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for-fucks-sake-h · 3 years

Text

HOAX

I just left your bedroom... Give me some morphine...

Word Count: 3.3k || Rated: Mature || Title

“So that’s it then?” he spoke, voice low and timid.

The look of dejection on his face broke you. Hair messier than normal, his fingers aggressively running through it. His typically bright eyes looked tired and worn, much like your own.

It hurt.

It had been hurting, though. For much longer than you let on. From the start? Maybe that was part of the problem. You didn’t say anything, but neither did he. Both of you floating through the motions, ignoring the signs, blissful ignorance in the tiny bubble you created.

“I think it has to be,” you murmured.

“What do you want?” he tried, grasping at nothing but air and broken promises. “I’ll do whatever-- I can try--”

“You can’t give me what I want, Harry.”

It was blunt, and you saw the way it pierced him. He would have stumbled back had he not been leaning against the wall of your entry hallway. A tear slipped from the corner of your eye at the sight of his red rimmed lashes and nose, wanting to reach for him but purposefully keeping your hands to yourself.

***

- one year earlier -

“Oh my god.” His grunt into your hair spiked fire through you. His voice caressed your ear, the low timbre of his moans a sort of music you hadn’t heard before.

His hands gripped your hips tighter, effectively pulling you back with each and every one of his somewhat sloppy yet perfectly placed thrusts.

“Yeah,” he breathed, encouragement laced in the simple word.

Your eyes pulled up to meet his in the mirror, knowing that he was watching your every movement over your shoulder. Your fingers glided over your clit in time with the pump of his hips, his cock reaching… everything.

Bruised hips, a bitten shoulder, disheveled hair, clothing still intact except where it was important.

The fingers of your other hand gripped the counters ledge, and you faltered. But he caught you -- a large, ring clad hand quickly finding the center of your chest to pull you up and closer to him. The change of angle had you gasping, your shoulder blades colliding with his chest.

You never experienced anything like it. His eyes held yours in a trance. Every time you glanced at the rest of his features -- a furrowed brow, puffy lips, a sharp jaw -- his eyes pulled you back in.

He was charming, to say the least. And he was something, to say the most. Charisma or what have you, that’s what got him in that bathroom.

“Fuck,” you moaned softly, watching his face as he watched you come undone around him. He couldn’t have been pressed any tighter to you, pumping his length into you as if it was his life's mission. Maybe it was, after all.

He choked on a moan as his own release hit him, his mouth hanging open in the most intoxicating pleasure. And then he was burying his face in your neck, a misplaced kiss being pressed into your hot skin.

You hummed a soft, subtle giggle as the grip on your hip loosened, his breath still staggering. Wiggling out of his grasp, it was then him who was gripping the counter as he struggled to breathe.

“That was fun,” you chuckled unironically as you cleaned yourself up, watching as he just stood there leaning against the counter, pants around the tops of his thighs, the edge of a tattoo poking out of his slacks. His delay was worrisome and endearing all at once.

You walked back to him once your pants were in place, hands reaching for the sides of his neck as he stared into space.

“You okay?” you leaned in, your hair falling in front of his face as your nose brushed his cheek.

“Yeah, yeah,” he nodded, but remained still.

“Can I?” you motioned towards his condom covered length, receiving a small nod. You pulled it from his skin carefully, noticing the way he leaned more of his weight onto the counter in relief.

You tied it off quickly and stood beside him once more to wash your hands, watching through the mirror as he finally stood to his full length to put himself back together. His cheeks were still flushed, and his hair looked like it had been through a wind storm. But despite that, his face -- oh, his face -- was fucked out and gorgeous.

And then your phone was buzzing on the counter, your friends no doubt looking for you. Reaching for it, you flashed him a smile as he watched, still moving in slow motion as he buttoned his pants.

“See you around,” you glanced over your shoulder with one last smile as you unlocked the door, slipping out without another word.

And you would see him around. You ran in the same circles, hung out with the same people, friends of friends of friends, or something like that. It wasn’t the first time you met, but it was the first time you did that. And it really was fun. He was great.

But that’s all he was. A good time. A fun night. A witty story. A half baked daydream.

From what you knew of him, he seemed lovely.

And messy.

***

“How’d you get my number?” you laughed into the phone.

“I know people.” His voice was like a pastry scented candle on a cold night, filtering through the phone to coat you in warmth. “Lambert got it from Kelly,” he caved.

“That sneak,” you smiled despite yourself.

“Would you have rathered I not called?”

You paused for a second. “Um, no, it’s okay, just surprised.”

“Well you ran out like a thief in the night,” he teased.

“People were waiting for me.” Your tones were both light, a flirtatious banter you could probably get too used to. “You have me now, though,” you prompted, curiosity piquing at his forwardness.

“Wanna grab dinner sometime?”

Your heart jumped, or sunk, you weren't quite sure. And your hesitation must have been long enough to spike his nerves.

“Coffee?” he laughed softly, a socratic compromise.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “Just coffee?”

“Of course.”

***

His knuckles smoothed across your cheek gently, legs tangling with yours more. You traced the numbers etched above his collar bone, something you had gotten used to doing now.

You couldn’t help but find yourself here again. It was as if every time he was in town you gravitated towards each other. Sometimes you knew when he was around, heard things through the grapevine. Other times he caught you by surprise. But it had gotten to the point where he called every time he was around. And then it got to the point where he just stopped by. You weren’t even sure how exactly you’d both gotten here. Somehow it just kept happening, and you couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to stop.

He was quiet when he wasn’t there though. And for you, he was almost like an out of sight out of mind type of thing. He lived a crazy, much more intense life than yours. It was easy to compartmentalize the differences when he wasn’t around.

But when he was in your bed, that was a different story. When he was touching you, holding you, whispering secrets in your ear, it felt… more. It was heavy, and encompassing. Not just for you. It was reciprocated by him in everything he did and said.

“Couldn’t wait to get here. It was like every red light knew I was coming.”

You hummed softly with a smile, leaning in to connect your mouths. He tasted like mint, and smelled like crisp detergent and something woodsy. Goosebumps rose across your skin as his hand trailed down your back, his body inching closer still. His hand gripped to your shirt at the base of your spine, fisting the fabric in a vice grip. He collapsed beside you as soon as he arrived, still clad in his corduroys and sweatshirt, socked feet wrapping around one of your legs, his body on top of the comforter, yours under it.

“I missed you,” he murmured against your mouth.

Your heart did that thing, a mixture of lifting and falling out of your chest.

“I missed you too.”

His hand smoothed under your tee shirt, his knuckles meeting your skin first, then his full palm. You arched closer to him, your hand gripping the side of his neck as you found his mouth with ease. There was a sense of relief when his mouth was on yours. You simultaneously could and couldn’t breathe.

His tongue was like magic. It elicited sounds from you that you couldn’t bear to keep in. And you didn’t have to guess if you did the same for him. His moans and sighs were ever present, and they sent shock waves across your skin too.

And when it became too much -- when you couldn’t take it anymore, the rubber band stretched thin and ready to snap, both of your breathing heavy and panting -- you caved. You both did, willingly, in this ever present game of tug of war.

***

You could see him across the room, telling stories and laughing charismatically with his friends. Yet his eyes would flick around periodically, and somehow always found yours.

