#Caroline: ... *touches his forehead* Are you sick???

[abouttofillhisshoes]

Do you wanna dance? - Matty Healy

A/N: i couldn't help myself, these two deserve to be happy forever and ever xx

this is a part two to this request i did earlier, but can also be read separately!!

wc: 3k

content warnings: mentions of drugs (weed), cursing, typical MPIND banter, kissing, a touch suggestive?

May, 2009 

“I’m so fucking boreddd, kill me now.” you drag your feet on the ground, letting yourself be pulled along by Matty, his hand tightly clasped against yours. He rolls his eyes, begging you to walk properly, and that you would find something to do soon. 

“Carolines?” he suggests, pointing in the general direction of the old paper factory, it being maybe a 25 minutes walk from where you were currently at. You raise your eyebrows at him, a skeptical look on your face. “Really?” you ask, whining about how your feet hurt and you didn't want to walk any further.

“Pretty please, I promise I'll make it worth your while.” he lowers his voice, winking at you cheekily. A groan leaves your lips, and you shove him off to the side, taking a swig from a freshly opened bottle of cheap tesco wine. 

“I’d do alot for you,” you burp, making Mattys face scrunch up in disgust “but i am not shagging you on a terrace, not a chance in fuck.” he laughs like music to your ears, a gross snort slipping out.

You suggest calling your other mates, inviting them for a few drinks on the balcony, just like old times. That small platform just off the main office held dear memories, good and bad. Matty immediately shakes his head, bringing your hand away from the phone in your pocket. “Just you and me, no one else.” He sounds different, you couldn't quite place it. 

“Carry me.” you joke, pressing a dramatic hand to your forehead. Imagine your surprise when you feel a firm hand press against your back, and another wrap around the back of your knees, hauling you up. Your hip hits the bare skin on Mattys chest, another ‘stylistic’ choice of his, only being covered in a thin, see through black shirt. 

“Jesus, fuck, let me down!!” you scream, attempting to push him away. 

All he does is giggle at your struggle, only pulling you closer, planting a sweet kiss on your lips. 

“D’you think I'm too weak to carry you?” you huff, letting out a frustrated sigh.

“I’m too heavy, you’ll proper hurt yourself-” he laughs again, almost in disbelief. “Oh, come off it, I'm pretty strong, you know!” you roll your eyes, shooting him a worried look. He nods, leaning in to give you what you think is another kiss.

Instead, he fucking licks across your face, making you squirm away at the odd feeling. 

“Perv.” you spit, turning your head away from him. He nuzzles his face into your freshly curled hair, humming contentedly as he starts walking down the sidewalk. You notice him adjusting his hands a few times, trying to get a better grip, so you ask to be let down. He refuses, like he’s trying to prove something to someone. It was no use, he was going to see this through, apparently. 

It was wet, the rain from a few hours prior making everything smell like damp concrete. It was barely sunset, the sky painted several shades of blue, purple and orange, clouds sparsely littering the sky. Trees were finally starting to green again, and the warm air kissed your skin, warning you of the hot summer to come. It was late May, breezy and comfortable, even if it was pissing it down most of the time, you didn't mind it, rarely getting sick anyway. 

The back entrance was covered by stacks of cardboard, soggy and flimsy from the rain. Matty tries to set you down gracefully onto a rock nearby, miserably failing as when trips over his own feet, sending you both flying down onto the soft, grassy ground. 

Laughing at the stumble, he kisses you while you're still under him, gripping your cheeks between his fingertips. The moment doesn't last long, wet dirt sullying the back of your shirt, making you whine like a small child. He reluctantly rolls off you, offering a hand to help you stand. Wobbly on your very impractical heels, Matty takes a jab at your choice of footwear.

“Who wears heels to go walk around? You've got fucking ankles of steel or something, thats mad.” he laughs, gesturing at your red platforms, thin straps the only thing keeping them attached to your feet. 

“They’re platforms.” you correct him “You’d know that, if you knew anything ever. Fuck you, you’re just jealous i’m taller now.” It was true, you towered slightly over him, even if only a few inches, it gave you a sense of power. 

Twirling your hair around your fingers, you let Matty lead you up the stairs, hand firmly gripping your wrist. His nails were painted black to match, though they were significantly more chipped than yours, the nail polish peeling off in chunks. 

Still, you found it endearing how he always wanted to use the things you did, whether it be makeup, clothes, even colors. What was yours was his, and what was his was yours, evident au cause de the blue top you were wearing. The stupid tourist shirt, his prized possession. 

The wind had died down a bit by the time you reached the smashed glass door leading to the terrace. Ross had managed to fall through it one night, absolutely wrecked off half a bottle of tito’s, no mixer. The four of you spent hours afterwards trying to pick small shards of glass out of a blacked out Ross, utterly convinced he was dying of alcohol poisoning. Fucking drama queen. 

Orange light floods the terrace, painting the worn down sofa in a warm hue. Matty smirks slightly as he plops down onto it, patting the space beside him, asking a silent question. You smile, the sight of him making your heart swell up with love. God, he looked beautiful, it was almost too much. Thicker chunks of his hair were now dyed blonde, streaks of pink peeking through. Impulse decision, though a good one, the bit of color really suited him.

“You got any?” he asks, tucking both his hands behind his head, spreading his legs, his shirt riding up slightly. A suggestion. 

“What do you take me for?” you giggle, already pulling out your weed. He never brought his own, insisting that if you wanted to roll them yourself, you’d also buy it. His logic was deeply flawed, but honestly, you loved him too much to tell him. 

Rolling the spliff, flashes of memories flip through your mind, you hear Hann’s voice. 

‘Girls don't roll their own spliffs’ God, he was such a dickhead.

“Girls don’t roll their own spliffs.” you giggle, grinning at Matty as you lick it closed, admiring your work. George had given you a few tips, and you’d actually gotten better. Mattys angelic laugh fills your ears, bouncing off the concrete walls. 

“Fuck yeah, I'm your girl.” he says proudly, brushing tangled curls out of his face, slightly more tan than usual, the sun having branded his fair skin. Your eyes roll of their own accord, and you nudge him with your elbow, muttering quietly. 

“Shut up mate, honestly.” he lets out a dramatic gasp at your words, pressing a hand to his chest is faux shock. 

“Do mates do this?” You jump as he snatches the spliff out of your hand, grabbing your face just like he did on the grass before, pressing a hot kiss right beside your mouth, just missing it. Biting back a moan, you feel his tongue slip past your lips, running across your own. 

“Okay, fuck off now, thanks.” you smile, unable to stop yourself. Not when he looked at you with such joy, eyes glimmering in the warm light. 

He hands the joint back to you, your hands brushing against each other. It felt loving, purposeful, real.

Grabbing the lighter from your right pocket, you run your fingers across the worn rhinestone, fondly remembering the day he’d made it for you.

The way he was reluctant at first, only giving in after you physically dragged him through the doors of the hobby shop, forcing him to pick out decorations. His concentrated expression as he tried to pick off the cheap stones, having to let you help him do it after numerous failed attempts. It was one of your favorite days with him, wishing you could relive it a thousand times over.  

Laying back, you hold it in front of you, rotating it over the flame to get an even burn. The smell flooding your senses, you close your eyes, bringing the spliff to your lips. Inhaling deeply, you feel Matty shuffle next to you, shifting and making the sofa creak under him. You try to ignore it, keeping your eyes shut as you feel the drug hit your system, a warm, weightless sensation enveloping you. It was when he moved for the third time that you snapped your eyes open, going to complain.

“Christ, will you stop moving around like tha-” your words get caught in your throat, dying out. 

He wasn't in the spot next to you anymore. No, he was on the floor. On the floor, on one knee, holding a small, red velvet box in his right hand. Your breath hitches as you notice the expression on his face. Anxiety. You could speak, hell, you could barely fucking think. Matty was in front of you, kneeling, holding a white diamond that was shimmering in the light, like a goddamn dream. 

You watch as he opens his mouth to speak several times, closing it before any sound comes out. His eyes fill with panic as you sit up, eyes wide in shock. He was proposing. Properly proposing, with a ring and everything, down on one knee. You’re convinced this is a dream, of a fucking hallucination, something more believable than what was actually happening in front os you. 

“Marry me?” he forces out, hand slightly shaking as you look him up and down, mouth completely dry. You felt tears stream down your face. Obviously, with Matty not being able to read your mind, his eyes dart around your features, trying to gauge what your reaction meant. 

“Holy shit, what the fuck is wrong with you.” are the first words you say, hands coming up to shield your face. The panic only grew as he tries to speak, only things coming out being bits of words and ‘sorry’. 

Shaking your head violently, you reach out your hand, presenting your ring finger. Tears well up in Mattys own eyes, dangerously close to rolling down his puffy cheeks. 

“Yes, oh my god, I fucking love you so much.” you scream, bouncing off your spot on the sofa, lunging towards a very emotional Matty. You catch his lips in a kiss, wrapping your arms around him tightly, not daring to let go 

“Really? You’ll marry me?” he says in genuine disbelief, his left hand gripping your lower back, pulling you close.

“Of course i’ll marry you Matty, christ.” he pushes you away, giddily slipping the silver ring onto your ring finger, planting a soft kiss to the metal. 

“Fucking hell that is a boulder.” you look at the diamond in awe, the stone basically blinding you. He grins from ear to ear, grabbing the fabric of your top, kissing you softly, a gentle warmth spreading throughout your body as your lips make contact. 

“Only the best for my wife.” giggles leave his lips, delirious and ecstatic, disbelief still evident in the way his eyes rake over you, settling on the ring. Pressing a hand to your cheeks, he thumbs the tears away, kissing all over your face. Your heart thrums against your ribcage, threatening to burst out of your chest. 

“Bit early, innit?” you comment, sucking in a deep breath, eyes glued to Mattys. You're both on your knees, concrete digging into the skin of your legs. It was cold, uncomfortable, but you truly couldn't care less.   

“Never too early, Mrs. Healy” he smirks in that cheeky way of his, both hands settling onto your shoulder, rubbing small shapes into your skin. The moment doesn't feel real, nothing does. You hope to god that this isn't a dream, that that this was really happening. 

“Can Hann be the flower girl?” your inability to be serious for five fucking seconds shines through, the both of you falling into each others arms, uncontrollably laughing. Mattys eyes crease as he giggles, the feel of his hands on your body is heavenly, l of his hands touching your skin makes you truly believe you've reached a higher plane of existence. 

“Only if he wears the dress.” 

“Deal.” you say, knowing well that getting Adam Hann into a dress would require months of begging, maybe even bribery. You would probably need to buy him a fucking house to get him to even consider it. 

More laughter, more kissing, more planning a future neither of you had ever actually thought possible. A future with each other. 

Matty fumbles around in his pockets, pulling out his Ipod, initials erratically scratched into the metal. You raise your eyebrows at him, asking a silent question of ‘what the fuck?’

“Do you wanna dance?” he asks, smirking at you as he swiftly stands up, extending his hand. This is so incredibly cliché, and you know that yourself, but you can't bring yourself to care. 

His fingers press one earphone into your ear, before doing the same to his own. He smiles sweetly, expression softening. This was true, raw, unbridled love. 

“Can I choose the song?” you ask, fingers trailing down Mattys jaw as he settles his hands onto your waist. Nodding, he hands you the Ipod, letting you select whatever you wanted. 

“I love you so much, my darling girl.” he mumbled into your hair, the vibrations of his voice sending shivers down your spine. 

“Stop being such a sap,” you laugh, quickly adding a “I love you too.” as to not offend him. As if he would be offended. 

Suffragette City blared through the headphones, the music filling every corner of your being. Your hips swayed, and so did his, guiding you lightly with the hands gripping you tightly. 

You didn't speak, letting Matty spin and twirl you around, breaking out into fits of laughter when you almost tripped over your ridiculous heels. Fuck, they were really a bad idea. 

Stopping for a second, you reach down to unclasp your shoes, kicking them off without a second thought. 

“Already taking your clothes off? We haven't even said our vows yet-” he teases, being met with a sharp look and a hand threaded into his hair, pulling him into a deep kiss. 

“Don't ruin the moment, you wanker.” you mutter against his lips, licking into his mouth as you let him take back control of your movements. 

You don't know how long you dance for, but by the time the two of you finally come up for air, the sun had almost completely disappeared behind the tall buildings of the city. 

Your life together flashes through your mind. That very first kiss. That night in The Sound. Ruby. The drugs. The lighter, smashed into little bits. Your fight with the guys. The night he had called you, shaking and crying, scared. The photos. The sight of him, down on one knee.  

This was it. Everything that had happened; every mistake, every fight, every passionate kiss, every gasp of pleasure when skin met skin, every tear shed since that night at the bus stop had been leading up to this final moment. 

You and Matty, 

Matty and you 

Forever.

Properly this time 

The music faded, the sound of rainfall pattering loudly against the metal roof replaced it. 

A Suffragette City, A Suffragette City

Quite all right

A Suffragette City

Too fine

A Suffragette City, ooh, A Suffragette City

Oh, my Suffragette City, oh my Suffragette City

Ah, Suffragette

Suffragette!

#i actually cried during this #its so sweet #no smut for once surprise surprise #the 1975 #matty healy #ross macdonald #adam hann #george daniel #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy smut #matty healy angst #matty healy fluff #matty healy x reader #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 fic #the 1975 fanfiction #the 1975 smut

[abibliophobiaa]

Beyond - s.h. x f!reader

Chapter Five: Somewhere in the Crowd There’s You

a/n: here’s chapter five of my purely self-indulgent fun — a little later than i anticipated because i was sick and got a little derailed. we are half way now and things will be heating up in the next few chapters, haha. wanted to play around with one of my favorite tropes, so here we are with modern day!rich!fake husband!steve harrington x afab!reader.

warnings/tags: (10k words); mentions of alcohol; parent loss, both parties; r has a sister and father; smut in later chapters, so 18+, minors dni; additional tags to be added.

masterlist

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“You sent too much money.” 

It’s your father’s voice that spills down the other line. Gruff in a way that alerts you your fears aren’t for naught, as he’s likely had many sleepless nights since the last you spoke. You recall days as a child, when your mother had been sick, and your father would stay awake all hours of the night, if only to clean up the house so she didn’t have to. To make sure that her worries were only meant to be on getting better and resting. 

“I…have a business and it’s going well,” you explain, chewing on your bottom lip. 

Across the room, Steve’s fluffing pillows and putting a champagne bottle on ice. Your guests will be here soon, likely within the next few minutes, though when your father’s name flashed across your screen you knew you needed to answer. 

“Only a few clients now, but I’m hopeful I’ll pick up more,” you continue, exhaling deeply. “I want you to have it. I know Caroline mentioned needing new shoes. Please let me do this.”

There’s a long pause. “Okay, okay. I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. Clinical year at school, newly married, and now a businesswoman. How is my son-in-law?”

“He’s…” 

Steve rushes into the kitchen where you’re standing, hands curling around either of your hips to shift you away from the refrigerator so he can pull out the charcuterie board you had commissioned for the evening’s gathering. 

“He’s really great. He’s been busy since we got back from our honeymoon, but he’s doing really well.”

Ever since your moment days ago in the kitchen, after Steve had pushed aside picking you up and opted to send Hopper in his stead, your relationship has taken new form. True to his word, Steve started a new habit of not answering his phone after you're done with your clinicals for the evening. Afternoons now had been spent watching your shows together on nights you didn’t have prior engagements with his coworkers, merely existing in the same room together, becoming…friends. 

Literal friends, in the truest sense of the word. And it’s more than you can ask for, though you can’t lie that even the slightest touches leave you a little breathless. There’s also the kisses to the back of your hand at dinner, the way he curls his palm around the top of your thigh while his coworkers regale a particularly interesting story, the lingering press of his mouth against your forehead when he’s feeling especially doting in mixed company. 

Progress. 

You’re making progress. 

“I actually should go and help him. We have company this afternoon. His cousin and wife are visiting us for the first time since the wedding. Still getting used to hosting gatherings as a couple, you know?” There’s a chuckle on the other end, and you know him well enough to imagine the slow shake of his head. “I love you so much and I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

The line clicks, leaving you to witness Steve elbow deep in the sink, washing your coffee mugs from earlier that morning. Your eyes slide to the perfectly operational dishwasher on his right side, though you can’t deny that the sight of your husband, bare arms shifting and moving as he works, is a lovely one. None the wiser of your ogling, you step forward to him, elbow leaning down against the counter. 

“You know, the dishwasher is empty,” you point out. 

“I am perfectly capable of cleaning a few dishes,” he grouses, rinsing a cup and settling it in the drying rack. “I also need to keep moving. Getting antsy now that they’re running late.”

“Hey, Steve?” You step closer, your front brushing his hip. He shakes his head as you do so, a laugh breaking free from his mouth as you grip his arms and still him in his frantic movements. “Put the sponge down. And the plate. The fork, too.”

The three items plunk down into the sink, a loud clatter in your otherwise silent home. Fingers curl around a hand towel and he reaches over to grasp his wedding ring, pushing it back into place against his knuckle. One thing you’ve found, and you particularly enjoy, is the fact Steve’s never taken off his ring. Not once. Even under the false pretenses of marriage, seeing him wearing a symbol of your union, of the vows you shared some time ago now, erupts dozens of bees into your bloodstream. Humming, buzzing, igniting your every nerve ending with electricity. 

“Are you okay,” you ask, hand coming to rest against his back. 

It’s the softest brush, and yet he turns his head all the same, hazel eyes meeting yours, and then trailing up the inside of your arm to where you’re touching. 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he says unconvincingly, shifting to face you now. That arm drops as he does so, but is replaced by his two large hands cupping your biceps. “Just want to get through this afternoon and then I’ll be much happier.”

Your mouth opens to speak, to ask him why the stress over this afternoon, when his phone rings and the doorman lets him know Theobald and Cami have finally arrived. It’s not the first time you’ve met them. The first had been at your wedding, where introductions to most of Steve’s friends and extended family were done so in a rapid fire manner. They’d been kind enough; as much as one can be in a two minute conversation wherein you welcomed them and thanked them for coming to celebrate your “special day” with the love of your life. 

But now, seeing them there in the flesh, brought a new wave of nervousness into your belly. Theobald Cletus, with his dark hair that resembles Steve’s, with tan skin and the beginnings of wrinkles that crease his forehead and around the corners of his mouth. And beside him, his stunning wife with silky red curls that fell to her waist in ringlets, delicately freckled cheeks, and impossibly green eyes. Ethereal—she looked ethereal and, by your guessing, quite a bit younger than her husband standing with a hand against the smallest point of her back. 

As your mouth opens to speak and welcome them into your home, Cami rushes forward, curling her arms around your shoulders in a frighteningly tight hug that has you wincing and peering over your shoulder to your husband. Steve only shrugs as he steps forward and cups his hand around his cousin’s, only to be tugged forward into a hug of his own. 

“Theobald, you’ve met my wife,” Steve finally says once you’ve managed to extract yourself from Cami long enough to sidle back up to him, his arm settling around your waist, palm curling affectionately around your hip. One of the appropriate touches you’ve discussed, and yet it has your head spinning all the same. 

Just as it does every time. 

“Ah, yes.” His eyes flicker to yours. Darker than your husband’s, corners twitching as his lips curl into a smile. “The new Mrs. Harrington. How could I forget that whirlwind affair?”

Head dipping uncomfortably, you press your palm against Steve’s where it rests against your hip, sliding your fingers between his to lace them tight. “It was pretty crazy, wasn’t it?” Awkwardly laughing, you turn to look to Steve for support. “Should we take this into the living room?”

“Please!” Cami exclaims, flicking her hair over her shoulders. “I would love to hear all about the honeymoon. I want all the details. Should we be expecting any little Harringtons soon?”

Just as you say, “Absolutely not,” Theobald echoes, “My cousin loves kids. Always wanted a brood of them.”

It’s expected, you think. It’s a common question after marriage, no matter how inappropriate. Society says once you’re married you’re to obviously have children next. Frankly, it’s archaic and a ridiculous practice. And even so, Theobald’s words strike a sudden sadness into your chest. This thought that Steve so deeply wants children. A thought you could completely see come to fruition based on his interactions with El and Will alone. They’d been immediately endeared to him. All wide eyes and bright laughter, vibrant conversation, his endless bantering with them. 

Steve Harrington would be a good father to his future children one day with his real wife. Not the woman you are to him for the next three years. 

However, it’s at this moment you rationalize the error in your plans. A real couple would have had these conversations about future children already. 

“Not now, at least,” you giggle airily, curling your arm around Steve’s and tugging him close. His brows furrow as you add, “Right now I’m just enjoying spending time with my husband. I want to be a little selfish for a while yet.”

“Understandable,” Cami agrees, settling down on your living room couch, crossing her legs and revealing a stunning pair of Gucci pumps that likely cost your half of the rent while still living with Robin. “I love our two little gremlins, but they take up all our free time. Constantly running them around to school events, dance classes, sporting events.”

“Sweetheart, the au pair does all of that,” Theobald chuckles, earning a whack in the arm from his wife. “Enough about that. Tell me…how did you two meet? It all happened so fast.”

“As you already pointed out,” Steve warns, hand around yours growing tighter. 

Cami moves to open the champagne bottle, easing the tension in the room with the echoing pop. Glasses are poured and passed around the table, glasses coming together in a soft ‘cheers’ before you bring the champagne flute to your lips and take a large swallow. Bubbles burst against your tongue, eyes training on Theobald’s, just as he passes a look your way. 

A battle of wills then, you think. 

“We met at a party,” you begin, removing your hand from Steve's and gripping the bottom of his chin, shifting him enough that he’s looking at you. “We’d known each other for a bit through our mutual friend, and we’d always kind of danced around one another. In the same spaces always, yet too nervous to make the first move.”

Steve watches you carefully as you weave your tale that isn’t really a tale. It’s mostly the truth, with the romance added in. But it comes naturally. Pours out of you with an unexpected ease that has Cami leaning into her husband’s shoulder, green eyes twinkling as you speak. 

“And then one afternoon, Stevie bought me a drink and walked it over to where I was standing by myself. My friend had just left to use the restroom, and here he stood…all tall, dark, and handsome. We started talking that night and just realized how easy it was to be around one another. I’d never talked so much on a first date, and yeah—I considered that our first date. After that we spent nearly every day together. It didn’t take long for us both to realize we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together. Some might think it was rushed, but there’s that saying, right? When you know, you know. And with my school starting up again, and us wanting so badly to get married, we thought no time like the present. Now here we are.”

For emphasis, you lean forward. Close enough that Steve’s eyes cross, his mouth dropping a hint at the corners, before twitching upward when your lips press against the corner of his mouth. A tentative press of your skin just barely against his. You linger with your forehead against his, trying not to focus on the temperature in the room, or how it feels it’s creeping higher and higher with every passing moment you remain connected to him. 

“Here we are,” Steve echoes, breath fanning against your bottom lip. 

Were you to even move an inch, your mouths would connect. A thought he must have as well, because he brings his thumb up and taps your bottom lip gently, nuzzling your nose until you hear the excitable clapping of Cami’s hands where she’s sitting on the living room touch. Pushing the hem of your summer dress down back around your knees, you shift and take in the older man sitting across from you. His eyes are narrowed on your face, a twitch not unnoticed in his cheek as he jolts to his feet and suggests Steve and him have a little bit of time as ‘cousins’ on the private patio. Noticing your hesitance at him leaving your side, Steve brushes a gentle kiss against your forehead, pours you another glass of champagne, and promises he’ll be right back. 

With the door closed and the men left to their own devices, you look over to Cami. Cami, the picture of beauty. An image of a woman who walks in this world of the elites and has no qualms about it; steps into it and commands it, whereas you’re still walking around on wobbly legs like a baby deer. Even her clothes look like they were made for her. Luxurious fabrics that ebb and flow with her every movement, high neck of her summer dress leading to a gorgeous diamond necklace falling to the hollow of her throat. 

Across from her, your dress suddenly feels too tight. Gifted by your mother-in-law who insisted she owned her own fashion line, and therefore absolutely must dress her only daughter. A quick phone call wherein you protested her suggestions ended with a ring from the doorman alerting you a delivery of multiple garments had arrived for you. Various dresses for each occasion, pants, shoes, blouses and anything you could imagine ever needing were added to your closet. All elaborate in design, and becoming for a new wife to the CEO of a major contracting company. The biggest the city touted, if you were completely honest with yourself. 

Today you wore an off the shoulder floral patterned dress and the diamond earrings gifted by your mother-in-law as a bridal shower gift. You’d pushed aside the thought of heels for the afternoon; instead opted for a comfy pair of sandals that were maybe in their last season of use, but now they only looked garish in the light beside the Gucci pumps on Cami’s feet. 

Comparison, this ugly weed of a thing, grew up within you against your better wishes. Robbed you of what little air fell in and out of your lungs as you sat there, sipping your champagne. You didn’t care for these preconceived ideas of what a Harrington wife should look like, right? You were your own person, had been long before him, and would continue to be so after him. Yet sitting there, watching her gracefully move about the room, and commenting on the pictures you’d added from the wedding, reminds you of how some people were meant for this life. Some people were raised for it. 

You were not. 

“He looks so in love with you,” Cami trills, fingers running along the silver edge of your photo frame, lifting it nearer to her face for inspection. You know exactly which one it is. Jonathan had told the two of you to look one another in the eyes and press your foreheads together. He’d draped your veil over the both of you, the setting sun basking you both in a golden hour halo. It’s dreamy. A shot so dreamy it’s easy to believe it is of a man deeply in love with his bride. “That new love look. Cherish it. You know how these Harrington men are.”

Actually…you don’t. 

You’re not interested in even asking her what she intends by her words, but when she places the photo back down and turns your way, there’s a glimmer of something wet on her lower lashes. Awkwardly, you clear your throat, reaching over and offering to refill her glass. She heartily accepts, fingers combing through long amber locks as she settles back down on the couch across from you, crossing her legs once more. Again, she’s the statuesque image of perfection; cracks visible in her foundation, yet devastatingly beautiful all the same. 

“You’ve got the best one,” she sniffles, grasping a piece of cheese and a cracker within her index and pointer. “Stevie is a sweetheart. Always has been. Theobald is hard on him, and I always try to tell him to ease up. The late Mr. Harrington was always so rough on his son as it is without Theo breathing down his neck.”

The late Mr. Harrington. 

You knew very little of him. From what you’ve gathered—the very scraps of things here and there, as Steve never really mentioned him—their relationship, while his father had been alive, was a strained one. His parents had him later in life; a quick Google search would show as much. The heir to the company born with a silver platter before him, wanting for naught, pushed into the limelight. 

Still, hearing Cami talk about Steve…with pity—grief tightens like a vice around your heart. Envisioning those hazel eyes of your husband, staring up expectantly at a man who never saw his son’s achievements for what they were. And now, at his young age, trying to make his late father proud at the expense of his own self. 

Long hours, constant meetings, coaching calls. Pushing, striving, hustling.

With a long sigh, you glance toward the outside patio, where you can see your husband with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up. His left hand curls around the stem of his glass, hand gesticulating wildly in the air as he talks with Theobald, hair in disarray. Like he’s been raking his fingers through it. Eyes trail his shoulders next, along the contours of sinewy muscle, then further up where you can visibly see the rigidity in his form. 

“Steve is…” 

Your voice breaks, eyes tipping downward to your bubbly drink in hand. Cami’s fingers curl around your wrist, a sympathetic frown lining her pristine features, and you know she’s thinking you’re caught up in your emotions. But in reality, it’s because there are so many things he is, all of which swirl like a muddied mess in your hazy mind. 

“Steve is a good man. He’s the best man. I’m really lucky to have him.”

When you glance up, there he is, grin gracing his features. It’s plain as day he’s heard you; those stiff shoulders slacken. Tension eases from the curve of his mouth, as well as in the grip of his fingers around his glass. Instead his face morphs into elation, feet carrying him over to where you sit so he can once more slide an arm around your waist and tug you close. 

Theobald regards you carefully in the distance, taking in the way you slide into the crook of your husband’s chest, seeking the warmth of him. The comfort of someone in your corner, seated in a room ripe with scrutiny. 

“Thank you,” Steve whispers against your ear, just as Cami dives into conversation about her and Theo’s children, revealing photo after photo of their adorable faces on her iPhone screen. 

“We’re the Harringtons, aren’t we?” 

He chuckles brightly, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, we are.”

Day shifts into evening.

