn’t hurt him I couldn’t we’re just scavengers I didn’t hurt him I couldn’t-”

The crying tore through its tiny frame and shook it like a leaf in a windstorm, where James had been broad and sturdy and took tears in stolid, slow breaths. It looked and sounded so genuinely distressed and appalled at the idea I couldn’t cling to it, even though the atavistic root of me wanted to, wanted it to be simple, wanted to be angry. Wanted my son.

“What happened?” I whispered. “What did you do? Why did you do this?”

There was a moment where the doppelgänger couldn’t catch its breath enough to answer. My hand came to its shoulder in pure instinct, pressing slightly, out of the hunched curl it had crushed into with the force of its distress, making it a little easier to breathe.

“I didn’t know then,” it choked out as soon as it could. “I didn’t know anything. We- we’re supposed to become somebody as babies, and we just replace what’s already lost and nobody knows better, but I wasn’t- I couldn’t- I’m fucked up, and I got too old, and then when he crashed his car I just- it’s what we’re supposed to do. It’s what I was supposed to do, but I can’t- I’m broken, and I can’t do it, I can’t pretend anymore, it hurts-”

I sat back, dazed. A changeling. It was a changeling.

“I would’ve saved him if I knew,” the changeling said, desperate and raw. “I swear, I would’ve saved him, but I didn’t know. I didn’t know anything, not until I became him, and I couldn’t- until- after.”

“If you knew?” I said, voice breaking.

“I didn’t know,” it repeated, miserably, tears dripping off its chin. “I didn’t feel. We’re scavengers. I’m sorry, mo- ma’am. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I wanted to save him, after. I couldn’t. It was too late. I was too late.”

I looked at it.

The eyes, for all their unnatural color, were red-rimmed. The nose, aqualine instead of snubbed, was dripping.

The changeling was rail-thin. It had a tiny white scar just under the curve of its collarbone I could see from here, even in the low light, that I knew was from the surgery after the accident. It was hugging its legs to its chest. It had almost called me mom, out of habit.

It was so tiny. Just a child.

They. They had almost called me mom.

They were just a child. 

I didn’t think very hard about what I did next, and I don’t think I ever will. It seems like the natural conclusion. 

I pulled the child I had taken care of for the past half a year into my arms and let them cry.

—

JOURNAL ENTRY 06/18/2017

I think I might already be done with the first stage of grief.

— 

It was a long time before I asked the question I dreaded most. “Was he... was he alone?” 

The changeling hesitated. I waited, pressing my shaking hands to their back. God, but they were so pitifully thin. I could feel their spine, their ribs, the protrusion of their shoulderblade.

“I don’t know if I counted,” they said, finally, so quiet I could barely catch it. 

“If you were there,” I replied immediately, “My son did not die alone.” 

They made a little stunned noise, struck with pain and joy both, like I had told them something utterly impossible. I rubbed over the bumps of their spine, gentle, pressed my chin to the top of their head and closed my eyes.

“Please,” I said. “Can you tell me about it?” I could feel the movement as they swallowed. Their skin was clammy with a cold sweat.

“There was black ice on the road,” they murmured. “He couldn’t have seen it, couldn’t have anticipated it. The car skidded, and went out of control, and... and when I found him- it was- there was a lot of blood. If I had known- but I wasn’t- we don’t know anything. We aren’t anything that we don’t steal. 

“I... I came up to the car. He saw me, his eyes were open, but he didn’t scream, didn’t say a word, just watched me. 

“I didn’t hurt him. Didn’t touch him. I swear I didn’t touch him, never. There- there was enough- on. On the ground, for me to. Do what I needed to do. All I knew to do. 

“Once I was him- looked like him, I wasn’t him yet- that’s when he talked. He asked me what I would do. I told him that- that I was him now, that I was going to be him. After he. After.

“He said...” They faltered, choked on the next word a few times before clearing their throat and wiping hastily at their face. “He said- ‘Don’t you hurt my mom. Don’t you fucking hurt my mother, I swear to Christ. You say you’re me now, you better be the best me there ever was. I don’t care what you are. Don’t hurt my mom.’ 

“I... I promised him I wouldn’t. I promised, and- and I said I would keep you safe. For him. And he- he looked at me, and then he closed his eyes, and. And I waited with him. Until he stopped breathing. And then I was him, and I knew what he knew. And I brought the body into the woods, and I did- what I had to do. To get here.” 

I was numb. I knew, later, that I would scream, that I would sob, knowing my son had died lying in the snow, with only a stranger beside him, without knowing if I would ever find out he was gone at all. And then the last bit sank in.

“You did that? To yourself?” 

They nodded, just once, curling closer to me. “I had to,” they said, and when I pulled back to look at them, they hastily scrubbed their nose with the end of their sleeve. 

They looked so much like him in that moment, bizarrely, that I felt lightheaded, had to close my eyes. The reality of it hadn’t quite set in yet, but I could feel, in that moment, a taste of the grief to come.

My son was dead. My son, the one my wife had carried for nine months in her own body, the child I had raised for seventeen years- he was dead. I would never see him again. His spitting image had been right in front of me for all this time, but I would never really, truly see him again, because he was dead, and whatever was left of his corpse was rotting somewhere out there in the woods. I hadn’t seen him since the accident. I probably never would.

James was dead.

But there was a child that had his memories sitting right in front of me, who I had loved like him in his place, and they were scared, and they needed me.

I took a deep breath, and then another.

“Is there another name I could call you?” I asked, as gently as I could. They sniffed, shook their head a little. “I never had one,” they whispered. “We aren’t supposed to. We just... take them.” 

“Okay,” I said. Closed my eyes, breathed more. “Okay.”

I opened my eyes again and said “Do you want to pick it, or should I?”

“You- you don’t have to. I have to leave, right? I can- can figure it out.” Then, almost as an afterthought, “I can- make it look right. I can make it really easy, you won’t have to do anything.”

I shook my head. “How old are you?”

“Seventeen,” they said, promptly, then “Sorry, no, I- um- I’m not sure. I think- no, I don’t know. Older than I was supposed to be.”

“Do you know anything other than what you got from James?” I asked, and they shrank a little, broke eye contact.

“Kind of,” they mumbled, “Just. About me, and- what I’m supposed to do. It’s a little blurry. Before. It’s supposed to be, because it makes it… easier.”

I nodded, casual. Said “Okay, so you don’t know any more than James about living on your own.”

They looked so confused and hopeful it was almost painful. 

“You’ll stay here,” I said, softly. “I’m going to grieve, hard, and I’ll have to get to know you. But you know me exactly as much as he did. And I- I loved you even when my brain was screaming you weren’t my kid. I think I could love you just fine now.”

They burst into tears again.

I put my arms back around them, pulled them close and started trying to remember what other names my wife and I had considered for James.

—

JOURNAL ENTRY 09/04/2017

Jackie went to their first day of senior year today. They’ve been talking about getting their GPA up, applying somewhere really good. They keep saying biology, in this really general sense, but I think they want to be a doctor.

I can’t wait to see them do it.

#mine #fiction #WARNINGS: #car accident #identity issues #grief #death #doubt of perception of reality #and actually just in case. #body image #theres some emphasis on how thin someone is (due to stress) #and JUST IN CASE. #this is a work of fiction it is super not true #since the last story had so many shocked viewers haha #author's pick

[madpanda75]

“Taking Chances Part 5: Busted”

Find out what happens when Sonny walks in on the reader and Rafael mid-coitus...cause what could be more embarrassing 😳 Also you’ll get some of Sonny’s perspective in this chapter.

Thanks for all the amazing feedback! If anyone wants to be added to my tag list, let me know ❤️

Sonny whistled a tune as he walked down the hallway towards your apartment. The law book. The pancakes. It was all a ruse. You had been avoiding your big brother for weeks. Further confirmed by the fact that you didn’t respond to his text the night before. Something was off and Sonny wanted to find out what it was.

Did he feel guilty about checking up on you? Of course he did, but you were his baby sister. It was only natural for him to be worried and he actually did leave his immigration law book at your apartment. So technically, he did have a valid reason for stopping by. At least that was what he kept telling himself.

While walking Sonny bumped into your neighbors just as they were leaving their home. “Hey...uh…Sandra and Tom, right? It’s Sonny Carisi. I’m just stoppin’ by to check on Y/N.”

Sandra scoffed and shook her head. “Hope you brought your ear plugs.”

Sonny knitted his eyebrows in confusion. “Ear plugs?”

“Good luck, pal.” Tom patted Sonny on the shoulder and left to catch up with his wife.

Sonny glanced between your neighbors and the front door of your home. He could hear the faint sound of music playing inside. Taking out his spare key, he opened your door and stepped inside. “Hello?” He called out, but there was no answer. Sonny assumed you were painting. You always played music whenever you were working on a piece, completely lost in your own creative little universe.

As he headed down the foyer, a wave of relief washed over him. Everything was fine. You were probably busy with the gallery and your art. He was just overreacting. Working at SVU, it was hard not to assume the worst. Unfortunately, the detective was reminded of what happened to people who make assumptions when he turned the corner.

Sonny froze in his tracks, shocked at the scene he was witnessing. There you were laying on a table with your back arched, moaning loudly while a dark-haired man’s head was between your legs. His sweet precious baby sister who would beg him to play Pretty Pretty Princess over and over again; who used to sing in the youth choir at St. Thomas. The teeniest feather could’ve knocked him over in that moment.

“Y/N?!” He exclaimed.

Upon hearing your name, you turned your head. “Sonny!” You screamed and immediately tried to cover yourself.

Sonny was horrified. It was like witnessing a car crash. The most horrific carnage-filled car crash. He silently prayed to God for a sudden bout of hysterical blindness. Although even with his eyes shut, the images he had just seen would forever be seared into his brain. He was going to need trauma counseling and wondered if perhaps his boss’s therapist was available.

Just when Sonny thought it couldn’t get any worse, the head of a certain sharp-tongue, sassy, snarky ADA popped up like some sick version of Whack-A-Mole. The man in question looked almost as stunned as the blue-eyed detective. “Carisi,” Rafael softly said and wiped his chin and lips—which were coated in your arousal.

When Sonny saw Rafael, everything suddenly clicked into place—the recent tardiness, the perfume. It was you. You were the mysterious hook-up the squad had been teasing Rafael about. Sonny choked back the bile rising in his throat and then he saw red. Fury flashed before his eyes. His fists shook with rage. Never in his life had he wanted to hit someone so much as he did right then. “RAFAEL?!” He boomed and dropped his bag of groceries. “What the fuck is goin’ on here?!”

You hopped off the table, quickly picking Rafael’s sweater up off the floor and putting it on.“Sonny?! Get OUT!” You shouted in a shrill voice and stomped your foot like a petulant child.

“Seriously, Y/N?! On Nonna’s table!” Sonny ran a hand through his hair, his eyes were wild.

Rafael cautiously took a step closer, not wanting you to catch all the heat from your big brother. After all it took two to tango and to be fair, he could understand why Carisi was upset. This certainly was not what Rafael had in mind when he wanted to break the news that you and him were dating. “Carisi, I can explain,” he calmly said.

“Explain my ass.” Sonny marched up to Rafael and got right in his face, prodding the ADA in the chest. “That’s my baby sister you’re defiling on a family heirloom,” he growled.

You moved in between the two men, recognizing by the tone in his voice that Rafael was seconds away from getting punched in the face by your brother. “Sonny, calm down.”

“And you!” Sonny looked you up and down while shaking his head in disapproval. “Is this why you’ve been so busy? Cause you’re more interested in fucking some guy than spending time with your own family?”

You drew a sharp intake of breath at his harsh words. Your brother had never spoken to you like that before. You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed, wanting the floor to swallow you up whole.

Rafael saw the hurt in your eyes and something inside him snapped. Before his brain could even process what his body was doing, he pulled his fist back and punched Sonny square in the nose.

“Oh my God!” You stood there with your jaw dropped open, completely stunned—at Sonny, at Rafael, and at Rafael’s fist colliding with Sonny’s face.

Sonny doubled over and pinched the bridge of his nose, tears welling up in his eyes. “My nose!”

“Don’t you dare speak to her like that,” Rafael snarled and clutched his fist, trying to flex his fingers, his knuckles red and swollen. “Fuck, my hand!”

The two men groaned in excruciating pain. You glanced between them, not entirely sure who to go to first, your boyfriend or your brother. “Wow, Ma was right,” you mumbled to yourself. “Men really are just overgrown children.”