You tried not to meet his gaze, but it was no use. A moth to a flame.

A hand found your waist, your date leaning in to whisper something in your ear. Something pulled in your chest as you watched Harry’s face change as he watched an exchange that had nothing to do with him, eyes glued to you both on the other side of the party. You saw it cross his features; an ever present yearning desire.

“Let me just use the bathroom then we can bounce,” you turned away from Harry's direction, smiling up at your date as he pressed a quick kiss to the side of your head.

You mosied around the kitchen, popping a piece of cheese into your mouth as you went to the sink to rinse your wine glass.You slipped down the hall quietly, finding the first floor bath already occupied. The noise of the party faded as you headed upstairs to the second bathroom.

You were only in there a few minutes, barely enough time for someone to notice you were gone. But you were met with Harry alone in the hallway, leaning against the wall opposite the door.

“Leaving?” he asked casually.

“Yeah, about to.”

He pulled himself from the wall, standing at his full height in front of you.

“Who’s the bloke?”

He tried so hard to keep his tone even, unaffected. But you saw right through him. It was written all over his face. And the arrogance filtered into his words no matter how hard he tried.

“Where’ve you been?” you countered with a slight raise of your brows.

He faltered at that.

Harry was a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew he had no right to be asking, yet he did it anyway. And maybe he couldn’t help himself. Maybe he expected to come to this party and rekindle the time you’d spent apart. And maybe it was a slap to the face to show up with someone else. But what could you do during the radio silence while he was away. Wait? That wasn’t an option. And he knew that, but didn’t try to remedy anything during the distance. Only wanted to pick up where you left off, like so many times you had before at this point. It was the game you played, after all.

You also faltered from the look on his face, his eyes tracing every intricate detail of your features. You weren’t heartless, you didn’t want to hurt him. You didn’t think he wanted to hurt you either. This was just what you guys did; that’s how it was.

You were everything and nothing, all at once. A juxtaposition. You always had been. When you had him, you had him. You could feel him in every fiber of your being when you were together. But it didn’t last. It never lasted. You knew it. He knew it.

So here you both were, grasping at something that was intangible.

You thought about touching him, and then your hand was reaching to brush your fingertips across his cheek softly.

“See you around, Harry.”

***

“I’m surprised you called,” he panted against your mouth.

“Are you?” you challenged, head tilting back against the wall as his lips kissed and sucked the delicate skin of your throat.

His hum was mixed with a chuckle, kissing up your neck to capture your mouth once more. He pressed his body fully against yours, a welcomed weight.

“It’s been a while.” He craned his neck back to look at you, the rest of him remaining close. “What happened to ‘what’s his name’?”

“Didn’t work out,” you breathed as you tugged him by the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured as you tried to capture his bottom lip.

“Harry, please. It’s fine,” you assured him.

His eyes were on yours again, tracing over your face repeatedly. He leaned in slowly, and you practically melted into the wall as you waited to feel his lips meet yours. It was like the tiniest shock lit between you when the curve of his top lip met yours, hovering there momentarily, hesitating.

And when you thought he was going to say something else, he didn’t, instead connecting your mouths fully.

“Good,” he moaned, his hips pressing into yours more.

He was suffocating. His mouth was like fire on yours, his body pressed everywhere. You felt like you could have turned into ash at that moment. His hands gripped your hips tighter, palms running up and down your sides, smoothing over your ass and finding their way back again.

“What are we doing?” you panted up to the ceiling as your feelings rushed over you in the same way that he rushed over you, his tongue finding your pulse like a flame finding a wick.

Your fingers tangled in his hair more; pulling him in, holding him close, wanting to keep him there in more ways than one.

“You know what we’re doing.” His words were a hushed whisper, his desire dripping from each syllable.

He was right. You did know. And you loved and hated it.

***

The quiet had filtered in again. You weren’t even sure how long it had been since you last spoke. Weeks? A month? It always started slow, promising at first, until the few messages exchanged felt like nothing, and then filtered off completely.

Until he was making his way to you again, that is. He found a way to communicate then.

It was heavy the last time you saw him, a weekend locked away in your house, in your bed, after a call you probably shouldn’t have made but couldn’t not.

Mundane domesticity. Passionate desire. Blissful ignorance.

A soft knock at your front door pulled you from your thoughts and the book you were half heartedly attempting to read. There was a part of you that didn’t want to open it. Out of sight out of mind, or something. Was that even the case anymore though?

Another soft knock had you pulling the blanket from your lap to tread over to the door. You unlocked it slowly, opening the door even slower to reveal him. He looked tired, but so fucking soft, a cashmere sweater clinging to his chest, his hair swept back away from his face.

You wordlessly leaned against the door frame, your temple resting against the trim.

“Hi,” he smiled, taking a step forward.

You turned your face the tiniest bit, but enough to have his lips meet the corner of your mouth.

“What’s wrong?” he tried, his hands finding your waist.

You gave him a pointed look. “Really?”

A hand came up to rub the back of his neck, the other falling from your waist. “I’m sorry I didn’t call…”

“Are you?”

He winced. “Things just got crazy.”

You didn’t say anything at that. It wasn’t anything you hadn’t heard before. You didn’t ask for a lot, bare minimum really. It shouldn’t have been that hard. And it wasn’t like he disagreed. He could have said something if he didn’t want the same. But he did want the same. He pleaded for it, said all the right things, and it wasn’t like he wasn’t sincere. You knew he wanted it too. The relationship, the comfort of having another person in your corner, a confidant, a lover. He wanted all those things and he wanted them with you.

You did believe him when he said it. So then why was it so hard?

He took the smallest step closer. “Can I come in?”

“I don’t know,” you sighed. “Give me a reason.”

A shift of his weight had him leaning closer again. “Wanna be around you. I miss you.”

“Gonna need more than that.”

He reached for you again, hands gripping your hips this time. “I know I’m shit sometimes. I’m trying though.” He pressed his forehead against yours, his scent invading every part of your senses. “I gotta do better,” he spoke softly, voice just barely rasping past his lips. “I will do better. Just give me a chance.”

You so desperately wanted to believe him. You hoped he could do better. Because when you were together, face to face, it was good. You two were good. The potential was there. But it felt like it was impossible to get off the ground with him. Or maybe you weren’t on the ground at all, instead floating through the clouds straight towards the sun, ready to burst.

“If this is too much for you, please just say it,” you bargained. “I don't want to keep doing this just for it to end up the same as every other relationship.”

You laid it out there, plain as day. He could take it or leave it. You didn’t want to waste any more of either of your time for nothing. You didn’t want to prolong the inevitable and hope for more than he was capable of.

“Love,” he sighed, one of his hands coming up to cup the side of your face. “I want this. I want you. Please.”

Your throat burned with emotion because he said everything you hoped he would. And maybe it was blissful ignorance again, but you wanted it to work so badly.

“Come on,” you tugged on his sweater to pull him inside, enclosing your bubble once more.

***

- present day -

“Please just give me a chance,” he whispered.

You shook your head. “That’s not fair. Don’t act like I didn’t give you chances.”

“I’ll try harder. We can… we can work it out --”

“It shouldn’t be this hard, Harry,” you rushed before catching your breath briefly. “It’s just… it’s not working.”