Conversations drift around lighter topics. Talks of your schooling, your plans for the future, the business you’ve started. A fact which, to your unamusement, Theobald finds more than mildly intriguing when he later corners you in the kitchen as Steve and Cami flip through the photos she had taken at the wedding on her phone (despite Steve’s pitying gazes for you to rescue him). Instead, you’d offered to start cleaning up, knowing your husband and you had dinner plans with another couple from the office. 

“A dog walking business…” He mutters, elbow dropping down onto the counter. “How quaint.”

“It’s extra money,” you say simply, placing a watery glass into the drying rack. “You’re a businessman, aren’t you? Isn’t it better to make all my money now while I’m younger?”

“That I am. And I would agree,” he murmurs, eyes trailing your profile. “It’s just curious since you know how wealthy your husband is. He’s CEO of the company now, and that’s not even counting the hefty inheritance he got as the sole Harrington son. That kind of money is generational. He could never work another day in his life and be well off.”

“My husband is supportive of my endeavors,” you grumble out, training your eyes on the kitchen backsplash. 

“Obviously,” he agrees goodnaturedly. “He loves you. Everyone can see it. All of a sudden our hard working golden child is leaving the office at normal times, running home to his lovely wife. I just hope he knows what he’s doing.”

Heat flashes like lava in your gut over the revelation that your ruse is working. It’s hindered by Theobald’s latter statement, mind stuttering over his blasé persona. The question as to whether or not Steve knows what he’s doing. Trying to hide your piqued interest, you harden your expression into one of neutrality. 

As your mouth opens to speak, Cami cuts you off with a shrill, “Theobald, they have to get ready for their dinner. We’ve overstayed our welcome. But I would absolutely love for us to do this again!”

Uncertain if you’re happy or sad about this latest development because you still needed further clarity over Theo’s words, you place the remaining glasses into the drying rack and slide your rings back into place, pressing yourself into Steve’s side as he approaches. For a dramatic flair, you even press your left hand to his abdomen, rings glinting in the light, head leaning against his chest as you wish them a wonderful rest of their evening. 

Theobald gives you one last fleeting look just when his wife nearly strangles you in another bear hug, and claps a hand against his younger cousin’s shoulder. “We will definitely have to do this again. It was nice officially meeting you, Mrs. Harrington.”

The doors slide closed and a sigh spills from your lips. Against you, Steve relaxes, hand rubbing up and down the length of your spine idly, eyes still fixed on the doors across from him. Slipping away from him, you quickly gather the rest of the snacks and glasses from the living room table and drop them down into the sink, pinching at the bridge of your nose. 

“Is he always like that?” You wonder out loud, whirling around to face Steve. 

His head jerks at your words, mouth pulling southward. The solidness of his right hip rests against the kitchen counter. You try to not dawdle on the way his bicep twitches as it rests on the surface beside him, nor as his fingers sprawl around the base of his jaw, keeping his head propped up. 

“He’s usually worse,” he admits. “What did he say to you?” 

“Just commented on my business,” you tell him, deciding to ease in with that before asking what his cousin had meant by ‘hoping Steve knows what he’s doing’, moving to place a plate in the drying rack. “He couldn’t seem to fathom how I would resort to the life of a peasant, when I should be rolling around in your endless buckets of money.”

Snorting, he teases, “Someone’s angry.”

“Yeah, and for once not at you, so I’d be thankful.” Your nose wrinkles as he barks out a laugh, head tipping back in his glee. Mirth bubbles up within your belly at the lyrical sound spilling from your husband, the way his cheeks stretch wide on his face, how the corners of his eyes crinkle in his happiness. “I told him I liked what I do. Is that so wrong? I like having my own thing. Just like you have your own thing.”

Without a warning, he turns the water off. Grips your shoulders lightly, turning you to him. “Theo is an entitled idiot, okay? He thinks he runs the company and the world, and anyone who doesn’t live like him is beneath him. Notice how he’s got this constant look on his face of disgust?”

At that, your lips twitch. Steve coaxes it further by shaking you slightly, earning a giggle. “He does kind of look like he hates everyone around him. It’s a wonder he married Cami. She seems sweet.”

“She is sweet. A saint for putting up with him for all these years, honestly,” Steve says, giving you one last shake until you’re wiping your hands off and slouching against his frame. “What?”

“I want a selfish hug,” you grumble against his shirt, face pressing into a sternum. 

“A selfish hug?” You can hear the questioning lilt, the probing in his kind voice. 

Nodding, you step closer. The tips of your sandals meet his leather shoes, hem of your dress spilling over the dark material. Your head shifts just the slightest, ear resting over the curve of his chest, relishing in the warmth of another body. This. Hugging? It’s not new. You’ve been practicing. As odd as that sounds, and though you don’t want to unpack it, since your argument with Steve he’s come home every day and greeted you with one. You’d say you’re pros at this point. 

“And what might a selfish hug be?” He muses, hands coming up to rest against the center of your back. 

“I just stand like this,” you begin, dropping your arms to your sides, letting them dangle at your hips. “And you hold me.”

You can feel the vibration of his laugh against your ear, but his arms tighten around you all the same, holding you in place. Melting into him, you rest in the comfort of his embrace. Merely focus on the sound of his breath pouring in and out of his lungs, the gentle beat of his heart beneath your ear, the brush of his thumb against your skin, soothing you. 

“You’re too much,” he says, but there’s no weight behind the words. Can feel his mouth curling upward against your ear. 

“Thanks, Steve.”

For the evening. For helping you in a time of need. For holding you now. For holding you tomorrow. You’re not really sure you know what you mean. But all you do know for certain is that, when his arms tug you closer, you loop yours around his waist, and your selfish hug becomes a real one. 

-

Lightning streaks the sky. Bright white illuminates your bedroom, then settles into dark once more. A loud boom echoes, rattling the foundations of your home. Jolts your bed, and thus your body out of it. Grasping at your chest, you try to tamper the frantic rise and fall. The rush of breath forcing itself in and out of your screaming lungs, ejected from your dreams into waking so suddenly. 

Another flash sparks your room in a moonlit glow. Falls dark a second later as you brace for the crack of sound that pierces your ears after. Groaning, you grasp the edge of a fluffy blanket on the foot of your bed and curl it around your shoulders, padding through your home in search of the living room, sights set on watching Netflix until you fall back asleep from reruns of your favorite shows. 

Only upon entering, you find you’re not alone. Already doused in colorful light from the episode of New Girl playing on the screen is none other than your husband. Where you’re standing you can see the frames of the thin glasses he wears, the unkempt bed hair at the top of his head, the hoodie pulled over his body to block out the air conditioned chill in the living room. 

“You’re awake…” It comes out hoarse, the rasp of your voice drawing your husband’s attention. “And you’re watching without me?” 

The mock gasp has him moving over on the couch to make space for you, your rear dropping down into the couch cushion beside him. There’s another blanket across his lap, impossibly soft and a pretty navy color that pops against the pale fabric of your carpet. Getting comfortable, you unloop yours from around your shoulders and drape it across your bare thighs, sleep shorts doing very little to block out the chill in the air. Once satisfied, you lean back and watch the chaos between Jess and Nick unfolding on the television screen. 

“What are you doing awake?” you ask after some time. Wince as another boom of thunder rattles the walls of your home.  

“Couldn't sleep,” he says, breaking off into a yawn. “Had a lot on my mind.”

“From dinner or…?” 

Dinner itself hadn’t been stressful—at least nothing that occurred would have alluded to as much. You’d met up at an Italian restaurant with a business partner of Steve’s and the business partner’s husband. Two older men in their fifties, with graying hair and a kindness that radiated from them. Most of the conversation had been of things outside of work, so you’re uncertain as to what might be bothering him. 

“Not dinner,” he confirms, pausing the show on the TV screen. His head rolls back to rest against the plush cushion, hands coming up to press into his face. Slides his palm down the contours, exhaling deeply. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”  

“Oh,” you mutter softly, picking at a nonexistent thread on the edge of your blanket. “That’s fine. I just figured—”

“It’s nothing personal toward you. I just don’t want to bother you with it. Why are you up?” He queries, head turning to look in your direction. 

“You never bother me.”

Steve levels you with a blank stare and you laugh. “I’m not afraid of thunder…but it definitely woke me,” you admit quietly, sounding more than a forlorn without meaning to. “My room gets really dark at night with the curtains, so when it lit up from the lightning I was a little spooked.”

“Understandably,” he says. “Want me to grab you coffee or tea or something?” 

Head perking up, you ask, “Do we still have the camomile? If it’s no trouble, I mean…”

“I wouldn’t be asking you if it was,” he says, but there’s no hint of any condescension there, only his increasingly familiar thoughtfulness.

You lean your chin over the top of the couch to catch the retreating form of Steve’s back swathed in his dark hoodie. “Thank you.” 

“It’s the least I can do,” he says, starting up your warm drink. “Want anything else? We still have those chocolate covered strawberries from dinner.”

“Do you want the chocolate strawberries from dinner?” 

His grin turns wry. “Maybe.”

“Bring them over, you grown up baby,” you tease, extending a hand so he can place the covered plate in your awaiting palm. 

Peeling back the tinfoil, you rest the tray on the coffee table, hiking your blanket higher around your thighs. Steve’s pouring hot water into a mug that says ‘Future Veterinarian,’ humming a familiar tune as he works. 

“You usually do honey and…a bucket load of sugar, right?” 

Eyes roll. “I like a spoonful of honey in my camomile and nothing else. The sugar is for my iced coffees, thank you very much. Also thank you for making sure Hopper always has it on standby lately.”

“What’s that thing you said to me when we first talked about us getting married?” He taps his chin mock thoughtfully, his other hand twirling a spoon around the inside of your cup. “Happy wife, happy life starts with always knowing her coffee order.”

It’s true, and you hide your lips behind your palm at the realization he’d been listening as he crosses the space between you and rests the steaming mug in your hand, muttering quickly, “Be careful, it’s really hot.” 

“Thank you,” you say as he drops back down into the couch and plucks a chocolate covered strawberry off the tray. “I know you didn’t want to talk about what’s bothering you…but I figure…I don’t know. It’s storming out, we’re both not getting much sleep tonight, we could play a game or something.”

“A game?”

Nodding, you add, “An icebreaker. I know we talk more now, but we could try and get to know each other better. A little look into the person we married.”

Your husband shifts on the couch beside you. Presses his back into the arm rest and stretches out, arching a brow pointedly. Smirking, you do the same. Shift just enough so your back is up against the opposite end, your socked feet just barely brushing Steve’s. 

“Okay. Night out or night in?” you ask. 

“Before…night out.”

“Before?”

“Well, now you force me to watch Gilmore Girls.”

“I don’t force you! And it’s only been a few days. I’m sure it’s an absolute horror of spending time with the woman you fake married,” you gasp, feigning terror. “Just admit it. You like spending time at home.”

His eyes are set on yours as he says, “I like spending time at home.”

“I’d agree for myself as well. Life is so busy as it is lately, it’s nice having a space to come back to.” 

One thing you’re very grateful for on a growing list is the space your new bedroom has given you. Sure, it can get lonely, but it’s an escape from the long days, a haven from stress, a bed to crawl back to when your eyes can hardly stay open any longer after a particularly hard day at clinicals. 

“My turn,” Steve says, crossing his arms over his middle. And no, you don’t allow heat to crawl across your chest at the mere sight of his chest and arms flexing from the motion. “Would you rather go forward or backward in time?”

“And what would be my purpose of going forward or backward? Am I rectifying my mistakes? Seeing the future? Looking to see how my life pans out?”

“I…it’s whatever you want it to be.” He blanches. 

“I don’t really have a lot of regrets in life. I make a choice and however the cookie crumbles is how it crumbles. Exhibit A,” you say, holding aloft your left hand, where two rings glint in the dim living room. “So I probably would want to go forward. But that’s dangerous, because if you go too far forward, you might see things you don’t like. I definitely wouldn’t want to know how I, uh, you know? Check out of here. What about you?”

Steve pauses for a moment, brows drawn in thought. “Honestly? There are things I’d want to change about the past, sure. But I think I’d want to see the future. See if all I’m doing is worth it, you know?”

“You don’t think what you’re doing right now is worth it?” You wonder if he’s talking about the business. Assume he must be, but don’t press any further. 

“I wonder sometimes, yeah,” he admits. 

“Well, what would you be doing if it weren’t what you’re doing right now? To see if something else would potentially be worth it.”

He rubs a hand along his neck, shrugging. “I thought about being a teacher once. My dad thought that was a silly idea. But I’ve always been good with children, and I think I could have been good at that.”

“You are good with children,” you tell him, thinking to Will and El. To the friends you’d met at dinner in the past weeks who brought their little ones. “I don’t think that’s a silly idea at all. Not in the slightest, and I’m sorry if anyone ever made you feel that way. Like your interests were inconsequential.” 

“Thank you.” Clearing his throat, he asks, “Movie night or date night?” 

“Are you asking me on a date?” His eyes grow wide at that. Cheeks darken visibly in the moonlit living room. “I’m teasing you, Harrington. I think there’s a case that those can be one in the same. I would say broader…I love the idea of going out for a date, but I love those inside sort of dates more. They’re more intimate, there’s the comfort of your shared spaces, the fact there aren’t any crowds around you. Only that important quality time with your partner.”

“I don’t have much to contribute there, seeing as I haven’t dated much in the past year. And now I won’t be for another three years.” He chuckles, combing fingers through his hair.  

“Okay, this question is super serious.” You fold your hands across your midsection, inhaling deeply, eyes shut. “Would you rather have a third nipple or an extra toe?”

“Seriously!” 

“I’m very serious, Steve.”

“Extra toe.” He reaches up to rub the back of his neck again, wincing slightly as he presses into a spot between his shoulder blades. 

Your lips tug southward. “Are you hurting?”

“Just my office chair, I’m sure,” he grumbles, nonchalant. 

“Get on the floor.”

His brows arch. “Huh?”

“On the floor,” you repeat, tapping the space in front of you on the carpet below. “In front of me.”

“Why?” 

“Do you trust me?” 

He doesn’t answer. Instead, long limbs slip off the edge of the couch and settle down where you’ve asked. You move to tuck his hoodie in as best as you can, fingers moving to spread across the slope of his shoulders. He exhales deeply at the first press of your hands in the muscle wrought with tension. A low sigh spills free, head tipping back to rest on the cushion nearest to your knee. Fingers crave to brush the hair along his scalp, to see if he’ll make that same, soft sigh once more. But instead you continue, pressing slowly into his flesh, listening to his cues, figuring out what works and doesn’t. 

“Would you rather have a big family or a small one?” You ask after Steve has gone quiet, thinking back briefly to the moment earlier with Theobald and Cami. 

Steve, with his wishes to be a father. Steve, who wants a huge brood of Harrington babies. Steve, who wants a family. 

And yet it’s not even that. Not the questions as to what he sees for his future. It’s the tangible worry of slipping up in your facade. Of revealing too many cracks in the foundations of your dynamics. That had been the first, and you know if this relationship is going to hold up for three years, communication is a must. Absolute transparency at all times, so as to not muck it all up and land yourselves both in some hot water.  

“Growing up, it was just me. My parents had me a little older in their life. They were already further into their careers by the time I was born. So…it was often just the au pair and myself,” he explains, letting go of another deep breath. 

His body slackens against your knee caps. Warm flesh of your husband pliant beneath your fingertips. 

“I always had this dream of giving my kids the opposite of what I had. Always knowing love, family outings, doing everything with them. Dance class, football, acting—whatever they wanted. And I’d wanted as many as possible. A silly dream of six of them, running all over the world together as a family.”

“It’s not a silly dream. None of your dreams are ever silly, Steve.” 

Warmth pools as Steve slides his hand up and covers yours where it rests against his shoulder. Heart stuttering, you continue, “Your family will be lucky to have you some day. I, for one, haven’t given much thought to that aspect of life. I hope Theo and Cami didn’t find that suspect. I just…”

“Have been busy with school. You’re becoming a doctor, that’s time and hard work. No one can fault you for that.”

“Right. Yeah.”

You resume your kneading, fingers stroking at shoulders, down the sides of his neck, attentive to all the tension. He grows softer beneath your fingertips, head against your knee, his eyes closed. Where you’re sitting you can see the moles on his face, the length of his lashes, the lines of his nose. Pretty. He’s pretty, and it’s always something you’ve known, but being so close—

“Sunrise or sunset,” Steve asks. 

“Hmm, sunrise.” You poke at the middle of his forehead, and hazel eyes meet yours. “That one was simple.”

“I could tell you were overthinking,” he says simply. “We’re not going to be perfect at this marriage thing. But no one expects us to be.”

“I still think we need to get our stories straight at the very least. And I sorta messed that one up with the honeymoon baby thing.” You shrug, palms sliding down a bit onto his upper chest. He’s still sitting there, taking you in with his stare, hand around yours. “Kind of why I suggested this game.” 

He offers you a gentle smile, saying, “Then let’s keep going.”

The conversation continues until the sun begins to change colors. Until the rain has since stopped, voices carrying above the television playing low in the background. You learn Steve’s a romantic; loves movies like the Titanic and The Notebook. And will also admit to enjoying some of the same romantic comedies you do. 

He prefers rainy days, because he enjoys the respite they give from a constantly busy city just outside the walls of your home. He’d rather have happiness than wealth; enjoys chocolate chip cookies fresh out of the oven for dessert (and you make a note to pick up some stuff to make them on your next planned night together); he’d never had any pets growing up, but he’d love a dog. 

And you tell him about yourself. How you love cozy socks and would prefer scrubs over real clothes; how you also never had pets growing up and would love to adopt and foster as many as possible one day; how you enjoyed fantasy over romantic movies; how you’d watched Titanic about a hundred times in your life and you still cried. 

How you wanted to watch it with him next, and he agreed, stating it would be the next thing you do when you cook together. 

Before long he’s yawning and your eyes are closing. His fingers remain around yours as you knead his muscles, prattling on about your plans for the week, school, your friends. And he talks about his own schedule, his meetings, proposes dinner for the both of you that upcoming Saturday. A cooked meal in, with a movie and some wine. Maybe you tease him a little, because he makes it easy when he blushes that pretty pink, and maybe he grins up at you fondly, eyes hooded in his sleepy daze. 

Eventually, you lay on your side and he remains in front of you on the floor. You’re hardly awake as he drapes a blanket over your form and tucks a pillow under your head, whispering to one another as the sun starts to come up over the city. 

Eventually, both of you fall silent at last, comforting sleep there to find you. 

-

“I want to make it very clear before we go in there that we are not getting a dog. We are donating all the things we bought earlier, and then we are going home and having dinner together,” Steve reiterates for the umpteenth time that day. 

“We are not getting a dog,” you repeat, mock stonily, looking your husband dead in the eyes. 

Clearly unamused, he shoves at the arm you have jokingly curled around his forearm, but there’s no malice there. Only a gentle huff of laughter as he opens his car door and rushes around the other side to help you out. You never need him to, but he insists every time. Even offers an arm for you to grab as you hop onto the sidewalk. Once back on solid land, summer dress dancing around your kneecaps, Steve walks around to the back of the car and lifts the box of pet food, blankets and toys you’d picked up while at the pet store. Today, you decided, you wanted to give back to the local shelter in your new town. 

And maybe you had an ulterior motive of trying to realize a dream of your husband’s by making him fall in love with a shelter dog in a way where his only option is to bring them home to live with you forever. But he’s been adamant all morning—so certain today’s events will not lead to four legs becoming part of your odd little family.

Inside, you’re greeted by one of the workers. A woman named Chelsea rushes around the counter to collect your donations and asks if you’d like to walk around a bit. Steve’s reluctant at your side, sunglasses peeled off and tucked into the neck of his shirt, but he comes along all the same as you grip his palm within your own and drag him along behind you. 

You pass dozens of kittens and cats. Young and old all alike as you go. Some who meow as you pass, and others who linger in dark corners of their confines. It breaks your heart seeing so many, wanting to adopt them all, knowing you’re unable to. Sensing your unease, Steve squeezes your hand tighter and listens for the both of you while Chelsea speaks and your mind wanders. 

“Down here are all our adoptable dogs.”

It’s a sight you never get used to. Dogs barking as you pass, bodies brushing against their cages, yearning for attention. You linger by Chelsea as you walk, rubbing noses and ears and backs. Tongues glide over your palm, wet noses brush your skin, dark eyes hold yours through metal bars. Somewhere in the midst of introducing yourself to all your newest furry friends, you find Steve’s hand is no longer in yours. Turning on the heel, you find him crouched low to the ground, fingers curled inside metal bars, softly speaking to the animal hidden within. 

“Oh,” Chelsea mutters, shock evident in her tone. Steve looks up to her imploringly, then glances back at the dog inside. “That’s a new arrival. A ten month old male Bernedoodle. He’s a black tricolor puppy. His previous owners got him as a gift, and turned him over when he started getting bigger. They’re a smaller breed, but have a lot of energy and unfortunately you see a lot of this happening. People buy luxury pets and drop them off when they become too much. He’s been very timid since he arrived.”

“He just lost his family,” Steve says to no one, swallowing thickly. The woman at your side doesn’t speak, only watches as your husband continues to gently coax the puppy forward. “Hey buddy. I’m Steve. Wanna come over here? No?” 

“Should we…” the woman beside you begins. 

“Yeah, let’s give them a moment,” you mutter, a little breathless as you turn around and face the other direction, quiet footsteps carrying you further away. 

But you still hear it. 

Still hear Steve’s voice in your ears. A sad, “I know what it’s like. Feeling left behind, left alone. Especially from the people you want to love you most. But you don’t need to be afraid of me. I get it.” 

There’s an echo of soft paws padding against a tiled floor. And the soft exhale from Steve. “There you go. See, I’m your friend. I’m here. You don’t have to be afraid.”

And when you and the shelter worker turn around, you find Steve with his fingers in the puppy’s fur, that pink tongue of his brushing over the inside of your husband’s wrist. That resolve in Steve’s eyes crumbles, your heart shattering along with it as you press the heel of your palm to your sternum. 

He turns to Chelsea and asks, “Can we take him out? Just for a minute?” 

Chelsea passes you a knowing look and that minute Steve requests turns into an hour in the yard outside of the shelter. The puppy seems hesitant at first, lingering near Steve’s thighs as you stand nearby. But once Chelsea hands Steve a frisbee and ball, it’s as though the puppy is sparked to life once more. Soon enough he’s frolicking around the field, playful yips streaking the summer silence as he retrieves his toys and rushes back over to Steve, paws pouncing playfully against your husband’s designer jeans. 

But he doesn’t care. 

No—you haven’t seen him light up like this in the nearly three months you’ve been married. The joy illuminated his features. The crinkle of his eyes at the corners. The belly laughs as the puppy eventually knocks him to the ground and demands belly rubs on the grassy floor below. He falls in love before your eyes. With no warning, impossibly fast, and so suddenly it comes as no shock to either you nor Chelsea when he asks about adoption. 

As you sit in the lobby with the puppy on a leash on the floor, you turn to Steve, grinning widely. “You said we weren’t getting a dog.”

Steve pats his new fur son’s head and grins as the dog tips his head back to look longingly into his new father’s eyes. It’s sickeningly sweet, and does things to your insides that makes you feel hot all over. You chalk it up to the shoddy air conditioner system, tugging at the neckline of your dress to let the air chill your slick skin. 

“I couldn’t leave him,” he says, brushing fingers along a furry ear. 

“He picked you.”

“He did, didn’t he?” Fond. Smitten. He’s so in love it’s ridiculous, and all you feel is affection. 

Affection. 

Towards your husband. 

New. But maybe not so scary. 

You lean down to pet the puppy’s neck. He jumps up and scrambles up with his front paws against your lap, licking a broad stripe along your chin. “Steve, we have a puppy.”

Your first pet. 

His, too. 

“Yeah,” he says, but he’s only staring at you. You swallow. “I guess we do.”

A few questions and references and a small adoption fee later, and you’re both the newest proud parents of your still presently unnamed new puppy who pokes his head in the front seat as you drive to the nearest pet store in search of all the things you’ll need to make his transition as simple as possible. 

Steve, ever doting as he is, grabs the leash as soon as he helps the little guy out and greets you as usual on your side of the vehicle. You spend the better half of the afternoon purchasing things for him. A dog bed, food, toys, a new collar with his name and address engraved into it. 

Charlie Harrington, you both eventually decide, when the cashier asks how you’d like it engraved. 

Charlie Harrington, who the doormen at your apartment building immediately fall in love with as you later walk in, you holding the puppy’s leash this time, and Steve trying his hardest to carry all the things you bought. 

Charlie Harrington who bounds happily into your home and immediately starts sniffing around in his new space, excited to simply be around people who love him in such a short span of time and want to play with him like he deserves.   

“I’ll get started on dinner, if you want to show your fur child around the house,” you tease, laying out Charlie’s shiny new bowls on the floor, and the basket of toys and bones you got for him in the living room, right by his bed beside it. 

“You are a sneaky woman,” he jokes, coming up behind you in the kitchen. 

Heat blooms where he rests his hand on your shoulder and presses a kiss to your cheek like it’s something he’s done before in the confines of your home, with no one looking. So casually, and yet stark in contrast to the riot of butterflies that stir to life in your stomach. 

“And why might that be?” 

“Played that ice breaker game with me, found out I never had a pet, and then brought me to a shelter…where I then got a pet.” 

You shrug, turning on the stovetop to let the water boil. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. But you’re welcome. Now go—play with him. I know you’re itching to. You’re like a little kid on Christmas right now. It’s kind of cute, Harrington.”

“Thank you.” 

He smacks another kiss to your cheek, his face pink from your compliment, before rushing into the living room where you hear Charlie barking as he’s once again joined by his new best friend. You reach over to tap Steve’s phone, where Spotify is already open from the car ride, and hit ‘play,’ Leon Bridges the background music to your cooking in the kitchen and Steve’s laughter as he crawls on his hands and knees to rub Charlie’s stomach on the floor. 

Perfect. 

It’s about as perfect as a day could be. 

And later, as you sit together in the dining room, with Charlie sitting patiently in the corner, and talk about the evening, you start to think maybe being married to Steve Harrington for three years will be a little more difficult than you imagined it would be. 

Because the feelings stirring in your chest are beyond that of friendship. 

No—there’s a suddenness to the clarity of your realization that you like your husband. And the sinking reality that this is merely transactional. 

In three years you’ll go your separate ways. Just as you both intended months ago at that coffee shop table. 

“You’re overthinking again,” Steve points out, reaching over to center your engagement ring on your left hand. His thumb lingers over the diamonds. “I was telling you about the benefit gala in a few weeks.”

“Oh,” you mutter tiredly. “Sorry. Yeah, uhm, I’ll go. Obviously. It’s part of our arrangement.” 

“If you don’t want to go with me…”

“No, I’ll go,” you say, taking a sip of your wine glass. “Black tie dinner event, I’m assuming?”

“Buy yourself a new dress kind of event, yeah.”

“Okay, yeah.” 

You nod. 

It’ll be October. 

Approaching four months into your agreement. Time is already flying. 

“Our first big event as a couple outside of our wedding,” you state plainly, gathering your things and Steve’s as you rise to your feet. He grabs the wine glasses and follows you down the hall to your kitchen, dumping all your dirty pasta plates inside. “Anyone I should know or be aware of when we’re there?”

“It’s a lot of partners in the company. Some celebrities, actors, musicians, models. Eddie will be there—he’s been invited. It’s a little bit of everyone. This time they’ve organized donations for a shelter for homeless youth in the city.” He hands you your wine glass, peering into your eyes. Noting your lingering hesitance from your overthinking once more, he continues, “I can cancel you as my plus one. Say you’re not feeling well—”

“No,” you place a hand on his sternum. Pause when you realize what you’ve done. He trails his eyes south where you touch. You don’t move away. “I love the purpose of the benefit. I want to be there. I-I want to go with you.” 

“Good,” he says, stepping closer. You could reach out and touch the outline of his jaw like this. The lines of his perfect nose. “Because I want you there with me.”

You don’t miss the way his stare lingers on your face, or the timber of his voice. The darkness in the depths of his eyes. How the weight of his chest against your palm as he pushes forward has it stuck as a barrier between the two of you. Mere inches of separation. 

It’s confusing, maddening, and terrifying all the same. 

Two years and nine months. 

You’ve got this. 

-

-

#lunalovessteve #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x you #Steve Harrington x reader #fake husband!steve harrington #steve harrington modern au #modern!steve harrington #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington x fem!reader

[stargazer-sims]

2. The Project

"Hey kid, what's up?"