Sonny glared at Rafael, his nose bleeding profusely and began to lunge at him with his fist in the air ready to counter-attack. Thankfully, you were prepared this time and jumped in between them both with your arms outstretched, palms pressing against each of their chests as you pushed them off each other.

“STOP IT! BOTH OF YOU!” You turned and pointed to Rafael. “You sit DOWN and don’t move. I’ll be right back.” Rafael immediately followed your orders, kind of turned on by your dominant side shining through, but now was not the time to tell you that.

You then turned to your brother. “You. Bathroom. NOW!” Sonny wouldn’t budge, muttering to himself in Italian as he tried to wipe the blood off his nose. “NOW!” You smacked him upside the head.

“Ow! Ok, I’m goin’! I’m goin!’” He held his hands up in surrender and headed down the hallway.

“Put those long limbs of yours to good use and walk a little faster then!” You said, hot on his heels.

Rafael could hear you both bickering all the way to the bathroom, your normally non-existent Staten Island accent coming out in full force. It was strange. He had never really noticed a family resemblance between you and Sonny until now.

*****

Sonny sat on the edge of your tub, nursing his swollen, tender nose. To stop the bleeding, you split a tampon in half and shoved each part up his nostrils. It wasn’t broken, but bruising was already beginning to form. He was gonna have a great time trying to explain two black eyes and a bashed-in nose to the squad on Monday morning. Who knew Rafael had such a killer right hook?

You walked into the bathroom—now dressed in your own clothes—and silently handed him a bag of frozen corn. In order to keep the peace, you had to put Sonny and Rafael in timeout. If it worked for your nieces and nephews, it would certainly work for your brother and your boyfriend.

“Thanks,” he muttered and held the frozen vegetables up to his face, wincing in pain. “Where’s Barba?”

“Still sitting at the table with his hand under a bag of frozen peas. You both owe me for groceries by the way.” You stood there, studying the tiled floor in silence before clearing your throat. “I better go check on Rafael.”

Just as you were about to leave, Sonny took hold of your hand. “Y/N, wait a sec, will ya’?”

You pulled out of his grasp and turned to face him, crossing your arms. “What is it?”

Sonny sighed and looked up at you with black eyes and a bloody nose. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I shoulda’ never said that. It’s just when I saw you and Barba. I freaked out. Please forgive me.”

You mulled over his apology for a moment, worrying your bottom lip. “I forgive you,” you replied before punching him hard in the left shoulder. Rafael had nothing on you. Over the years, your brother had done a stellar job teaching you how to fight. You may have been the creative, sensitive artist, but you could also quit your day job and become an MMA cage fighter if you wanted to.

“Ow! Jeezus!” He hissed in pain. “What was that for? I said I was sorry!”

“Rafael got a hit in and now it’s my turn.” You clutched your brother by the collar. “Don’t ever speak to me like that again or I’ll do worse. I’m a grown-ass woman and this is my home. My boyfriend can eat me out cafeteria-style and make me cum until I scream if I want him to!”

“Oh God! I didn’t need to hear that! Please do me a favor. Take somethin’ sharp and pointy and gouge out my eyeballs and puncture my eardrums, will ya’? Haven’t I been punished enough?” He groaned.

“For barging into my home and embarrassing me in front of Rafael? No, you haven’t.” You let go of Sonny’s shirt and sat down next to him, taking the bag of frozen corn and bringing it back up to his face. Your expression softened a bit. You loved Sonny with all your heart. His recent outburst aside, he was the best big brother a girl could ask for. “I shoulda never given you a spare key.”

“How did you two even meet?” He asked.

You shrugged. “He stopped by the gallery one day and then I ran into him again that night you and I were supposed to get dinner. The rest is history.” You softly smiled, thinking back to that first embarrassing encounter with Rafael and everything that followed. That first drink. That first kiss. Reflecting back on this past month, you realized that slowly but surely Rafael had changed your life for the better. “Guess you kinda had a part to play in all this. If it wasn’t for you cancelling on me. We may have never gotten together.”

Sonny pushed your hand away from his face. “Don’t say that. I don’t want to be responsible for this.” He sadly shook his head and got up. “I better get goin’.”

“Sonny, wait!” You followed him out of the bathroom and down the hallway.

He ignored you, tossing the bag of frozen corn on the table where Rafael was still sitting, flipping through Sonny’s immigration law book.

“Here’s your book,” Rafael said, handing it over.

“Thanks,” he sneered and snatched the book out of Rafael’s hands before heading to the door.

“Carisi!” Rafael called out.

Sonny whipped around to find the ADA right behind him. “What?”

“You have a tampon up your nose,” Rafael coldly replied.

Sonny’s cheeks turned bright red. He pulled the tampon out of his nostrils and tossed it on the ground before leaving.

You flinched when you heard the door slam and crept up beside Rafael. Wrapping his arms around you, he kissed the top of your head and sighed. “I hate to say it, but I knew we should’ve told him earlier.”

@glimmerglittergirl​ @southern-magnolia​ @sweetcannolicarisi​ @delia26​ @obfuscateyummy​ @sass-and-suspenders​ @eclecticminded​ @thatesqcrush​ @katmstanton​ @amirightcounsellor​ @beltzboys2015-blog​ @letty-o​ @sonnysdoll​ @lyssa1385​ @sweetsummertime99​ @burningsorr0ws​ @gibbs274​ @izzythefanfreak​ @riodallas​ @babypink224221​ @livxrafa​ @esparza-army​ @obsessionprofessional​ @ottosuricato​ @melsquared79​ @dreila03​ @frenchiefoxy​ @tropes-and-tales​ @thecraziestcrayon​ @goodluckfindingone​ @scarlettsoldier​ @amirightcounselor​ @yeah-boiiiiiiiiiii​ @graniairish​ @ashley-chi​ @imjustreallynosy​ @lolacolaempath 

#rafael barba #rafael barba fanfic #rafael barba fic #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba imagine #barba #barba fanfic #barba fic #barba x reader #law and order svu imagine #barba imagine #rafael barba fan fiction #law and order svu fic #taking chances

[yikeswtfmate]

Strange Times || Ch. 4

previous part // Strange Times - Series Masterlist // next part

Summary: Y/N’s found a buyer, but Raymond is less than happy about it. He just hopes his worries won’t become reality.

Pairing: Raymond (Charlie Hunnam - The Gentlemen, 2020) x Reader

Warnings: swearing; mentions of violence

A/N: SURPRISE! i know i promised a drabble, but i’m guessing you won’t mind this instead 😇 now i can take a break from it again until you start getting restless again 😂 joking!....unless...

A/N 2: ok, i know! and you’ll know why i’m sorry after you’ll have read this BUT in my defence, this is already 2,600 words long and i had to stop somewhere, or it would’ve gotten to at least 5,000 if not more

Mickey is starting to lose his patience with Y/N. Watching her over the rim of his glass, he notices there’s something off about her, but he can’t quite put his finger on it. Rosalind’s not home yet, having had to finish some other business or another at the garage, which is a shame because sometimes he needs her to understand his own sister.

He’s annoyed with how secretive Y/N’s been, and although he’s trying to give her space, as his wife warned he should, he’s dissatisfied with the morsels of information she’s been feeding him. This is not right, and he knows all too well how stubborn she could be, so even if she’d be in deep shit, the little asshole would still not tell him.

He grinds his teeth, intent on having a chat with Ray, because that fucker’s been like a fucking vault as well. Are they hiding something from him? He wonders, his gaze shifting to the man who’s yet again seated next to Y/N on the sofa. Mickey’s eyebrow twitches involuntarily when he catches the look that passes between those two, and what the fuck is going on.

“Right, so pleasantries aside, I have good news.” Y/N speaks up, tearing her eyes away from Ray. “I have a buyer.”

Ray takes a sharp intake of breath, and leans towards the bottle of whiskey that’s been sitting before them. Mickey closes his eyes for a brief second, hoping and praying to all that’s fucking mighty his sister did not stir shit up again. He knew he shouldn’t have trusted her when she’d only tell him it’s about the business. He knew there was something fishy when she’d just disappear for hours and days on end and reappear with a bright smile and a dismissive wave of her hand.

“Y/N, what the fuck did you do?” Mickey demands, and his jaw is clenched, eyes shut as he tries to gain some semblance of composure.

“Solved your shit, that’s what I did.” She shrugs, grabbing the whiskey for herself and pouring some more in her own glass. “Look, I really don’t want to listen to your whole spiel about how I’m not supposed to interfere, and how this is your shit that you have to deal with. We’ve already established you fucked it up royally last time. All of us here know that I don’t really have anything to gain from you selling, except to not have to listen to you bitch and moan all the time about how tired and stressed you are.”

There’s a moment of reluctant acknowledgement from him so she continues. “I have my connections here, and believe it or not, a pair of tits and some brains actually got me further than your little game with Berger did. Now.” Y/N places the glass on the table and interlaces her fingers on her knees, waiting for their full attention. “Are you interested in what I have for you or not?”

Raymond sighs beside her. He doesn’t like this more than he likes the drunkards that shout as they pass his house at 2 in the morning, but the truth of the matter is that Mickey does want to sell, for all the bravado he’s been putting up for the past year. Plus, even though he’s known Y/N for close to two months now, she’s had plenty of opportunities to show him just how clever she is. He supposes there’s no point in dismissing what she has to say, for all the wariness he’s holding in his heart, and not just because she’d be up to bash Mickey’s face in.

Ray can see the same thoughts going through his boss’ head. He can read them right in the small crease on his forehead and the tick of his jaw. He doesn’t like it more than he does, but he’ll have to at least hear what she has to say.

Mickey stands up, hands in his pockets, and Ray already knows he’ll start pacing around the room until he’s completely satisfied. They will be in here for a long time, and having Y/N involved, it can only mean that this plan will have to be not only airtight, but bulletproof and secured in bubble wrap, just to be sure.

*

This plan is not airtight, and Ray definitely doesn’t like it. He has a feeling in his bones that this will go sideways, but he keeps his mouth shut. He’s already expressed his thoughts to Mickey, who didn’t want to hear it. For all the holes Ray’s tried poking through Y/N’s plan, she seems awfully confident this Oscar Christie would come through. He can’t understand exactly why Mickey agreed to everything in the end, but Ray can just fucking hope it’s not because he’s getting desperate to sell. It could only mean it could get sloppy. Again. And he sure as fuck does not want this to get sloppy when Y/N is right in the middle of it.

He is still wary, and after the fifth time he’s got Y/N’s voicemail, he’s starting to feel more jittery than he should in normal circumstances.

“I think we should go in.” Ray mutters, with a shake of his head, not tearing his eyes away from the warehouse.

It’s dark, and there’s only one functioning lamp in the whole lot and if that doesn’t seem foreboding he’d eat his own fucking hand. He doesn’t like that Y/N is in there alone, a request Christie made clear that if broken, the whole deal’s off. He doesn’t like that this does not take place like a normal conversation in a bar or Mickey’s office or anywhere else more civilised for that matter, because what the fuck are they? They are just selling weed, for fuck’s sake, why the fuck is Y/N in a fucking dark warehouse like an animal being prepared for slaughter? Sure, they’ve done a lot of shit in warehouses themselves, but that’s just it. A lot of unspoken of shit.

“Would you stop shaking your fucking leg?” Mickey snaps. “We agreed on giving her half an hour. I don’t like this either, but she still has 5 more minutes.”

Ray is ready to bound out the door when the time’s up and Y/N is still nowhere to be seen. The sound of a phone cuts through the tension and silence that’s been stretching between the four men in the car. He turns to Mickey, who takes out his phone and reads the message, and Ray feels like the wind is knocked out of his lungs when he sees his boss throw the door open and bolting towards the warehouse without an explanation.

Bunny and Big Dave quickly follow after him, guns at the ready, but it takes Ray one more second to react before running blindly after them. They find Mickey frantically searching what Ray realises with a sinking dread to be an empty building. Christie is not here, his men are not here, but most importantly, Y/N is not here.

“Boss, what is going on?” Bunny asks quietly.

Mickey mumbles something unintelligible, forcing Big Dave to fearfully prod further, awaiting an explanation.

“THEY TOOK MY FUCKING SISTER!”

The words bounce off the empty walls, and Raymond feels like he’s spiralling down into insanity.

*

Two hours later, they have a request for ransom. Mickey is to give up the business in exchange for nothing, and Christie will gracefully allow him, his wife and his sister to leave the country without having all of them hounded down and killed. He would accept any man who’d like to stay on for him, but he supposes – correctly – that they’re all too loyal to Pearson to even offer. He’ll even let Mickey keep the money he already has, just out of the goodness of his heart. Cunt.