Your heart felt like it had been beaten, bloodied, and bruised. It had been through a fight it was never going to win.

And with blurry, wet eyes, you watched as his own heart broke right in front of you. The pieces of it scattered across your hallway; scattered across your skin, leaving their marks.

He tilted his head up towards the ceiling, his hands gripping the top of his hair before he was pinching the bridge of his nose and then wiping his eyes before any tears fell. With a sniffle, he was staring back at you, every feeling crossing between your eyes.

The yearning, the pining, the wishing. It was all there. It always had been.

But a solid relationship needed more than that. And more was just not something Harry could give. No matter how much you hoped.

He sucked in a deep breath, releasing it slowly as his eyebrows crinkled inwards more.

“Okay,” he sighed, waving his white flag, his voice broken. “I’ll see you around.”

You nodded, but didn’t return the sentiment. It didn’t mean the same anymore.

***

AN: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked it and it made you feel all the things. Inspo/energy have been low over here so I’m incredibly happy to have gotten enough of both to do this piece. Feedback helps keep us writers going, so please share your thoughts by messaging or reblogging! As always, huge thank you to my girls for giving me a space to explore my half baked ideas and always encouraging me @andwhenshesays @oh-honey-styles @real-work-of-art @haute-romance-quotidienne I love you guys so much. Until next time, guys xx

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#harry styles writing #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #hoax

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austarus · 3 years

Text

HR Wells x Reader - Reversal of Denouement

*A/N: The picture/edit/gif does not belong to me. It belongs to its rightful owner.

**Please don’t forget to comment, like, and reblog. It means a lot to content creators of all kinds!

***I’d also like to thank @grimtamlain-writes for being my beta reader.

Word Count: 8251

MASTERLIST

A low groan left HR's lips. His body felt numb, his chest ached - tingled as his heart beats steadily. Is it beating? The darkness of his eyelids eased the stinging coming from his mind – it wasn’t so bright. The headache formed there. His body screamed at him as the novelist made the slightest of movement. His left shoulder in particular had protested in desperate agony. He couldn’t move it very much, the area succumbed to restraints of some sort. HR’s throat felt raw as his body throbbed, the blood coursing meticulously through his blood vessels. The sound of a soft voice greeted his ears, but his eyes refused to open.

"I... you, HR... even if... see it." The voice was so familiar, so gentle. So sweet. "Should... better." A drop of water hit his numbed hand, static still prominent there from the little movement his body had done. “I wish…” The dark-haired doppelganger could only understand fragments of what the speaker was saying. He felt a pressure on his hand, tender skin holding onto his before something tickled his forehead. Feather-light. What was it? Who was it? A few moments passed and he heard nothing, the novelist only assumed that the voice’s owner had left. He didn’t want to be alone right now though, not with the darkness.

It had become unbearable.

Since... Since when did…? How...? Oh. Right. Savitar... Am I dead? Is this where spirits wait for their turn to pass into their designated afterlife? Have I really...? Events from earlier resurfaced to his mind, his senses coming together. Right, had to protect Iris. For Barry – it was my fault Savitar had gotten to her. My big mouth. Even if Barry didn't really see me as a helpful friend. At least... At least I proved Savitar wrong, who ironically is a version of Barry. That's hella twisted. He huffed out a breath before venturing back into the calmness of sleep. Maybe a little more rest will help?

***

HR cracked an eye open: this time, harsh filtered light had greeted him. The novelist grunted in pain, adjusting himself slightly to assess where he was. What day was it? What was the time? How long have I been here? A yawn left his lips this time, his throat and mouth as dry as a desert.

“Well look who finally decided to wake up?” HR’s eyes met Cisco’s, who stood with a tablet in hand. “How’s sleeping beauty feeling?”

The Wells doppelganger cleared his throat. “Like I’ve gotten assaulted by an Amtrack bus, and not the good kinds.” HR’s baby blue eyes scanned the room, landing on the flower vase that was set on a table near him. Blue forget-me-knots and pink hydrangeas stood proudly in their vases, nurtured well. HR felt his heart swell, his eyes not daring to leave the delicate petals that accented the med bay in better tones. Cisco handed him a cup of water to which HR downed it immediately.

“Amtrack does trains.”

“Not on my Earth, Francisco.” The author couldn’t help but ask, his eyes lingering on the flowers once more. “Did Tracy bring those?”

Cisco pursed his lips, an odd look present on his face. He wanted to tell HR, but… “No. Um, she didn’t.” Tracy had been visiting, though it had become some sort of a nuisance to all her complaining at this point. She hadn’t even known HR for that long, anyway.

“Oh?” His shoulders dropped subtly in disappointment. “They’re beautiful, I was just wondering and…”

“Let’s just say, a special someone’s been… dropping by and bringing a new flower each day. That’s all you’re getting from me, Aurora.” Cisco reasoned with the Wells doppelganger. The mechanical genius knew, but it wasn’t his place to say. It killed him, but… “I wouldn’t move around too much, if I were you. You’ve got a fractured shoulder and that chest wound. I’ve been told to relay the message that you’re to be on strict bed rest until that shoulder further heals.” HR lowered his gaze to see the cross-body sling. He clenched his slinged hand and unclenched it to bring some feeling into the limb.

“What about my chest?”

“Miraculously, that’s been healing really well since day one.” Cisco kept the talk real, showing the injured doppelganger the schematics and pictures. “You got lucky that it missed your heart by a centimeter.” A stab wound like that should have… I wonder if she knows that I know.

HR blinked at the seriousness in his injury, the looming idea of death from his decision. “How long was I out?”

“A week and a half.”

“What?” HR’s eyes widened in disbelief. “I-”

“HR!” Tracy’s sudden voice pierced the room, stunning Cisco and triggering an ache in HR’s head. The grad scientists shuffled over to him, both forgetting that Cisco was in the room. “HR, my love, how are you? Are you feeling okay? Is there any pain?” He continued checking his friend’s vitals and adjusting dosages to the IV and morphine administered – as per your request. The room was growing ever louder with HR and Tracy. Tracy embraced him, minding his injuries as she continued to fuss over him. It made the Wells writer smile, yet… his heart didn’t swell as much as it used to.

Odd.

Cisco sent you a quick text while the two were preoccupied, but you were already at the Labs. You stopped just outside the entrance, the wall and dimly light hallway obscuring you from who remained in the med bay. They wouldn’t be able to see you from where you stood. A shaky breath left you as you clutched the Freesia flower in hand. Your heart shriveled in your chest as you backtracked. Hearing his voice is enough. After all, with Tracy around you couldn’t be near him – those dirty and hateful looks she’d send you. Best to keep my distance, I guess. You couldn’t help but sneak a peek at him though, the man who had unknowingly captured your heart and would never reciprocate your love. You pushed down the lump in your throat. Hastily, you sent Cisco a text to check on the flowers. Silently, you trailed away from the med bay and to the upper levels of STAR Labs. I wonder if he liked the flowers. Standing at such altitude with the wind blowing lightly had calmed you a bit. Looking down at the flower, you gripped it tightly before you began to pick off the petals one by one. The little moments you had with the goofy novelist surfaced to the forefront of your mind with each petal you held. Your little curious escapades. The little talks. The nights you’d visit him when Tracy wasn’t around.