Caroline shifts her gaze away from her laptop when she hears Victor's voice. He's hopping off the last step just as she turns to look, and once he realizes he's gotten her attention, he gives her an exaggerated wave. He can be such a goofball sometimes, and if he's this energetic at forty-seven, she can't help wondering what he must've been like at her age. She smiles. Nanna Grace must've had an interesting time of it while he was growing up. She probably had to figure out ways to keep him from literally bouncing off the walls.

Victor crosses the short distance from the foot of the stairs to where Caroline is sitting at the kitchen island and settles himself on the stool next to hers. Now that he's close enough, she notices how tousled he is. His silver hair is sticking out in every direction, and it's obvious he'd been sleeping in the rumpled t-shirt and sweatpants he's wearing.

Evidently, he just woke up and couldn't wait to greet her. She loves that about him. He's always happy to see her, even if they've only been apart for a handful of hours.

She has to confess she's happy to see him too. She loves both her parents, but Victor has always been her favourite. They bonded on the very first day they'd met, and Caroline can't imagine a life without him now.

"I'm making some notes," she tells him. "For my Media Studies project. How was work last night?"

"It was good. Surprisingly uneventful, but I'm definitely not complaining about a quiet night shift. How was school? And swim practice?"

"School was... school." She shrugs slightly. "Swim practice was awesome. Jack wants me to be on the relay team this season. He says I'm the fastest, so he wants me to be the last swimmer in the relay, but we still have to figure out the logistics 'cause I can't see when my teammate touches the wall."

"Maybe she can just yell 'go' or something as soon as she touches it," Victor suggests. "That's allowed, right?"

"I don't know," Caroline admits. "Jack and Matilda should know, though. I mean, knowing the rules is part of the coaches' job. I can ask tomorrow."

"Good idea. Did Grandpa Julian pick you up from practice?"

"Yup, and he told me to tell you that Nanna's still waiting for you to let her know when you can paint their kitchen."

"Oh crap!" Victor smacks his palm lightly against his forehead. "I was supposed to get back to her on that weeks ago. I was gonna see if I could recruit your uncle Leo to help me with it, but I totally forgot. I should've written it down."

Caroline laughs. "You know, you should probably write most things down."

"What can I say? Sometimes I'm easily distracted."

"Just sometimes?"

"Have I ever mentioned your sense of humour is just like Yuri's? Anyway, I remember the really important stuff without having to write it down. That should count for something, shouldn't it?"

"Do you remember it'll be Yuri's birthday in a couple weeks?"

It's Victor's turn to laugh. "I've been remembering Yuri's birthday since long before you came along. It's a super important day, and I'd be in big trouble if I forgot that."

"Isn't everybody's birthday a super important day?"

"Well, yeah," Victor agrees. "But when Yuri was born, the doctors all said he probably wouldn't live to see his first one, so it's not just a birthday to him. It's a celebration of being alive."

"Really?" Caroline is intrigued. She hadn't known that about Yuri. "Why would the doctors say that?"

"Because he came way too early and he was really sick. Babies who are born as early as he was don't always make it, even with the medical technology we have. Back then, their chances were even lower than they are these days."

"But he survived."

"He did, and that's absolutely worth celebrating," Victor says. "Incidentally, while we're on the subject of Yuri, have we heard from him since this morning?"

"Actually, he texted me just before you came downstairs. He's coming home early, and he wanted to know if we wanted him to pick up food on the way."

"And you said yes?"

"Yup. I said pizza. Is that okay?"

"Sounds great," Victor says. "Want to help me make a salad and some protein drinks to go with it? And while we're doing that, you can tell me all about your project. Didn't you mention something yesterday about a podcast?"

"Forest and Camellia are doing a podcast. I'm making a documentary."

"That sounds ambitious. What's your documentary going to be about?"

"About my life," she says. "I'm calling it Caroline and Company."

She slides off her stool at almost the same moment Victor gets down from his. While he goes to the fridge to take out some vegetables for their salad, she moves her laptop to the coffee table in the living room. It's not that there's any shortage of counter space, but she doesn't like leaving her computer unattended on something as tall as the kitchen island.

By the time she returns, Victor has lettuce, spinach, tomatoes, a yellow bell pepper, a cucumber and a red onion lined up on the counter. There's a small brick of cheese as well, and some eggs they'd boiled the day before. To Victor, salad isn't a sad bowl of lettuce; it's a culinary work of art, and she's certain he considers himself one of the masters of the fine art of the salad.

Caroline loves cooking with Victor, regardless of what they happen to be making. For as long as she can remember, he's encouraged her to help him in the kitchen. She recalls baking cake and cookies during her first Christmas with him and Yuri, when she had to stand on a step-stool to reach the counter and accidentally spilled milk everywhere. Victor hadn't scolded her for that. He hadn't even seemed particularly bothered. He'd just cleaned up the mess, and when their baking session was done, he'd hugged her tight and praised her for being "the best little baker ever."

Victor assigns her the tasks of shredding the lettuce and grating the cheese. He chops the other vegetables with a speed and precision that scares her a little. She considers herself to be fairly confident with knives, but she has to take her time and make sure she can see what she's cutting. If she did it the way Victor does, she thinks there's a real possibility she might lose the end of a finger.

While they work, she describes the details of her project to him, how she and her classmates have the whole school year to complete their big assignment, and how they're building a website to showcase their work.

"So, you're going to tell your life story in a series of videos," Victor says when she stops talking. "Here... pass me those eggs. Do you want to get started on the smoothies?"

"Sure." She slides the bowl of boiled eggs across the countertop toward him before wandering over to the fridge. "What kind of smoothies do we want? We've got bananas and peaches, and there are some strawberries left."

"You can pick," he says.

She chooses strawberries and a banana and takes them out of the fridge along with a container of yogurt. "It's going to be more than just me in the videos."

"Oh?"

"I want to interview Obā-chan in Kyoto and record our video chat," she elaborates. "I'd like to interview you and Yuri too, and maybe Jack and some of my friends. Also Laila and Dr. Reid-Mayfield, 'cause I feel like we wouldn't even be a family if it wasn't for them."

"I can't speak for anybody else, but you can definitely interview me," Victor says. "I'm sure Yuri will let you interview him too, and I'd be really surprised if Laila said no. Getting Dr. Reid-Mayfield into it might be a hard sell, but it never hurts to ask."

"Cool," Caroline says. "Another idea I had was to let people have the camera and make a video by themselves. You know, 'cause it might be too awkward for some people to talk about me right in front of me. Like, I don't think Forest would enjoy being interviewed on camera, but he might record something if he could just be alone in his room."

Victor pauses in the middle of peeling the shell off an egg and nods. "Yeah, it's definitely easier to get your thoughts out when you're in a room by yourself. I always found it better to make journal entries when there was nobody else around."

"Writing in a journal is different, though. You're not saying your thoughts aloud."

"I didn't say I was writing."

Caroline frowns, but quickly tries to smooth her expression when she remembers that it'll probably lead to her having a pronounced crease between her eyebrows some day, just like Obā-chan. Expression notwithstanding, she's still confused. She glances up from her half-peeled banana to meet her father's eyes. "But, you said you were journalling?"

"Yeah," Victor affirms. "We were. A long time ago, Yuri and I kept a video journal for over a year."

"Really? Did you do it for any special reason?"

"It was supposed to be a travel journal and it was only meant to be my journal originally," he says. "I had this wild plan to go on some big world adventure, and I wanted to capture all my experiences."

"But I guess you didn't actually have a world adventure?"

"I sort of had one. I was already living in Japan with Yuri, so there was that, and then I took a trip to Sulani on my own, but it didn't exactly turn out the way I expected."

"What happened?"

"Aside from nearly drowning during a thunderstorm, you mean?" He finishes shelling the third egg, and then deftly slices each one in half. "I found out how expensive recreational travel is. Plus, I missed Yuri so bad that I vowed I'd never go anywhere without him again. Oh, and while I was away, our landlord evicted us and we had less than a month to move."

"That's... a lot."

"It was overwhelming for both of us. Yuri started using my account around that time to record his own feelings about everything, and our journal kind of evolved from there."

"Do you still have it?" Caroline inquires. The fact that her parents kept a video journal once upon a time is a revelation to her. She never could've guessed they'd done that, and now she's beyond curious to know what they'd been through and how they'd felt and what they'd said.

Victor seems to think about it for a second, but finally says, "The account probably still exists, but even if it doesn't, I'm positive Yuri downloaded the whole thing onto a USB drive at some point."

"Could I... would it be okay if I watched it?"

This time, Victor's silence is longer before he responds. "Let me talk to Yuri about that, all right? You know we never hide anything from you, but that was a really dramatic year in our lives and we talked about some heavy stuff in those videos. I think you can handle it, but we're not going to show it to you unless we're both okay with the idea. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, it does," she says. "I suppose it's kind of like asking somebody if you can read their diary."

"It's exactly like that," Victor says. "It's very personal. We recorded it like there was an audience, I guess because there was originally supposed to be one, but once we started posting about something deeper than mermaid lore and sailing lessons, we made it private. The only people who ever saw it after that were Yuri and me, and Yuri might not be comfortable with you seeing it now."

"I understand."

"I'll talk to him about it tonight, and I'll get back to you once we make a decision."

"Okay," Caroline agrees.

"There's something I want you to do in the meantime," he adds, and the tone of his voice has suddenly gone serious.

"What is it?"

"I need you to think carefully about whether you really, truly want to watch our video journal, if we do agree to let you."

"What do you mean?"

"It's like I said. I believe you're mature enough to grasp most of what happened, and I think you're responsible enough to come to us and talk about anything that upsets you or that you maybe don't quite get, but..." He lets the sentence fade, as if he's trying to work out how to say what he wants to say next. "If you watch it, you might learn some stuff about Yuri and me that you'll end up wishing you didn't know, or that you'll wish you'd waited longer to find out. It can be strange, discovering things about your parents. Confusing and unsettling and... weird."

She wants to ask him what she might find out that'd be so strange and upsetting, but she suddenly thinks better of it and closes her mouth around the barely-formed question. If she could learn it from the video journal and he was reluctant about giving her access to that, it's highly unlikely he's just going to tell her. And maybe he's right anyway, she thinks. Maybe she would be better off not knowing.

The older she gets, the more she accepts that her parents aren't superheroes. They're amazing, smart, strong and kind, and they're unquestionably her heroes, but they mess up sometimes and they're just as human as she is. As Grandpa Julian likes to say, 'they put their trousers on one leg at a time'.

But, even with that comprehension, she can't say she's one hundred percent ready to let her childhood perception of them go completely. Her curiosity is burning a hole through her willpower, but she knows she has to temper her curiosity and impulsiveness with reason. Victor taught her that, and his admonition to think before rushing into a situation has saved her from trouble loads of times. Advice that's always proved to be so good can't suddenly have gone bad.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I shouldn't have asked."

"Come here," Victor says. He moves toward her with his arms open, and she doesn't even hesitate for a heartbeat before stepping into his waiting embrace. She wraps her own arms around him and leans her head against his chest.

Inside Victor's hug is the safest place in the world, and it's consoling enough on its own, but that doesn't prevent him from offering her words of reassurance anyway. "It's all right, sweet Caroline. It's okay that you asked. I don't want you to feel bad for wanting to know. It's just... I also don't want you to jump into something you're not ready for."

"I know," she says. "I'll think about it, I promise."

"Good," he says. "You should give some thought to your school project too. I think it's awesome that you want to tell your story, but the process of learning about yourself isn't always easy either."

"Do you think I shouldn't do it? I could probably come up with a new project idea. Mr. Blanchet already has my proposal, but the real deadline isn't till this Friday. I could—"

"No," Victor stops her gently, mid-sentence. "I think you should. In fact, I'm super proud of you for tackling a project like this. It takes a lot of courage."

"But you said it wouldn't be easy."

"Yes, and that's why you're brave for wanting to," he says. "You already know, just because something isn't easy, that doesn't mean you shouldn't do it or that it won't be worth it. It just means you should be careful and you should be prepared."

"To... to find out stuff about myself that I might not like?" she asks cautiously

"Maybe."

"When you and Yuri were keeping your journal, did you learn things about yourself that you didn't like?"

He tightens his arms around her for a second or two, and she gets the sense that he's doing it involuntarily. "I did," he answers quietly, "And it was really hard. I was scared and angry and sad, sometimes all at once, and sometimes I felt like a total failure at... life, basically. It was a struggle to wrap my head around it and even more of a struggle to change, and I cried a lot."

"You still cry a lot, Victor."

Unexpectedly, he bursts out laughing, and this time when he squeezes her it's clearly deliberate. She feels the tension leave his body, and suddenly she relaxes too. She hadn't even been aware of how rigid she was.

Victor kisses the top of her head. "No such thing as a serious moment with you around, is there?"

"Sorry," she says, but she isn't. She hadn't intended to make him laugh, but the sound of his laughter is so much better than what she likes to call his 'grown-up voice', and she's relieved that he's not upset.

"Cheeky little mermaid," he says in fake exasperation, and she feels warm inside at hearing the childhood nickname her grandfather Kenji — her adorable old Ojī-chan — had given her. It's mostly only Yuri and Ojī-chan who call her that, so it somehow feels special when Victor uses it.

"I can be serious," she tells him. "And I really will consider everything you said."

"I know you will. You're smart and I trust you to make good choices," he says. "If you're ever unsure about anything, though, you can talk to me or Yuri about it."

"Thanks," she says.

After one more affectionate squeeze, he lowers his arms and steps back. They slip into a companionable silence after that, finishing up their dinner preparations before Yuri arrives home from his office.

Caroline has no clue what might be going on in Victor's mind, but hers is tangled with the threads of their conversation. Part of her is anxious over the possibility of uncovering some not-so-pleasant truth about herself, but another part is eager to reveal the pieces of her past that are still a mystery to her. It's exciting and terrifying at the same time, and she has the feeling that no matter what might happen. this project is going to mark a defining point in her life. Once she begins, she'll never be able to un-know all the things she'll discover, and she'll never be able to go back to being an innocent, ignorant child again.

But, it's okay, she tells herself. It's like Victor says; growing up is a journey. And if I don't step forward, how will I ever get there?

#ts4 #sims 4 #willow creek #willow creek haunted house #Caroline Okamoto-Nelson #Victor Nelson #carolineandco #stargazersims

[ravens-words]

been you all along, part 5

Part 4, Part 3, Part 2, Part 1.

Somehow, in a truly horrifying twist of fate, Bradley's mortal enemy became his daughter's favorite person.

Or, Five times Jake was his daughter's favorite person, and the one time he was Bradley's too.

AN: Just one more chapter to go! Thank you all so much for the love, I really really appreciate it all so much.

《5》

Bradley paces the living room, back and forth, back and forth, for the better part of an hour. In his arms is his little girl, who's clinging to his neck and crying quietly. He can do nothing more than hold her as she's hurting and it makes him feel like a failure.

His eyes dart over to the clock.

3:07 AM.

That means it's been exactly thirty minutes since he gave her the Tylenol. He walks over to the kitchen counter, grabs the thermometer and prepares for a fight, because if there's one thing his daughter hates more than anything, it's getting her temperature taken.

His first clue that something is seriously wrong is when she does nothing more than whine quietly when he puts the thermometer in her mouth. His second is the flashing red screen that reads; 103.4.

.

Ice and Sarah are out of town, and so are Mav and Penny. Bradley can take a cab or an uber, but hospital procedures and paperwork- God, the paperwork- don't mix well with taking care of a kid.

He needs help.

And the first person that comes to mind after his godparents is, surprisingly, Jake Sersin.

.

He doesn't have a lot of time to hesitate, so he picks up his phone and calls. It rings three times before the other man picks up.

"Bradshaw, what the hell?- this better be good."

"Linny's sick," he says quietly, voice shaking so badly he wonders if Bradley heard him at all, "can you- I know it's late, but-"

"Be there in ten."

"No, I can call for an uber, you just-"

"-the uber will take ten minutes to get to your house, at least," Jake cuts him off. Bradley hears the slam of a door and raises an eyebrow. "You go get her ready, I'll be there soon."

"Okay, thank-"

He hears the dial tone, looks down at his phone in mild surprise. "Hear that, Linny?" He says quietly as he adjusts his hold on his daughter, "Jake's coming to get us."

His worry spikes when the washcloth he put on her forehead is hot to the touch now.

He lays her down gently, takes a deep breath as to not let the worry take hold, and gets up to get her things ready.

.

"Thank you for coming," Bradley says as he opens the door.

"Of course," Jake says, as if it's no big deal that he drove over at 3 in the morning to take them to the hospital. "Need help with-"

"Jake?"

They both look at Caroline, who's lifted her head off Bradley's shoulder and was blinking sleepily at the other man. "Hi, Care," he says quietly.

Her eyes fill with tears. Bradley's mouth hangs open when she holds her arms out to Jake, and Jake's wide eyes meet his. "Is it okay if I-"

"Sure," Bradley manages to say, watching the careful way Jake handles Caroline. It takes him a few seconds to sort through the mess of emotions he feels as he looks at them. His daughter hangs onto Jake tightly, her tiny arms wrapped around his neck, and he holds her gently, his hand covering the span of her back, rubbing gently, soothingly. "Do you have everything?" Jake asks him quietly.

Bradley just nods. When they reach the car, he puts his hand on her back and says, "Linny, honey, come here."

She tightens her arms around Jake, shakes her head. It stings. He knows his daughter loves him, knows this doesn't really mean much other than that she trusts Jake to a certain level, and she's sick and probably wants some more attention, but it still hurts when she doesn't want him. It still hurts that he has to watch helplessly as the other man comforts his daughter.

"Hey," Jake breaks through his thoughts, "you good to drive, or do you want to take her?"

"I'll drive," he chokes out, takes the key when he hands it to him.

.

His knuckles are white from how tightly he's squeezing the steering wheel, his eyes straying from the road every few seconds to check on his daughter in the rearview mirror. "How's she doing?"

"Same as she was two seconds ago," he quibs, then when Bradley glares at him, he sobers up, "she's not doing so great, but it's not that bad either. We'll be there in like two minutes. Hang in there, Bradshaw."

He manages to nod, blinks his eyes a couple of times against the burn he feels there.

.

The ER is packed with people, and Bradley looks on helplessly. Jake steers him towards the chairs, transfers Caroline to Bradley's arms, and disappears. When he reappears, he's not alone. A nurse hurries along after him, and Bradley breathes out a sigh of relief. She's gentle and efficient as she takes Carloine's temperature and asks Bradley some questions. "There aren't any available beds right now I'm afraid," she tells them, sounds genuinely sorry, "in the meantime I'll bring her something for the fever, okay?"

Jake sits beside him, leg bouncing as he stares ahead. Every few seconds, his eyes flicker over to Caroline's face and his face does something complicated that Bradley's too tired to decipher. The nurse is back with two foil packages that have him frowning. "What are those?"

Jake's the one to answer him, surprisingly. "Cooling pads."

The nurse smiles. "Yep. You know how to use them?" She asks Jake.

He nods. "One on her belly, the other on her forehead."

Her smile widens. "That's right. Here you go," she hands him the pads and disappears again.

Jake rips open the first package and Bradley lifts up his daughter's shirt, just a little. She winces and whines when Jake puts the pad on her stomach, but eventually settles. The same happens when he places the other one on her forehead. "How did you know about these?"

"Four nieces and three nephews," Jake answers, smoothing down her unruly curls. "Kids like me when they're sick," he shrugs.

Bradley can't help but think it's a little pointed, that he said it for his benefit, because of what happened earlier.

Bradley smiles.

"So, how are we gonna do this?" Jake asks Bradley, who frowns, "the paperwork- do you want me to fill it in, or do you want me to take her so you can?"

At this moment, Caroline opens her tired eyes, and they land on Jake. She smiles tiredly.

Jake smiles back, ducks his head so they're eye to eye. "Hey there, Care-bear, how're you doin'?"

"Not so good," she answers hoarsely. "My head hurts."

He winces sympathetically. "Headaches are the worst," he responds, lifts up a hand to stroke her cheek. "But you're gonna get better in no time."

Bradley takes a breath, presses a kiss to the top of her head and leans down to look her in the eyes.

"You wanna go sit with Jake so I can fill out this boring paperwork?"

She nods, no hesitation.

Jake takes her easily. She snuggles into his arms, then tips her head back, looks at him, and giggles. Jake grins. "What's got you laughing, huh, silly girl?"

"Your hair's funny," she tells him.

Bradley barks out a surprised laugh, and Jake splutters, faking offense. "Well, so is your dad's."

"Hey," Bradley protests, smoothing down his hair.

Caroline giggles again, then winces, tears gathering in her eyes.

Jake hugs her tighter, soothes her with a few quiet words. Bradley grips the clipboard tightly, with shaking hands, and starts on his daughter's paperwork.

"How's her fever?" He asks, after a moment, when his daughter's eyes are closed and her breathing evens out just a little.

Jake presses a kiss to her forehead, lingers for a few seconds. "I think it's down for now," he whispers, careful not to wake her.

Bradley, done with the paperwork, puts the clipboard aside. "Thank you for being here. You didn't have to do all this."

Jake shakes his head, looks away. "You don't have to thank me, man. Anyone else would've done it."

But I didn't want anyone else, he thinks, I wanted you.

"Well, thank you, anyway."

"Anytime," Jake mutters into his daughter's hair.

Bradley's heart refuses to settle.

.

The nurse comes to check on them a few times, and the last time she does, Jake and Caroline are both sleeping. She smiles at them, then leans closer to Bradley, "we have a bed ready for her."

He smiles in relief, shakes Jake awake. He jerks up, tightens his arms instinctively around Caroline. "What? What's going on?"

"There's a bed ready for her," Bradley tells him.

Jake nods, stands up easily with her in his arms.

"Want me to take her?"

He shakes his head immediately, then seems to freeze. "Unless you want to? I don't-"

"It's okay, Jake," he smiles, "you take her, I'm gonna go hand in the paperwork, alright?"

He nods, follows after the nurse.

.

They leave the hospital two hours later, Caroline's medicine in a small pharmacy bag, clutched in Jake's hand, and his daughter finally in his arms. Bradley sits with her in the back, holding her in his arms as he closes his eyes.

When he opens them, they're outside his house.

He expects Jake to drive away after he gets out of the car, but to his surprise, the other man gets out and locks his car, takes Bradley's house keys and opens the door for him. The house is a mess, but Bradley's too tired to care. He heads to Caroline's room, puts her on the bed, kisses her red cheeks, tucks her in and finally, turns off the light, leaving the door open, just a little.

When he goes back to the living room, he finds Jake standing by the fireplace, looking at the pictures on the mantle. "She was such a cute baby," he tells him.

"Yeah, she was." He comes to stand beside him, "you remember her?" He asks him quietly.

Jake nods.

"I never thanked you for that night."

Jake shrugs. Bradley turns to face him. Jake does the same.

He doesn't think before he takes a step forward, closing the distance between them and drawing him into his arms. There's a huff of a surprised breath from Jake before he hesitantly hugs him back. Bradley finds himself burrowing closer into the warm embrace, burying his nose in his neck. He feels more than sees Jake's hitched breath, and the arms around Bradley tighten.

They stay like that for what could be seconds, or minutes. Bradley doesn't care. He just closes his eyes and breathes him in.

"Bradshaw-"

"Thank you."

He pulls away, slowly. His cheek drags across Jake's, and their noses nearly touch. Jake's eyes flicker to his lips, and Bradley's do the same. They share the same breath for a few seconds, then-

"Daddy?"

They spring apart, the moment lost, and Bradley clears his throat. "Wait-"

"I'm gonna go-"

They take a breath.

Jake looks away first. "I'll see you around, Bradshaw."

Bradley tries to hide his disappointment. He probably fails.

He watches him leave.

#hangster fic #sereshaw #hangster #ejwriteshangster #jake seresin #bradley bradshaw #kid fic

[swxppedshitposts]

{It’s father’s day here in the UK tomorrow...and I’m low-key just thinking about it being the anniversary of the day Alex killed his host dad...cause...y’know...what better day to fatally poison your father than on the day you’re supposed to appreciate him the most? 😂}

#Caroline: What do you mean you're throwing a party YOU HATE PARTIES #Alex: Oh I know but this one's important #Caroline: Why? Are you going to suddenly come out as gay? #Alex: NO...! #Caroline: Are you going to tell everyone you're becoming a father? #Alex: NO - wait why did you say gay first... #Caroline: ... *shrug* #Alex: Bring confetti #Caroline: What the hell is going on with you you're acting really weird #Alex: Oh I'm just very happy #Caroline: ... *touches his forehead* Are you sick??? #Alex: I must be in some sense of the word #Caroline: ...Right okay that's it we're not having a party #Alex: BUT CAROLINE! #Caroline: NO! Go to bed Alexsander! #Alex: >:C #Caroline: I'll bring you up some tea #Alex: :) #Caroline: A party...honestly I've never heard so much shit in all my life...probably a stabbing party or something...

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

Prompt # 19: Addiction  

@sicktember Alternate prompt #4: Stay

Title: Unexpected Developments Part 2

Fandom: Pride and Prejudice

Find Part 1 under prompt # 8. Mr. Darcy is sick in bed and miserable. Elizabeth is trying to look after him, but his bad mood gets the better of him and tempers flare. Will sweetness or stubbornness win out in the end?

Elizabeth Bennett was the only guest at Netherfield who wasn't in bed with a cold. The virus Jane had caught riding to attend luncheon with Caroline had spread around the whole house, but it seemed Eliza was immune. Mr. Darcy had been the last to fall ill, and Lizzie had discovered him sneezing in a corner over a day ago while she remained perfectly healthy. It was fortunate she had discovered him though, for the servants were rushing hither and yon at the beck and call of their ill master and his sister, and poor Mr. Darcy would have been overlooked completely if Lizzie hadn't taken him under her care. 

Lizzie, for her part, was glad Jane's cold was much improved from the days prior. Since Jane needed little tending now, she had given Lizzie her blessing to give most of her attention to Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy, for his part, was very accustomed to having a houseful of servants to do his bidding, and was little accustomed to being ill, strong and virile as he was. Because of these things, he was not the easiest patient, though he truly tried to make an effort to curb his frustration and not take his misery out on Elizabeth. Her lack of symptoms clearly perturbed him, however.

"How is it you are still in perfect health while I and everyone else are laid up with this beastly chest cold?" he griped that afternoon while Lizzie fussed around, tidying up dishes and rags from his bedside. If Lizzie wasn't accustomed to his voice by now, she would have had trouble understanding him, for his nose was stopped tight with congestion, and his voice raw and weak from coughing, rendering him nigh unintelligible. 

She giggled to herself. "Well you see, I believe I've already had this cold, for in the week prior to Jane's arrival here, my father, some of my other sisters and myself caught cold. We were envious of Jane's good luck in not falling ill at the time, but it seems it caught up with her in the end."

"Indeed," Mr. Darcy muttered sourly with a slushy sniffle.

"Oh don't be cross. It isn't so terrible lounging in bed all day, being waited on hand and foot is it?" 

"Yet when I find myself miserable in body, I find my mood tends to follow," he groused.

"Hmm." Elizabeth moved to his side, caressing his flushed face gently with the pad of her thumb. "It's just as I thought. You're only irritable like this when your fever is up, and indeed you are overwarm again. Jane's fever wasn't nearly so persistent."

"How fortunate for me," he mumbled to himself. Elizabeth tried to ignore his bad temper as she fetched her basin and rag. She wasn't fond of sarcasm, and his attitude was irking her more than she cared to let on. Tenderly as ever though, she began bathing his face and neck to try to bring down his miserable fever.

The cold water on his face made him gasp slightly, which became a cough, and the coughing only seemed to agitate him more. He usually enjoyed his face being bathed, but today he drew away from the rag. 

“Perhaps we should try another method for treating fever, since this does not seem to be effective,” said the sick man. His speech was curt and tense with foul temper.

Elizabeth gave him a long look, trying to keep her own temper under control. “What would you suggest, sir? We have tried willow bark, which made you feel more ill, and you will not have any other poultices,” she said in a measured, warning way.

“There must be something we haven't done yet. I would do anything to rid myself of this beastly cold, that came from *your* sister, I might add! You just said you already had  this cold. Think of something else to try!”

Elizabeth flew to her feet, tossing down the rag. “Perhaps you should go plunge yourself into an ice bath! That will surely help the fever, and I’m sure it will do wonders for your coughing and sneezing as well! But you can draw it yourself, and you can see to your own meals and entertainment too. You clearly feel my efforts are inadequate, so you can tend to yourself from now on. I am through with smoothing your insufferable pride and being a target for your bad mood. Good day, sir!”