Mickey is pacing again, after having finished nearly an entire full glass of whiskey, thrown over the desk in the middle of the office, kicked a lamp and ripped off the curtains. Ray wishes he could let out his frustration and fucking dread out as well, but he’s forcing his brain to work in overdrive, coming up with a solution whose top priority (and only result he actually cares about) is to get Y/N out of this. His gaze shifts towards Rosalind, who’s sat on the ledge of the window, seemingly ignoring them both, having kept quiet ever since she arrived at the apartment. Ray supposes if there’s anyone in this entire world who understands Y/N completely, it’s her. But before he can place his laptop down in order to go over to her and discuss the idea that’s starting to swirl in his mind, Mickey slams down a hand on the wall.

“Right. Ray, I need you to find out where the fuck this little cunt operates and get me Guy on the phone. We’re smoking this little shit out.”

“You can’t bomb him.” Ray says, an impatient sigh escaping his lips. “If you do that, the next thing you’ll see is Y/N’s body on your doorstep. It will literally mean war.”

“It already means war!” He roars. “I will rip this fucker limb for limb if he thinks he can lay a hand on my sister and get away with it and my business.”

“We’re not bombing him.” Ray says finally.

Mickey turns to his underling, his left eyebrow twitching, jaw clenched so tight he might actually bite through his teeth. His nose is red, but he’s not so drunk that his face would become purple with madness anytime soon. Rosalind is still quiet and to be completely fair, it’s starting to tick Ray off. Why the fuck isn’t she helping? At least to get her rabid husband to calm down enough to start thinking rationally.

“I don’t remember anyone putting you in charge.” Mickey’s voice strangely resembles that of a snake, but Ray’s heard it enough times to not be bothered. At this point in time, Mickey is the last person he gives a fig about. “I am the boss and if I say we’ll smoke them out, that’s exactly what you’re going to arrange.”

“I couldn’t give a dog’s arse what you say, Mickey. This is a stupid plan and it’s bound to get her killed so you can either sit down and shut up until I come up with a plan or sober up enough to help me.”

There’s a beat of silence in the room, enough to hear Rosalind shift in her seat towards them. She looks at her husband, who’s staring incredulously at Raymond, but he’s shocked into silence at the blatant disobedience. For all of Ray’s cold blood, Y/N found his every weakness and became the heart of them.

“I don’t know what little game you’ve been playing with my baby sister, you fucking dickhead, but that does not mean that I will accept you disrespecting me like this.” Mickey sneers.

Raymond stands up, an inch between their faces now. Rosalind watches them warily, sure that if there will be any sudden movements around them, they’d just throw themselves at each other’s throats like rabid dogs.

“I’m not playing any game with your sister.” Ray seethes, a finger pointing to Mickey’s face. “I care about her and I’m trying to get her home safe, without starting a turf war, something that your fucking ego could never understand. Now. Will you fucking sober up so we can sort this shit out or are you going to keep on acting like a little cunt?”

Rosalind jumps up then, pushing them apart right when Mickey gets a hold of Ray’s jacket. She feels the rumbling of their growls in their chests, right under her hands. She hates these stupid displays of masculinity, especially when now is not the fucking time.

“Calm down.” She says.

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Ray shouts, anger stretching his patience thin. “This is your fucking fault.” He goes on, finger still pointing at Mickey. “You went on with this motherfucking stupid plan, thinking that just because she’s a bird, she’ll get a better deal out of it than you ever would. Instead of dealing with it yourself or let me fucking do it, you agreed to let her go, when you know you could’ve easily found a way around it, you sick fuck! Or how about this, huh? How about not going forward with it at all for fuck’s sake because it’s not like YOU COULDN’T FIND ANYONE ELSE TO BUY YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS WITHOUT INVOLVING Y/N.”

Raymond ignores the little step forward Mickey takes, and Rosalind’s hand on his chest would do nothing to stop him if they’d actually get around to throwing punches. Ray doesn’t want that though. It would mean more wasted time, and he’s already wasted enough, so he grabs his laptop, set on going down to Coach’s gym. He needs help, and apparently he won’t get any from Mickey anytime soon.

Ray stops in the doorway, and turns to where the two are still standing, watching him. “Listen to me, Mickey, and listen well. She might be smarter than all of us, but you better pray to all that’s fucking mighty that no one even touched her before I get to her or I will fucking rip your eyes out and I don’t give a bloody shit you’re my fucking boss.”

*

One hour later, Raymond is punching a gym bag, his knuckles are bleeding and sweat is dripping on the mat. The AC does little to relieve the tension in his muscles, and even after chucking his shirt off, he feels too hot, too restless, too panicked to sit still. Coach does everything he can to have a proper conversation with him, although he has to push his glasses up on his nose with every rattle of the bag.

His boys are scattered around the gym, now sitting all quietly, after they’d first gone berserk at the news. Raymond supposes he shouldn’t have been surprised that Y/N’s both met all of them, as well as gotten them all completely smitten.

“You know you gotta talk this out with Mickey, right?” Coach says. “I get that you got at it badly, mate, but he’s her brother. You both want to get her out of this.” A slight rumble from the room makes him roll his eyes. “We all want to get her out of this, but we can’t if we won’t work together.”

Raymond stops with his fist in the air. He looks at Coach briefly, and although he fucking hates to admit it, of course he’s right. Clenching his teeth, he turns around to grab a towel, only to be faced with an obviously just as irked Mickey.

“Rosalind might have a plan.” He says with a nod, enough to show he’s willing to get over their row without hard feelings. “She has some messages from Y/N that she’s sent a few weeks back. Ros thinks Y/N sent them as a precaution in case some shit like this would happen.”

Raymond fixes his glasses and nods, a faint smile on his lips. “Smart girl.”

“I need you and your guys as well, Coach.” Mickey says.

“Whatever you need, Mr Pearson sir.” Primetime offers.

Mickey turns to Coach’s protégés, who are now starting to huddle together, ready to follow orders. A look in Coach’s direction would be enough to know that the man would’ve preferred not to get them involved in this, but he knows damn well this would be an interdiction they would never comply with. So, with a sigh, he nods his assent.

“Let’s get going then.” Mickey says. “I need to have some words with this motherfucker who thinks he can mess with my family.”

***

Taglist:

@myfriendmademedothisxd @alainabooks143 @rvmanova​ @aisling1985​

#raymond x reader #ray x reader #charlie hunnam x reader #the gentlemen #raymond the gentlemen #the gentlemen 2020 #ray the gentlemen #the gentlemen fanfiction #raymond fanfiction #charlie hunnam fanfiction #charlie hunnam fanfic #charlie hunnam fic #charlie hunnam

[cherry-moonlight]

Life Could Be A Dream - Chapter Four

{NOS4A2 - Charlie Manx x Reader}

{A/N} He’s hereeeeeeeeeeeeee! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and what's to come! Thank you for being so supportive <3

Warnings: A bout of depressive thoughts.

Chapter Four - Christmasland

“Did they ask for me?” Vic’s voice was low and rough as I put the phone back in its place.

If looks could kill, I might’ve died right there in my shoes. Still, I nodded reluctantly. Before I had time speak again, she spun around on her heel and stormed out, grabbing her helmet once more.

“Wayne?” She called out.

Silence.

“Wayne!” She shouted then, fear gripping the tone of her voice in a way that almost frightened me.

I watched as Lou followed her out, looking exasperated the moment she’d gotten on her bike in a huff. He threw his hands up in the air and she was gone.

Approaching him carefully, I kept a polite enough distance. Having no idea as to what was going on, I tried not to make anything worse. Was a random phone call really that menacing? Pushing away the fact that the cord was still dangling from the pole, usually rendering any other phone useless, was proving to be harder than I expected.

“Where’s she going?” I asked gently.

He took a moment to respond, his gaze seemingly stuck down the road as he stared after her, but Victoria wasn’t anywhere in sight anymore. His face was clearly pained when he finally turned to face me.

“She just.. went to go look for Wayne,” he sighed, padding to the shop again and grabbing his keys off of a caddy on the wall. “I’ll be back.”

And with that, he was gone, too. I guessed they’d trusted me enough to leave me alone with the shop, even if it was supposed to be closed a few moments ago. Sitting alone, it didn’t take long before I felt absolutely gutted that Wayne was missing and I hadn’t even noticed that he wandered off. A strong urge to help them in their search for him plagued me. They’d been so kind and welcoming to me, and I owed it to them.

The garage door closed with a bang when I locked it. I had no car or really any means of transportation, but I noticed keys to a truck that had been dangling on the wall as well. While I had no idea who they belonged to, I didn’t care. Before I locked the shop up, I’d swiped them from their spot. The air was crisp as I ran over to the vehicle, helping myself and hoping the owner would never figure out I used it.

Not having a car had been the bane of my existence as a teenager. I couldn’t go anywhere or do anything. The only reason I was even able to get my license was because my mother wanted me to run errands for her. The engine roared to a start and the radio kicked on, the haunting song from the shop and my dream suddenly playing through it. This struck a slight pang of uneasiness within me. The song sounded just as sorrowful as it had in my dream. With a hard swallow, I reached for the knob and pushed the power button carelessly as I began to drive off the lot.

The song still played.

I pushed again, then again and again.

The radio was off, but the song still played. I could’ve killed the engine in the middle of the road, just to be sure, but I decided against it.

“Must be broken..” I tried to convince myself aloud instead, as though it might go away if it heard me.

Something was clearly wrong with me, I thought.

Hearing songs that don’t exist when no one else could hear them.. Lovely. I’d always heard trauma did strange things to the brain. Maybe it was something like th—

It was then that something large behind the treeline beside me caught my eye. I wasn’t too far from Carmody’s yet, making me even more compelled to examine it.

From what I could see it was large and wooden and resembled something of a tunnel or a bridge. There was no peeling my thoughts from the sight, forcing me to keep glancing over at it. I couldn’t not investigate what I was seeing, and a part of me wondered if it was truly there thanks to the incidents with the ghostly song I kept having.

But I couldn’t resist. I pulled over immediately and stared at it from the car, blinking a few times just to be sure.

It was definitely there..

Maybe I’d just overlooked it like I had overlooked Carmody’s all of this time.

Shrugging into the jacket I wore, I hopped out of the truck and closed the door before standing still for a moment-- just listening.

Nope. No song.

But it had already gotten stuck in my head.

Not wanting to work on that crisis before figuring out what was hiding behind the trees, I decided there was no harm in humming it to myself. The sensation of mystery ran thick while I made my way down into the wooded area, pushing my way through dry branches and prickly pine needles. The air grew even chillier and the gray sky turned just a bit darker the further I went, making me wonder if going into the woods was a good idea at all. But I owed it to Vic and Lou to help them look for their son, who had been nothing but sweet to me since I’d met him.

“Wayne…!” I called, though not as loudly as I probably should have as I approached the large structure.

My brow knit together. That tunnel was not there before, of that I was certain. It seemed to lead to nowhere, which was intriguing and eerie at the same time. The lyricless song in my head seemed to swell with passion, making me sing along to the notes that hung in the air just like it had in my dream.

My dream.

Maybe the tunnel had something to do with the dream I had, I thought, walking towards the entrance. My feet continued to carry me forward, still not close enough to see inside. It almost seemed as though no matter how far I walked, I could never get close enough to even begin to close the distance. Snow began to fall from the sky then, something the weather forecast hadn’t called for at all in the week, and as I continued on, the colorless flurry grew heavier and heavier— the melody in my head and on my lips almost taking the place of any other noise I might’ve heard.

“Wayne?” I cried out in between singing, huddling into myself from what was turning into bitter coldness.

I ducked as a few black bats that stood out against the vastness of white flew out from the slowly disappearing structure and towards me. The snow had picked up so much I wasn’t sure I would even be able to get close enough to it to take cover. The sudden whiteout was disorienting, not only because of the blankets of snow clouding my vision, but because it just didn’t feel possible to happen all at once. It came out of thin air, making me feel as though I were detached from reality.

My better judgement told me I had to get back to the truck as I was surely losing sight of my surroundings with every moment passed. I knew I hadn’t wandered far, yet I felt as though I were isolated from everyone and everything I’d ever known in the place I stood, the feeling hanging heavily around me, pulling me down until it was a chore just to breathe.

The air whipped around my trembling frame, stinging my cheeks and chilling my bones as I continued my singing, trying to keep myself from a full blown panic attack. Singing had always soothed me. Even though my voice was weak from competing with the sound and force of the wind, it kept me from losing my mind despite the fear that filled my heart and seeped into every fiber of my being.