“He loves me, he loves me not,” You murmured, a stray tear trickled down your cheek. The freesia symbolizes unconditional love and honor. “He loves me, he loves me not,” Your voice cracked as more tears fell. “He loves me, he loves me not…”

***

A frown presented itself on HR’s lips as he tilted his head to crack his neck. The crack relieved him tremendously. It didn’t make sense. The novelist mused to himself, setting aside the current chapter draft he was working on. The voice I heard was… different. It didn’t sound like Tracy’s. HR couldn’t get that voice out of his mind – the tenderness that was laced in the tone of that voice. Nothing like the slight shrill in Tracy’s. He eyed the flowers once more that day, their presence was prominent. If Tracy hadn’t brought those, then who had?

The team had helped situate HR in his room in order to vacate the med bay should another imminent event occur. He had overheard Cisco tell Wally that you were preoccupied with something in Star City – a bit of disappointment twinged inside him. HR had taken up doing bits of physical therapy for the rest of his body without moving his shoulder as much. His shoulder and arm remained in a crossbody sling. The flowers sat on his bedside counter; he tended to them as best as he could with the limited movement he had. Tracy protested that they don’t need to be around, but the novelist was vehement on keeping the plants. HR won’t deny the fact that he had gotten annoyed several times with her around when he needed thinking space for his writing. He couldn’t write with noise and nonsensical chatter, especially if it’s mainly coming from someone who doesn’t want to really listen to his input. She’d go on and on about her scientific research and such, but wouldn’t hear a word from HR regarding his writing. The longer the novelist was confined to his room for rest, the more he had time to think – to contemplate. Yes, he liked Tracy, but… it just seemed that she didn’t really see HR. She does all the talking; she doesn’t really ask about how I feel about things or ask me about my life, even things about Earth-19… It’s like she doesn’t see me for anything other than a pretty face. It’s not even my face that Tracy sees, just Randolph’s. Was I too quick to jump at the first person who showed interest in me? Had I rushed into ‘forever’ with her?

He tabled those thoughts for now. HR reached for his laptop; one hand opened it to start it up. While the device loaded, he grabbed his black-clear glasses and set them on his face. If anyone saw him as such, they wouldn’t be able to tell the physical difference between him and his handsome, yet grumpy doppelganger. Except for the eyebrow scar, but that was obscured by the glasses. HR did a couple of searches with a concentrated look. Surely, it was the person with that… angel-like voice.

“Hydrangeas,” HR whispered as his eyes skimmed over the text that had popped up. “The hydrangea represents gratitude, grace and beauty. It also radiates abundance because of the lavish number of flowers and the generous round shape. Its colors symbolize love, harmony and peace.” The Wells doppelganger scrolled further. “Pink hydrangeas symbolize heartfelt emotions.” Interesting. HR continued his research, glancing at the other flower type that resting in the vase. “Forget-me-nots symbolize true love and respect. When you give someone these tiny blooms, it represents a promise that you will always remember them and will keep them in your thoughts. They are also considered a symbol of fidelity and faithfulness.” A particular link caught his eye, he clicked on it. The novelist read to himself the text once more, “Based on Christian lore, the story about forget-me-nots is that God was walking in the Garden of Eden. He saw a blue flower and asked it its name. The flower was a shy flower and whispered that he had forgotten his name. God renamed the flower as forget-me-not saying that He will not forget the flower.”

HR swallowed thickly; contrary to popular belief around here, he wasn’t stupid. Sure, he wasn’t a science-based genius, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t an expert on other aspects of life and had basic common sense. The author was emotionally intelligent and intact with the world around him. These flowers weren’t picked out on accident. But who would do that? Who doesn’t want me to forget about them? The dark-haired man shook his head slightly as he shut his laptop. A surge of sadness welled inside him at the notion of ‘being forgotten’. Who had he done that to? He’d get to the bottom of this mystery in due time. Right now, I need to jog my memory on what I was writing. A hand found a rough draft paper, his eyes scanned over the words he had typed out. His brows creased as the written notes he’d made on the paper as well. (Y/N) … I had… What had I been writing about again? The novelist read each line, each note he had made no drafts and scratch paper.

The hairs at the back of his neck stood up as realization hit him the more he had read on. The drafts, the notes, all of it – the little novel he had been writing regarding his adventures. But this particular part of his story – the ‘angel’ in his story. The one who stuck by him since coming here, the one who had given him a safe space… And the one he hadn’t seen since waking up. How could he forget? HR lowered the paper; his eyes became half-lidded as guilt shot through him. Before Barry had gone to the future and gotten hints of Tracy with her Speed Bazooka, HR had been working on his book. A book that he had pushed off to stick with Tracy and help in any way that he can to make the speed weapon possible. He had gotten distracted from doing the things he loves. A few conjectures arose in his mind as he slipped his glasses off, one arm end pressed to his lips. His heart hammered into his chest; you were among the last faces he had seen before passing out that night.

The irony. How could I forget that (Y/N) was the ‘angel’ in my story?

***

“Look at you, up and at ‘em.” Cisco strolled into the lounge with a cheeky grin. The mechanical genius didn’t take HR for granted anymore, not with the stunt he pulled. No, Cisco willingly checked up on him – not just for you, but for himself. HR had truly become one of his close friends in the end, especially with all the advice about Gypsy. “What are you cooking up this time?”

“Just an omelet with a side of bacon and toast, Francisco,” HR turned to the mechanical engineer who continued to tinker away at the schematics to get Barry out of the Speedforce. He offered Cisco some with a gesture only for the scientist to politely decline. “I haven’t seen (Y/N) anywhere. Um, is she also…?”

“Oh, you know how she’s like. Either up in the vents or chilling in her birds’ nest on the roof. And on that note, our resident hummingbird has become quite the firecracker.”

HR raised an eyebrow at his friend. “How so?”

“She punched Savitar square in the face then decked him multiple times over when Barry brought him in. Harry had to be the one to pull her away – well, more like carry her away kicking and screaming bloody murder at him. It sounded badass; wish I had been there to see it.”

The Wells doppelganger gritted his teeth at the mental image of Harry carrying you – touching you. The thought ruffled his feathers for some reason. HR expertly masked his irritation, turning the stove off and assembling the food on his plate. “Why?”

“Because he hurt you, HR.”

“…”

“He almost killed you.” And that was unforgivable, especially to her. “We almost lost you. She almost lost you.”

A rough sigh escaped HR as Cisco had sent him a knowing look before exiting the STAR Labs lounge. The Earth-19 man chewed on the inside of his cheek. Only a fool would misunderstand Cisco’s subtle intentions. HR knew what he had to do – he’d been reflecting on his time here, thinking about the people around him, about the relationships he’s formed. The novelist glanced outside – the sun shined, the birds chirped, and the trees rustled with the wind.

And the world continues to move on.

***

“When are you going to tell him?”

“…” You tensed at the abrupt voice. You snapped your head up, eyes darting to find Cisco approaching you with pocketed hands in his gray-black jacket. He wore a Bulbasaur shirt. The clouds surged by with the intensity of the breeze. Your hair blew over your shoulders slightly. Tilting your head, you turned back to watch the city. Days had passed and you refused to see HR, content on what Cisco had been telling you. He’d been recovering tremendously well, but… you didn’t really want to hear about what he and Tracy were up to. It wounded you. “Tell who, what?”