With a whirl of skirts, she was out the door without a glance behind her. Elizabeth went straight to her room and lay down in the cool and quiet, for she was exhausted and careworn from nursing for a week straight. She fell asleep immediately and didn’t wake for several hours. 

She felt much refreshed when she did finally emerge. She first went to look in on Jane, who was overall back to normal, but was getting bored sitting around and eager to go home. On questioning the staff, they learned that Caroline had mostly recovered as well. Mr. Bingley was recovering slower, but getting better all the time. The sisters wished him a speedy recovery by way of the servants, for as soon as he was recovered, they would be able to return home.

After visiting with Jane for some time, Elizabeth desired to find a quiet corner and read. To her chagrin, she realized she had left her book in Mr. Darcy’s room. She did not relish seeing him again so soon after they parted so badly, but she had no choice if she wanted her book back. With a sigh, she made her way to his room with hesitant steps. She knocked softly before entering, which felt odd since she had been coming and going freely for two days prior. His hoarse, weak voice bid her come in.

He was in quite a different state than he had been a few hours before. Where he had previously been fitful and agitated, now he seemed weak and lethargic. Even in the dim light she could see how sweat-matted his hair was, and the dark ring on his pillow. He lifted his head up to see who had entered, and his sleepy eyes flickered with confusion upon seeing her. 

“I only came to get my book. I apologize for disturbing you,” she said stiffly, hardly looking at him. She snatched up the volume from the table where it lay and turned to go back out, intending to say nothing else.

“Wait.” 

She paused, and turned slightly, her good breeding winning over. “Yes?”

He sat up a bit straighter, coughing weakly as he did so. “I am deeply sorry for how I behaved earlier. My treatment of you was inexcusable after all you’ve done for me these past days--” Here he had to pause to press his handkerchief to his dripping nose before he could continue. Elizabeth waited silently. “I was a beast and feel very much like a fool. Please forgive me,” he managed, mumbling through the damp fabric. His eyes shone earnestly above the hand holding the linen in place.

Her face softened. “I accept your apology, and thank you for it. No one acts quite themself when they’re ill, so I gladly forgive you. I’m sorry too for my part in all of it.”

They shared a tiny smile as he tended to his nose with a thick, gurgling blow, and she knew she was forgiven also. Immediately the tension between them was cleared.

Now that they had made up though, she was reluctant to leave him alone again, for he looked so weak and forlorn and in need of care. However, she was a woman of her word. She spoke as she moved to the door, putting her hand on the knob. “You must rest, Mr. Darcy, so I'll leave you be. I truly apologize for waking you.”

“Miss Elizabeth?” 

Once more she turned to meet his eyes.

He held out a shaking hand. “Please… stay.”

She slowly returned to his side. “For what purpose, sir?”

“I… I desire your company… and your aid. You are… a far better caregiver than I, and I was a fool to imply otherwise. It… it won't happen again,” he croaked thickly. 

Seeing the effort he was making to be overly polite softened Eliza's heart further. She let him take her hand in his warm grasp, a smile playing around her lips. “If you insist. I will stay.”

He smiled also as he drew her hand toward himself. "Here, let me show you something," he snuffled. He placed her wrist against his neck, just as she had done many times over the past few days. He sighed softly as their skin made contact.

“Your fever has broken,” she murmured happily. “You are cool at last.”

“Yes.”

“How did you do it?” she asked, withdrawing her hand. “Did you plunge yourself into an ice bath after all?”

He stifled a cough before he could speak. “I… tried willow bark again, as you recommended. I felt worse… at first, but I fell asleep to ease the symptoms. When I woke, the fever had left me, and I felt… much clearer in mind. The fever was causing my foul mood, as you insightfully noted.” Yet another long speech, and now his voice was barely audible as he sniffled furiously and trembled with fatigue. 

“Yet you seem somewhat worse for wear, for you’re completely exhausted, poor man.”

“This illness has left me weary to my bones, it is true. Yet I could not have slept soundly tonight knowing I had offended you. It would be an understatement to say I was very glad when you returned, though I did not expect or deserve a second chance.” His eyes were getting heavier by the moment, and he yawned almost before he finished speaking, reclining back against his pillows once more.

Elizabeth brushed the sweaty curls from his forehead as his eyes drifted closed, then let her hand rest on his cheek for a moment, reassuring herself that his fever was truly gone. He lazily covered her hand with his, a content smile flickering across his face. 

She couldn’t help but smile in response, though he couldn’t see it. “Take some rest, Mr. Darcy. All is forgiven, and I will be here when you wake.” She gently tried to pull her hand away from his face. He quickly interlaced his fingers with hers to prevent this.

“You’ll truly stay?” he murmured sleepily, sniffling.

Leaving her hand on his cheek, she perched on the edge of his bed, so close their hips were almost touching. She saw him smile again as she did so. 

“Of course I will,” she murmured back, her eyes never leaving his face as he peacefully drifted to sleep.

#sickfic #sicktember2021 #alt prompt 4 #everyone is hotter with a fever

[matildashoney]

𝙸 𝙵𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝙰𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎? // 𝙰𝚕𝚕 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙻𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚆𝚎 𝙲𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚂𝚎𝚎

��𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃 // 𝚃𝙰𝙶𝚂 // 𝙿𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃 // 𝚃𝙰𝙶𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃

𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 // 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙲𝙻𝙰𝙸𝙼𝙴𝚁: 𝙱𝙸𝙿𝙾𝙻𝙰𝚁 𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙾𝚁𝙳𝙴𝚁, 𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 𝙾𝙵 𝙷𝙾𝚂𝙿𝙸𝚃𝙰𝙻𝚂, 𝙰𝙽𝚇𝙸𝙴𝚃𝚈

𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜, 𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 @theharriediaries​ 𝚊𝚗𝚍 @truckerhatharry​ 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚊-𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎. 𝚒'𝚖 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝚒 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞.

Truthfully, Harry isn’t sure what time it is, this time around. Clocks seem to evade him, and numbers seem to dance into intricate formations that he can’t seemingly understand.

Harry Styles stops time when he walks into the room. Caroline always says that it’s the commanding presence, the nature of his personality, the way he holds everyone’s attention so easily that makes him stop an entire room and gain their attention. Caroline always says that Harry is the type to make everyone know they’re important and needed in the space, that there isn’t one person that would be in the group or the audience or the meeting that wouldn’t feel like they’re an essential part of whatever is happening.

Caroline always says that Harry makes her feel that way.

Harry makes the effort to be this way if he’s being honest. Harry makes the effort to hold everyone’s attention and make everyone feel important, because, for years, he portrayed the demeanor of someone who thought he was the most important person in the room, that he was where all the attention should be. That is until he met someone who made him see how truly minuscule in the affairs of universes and worldly happenings, he is. That is until Harry met Caroline, and he realized that there was nothing more that he wanted than to know everything and anything about her, instead of talking about himself, for once.

Until Harry met Caroline, and everything changed.

Harry isn’t sure what time it is, right now. Green eyes stare at the stark white walls surrounding him, his head leaning against a concrete foundation and the clicking of the clocks on the wall – and yet, he still can’t seem to find the time from anyone – and a raging headache forming at the forefront of his mind. His eyes shut quickly, squeezing closed to try and make the time pass any quicker than it is. Time is going so slowly, though, that he thinks he might scream. Harry wants to scream, honestly. That might make the pain easier to swallow, the heartache easier to handle.

Going based on the trajectory of the situation and where they are, Harry would be going home alone, tonight, and that’s a pill that he’s not prepared to swallow quite yet. That, and the idea that someone might tell him something that he really doesn’t want to hear, something about Caroline that will break him at the core.

Caroline wasn’t … you know … right?

Thinking that makes Harry want to be sick. There would have been a sign. There would have been some sort of something if she was. There would have been a note, a letter, something. And yet, there was nothing when Harry came home; nothing that could give him a sign or a clue or something that will tell him if he needs to worry or not.

Harry couldn’t make sense of it.

“Mr. Styles,” the nurse says, coming through a hallway and gently touching his shoulder to garner his attention, her soft demeanor comforting him as he looks with exhausted and bloodshot eyes, tears staining his cheeks. “Unfortunately, we have to keep Ms. Ryan for the twenty-four-hour waiting period, with her history and her family history, to make sure she’s not trying to hurt herself or others.” Harry nods understandingly without saying a word – that much was expected – and stands on his feet, ready to see his fiancée, finally. “Honestly, based on Ms. Ryan’s previous welfare checks and hospital stays, the doctor was not expecting it to go as well as it did. Ms. Ryan’s welfare check went much better than the others in her history, which is great news.”

“Think that we both know my wife isn’t okay, but is she okay enough for me to see her?” Harry asks nervously, unsure of the technical aspects of a hospital stay and the regulations that they’re going to have to follow. Caroline has never had this bad of an episode in their time together, and this has scared Harry more than anything. “Am I allowed to see her? I really want to see her. I’ll follow whatever regulations you have, but if I could see her, that would be really kind of you.”

That’s the first time Harry’s said the word out loud. Wife. Caroline would be Harry’s wife, soon. This could effectively tamper with the timeline and how long that very well takes. Harry doesn’t care about any of that like he knows Caroline will. Harry cares about Caroline getting better and coming home.

“Of course, Mr. Styles. Caroline can have visitors, now, and you can see her, stay with her, too. Caroline is dehydrated, mainly, and malnourished from not eating for a week, so she’s hooked up to a lot of machines, just so you’re aware,” the nurse says smoothly and calmly, checking her notes on her clipboard and reading technical terms that Harry can’t seem to grasp or understand. “Caroline is not suicidal, though. Truthfully, that’s what counts, right now. That’s what everyone cares about.”

Caroline sat in the hospital bed when Harry walks inside with the nurse, with wires clinging to her body, nibbling on a sandwich while he walks right to her and sits at her bedside. Harry swears that he won’t be able to handle seeing her like this, again. Harry wants to be sick just thinking about it. Caroline, naturally, makes a joke about the hospital socks, saying, “My third pair of hospital socks and they’ve finally given me something other than that hideous orange color. Oh, the joys of London Town!”

“Callie,” Harry sighs, shaking his head and breathes out a laugh, rolling his eyes as he leans onto the bed and kisses her forehead as she clicks her heels together in the baby blue sticky socks underneath the blanket and makes the wish for the two to be home, in the comfort of their own bed. Harry thought he couldn’t stay, that he wasn’t allowed, and that killed him, to know that she would be alone in a room by herself, having to sit alone with her thoughts for days. Thankfully, that’s simply not the case, tonight. He doesn’t think he could have handled being alone, tonight, anyways. Not after what he saw. “Callie, you scared the living shit out of me.”

Caroline sets her sandwich on the tray, wipes her hands on her napkin, and opens her blanket. reaching for Harry with wide arms, smiling softly when Harry immediately rushes towards her and circles his arms around her waist, hugging her tightly and breathing in her scent. “I love you. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t do that to me, again,” Harry says strictly, sternly, his eyes welling with tears as his fingers gently brush over her cheek and his lips meet her forehead softly. “Caroline, I need you to take this seriously, okay? Baby, you didn’t eat for nearly two weeks.”

Caroline whispers something in Harry’s ear, something that he can’t really understand, and he brushes it away, simply going back to holding her tightly and breathing in the sweet apple scent that lingers in her hair. Harry assumes it was something of another apology, which isn’t something he really wants, per se, it’s more the fact that she didn’t tell him, that she didn’t reach out to him. Harry knows why, and he feels guilty, so guilty.

Caroline doesn’t like bothering Harry when he’s doing business; especially not business that involves moving Shakespeare’s Library to elsewhere in the United Kingdom and would be a great investment opportunity. Caroline doesn’t like being the reason Harry can’t focus – unless it’s for ulterior motives – and the fact of the matter is, Harry wouldn’t have gone away on business if he knew Caroline was about to face an episode like she is, right now. Caroline and Harry both know that much.

Harry, then, feels incredibly guilty when something of the sort happens, because not only did he not know, but he wasn’t there to fix it. Harry likes to fix it.

“Callie, what happened that made you do this?” Harry wracks his brain trying to find a reason because Caroline was so good before he left. Caroline was writing and eating and functioning before he was set to leave; something must’ve happened in the day that he was flying and settling in that made her break. “What triggered it, Callie? I know something did. I wouldn’t have left you alone if I knew you were in an episode, like that. That’s not how we do things; you’re supposed to tell me. I’m supposed to be there for you, Cal.”

“Harry, it wasn’t anything.”

“Caroline Elizabeth Ryan.” Harry never uses Caroline’s whole name like that. That’s when it occurs to Caroline how poorly Harry is dealing with this, right now. Caroline, usually, only has to worry about how she is dealing with her episodes, she’s nearly forgotten there’s a whole other person on the receiving end, now, a person she loves very deeply. “Does it have to do with your mother? Is Lucy why you’re in here? ‘Cause I swear to God, Callie, I’ll march myself to wherever she has and have a kindly chat with her.”

“My mother has nothing to do with this,” Caroline says through her teeth, and Harry can tell that she’s lying. Caroline’s tell, her quirk, so to speak, is that fact that her jaw clenches tightly and she has to speak through her teeth whenever she’s lying. Caroline doesn’t lie to Harry – it’s one of their boundaries – and it’s easy for him to tell when she is. Harry tilts his head, his eyes pointing at her directly and his lips pursed together in a straight line, his expression saying everything that he isn’t. “Can we talk about this later? I’m exhausted and I missed you. I can hear that you’re angry with me, too. I don’t like that you’re angry, with me, right now.”

“Caroline,” Harry says calmly, sighing out a breath between his lips, shaking his head and sitting on the corner of the makeshift mattress that the hospital has laid her on, “not this time, okay. Can’t, you can’t shy away from this conversation, this time.”

“I’m not ready to have this conversation, Harry.”

Harry’s voice breaks, the tears beginning to fall down his cheeks again and the pain collecting in his throat, the lump that he swallowed down when he walked into the hospital room now resurfacing and bringing the tears to his eyes. “Callie, tell me. This isn’t something to run away from.”

“My mother,” Caroline swallows thickly, her eyes welling with tears at the thought, shaking her head to try and shake the incessant, nagging feeling that she’s going to cry, “she, um, sent me a letter in the mail. It came the day you left.”

“And what did it say, Cal?” That’s what makes Caroline break into hysterics, the six words making tears pour down her cheeks, her chest heaving with shaky breaths, her hands covering her face with her fingertips digging into her eyes, trying to hide the tiny markings her nails are leaving in her face. Harry gently pries her hands away, kissing her fingers and scooting closer to her body, taking her hands in his and holding them tightly. “Baby, tell me.”

Caroline sucks a breath in through her teeth and hurriedly says, “My mother is back in the country with her mother and would appreciate it if, even though we live only a few hours away, I wouldn’t contact her anymore. Lucy said that it’s great that I’m doing well and have my life together, that she’s happy for me, but she would prefer to not have any contact with me.” Harry kisses Caroline’s knuckles and gently wipes at her eyes, the wires getting tangled in their hands. “Harry, why doesn’t she want me?”

“Callie, baby,” Harry sighs, sliding himself closer and wrapping his arms around her shoulders, bringing her into his chest, her face tucking into his neck and immediately wetting his shirt with her tears. Harry doesn’t mind it, he would rather have her crying in his arms than see her unconscious in their bedroom, again. “I’m sorry your mother is so horrible to you. I’m so sorry.”

“All I want is for her to want me, Harry,” Caroline sniffles, shaking her head and feeling done with the conversation, taking her hands from her thighs and wiping her eyes, sighing into Harry’s neck and kissing his skin lightly for comfort. “Kiss? Could really use one, right about now.”

“Always, love. My Buggy.” Harry smiles softly and nudges Caroline’s face with his nose, his lips laying a kiss on her cheek and waiting for her to tilt her head slightly towards him to kiss her mouth. His mouth moves slowly on hers, kissing her sweetly and gently, as though a slightly harsh touch could leave her bruised and bandaged. “Callie, you mean everything to me. More than you’ll ever know.”

“Can’t be more than what you mean to me.” Caroline shakes her head in disapproval. “Hate that you still call me ‘Buggy’, as though I’m still a nuisance, to you, though,” she says, and he laughs breathily, at that, because it’s not the reason he calls her that, now, but it was. Oh God, Harry thought Caroline was such an annoyance when they first met. “Hard to believe I used to hate your guts,” Caroline giggles, tucking her chin to her chest and spinning her engagement ring on her finger, the tiny diamond sitting perfectly on her hand. Harry hates how small it is, but it’s Caroline’s favorite jewellery she’s ever owned. “Oh boy, the hate I had for you. I could’ve beat you up, Harry Styles.”

“Caroline Ryan, all you would’ve done is start to cry.” Harry shakes his head. “Barely a punch to the jaw, which I would’ve deserved, by the way, and you would’ve been in tears. I love you for it, but you wouldn’t handle that very well.”

“Hey!” Harry laughs for the first time in hours, a hearty laugh, a laugh that makes Caroline’s heart swell in her chest and feel like it’s going to burst with how much she loves him. God, Caroline really loves Harry. Like, wholeheartedly in love with him, type of love. “I could’ve done it. I could’ve done it, without crying. Maybe a little stutter-stepping, but I could’ve done it.”

“All right, all right,” Harry sighs, leaning forward and kissing her forehead, lingering on her skin to breathe her in, his eyes squeezing shut when she grabs his cheeks and kisses his mouth, once more. “Have all those tests and meetings with the doctors, tomorrow, and you need your rest.”

Caroline’s eyes go wide. “Can you stay? Do you have to go?”

“I’ll be right there, all night,” he says, pointing towards the makeshift lounger in the corner of the room with blankets and a pillow laying on the cushion. “Callie, I promised you ages ago, I’m not going anywhere.”

Caroline sighs, nodding quietly and pursing her lips together. Harry’s words are true, she knows this with her whole heart, but there is the angry and subconscious part of her brain that tells her that Gabriel Ryan said that, too. Her father said that, too. Caroline swallows a lump in her throat, breathing through her nose and shoving her tray of food away from her, suddenly feeling exhausted and mentally drained. Maybe it was the conversation about her mother, maybe it was the promise that her father broke, maybe it is the idea that Harry is there and no one else cares. Maybe it’s everything all at once making Caroline feel so utterly tired, but her eyes are beginning to shut against her cheeks and her heart rate is beginning to slow. Harry can see that she’s finished by her quiet actions, kissing her cheek and gently moving from the mattress to the lounger, looking at Caroline with concerned eyes as she turns onto her side and yanks the blanket closer around her neck.

“Goodnight, Bug. I love you,” Harry whispers, kissing her forehead and sighing against her skin as she nods her head. Harry can see the depression oncoming, the confession of her mother’s letter and the promise that her father broke lingering in the air. Caroline is great at putting on a façade around everyone else, but with Harry, it’s barely functioning. “Things are going to get better, Callie. Do you trust me?” Caroline nods silently, tears welling in her eyes and beginning to fall down her cheeks. Harry walks to the lounger, cranking the lever and turning out the recliner to lay on for the evening. Caroline’s voice draws his attention, turning away from his bed and listening to her carefully. “Say that one more time, for me, Cal?”

“Can you read me some of your poetry?” she whispers, the lights barely illuminating her eyes that he adores so much. Caroline doesn’t turn around, remaining facing the doorway and listening carefully. “Maybe from when we didn’t like each other so much. Tell me that things get better.”

Harry smiles softly, taking his leather notebook – the one that he carries with him everywhere – and opening to the first page written with an indented ‘C’ in the header. “This is from the day I was late to our very first annotations meeting.”

Caroline giggles, sniffling quietly and then says, “Oh, I was infuriated with you, that day. God, I asked Rigsby for a new annotation partner, too. Think I told you that I hope you never fall in love with someone like me.”

“That’s absolutely correct,” Harry laughs, shaking his head at the memory. Meeting Caroline and the very first few months of knowing her were so difficult, Harry thought they’d never get along. Harry made it a challenge for himself, to have Caroline like him, even the slightest bit, and that started his fascination and infatuation with her; the one that made him fall in love with her. “Are you ready, love?”

Caroline sucks in a breath and rolls to her side, her eyelashes wet against her cheeks as she stares at Harry adoringly, forcing a smile and swallowing back a choked sob as she notices how fully written in this notebook is, how many pages are marked and colored and decorated in intricate drawings that represent the poetry he’s scribbled in his writing. Caroline notices the ‘C’ imprinted in the front of the notebook, and that’s when she realizes. “Have you moved every poem about me into that notebook, Shakespeare?”

“Maybe.”

Caroline nods silently, sucking in a breath through her nose and snuggling deeper into the sheets on the mattress, smiling softly at the man laying across from her, ready to read his poetry. “Okay.”

Harry dramatically clears his throat, smiling softly at Caroline, his fingertip holding the page where the poetry begins on the day, they met alone for the very first time. “you told me that you never fall in love // that it’s too dangerous, too risky // and i have begun to wonder // that if love is too risky // what is it that makes you feel safe.”

Caroline waits at the coffee shop for nearly three hours without a show from Harry.

Having three coffees and one muffin and about three hours of gearing up to even come to the coffee shop alone, Caroline is fed up and ready to leave. That is until, the floppy tendrils of curls show up rushing through the door at a near four in the afternoon, sputtering apologies as he flops his things on the spare chair at the table and hurries to the counter to buy himself a drink. He looks dishevelled, as though he’s woken up only minutes ago and hurried here, and part of Caroline wants to feel sorry for him that he’s slept until two in the afternoon, most likely, and forgotten.

That part of Caroline is very small, though.

“Caroline, I’m so sorry,” Harry says hurriedly, brushing through his hair and taking a seat at the table and pulling out his notebook and his computer and textbook with the play written inside. “I overslept. I was working on this poetry assignment, all night. Not trying to make an excuse. This was our plan all week. I’m sorry.”

“Let’s just get started. Our discussions are due in less than,” Caroline says distractedly, looking at her phone for the time, “six hours.”

“Right, yeah,” Harry says embarrassedly, his cheeks turning red beneath the softened lights of the coffee shop, his hands slightly shaking as he was rushing to get himself together, his papers scattered in his notebook. “Have you annotated anything, yet? Obviously, there are my annotations that you can copy, if you need them.”

Caroline laughs, shaking her head and letting out a frustrated laugh, “Harry, that’s, um, nice, I think.” Her eyes are squinted as she stares at him, and then she turns to her textbook and opens to the first act of the play. “But, in the three hours I was waiting for you, I finished the entire first act. I’m ready for the discussion. Could do that, we could do that, and then leave, if you’d like. Obviously, you have more important things to be doing.”

Harry looks awfully embarrassed and there is a sudden boost of confidence that Caroline feels around him. Usually, Harry is the one with the chip on his shoulder, with the one-up on the partners that he’s working with, especially women. Harry has his looks, his charm, and occasionally – if he’s using it well enough – his intelligence. Harry’s poetry usually wins over the women and men he works with, the inspiration that strikes when he’s working with someone that is smarter, brighter, more intelligent than he is, bringing him closer and closer to finishing his poetry collection that he’s been working since his acceptance into the graduate program. Coming into his fourth section of poetry, Harry’s found himself writing about love and love stories and romance since the day he started his portfolio, and yet he’s missing an entire section about unrequited love.

That is more frustrating than anything, Harry’s found.

“Um, sure,” Harry sighs, letting out a heavy breath and raising his hand to the waiter that’s walking near their table, ordering a black coffee and a muffin before settling into his seat, once more, and opening to the page that the discussion post is referring to. “Okay, well, this discussion post is asking about the difference between infatuation and love between Orsino and Viola and Olivia, in Act One.” Harry looks between Caroline and their notebooks and their textbooks and says, “There isn’t one, really.”

“Did you just say there isn’t a difference?” Caroline asks astonishedly, shaking her head and setting her pen in her notebook and shutting her computer halfway. “Orsino is practically tripping over himself for Olivia, and Olivia is falling for Cesario, or Viola playing pretend to get into the palace and find her brother. All of it is infatuation. Orsino’s entire claim for love is based on his infatuation with Olivia.”

“Tell me something,” he says smoothly, nodding his head to the waitress bringing his coffee and his muffin and thanking her quietly before turning to Caroline and squinting his eyes. “Do you not believe that love is partially based on infatuation? Isn’t that how you fall in love? By becoming infatuated with someone, with something. Do you not believe in love at all?”

Caroline sits back in her seat, very well aware of the judgement being passed to her in this very moment, and is slightly insulted by his insinuation, his implication. “Look, Harry, whatever personal judgements I have on love and falling in love are truthfully none of your business. At the end of the day, love is risky and dangerous. Anyone that willingly falls in love is a fool.”

“That’s bloody depressing,” Harry says with a scowl, shaking his head and brushing his fingers through his hair, pushing the floppy tendrils away from his forehead and revealing his bright green eyes that suddenly feel intimidating to the look. “I love love, I think. I think there’s something so fun about wanting to be partners with somebody, wanting to be by their side through thick and thin. That’s what makes life exciting. Doing it with another person.”

“Happy for you,” Caroline notes sarcastically, shrugging her shoulders and beginning to write out her discussion post on her computer, completely ignoring Harry’s pointed stare and the judgement passing through his emerald eyes. “Love isn’t safe. This story proves that. Could you imagine falling in love with someone, only to realize they’re not really that person? That would be devastating.”

Harry uncaps his highlighter and pen and begins annotating the remaining sections of the play’s act, ignoring Caroline’s harsh judgements and words. “Guess that’s how you feel but it’s wrong,” he says under his breath, writing carefully his thoughts about the obsession between Olivia and Orsino and Cesario. “At the end of the day, everyone wants to find love in their life. Obviously, you want your love to be requited, but if it’s not, at least you experienced love in some capacity, yeah?”

Caroline doesn’t pick up her head from her computer screen, not bothering to even engage in the conversation with him. Caroline’s barely known Harry for a week, barely spoken to him for more than an hour, and she already heavily dislikes him. “Not particularly.”

“Look Caroline –” Harry goes to say, his eyes growing wide when Caroline cuts him off nearly immediately, shocking him out of his words for a minute.

“Callie, for the umpteenth time. Liv already told you that, I’m sure.”

Harry looks at Caroline with gritted teeth and a clenched jaw, tilting his head slightly and gathering his thoughts before speaking, again. “Callie, I’m not sure what your problem with me is, considering we just met, but–”

Caroline cracks her fingers, sucks in a breath through her teeth and says all in one outburst, “My problem with you, is that you’re not taking this seriously, unlike me, and you’re pretentious and think you’re the best at everything. That is not how you make a first impression and to put it simply, you’ve made the worst one upon me.”

Harry’s mouth clamps shut, his jaw tensing and un-tensing as he breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth, trying to remain composed and not act as though this conversation is absurdly hurting his ego. Harry’s ego is something that he built up so much over time, that it seemed impossible for anyone to tear it down, and yet here she comes, all in one break, destroying his egotistical demeanor. He is good at whatever he works on, the annotations, the poetry, the writing. His confidence is based on the boosts from professors and family and friends always building up his abilities and saying how capable he is to be someone, to be a writer.

And Harry is pissed, pissed that someone that is a bit too insecure themselves, that uses their mental health as a way to treat other people poorly, that wants to say he doesn’t take his education seriously, is trying to make him insecure about himself, too.

“If that’s how you feel,” Harry says, very much insulted by her statement and trying to formulate a response that is worthy to make it known how he feels about everything, “then I’m willing to speak to Rigsby about switching partners. Although, I think it’s unfair that you’ve passed a judgement about me so quickly when I’ve barely made a judgement about you.”

“Okay, Harry. Truthfully, Liv already told me what you said about me that first day I met you. You made judgements about me before we’d even sat down together, alone. That only supports my judgement about you, doesn’t it? That you’re an egotistical, pretentious person that quickly judges others that aren’t like you.”

“Caroline, the only thing that I’ve judged you on is the fact that you use your mental health or whatever the hell it is that you use to gain sympathy from other people. Especially your friends.”