The song continued on strong through what felt like chaos surrounding me, causing me to feel it on a level much deeper than before. A stark realization settled in that I was truly alone in the world, and it was being shown all around me in some kind of sick, wintery metaphor. I couldn’t carry on anymore. I felt my body go limp and my mind go blank, the lack of control in my life revealing itself to me. My voice fell silent as I stopped singing and fell forward into the freezing abyss that consumed me, a soft sob escaping my cherry red lips as I came to terms with my situation more than I ever thought I would.

My heart screamed, pumping beat after beat with nothing but pain.

My blood boiled, burning my insides through the numbing cold.

All I’d ever wanted was to be loved.

Appreciated.

All I’d ever wanted my whole life was to be cared about.

Why wasn’t I deserving of that?

And it was in that moment of silence that everything else in the world came to an unforeseen halt as well.

A beat passed, maybe two, and I opened my eyes from being squeezed shut in anger and hurt. Mascara-filled tears left streaks down my cheeks as I kept my gaze down at the shining white ground, tiny black droplets melting the patches of snow beneath my face where each drop fell like blood. It was considerably darker than it had been before the storm, but the light was different, too. Almost scared to lift my head, my eyes trailed from their spot on the ground cautiously, my {H/C} hair falling in front of my face.

The sudden silence was utterly deafening as I tried to listen for any sign of life. No sounds of nature; no song. But it was then that I noticed each and every delicate snowflake hanging in its place in the air like crystal droplets hanging from a chandelier. It was as though time and space had stopped around me.

Am I dead?

My eyes widened in astonishment, taking in my new environment as I scanned the small area I found myself in.

Where am I?

I exhaled, a small white cloud hanging off my lips. I’d been holding my breath without my knowing. All around me were tall walls of white and blue ice, casting glacial shadows across what looked like hallways within their confines. The snowflakes that hung around me began to disappear like fireflies into the night while I stumbled to my feet again.

Ice.

It was all ice surrounding me, and the song that haunted me everywhere I went had not returned. Shuddering gently, the cold touched me here, but it didn’t chill me the way it had in the woods. In fact, despite the snow, there was a sense of warmth that radiated from every corner. I didn’t feel as hopeless and alone as I had on the ground just minutes before, the grave shift in emotions so quickly almost throwing me into a mild form of shock as I found my bearings again.

The familiarity of the place hit me like a ton of bricks as I began to walk. It was like my feet knew exactly where to take me; running my fingers along the ice that stood tall enough to keep anything that might’ve come across the place out — or in. Parts of the enclosure arched over me with large icicles that made everything feel like a dreamscape; the cold of the crystalline walls on my sensitive fingertips began to hurt. But in the moment, there was no care to be had about the pain.

The grin that tugged slowly at my snow kissed lips couldn’t be helped as I began to run, letting my heart carry me through what I quickly remembered to be a maze. Sure, I couldn’t remember how I knew, but somehow, I knew exactly where I was going. Something in my mind told me I was going to be the victor if I reached the entrance, keeping my focus on nothing but chasing my own intuition through the labyrinth’s twisting and turning glacial halls.

From my head to my toes I was awash with giddiness, a giggle escaping from my lips at every new turn, a childlike wonderment becoming me, replacing the sorrow that I was sure wouldn’t leave me alone only moments before. The snow kicked up around my feet, and I could see the light in the distance, indicating the entrance I was so after. Shifting into a sprint, it was as though I knew I had something to get to at the end, but couldn’t place exactly what.

But when I finally reached my destination, I was met with a world of fragmented memories that came flooding into my mind all at once, the familiarity delving deeper than just a passing wonder. I could’ve sworn there was an impact on me physically as I caught myself, leaning back against the large wall that made up the entrance with strength I didn’t know I would need to keep myself up as I sorted through my thoughts.

Sprawled out before my curious eyes was the most wondrous thing I’d ever seen. Christmas trees and houses that looked like life sized gingerbread cottages. Blinking lights were everywhere, complete with a large Ferris Wheel and a rollercoaster that wound its way around the entire parameter. There wasn’t a patch of ground that snow didn’t cover, and I could hear laughter in the distance. My heart suddenly ached with fervor, and I clutched at my chest as though that might stop the gnawing that radiated deeper than I would’ve liked. I was thrilled and pained all at the same time. But how could I feel as though I so deeply missed something I couldn’t even remember properly?

There was a certain romance to everything I set my eyes on as it shined in the lights, casting technicolor shadows over my face. I didn’t want to look away, in fact, I was sure I couldn’t as I let myself linger on the sights before me. I wanted to explore, to find myself in every nook and cranny this place of wonder offered.

Emotions began to overwhelm me as I finally came to the conclusion that I’d been here before long ago. It wasn’t something I’d simply made up or only dreamt about. The lights in my dream, they were leading to this. My brow furrowed as I tried to remember; tried to search the depths of my mind for any memory that would give me more than just a fuzzy clue.

My feet pounded against the ground as I ran again.

I ran and ran and ran; through the carnival games and rides that offered more flashes of hazy memories and past the houses that did just the same. When I reached the edge of what looked like a Christmassy plaza, I saw two people standing across from each other, both in defensive stances as though they were in the middle of an intense row. As I peered in for a closer look, I gasped.

What was Vic doing here?

She was in a stand-off with a tall man in a navy blue jacket and a deep red cravat. His dark brown hair matched the darkness of his trousers and shoes, and I noticed all too quickly that he had a face no one should ever forget.

When my eyes set on him, I was terribly wounded that I had forgotten his face at all when I immediately recognized him-- even if I couldn’t remember how, exactly.

Charlie Manx.

Father Christmas.

Whatever anyone called him, that was who my entire being was being pulled towards through the maze and down the snowy pathways. I knew it when my gaze found him, the ache in my chest dulling, but not completely gone.

But why? Who is he to me? There were more questions than I had words.

No one noticed my appearance as I made my way towards them with reckless abandon, interrupting whatever was happening before me. My heart pounded in my chest as I opened my mouth to speak, but when they both turned to look at me, I couldn’t say a word.

Their facial expressions were that of shock. But Charlie looked at me with a hint of surprise and wonderment that made every nerve ending in my body sizzle with fear and tension.

Everyone fell silent, words escaping us at the strange situation we found ourselves in until Charlie finally stood a bit taller, speaking loudly into the open air.

“Well… If it isn’t little {Y/N}.. Not so little anymore, are we?”

Wait...

“You know each other?” Vic questioned, anger and adrenaline thick in her vocal chords, her face turning to stone as though I’d committed treason in the highest degree.

I recognized him, but how did he know me? I wanted to ask what was going on, to explain myself to Vic - or what I could figure out of myself - and ask why I was back here again, or what I had done here in the first place. I wanted to scream at my splintered memories that only let me remember where I was and that I’d been here before, but not much of what happened or for how long. They were all a hazy blur of lights and games, children and sweets.

Everyday was Christmas Day.

Every night was Christmas Eve.

But I couldn’t— I physically couldn’t make a sound.

My hand clutched my neck as I realized my voice was completely missing from my throat like some Brothers' Grimm tale in a Disney-esque wonderland.

Charlie made a noise, as though delighting in the fact that I couldn’t speak.

“I see your voice has brought you here once again,” he continued, his velvet voice dripping with honey tones. “Rightfully so.. As you find yourself, technically orphaned, don’t you, {Y/N}?”

My focus was on Charlie Manx, and his focus was on nothing but me as my line of sight drifted towards the deep night sky, peppered with stars and a moon that seemed to welcome me warmly. My gaze met his again, and for a moment, it was as though no one else and nothing else existed but the two of us. His chocolate eyes pierced through me with an intensity that made me feel as though he could pull my soul from my body and do what he wanted with what remained. The spectral sensation forced me to avert my eyes towards the sparkling lights that hung from every object one could perceive instead.

Children began to poke their heads out from behind snow covered trees and bushes then, holding large things like scissors and knives in their hands with menacing, but apprehensive expressions that rested on their features. It looked all too familiar to me.

“Do you remember me? All of your brothers and sisters here at Christmasland?” he asked, a gloved hand reaching out to gesture towards the hiding children.

But all that rang through my mind was:

Christmasland.

A flash of large candy cane and iron gates topped with a sign that read “Christmasland” stood out in my mind, but I shook my head a bit, an attempt at shaking the thought and bringing myself back to his brief line of questioning. To nod would have been a lie, so I gave it my best shrug, lifting my shoulders and teetering my faintly trembling hand from side to side.

“Pity” was all he said with a solemn expression, his deep register soothing and unnerving all at once.

He then turned to face Vic, who was now missing from her place on the other end of the odd triangle positioning we’d all been a part of.

His countenance turned to a scowl, clearly vexed by the fact that she’d disappeared, and then frustrated by his own careless mistake of letting it happen. I watched as his hands balled into tightly knit fists, frightening me on the inside as I tried to keep myself together. I couldn’t remember much, but from what I saw, there was a darkness about the entire situation. Between Charlie Manx and Christmasland, to the children with weapons and the ominous atmosphere that seemed to linger in the air, I wasn’t sure what would become of me if I made a sudden movement to run.

Charlie immediately ordered the children to begin a game through gritted teeth, one that I couldn’t recall, but felt as though I should. They all scattered at the shouted command, leaving us both truly alone in the wintery plaza. All that could be heard were the sounds of faint sinister giggles and crunchy footsteps as they drifted further into the distance until I began to hear my heart beat in my own ears thanks to adrenaline laced with dread.

It seemed as though he pushed away his anger for my sake, causing me to wonder why I was suddenly so important. His entire demeanor changed as soon as his smoldering eyes set on mine again, and he approached me slowly, every footfall cautious, as though he felt like if he came too close too quickly, I’d disappear.

Staying in place before him, the closer he drew to me, the more I felt as though I just might.

“Never mind her,” he assured me as he caught me glancing around for Vic in a slight panic.

What were they going to do to her?

He seemed to relax, as if this was going to make me feel any better. His features softened, like when one recalled fond memories before he lifted a leather clad finger into the air for just a second.

“You were such a fantastic addition to the family, {Y/N} Manx.”

The name caught me off guard. He must’ve been able to tell.

“Oh..” he drawled. “Now, you should remember that. You signed it in my book yourself.”

And then he smiled.

Oh god— did he smile.

There was nothing like it. When he smiled, it was as though the whole world around me lit up with the same delight. The act was infectious, and I felt myself smiling right back at him in a vague stupor. That was, until I wiped it off my face the moment I caught my lips curving, which proved to be more complicated than I would’ve liked.

What was wrong with me?

I had to remember that Vic was here too somehow, clearly in the middle of a scuffle with this man. No matter what kind of spell it seemed like he could put anyone under with his undeniable charm, there had to be a reason for Vic’s visit. Moreover, he’d sent children who carried objects that could be used as weapons after her.

Being disarmed so easily wasn’t like me at all, especially in such a strange place with such a strange person that I really barely knew. I had to get out. There was more at work than I could’ve even begun to wrap my head around.

Everything was so new to me— there were no answers, only more things to question, including how either Vic or myself got to Christmasland. But I couldn’t conceal the fact that I was worried for her and if only a little, myself. I was unsure if he would take the same approach with me should I fight him or try to run, and I felt far too weak from what I was sure could only be the past several minutes that felt like a whirlwind. Up to this point, I’d barely had reason to fear him myself anyway, and all I wanted to do was find out why I remembered the man, but nothing about him or how we were connected.

I tried to speak again but couldn’t. His expression turned quizzical before the damned smile eased its way back onto his lips. Albeit briefly, I had to look away if I didn’t want to be caught up in it again.

“I didn’t realize you hadn’t used your gift since we last found you here..” he voiced in realization. “It comes at a cost, my dear. Once you use your voice, you lose it for a while. But that’s nothing a hot cup of peppermint tea with lobs of sugar can’t fix, can it?”

His smile this time was small, but still enough to disarm me all over again.

Peppermint tea -overly sweetened- was my favorite. My brow furrowed as I tried to pull the memories from my brain. How long had I been here before? He’d sure made it sound like a while between dubbing me an addition to whatever “family” this was with his last name and knowing the way I liked my tea.

There were still a multitude of questions bouncing around in my mind. But without a voice, I had no other option than to go along with what he was saying. It wasn’t only that I couldn’t remember how to leave, but I was also deeply intrigued by everything I saw— from Christmasland to Father Christmas himself. It surely couldn’t hurt to spend a little time, and while I did, maybe I’d get my voice back enough to finally figure out what was going on. If my voice brought me here, surely it’d be able to take me out. I just had to discover how.