“You know exactly who I’m talking about, Ms. I’m-going-to-put-my-feelings-in-a-box.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ohohohoho, no. I am tired of the love eyes, the lingering gazes, the pining. It ends.” Your best friend came to sit down next to you with that frustrated look on his face. “I know you have powers.” Your heart stopped in your chest at his accusation. “I know you used your powers to heal HR.” You bit down on your lip, not wanting to validate his statement. Cisco saw “I analyzed the wounds, looked at his healing at a microscopic level. I’m not Caitlin, but even I can pick up a few things. His cells were excelled to heal, but there were residues of your genetic markers at the wound point. You stitched his wounds together, cell-by-cell. My point is: why didn’t you say anything? Your powers are a-”

“-A curse.”

“What?”

“They’re a curse.” You threw a hard look at Cisco, making sure your hands wouldn’t touch him. “I can’t be playing God, Cisco. And… it’s unpredictable, volatile. I could either heal the life in my hands or take it away. I could rip someone ‘cell-by-cell’, Cisco. There’s no ‘in between’, not this time. He got lucky with my powers. He got lucky I didn’t make things 100% irreversible.”

“But why didn’t you say anything?” Cisco eyed the gloves you wore; it wasn’t the season for leather gloves.

“Because I didn’t want to give anyone false hope.”

“You don’t want to give yourself false hope, you mean.”

“…I can’t even heal a plant, Cisco. No matter how hard I tried, it wilted further. It’s a curse.”

“That’s not guaranteed every time, you know. It takes practice – discipline to get your powers to work with you instead of for you.” He nudged your shoulder with his, turning his gaze to the flock of birds drifting through the wind. “You know, he broke up with Tracy.”

“Ok?”

“Happened a week ago. She didn’t take it well and let me tell you. Tracy Brand was livid – the rage and yelling were off the charts. I think she has Harry beat. I knew it wasn’t going to last anyway, it was too superficial to begin with.”

“Uh huh.” You tried to sound uninterested, but deep down you were relieved. You heard a little ring in your ear. You wondered…

“She’s gone, won’t be coming here anymore.

“Ok.”

“So, go make your move.”

You turned abruptly to face him. “Cisco, have you thought that maybe HR doesn’t want to dive into a relationship right away? That… maybe he needs space to focus on himself?” All were things you had contemplated for yourself before.

“And what better way to do that than with a new roommate.”

“Excuse me?”

“Surprise, you’re getting a temporary roommate while we fully fix up things around the labs. I volunteered you since you have the space and the patience to deal with HR.” Your blood froze in your veins.

“Francisco Ramon, I am going to-”

“-Thank me, you’re going to thank me.” He had already breached away before you had the chance to strangle him. Heat rushed to your cheeks at the idea of HR living with you, even if it was a temporary living arrangement. You scolded your heart for beating loudly in your chest. One hand gripped tightly to your other. An audible sigh escaped you as your mind played with the idea.

Shit, what am I going to do?

***Day 1***

Cisco blew out an exhausted breath, setting down another box on top of a box in the guest room. You and the mechanical genius had been breaching back and forth with HR’s things as said novelist was crippled. His arm would take about another four weeks to heal. About 20 percent of shoulder fractures are displaced and may require some type of manipulation to restore normal anatomy. Occasionally the rotator cuff muscles are injured or torn at the same time as the fracture. Fortunately for HR, his rotator cuff muscles weren’t as damaged. This can further complicate the treatment. Therefore, in that time, HR would just be handling the lighter stuff, bless his heart. The novelist entered the room with his black backpack slung over his functioning shoulder – it was the last thing that he could carry.

“I think there’s one more box left,” HR pointed with his thumb towards his back direction, the breach closing behind him.

“I’ll go get it, not a problem. Why don’t you two get started on unpacking, huh?” HR shrugged with one shoulder and stepped away to set his bag down by the bed. Cisco threw a cheeky look your way when HR had his back turned, his eyebrows wiggling. ‘Have fun love birds,’ the scientist had mouthed at you. You flicked him off with a deadpanned look. Instantly you dropped it when the Wells doppelganger turned as Cisco snickered before he breached away. He gave you a confused look, but you waved it off.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For allowing me to stay obviously. And for all the help since I’m, well, a bit tangled up at the moment.”

He was referring to the cross-body sling that clung onto him like a spider. HR rubbed the back of his neck, and you didn’t miss the way his bicep flexed at the motion in that gray short-sleeve shirt. Calm the fuck down, it’s just a toned muscle. You’ve seen things like that before. The puppy-like smile HR sent you had your cheeks warming up. The gentle smile that made your heart melt all over again. You cleared your throat as you reached for a box. “It’s no big deal, HR.” Undoing the tape seal with scissors, you opened the box- and the first thing you see are a pair of handcuffs accompanied by a silky black blindfold.

“What’s in the box?”

A little noise left you as you shut the flaps of the box, trying to seal it again. The flaps remained downward in the box. “Nope, nothing. Just some clothes here. I’m going to get that one box from the living room.” You had backtracked right into the door, your nose throbbed in response at the collision. “Ow,” you muttered to yourself, rubbing the skin.

“You ok?”

“I’m fine,” your response was quick, but not rude. A deep chuckle made its way to your ears as you scrambled out the room, your heart hammering in your chest. Your thoughts scolded you for being so awkward and flustered around him. Be cool, just chill out… The man you’re hopelessly in love with is just living with you temporarily, it’s not like anything will amount from this. You picked up the last box in the living room, hoping that just clothes would be in here and not anymore kink toys. I mean… I have toys, too. AW SHIT, I HAVE TO HIDE THEM!

HR’s eyes never left you as you made your panicked exit. He let out a little breath before shuffling over to the box you had been attending to. Immediately, he face-palmed hard when he had opened it with one hand. His face felt impossibly hot at what you had seen. She must think I’m an idiot or something. His mind thought back to when you helped him shop for some new clothes then it had gotten ruined from a meta. His hand fell away from his face, the image of your kind grin imprinted in his mind. I am an idiot, though. A fool.

Once Cisco returned, you three continued unpacking HR’s things for the time he’d spend here. The labs were still in ‘piss-poor’ shape according to Cisco and that he’ll need to consult with Harry and Wally regarding repairs.

“HR, how are you showering?”

“Um, like a normal person?” A dumbfounded look crossed HR’s features as he set the plate of sandwiches down. The novelist had knitted his eyebrows at Cisco. He had taken up to experimenting in the kitchen when he wasn’t writing. The tea and coffee were still brewing in your kitchen.

“No, I mean with how your shoulder is injured,” Cisco snuck an evil look at you, you returned it with a glare, “must be hard handling it alone.” You knew exactly where this dumbass wanted to take this conversation, so you stayed silent as to not get caught in the crossfire.

HR thought to himself for a moment. “Just a bit, but I’ve gotten used to the mild discomforts and pain. I can mostly reach everything thanks to my long limbs. But I think the nice thing is that it’s an internal issue, not an external one. An external injury or wound would require me to really have help with showering that way the area doesn’t get infected or irritated with the contents of soaps.” A laugh fell from his lips, but his mind wondered what his friend was playing at while you were around.