Quickly standing up, she gathers her things and shoves her computer into her backpack, laying her hands on the table and gritting her teeth so hard it looks like her jaw might actually break. Caroline stares Harry down, making him slightly uncomfortable with how hard she’s looking at him. “Harry Styles, you don’t know anything about me or my mental health or my friends. Quite honestly, it’s people like you, that make people like me, not talk about my mental health with others. Maybe you should thank whatever the fuck you believe in that you don’t have to handle mental health issues. And I hope to God that you never fall in love with someone that wakes up with a brain like mine every, single, fucking day because you’ll ruin their life with how lowly you think of them.” Caroline gathers her belongings and hurries out the door, the wind brushing against her cheeks and whipping against her heated skin. Her fists are clenched together in tight coils of anger, one hand releasing from the tight ball and reaching into her bag for her car keys, quickly unlocking her tiny, navy blue sedan and throwing her backpack into the passenger seat and immediately walking around to climb into the driver’s seat.

Harry is speechless, absolutely and utterly speechless, and unable to stand up and say something properly to defend himself before she’s rushing out the door. “Caroline, wait!” Harry pushes his chair out from beneath him, stumbling around the fallen wood and drawing plenty of eyes to his distraught figure as he hurriedly rushes out of the building and into the parking lot where Caroline is spilling expletives with all of her belongings scattered on the ground. “Caroline, wait for a second!” Caroline doesn’t wait, continuing to try and gather all of her things and shove them into her bag but the material is wrapped together and making it difficult and there are tears welling in her eyes as she drops everything frustratedly and sits back on the tarmac in absolute frustration. “Caroline.”

“Harry, what do you want from me?” Caroline takes a deep breath, gathering all of her things, throwing her bag in the passenger seat of her truck and climbing inside, trying to ignore the silence that overwhelms the two of them as they stand there staring at each other. Caroline can feel a tear fall down her cheek in betrayal, the last thing she wanted was to cry in front of him.

“I,” Harry is quiet, unable to fully make a sentence and spit out a coherent thought. “I’m sorry for what I said. I, I didn’t mean it. That was wrong of me to say. Rigsby wanted us to work together because we’re the best students in that class and likely have a few things in common when it comes to working with literature. I need to graduate in May, too. Can you please give me a second chance? I swear I won’t make you regret it.”

Caroline looks at Harry and looks at her white knuckles clutching the steering wheel, the little crescents starting to form in the cushion of the wheel. Guess it’s better that it’s the wheel rather than my thighs, she thinks. There is so much harm that could come from being Harry Styles’ partner, Caroline’s decided. Harry Styles doesn’t understand her mental health, firstly, and he likely never will, based on his reactions and interaction in the first conversations and dialogues they’ve shared. Harry Styles is pretentious and rude, secondly. Harry Styles, thirdly, thinks he’s the very best thing to walk the planet and knowing Caroline’s father, that would be the furthest thing from the truth.

“Honestly, Harry, I can’t,” Caroline says truthfully, shaking her head and grabbing the gear to shift into reverse and back out of the parking lot, Harry quickly moving his feet to avoid being run over with the impatience she’s exhibiting. “I’ll be talking to Rigsby on Monday about a new partner.”

* *

Caroline is angry. Angry is the only way to describe the way she feels, right now. Angry, specifically, with a man by the name of Harry Styles.

Donald Rigsby refused to change their annotation partner, insisting that Harry Styles would make the best pairing for the intensity of the course load that they would be doing throughout the semester. Donald Rigsby said, and Caroline could quote, “Harry Styles is a charming young man that is an excellent writer and I’m sure it’s all a misunderstanding.” Caroline wanted to roll her eyes, to tell him that he’s an asshole that doesn’t understand empathy of any sort. Caroline wanted to say so many things, and instead, she nodded her head silently, forced that famous smile that everyone knows and loves, and walked out of his office with a slight stomp to her feet.

Caroline immediately grabbed her phone and wrote a very calculated worded email to Harry Styles, saying:

Harry,

Unfortunately, and though I tried to talk him out of it, Rigsby has insisted on us being partners, for some reason unbeknownst to me. He has expressed his opinion thoroughly about the topic and would like to not hear further about it. He believes that we will make a great team working on annotating Shakespeare’s texts, based on our work ethic and our talent as writers. Although this is not what I would have wished for, I am hoping for the best, as we both have to graduate at the end of the year, and very much need this course to pass our degrees. I am sending this email as an offering of peace for the time being until we can meet again.

I am free again on Saturday for another annotation meeting for the second act of the play. Is that time going to work for you? Let me know as soon as possible. Thank you.

Callie Ryan

Caroline waits two days for a response from Harry. Two. Whole. Days. Caroline waits for two days, and the only response that she gets is infuriating, absolutely maddening, totally and completely frustrating.

All Harry says is this:

Caroline,

Apology accepted. See you on Saturday.

Harry x

Apology accepted? Apology accepted? Is Harry so dense in that thick skull of his that he thinks that Caroline was apologizing for what she said to him? Absolutely fucking not. Caroline would never apologize for what she said. Caroline wouldn’t apologize for saying that she hopes Harry never falls in love with someone like her, especially. Caroline meant all of it, every single word, from the beginning to the end. Adding onto the fact that she meant all of it, it is her best commentary to this day.

Caroline walks out of her shift at the local bookstore with steam whistling from her ears, her eyes reading over the email again and again, silently wishing that she’ll look at the screen of her phone once more, on the off chance that she clicked the wrong email and it’s not actually what was sent to her. Harry couldn’t be that ridiculous, right?

There isn’t any way that anyone can be that pretentious and uptight. There simply can’t be. Caroline refuses to believe it.

* *

Caroline waits at the coffee shop for nearly six hours, on the day of their meeting, waiting for Harry. Maybe a bit less than that. Maybe a bit less than that because it took her three hours to gear up to meet him with her anxiety and the episode she’s been suffering through. Caroline struggled to get out of bed, to even make it to her car, barely functioning to brush her teeth and thread her fingers through her hair. Her hair has been tangled in a braid for three days, and it’s beginning to look a bit dishevelled, although she has run water through the baby hairs flying around her forehead.

Caroline’s medicine is all out of whack. Originally, it was working for a while, making sure the episodes were manageable and taken care of throughout each stint of the rollercoaster, the lights on and lights off as she’s called it since the earliest age of twelve. However, now, it’s like the medicine isn’t even doing anything to her system, and she’s hitting the highest highs and the lowest lows for weeks without any remorse. Caroline can handle it usually, but with the stress of her father’s anniversary coming in October, the horrible partner she’s been assigned in her annotations course, and the overall overwhelming sensation of graduation lingering around the corner, there’s a bit too much to be able to handle the highs and lows every two weeks.

Caroline is in a Lights Off week.

Caroline can tolerate a lot. Making that clear to people is something that she prides herself on. Caroline can tolerate most things: running late, cancelling, having to reschedule because of a conflict of some sort. Caroline cannot tolerate skipping a meeting entirely … without any warning.

Harry doesn’t show one hour, two hours, three hours, four hours later.

Caroline checks her email twice, maybe even three times to see whether or not he’s emailed her last minute to say that he couldn’t come. Nothing. Not a word from Harry Styles.

Caroline waits around for another hour waiting for Harry, completing the annotations for Act II of The Twelfth Night and finishing the “Act II Discussion” Rigsby posted online earlier that week. Hatred and anger rush through her veins as she thinks about how this should’ve been done with her “partner”, today, and the way that he’s not even had the courtesy to tell her that he had to cancel their meeting and do the work on his own. Caroline gathers her belongings, taking out her phone and dialling her best friend’s number, ready to rant and rave about this person that she’s being encouraged and more so, forced, into talking to daily, that clearly doesn’t respect her or her boundaries for working environments. That may be what makes Caroline even more angry. Harry doesn’t respect her. If Harry does respect her, he surely doesn’t know how to show it.

Caroline clicks on Liv’s number, tucking the phone in between her shoulder and her ear, and gathering her things to take to her car, waving goodbye to the workers that know her by name and shuffling to her vehicle parked in the very first space outside. Caroline makes everything a habit, from where she frequents to the minuscule habits that only a boyfriend or girlfriend could catch onto, like the way she washes her hands twice before dinner and compulsively types her notes on her computer to avoid rewriting after lectures. Caroline is comfortable with her life, with how she lives it, and she isn’t going to let one person get in the way of the peace that she’s brought to her life over the last year without her father around, a feeling of tranquillity that he would have wanted for her.

“Hey, Callie. How’s it going?” Liv says when she answers the phone, a smile evident in her voice and Caroline can only assume she’s with her significant other by the extra voices in the background. “Did you finish your annotations?”

“Of course. Guess who didn’t fucking show, again?” Caroline grumbles, climbing into her car and waiting for the phone to connect to the speaker for her to leave safely. Caroline shakes her head angrily, the utter disappointment and upset building inside of her chest making her want to scream and cry. Could someone really be this insensitive to someone else? Could Harry really be this ridiculous? Donald Rigsby is wrong about Harry Styles. Very wrong. “Things would be fine, I would be fine, if I wasn’t losing my fucking mind over the workload for this class,” she continues, shaking her head and carding her fingers through her hair frustratedly. “I don’t understand how anyone could be so insensitive towards others. It’s absolutely fucking ridiculous. I can’t stand him, Liv. I don’t care what Rigsby has to say about him. I think Harry Styles is the worst person on the planet.”

“Callie,” Liv says softly, warningly, almost and it makes Caroline go silent. Caroline knows what Liv is about to say and she is simply praying that she wasn’t on speaker phone. “Callie, Harry’s here with Niall.” Caroline goes deathly silent, now. Liv walks out of the room, eyeing Harry apologetically, and making her way into her bedroom to talk to her best friend and hopefully calm her down before she comes home. “Cal, Harry was here because he broke up with his girlfriend and needed to talk to Niall.”

“Harry could’ve messaged me,” Caroline mumbles, closing her eyes momentarily and soaking in the silence that overwhelms her car, the moment of silence where her brain is finally quiet and there is nothing to be heard from anyone. Caroline knows it won’t last long. Caroline’s brain is never nice to her for very long.

“Harry says you didn’t give him your number, only your email.”

“Well, yeah. Why would I give a stranger my phone number, Liv?” Caroline sighs, turning into the car park and grumbling when she sees a vintage car parked in her space. Caroline doesn’t need to know anything about anyone to know that a pretentious asshole would have a car, like that. Most certainly it’s Harry’s. “Motherfucker parked in my space, now, too. God damnit!”

“Callie, are you okay?”

“Fine, Liv,” Caroline breathes out, pinching the bridge of her nose and leaning her head back on the headrest behind her. Momentarily, Caroline makes the decision that she’ll take herself to her boyfriend’s house for the week, not really wanting to be around her best friend and his boyfriend and the subsequent asshole that is making himself known around their apartment. “Think I’m going to go to Max’s for the week, this way you and Niall can have the apartment. Getting my things from my car and then I’ll come and get my things.”

“Don’t have to do that, Callie,” Liv sighs, heaving a heavy breath into the speaker and pursing her lips together, trying to find a way to relieve her best friend’s anxiety and the tension creating itself in their conversation as they continue to speak. Caroline always gets angry so easily when her mood is like this, and Liv knows why, she’s not angry over it, she knows what she’s done to make her best friend so frustrated with her and the situation at hand. “I’ll kick Harry out if he makes you uncomfortable, Cal.”

“Olivia,” she says, shaking her head and turning off her car, opening the driver’s door and stepping out onto the concrete, “it’s fine.”

Caroline walks up the steps to their apartment and opens the door quietly, trying to make as little noise and draw as little attention to herself as possible. Harry is standing in the kitchen, laughing with Niall about something unrelated and turns to look at Caroline, his eyes widening at the way she immediately walks straight past him, nudging his shoulder along the way, and to her bedroom to start gathering her belongings that she’ll need to take with her to her boyfriend’s house.

“Caroline,” Harry says, earning a smack to the arm from Niall and a deathly look from Liv. Harry doesn’t care what they say, her name is Caroline, that’s what he’s going to call her. “Can we talk outside?”

Caroline looks at Harry questioningly, her eyebrows coming together in the center of her forehead as she contemplates telling him off right then and there. Harry has an ego bigger than his head, the privilege that exudes from the way he views mental health making her skin crawl with disgust, and an attitude that extends much further than what Caroline could rightfully handle. Could anything good come from a conversation with Harry? Likely not. Has Caroline impulsively decided that this conversation can be her time to tell Harry to go to hell? Yes.

Harry walks outside first, holding the door open and waiting for Caroline to lay her things on the tile flooring near the front door and follow him outside. Harry’s eyes travel across the expanse of her figure, and he’s well aware that it’s wrong, and that she has a boyfriend, but there is something about her that he can’t get his mind to wrap around, that he has an infatuation with.

Anna Marie and Harry broke up this afternoon. That’s the whole reason that Harry came to Liv and Niall, in the first place, to tell them that she’s gone, and they wouldn’t have to deal with her anymore. Niall cheered and Liv smiled knowingly, telling him that Callie and Max were still very much together. Harry assured her that that wasn’t the reason why that he had no intentions of pursuing Caroline, but Liv knows better. Liv knows boys better than that. Harry just shrugged her off and went about his conversation with Niall, talking about the way Anna Marie insisted she was breaking up with him, instead. Harry let her have her way, as long as it meant he wasn’t with her anymore. Could that be considered something that an asshole would do? Likely so. Did Harry care all that much? Not really.

Caroline nods in a halfway ‘thank you’ at Harry as the apartment shuts behind her, knowing fully well that Liv and Niall are waiting on the other side to hear what they have to say to each other. Caroline ignores it, knowing that she’ll get an earful from her best friend whenever they have time alone for being too harsh or mean to her boyfriend’s best friend. Caroline shakes her head at the notion, thinking to herself how ridiculous the whole situation is.

If Harry had just shown up on time, showed a little bit of respect, maybe respected other people’s boundaries, then this wouldn’t be happening. This wouldn’t be a conversation that they have to have. Caroline wouldn’t hate him the way she does.

“Okay,” Harry starts, shrugging his shoulders and leaning against the railing so that his shirt tightens against his chest and the muscles in his arms are on perfect display. If Caroline found him attractive, maybe this would distract her, cause her mouth to go dry and her comebacks to weaken. Good thing it isn’t that way. “Caroline, you think of me as the worst person on the planet?”

“I do, yeah,” Caroline states flatly, leaning against the door and trying to keep her eyes on his. Maintaining eye contact has never been one of Caroline’s strong suits and doing so when she’s obscenely angry is certainly not making it any easier. “Harry, you’re kind of a piece of shit.”

“All this anger because I missed an annotation meeting, and I didn’t tell you?” Harry sounds like he’s mocking her and it’s making Caroline even more angry than she already is. Gabriel Ryan would never tolerate this behavior. “Is that really it, love? Is this something more going on?”

“Don’t ‘love’ me, with your accent, and try and patronize me,” Caroline says through clenched teeth, shaking her head and crossing her arms over her chest to add to her frustrated nature. “That was just icing on the cake, Harry. I really don’t like you.”

“That’s such a shame, innit? ‘Cause I like you.”

“Harry, you don’t even know me!” Caroline is so frustrated she thinks she might cry, tears beginning to gloss over her honey eyes and make her vision blurry. “God, you’re just some privileged guy in my literature class. That’s all you are! Honestly, nothing I say will get through to you! This whole conversation is pointless and useless and a waste of my fucking time!”

“Have you gotten it all out, now, Caroline?” Harry teases, clutching the door handle that Caroline reaches for, blocking her into the door and hovering over her face, his lips merely inches from her mouth, teasing the way her plump flesh entices him for only a second. “Have only one idea on how or what we’re going to do about it to make it better, Caroline. Kiss?”

“Hah! Over my dead body, Harry Styles. Only in your wildest dreams would I ever kiss you.” Caroline slinks beneath Harry’s arms blockading her in and opens the door, frustratedly grabbing her belongings and making her way out of the apartment. “Bye, Liv. Bye, Niall. I’ll see you later.”

“Caroline,” Harry says calmly, reaching for her wrist and grabbing her gently, taking her hand in his and trying to have her attention for more than a moment. Caroline immediately flings her hand out of his and reaches for the keys to her truck. “Meeting this week, maybe? Can get some work done earlier than the weekend if you’d like. I don’t have anything tying me down, now.”

“Harry Styles, you and I are no longer working together. Get this through your thick head. I’m not working with you. I’m not speaking to you. Rigsby never has to know that we didn’t work together. I’ll lie. I don’t want to see you. That’s it. End of story.”

Home.

Home is where many things happen for Caroline and Harry. Home is where Caroline and Harry sing and dance in their kitchen at three in the morning when Caroline is wide awake and needing to be distracted from the intrusive thoughts that are overwhelming her brain. Home is where Harry started his business ventures. Home is where Caroline started writing her novel. Home is where Caroline and Harry kiss beneath the sheets and touch each other intimately and know their way around each other’s bodies, caressing and touching in the most loving way. Home is where the heart is, they say, and that would be true in Caroline’s case.

Harry is home, wherever they are.

Caroline looks at Harry with tears in her eyes, drawing the covers back and gesturing for him to lay in the tiny makeshift bed with her, ignoring the shaking of his head and smirking at the way he sighs and gives in, pushing himself out of the lounger and walking over to her with his notebook in hand, knowing well enough by now that she’ll want him to continue to read to her until she’s sleeping and unable to listen any longer. Her legs are stretched out over his thighs, her cheek laying on his stomach, smiling at the slight pudge that’s accumulated there since they started cooking more meals at home with the bookstore right beneath them. Caroline’s arms circle around his waist, not caring whether or not her arm will fall asleep in the middle of the night or not, and his hands intertwine themselves in her hair, brushing through the straight locks soothingly. His touch is gentle, nurturing, and Caroline suddenly is reminded of when her father used to do the same thing to her when she would have a nightmare or couldn’t sleep.

Harry is like Gabriel in a lot of ways, Caroline recognizes. Maybe, just maybe, that’s why she’s fallen so head over heels in love with him. Caroline never thought she would find a man as good as her father, previous relationships included, and yet, here she is, with one right by her side. Harry is patient and kind, loyal and generous. Harry understands her mental health and never blames her for an episode, good or bad. Harry works with her, and makes sure that she knows that he’s there, no matter what the reason may be. Caroline searched high and low for someone like him, someone that would accept her for the way she is, and even in previous relationships, she never found someone to do it as unconditionally as Harry has. Caroline will be forever grateful for the way they met, although not particularly ideal, because it meant that they met at all.

“Thought you’d be asleep by now, baby,” Harry says softly, brushing his fingers through her hair and kissing her head. “I can read more if you’d like. Do you want to talk instead? Is there anything you want to talk about?”

Caroline’s fingers trace over the pattern on Harry’s shirt mindlessly, the speckled design on the shirt making her frown, realizing that he never had the opportunity to change when he came home. All because of how Harry found Caroline – unconscious in their bedroom. Lying on the floor by their bedside, with her eyes shut and her lips slightly parted. Harry is in his airport clothes, likely reliving the trauma that she’s given him for the rest of his very life.

“Callie,” he says sweetly, taking her attention away from the shirt by lifting her chin and making her eyes meet his, “you don’t have to worry about me. I’m okay.”

“Harry, I should’ve called and told you. I thought I could handle it on my own, that it wouldn’t bother me because there have been so many other times where she rejected me. This time, though, it broke me.” Harry can feel the tears from Caroline’s face soaking into his shirt and trousers and he doesn’t say a word, only turns his body slightly so he’s facing her, and his thumbs can wipe away the tears recklessly falling down her cheeks. “I don’t understand what I did to make her not want me, Harry. All I ever did was be myself. That was too much for her? Am I too much?”

“Never,” Harry says, shaking his head adamantly and pressing his thumb to where her eyebrows have furrowed together and gently rubbing across her skin, kissing her forehead soothingly and lingering there for good measure. “Lucy has a very British way of thinking, Cal. That’s not a great thing when it comes to mental health and all that. Hell, I had a very British way of thinking, at first. There’s a reason we didn’t get along. There’s a reason my friends wouldn’t share things like that with me.” Harry looks at Caroline sincerely and says, “Until I met you.”

Caroline doesn’t say anything for a minute, and Harry thinks that she’s finally fallen asleep. Until an audible breath echoes through the quiet room and Harry looks to see Caroline beginning to wipe tears from her cheeks, once more. “Do you think that we should postpone the wedding? Until I’m better? I’ll understand if you want to delay the wedding, Harry.”

“Caroline Elizabeth,” Harry breathes, shaking his head frustratedly and sighing as he delicately grabs Caroline’s chin and brings her face to meet his. Harry’s thought about delaying the wedding. Of course, Harry has. Although, it’s certainly not because of what Caroline thinks. Harry’s worried that she’ll have another episode in the meantime and want to cancel the wedding altogether while they’re trying to make final preparations and there will be nothing that he can do to change her mind. “I’m marrying you in three months. That’s final. I don’t want to hear another word about it from you. I’m marrying you, I’ve been wanting to marry you, and I’m ready to marry you. Okay, Cal?”

“Okay.”

Harry sighs and kisses her forehead soothingly, gently scratching at her head and kissing a line from her forehead to her nose to her mouth. “I love you, Caroline.”

“Know you do.”

Harry smiles at that, gently turning his body over and laying on his back, allowing Caroline to make herself comfortable. His hands reach for his journal on the makeshift bedside table, opening to a marked page with a poem that he wrote on the plane the day he left, the day everything went wrong, thinking about how much he would miss her and want to be with her every day until they were in each other’s company. “I’m happy that you know.”

“Have you got any clue how much I love you, Harry?”

Harry turns his head to look at Caroline, her eyes slowly shutting and her lips slightly parted as she sucks in deep breaths and gives way to the sleep that’s been nagging at her eyelids for nearly an hour. Harry’s heart is so warm and swollen with Caroline in his arms that it makes him almost forget to answer her. “Have some idea, yeah. It’s a lot. Love me a lot, don’t you?”

“More than anything.”

“Feel the same way about you, Callie,” Harry says honestly, scratching lightly at her scalp and letting his mouth linger with a kiss on her forehead for a while. “Love of my life, you are.”

Harry always means what he says, Caroline knows this. Caroline knows this, even though her brain is bombarded with intrusive thoughts telling her that he’ll leave her like everyone else, eventually. “Falling in Love” is a hard concept to truly understand, to make one’s brain believe they’re worthy of deserving. Caroline has waited a long time, a very long time, to feel like she is worthy of love. Caroline knows why the relationship never worked out with her ex, with Max – because she didn’t feel worthy to be loved by him. Caroline isn’t sure what happened with Harry that made the switch, which made her feel like maybe this one will show her that she’s worthy of it.

Certainly, it’s because of how Harry loves. Harry is the perfect way to learn to love yourself because the way he loves is so unconditional and pure. Harry loves with his whole chest, with his whole might, with a ferocity that makes you feel like you’re the only person on the planet that means anything to him. Caroline, although obsessed with him, certainly hasn’t always felt this way. Caroline certainly couldn’t stand to be around Harry for a while, which made it nearly impossible to see how she could have fallen in love with him. Of everything, their relationship is everything but a mystery, of a circular moment of hatred to love, of infatuation to lust. Harry is the perfect example of the quote, “But our hatred is almost indistinguishable from our love.”

Caroline looks to Harry and simply stares for a while, not saying anything, soaking in the way his fingers brush through her hair and his perfect lips are pursed together in thought as he mindlessly watches the reruns of a television program on the clunky machine shelved in the corner of the room. Caroline doesn’t necessarily want children, for the sake of genetically passing her brain to another human, but looking at Harry, right now, and the way that he is with her, she thinks that it wouldn’t be so horrible to have another version of him toddling around. Caroline knows she’s in love, then – when everything changes because of him.

Harry says something suddenly, his eyes still trained on the television, his fingertips scratching Caroline’s head softly to gain her attention to reality. “Callie, I think you’re incredibly brave.”

Caroline smiles softly, shaking her head and nudging further into Harry’s embrace, threading her leg through his thighs and cuddling closer to him, whispering, “But it is not bravery; I have no choice. I wake up and live my life. Don't you do the same?”

“All the Light We Cannot See?”

Caroline nods with a smile. Harry knowing the novels she references has always made her feel warm inside. “Can you read me one more?” she wonders, nodding towards the poetry journal in his hands and the marked pages that are bending out of the cover. “Only one.”

“Only if you promise to go to sleep,” he says sternly, opening the pages and turning towards the one that is the most recent, the most freshly how he’s feeling. Harry’s been writing poetry about Caroline for so many years that it seems almost impossible that there are things he has forgotten to say or neglected to say. And yet, nearly every day, there is something new that he wants to find the words to express about the love of his life. “Have all those doctor’s visits in the morning, Callie, and the psychiatrist is coming to check on your medicine before we can leave.”

“Fair enough.”

“Only one,” Harry warns, clearing his throat and opening the page, smiling at Caroline’s eyes are already squeezing shut and ready to let his voice lull her to sleep. “Goodnight, my love.”

“feeling you against my chest // my heart is beating, undeniably a mess // you are everything all at once // and i’d do anything for you to see // that you are all i ever need.”

𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @goldenbabys-world, @burberryharold, @stylesfics-xx, @grace-ful-gold, @summertimestyles, @laur-sogolden​, @yourhsficsplug​, @morethanamelodyy​, @truckerhatharry​, @plzplzme

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[stylesharrys]

shawn chooses to quarantine with his fake girlfriend | part two

The past two days have been radio silence from his side. Your messages have gone unread and phone calls unanswered. You haven’t seen anything else of the pair on social media and you’re beginning to grow upset.

It was only two days ago that you told him how you were feeling about the whole matter, about how alone you feel and how much you miss him... and now he’s completely blanking you?

You’ve been moping all day, teary-eyed and all when you FaceTimed your Mom and sister earlier. You’ve relaxed in the bath and smeared a face mask on your skin, even went as far as shaving your legs and plucking your brows. You’ve needed the self-care, to have a little pamper to make yourself feel better.

But now you’re back in Shawn’s Harvard sweater with a pair of panties, your hair braided out of your face and you’re eating a small bowl of fruit on the couch while the first season of The Vampire Diaries plays out on the TV.

It only makes you miss Shawn more. It‘s a show you used to watch together. Maybe if you weren’t so invested in what Caroline was saying, or if you hadn’t been isolated alone for so long, the knocking on your front door wouldn’t have scared you so much.

You think you’ve hallucinated it, that you’re so lonely you’ve started imagining people knocking at your door. But there’s another knock, louder this time, and you’re sure someone’s actually there.

Your blanket is wrapped around your body as you open the door, peering your head from behind it. He’s standing there, bloodshot eyes and disgustingly long hair. Your heart skips multiple beats and you can’t believe your eyes.

Your mind is swimming but he’s holding his hands up in a form of surrender and he’s got no bags with him. “I managed to get the last flight out. I’ve been tested, baby. I don’t have it or any symptoms,” he tells you. You’re about to jump into his arms when he takes a step back and shakes his head.

“I’ve been on a long flight and near other people. Let me shower and change my clothes first, okay?” He asks and you know it’s paining him. Shawn’s fighting the tears in his eyes at the sight of you, the realisation of how long he’s actually been away from you. 

But you can’t find the strength to hold back the tears, you let them well and well until they spill over the edge. Opening the door wider, Shawn walks in, eyes still locked on yours as he makes his way to the bathroom. You follow him to the bedroom where he walks through to the bathroom. 

You watch his lean body strip from his clothes as you sit on the lid of the toilet seat, vision blurry with tears as he showers the past few months away. Neither of you say anything, you just bask in the silence of one another’s company. Shawn’s letting his muscles relax at the scent of his home and you’re trying to remind yourself that this is real, that he’s really here. 

It’s a good fifteen minutes before he’s coming out of the shower and wrapping a towel pathetically around his waist. His chest is still dripping as he turns to you but the blanket is on the floor and you’re crashing your body into his as he holds you. 

“You’re home,” you cry into his chest, arms tight around his middle and Shawn coos you through his own tears. “I’m home, baby. Not going anywhere, I swear. Staying right here by your side, okay?” he reassures you, kissing the top of your head. 

You reach up, palming at his cheeks and pressing your soft lips against his chapped ones. His face is prickly against your sensitive skin and you pull away too quickly for his liking, reaching for the cabinet above the sink and handing him his razor with welling eyes. 

“Please,” you whisper, bottom lip pouted out. He doesn’t argue with you, just takes the razor and smears a generous amount of shaving cream over his face. He knows you’re staring at his stupid hair while he does it, and he isn’t surprised that you leave the room and come back in with a chair dragging behind you and a pair of scissors and an electric razor in your hand. 

“Don’t look at me like that, you know I used to be a hairdresser when I left school,” you remind him, tears still welling and he nods when he dries off his smooth face and sits for you. You’re getting ready to cut the awful locks off when he pulls you on his lap and kisses you feverishly. 