And besides, maybe he was onto something with the tea. It had been a while since I’d indulged in a simple pleasure like that for myself. The feeling of being out of touch with reality drifted through my body and in my thoughts again. It was like I was slipping into a kind of contentment I’d never felt before. Not wanting to give into that, I fought the feeling off. I didn’t deserve it, I thought.

Slightly defeated by not being able to counter his offer, I nodded meekly, stepping closer to him. He hastily stepped backwards, keeping the same distance as his intense stare held mine for - to anyone else - what might’ve been a little too long. Deep down, I wondered if I should’ve figured out how to get away to find Vic instead.

“Come,” was all he said then, turning around and leading me to a house just behind him, the outside decorated just as to the nines as the rest of the area and the small cottages that resided within it.

A warm yellow light flowed out across the snow as he opened the door, enticing me even more to follow before he disappeared inside. The door swung closed behind him, and as I approached it myself, my inner dialogue was still fixated on just how I knew Christmasland, and why Victoria was here being what seemed like taunted by Charlie. It wasn’t until my fingertips grazed the icy doorknob that I was being pulled backwards, a hand -I assumed instinctively- being cupped over my mouth to keep my already silenced voice even quieter. Trying to fight back proved to be useless as I tried to dig in my heels into the snow to no avail. I was being dragged backwards against my will as I tried to wriggle free, quickly giving up the fight once I heard my captor speak.

“Don’t say a word, I’m gonna get you out of here,” Vic whispered in my ear gruffly.  

#nos4a2 #charlie manx #zachary quinto #charlie manx fanfiction #nos4a2 fanfiction #charlie manx x reader #fanfiction #vic mcqueen

[reach4themoon]

We All Fall Down

Warnings: Death, description of bodies, slight mental torture(?), portrayal of murder and betrayal

Genre: Horror, murder, Carnival

Word Count: 1,936

Taeil came rushing into your apartment, excitement flooding the house as your friends and boyfriend shouted. It was your birthday and today was the first celebration with your boyfriend, you had known each other for a month but only started dating last week after his confession to which you happily obliged. The night started with drinks and dinner before your best friend brought out a cake and started the chorus of singing from around the room. You clapped, laughing along as they sang at the top of their lungs and drunkenly danced before finally blowing out the candles sitting atop the sweet dessert with only one wish in mind- to spend the day with Taeil.

It was an odd wish, yes, but you felt almost distant from him after you started dating. He rarely spoke of himself and only showed affection when others were around, as if it was only an act.

As everyone finished their cake, they began to hand you the presents they brought, smiling proudly as you opened them all and giddily thanked them. The only problem was Taeil, you were on the last present and yet you had not opened his, if he even brought one that is. Your guests seemed to pick up on the discomfort as you open the last gift of a silver necklace with the note reading Renjun. You tried to hide your disappointment but the tears threatened to spill as you said goodbye to everyone and thanked them for showing up, leaving you alone with the one person you couldn’t bring yourself to look at.

“You’re mad at me~” He called from the couch after seeing your slumped figure walk in.

“It’s my birthday, why would I be anything but happy?”

“Well that’s good, then you weren’t going to comment on the lack of a present today.”

The playful sound of his voice only angered you as you rushed into the bedroom and locked the door, huffing as you fell on your bed. How could he not even get you a card knowing you’d be upset?

“Honey~ You didn’t even give me a chance to explain.” He cooed, hand gently rubbing your back before you jumped up. You knew you locked the door.

“Do you have anything scheduled for tomorrow? I wanted us to go on a trip together.” Adrenaline rushed through you, forgetting everything else as you inquired about the trip with his only response being ‘It’s a secret.’

You don’t remember everything after that clearly, simply drinking some tea with Taeil on the couch before waking up in your bed the next morning. You smiled hearing a quiet voice outside following the smell of coffee and pancakes, grabbing one of your sweaters you rushed out to find Taeil standing by the stove humming along to a song only he could hear. Stalking over to him, you slipped your arms around his back, drowning in his scent while he finished cooking.

“Sit down, I’ll bring everything to you.” He gently removed himself from your arms, grabbing a nearby plate and sliding the pancakes on. Skipping over to the island table, you slid into the first chair and watched as he poured a glass of coffee and set it in front of you along with butter, syrup, and the plate.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” You watched him stand in front of you, nothing but his own cup to occupy him.

“I ate before you came out. When you’re done, get ready and we’ll head out because the drive is long, and I want to make sure you see everything in time.”

You nodded, doing as he asked while wondering what he possibly had planned for the day.

 The drive was quiet, your partner simply staring ahead while you looked out the window suddenly realizing he wasn’t what you had always thought about him. The buildings flew by as he drove, only slowing when they morphed into trees and occasionally stopping for breaks along the way. It took everything in you not to ask him to turn around and take you home, you wanted to spend the day with him but this was not what you had in mind, the silence was deafening and the longer you watched the sun climb the sky and make it’s descent the more you wanted to scream.

Turning to him, you were about to tell him to go back when he pulled into a small dirt road and finally smiled, patting your leg excitedly as he cheered.

“We’re here! Close your eyes, I’ll guide you the rest of the way in.” He quickly stopped the car and unbuckled his seatbelt to get out and walk over to your side. You watched, hesitantly following his instructions, and getting out after closing your eyes.

“I’m right here, don’t be scared.” His breath tickled your ear as he covered your eyes with his hand and gently pushed you forward. You had no idea where you were and the darkening sky concerned you, but his excited presence was reassuring, telling you exactly where to go and avoiding any branches or dips in the ground.

“You can open your eyes now.” Removing his hand, he shuffled forward as you opened your eyes to a large, rusted gates before you. The arch above the doors read CarderVille, a name you couldn’t recognize despite how excited Taeil seemed as he turned back to grab your hand and pull you in.

“This, my love, is the country’s biggest carnival. It was closed and abandoned years ago, leaving only those brave enough to explore it to keep it alive in history.” You exhaled in awe as the structures came into view before you.

Even in the dark you could make out a large, colorful tent sat in the center with dozens of booths and old buildings surrounding. The site was thrilling, and you jumped up and down in excitement, this time dragging Taeil with you to look around.

Your first stop was at a carousel, the partially broken horses and dusty floors did nothing to prevent you from climbing on to admire, not noticing the disappearance of your boyfriend at first. After several laps around the contraption, you finally take a few steps back to look at it from afar when you think you spot something on the roof. Squinting, you stare at it and blink a few times, it closely resembled the figure of a crumpled human.

“It’s only the shadows messing with your eyes.” You try to convince yourself as you walk away, hoping to spot the one who brought you here in the first place.

You continued talking to yourself, reminding yourself it was safe and that Taeil would protect you from any harm.

When you reached a concession stand you stopped, curiously looking inside, and calling for Taeil as you see a shadow. With no response, you lean over the counter to get a better look and scream just as the lights suddenly flash on. The figure was not Taeil, the old rotting form before you were an unfortunate stranger. Turning away, you gagged, the smell sinking into your nose and forcing you to your knees to rid your stomach of its contents. You hear his cheers before seeing him in the distance, assuming he went to turn the lights on

You call his name's a few times but no response, you're sitting and waiting in hopes he's trying to mess with you when the lights suddenly flash on and you jump in fear only loosening when you hear Taeil cheering in the distance and minutes later running out on the main street. Despite the lights being turned on in the dark night, it's difficult to see. The orange tint adding little depth to the grand setting of the place and all you’re left to do is walk.

 You walk, hoping to catch up to your beloved boyfriend when you hear whispering in a concession stand, the lights outlining a figure as you come closer to see. You wanted to call out to them, but your throat constricted and all you could do was curiously look closer. The body was old, rotting with the bugs crawling over it and signs of birds and other animals eating from it made you sick to the stomach, the contents from dinner earlier suddenly climbing its way back up as you turn away and collapse to the ground.

Once it seemed as though nothing more could come up you shakily crawled away from the booth, using a pole for lights to stand and look around. Taeil was nowhere in sight.

Your throat burned and tears pricked at your eyes as you called out for him, your voice pleading into the darkness met with a familiar melody. Following it, you blindly walked into the main tent only to find all sounds muted, the hushed silence combined with a lack of lighting spiking your anxiety once again.

Standing in the center, you looked up at the domed ceiling that appeared to go on forever with the shadows until your eyes adjusted more and you could faintly make out bleachers surrounding the edge of the tent. The longer you looked at them the crazier you felt, figures…bodies of people seemed to be placed throughout, their heads rolled to one side and shoulders slumped.

“Taeil, I want to go! Where are you?” You couldn’t take this anymore, you just wanted to leave.

That was when the song started up again, the melody seeming to haunt you now.

Ring around the Rosie

The image of Taeil humming in your kitchen clouded your mind. The morning of your birthday he had visited your apartment, claiming he wanted to make your breakfast and refusing to allow you to help. His smile was the brightest you had ever seen as he poured the batter on the pan, humming along to what he claimed was his favorite song. Now that very song felt like it had nailed your feet to the ground, your body felt like it wasn’t your own as you stood frozen in fear.

Pocket full of posies

You shouted and screamed hoping your dear boyfriend would show up. That maybe this was the nightmare and your brain had simply played a cruel prank on you and you still laid in bed the night of your birthday wondering what Taeil was going to do the next day.

Ashes, ashes

Tears streamed down your face, reminding you this was more than reality. A nightmare your brain would never create. You thought about running, but where would you go? You thought about hiding, yet you didn’t even know where safe was. So, you continued to let your fear hold your legs tight, believing that maybe this could be a cruel prank and that maybe the lights would turn on and you’d find family and friends laughing at your reaction. “Taeil.” You were shaking everywhere, the name quietly falling on your lips.

We all fall down

“I'm here my love,” the singing stopped. Taeil whispered right behind you, the shiver running down your spine telling you he was the last person you needed right now.

But by then it was too late, the piercing knife went through your back and all you could do was watch. Watch as you fall to the ground, Taeil pulling the knife out in the process and the blood beginning to pool around you ever so slowly. All you could do was listen, listen as Taeil began humming the tune of your favorite song as he wiped the blood on the knife off on you.

#moon taeil #taeil #taeil fanfic #nct fanfic #nct #nct 127 #nct 127 fanfic #halloween special

[wayward-musings]

Weeping Willow

Noon was the laziest time of the day for anybody who lived in my neighbourhood. It was the time of the day when streets were empty, roads deserted and, instead of children, lizards lay on the small rocks in the park, basking in the sun. But had anybody chanced to stroll by churchyard street that windy afternoon, they would have seen a greatly dejected figure shuffling along the lane, under the bougainvillea. Shoulders sagging, gait heavy and a small bunch of purple wildflowers clutched in one hand, they would have seen Tom Wylde walking to the cemetery.

It was a peaceful place, the cemetery. Long stalks of grass swept across the lush expanse, dotted in neat rows with headstones of granite and marble. The sun did not glare as it did in other areas, and the wind itself seemed to stand still - A cool draught sometimes chanced to ruffle the stalks of grass.

A tree here, a tree there, a grave in the shade. Another under the willow tree.

Tom Wylde looked across the field and began pacing.

First row, second row, third and fourth. Sixth from the left.

He stood there, looking down at the smooth, simple marble stone, the only mark his mother had left on the mortal world. Etched into the stone were the words :

Jessica Wylde   

May her Soul rest in peace.

He brushed off a few stray leaves and sat down. Placing the wildflowers on the headstone, he began.

"Afternoon, Mother," he said, "It's exactly the kind of day you would have liked. Weather's fine, too. Except my day's gone all wrong. " - he gave a shaky laugh - "I got fired, which means I'm unemployed. Unemployed - do you hear that, Mother? I've got no money for food - the landlord's been demanding rent and I've got no money to give him."

He sat quietly, his head between his knees.

"What did you use to say, Mother? 'This too shall pass.'  Well, Mother, it seems that this damn well won't. I shall have died of starvation in a few days." He began rocking back and forth, veering on the edge of hysteria. Tears ran freely down his cheeks. "Say something, Mother! Why won't you? Where are you when I need you? You left me when I was so young." - voice faltering - "Come back - I just don't know what to do." He dissolved into tears, and shook fiercely as his body was wracked by sobs.

Anybody who might have chanced to pass by the churchyard that Tuesday afternoon would have seen a man, broken by grief and misery, shaking and drawing in ragged breaths amid heart-wrenching sobs.

Tom Wylde wept his heart out, and just when he thought that he could not produce any more tears, he felt a small hand on his shoulder. He looked up, startled.