“I’m just saying, if you ever need a hand well,” Cisco trailed off with a smirk, chomping on his third sandwich.

Oh, I see. Devious, but a futile effort. “I’ll make sure you’re the first one I ask for help,” HR teased with a smirk of his own for Cisco to drop his in disgust. A cough escaped you, which had HR’s eyes land on you. Your eyes met for a moment before you deviated your gaze. HR felt hypnotized for a moment. Hm… The engineer quickly recovered from HR’s snide remark.

“Alright kids, I’ll be going now. The labs require some diligent work that I, a capable and distinguished engineer, could only do.”

“Yet, we still have the occasional security issues,” You sipped your tea once the snarky comment was out. HR stifled a chuckle, but you heard it. The corners of your mouth lifted slightly at the notion.

“Hey, that’s not fair. They always come up with something new to invade our space by.” Cisco pointed a finger at you, mocking a hurtful expression on his face. It dropped into a sneaky smile. “Make good choices and always use protection, you two!” He breached away before you could throw your cup at him.

***Multiple Days Pass***

Through his time here, you noticed HR fueled to write what’s on his mind in the guest room. You could only assume that he continued his adventure story. Sometimes he would venture out for some coffee or take a walk to give his creativity a break. Keeping that in mind, you gave HR the space he needed as well as all noises to a minimum. You knew he liked the quiet atmosphere to pour his heart and soul into words as he did research for a scene. Pulling your jacket on, you compiled a list of groceries before you stepped out of your apartment. Locking the door, you headed out to the store picking up a few necessities as well as some snacks for HR. Like Harry, the novelist can easily lose himself in his task – which meant that he tended to forget about eating and such. You found a bag of Jitters coffee beans, adding it to your cart of items. Buying some snacks and fruit, you’d leave a note in the kitchen of the snacks when he emerged from his writing cave.

On the way back, you stopped by at Iris’ studio to check up on her. A few groceries for her as well were in hand. Cecile and you did your best to visit Iris. But you can’t deny that you blamed her to a certain extent. Had she spoken up once she had left Savitar’s place disguised as HR, HR wouldn’t have been hurt that night on Infantino Street. Surely, she could have contacted her father or Cisco or something. The transition could have been smoother. HR wouldn’t have been… The journalist was faring; she pushed through the pain and as Barry had told her ‘to keep living’. So, Iris did. She hadn’t been herself since Barry went into the Speedforce – she pushed too much, the smile wouldn’t reach her eyes sometimes. You sympathized; she lost the love of her life. But you almost had too.

“How are you?”

“I’m fine, just… taking it one day at a time.” You nodded at her response, a small smile on your face. “How are things with you and HR? I heard of the temporary living conditions.”

“It’s fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m in my bubble and he’s in his doing his writing.”

“Right. Nothing going on whatsoever?”

“Iris.”

Iris set her cup of hot chocolate down and raised both hands in mock defeat. “We all saw it. We all see it.”

“See what?”

“How smitten you are for him.”

“I’m not-”

“-Don’t say you’re not. If you weren’t you, Harry wouldn’t have to pry you off Savitar before you clawed his eyes out.”

“…” You just looked into your tea, the honey that settled at the bottom. Iris placed a sympathetic hand on your shoulder, but you didn’t look at her.

“The heart will want what it wants, (Y/N). Pushing your feelings into a box and denying it out loud won’t change things.”

“I know.”

And my heart wants him, over and over again. Even if he can’t see me.

***

HR tapped his pencil against the desk at a steady pace. His mind wouldn’t focus on the words in front of him, on the scene he wanted to set. Instead, it kept drifting further from it. Further towards you: your eyes, your smile, the kindness that you held; the serenity that your existence held as the world continued to turn and chaos had unfolded at each turn. HR didn’t see much of you while he was here, the novelist missed your company. You were here, but you weren’t really here. You were either in your room or at the balcony with a book or on the couch with your Switch. He didn’t want to bother you, but… sometimes HR just wanted to sit beside you and pull you close to talk. To hold you in his arms and ask you about your day, to understand what you were thinking. HR cracked his back in a stretch from where he sat on his bed, being mindful of his injured shoulder. It didn’t hurt as it had originally done a few weeks back. The Wells doppelganger noticed that you were careful to avoid touching him or him touching you. Not even a hug that you used to graciously give him. You were especially guarded with your hands. A rough sigh left him as he threw his pencil down. The frustration was setting in, he was getting nowhere. You consumed his thoughts. HR wondered if you were revolted by him but doesn’t verbalize his thoughts to you. He didn’t think you’d give him your truthful answer. Maybe she is revolted by me. She did find the cuffs and the blindfold… No, she knew about the cuff stage thing well before that.

The sound of the front door greeted his ears followed by the soft tune of music. A frown made its way onto his face. Might as well take a break. HR stretched once more when he fully stood up, a little noise of relief left his lips. He cracked his back once more before smelling himself. For safe measure, the novelist sprayed a bit of cologne on himself and turned off the candle he had on. He mentally noted to take a shower after dinner since his last was yesterday. He liked the feeling of being clean, to be honest. HR carded a hand through his hair. I need a haircut soon, too. Yeesh, I feel like I’m letting myself go. Once I’m all healed it’s back to proper cuts and the labs’ recreation room. He wanted to go back to lifting weights and doing yoga for body stability purposes – especially now because of his shoulder. HR rested a hand on his chest, the wound had healed completely, but a scar remained. Upon entering the kitchen, he saw the groceries on the table and heard you whisper along with the lyrics. The music was set to a low level that your whispers were audible enough. He watched you sway a bit with the tune.

So please don't break my heart

Don't tear me apart

I know how it starts

Trust me I've been broken before

Don't break me again

I am delicate

Please don't break my heart

Trust me I've been broken before

The guitar tune pulled at his heart, feeling the raw emotion behind the lyrics. He eyed you for a moment. HR cleared his throat to make his presence known, he knew you didn’t like to be snuck up on. However, a little gasp left you from where you were. “You went out shopping?”

You looked up from where you crouched to put away the cereal. “Uh yeah, we were running low on some stuff.” You shut the cabinet and went to the other items you had bought. The music continued to delicately play.

“Need any help?”

“Um, sure. Uh, just set these into the cabinet on the left.” Normal, be normal. He’s not going to eat you or anything. Distance is good. Distance keeps you safe. You didn’t meet his eyes, the eyes that’d pull you in and never let you out – your heart shook with him here and the song that played. You were hoping HR wouldn’t come out while you prepped dinner to have a sort of peace of mind. The next song played before you could stop it-

My last made me feel like I would never try again

But when I saw you, I felt something I never felt

Come closer, I'll give you all my love

If you treat me right, baby, I'll give you everything

“I like this song,” HR started as he was finishing up with putting his side of the groceries away. Another guitar-like song that brought out the soft feelings of love and rejection. HR mused to himself if fate had planned this out. If this was some sort of sign or a cruel joke… You had stopped yourself from clicking the button to skip the song at his comment. You don’t know what possessed you to let him indulge in another song that you’ve cried to late at night. “Hey, I can cook dinner tonight. I have something I’ve been wanting to try. I’m not that crippled so I can manage with a few cookware.” HR chuckled to himself, a goofy grin on his face. Your heart leapt in your chest; his grin caused a small smile to pull at your lips. “You can wash up first?”