“Can’t pull away from me now,” he mumbles against your sweet lips and you hum, eyes fluttering closed as you try to move as close to him as you possibly can. “Want my Shawn back,” you confess breathlessly, tugging softly at his curls and he nods, hint of amusement in his eyes. 

“I’m all yours honey, go for it,” he tells you, sitting back and closing his eyes. You brush his hair out, taking sections between your fingers and snipping generously. He gets a little nervous when you turn on the clippers, the buzzing loud in his ears as you swipe up from the back of his neck. 

Within 10 minutes, he’s your old Shawn. Short hair on the sides and back but still enough to give a little tug on, and you left a generous amount of curls on top. You brush off the excess hair and move the towel from around him that had served as a barrier from the locks matting on his skin. 

Your heart swells at the sight of him and you’re crying again, entire body trembling because this is your Shawn. Short-haired, freshly shaven, happy at home, Shawn.

“Baby...” he breathes softly, pulling you into his lap and you curl into his hold, face buried in his neck as you sob. “You’re home,” you repeat like a mantra and he continues to coo you. 

Somewhere between your silent sobs and occasional hiccups, he carried your both to the couch. He’s wearing a pair of boxers now and the blanket from the bathroom is draped over your bodies as you lay on the sofa, chest to chest.

“I’m sorry,” he admits when he notices you’ve calmed down. You peer up at him with furrowed brows. “I should’ve come home as soon as things got weird, I shouldn’t have gone to Malibu, I shouldn’t have been trying to sell that bullshit during this whole thing. Fuck,” he breathes, shaking his head; angry with himself. You stay quiet. 

“When I realised we it wouldn’t just be these two weeks isolating, it freaked me out. We don’t know how long this is gonna last, how long I wouldn’t have seen you for... they say it could be six months in some places before any ounce of normalcy starts to take form. I can’t go six months without you.” 

You wait a beat, thoughts nagging at your head. “I don’t want you to do this PR shit anymore,” you admit in a small voice, wincing inwardly as you await his reply. Shawn exhales deeply and swallows. “Neither do I,” his words surprise you and you gaze up at him in shock. 

He shakes his head. “It’s all bullshit and she wants to sell it while a real-life, world-wide pandemic is on our hands. It’s too much and it’s bullshit. And I know you don’t like it, baby, I know you’ve never liked this, I can’t keep doing it to us anymore,” he pulls you closer, tears bubbling over his eyes and you reach up to wipe them away, frowning. 

“You’re gonna be in so much shit... but you’re right. And let’s be honest, no one actually fucking believes it. Fans figured out we were together a week before you started this PR, and I know she’s your friend, but she sucks this shit dry ‘cause it’s the only attention she gets from the public.”

Shawn doesn’t say anything but you know he’s agreeing with you. He leans down and his warm lips softly envelop yours, keeping you close as he kisses you so tenderly you think you might explode. Your fingers tangle in his freshly cut hair, pulling him closer as you hook a leg around his waist.

Shawn’s hands are sprawled across your back, your chest pressed tightly against his and when you finally pull away to catch your breath, he rests his forehead against yours and lets himself relax under your touch. 

“Your pillow was starting to lose its scent of you, y’know. Think you came home just in time, and at least now I’ll actually sleep at night,” you joke softly but Shawn frowns deep. “You’re not sleeping?” he asks, voice soft with an echo of concern. 

You gnaw on the inside of your cheek, slowly shrugging a shoulder. “Can’t sleep when you’re halfway across the world and I don’t know when you’re coming home,” you tell him. You didn’t mean for it to upset him, but he feels the guilt bubble in the pit of his stomach.

“But you’re home now, and cuddling you is better than cuddling your pillow,” you remind him as you kiss his lips again. As much as you don’t want to move, when his stomach growls against yours, you force yourself to sit up and not let him pull you back down to you. 

He’s laying on his back as you adore him, your old Shawn. “I’m gonna make us some of that soup you like so much and then we’re gonna lay in bed and watch The Vampire Diaries and you’re gonna hold me and play with my hair until I fall asleep,” you tell him, poking your finger in his direction and he grins a love-sick grin while nodding his head. 

It’s only seconds later that he’s wrapping his arms around your from behind and bending down to press his face in your neck and pepper gentle kisses on the skin. “I love you so much,” he whispers tenderly, giving your middle a reassuring squeeze. 

A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips and your eyes flutter closed for a moment. “I love you, too.” 

#idk i need something soft with OLD shawn #shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes blurb #imagine shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes x you #shawn mendes x reader #NOT PROOF READ!!!!!

[xxwritemeastoryxx]

Painted Souls 9

Author: xxwritemeastoryxx

Pairings: Elijah Mikaelson x Reader

Word Count: 2.9K

Warnings: Can being in a hospital be one? Besides that, we’ve gone back to the tame territory. 

Author’s Note: Soooo this one came out just as quickly as the last part. And Look at that, a Series update in two days! But with this one, we are coming to an end. There is only one more part to this. I hope you guys enjoy this one and look forward to the next. ♥

Feedback gives me life and motivation for future things. ♥

From the moment the ambulance arrived, Elijah never left Y/N’s side. The part of him that was a lawyer knew he should stay behind and give Elena support as she gave the details to the police who had come to investigate. But the part of him that was a soulmate had flared up and wanted nothing more than to be by Y/N’s side to comfort and protect her.

Seeing Y/N in a hospital bed had been the complete opposite of what he believed would happen tonight. He wanted to take her to the cabin, give themselves a chance to wind down, before he gave her a reason to worry. As Elijah sat right next to her bed, he realized that he was too late in warning her.

His head had been resting on his interlaced hands as he sat in the chair next to the hospital bed. His mind raced with things he realized he didn’t know. Things he wished he had. For one, Elijah didn’t know who to call for her. Caroline and Elena had been outside in the waiting room for her already, but when it came to her family, he wasn’t sure what to do.

He knew her father years ago, but he didn’t know him personally enough to just go into Y/N’s phone and call him up. Y/N never mentioned her mother often and it led him to believe her mother was no longer in the picture. But the truth of it all, Elijah had barely known Y/N and it made him frustrated.

The knock on the room door caused Elijah to look up. Elena had been standing there, her eyes landing on Y/N who was still unconscious after the drugs had taken over her system. Elena bit down her lip before looking over at Elijah.

“I called her dad.” She said with a slight nod. “I figured him of all people should know his daughter was in the hospital.”

Elijah nodded his head. “Thank you. I was debating on calling him myself, but then I realized I’m not sure how well that would have gone over.”

“They don’t talk much anymore.” Elena noted as she walked further into the room. “He didn’t even know about her showing.” She shook her head. “Thank you for jumping into action last night. While I know what to do, you did a hell of a lot better at staying calm than I did.”

Elijah huffed. “Maybe, calm on the outside, but on the inside there was a wide range of emotions I was feeling.”

“I don’t blame you.” Elena nodded. “She’s your soulmate. I’m sure Damon would have felt the same if it had been me. You were there for her. And that is what matters most.”

Before Elijah could say anything in return, Y/N had gasped as she sat up straight in the bed. A panicked look played on her face as Elijah moved out of his seat and over to her side. He sat down on the bed beside her, taking her hands in his.

“Easy, Y/N.” He said softly. He didn’t want his voice to be overpowering to her. “You’re okay. You’re safe.” He promised.

Y/N’s eyes searched Elijah’s face for a moment before she relaxed. The monitors she was attached to gave way that her heart beat was returning to normal. Her panicked breaths slowed as she looked around the room. Her mouth was dry as she tried to open her mouth to speak causing her mouth to close and a frown to form on her face.

Elijah shook his head slightly as he looked at Elena. “There’s a cup and pitcher, could you please pour her a glass.” Elijah hadn’t even finished speaking before Elena moved quickly doing as Elijah had asked. As she did, he looked back at Y/N, lifting his hand, he ran it along her cheek. “You’re in the hospital.”

Y/N huffed as she leaned into his touch. “Obviously.” Her voice was rough.

That caused a small smirk to pull at Elijah’s lips. As least, she was still herself even after waking up in an unfamiliar place. Elena walked over and held out the cup for Elijah to take. Instead, Y/N reached for it.

They both watched as she shakily brought the cup up to her lips and took a drink. The cold water felt like a haven to her at that moment. With how dry her mouth had been, she was thankful for the water.

“I’ll go let the doctor know she’s up.” Elena said giving Y/N a small smile and leaving the room.

“Thank you.” Elijah said as he looked over his shoulder at Elena before looking back at Y/N.

Once the cup was empty, she brought it down into her lap, prompting Elijah to take it from her. “What happened last night?” She asked looking up at him.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Elijah wanted to know what she knew. That way he could fill in what he could for her.

Y/N bit down at her lip as she thought about. “Dancing with Elena.” She said with a nod. “I was just about to call you over to dance when I felt something poke me.” She stopped as she tried to think of what happened after. “I felt sick, but I don’t remember anything after that.”

Elijah sighed as he leaned back slightly. “You were drugged. A quick application through a syringe. Elena said it probably happened when you were bumped into on the dance floor. By the time you made it a few steps, the drug was already taking affect. If Elena hadn’t been with you, I don’t know what would have happened.”

Y/N looked down at her hands at his words. Fear had coursed through her about what could have possibly happened. But before she could completely freak out, her eyes landed on the back of her hand.

Elena’s smudge writing had been on the back of it. It matched on Elijah’s as it held the cup in it. If Elena hadn’t been with you, I don’t know what would have happened. Elijah’s words played through her mind even though he had just said them moments before. Elena was the reason she wasn’t currently elsewhere.

That was when her mind clicked with something else. Looking up at Elijah, she shook her head slightly. “Your case. This is what you wanted to talk about.” Her eyes filled with tears as she realized what could have happened.

Before she had left the cabin with Elijah after their date, she remembered seeing the news article about the Soulmate Killer being caught. While Elijah gave very little information on the case, he told her that he was dealing with the man who had been caught.

“He’s innocent.” Elijah said with a nod as he brought his hand back up to her cheek to catch the tears that had begun falling. “We were already asking for video footage from the night the victim had been taken. We were able to pull some strings to get last night’s.”

“Were you able to see them?” She asked, hopeful. If they had been caught on camera, it would make her feel more relaxed.

Elijah nodded, even though his jaw clenched as he had. “We watched as it happened, but there is no clear shot of his face in any frame. Even with Lucien’s case. He was seen the same time the victim had been injected.”

Before anyone could say anything else, Elijah’s phone went off. He shook his head, hating the device in his pocket. It had been ringing all morning, and he wanted nothing more than to toss it out a window.

“You should get it.” Y/N said, encouraging him to take the call.

Sighing, he nodded, he finally answered the phone. “What is it, Finn?” Y/N laid back in the bed as she watched as he listened to what his brother had been saying. “She’s okay. They’re flushing her system of the drugs, but she’ll be okay.” It was the frown on his face that made Y/N raise her brow. “It can be put off until later.”

“If you need to go, you should go.” Y/N whispered catching his attention.

Elijah shook his head at her words and took a hold of her hand. “Have Freya handle it, at least until I get there.” He hung up the phone a moment later.

“Sounds like they need you.” She said giving him a smile.

“Yeah,” He lifted her hand and gently kissed it, right on top of Elena’s smudged message. “What happened last night gives the case everything we need to prove Lucien’s innocence. While they know I’d rather be here with you, it seems that other people require my prescence.”

“You should go.” Y/N said as she watched him. “I doubt I’m going to be let out of here any time soon. Since I was drugged, I’m pretty sure I’ll be confined to this bed until at least tomorrow.”

“That she will be.” Y/N’s doctor said as she walked in, giving Y/N a small smile. “That was a heavy dose they gave you.” She looked over at Elijah. “Mr. Mikaelson, I know that this will be a difficult time to leave your soulmate, but I’m going to need some time with my patient.”

Y/N chuckled. “See, gives you a reason to go take care of what you need to. I’ll be here when you come back.”

Elijah smiled at that. “I shouldn’t be too long.” He promised as he stood from the bed. “If you need anything, please do not hesitate to call or even take ink to skin.” He wanted her to know that even if he wasn’t there, he’d stop what he was doing to come back to her.

“I’ll be okay.” She said with a nod. Satisfied for now, Elijah nodded and leaned in to kiss her softly on her forehead. It caused Y/N to smile. “Go, before the doctor kicks you out and you can’t come back.”

That got a chuckle out of both Elijah and the Doctor. Elijah left moments after that. Though the whole time he walked out of her room and out of the hospital, he hated to do it.

_____

“How is she?” Freya asked the moment Elijah stepped into the conference room.

“Given the circumstances, she’s okay.” He said with a small smile pulling at his lips. “I can tell she’s a bit shaken up from it, but knowing she wasn’t taken was a relief for both of us.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine what that must have been like for you.” Finn said as he looked towards his brother.

His siblings were shocked to find out what happened from Klaus. While Elijah had tended to Y/N, Klaus kept his siblings in the loop. For the siblings that had soulmates, they had spent the night keeping their loved one close, not letting them out of their sights. To have something happen with work was one thing, for it to hit so close to home had them all on edge.

“For a moment I believe I felt every emotion and more in those moments.” Elijah explained as he placed all of his things down on the table in its usual place. “There was even a moment were guilt had filled me while seeing her in that hospital bed.” He looked over at his siblings. “She wouldn’t have been in this situation if we had not gone there last night. We had all the warnings and I did not give them.”

“Don’t do that to yourself.” Freya said as she walked over to him. “We were under the impression, the murder was caught. While Lucien’s alibi still hung in the balance, you had no reason to believe anything would happen last night. Y/N is safe, she was never left alone. You did everything right in that situation.”

Elijah ran his hands along his face. “In my mind all I can see is Elena’s message and getting there and finding Y/N in the state she was.” he shook his head. He hadn’t once let out his emotions to anyone. Y/N needed him more than finding an outlet, and he was willing to do that until the time was right. “It makes me want to call in every favor we have just to get this son of a bitch in.”

Finn walked over to him and placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “That’s what this meeting we’re about to go into is for. Freya called Mikael and he pulled some strings.” The words caused both Elijah and Finn to look over at Freya who had a worried look on her face. “DA dropped the charges against Lucien the moment she saw the footage.”

“This is no longer a case we’re on.” Freya said with a nod. “Which means we’ve went from layers to being family of another victim.”

Elijah understood what that meant. After the debriefing meeting, Elijah would be free to be by Y/N’s side until his next case. His siblings and as surprising it was to all of them, his own father knew the importance of keeping their soulmates safe. And Elijah wasn’t about to let his out of his sight until the murder was caught.

_____

As Elijah entered the room, he tried to stay as quiet as possible. The meeting went longer than he thought it would, causing him to return to the hospital right before visiting hours were over. After security made sure he was clear to stay with Y/N, he went as quickly as he could up to the room.

Upon entering her found Elena curled up in the uncomfortable chair he had been sitting in earlier that day. As he looked over at Y/N, he found her sound asleep. While she looked comfortable to an extent, he didn’t think any of the tubes around her were making her comfortable.

Walking over to Elena, he placed his hand on her shoulder to wake her. The moment Elena startled away, he held back a chuckle. “Your shift’s over.”

Elena relaxed at seeing Elijah and nodded. “Want the evening report?” She asked before a yawn took over.

He shook his head. “I think I’ve got an idea of it. Go home, get some sleep that’s not in a metal chair.”

“Oh I plan on it.” She said with a nod. “I don’t know how you’ll be able to sleep in that thing.”

Elijah chuckled. “I’ll manage.”

Elena grabbed her things and once she collected them, she looked over at Y/N before looking back over at Elijah. “She’s worried, you know.” That caught Elijah’s attention as he sat down in the chair Elena just got up from. “She wont say it out loud, but if you watch her, she’s scared. I had to stop her from going down a rabbit hole on the internet. Some of the things she found on there, it wasn’t good for her.”

Elijah nodded in understanding. He hadn’t been expecting Y/N to walk away from this unscathed. He knew there would be something that lingered with her. “It’s why we’ll be staying at the cabin until her showing.”

Elena nodded in return. “Damon’s driving out and will be here in the morning. Caroline is staying with your brother. And after last night, I’m a bit freaked out, so I’ll be staying with family that’s out here until Damon gets here.”

“We are all on edge. If you hadn’t been staying with family, I’d call one of my sisters and have them leave the door unlocked for you. They’re both a short ride from here.”

“Thanks.” Elena said with small smile. “Have her call me when she gets discharged tomorrow.”

“I will.” Elijah watched as Elena walked out of the room, the door closing softly behind her.

He turned his attention to Y/N and a sigh passed his lips. Standing, he moved the chair closer to the bed before sitting down once more. He leaned with his elbows on the bed and reached for her hand closest to him.

As he did, he found the same words he been surprised with while in his meeting written in the palm of her hand. It was a way for them to communicate without reaching for their phones.

Stop worrying, I’m doing okay.

While the words had been comforting at the time he happened upon them, he wasn’t sure if those words still applied for her. After what Elena had told him, he was even more worried about her. She may have been okay now, but there would be moments where she might not be.

The slight movement of Elijah’s thumb moving over her skin caused Y/N to stir slightly. A small smile pulled at Elijah’s lips as he watched her eyes open. A sleepy smile came from Y/N as she tightened her hold on Elijah’s hand.

“That was one hell of a meeting.” She mumbled.

He chuckled. “I must have tried leaving several times. I wanted nothing more than to come back to your side.”

“Will you be able to stay?” She asked.

He nodded. “All night. Preferably until they’ve been caught.”

A frown pulled at her lips. “I’m not staying in a hospital until then.”

He shook his head with a smile on his face. “No, I meant I’ll stay with you until they’ve been caught. If you’d like, we can stay over at the Cabin. I’ve just had my schedule cleared.”

Her eyebrow raised. “They took you off the case?”

He shook his head. “The case had been dismissed. My siblings offered to take the work load off my plate. If I remember my brother’s words correctly, he said ‘One shouldn’t be away from their soulmate in their time of need.’” He lifted their hands, and he kissed the back of hers. “I dont want to overstep boundaries, but I don’t know if I’d be able to just let you go back to your dorm without any kind of protection.”

She huffed a chuckle. “Believe it or not, having you by my side feels like the safest place to be at the moment. If you hadn’t asked, I probably would have asked.” She gave him a smile.

“And here I was, worrying that you’d say no.” He said with a grin pulling at his lips.

“I don’t think I could be alone after this.” She shook her head. “At least not for a while.”

He brought his free hand up and ran it along her cheek. “I give you my word you won’t ever be alone.”

The comfort of Elijah’s words were all Y/N needed. While her world had almost changed in a way she wasn’t sure she’d come back from, the comfort of knowing that he’d be there to help her made the dark thoughts go away. While they hadn’t known each other this time around for long, they both felt at peace with the other right there next to them. And that was how Y/N knew she would be able to move on from this.

Always & Forever Tag:

@taylordrunkonwhiskey @thewolf-and-thesheep @wayward-dan @neeadinghugs @fafulous @kenmen02 @elizamonet @dora-the-grownup @mschellehitt @xanderling @fandom-princess-forevermore @buckysarm4 @hi-my-name-is-riley @helenasingers @alka16555 @hellotvshowtrash

Painted Souls Tag:

@inmylifeilovedthemall​ @graciejunie​  @this-is-mycrisis​ @une-lueur-dans-la-nuit​ @violentmommabear42 @ignorantly-apathatic​  @carostar2020​ @shanty-lol​ @generallyclumsy​ @gwenawesomeness @x-memi12 @misunderstood-shadows​ @krazykatkay456​ @emilymarie105​ @insertcooluser55​ @firedancernix​ @tuliptx​ @kpoplover1306-depressedgirl315​ @giraffelover2309 @fading-mentality-boquet  @sincerelykay12​ @dpaccione​ @castofstrangerthings​ @twigstar18​ @colors-for-theworld-please @foreverlostindreams​ @petraballins​ @sorrowfulfragmentation​ @tattoedraven1022 @heartjoohoney​ @bitchingkeres​ @jemimah-b99​ @athenamikaelson​ @high-on-shai @we-dance-through-an-avalanche @lilipads @sagittarianwolf @gazzellifics

Bold tags mean for one reason or another I cannot tag you in this. If you would like to be added to, or taken off, the taglist please let me know. ♥

Stag Tag:  

@elejah-wonderland @xxsovereignsarayaxx @asiaaisa77 @astudyoftimeywimeystuff

#The Originals #The Vampire Diaries #Painted Souls #Painted Souls part 9 #Elijah Mikaelson x Reader #Reader insert #Klaus Mikaelson x Caroline Forbes #Elijah Mikaelson #Klaus Mikaelson #Elena Gilbert #Caroline Forbes #Soulmates AU #Elijah Mikaelson Soulmate Fic #Elijah Mikaelson imagines #Elijah Mikaelson fics #The Originals imagines #TVD #TO

[starssayhello]

Two Loves, One Heart

Fandom: Narnia, Edmund Pevensie x reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Masterlist

@finnofamerica​​ asked: Hi caroline! First of all, Congratulations 🎆🎉 second of all may I bug you for an Edmund x reader (for your celebration) with “If you love two people at the same time, choose the second because if you really loved the first one, you wouldn’t have fallen for the second.”?Love you!!

A/N: this was fun :)

Your mother always said, “If you love two people at the same time, choose the second because if you really loved the first one, you wouldn’t have fallen for the second.” While at the time it seemed to be good advice, you couldn’t help but think that her reasoning was a bit flawed. Now, however, you weren’t so sure.

You had been in a happy relationship with James for years now. The two of you grew up together, childhood best friends and neighbors. Your mothers always hoped the two of you would get together some day. And eventually you did. Being separated during the evacuations of London was tough on the two of you. You were both sent to places on the opposite ends of Britain, and it was the longest summer of your life. At your fifteenth birthday party, James kissed your cheek, and you began to see him in a slightly different way. At sixteen, you gave James a real kiss. You weren’t officially together, but everyone knew James loved you. You’re pretty sure you loved him too, yet sitting here with Edmund, you felt things you never felt with James.

A year at Professor Kirke's house with the Pevensies gave you the adventures you'd always dreamed of. Edmund and you became fast friends, being the closest in age. When you and the Pevensies went to Narnia, you became part of their family, so of course, going back to life in London was a huge adjustment. The four of them kept in touch with letters, but it wasn't the same. You still missed them immensely. 

During your weekly trip into the city, you never expected to come in contact with the Pevensies. Yet there you were in line to purchase your train ticket home when you heard someone call your name.

“Y/n!” You spun around and your eyes landed on a tall dark-haired boy walking towards you.

“Edmund!” You nearly dropped your bag as you ran over and threw your arms around him in a hug. “How are you? How are your siblings?”

He grinned and looked over to the other end of the station where the three other Pevensie siblings stood smiling. Edmund took your hand, a habit the two of you developed over your years in Narnia, and pulled you over to the others. “Y/n!” Lucy exclaimed, hugging you tightly. Many hugs were exchanged between the five of you and eventually, you made your way out of the station to a little park nearby. You figured your mother could live without you for another hour or two, and if she bothered to ask, you would tell her who you ran into.

It had been nearly a year and a half since last seeing the Pevensies. After returning to Narnia with them and reclaiming the land from the Telmarines, you and the Pevensies were once again separated. You kept in touch through letters, but it wasn’t the same. You lived with them for fifteen years, and not a day went by where you didn’t gossip with Susan, play games with Lucy, discuss life with Peter, or tease Edmund. Coming back to England left a hole in your heart.

The five of you talked for hours and hours, and it was only when the sun began to set that you realized how late it had gotten. “Look at that, it’s nearly sunset,” Susan commented.

“Never quite as beautiful as a Narnian sunset, are they?” Edmund nudged your shoulder, grinning. You shook your head in agreement. Many evenings found you and Edmund sitting on the western balcony of Cair Paravel waiting for the sunset. Now, every night you watched it out the window of your bedroom, you couldn’t help but imagine where Edmund was, if he was watching the sunset, thinking about you the way you thought about him.

You sighed as you looked at the time on your watch. “I better head home now. I’m sure Mum’s worried sick about me.” Peter chuckled.

“Us, too. Mum told us to be back before dark.” The five of you rose to your feet, brushing the dirt and grass from your pants and skirts.

“It was great to see you, Y/n,” Susan told you. “You’ll have to come to the city more often to visit.”

You nodded, your eyes catching on Edmund’s soft smile. “I come every Thursday. You’ll just have to come by the station so we can spend the day together.”

"That sounds wonderful." Lucy pulled everyone into a hug.

They walked you back to the station, Edmund holding your hand the entire way.

----

“James, we need to talk.” You knew those words never led to anything good, so you figured you might as well get it over with. After stewing for a few days about your encounter with the Pevensies, particularly Edmund, you realized that it wasn’t fair to James to continue your relationship. Not that there really was one to begin with, but it still felt wrong to continue leading him on when your heart belonged to someone else.

He sighed, moving over on the bench to allow you to sit. You had asked him to meet you at the park, a neutral area that left little room for negotiation since you could walk away at any moment. “I already know what you’re going to say, Y/n.”

“You do?”

James nodded. “You don’t think I’m right for you anymore.” You sat in silence for a moment, pondering his words. Slowly, you nodded. “It’s alright. I understand.” He stood up and offered you a hand. Pulling you into a hug, he whispered to you, “He’s a lucky guy.” Then James walked off, leaving you alone on the bench.

That night, you wrote to Edmund asking him to meet you at the station next Thursday. Please come alone, you requested. As much as you loved his siblings, this was a conversation you needed to have in private with Edmund.

Thursday morning rolled around quicker than you hoped, and suddenly, you found yourself on the train to London without a clue of what to say to Edmund. Thankfully, the words came easy once you found yourself standing in front of him.

“I ended things...with James.”

Edmund tilted his head, confusion written on his face. “Why?” You sighed, taking his hand and pulling him to a nearby bench.

“My mum always told me that if you love two people at the same time, choose the second because if you really loved the first one, you wouldn’t have fallen for the second. I did love James...once. Not anymore, though. Someone else has taken my heart, and I don’t want to take it back from them.” You looked up at Edmund, e/c eyes meeting his rich brown ones. “I don’t love James anymore because...because I love you, Edmund.”

Edmund’s eyes widened, his lips parting in surprise. Then the biggest smile you had ever seen spread across his face. “I love you, too, Y/n.” You let out a happy gasp as his hands reached up to cup your face, and he pulled your lips to his.

The kiss was slow and sweet. You didn’t need to rush because you knew in that moment that Edmund wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon. Your fingers wrapped around his tie, pulling him closer. When your lips finally parted, Edmund pressed his forehead to yours, eyes partly closed, a soft smile on his face.

“That was wonderful,” he murmured. You nodded, a grin falling over your mouth.

“I love you, Ed.”

“I love you, Y/n. I’m glad your heart chose me.”

A/N: sorry for the lame ending, I had no clue how to finish it.

#edmund pevensie x reader #edmund pevensie one shot #edmund pevensie drabble #edmund pevensie imagine #edmund pevensie fanfiction #edmund pevensie fanfic #narnia x reader #narnia one shot #narnia drabble #narnia imagine #narnia fanfiction #narnia fanfic #starssayhello #portkeys and prose #storiesbycaroline

[justjessame]

Glorious, Before the Burden - The Sanctuary ~ 5

I couldn’t help - once we finally managed to pull ourselves free from the bubble we would forever be able to create around one another and force ourselves to leave the cottage to forage for food in the village proper - glancing up at my husband’s profile looming above me.  As familiar to me as my own, but now with the sharper angles of age, wisdom, and - with the painful tug of loss that twisted inside of me that I knew he too felt deeply - grief, he also bore a hint of the unknown and strange.  

“You know that I can actually FEEL it when you sneak those glances, don’t you?”  My teeth met my lower lip to hold back a peal of laughter.  “I swear, your eyes hold as much heat as your body.”  

“Keep talking like that,” he tugged on our linked hands and pulled me ever closer, forcing that laugh I’d been keeping prisoner from him to escape.  “We’ll never make it to the village and we’ll starve.”  He growled, or perhaps it was a groan - both actually - and shook his head as he stole a lingering kiss that promised us both a greater treat than any sweet thing I could find in any shop on any realm.  

Our first stop, since I wanted to show off my gorgeous husband and introduce him, while also finding out how Michael was - was the bookshop.  A part of me feared that the village would have been dealt heavy damage from Thanos’ Snap - that the people I’d come to grow so fond of would have been rendered gone - as gone as our, but those thoughts would do us no good.  