It was a young girl - no more than twelve. Her shining golden hair was pulled back with a ribbon, and she wore a spotless pair of dungarees over a bright yellow shirt. Tom Wylde watched, entranced, as the girl smiled, dimples denting her rosy cheeks, and then proceeded to sit herself down on the grass next to him, as if it had been her spot all along.

"I'm Willow Hillman. I heard you crying," she began cheerfully, as if she had not just borne witness to a mental breakdown. "And some of the things you said. Although I shouldn't have been eavesdropping. Everybody tells me it's a bad thing to do. I'm sorry for that. Although I suppose it's a good thing I heard, though, probably, otherwise I wouldn't have come here to cheer you up. Anyway, don't worry. It'll all get better. That's what my mother says . Here," She thrust a large, fluffy dandelion into Tom Wylde's hands. He looked down at it, slightly dazed, wondering why this little girl had suddenly decided to talk to him, of all people. Hadn't he scared her off with his breakdown? All the same, what was a twelve-year-old doing in a cemetery?

He looked at the dandelion and then turned his head to thank the little girl, but she was gone.

***

True to Willow Hillman's word, things did get better for Tom Wylde. For once, he decided to quit moping around and actually get some work done. He sent out applications for jobs and ran various errands for people to make ends meet.

Each day he went to the cemetery, and each day he was greeted by the same toothy grin and the same small hands holding a dandelion for him. 

He learnt a great deal about his little companion, too.

"Do you know how to make a daisy chain?"

Willow and Tom sat on the grass, plucking bits of it and throwing it at each other. Willow flashed him a grin. The sunlight turned her hair to liquid gold, and she looked as if she were made of the woods herself - a little nature spirit. It was just in the way she looked wholly at home in the meadow - regardless of it being a cemetery.

Tom smiled as he laced daisy stems together - the first smile of his in many months.

And truth be told, anyone who would have passed by the cemetery that day would have seen a tall and lanky man, running after a little girl, who curiously resembled a wood sprite- in the way the sunlight illuminated her frame; daisy chains tipping precariously on both their heads.

***

"Do you like trees, Willow?"

"My favourite is the bougainvillea."

"Why?"

" 'Cause it reminds me of myself. It's sweet and strong and it can stand anything."

Tom remained silent.

***

"You know, Willow, my mother - she left me when I needed her most. She died when I was eight."

"Really? Mine too!"

***

"I don't like cars."

"Why?"

" 'Cause one killed my mommy."

***

"It'll get better, don't worry."

***

A warm day.

A tall man, sitting next to a pint-sized child.

A young girl, with hair the colour of the golden sun, silhouetted in the evening light of the waning sun next to her newest friend.

Daisy chains, strung with threads of friendship.

Bougainvillea trees - delicate, yet strong.

Wispy white weeds, laced with self-discovery and blown on with gratitude for the existence of Nature.

The silken bonds of Friendship.

Peace.

Affection.

Hope.

***

Days turned to weeks, the sun rose and set each day as the moon waxed and waned through the nights - and it all led up to that one day when Tom Wylde was once again seen striding to the churchyard, this time with a spring in his step, a white envelope clutched tightly in one hand.

Tom Wylde had had none to share his happiness and sorrows with until a few weeks ago, when a little girl named Willow had waltzed into his life like the sprite she was, and he was bursting with joy and anticipation.

His days of sending out job applications had paid off, and Messrs. Barn and James had replied in the affirmative, offering a top-notch managerial position, saying that they would be 'glad to have you in our company', and that he was to start on this Monday the seventeenth of August.

Spotting a field of wispy white weeds - dandelions- he stopped to pick one for the little twelve-year-old who had brought so much joy into his life. He would never forget this day - the fourth of May- when things in his life took a different turn.

However, the moment he set foot in the cemetery, he sensed something was wrong. The air no longer stirred with the cool draught, birds remained mute and immobile, hidden among the dense foliage of the tall, lush trees. The whole meadow seemed to be holding its breath in anticipation.

All was silent, and no sounds reached Tom Wylde's ears - except one.

The heartbroken, gut-wrenching sobs of an inconsolable child. 

Panic and fear filled Tom Wylde's heart. The lone dandelion clutched in his hand, he felt as if he was in a daze. He felt his legs move quickly towards the source of the sound.

Later, he remembered seeing the sunny face that greeted him every day twisted into an expression of profound grief. Some distance away, Willow Hillman had looked up at him with a tear stained face and large, wet blue eyes. Her golden hair had glinted as it always did in the sunlight, and with one last smile - and one last tear trailing down her rosy cheek, she had faded away before his very eyes.

He stood, stunned - entranced, as the only thing that had brought light back into his dull life faded into oblivion. He felt himself walking, running to the spot where he had seen Willow. His head spun ; his mind was reeling. He was shell-shocked, screaming her name until his throat felt hoarse and raw, as though shards of glass had been poured down it. He felt wetness on his cheeks, his eyes smarting, the sun brash and burning against his face, the very last remnants of hope ebbing away from his soul.

He had never felt so heartbroken in his life. His bones no longer felt like bones, his brain felt useless and unable to comprehend this strange reality; and the world collapsed around him as his knees hit the grass.

His eyes fell upon a lone headstone of pure white marble before him - the very one he had been weeping over. Etched into it were the words :

Willow Hillman

Beloved daughter and friend.

You shall forever live on in our hearts.

Taken from us on this the second day of May.

Anybody who might have passed by the churchyard that bright, sunny Sunday morning might have seen a tall, young man, collapsed on his knees, staring dumbstruck at the grave in front of him as a lone bougainvillea petal fluttered down to rest on his coat-clad shoulder.

***

Fin.

A note: This is something I wrote a long time ago, when I had just started seriously trying to improve my writing. I think I've developed in some ways since then, but I think this is a good starter piece when it comes to posting my originals on Tumblr! (I'm on Wattpad as TheWodehouseAddict). I'd really like to thank @parkerpeter24 and @kelieah for encouraging me to post this! (Thank you so, so much for helping me break out of my comfort zone 😅)

#my writing #mango writes

[return-of-a-space-cowboy]

Vows to the devil

(Yandere Diavolo X female reader)

*smut*

Ok guys I was going to write the requests up but some people on a discord server (you know who you are) threatened to eat my kneecaps if I didn't upload this so here you are😳...

Note this is the third smut I've written so my apologies if it's bad.

Warning: forced marriage and forced sex (not rape but still)

"oh you're finally getting married to Francis, it's about time! I had my worries that I was going to die before you two decided to tie the knot" your great-grandmother said before sipping her tea.

You frowned at your great-grandmother's forgetfulness. You and Francis had broken up two months ago and it was because of your clashing opinions of marriage. You wanted to get married and he didn't, which was rather ironic because he was a marriage celebrant.

You didn't even know what your future husband's name was. No one did. All you knew was his deep voice, he made sure you were blindfolded and tied down to a chair so you couldn't see him or try to escape.

"No gran, me and Francis broke up awhile ago..." You muttered.

"What?! Then who are you marrying and why so suddenly? When me and you great-grandfather were young we waited five years before we married" she exclaimed.

"Who is this man and why haven't I met him?" She continued.

"No one's met him..." You muttered with a morbid expression.

"The man I'm marrying is a mystery, even to me" you continued as those horrible memories returned.

You had just gotten to your parent's house where you've been living in since the break up. You had unlocked the door and called out to them but got no response.

You walked into the loungeroom and let out a scream as you saw your parents tied up and gagged, you then noticed a pink hair boy with a purple sweater who was going through every posession in the room.

You tried to run but you were quickly stopped by two men. One with fair skinned and orange hair.  The other with tanned skin and platinum blonde hair.

"Yes boss she's here now" the pink haired male said to whoever was on the other end of the phone while gesturing the two to bring you to the lounge in which your parents sat on.

"What... What do you want from us?" You asked as the two followed his nonverbal orders before tying you up.

"Squalo, Tiziano. Could you please leave the room, I'll call you back if it's necessary" he said before turning to you and your parents. Now that you had a better view of him you couldn't help but feel as if you had met the pink haired boy before.

"(Y/n), where is the photo?" He asked.

"What photo are you talking about?! What does this have to do with holding me and my family captive?!" You yelled.

"My boss said that you have a photo that he wishes to be disposed of, where is it?" He asked you.

"Your being extremely vaige about what photograph your looking for" you hissed. He then walked away a bit and spoke to the person on the phone.

"Can you please give me some description of it boss? She has no clue about what I'm talking about" he asked.

"Ok, I'll pass it on to her" he replied before turning back too you and pulling you up and taking you upstairs.

"What are you doing?!" You screamed as you tried to struggle.

"I can't have your family knowing any classified information" he replied in a stern tone as he brought you into the first room that happened to be your bedroom.

"The photo I'm looking for is one from your highschool years, a class photo to be exact" he asked before rummaging through all of the boxes. During this you realised that the rope that bound you hands together was loose enough to wriggle of without notice.

"No, I'm not letting you take it!" You yelled, now knowing the exact photo he was talking about. It was the only school photo you kept.

"And why would that be?" He asked and that's when it hit you. This boy looked like Diavolo, a student who was in quite a few of your classes. There had been a rumour that had spread around about the reserved teen having an interest in you, at first you has shaken it off but you slowly realised that you had feelings towards him. Then the village was set ablaze and he was presumed deceased. That fire had left a scar on everyone whether it was physically, emotionally or in your case both.

"I asked you a question" He said as he grabbed the photo from one of the boxes before looking at it. One of his eyes flickered green as he saw the man with an uncanny resemblance to him.

"One of the people in that photo died, I have it as a sign of remembrance to them" You explained as you snatched it out of his hand. Looking at the boy and Diavolo you could really see the similarities but also the slight differences like his hazel eyes, light freckles and more child like features.

He then tried to snatch the photo out of your hands but held it closer to you. His eye darted to the corner of his eye as he listened to the phone.

"The boss says you can keep it" he then said.

"Really?" you asked.

"Yes and he'd also like me to pass this to you" he said before leaning close to you.

"Wait wha-" you stuttered before he planted a kiss on your forehead.

"The boss also says that he would like to meet you at some stage" the male continued as he left the room "Squalo, Tiziano we're done here" he called out as he took his leave.

"(Y/n) what's the matter?" You great-grandmother asked. You could just feel the tears welling up in your eyes and you lost your composure and broke out into tears.

"What's wrong dear?" She asked as she hopped out of her chair and walked to your side before rubbing your back in a similar fashion to what she did when you hurt yourself as a child.

"I... I'm just so scared... Tonight I'm going to be marrying a man that I've never met... And... if I don't... Who knows what he'll do to the family..." you sobbed...

⛪⛪⛪

After what seemed like forever before you finally calmed down. After that you abruptly left.

You had always wanted to get married but not like this. Not to a man's who voice was the only thing you knew, no to a man who could have you family killed with the click of the finger.

Once you arrived home your whole family greeted you with the most joy you had ever heard, but you knew that this was all fake. You knew that deep down they were extremely worried about you.

"(Y/n) your dress arrived!" Your mother beamed.

"What are you talking about? I never got a dress" you said.

"No someone delivered it to us earlier today" she said.

"Where is it?" You asked.

"In your bedroom" she replied.

"Oh I wonder what it looks like!" One of your aunties exclaimed as she followed you upstairs.

You felt like you were about to have a panic attack as every female relative you knew swarmed into your bedroom. It was all too much, all too surreal. Thought after thought entered your brain.

What if I never get too see this man's face?

What if he's just using me for my body?

Is this all just done out of paraphilia?

What if I never get to see my family ever again?

Everyone was eager to get you in the stunning dress you had been gifted but you were scared of what you're future may hold.

⛪⛪⛪

"We're here" a familiar voice said, you couldn't see who it was but you knew it was the pink haired boy who you had met on that accursed day. You sat at the back seat with your knees to your chest and your hands wrapped around them.

You could hear him exit the car before he opened you door.

"I know you're sad your family couldn't come but the boss doesn't want anyone besides you, I promise you that from here your life will be so much better" he said as he helped you out. You looked at the old and weathering building in front of you, a small old chapel that had been abandoned for years.

"Or are you upset about the dress?" He asked.

"No I'm not, it just shows way to much skin" you replied as you looked at the scars on your arm that were once third degree burns.

"Ok, (Y/n) now I'm just going to have to quickly put this on you" he said as held our a blindfold.

"Can't have you looking at the boss without his permission, can we?" He said in an awfully sweet tone.