You swallowed thickly, your eyes meeting his icy blues. You felt your cheeks warm up slightly as the nerves crawled up your spine. “Oh, ok. Cool, yeah. Can’t wait to see what you cook up.” You nodded, ducking your head away and shuffling out of the kitchen with that shy smile on your face. You missed the longing look he had sent you as you fastened your steps to head to your room.

God I love that smile. What goes on in that little head of yours? We used to be so close… before Tracy came into the picture. HR pulled out the spices and the chicken breast. He shook his head and proceeded to prep the food with his one useful hand. I need to consult Francisco.

***

“We need to talk,” HR’s voice broke the silence in the side lab of the Cortex. He had breached to the labs using the Breach Extrapolator after he had showered and such. His damp hair was pushed back in HR’s normal style.

“About what?” Cisco raised a concerned eyebrow at the writer, stopping what he had been doing.

“(Y/N).”

A nervous laugh left Cisco as he went back to attempting to make the necessary modifications to the Speed Bazooka. Tracy was reluctant to help the mechanical engineer after the breakup. “What about (Y/N)?” Cisco put down his screwdriver. “Did you do something weird to her?”

“What? No! I- we used to be closer. We always talked, we’d hang out after a long day here at the labs.”

“Uh huh.”

“And, maybe it’s just me, but things have changed.”

“How so?” Cisco was wondering what conclusion HR was leading himself to.

“Things changed when Tracy came into the picture.”

Cisco made a little ‘o’ with his mouth with a little nod before closing it. He pushed a rough sigh past his lips, he was getting really tired of this puppy love game. “Why do you think that?”

“Francisco, she flinches when I get close – almost when I touch her… Does she hate me?”

“I think you and I know the answer to that one. But I think the real question should be: Why do you care so much? Why does it bother you? Do you love her, HR?”

The novelist tensed a bit. “…” HR pursed his lips as Cisco walked around the table that the speed weapon was mounted on. Blueprints were scattered on one table while the glass board held variables and equations he could not decipher. “What?”

“I said what I said,” the mechanical genius smoothly responded. One look at HR and Cisco knew that he was baffled by his forward words. But they needed to be said. “Now run along and use that head of yours to think about what your heart wants. Barry isn’t going to get himself out of the Speedforce.”

***

Cisco’s words mulled through HR’s mind as he breached back to your apartment’s living room. Only the lamp light on the side table was on. HR’s eyes landed on you, who laid on the couch with the book you had been reading on the back ledge of the couch. The novelist took off his shoes and set down his bag. He had detoured to the bookstore, looking for the next installment of your current book. The Wells doppelganger had assumed you didn’t buy it yet as it was vacant from your bookshelf. The gentle giant stepped silently closer to you; the dim light cast over you like a glow. There were slight bags under your eyes. She hasn’t been sleeping well lately. Spotting a large and fluffy blanket near, HR grabs it and lays it on top of you. He remembered you mentioned to him prior that you easily get cold, especially at night. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, HR contemplated something before his body moved impulsively. The novelist placed a gentle kiss on your forehead; his lips lingered for a few more seconds. Pulling back, HR watched your chest rise and fall. He turned the light off and stumbled over to his room with his phone light guiding him. He knew what he was going to write. Cisco’s question pestered him enough though.

Do you love her, HR?

HR took one look out his door before shutting it, his heart squeezed tightly in his chest as he whispered, “Goodnight, my angel.” Only the shadows that lingered were a witness to the fondness laced in those simple words.

***

You woke up with a start, you hand instantly smacking right into your chest. Heavy breaths left you as your nerves were in overdrive. Cold sweat beaded your skin as you gasp for air. It was another night terror – the same one for a few weeks now; a new way in which you caused HR’s death. Swallowing thickly, you screw your eyes tightly shut and whisper the mantra that calmed you down. After a few minutes, you started to regain control of your breathing – the thoughts that ravaged your mind finally ceased like the tides subsiding after a tsunami. You blinked languidly, hating nights like these. They weren’t rare, but they weren’t an uncommon occurrence. Deciding that you needed to step out for some air, you did so with the intent of getting a glass of water from the kitchen. Your fingers found the lights for the dimmers in your room, setting it to its lowest setting for you to see yourself out.

Cracking the door open, you were instantly met with the scene of HR passed out on the couch again. He’s been doing that for around two weeks now, the couch his new base of operations. His mouth was slightly open as little snores escaped him. A lovestruck smile crossed your features at the sight. Papers were littered around him, on the ground, and on the tables. Must be the manuscript he’s working on for his final draft. I hope I can read it at some point. Coming back from the kitchen with the water in hand you couldn’t help but stop to admire the sight. You noticed the glasses still perched on his face. Moving as silent as a ninja, you inched closer to pull off the glasses from his face. They’ll break if he keeps them on while he sleeps. Then he won’t see for shit when reading things. You nibbled on your bottom lip as your eyes drifted to the papers. One peek won’t hurt anyone. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

Seating yourself on the ground, you leaned your back against the foundation of the couch. You were opposite to where HR’s upper body was. If there were any telltale signs of him waking, you’d hightail out before he could fully wake up and process what you were doing. Picking up a small stack, you started sifting through them. Your mind became engrossed with the words – the beginnings of the story he had spun about his adventures as to how he came to Earth-1. Then… mentions of an angel eluded you. It couldn’t be Tracy, could it? I know they broke up, but… on the other hand, it doesn’t mean that he can’t say that she was his angel at the time. Like a character development thing leading to their break up?? Well fuck, I don’t even think he’d mention such a personal thing in his book. I know I wouldn’t… would I? I don’t know. A little smile danced at your lips while you read on about the synonymous things regarding Team Flash that you failed to notice HR rouse from sleep.

“Do you like it?” Lethargy intertwined his words. A stunned noise left you as you clutched the papers. You turned to see HR rubbing his eyes before gazing at you.

I could get lost in those eyes if I stared too long.

“Uh, yeah, its- it’s really good,” you stuttered, setting the papers down in your lap. Embarrassment of getting caught gripped you. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t mind you taking a peek. I don’t have anything to be ashamed of in it.” HR shifted his lithe body to sit next to you on the ground.

“Oh.”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“No.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“It’s not that important, I’ll be ok.”

“If you say so,” HR’s shoulders sagged slightly. “I’m here if you want to talk.” You nodded at him, whispering a little thank you. HR ran a hand over his knee, he took a glimpse at you who stared at the papers. He noticed what chapter you hand been reading – the angel was making an appearance in the story. The hair at the back of his neck stood while you thumbed the words on the paper back in forth, just lost in your mind. Your hair was messy from sleep, the bags under your eyes were still there. It killed him how you wouldn’t confide in him anymore. But he didn’t push you. You would open up to him if you wanted to or not, even if he wanted you to do so as so his mind can be at ease with knowing what’s going on with you. Cisco’s question sprang up in his mind once more before he licked his lips, his eyes watching you. “I do.”

You gave HR a strange look. I do, what?