Opening the door after taking a deep breath, Caroline saw me before I had a chance to see her - or rather she noticed Loki first. 

“My but you’re a tall one,” I giggled and her eyes fell to me.  “Praise be,” she came out from behind the counter and pulled me into a crushing hug.  “Michael told us that you were fine, that you were simply away taking care of your own business, but -” she was sighing and relaxing as she held me and swayed.  “All that alien nonsense, we were lucky, but the rest of the world wasn’t -” she pulled back and her smile was tinged with sadness.  “Thank goodness you’re back and looking so well.”  Loki was standing next to me and she took note of it.  “I’m guessing that he might be a reason for that blush on your cheeks.”  

“A little,” a wink and her grin grew.  “Caroline, I’d like you to meet my husband, Thomas.”  Loki held out his hand and she took it easily enough, making me think that she didn’t equate him with New York at all.  “Tom and I,” his free arm wrapped around me and pulled me close.  “Well, we’ve moved back to -”

“To forget to call your grandfather,” Michael’s voice chimed from the doorway.  “Come here,” I turned and saw him grinning with the sunlight glowing around him like a halo.  “Come give this old man a hug, Margaret.”  

Pulling free of Loki and Caroline, I was wrapped up in Michael’s warmth - more familial and paternal than the parents who raised me, than He Who Remains, more even than Frigga and Odin - letting him soothe me in a way that not even my husband could after the pain and loss of our realm, people, and yes - our little one.  

“Shhh,” he hushed me, while his embrace felt less restrictive and far more comforting than Caroline’s crush had, his face pressed into my hair.  “I know, I know.”  And somehow, some way, I knew he did.  

We - Loki, Michael, and I - had lunch in a quiet place that I loved, which I knew from experience would allow for some discretion while we spoke.  

“It’s gone?” His eyes had gone wide as we waited for our food, Loki - whom he had no issue calling Tom and didn’t actually show signs of flinching even though I knew he saw past any illusion my husband was casting - had told him about Asgard.  I couldn’t. Not when the loss of our home and people was so closely aligned to the loss of our son.  

Michael sat back.  Taking in the idea that an entire realm - one of the Nine, if you only went by Asgardian legend, but he knew that there were far other planets, timelines, and on and on it went - could be erased.  Even after what he knew Thanos had done, what he had witnessed, knowing that Asgard could so easily be wiped away was something terrible and hard to process.  We could commiserate.  

“Yes,” Loki nodded, pulling his hands back when our server returned with our food.  “Thank you,” he offered to the young man, and I smiled as Michael took note of his manners.  Waiting until we were alone once more, he noticed that neither of us were taking up our utensils.  “What? Have I done something improper?”  

“Not at all,” I assured him, touching his hand gently.  “I think you surprised Michael with your lovely manners, darling.”  Winking at him with a grin, I turned back to my own lunch.  “Asgard is gone,” eyes on my plate, I sighed.  “And this is home to me, or it was at a very dark point.”

It was Michael’s turn to reassure me, again.  A soft touch on my hand, but I didn’t look up.  “It’s still your home, Sigyn.  Always.”  Swallowing down the pain of memory, why I’d been in this very village before, and why we were back - I waited for it to pass.  “I’m guessing this isn’t going to be a short stay?”  

“No,” Loki answered for us.  “No, not a short stay.”  His fingers met my other hand, and for once I had someone on both sides offering comfort and strength.  “We plan on making this our home for the rest of our lives.  If -”

“If?” Michael’s tone was laced with curiosity and challenge.  “If what precisely?”  

“If you’ll have us,” my eyes rose, finally willing to meet his again.  “I know that my husband’s past isn’t easily forgiven and that my loyalty to him isn’t easily understood -”

Michael studied me - us - for a few moments.  “I don’t know your husband,” my throat tightened painfully.  “I know you.  If you trust and love him, then I’m more than willing to give him a chance.”  The air felt like it might be coming back into the room, but he wasn’t through yet.  “However, if you go back to your former ways -” his gaze seemed to burn into Loki’s.  “I’ll not have a single issue with calling up those twats that run amok in her garden, do you understand?”  

“Absolutely,” Loki agreed, and somehow our lunch continued on.  

Michael insisted on taking us, and our shopping, back to the cottage.  He seemingly couldn’t get his fill of time in our company - mine, Loki corrected when we arrived home.  We restocked the pantry while showing Loki around, introducing him and refamiliarizing myself with the village and the people who had shown me so much hospitality when I lived among them before.  

He came inside with us, and admitted that he’d kept my cottage from growing into disrepair while I was away - even with the aura of magic that I’d added, some cracks of age were bound to push their way through.  

“Made sure I kept it aired out,” he sighed, sitting down in his spot and gladly accepting a cup of tea.  “Just in case, you know.”  

“Just in case she popped back in?” Loki was teasing, light and easy, and it eased whatever lingering tension attempted to creep back in.  “We’re lucky you thought to do it,” he pulled me onto his lap, having taken my chair for his own once I brought the tea back for Michael.  “Thank you.”  

Michael was back to studying us, how we interacted and how Loki - since he KNEW me- behaved around me.  “You aren’t much like you were in New York, are you?”  

I waited for it - for Loki to stiffen.  For anger, or shame to rear its ugly head and for his sharp tongue to snap lash out and draw blood.  Yet it didn’t happen.  Instead he sighed, quietly, and then moved his head so that his face was closer to mine, inhaling in my scent - it seemed to give him strength.  

“New York seems a lifetime ago,” voice quiet, reflective.  “I’ve tried to push it to the past, to act as if it wasn’t me at all.”  His arms, the embrace that I’d grown so used to grew a touch tighter.  “It was like a fever - and as a Frost Giant, a fever is incredibly dangerous to my thought processes.”  I listened, curious and enthralled.  Loki hadn’t truly discussed it with me, I hadn’t brought it up.  Better, I thought, to rush forward instead of pulling it apart to learn from it.  “The idea of Asgard’s throne, a throne I’m sure Sigyn told you I’d been brought up to think I had every right to, it never honestly pulled at me.  Not until -” He shifted slightly and sighed.  “We married and as I said, it became like a sickness.  The throne, ruling over our people as King in Odin’s place.”  

He was right, I realized.  Loki hadn’t shown a single urge to rule until we wed, then as I started fearing that we weren't having luck at becoming parents, he started to obsess about becoming ruler.  

“Thor, my brother, being chosen over me was a blow that cut me far deeper than it should have.”  I heard the pain of their reconciliation and now the loss of not being able to rekindle it in his words.  “It grew, the heat of it, the fever.  Thanos,” Michael’s eyebrows shot up on his forehead and Loki nodded.  “Yes, Thanos was the one who backed my bid for Earth’s downfall.  It was madness.  A fevered madness that I couldn’t seem to fight.  It’s not an excuse, truly it isn’t.  I’m simply telling you why I don’t seem like I did in New York.”

Michael sat on the information for a moment while I did the same.  

I never considered that Loki might have been infected by something foreign, some illness, but it made sense.  Not from a standpoint that I needed to give him an excuse so I could love him - I loved him regardless.  It had never made sense to me that he had become so insistent on being King, on ruling in Odin’s place - even before the Allfather was ready to step aside - and even when he’d been jealous of Thor’s attention to me, he NEVER faltered in his affection for his brother.  The rage he’d felt when Odin chose Thor - the rage he felt when he wasn’t made ruler - it made little sense then.  

And he was correct.  A fever in a Frost Giant would do horrible things to their bodies and minds.  Burning from within, the havoc would be indescribable.  It would render any chance of Frigga or me pulling him free from the clutches of madness useless.  

“I think having Sigyn with you makes a difference too,” Michael broke past my puzzle breaking.  “Of course, I think she could calm the most savage among us.”  

Loki chuckled and held me closer.  “On that we most certainly agree.” 

#loki #loki x sigyn #loki series #alternate universe #after avengers end game #mention of smut

[abibliophobiaa]

Beyond Chapter Five Preview

series masterlist

modern day!rich!fake husband!steve harrington x afab!reader. 

💍

“You sent too much money.”

It’s your father’s voice that spills down the other line. Gruff in a way that alerts you your fears aren’t for naught, as he’s likely had many a sleepless night since you last spoke. You recall days as a child, when your mother had been sick, and your father would stay awake all hours of the night, if only to clean up the house so she didn’t have to. To make sure that her worries were only meant to be on getting better and resting.

“I…have a business and it’s going well,” you explain, chewing on your bottom lip.

Across the room, Steve’s fluffing pillows and putting a champagne bottle on ice. Your guests will be here soon, likely within the next few minutes, though when your father’s name flashed across your screen you knew you needed to answer.

“Only a few clients now, but I’m hopeful I’ll pick up more,” you continue, exhaling deeply. “I want you to have it. I know Caroline mentioned needing new shoes. Please let me do this.”

There’s a long pause. “Okay, okay. I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. Clinical year at school, newly married, and now a businesswoman. How is my son-in-law?”

“He’s…”

Steve rushes into the kitchen where you’re standing, hands curling around either of your hips to shift you away from the refrigerator so he can pull out the charcuterie board you had commissioned for the evening’s gathering.

“He’s really great. He’s been busy since we got back from our honeymoon, but he’s doing really well.”

Ever since your moment days ago in the kitchen, after Steve had pushed aside picking you up and opted to send Hopper in his stead, your relationship has taken new form. True to his word, Steve started a new habit of not answering his phone after you're done with your clinicals for the evening. Afternoons now had been spent watching your shows together on nights you didn’t have prior engagements with his coworkers, merely existing in the same room together, becoming…friends.

Literal friends, in the truest sense of the word. And it’s more than you can ask for, though you can’t lie that even the slightest touches leave you a little breathless. There’s also the kisses to the back of your hand at dinner, the way he curls his palm around the top of your thigh while his coworkers regale a particularly interesting story, the lingering press of his mouth against your forehead when he’s feeling especially doting in mixed company.

Progress.

You’re making progress.

“I actually should go and help him. We have company this afternoon. His cousin and wife are visiting us for the first time since the wedding. Still getting used to hosting gatherings as a couple, you know?” There’s a chuckle on the other end, and you know him well enough to imagine the slow shake of his head. “I love you so much and I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

The line clicks, leaving you to witness Steve elbow deep in the sink, washing your coffee mugs from earlier that morning. Your eyes slide to the perfectly operational dishwasher on his right side, though you can’t deny that the sight of your husband, bare arms shifting and moving as he works, is a lovely one. None the wiser of your ogling, you step forward to him, elbow leaning down against the counter.

“You know, the dishwasher is empty,” you point out.

“I am perfectly capable of cleaning a few dishes,” he grouses, rinsing a cup and settling it in the drying rack. “I also need to keep moving. Getting antsy now that they’re running late.”

“Hey, Steve?” You step closer, your front brushing his hip. He shakes his head as you do so, a laugh breaking free from his mouth as you grip his arms and still him in his frantic movements. “Put the sponge down. And the plate. The fork, too.”

The three items plunk down into the sink, a loud clatter in your otherwise silent home. Fingers curl around a hand towel and he reaches over to grasp his wedding ring, pushing it back into place against his knuckle. One thing you’ve found, and you particularly enjoy, is the fact Steve’s never taken off his ring. Not once. Even under the false pretenses of marriage, seeing him wearing a symbol of your union, of the vows you shared some time ago now, erupts dozens of bees into your bloodstream. Humming, buzzing, igniting your every nerve ending with electricity.

“Are you okay,” you ask, hand coming to rest against his back.

It’s the softest brush, and yet he turns his head all the same, hazel eyes meeting yours, and then trailing up the inside of your arm to where you’re touching.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he says unconvincingly, shifting to face you now. That arm drops as he does so, but is replaced by his two large hands cupping your biceps softly. His thumbs brush idle patterns against your warm skin. Back and forth, like a metronome meant to ease. “Just want to get through this afternoon and then I’ll be much happier.”

Your mouth opens to speak, to ask him why the stress over this afternoon, when his phone rings and the doorman lets him know Theobald and Cami have finally arrived.

-

-

#lunalovessteve #Steve Harrington x you #Steve Harrington x reader #modern day!au #fake husband!steve harrington #steve harrington modern au #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x female reader

[thetourguidebarbie]

Not sure if you're taking prompts but I know I'll forget... Caroline makes assumptions about Klaus and compulsion, klaus is dispointed and thinking maybe she doesn't know him as well as he thought. Happy ending.

This has a lot of rape mentions, and it explores a topic that I’ve wanted to for a while (Katherine basically admitting to raping Stefan). That means this is not a Katherine friendly fic. You’ve been warned. Happy kc though, obviously!

---

"Ugh, this is exhausting," Caroline muttered to herself, flipping through her latest pick out of Klaus's collection of old grimoires and closing it with a soft thump and resting her head on her arms, trying to resist the urge to bang her forehead on the table.

Though witches aged much slower than normal humans,, Bonnie had begun to steadily show signs of it. She'd complained about having to get her roots done about four months ago, and Caroline couldn't seem to get it out of her brain. Even though she was acutely aware that Bonnie could be killed by external forces, she'd somehow forgotten that mortals died just from passing years. Caroline was growing desperate to find a way to keep her friend alive without taking away her powers.

She'd pestered Klaus for the last few weeks to use his connections, and though he'd called a few witches they'd either come up with nothing or refused to admit they had ideas. It was frustrating her that of all the problems she'd tackled over the years, this seemed to be the one that she was finding most difficult to solve. She was running out of options, and even though they had years until Bonnie died, Klaus had spent a thousand years breaking one curse, so an early start wouldn't hurt.

She pulled the next grimoire over and tried to figure out if she should get a snack. Elijah's eyes seemed to twitch whenever he caught her eating in the library, but he was off on some sort of trip with Katherine, and she'd definitely clean it up by the time he got back.

Mind made up, she went to the kitchen, frowning when she saw Klaus bent over the kitchen table and staring at his glass of blood as though it had deeply offended him. "What's wrong?"

He looked up at her, his dimples showing, though his smile was weaker than usual. "Nothing, love."

"Sounds like a lie, but we don't have to talk about it," Caroline said, plopping down beside Klaus and kissing him on the cheek, tangling her fingers with his. "How was your morning?"

"Fine, other than my half-empty bed when I woke," he said, somehow adding an edge underneath his light tone, and she winced.

Oh.

"I'm sorry. I know I've been busy with the whole Bonnie thing."

It hadn't occurred to her that Klaus would feel neglected while she dove head-first into research, but it shouldn't have surprised her. They'd been joined at the hip for a few decades now, and he wasn't used to her taking on projects without him.

"I understand how important it is to you," he said, and it was only said decades of being with him that helped her detect the forced element in his reassurance. She doubted he was lying, but she could admit that she'd kind of ignored him for a week or two other than when she asked him for help, assuming that he'd just take the time to do other things.

"Yeah, but you're important to me too."

"I should hope so," he teased, apparently reassured, the genuine smile he directed at her making her warm. "And I might have a lead, if you're interested."

"Of course!"

"I think you should ask Katerina for help."

"Katherine? Why?"

"She was a witch before she was a vampire, and her coven specialized in necromancy and other similar arts. Perhaps she'll know a thing or two about de-aging?" 

"She's out of town, though," Caroline pointed out, already mentally calculating how many grimoires she could go through before Katherine returned.

She automatically tipped her head to the side when Klaus bent to press a kiss to her neck, his hand squeezing hers. "Then we have time for you to have a break before she gets back, hmm?"

"I guess I can't fault your logic," she teased, twisting to kiss him, remembering how much she craved him as soon as his hands tugged her waist to pull her closer. "A break sounds good."

---

Katherine had looked slightly surprised when Caroline brought her Bonnie problem up, though she recovered quickly, her lips twisting into a grimace. "Honestly, I've tried to forget everything to do with my family, but for you and not getting murdered by your boyfriend, I'll try."

"Thanks," Caroline said, the tension flowing out of her. "I really, really appreciate it."

"Don't mention it," Katherine said grumpily, following Caroline to the library and sitting down at the table, which was covered in books. She raised her eyebrows. "You've been busy."

"Yeah, I've kind of been working on it for a while."

"I can see that," Katherine said dryly. "Well, lucky for you I have a few ideas. I  think you should at least consider the possibility of moving Bonnie to a younger body. It would solve all your problems."

"I don't know..." Caroline said slowly, knowing that Bonnie would never go for stealing someone else's body, and honestly Caroline wasn't all that comfortable with it either. She knew what it was like to have her body feel like it belonged to someone else, to have her own reactions and thoughts dependent on someone else's willingness to let her have them. Body jumping grossed her out to the nth degree. "It might be a good place to start in terms of research, but I don't think Bonnie will be okay with that."

"Why not?" Katherine asked, frowning.

Sometimes it was hard for Caroline to remember that Katherine's general attitude towards life involved doing what was best for her and would reach her goals at all times, damn the consequences to other people. She was willing to throw anyone under the bus to achieve her aims, including the people she loved, but especially people she didn't. "Because it's awful for the person that you're doing it to. You're taking away their agency. It's a violation."

Katherine shrugged. "Yeah, but Bonnie would be alive."

"I don't think I could do that to someone," Caroline said. "Just like, steal their life. And I doubt Bonnie would either."

"Listen, cupcake," Katherine drawled, and Caroline bristled at the condescending tone. "I've been around the block a few times. Sometimes you need to break a few eggs to make an omelette. Or you can just egg a car for fun. Why not live a little?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

"Well, I didn't strictly have to compel you to get my job done in Mystic Falls, but it was easy and gave me some leverage, and you were kind of fun to work with, other than when you locked me in a room to try to kill me."

"Yeah, I'm not sorry about that."

"I get why you did it," Katherine said with a shrug. "All I'm saying is that when you've lived as long as I have, humans are a means to an end. I grew up back when women weren't considered people and living for a few hundred years while your boyfriend tried to kill me wasn't exactly a walk in the park. It would have been impossible if I hadn't taken advantage of more than a few of them along the way."

"Taken advantage?" Caroline asked slowly, a horrible feeling building in her gut. She knew that Katherine was a murderer, but she'd always written it off as them having different philosophies and her needing to kill to stay alive. Caroline understood using people to save the ones she loved. She had never considered that Katherine might have done more than murder, though, that she seemed to consider humans animals, not worthy of respect or consideration.

"Sure. I had them get things for me or seduce their way into court. I couldn't do everything myself. I needed some help."

"You compelled people to seduce people?" Caroline asked, a bit sick to her stomach. "Couldn't you have just compelled your way in?"

"Again, easier. More fun. Sometimes I'd go with. Vampire libido is a bitch."

"That's horrible!"

"Oh don't act like you've never been tempted."

"I haven't, actually."

"Well, you can ask Stefan how he feels about it if you're so worried. Sure, it started as compulsion but he didn't stop being in love with me after he was turned." 

"You compelled Stefan to be in love with you?" Caroline asked, trying not to physically jerk back from Katherine, feeling a little nauseated. She'd been friends with Katherine (sort of) for decades, had let her hang out in her bedroom and talk about their lives. They'd gone shopping together, gone on vacations... She knew Katherine wasn't a great person, that she'd killed people and manipulated them and used them for her own ends, but she'd never expected her to be a rapist. It hadn't squared with who she knew.

"Didn't he tell you?" Katherine asked, either not picking up on Caroline's revulsion or mistaking it for general disapproval. "He spent the first few months I was in Mystic Falls harping on and on about it..."

"Of course he did. You abused him," Caroline burst out. "What the hell, Katherine?"

She could remember Stefan's general dislike of Katherine, how he'd seemed to be genuinely scared for her, how he didn't want her near his brother or Elena. She'd thought it was because Katherine was older and therefore stronger, but maybe that wasn't it. The clues were all adding up now.

She vaguely remembered Stefan mumbling something about Katherine giving him dreams after they'd been locked in the cave together, though she hadn't asked too much about the content even though she'd wanted to. She'd worried it was too private or that she'd find out something she hadn't wanted to know. He'd been enormously paranoid for weeks after Katherine had pretended to be Elena, and that had seemed reasonable at the time for Elena's safety, but Caroline suddenly wondered if it was because he was disgusted that Katherine had tried to touch him again. 

A part of her, a big part, would never forgive Stefan for letting Damon abuse her, even if she'd justified it to herself as Stefan either not knowing how bad it was or thinking that it would only be for a short time. Now though, she wondered if he'd felt helpless or didn't know how to approach the subject. It was still unforgivable, but maybe more understandable? 

And now she was being so casual about it, like it wasn't a big deal at all. How could she think that? Or maybe to her it wasn't? Maybe this was how all vampires felt? That humans were lesser and theirs for the taking. It might make sense because a lot of them grew up in a time when that kind of violation was accepted as standard and could always be explained away as long as the person with more power had been the perpetrator, but that didn't make it any less wrong.

After all, Klaus had grown up in an era where women weren't people, and he'd seemed fine, right?

She felt her heart stop in her chest, her eyes growing wide. What if he wasn't? What if she was in bed with... she swallowed, trying to push the thought away, but she knew it would bother her until she addressed it, and she wasn't sure whether she could wait.

Well, really, she was sure that she couldn't wait, that she couldn't spend another single minute not knowing whether she'd unknowingly fallen in love with someone who did things that made her skin crawl.

"I have to go," Caroline said flatly, not bothering to thank Katherine for her help and speeding across the house, knocking on the door to Klaus's studio. She didn't smile when he opened it, her eyes filling with tears the second she saw him. All she wanted was for him to hug her and reassure her that he wasn't that kind of monster. "Hey."

"I see that Katerina was less than helpful?" he half-asked, pulling her into his arms. She stiffened but couldn't help but melt after a few moments, her eyes closing as she buried her face in his shoulder. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"I have a question," she said, swallowing and closing her eyes, taking a deep shaky breath. "And I need you to answer truthfully, okay? No matter what you think I'll think. Can you promise me?"

"Of course," he said without hesitation. "Well, I suppose I should amend that. I'll never lie to you, Caroline. I can't guarantee that I can answer any question."

Good enough.

"Katherine told me that she compelled Stefan to love her when he was human," Caroline said slowly, sitting down on the couch against the wall that she occasionally posed on. Klaus sat beside her, seeming to realize that this was more serious than he'd thought. "And I...did you?"

He frowned, though he seemed to know where she was going with it considering the wary look on his face. "Did I what, sweetheart?"

"Have you ever...you know. Compelled someone?"

"I've compelled many people," he said dryly. "Though I assume what you want to know is whether I've compelled anyone for sex?"

"Yeah," she admitted, suddenly not wanting to know in case he had.

"No," he said bluntly. "Never."

Caroline took a deep, shaky breath. "Okay. Good."

"Did you really think so low of me?" he asked softly, tapping his finger under her chin to get her to look at him. He looked hurt, though he was doing a good job of not lashing out.

"No. No, I just...after Katherine I felt like I had to check, you know?" she asked before continuing in a rush. "Because I can't let that happen to me again. I can't...if you'd been...It wasn't about you, Klaus. It was about me."

"Again?" he whispered, his eyes flashing gold. "What do you mean 'again', Caroline?"

"I mean, you know what Damon did, right?"

"I recall him doing many ill-advised things," Klaus said dryly. "Can you refresh my memory?"

"When I was human, he compelled me."

"To spy, correct?"

"And to use me as a blood bag," Caroline said, taking a deep breath before continuing. "And, you know, to sleep with me."

"Beg pardon?"

"I mean, I was so scared after he showed me what he was. When I woke up the next morning, I tried to leave, but he wouldn't let me. I threw a lamp at him and he just laughed."

"Caroline..."

"And then everyone just let him. They let him do that to me. Stefan knew and he just...he did nothing. Elena and Bonnie didn't do anything either. They used me to try to vervain Damon. They had me drink it to poison him. And after Damon compelled me to not be scared and to let him...you know...he told me that when he was done with me he'd kill me. And I was screaming inside but I couldn't say anything but yes. It was like my brain was yelling at me to be scared and to scream and run, but I felt myself giggle and my arms just went around him and, ugh. It was vile and horrific and terrible and I can't even think about it without wanting to lock all the doors in the house and curl up under a blanket, and it's been fifty years."

"I didn't know," Klaus said quietly. 

"I guess I didn't want you to," Caroline admitted, squeezing her eyes shut. "I mean, not consciously. I always told myself that it just never came up, but I just couldn't say it. I guess I thought that you'd think..."

"I'd think?" he prompted after she trailed off.

"I don't know. That I was stupid to go home with him the first time? Or like, that it was my fault? Because you're so old and back in ye olden days women were property and only existed to pop out babies and it didn't matter what the thought."

"Have I ever made you feel like that?"

"No," she said vehemently, shaking her head. "No. You've never made me feel like that. But I was worried that you had before. To someone else."

"I prefer that my lovers choose to come to me," Klaus said easily. "And it's a rather strong preference. One I've never ignored. Occasionally they took some coaxing, especially the men, but I've never compelled myself a lover, nor have I taken one who didn't ask."

"Okay."

"The chase used to be my favorite part, you see," he said before giving her a dimpled grin. "Until I met you, and then I decided to convince you to stay. I'm rather fond of you, you see."

"You fancy me?" she teased, though her tone was still a bit watery.

"More every day," he said, giving her the kind of smile he saved for when they were alone.

"Sap."

"For you. Feel better, love?"

"A little. I still kind of never want to see Katherine's face again though, to be honest."

"She'll move out," Klaus said simply. "Elijah will have to make his own arrangements."

"Okay," she said, swallowing. "Thanks."

"If you need anything, all you have to do is ask, Caroline. I should hope the last two decades taught you that."

"Sometimes I still don't believe it," she admitted, laying her head on his chest so that she wouldn't have to look at him while she spoke her insecurities aloud. "That you love me, I mean."

"Perhaps I'll have to make a point of showing it more," he murmured. "But know that I do, Caroline."

She let him pull her closer, and she buried her face in his shoulder, humming contentedly. They fell into an easy silence, though she could practically feel that he was deep in thought even as he played with her hair and fiddled with the hem of her top.

He broke the silence after a few minutes, his tone carefully light, though she could hear the danger beneath. "Damon's alive."

She sighed, having known this was coming. "He is."

"Do you want him to be?"

She considered his question. She'd had more than a few revenge fantasies, honestly, but she wasn't sure how she'd feel about acting on them. She'd never been fond of killing people just because she wanted to, but this was a special case, right?

"No," she said. "I don't."

"I can take care of that for you. Unless you'd like to do it yourself?"

"I don't want to see him. Ever again."

"I'll arrange for it to be done, then," Klaus said. "I'll see to it personally."

"Okay."

"And your friends?" he asked, the last word almost sarcastic. She bristled.

"What about them?"

"They let this happen."

"Why do you think I haven't talked to Elena or Stefan in years?"

"But the Bennett witch. You're sure that you want to pour all of your energy into saving her life when she did nothing to--"

"Don't, Klaus. Please."

He was quiet for a moment before he swallowed audibly. "I apologize. I simply...I'll do whatever you need, Caroline. Whatever you decide."

"We worked through it a long time ago," Caroline said after a few seconds of thinking through how she wanted to say it. "Bonnie was just trying to do the right thing. She's apologized, and I know that if she could go back in time and change it, she would. That's enough for me, and I need it to be enough for you too. Okay?"

He nodded once. "Whatever you want, love."

She smiled slightly. "Thanks. Any luck with the non-Katherine sources?"

"I'll keep looking," Klaus promised. "Was this conversation with Katerina a result of a conversation about transferring Bonnie's soul into another body?"

"Yeah. And I don't want to. It's wrong."

"Human science has come a long way in the past few decades," Klaus pointed out. "I think there may be a similar solution."

"Really?" Caroline asked, sitting up to look at him more easily. "What?"

"Cloning," Klaus said simply. "We can pay a surrogate. We certainly have the money to. We'll put her new body in a protected chamber under a sleeping spell. Once it's physically grown, we'll transfer Bonnie's soul. No life taken away, no bodies violated. She keeps her magic."

"Klaus," Caroline breathed, her eyes widening. "That's an amazing idea."

"Thank you, sweetheart. I do try."

She pecked him on the lips. "I love you."

"And I, you."

"And I'm sorry for doubting you," she said more quietly. "I know you're not that kind of person, but--"

"But you had to make sure. Do your thorough research," Klaus teased, reaching to tuck a curl behind her ear. "I understand."

"Thanks."

"Not at all."