"I trust that you won't take this blindfold off, will you?" the deep sultry voice of a unknown man lulled as you could feel him unbinding your hands, your body pressed up too his tall, lean and toned body that was covered by extravagant layers of fabric that you could only assume was a suit.

"Who are you?" You asked.

"Amore, in time you'll know but for now I need to know that you won't take advantage of the trust I have for you" he said before holding one of you unbound hands. You flinched as something cold and heavy slid down you your ring finger.

"I know you won't understand but you cause something to spark inside of me... I'm drawn to you like a moth to a flame, and that for me is a very dangerous thing" he said as he pulled back your blouse collar from your neck, his breath hitched slightly as he saw the large scar before placing a kiss on it. Long, soft strands of his hair tickled your skin.

"I promise I'll make it up to you (Y/n)" he mumbled into your skin.

"Yes" you responded in the softest of whispers as you let him blindfold you.

"Just walk behind me" he said as he held onto your wrist and attempted to pull you along but you were just frozen in place.

"(Y/n) you don't have to worry. The boss will take good care of you" he said as he tugged on your arm again, this time you complied and slowly shuffled behind him. It seemed like forever that you walked through the chapel. Your heels clicking against the hard floor was the only sound that could be heard until the pink haired male speak.

"Just wait here, the boss will arrive soon" he requested as he let go of your hand and from what you assumed left.

Patiently you waited for your future husband, minutes passed one by one and at this point you wouldn't be surprised if it had been fifteen minutes. God you wanted to take the stupid blindfold off and make a run for it but you were so afraid he'd catch you out.

"(Y/n), you can take the blindfold off now" the familiar voice said and you abode, taking of the cloth from your eyes.

You heart skipped a beat as you looked at the male before you. Long pink hair with stands of black, glassy Almost lifeless eyes that were the most vivid emerald green.

"D... Diavolo" you muttered in utter shock.

"I'm so glad you recognise me after all these years amore" he said as he caressed your face. A small smile formed on his mulberry lips.

"No... This can't be true, You died in the fire" you stuttered.

"I never died (Y/n), I started the fire to leave behind everything and start a new" he replied.

"You... You, I thought you were better then this" you muttered.

"(Y/n)-"

"You caused the deaths of eight people, including your own father! Now here you are as the don of the biggest gang Italy! Do you feel proud of yourself?!" You yelled. He glared at you in such a way that made you hair's stand on end.

"This world has two types of people (Y/n). Those who rule it..." He said as grabbed you by the hair, causing you to scream.

"...And those who are ruled by it" he continued.

"I am the emperor and I control this country, not by name but with my power so I'm not going to tolerate you questioning my actions" he hissed as he let go.

"Anyway this is supposed to be a happy occasion my empress" he said.

You saw a gleam of light in the corner of you eye and looked only to scream out in horror as you saw Fancies unresponsive body restrained to a wheelchair, his face was bruised and cut up, his fingers were deformed beyond compare and his mouth was completely stitched up.

"Francis!" You screamed out as you ran to his side.

"Wake up, wake up" you yelled as you tapped his face ever so carefully.

"Why? Why would you do this to him?" You asked Diavolo as you began to cry.

"We need a celebrant for a wedding, don't we? Besides he's nothing more the a piece of trash, I can give you more then he ever could?" He replied as he walked towards you and you stood in front of Fancies.

"(Y/n) step aside" he demanded.

"No, I won't let you hurt him!" You yelled at him, determined to protect him.

"(Y/n) I want to make this very clear..." he said as he grabbed your arm and twisted it behind your back causing you to scream,

"I could kill you very easily, I could snap that pretty little neck of yours like a twig but the thought alone brings me so much heartbreak." He said as his free hand held your hip.

"However that won't discouraged me from maybe... I don't know... Breaking a bone or two" he continued as he pushed your arm up further til it almost dislocated.

"I know you wouldn't like that, would you?" He asked.

"N...no" you replied.

"Then don't get in my way" he said as he let you go, causing you to fall to your knees before he approached Francis and slapped him across the face.

"Wake up you measly bastard!" He yelled causing him to wake up. He male words were muffled and inaudible but you could tell how much pain he was in.

"All I need from you is to simply watch and I'm sure even a pathetic thing like you can follow such a simple instruction" he said to Francis as he kicked his knee causing him to scream.

You just couldn't take this anymore, you just couldn't. You got to your feet and tried to run but you were stopped by an invisible force that prevented any further movement.

"(Y/n) I'm not just going to let you get away from me" he said as he walked up to you.

"Let's stop these silly games and get to the point (Y/n)..." he said.

"Will you be my loving wife till death do us part?" He asked as he  held out an extravagant wedding band.

You stood in silence, you were terrified. You wanted this to all be just some nightmare that you would wake up from.

"(Y/n)?" He hissed and you felt you foot begin to twist against your will.

"Y... Yes" you stuttered in pain. A smirk grew on his lips as he slipped the ring on your finger before pulling you into a passionate kiss. You wanted to fight back but you just couldn't move.

"Then it's settled" Diavolo said as he pulled away before reaching into his jacket and grabbing out a pistol and aiming at Francis.

"No Diavolo don't!" You yelled but it was too late, he had already put a bullet in his head.

"I lied when I said I needed a celebrant, I just wanted revenge for thinking that he could use and discard what is rightfully mine" he said before something knocked you out.

⛪⛪⛪

You groaned as you woke up and looked around the room as you sat up. You were a penthouse of sorts.

On the bedside table a glass of water sat. You picked it up with little hesitation and drank it before you got off of the large king sized bed and walked to the window and looked down at the lit up city, watch cars drive past like marching ants for minutes on end until a voice caught your attention.

"Oh your awake, I was worried that you were going to be asleep the entire night" Diavolo's voice said with sinister delight. A shiver went down your spine and you realised something was off, you felt different... But you just couldn't put your finger on it.

"Come on now amore, I'm dying for your touch" he said as he wrapped a hand around your waist and his head rested on the crook of your neck as he closed the blinds. You moaned out in surprise as you felt his lips against your skin and that was when you realised what was going on.

"What did you put in the water?" You asked.

"Just a little something to get you in the mood amore" he replied before bit down on your neck.

"No... I'm not-" you tried to say but whatever he had slipped into your drink had made you sensitive to any form of contract, which caused you to moan and mewl like crazy as he bit and sucked on your neck. You pushed him off of you and ran the the door, you tried your hardest to open the door but it was locked, even when you were certain that you unlocked it.

"I made sure to have someone lock it from the outside as well, I just want us to have a undisturbed night" he explained as he walked up to you.

"(Y/n) if you really didn't have any feelings towards me you would of at least try to resist" he chuckled as he lifted you up and pushed you down onto the bed before crawling on top of you.

"I've wanted to do this to you for so long " he whispered in a husky tone as he lifted one of you legs over his shoulder and traced his hand down your leg slowly making you quiver underneath him.

"God how I dreamt about this so much all those years ago..." He muttered as his fingers traced over your panties before rubbing your clit. You sighed in ecstasy as you felt waves of pleasure building up inside of you but just as you were enjoying yourself he stopped, causing you to groan out in annoyance.

"Eager are we?" He asked. You blushed in response as you looked away, ashamed that you were letting him have his way with you.

"Don't look away from me, I know what you want me to do to you" he said as he grabbed your chin.

"But if you want me to deliver, then you have to give me something in exchange" he said as he sat back and slowly unbuttoned his dress shirt.

You swallowed the little saliva you had in your mouth as you stood up and undid your dress and let it slip off revealing almost all of your body to him, scars and all.

"You look even more beautiful then I imagined" he said as he pulled you back onto the bed.

"Why are you giving me an expression like that, surely you've done things with other men?" He asked.

"I have..." You muttered.

"Then why are you just sitting around, show me your experience" he said in a sultry tone as he unbuckled his belt and tossed it to the side.

You leaned towards him as you unzipped his pants and saw the prominent bulge. You pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside before doing the same with his pants.

You hesitated as your hands gripped onto the elastic band of his boxers.

"(Y/n) don't be shy" he as he tangled your hair in his hand, earning such small moans and whimpers from you. You didn't want to give this man the satisfaction he wanted but you really had no choice, he'd make you do it one way or another.

You body went stiff as you pulled his boxers off an saw his erection. It was the largest you'd seen but before you could do anything he had shoved your face towards it.

"Just do it already!" He nearly yelled in pure annoyance, you could tell his patience was running out.

He let out a sigh as he felt your lips press against the tip of his cock. You slowly took it in your mouth, gliding your tongue along it until you couldn't take any more. You then bobbed your head up and down. He groaned and muttered you name under his breath as he indulged in the sensation of you giving him head but it wasn't enough for him.

He pulled you hair down and thrusted his hips desperately trying to get as much of himself in you as possible, with little to no care on how you felt. Every time his cock slammed into the back of his throat you choked and nearly gagged but those Reverberation seemed to bring him even more pleasure.

But he had no intention of finishing now so he pulled your head away. He found so much amusement watching you desperately catching your breath as tears rolled down your eyes.

"You were so good amore" he sighed as sat you up and pulled him close to him. He then kissed your lips. Before pushing you down and removing your panties within a matter of seconds.

He kissed your lips before trailing his kisses downwards til he reached your breasts. He greedily took one of your nipples in his mouth and sucked and bit on it while massaging the other before repeating the process with the other. Each moan that came out of your mouth became more desperate until he stopped.

Then you felt him thrust into you with no warning causing the most pleasurable scream to escape your mouth. Your legs instinctively locked around his waist as he thrusted as second time and your pulled his long pink hair with the third.

He gave you no time to adjust as he began to pound inside you. Your moans soon turned into shrieks as you felt jolts of pleasure resonating in your nerves and that pressure building up in your abdomen.

"Say my name" Diavolo groaned.

"Diavolo" you muttered between moans.

"Louder!" He ordered before thrusting into your g spot.

"Diavolo!" You nearly screamed causing a shiver to go down his spine, this was the only time he could hear his name without fear.

He continued to thrust into your g spot as he looked as your pleasured expressions.

"I'm... I'm gonna-" you moaned out before you felt all the building up pressure release into a wave of euphoria, causing you to orgasm like crazy. Diavolo felt himself slowly unravel as he felt you tight embrace around his cock and with a few more thrusts he reached his climax as well.

After you came down from your euphoric high you body quivered and your eyes slowly began to flutter shut until you were flipped over on your hands and knees.

"What?!" Was the only thing you could say before you felt Diavolo thrust inside you again.

"Round Two" he whispered in your ear.

⛪⛪⛪

You sighed in exhaustion as your head hit the pillow after a long night. You looked at the wedding ring on your finger, hypnotized by the hints of greens and blues among the large blackish purple stone.

"I'm glad you like it amore... A simple diamond wasn't enough so I got you something far more unique" Diavolo said as he wrapped his arms around you.

"It's black opal and a gram of it is worth more then gold. I had it specially brought over here from The Lightning Ridge over in Australia" he continued as you both began to fall into a deep sleep.

#jojos bizarre adventure #jojos #jojo part 5 #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo #jojo diavolo #diavolo x reader #yandere x reader #yandere jjba #yandere #spacy works

[therainroguefanfiction]

⁂ Thief (Joshua Hong)

Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Angst ☁

Word Count: 3,105 ☁

Pairing: Reader, Joshua ☁

World: Seventeen ☁

Prompt: “I stole your purse and you chased me until I was hit by a taxi now you’re helping me to the hospital and you refuse to leave my side, wait you’re not pressing charges?? Why? I’m a thief – what do you mean you feel guilty?!” from [this] list.

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You leaned against the cold brick of a nearby building, staring up at the dark gray clouds. You couldn’t understand why you had to do this. If that bastard wanted other people’s money so bad, why couldn’t he steal it himself? You knew you didn’t have a choice though; he’d kill you if you didn’t return with some type of income, whether card or cash, he never cared. Honestly, you believed he didn’t even care about that money. He was probably just hoping that you’d get caught and be sent to prison; he’d finally be rid of you, then.

You pulled up your hood to shadow your face as you walked down the street, keeping your eyes peeled for any potential victims. It was mid-winter at this point, so the people passing by were bundled up in heavy coats and thick pants. This made things easier for you – with so much padding, the chance of them noticing their missing wallet was much slimmer than it was in the summer or spring.

“One Americano, please.”

Your eyes fell on the man standing in front of the coffee shop. A hat covered his head while a mask covered the lower half of his face. Honestly, it struck you as quite suspicious. Being a person that prefers to hide from prying eyes, you were easily able to recognize that this guy didn’t want to be seen by others. Was he a criminal or something? You really didn’t care. Your focus was on the wallet held in his hand.