#klaroline #klaroline drabbles #klaroline drabble #klaroline fanfiction #mydrabbles #paigemarie007 #ask #answer

[imaginingsoftly]

Support - Tyson Jost

Type: established relationship

Requested: Yes!

Warnings: death

(Y/N = Your name)

A/N: Uses the song Waters, by JJ Shiplett. Anon, I’m so sorry at how sad this turned out. It was gonna be campy and cute, and then that song came on and sent me in a totally different direction. I cried a few times while writing, not gonna lie. 

It happened every time you and Sammy got together. Somebody would break out a guitar, and suddenly you and Sammy were singing while the other guys tried (and failed) to sing along. Tonight it was a little more somber than you were planning to get; it was a year since Caroline had died, and Sammy had begun the opening notes of her favorite song. The three of you had been inseparable since childhood, the three terrors of your little neighborhood. 

He glanced up at you in a silent question, and you nodded slowly in response. The rest of the guys were oblivious to the silent exchange, and you leaned a little bit more heavily into Tyson, steeling yourself to sing her song. 

Into your stream,

Where you led me time before

You felt Tyson clutch your hand. Even if the rest of the guys didn’t know what this song was for, he knew, and he knew much she had meant to you and Sammy. He’d been the one to sit with you for hours after you got the call, holding your hair back when you cried so hard that you got sick and he had to remind you how to breathe. Caroline was one of your oldest friends, second only to Sammy, and the two of you had held each other up when he’d been drafted and suddenly three became two. She’d been the one to swear that the two of you would make it out of Quebec too. You had been fine in Roberval, happy even, but she was the one with too much ambition. She had so many plans, each of them more reckless and wild than the last, and then suddenly her body betrayed her. She got incredibly sick, and the vibrant friend that was always the last to leave a party suddenly couldn’t leave her house without turning more pale than the books she had loved so much. Watching her go from lively Caroline to a living skeleton had been harder than her actual death. She had been almost unrecognizable in her coffin, a once full face that was always smiling slimmed down to skin and bones with far too many worry lines for a 20-year-old.

Into your calm,

That storms out like a cannon ball

Memories flashed like a movie in front of you as Sammy’s voice blended with yours, and it was almost like Caroline was there with you. You practically feel her sitting next to you, and it was almost like it was her arm slung across your shoulders instead of EJ’s. You could hear the sweetness of her voice, the way it blended so well with your own raspiness and Sammy’s rich timbre, back when the three of you would take the long way home just to sing together in the car. You could practically smell her perfume mixed with those damn cigarettes she insisted on smoking, no matter how much you and Sammy had tried to convince her to stop. 

The guys and their significant others had frozen in their seats, and you could tell they were finally beginning to understand that this song meant more to you and Sammy than any of the others you’d sung that night. They were exchanging glances with each other, though you saw them stop when Landy made eye contact with Tyson and he shook his head slightly. They all sat silently and watched you and Sammy celebrate your friend together, and you could see grief starting to rise in some of their eyes. It was that kind of song, really, a sort of mourning song. 

So when I die, don't you bury me in the ground

Sammy’s eyes were glistening with tears when you looked at him again, and you stopped fighting your own, letting them fall down your cheeks. It was healing, to sing this song, and for the first time since she’d died singing felt good. Tyson was rubbing soothing circles on your back as you cried through the song, fighting the lump in your throat as it threatened to swallow your voice. It was like losing her all over again. This song had always been a celebration of life for Caroline. You could still remember her joking that it was really just a euphemism for sex, and you’d agreed with her until tonight. Tonight it felt like a mourning song, and it felt like it was written for you and Sammy. 

If Sammy had been persistence, and you had been calm, Caroline was spontaneity. She would have loved this, loved that you and Sammy sang for your friends like this. She had always been the one to insist that the three of you sing for people, and she was the first person to grab a microphone during karaoke night. She probably would have been sprawled next to Cale, telling him increasingly dirty jokes just to see how red his cheeks could get. 

To your waters

Where I will finally rest

You relaxed fully into Tyson as you and Sammy finished singing, and he gently wiped your tears away. Matt threw an arm around Sammy’s shoulders, and Sammy laid his head on the older man’s shoulder. Several people were wiping tears out of their eyes, and the circle had gone entirely quiet. You felt utterly exhausted. The song and the tears had taken everything out of you, and Tyson appeared to get that as he helped you to your feet and hugged EJ, thanking him for the party. EJ tucked you into his side, kissing the top of your head with a whispered “I love you, kiddo”. It was the same for every person you encountered as you guys made your way out, until you reached Sammy. He hugged you tightly, and the two of you stood like that for a while. “It felt like she was here,” he whispered into your neck. You nodded, letting out a shuddering breath. “I felt it too.”

Tyson was patient with you that night as you sat down with your box of memories, asking questions about everything you pulled out of the box. There were photos and ticket stubs and receipts and notes, all between you and Caroline and Sammy, starting from when you were seven or eight and spanning all the way back to the spring before, when her diagnosis was just a diagnosis and not quite real. There were no pictures from when the cancer got bad. You wanted to remember her the way you knew she wanted to be remembered, dusty pink hair and oversized Led Zeppelin t-shirts and all. 

“I’m proud of you, Y/N, for singing that song tonight.” Tyson squeezed your hand. “I know that it must have been incredibly hard for you and Sammy, but it was beautiful.” You smiled sadly at him. “She would have loved those campfires, Tys. They’re right up her alley.” He traced a finger over her face in the photograph you were holding, smiling down at her as he responded. “I wish I could have gotten to know her better.” You nodded. “Me too, Tys. Me too.” He stood, kissing your forehead gently. “I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

Music was healing. It was a mantra she had always sworn by, and now you could understand why; the pain of losing her was still there, but you felt a sort of closure that hadn’t been there before you sang. You touched the necklace you had worn every day since you were sixteen, a match to the one that had been buried with Caroline. “I love you, Lina. I miss you everyday,” you whispered. 

Tyson sat with you all night, and when your daughter was born two years later, on Caroline’s birthday, he held you while you cried and whispered stories of your babies namesake to her. It was the kind of unwavering support that you didn’t think you’d find outside of Caroline and Sammy, and you knew that she would have been proud to accept him into the family just for the simple fact that he understood you like not many others did. He was the rock that held you together through some of the toughest moments of your life, and he was yours for forever.

#nhl imagines #nhl imagine #Tyson Jost imagine

[dacrethehalls]

Pacific

Summary: Billy’s Girlfriend discovers she is terminally ill. WORD COUNT: 1.5K A/N: This Is A repost from my old now deleted blog Hollandoatz. This takes place in season 2. This story is based off the music video for Ever Enough by A Rocket To The Moon(rip)

***********

I walked into school silently going to last period. I had missed all day due to a doctor's appointment I wish I had never gone to. I walked into class giving my doctors note to the teacher before taking a seat next to my boyfriend, Billy Hargrove. He reached across his desk lightly brushing his fingers against my arm.

"You want to tell me where you have been all day?" He whispered leaning over to me pressing a kiss to my cheek. "I've been a little worried, you never miss school"

I smiled at him placing my hand on top of his which was still rubbing my arm. "I need to talk to you later. After school can we go to our spot?" I asked. Concern washed over his face as he nervously bit down on his lip. "Yeah, of course anything for my bear." I smiled again rubbing small circles on his hand with my thumb.

Billy and I have practically been together since he got to Hawkins. He was the total opposite of the kind of guys I had ever gone out with. But since we lived on the same cul du sac so we saw always saw each other.

One day he pulled up next to me as I was going for a walk in the neighborhood, it was on a day I had a round of chemo making me completely exhausted, but I always needed to get out of my house. My mother was the type to hover and that made me more nauseated than the chemo did.

A blue Camaro pulled up next to me as the tires squealed and the passenger window rolled down. "Hey! Caroline? That's your name right?" I nodded looking at the very attractive boy in the car. "Yeah and you're...Billy?"

"That's my name! What are you doing out here alone?" He asked as I leaned on the window. "Walking. Thinking. Getting out of my house" he chuckled reaching over and opening the door for me "I was just about to go for a drive and do the same thing. Want to join me?"

I was hesitant to get in the car with a guy i just met but I did it anyway. We drove around for a while talking before stopping at a diner. He noticed my bruises I had on my arms questioning where they came from and telling me where he got his.

"Chemo makes you bruise easily, this is just from me sleeping on my arm wrong." I said making him frown. "Chemo? You have cancer?" he asked making me nod. "Broke my arm when I was 16, two weeks later the doctors tell me I have osteosarcoma, cancer of the bones"

Billy sat back crossing his arms. "Well, shit. That really sucks"

I chuckled tearing at a piece of my grilled cheese. "Yeah it does. But life can really suck sometimes"

"You're right about that Bear."

I lifted an eyebrow at the nickname he had just given me. "Like Care Bear, but that's lame and I figured either your mother or father call you that. So I shortened it" he said with a laugh obviously trying to make the cancer bomb atmosphere less awkward.

We sat in the diner talking about anything and everything until we eventually were kicked out so they could close up. Billy walked me up to my door after parking at his house. "It was nice meeting you" He said with a smile.

"Yeah, it was. Welcome to hawkins i guess" I leaned in kissing his cheek.

His smile grew wider as he touched his cheek. "I'll see you around Caroline" he turned around walking across the street towards his house. We waved to each other before going inside.

We've been inseparable ever since.

School was a whole other story. Billy quickly rose to popularity making me fear that our tiny little bubble would soon be burst by somebody more popular and even prettier and less sicker than me.

But it never did, at school he'd always find some way to touch me, whether it be his arms around my shoulder walking down the hall or his hand resting on my arm in class. He made sure everyone knew I was his.

***

Billy and I walked out into a small clearing in the woods with hundreds of wild flowers. He laid out a blanket sitting down on it pulling me between his legs. I started crying silently as he placed kisses up and down my neck.

"Bear, are you going to tell me what's wrong?" He whispered

"I was at the doctor today it wasn't good."

Realization washed over his face without me having to say anything. He clenched his jaw letting tears escape from his eyes. "How long?" he whispered his voice cracking.

"Two good months, and possibly a third spent in the hospital." he leaned his head on my shoulder silently sobbing. I turned around pulling his face to look up at me. "We have two good months. Let's make the best of it. Okay?" I said kissing his nose.

"Okay, bear." He leaned in pressing his lips to mine before laying his head back on my shoulder crying again.

***

"We're leaving" Billy announced as he climbed in my window. "Um...what?" I asked as he pulled a suitcase from under my bed.

"We're leaving. I'm taking you to see California." He said as he took clothes out of my closet throwing them in the suitcase on the floor. "Um....what?" I repeated sitting up.

"Don't you want to see as much as you can before you can't? It's been a month, you're still healthy right now Caroline, so, you and I are taking the Camaro out to California." I stood up grabbing Billy's hand pulling him over to my bed. "Did you hit your head to hard at basketball practice or did Steve Harrington punch you in the face again?"

"Caroline, no. Now come on and will you help me pack?" Billy pleaded as he got up going through my dresser throwing various things into or completely missing the suitcase.

"What about school?" I asked making him groan. "I'll catch up when we get back. It's boring there without you anyway. Now get up and help me pack your stuff."

I stared at him before climbing off the bed and onto the floor folding and neatly placing everything he was throwing at me. He was right. The only thing I have ever known was Hawkins, Indiana. I was born and raised here my family being too poor to go no further than the states that surrounded our own, especially since I got sick, all of the money they had went towards my medical treatments.

Billy grabbed my medications placing them in a toiletry bag. Plopping on the floor next to me.

"I love you" he murmured pressing his lips to my temple. "You're going to love California."

***

"I promise I'm ok mom, we'll be back in two weeks." I whispered sitting on the bed next to Billy. I sighed into the phone as my mom told me for the hundredth time to come back home. "I love you, mom, but I can't spend my last few months at home in my room being comfortable. I'm with Billy, you know I'll be ok." I hung up leaning into him. "She's mad, but she knows I'm safe with you"

It had taken us a little over a week to drive from Indiana to California, with us stopping at random places and also stopping if I needed to get out of the car and rest. Billy had some family in Cali so we planned to stay for a few days before heading home.

He wrapped his arms around me as my feet hit the pacific ocean. "I told you it was beautiful here. Nothing can compare to this place." I turned looking up at him kissing his jaw line.

"Thank you for bringing me here." I whispered as he hugged me tighter. "Thank you for making me feel like this place does. You're my little slice of California in Hawkins"

"You're such a cheese ball" I said pushing him in the water and running away.

"Caroline!" He yelled hitting the water so it would splash on to me. I squealed as he grabbed me pulling me down into the water too both of us laughing and splashing each other.

I made him take me to the beach everyday until it was time to head back to Indiana.

***

On our way home I asked billy to take us to our spot. He shrugged off his jacket placing it around my shoulders sitting next to me. "Are you sure you're okay? We're almost home. We can come back here in a few days" He said pulling me closer to him. "I don't have that in me" I whispered laying my head on the crook of his neck crying. He gently rubbed my back letting out a shaky breath. "Billy, you have to promise me that when It's my time, you won't let your anger get the best of you. Go to college far away from your dad and meet someone, start a family. Follow your dreams. Wherever you are, know that I'll be there with you"

I looked up at him and he wasn't even trying to hide the fact that he was crying now. He leaned down pressing his lips to mine lingering there as our foreheads touched. "I love you. I love you so much." He muttered before kissing me again.

"I love you, too, Billy Hargrove." I said placing my head back on his shoulder, finally at peace.

#billy hargrove fan fiction #Stranger Things #Stranger Things 2 #ST #ST2 #Stranger Things Fan Fiction #Stranger Things Imagine #Stranger Things Imagines #Stranger Things fanfic #Stranger Things Fanfics #Billy Hargrove #Billy Hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x oc #billy hargrove x original character #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove imagines #billy hargrove fanfic #billy hargrove fanfics #Billy hargrove fanfiction #Billy Hargrove series

[ours-is-feral-love]

Summary - A witch with a vendetta learns Klaus’s biggest secret, and Klaus must break his promise to Caroline Forbes to keep her safe. 

A/N: I haven’t touched these guys in a while, so excuse any screw ups. Very AU story, post 5x11 - like, really post - but also I’m basically ignoring everything that happened after 5x11. Such as Caroline’s babies, Stefan, and so on and so forth. 

Enjoy.

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In Death I See Only You

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The witch has his heart. She has his heart clenched in her bony fist, and she is unafraid. Her hand has gone through his chest, pushed past his ribcage, and is clutching his bloody, undead heart, and she is smiling. A wicked sort of smile that displays the evil beneath her young face. The evil, she claims, that was placed within her by him.

Klaus’s legs buckle. His face contorts in confusion—how has this girl managed to overpower him?—and he staggers back, bringing the raven-haired witch with him. Her fingers bare down and her nostrils billow out as he opens his mouth, gagging on pain. With a gentle push, the witch has him on his knees before her. Her short stature means she does not have to distort her own body to accommodate this shift. She stands above him now, his head level with her collarbone.

He is entirely at her mercy.

Niklaus Mikaelson, the fiercest, most depraved creature to walk the earth is bowing at the feet of a teenaged witch.

Anger writhes away inside of the Original vampire. This is impossible. This is not right. He is more than a millennium old. He has fought demons about which this girl has only read. He has laughed in Death’s face. He has survived so much. What power has this girl been granted? What gives her the strength, the right, to look down upon him?

“Do you know why I’m here?” the girl asks. He doesn’t answer right away. He doesn’t want to. But she won’t let him go silently. She places a gentle pressure on his cold, dead heart, her lips quivering with the power coursing through her, and says again, “Do you know why I’m here?”

Klaus stares at the dirt by the witch’s feet. “Yes,” he growls.

“Look at me when you speak!” she demands, squeezing hard. His heart feels as if it will burst. Yelping like the dog he is, Klaus’s head snaps up. He glares at the girl, his breathing staggered. Blood pours out of his mouth. Runs down his chin. His canines drop and dig into his bottom lip. Her mouth twitches in satisfaction. “You remember me, then,” she says.

“Yes,” Klaus says, spraying red.

“Good. Now the real fun can begin.”

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He should not be have been there. There—out in the open. From where he stood, leaning against the large tree by the playground, moments before she found him like she promised she would when she was only five years old, he could see a mother pushing her little girl in a swing. And that was probably when she decided to corner him. When she decided he was vulnerable enough, weak enough, to be taken. Because no matter how badly he wished for that child to simply disappear from Hayley’s womb, the moment she was brought into the world Klaus awoke to a love unlike any he had experienced before. It was a primal sort of love. There was nothing he could do about it. The preservation of his bloodline had always been the most important thing, and then there was something new carrying his history, and he knew he would do anything in his power to stop her from leaving him.

But all good things must come to an end. While he was busy doing all he could to protect the girl, the rest of the world was thinking of ways to destroy her. An ancient coven, having heard of the impossibility of her existence, awoke from a millennia-old slumber in order to find her, fearful of the power brewing inside his infant child. Klaus heard of their emergence. An instant chill settled in his evaporated soul. A sickness spread through him, and he worked to hide her from their plan. Using all of his influence, every member of his family, his attempt lasted little more than a month before they found her.

Their anachronistic spells quickly tore through every barricade. The long, sharp sliver of white oak their leader carried with her helped aid their destruction of his family until he and the small child were the only ones left. And soon, all that remained was him. But even the most powerful coven in existence is no match for a vengeful father. This woman, her magic having cloaked them from the world and turned day into twilight, is all that remains of that group of witches after Klaus ripped all of their heads from their shoulders.

“I’ve been following you for a long time, Niklaus,” she says, and he can feel the poisonous wrath pulsing against her fingertips as she holds his heart. Night falls fast under the witch’s spell, and soon there is hardly any light in their bubble. “Watching you. Studying your movements, your strength. I’ve bided my time, and now look at us. Once, you made me afraid, but I was only a girl then. Are you ready to fear me?”

The truth is, Klaus already fears her. But he isn’t stupid or weak enough admit that. He has sensed her throughout the years. Each move he has made has been a calculated step away from her. But today, at the playground, he lost himself in memories of his dead child, and she took advantage of his sudden dip into humanity. He can hardly blame her.

And if he is being truly, truly honest, he has been waiting for this. Yearning for this. God, he is so tired.

With her free hand, the witch reaches inside her back pocket and pulls out a folded cloth. “You know what this is,” she tells him, because there is nothing else it could be. White oak. He can sense its desire to puncture his heart. “But I won’t use it yet. I want to have some fun with you first.”

Still with her fingers wrapped around his blackened heart, she returns the splinter to its holding place and touches his forehead. She digs her nails into his flesh and scrapes his temple slowly. Blood trickles down his cheek. Pressing her index finger against his open wound, sending a shockwave of pain down his spine, her eyes roll back and before he can struggle against her interference, she enters his mind.

Memories course through his mind, clashing against one another in a great battle for dominance. The memories are filled with people. Enemies. Friends. Family.

Lovers.

He sees his brothers, sisters. His parents. His mind reawakens to the childlike fear his father instilled within him. He remembers the love of his mother. Their betrayal.

He sees his child in the arms of the woman who birthed her. The memories flash forward, and he sees only blood. The witch has taken them to the day her coven took his family from him. Klaus feels himself crying out in pain. His throat aches, but he cannot hear his own screams. Silently, he watches every person he has ever loved be ripped to shreds.

Then, the images stop, as if the witch has paused them. In the distance, Klaus sees a blond curl. A flash of blue.

“You like horses,” he hears himself say. He watches her follow him with unamused eyes, an exhausted sort of smile flickering on her mouth.

“I’m not talking to you until you tell me why you invited me here,” she says, and even in the haze of an old memory he feels that throbbing ache in his dead heart.

“I fancy you,” he confesses blatantly. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes.” There is shock in her voice. He hears that now. He didn’t back when the word was first spoken.

In a flash of light, the picture in his head moves, and she is there again, only this time she is wearing a dress that rides up her thighs with each frustrated step she takes. They skip forward a moment, and he is standing in front of her, speaking of hummingbirds.

Then, he is grabbing her by the hair and sinking his teeth into her neck. He can still taste her blood, feel it quench his centuries’-old thirst. Then, she is lying before him, and he is stubbornly refusing to save her.

“I know that you’re in love with me,” she says weakly. His chest burns as if she has pierced him with a stake. “And anybody capable of love is capable of being saved.”

He remembers exactly what he says next without needing to hear himself say it.

“You’re hallucinating,” he says, because she has found him out, and it frustrates him. It kills him. He can’t even look at her.

“I guess I’ll never know,” she whimpers, and his body goes still, and he looks at her with fear burning his eyes. He says her name. Once. Twice. No response, so he goes to her, lifting her head, and forces her teeth into his wrist.

The satisfaction of her feeding on him is indescribable. It’s like sinking into a warm ocean with no fear of dying.

The memories buzz forward, but come to a halt as the image of her in a red graduation gown bursts to life. She’s smiling at him. She never had smiled at him like this before. Like she forgives him. Or, at the very least, is starting to forgive him. And even with his heart in the hands of a fellow monster, a warmth spreads through Klaus as he looks at this phantom.

“Tyler is free to return to Mystic Falls.”

“What?”

“He is your first love,” he says, his lips tingling, warning him to stay silent. There is danger afoot. Always. And if he speaks these next few words, if he confesses to her, then she will never again be safe. He is assuring her doom. But he can’t help himself. He really can’t. So, he says it. “I intend to be your last, however long it takes.”

His lips burn as he presses them to her cheek, and as he pulls away, the image of Caroline Forbes splinters until she is no longer standing before him. In her place is the witch, whose face has contorted in hesitation. Confusion.

“You loved her,” she says, her eyes still glazed over. Terrible fear bursts inside of Klaus. “You still love her, I can feel it.”

“Please,” Klaus says, the word tasting of blood.

“How is this possible? You have never cared for anyone outside of your family for so long.”

He says it again. Debases himself again. “Please.”

The witch’s eyes snap back into focus. She stares at him, dropping her hand from his head, her pupils the size of pinpricks. “You’re just as human as the rest of us, aren’t you? The great Niklaus Mikaelson falling in love with a baby vampire. How pathetic. Maybe I should pay this girl—Caroline, yes?—a visit. After I’ve finished you off, of course.”

“No,” Klaus shrieks, though it comes out as a muffled groan. The witch has tightened her hold on his heart.

“There’s nothing you can do to stop me, Niklaus,” the witch taunts. She retrieves the white oak. “Nothing at all.”

But she is wrong. Klaus fell in love, and that love, the love that still courses through his blood, is not a weakness. For so long, he thought it could only be the source of his downfall. Of both of their downfalls. It’s why he made that promise to her in the woods. Why he has kept away from her for all of these years. But Caroline Forbes is in his mind again, and she is lifting his right arm, encircling his hand around the witch’s wrist, tightening his fingers so hard that a snap resonates from the bones in the witch’s forearm.

The witch screams in pain. Her fingers go limp around his heart, and in one pull he is free. Gasping, bleeding, Klaus scrambles to his feet. He wants to attack the witch. He lunges for her, but she disappears before he can get his hands around her neck. He grabs at air, staggering forward. Light returns to his surroundings. The families in the park eye him worriedly, but he pays no attention to their intrusive stares. There is nothing left of the witch. She has gone to search for her.

He must go too. Find her before the witch. Run away with her, like he should have done ages ago.

Klaus knows where she is. He always knows. In a flash, he is gone.

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Rain splashes over his head, whipping him as a wind carries it forcefully into his face. He knocks again on the door. If it doesn’t open in five seconds, he will rip it off of its hinges.

The witch’s attack has worn him down. He feels sluggish. His chest smarts with each movement. He may be the most powerful being on earth, but having his heart toyed with like that has reminded him of the witch’s words. You’re just as human as the rest of the us.

Gearing up to burst through the wooden structure, Klaus stops short when his ears pick up on creeping footsteps. He recognises her footfalls, and suddenly there is an altogether new type of pain running through him. An anxiety. A trepidation. The door unlocks. Opens only an inch. Where he is standing, he can see through the slight crack. Her blue eyes pierce through the rain and sear a hole into his already open chest.

She gasps. The door falls open. “What the hell are you”— She doesn’t finish her question. Her eyes land on the fabric of his white t-shirt running pink with blood. “What happened?”

He is about to speak. About to explain. To beg. He takes one step forward, but a coldness seeps into his bones and he falls to his knees. His hands slam into the ground. He hears Caroline gasp again before a blackness consumes him.

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Someone is stroking his hair. Running their fingers along his scalp and threading through his curls. He relaxes into the touch, which he knows he should not do. He should get up. He needed to tell someone something.

“Hey,” a voice says, right next to his ear.

Klaus opens his eyes slowly. Caroline Forbes tilts her head to the side. What alternate universe has he entered?

Then, it hits him. The witch.

Klaus sits up suddenly, realising momentarily that he must be in her bedroom. On her bed. Caroline’s hand falls from his head and she jumps to her feet.

“What?” she asks, a quiver in her voice.

He can imagine, just imagine it so well, how she has been living her life the past few years. Small town in Washington state. No lurking evil vampires. No werewolves. No magic of any kind. Working as a journalism teacher at the local high school. Pretending not to miss the menacing thrills that greeted her every day during her time as an infant vampire.

All that is about to change. There can be no more playing make-believe now.

“A witch,” Klaus sputters. “I killed her coven and she tried to get her revenge. She almost did, but I managed to get away, but not before she found you.”

Caroline’s eyes blossom. “Found me? Found me where?” She makes no mention of the fact that he wiped this girl’s coven from existence.

Klaus touches his temple. Then, he pats his chest, and it is here that he realises she has stripped him of his shirt. His wound has healed nicely. How long has he been unconscious? “She knows of our connection,” he says. “I have to get you out of here.”

“Out of here? What, so she’s hunting me down, preparing to kill me,” Caroline says mockingly. “I don’t attract that kind of stuff anymore. And if you leave me, like you promised you’d do for, like, eternity, I’m sure she won’t be able to find me. Bonnie lives nearby. I’ll call her and get her to cast a cloaking spell or something.”

“That won’t bloody work,” Klaus says, recognising the tang of metal still sitting on his teeth. “She is more powerful than you can imagine. She nearly killed me without using any sort of spell. Imagine what she could do to you.”

There it is. A small jerk of her eyes. A twitch. Caroline is afraid. “Yeah, but, what’s the point in killing me?” she asks. She has always done this so well. Pretended as if she has everything under her control. “I mean, what am I to her? I’m a nobody.” She laughs nervously. She has lost her touch after so long out of the supernatural spotlight. He doesn’t even need to be paying attention to pick up on her unease.

“You’re all I’ve got left,” he says, staring past her at the photograph of her and her group of meddling friends at their graduation. The room is spacious. Tidy. He remembers something about her love of cleaning.

“Klaus,” she says with a sigh, and hearing his name fall from her lips is almost enough to bring him to his knees once more. “That was a long time ago. Haven’t you moved on yet?”

“Have you?” he says, and she turns to see where his eyes have landed. Beside the window looking out onto the stormy, dark street hangs the picture he drew of her. The sight of it makes him ache for a time long since passed. He looks back at Caroline to find that she’s avoiding his eye line. “Run away with me,” he says, and he reaches out for her hand. It hangs limply at her side and she makes no effort to pull away.

“If I don’t,” she says, “the witch will kill me.”

“Yes.”

“And if I do . . .” she trails off, finally catching his eye. He has missed her. So much. “Okay.”

“Okay?” he parrots, unsure if he heard her correctly.

She nods. “I’ll go with you. You’re afraid, and if you’re afraid, then I’m absolutely fucking terrified.”

“You trust me?”

“I trust you.” She laughs, squeezing his hand. “Oh my, God, I can’t believe I just said that.”

And he laughs too, and it feels good, and he thinks maybe the time and the distance has been good for them. Enough to wipe away the toxic air of their past.

She’s missed the dangerous side of being a vampire. He can tell, because even though he has told her all about this coven’s history, their supremacy over the magical world, she is giddy as she packs a bag full of essentials. She has the workings of a small smile as she phones her boss to say she’s had an emergency and must leave town for an indefinite amount of time.

“Where do we go from here?” she asks when she’s done, and he thinks that, maybe, she has missed him too.

“Somewhere she’ll never find us,” he says. “Somewhere we’ll be safe until we can think of a way to kill her.”

Caroline finishes tying her hair into a bun and picks up her bag. She stands at the doorway in her bedroom, far away from Mystic Falls, but no longer far away from him. “Lead the way.”

#klaroline #klarolinerewind #klaus x caroline #klaus mikaelson #caroline forbes #the vampire diaries #the originals