The barista handed him the drink and he pulled out a card from his wallet, using it to pay for his drink. As soon as his hand fell to his side, you sprung into action. You were like a blur pushing through the people heading in the opposite direction, and they stopped and stared, wondering what was happening. Your heart pounded in your ears.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Just before he slipped his wallet into his pocket, you reached out and snatched it from his hand, ignoring his cry of surprise. You wasted no time and took off down the street feeling a sense of satisfaction bubbling up in your stomach. You’d take his cash if he had any, but if he only had his card, you could easily grab some food before he decided to cancel it.

“Hey! Get back here!”

Your head whipped around to see the man following you, closing in. “Shit!” You tried to increase your speed, but the ground below was covered in a thin layer of frost, not providing enough traction to increase your speed. Still, you forced yourself to continue forward. Your attention stayed locked on the man chasing you, making sure that you knew the distance between you at all times. Unfortunately, you didn’t pay half as much attention to where you were running.

“Watch out!”

Your attention whipped toward the taxi that was barrelling straight for you. You didn’t have enough time to react; the driver didn’t either. You remember a hot flash of pain as the taxi collided with your side, sending you sliding across the road. You heard a sickening crack as your system flooded with adrenaline and pain. It hurt to breathe and the sounds around you blurred together. You could faintly hear screams and cries of passing pedestrians. Honking of cars nearby, oblivious of what had happened.

The very last thing you remember was the blurred faces of two people leaning over you. They were saying something, but your brain couldn’t process the words.

Your world went black.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

You felt… high; like you were floating on a cloud. You could feel the prickling of pain in the back of your mind, but it was almost completely brushed over by the high. Life felt good at that moment like there was nothing for you to worry about. No abusive step-father. No thievery to survive. Just a complete feeling of calm and content.

You felt a tingling on your arm and you forced your eyes to open. It wasn’t painful but damn were your eyes heavy. It felt as if they had been sealed with cement. A groan passed your lips as the effort it took.

“Oh, you’re awake!” A cheerful voice spoke. It was clearly a woman and she sounded happy, but her voice was soft like she was talking to a child. “The doctor will be pleased to hear this!”

The doctor? What?

Your eyes finally focused and the first thing you saw was a nurse standing over you with a smile. She held a chart against her chest. “Where am I?” You managed to croak out. Your throat was dry, voice hoarse from lack of use.

“You’re in the hospital, dear. Let me get you some water, I’m sure you’re thirsty!” The woman disappeared.

You tried to force yourself to sit up, but a sharp pain in your side made you drop back down with a groan. The high was starting to wear off – or maybe the pain was just getting stronger. You honestly didn’t know which, nor did you care.

The nurse returned and clicked her tongue. “You shouldn’t move too much, your body is still healing!” She pushed a button on the side of the bed and the head started to rise until you were in a sitting position. “There. Now, drink some of this, it’ll help.”

The woman clearly didn’t trust that you had the strength to hold the paper cup on your own, instead choosing to hold it up to your mouth for you. The water was cold and it felt amazing as it slid down your throat. Just that little bit and you felt heaps better – though the dull stinging of the pain was still there.

She noticed you scrunch up your face and patted your shoulder. “Don’t worry, it’s time for the next dose of your pain medication.”

You watched her as she pulled out a syringe from her pocket and inserted into the I.V attached to your left arm. Oh, you hadn’t even felt that there. Even now you don’t feel it. Normally the tape would drive you nuts.

When she finished, she smiled at you again. “I’ll send for the doctor so he can explain. In the meantime, try not to move around too much, even if you don’t feel pain. If you need anything, anything at all, don’t hesitate to push this red button here. It’ll call the nurse on duty – that will be me for the next five hours.”

You watched her until she disappeared into the hallway. The room was silent, interrupted only by the beeping of the machine and the gentle dripping of your I.V. The small TV mounted to the wall was on, but the volume had been turned all the way down – thank god. Who wants to listen to the home shopping network while in the hospital? And why the hell were they selling plungers?!

Your palm found your forehead. You didn’t know what was happening, why you were in the hospital to begin with and you were teetering between not giving a shit because of the pain medication and freaking out because you couldn’t remember anything.

Well, that’s not completely true. You remember your name. And your age. Actually, not that you were using your brain, you remembered everything up until the point you decided to rob some suspicious guy buying an Americano. After that, though, things are fuzzy. You blamed the drugs, really.

Heavy footsteps reached your ears as the doctor entered your room. He was tall and full of muscle. He actually resembled Ricky Kim quite a bit – or maybe that was just how you were picturing him in your drug-infused mine.

He smiled softly. “It’s about time you woke up, kiddo. You’ve been unconscious for three days.”

Well, that explains why you felt like you had been in a desert without water.

“The nurse tells me that you don’t know why you’re here. Is that correct?”

You nodded.

“Well,” The man pulls up a chair next to your bed. “You were hit by a car and rushed to the emergency room. You were injured, but nothing fatal thankfully. You suffered a mild concussion from your head hitting the ground. Three broken ribs from the impact of the car. Your right arm was cut open pretty bad, as well.”

You glanced at the arm in question to find it wrapped tightly in a clean, white bandage from elbow to wrist.

“Are you feeling any pain?”

“Just my ribs.” Your voice was much more clear than it had been earlier.

He nodded, satisfied. “We’re going to keep you for a couple more days to observe your injuries. Currently, the main thing we’re concerned about is the concussion. You had no I.D on your person, but your fingerprints came up in the system.”

You were praising the hell out of the meds at that point. If not for them, you would have cringed at the mention of your prints and there’s no way you would have been able to keep a straight face. Honestly, you weren’t surprised; you knew that bastard wasn’t good for his word, even as a child.

Wait… if they knew who you were, does that mean…?

“Did you contact my family?”

“We’re required by law to inform family members that there an incident. However, we weren’t able to find any family in your file.”

You sighed loudly out of relief, pulling a confused look from the doctor. You scrambled to make up a story as to why you had reacted that way. “Umm… my mom is sick. Like, really sick and I try to keep the stress off of her as much as possible… No idea why she’s not in the file, haha, that’s so weird…”

He clearly didn’t believe you but didn’t press the issue. “Well, I’ll do my best to get you all healed up and back to her.” He pulled the bedside table within my reach. “You should probably give her a call, though.”

“Yeah, yeah… totally…” You cleared your throat, reaching for the phone. You moved as slow as you possibly could before pulling away when he finally left the room. “That could have ended badly…”

You turned your gaze to the opposite side of the room where you had a beautiful view of the city. Only, the city isn’t what you focused on. Underneath the window was a pale green couch and lying on that couch was a body. The person had their back to you so you couldn’t see their face, but the body outline that peaked out from the white blanket didn’t seem familiar to you at all. Were you hallucinating?

“You’re a lucky one.” The nurse appeared at your side, making you jump in surprise. She chuckled, covering her mouth with her hand. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine… what did you mean by I’m lucky?”

“Well, that boy has stayed by your side since you arrived. He’s been pretty worried about you, constantly asking if your condition has changed.” She smiled fondly. “He’s quite the sweetheart, and cute too!”

You stared at her blankly, having no idea what the hell she was talking about, but not wanting to ask. He must be part of your missing memory.

For the next two hours, you lied in bed – not like you had any other options there – and watched the only decent channel you could find. There was a Weekly Idol marathon running, and you had to admit, the MC’s are hella funny.

Movement caught your eye and you looked over to find that the man was moving. He slowly sat up, yawning as he stretched his arms above his head. His light brown hair was slightly messy from sleep and fell lightly over his forehead. A silver cross was pierced on the top part of his left ear, but he didn’t seem to have any more piercings in. The nurse wasn’t lying – this boy was cute as hell. But who is he?

As soon as his warm brown eyes met your own, the room around you seemed to fade out of focus. It was replaced by the memory of the accident resurfacing. You remember snatching this man’s wallet and taking off. You hadn’t expected him to chase after you – your targets rarely did, usually just screaming for help and calling the cops. But this man was different. He chased you, and he kept up easily despite the frost-covered ground. You remember vividly how close he was to catching you, and you remember vividly how stupid you had been to not pay attention to what was in front of you. You had been too focused on getting caught and ran straight into the street in front of an oncoming car. Because of the light dusting of frost on the road, the car hadn’t been able to stop in time.

You’re sure that, if the man hadn’t been paying attention to the road, he wouldn’t have hit the brakes at all and you most likely would have died then and there.

“Miss? Miss, are you okay? Do I need to call the nurse?” A worried voice broke through the memory, bringing you back to reality. The man was now at your bedside, hand lightly on your shoulder as he looked at you with a worried expression.

“No, no, I’m fine.” You muttered, feeling your cheeks heat up a bit at the close proximity. “I just… remembered.”

He backed away a bit, but still looked at you worriedly. “What did you remember?”

“I stole your wallet. You chased me. I got hit by a car.”

He bit his lip and looked down at the ground.

You cleared your throat and shifted slightly in the bed. “Soo… are you gonna call the cops now?”

“Why would I do that?” He asked, confused.

“I stole your wallet, remember? I’m a thief.” You stared at him blankly. “The nurse told me that you’ve been here since I arrived. You were waiting for me to wake up so you could press charges. It’s fine, just get it over with.”

“No, I’m not going to press charges.” He responded softly, sitting down on the couch. “I stayed with you because I was worried. I wanted to make sure you were going to be okay, and… I wanted to wait for you to wake up so I could apologize in person.”

You deadpanned. “Wait, wait, wait. Let me get this straight. You wanted to apologize to me for robbing you. I’m clearly not the only one with drugs in their system.”

“You got hit because I chased you.”

“No. I got hit because my dumb ass wasn’t paying attention to where I was running.” You couldn’t believe this was happening. This guy couldn’t possibly be for real. “I’m alive, so it doesn’t really matter who is at fault, right?”

He smiled and it lit up his face. “I guess you’re right.”

His guilt seemed to transfer to you because you started to feel it the more you thought about it. This whole mess happened because of you – because you were too much of a coward to stand up to your step-dad and tell him to shove it. You looked down at your hands. “I, uhh… I’m the one that should be apologizing.”

“Why did you do it?” He asked softly. His voice held no anger or disappointment, just curiosity. “Do you need money?”

You chuckled bitterly. “My life isn’t easy, but our money is comfortable. So no, I didn’t need it.”

“Then why?”

“It’s… complicated.”

He reached over, resting his hand over my own. It was warm and comforting, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. “Please tell me.”

As strange as it sounds, you felt like you had to tell him. After all, you stole his wallet, made him feel guilty and took three days of his life. You felt like you owed him something – even if that something was nothing more than an explanation.

With a sigh, you leaned your head back to stare at the white ceiling of your room. “My step-father is kind of a douche. He hates kids, and since he doesn’t work and is always home, he makes me and my younger brother leave. He usually makes us do things we shouldn’t – like stealing. If we refuse, he blows up and hits us. He used to be a cop, so he’s hella strong. Neither of us can take him, even though we’re pretty strong too. We’ve gotten used to his beatings, but it’s just easier to do what he says. It’s a pain trying to hide the bruises and keep up with the lies.”

His grip increased, but it was still gentle somehow. “That’s horrible!”

You shrugged. “It is what it is.”

“What will happen when you’re released?”

“Punished, probably.”

“Then you can’t go home! We can call the cops -”

“No!” You sat up quickly only to groan at the sharp pain that shot through your ribs. “If I call the cops, it’ll only make things worse. It’s our word against his. Everyone that meets him loves him. And on the off chance that they did believe us – I’d be on the street and my brother would be put in the system.”

He bit his lip in thought, trying to figure out a solution to your problem, but you knew better.

“Look, I appreciate your kindness. I appreciate you not pressing charges. And I appreciate you staying here with me. But here is where we go our separate ways. There’s nothing you can do for me. I’m sure you have a life to get back to. A family, a pet… a girlfriend. You should go.”

He wanted to protest, but a sudden thought made him change his mind. He smiled softly, grabbing his coat, along with the hat and mask that he had been wearing that day. “I do need to get back to work. Don’t give up hope. Things will work out for you, I know they will.”

As much as you wanted to scoff and tell him that he had no idea what he was talking about, you just forced a smile back. This guy had been too kind to you and you couldn’t bring yourself to be rude. And then it hit you.

You didn’t know his name. You wanted to ask, but he had already gone.

You slid down the mattress with a sigh. “Not like it matters. I’ll never see that guy again. He was so cute, though.”

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