“Tracy wasn’t her.” Realization struck HR the more you whispered with him.

“Huh??”

“I heard this voice before I woke up.” The novelist fully turned to you with intense eyes, the enlightenment in them – the fire that burned brightly. “The tenderness in it could rival any tasteful delight in the multiverse.”

“A voice?”

“Mm, it made me think that only a heavenly deity would have such a voice.” You remained silent as he spoke. “I never got to hear that voice since my coma… until now?”

You tensed at what he was insinuating. “Now?”

“How could I forget?”

“I-I don’t understand.”

“How could I forget about you?” The baritone huskiness in his voice made you melt with the way he said those words. You swallowed, trying to calm the butterflies that raged in the pit of your stomach. “The flowers that were left – beautiful, delicate, yet meaningful. You left those after visiting me.”

“…”

She didn’t deny it. “But you never visited when I was awake because of Tracy.”

“She hates me.”

“And I was too blind to see that until I broke up with her, she threw quite a fit.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“Because you must have loved her so much that it would be hard to let go.” She was your angel, after all.

“She didn’t even know me. Truly know me.”

“… Did she hurt you?”

“Slightly, but the bruise is gone.” You and he were silent for a moment. Only the sound of a distant car horn was heard from the streets. “You didn’t deny it.”

“Deny what?”

“The flowers, the visit…” HR licked his lips as a rough breath left him. His nerves were climbing, but he needed to do this. “Cisco told me what you did to Savitar when you saw him. How angry you were that Harry had to pry you off him – I was so angry.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t know then… but I know now.”

“And?”

“Tracy was never the one written in my story – she didn’t care. She didn’t see me for anything other than a pretty face obsessed with coffee. You did.” HR tucked your hair behind your ear, carefully gauging your reaction. He saw how you tried not to flinch away from him. “Do you hate me?” He asked as he retracted a hand from you, happy that he was at least getting through to you.

“Never could I feel such a way towards you.” You hesitated for a moment before testing the waters. You started to explain, “I- the night you were stabbed by Savitar I… I just broke. I pushed Tracy away, I had Barry rush you back to the labs. You were dying, unconscious on the gurney and… I got to work trying to resuscitate you. I had Cisco take care of Tracy while I worked, I needed space to think clearly, but I couldn’t. When- when the others were preoccupied with Iris’ appearance, I used these powers.” It was now or never. “I was desperate. Your life was hanging by a thread- I didn’t think it was going to work, but nothing else was working. You were bleeding so much. But I had to try. I…” Your glassy eyes locked back on his, your hands pulled close to your body. HR understood now why you never tried touching him. Why you are avoiding getting too close. “Cisco found out, he confronted me. But these powers, life isn’t guaranteed. They’re volatile, unprecedented – regardless of how I feel in the moment the balance can tip between giving a life and taking one.” There was a tightness in your chest as your voice cracked, “I’m cursed, I could hurt you.” I’m dangerous.

“I don’t think you will.”

“You don’t know that!”

“But I do,” HR reached a hand out to hold yours. Tension filled your heart as panic started to settle. “You wouldn’t let yourself hurt me. It would pain you too much.” HR squeezed your slightly shaky hand, his other hand still bound by the cross-sling. “My life is in your hands.”

“How can you trust me so much?”

“Because love cannot be built without a foundation of trust.” He placed a sweet kiss on the knuckles of your hand. “And understanding.” He took the other and kissed it, baby blue eyes shifted back to yours with such intense emotion. The adoration that filled the author to the brim for you. Just for you. Only you. The one who saw him for everything and anything that he is. His safe space – the one other thing he wanted to be for you as well. He wanted to eliminate any fears that resided in your heart, the pain and doubt that remained.

“Do you hate me?”

HR cupped your cheek tenderly as he leaned close, your heart wanted to stop as blood rushed to your cheeks and ears. Your half-lidded eyes shut slowly as his lips skimmed over your own. “Never in my life, angel,” the novelist whispered as he captured your lips in a tender and sentimental kiss.

Never in my life could I hate the one who my heart has yearned for.

#harrison wells x reader #harrison wells #hr wells x reader #hr wells #hr wells imagine #the flash cw #the flash #harrison wells imagines #earth 19 harrison wells #cw #cisco ramon #tracy brand #iris west #Iris West-Allen

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viacursecasting · 3 years

Text

Sonadow Scenario #35

Casualties were on the rise. Shadow volunteered at the local hospital, taking inventory in an isolated room when Mephiles suddenly held a crystal blade against his throat. Though the lifeform's eyes slightly widened at the abrupt intrusion, he otherwise didn't flinch.

"You wouldn't kill me," Shadow stated as his hands continued about their business. "You can't. Without my image, you can't take form, and you would never come to exist."

Mephiles hummed almost admirably. "Very observant of you, Shadow. But I'm not here to kill you. I've deduced that you would make the perfect bait."

He then grabbed the agent's wrist communicator, his gravelly voice speaking directly into it:

"Any last words, Ultimate Lifeform?"

Shadow resisted on instinct, but his eyes pinpricked when he realized the device was transmitting audio to a certain speedster. "No, wait—!"

Just then a blue blur sped into view. "Shadow! I came as soon as I heard—"

He was immediately cut off as the villain's claws snatched his neck, pinning him against the wall. Sonic wanted to cry out as nails dug into flesh, but all he could do was let out a pitiful choking sound, helplessly kicking his legs.

Shadow growled at the sight, his crimson eyes aflame. He readied to lunge forward—

"Come any closer and I won't savor his struggling," Mephiles warned, his tone laced with daggers.

Shadow tch'd with his fangs. Then something from the pile of medical supplies gleamed out of the corner of his eye...

Laughing maniacally, Mephiles fixated his red sclera on his victim. "At last! Once I eradicate you, Iblis and I will finally be reunited." Then he cocked his head, purring, "It's a shame, though. The look of terror in your eyes is absolutely divine..."

"Let him go, Mephiles."

The crystalline being turned to see the agent holding a full syringe to his own vein. Mephiles read the inscription, putting two and two together. "A fatal dose of morphine?" He huffed haughtily. "You wouldn't."

Shadow did not waver. "If it means getting rid of you, I would."

Through his chokehold, Sonic managed to sputter, "Sha-dow... D-Don't...!"

Mephiles paid him no mind, his voice a sneer. "You honestly expect me to believe you would off yourself in front of your beloved hero?" He tightened his grip, forcing the hedgehog to teeter on the verge of consciousness.

With a deep breath of courage, Shadow suddenly plunged the drug deep into his bloodstream.

"NO!" Sonic and Mephiles cried in unison as the lifeform staggered, knocking over test tubes and IV poles before collapsing in a heap.

Mephiles released his iron grip as he started to dissipate into ash and smoke, roaring curses and denials as he clawed at his limbs in vain, withering into nothingness.

Sonic fell to his haunches, gasping for air, before crawling over to the agent's lifeless body. "Shadow?" he croaked, cradling those ebony quills in his arms. He rested his head upon that furred chest to listen for his heartbeat, eyes flickering with despair. "No, no, no... Shadow, please wake up... Please..."

He could no longer hold back as he began to sob, rivers flowing uncontrollably. Grief consumed his very being, wails heard by the heavens. With each shudder of anguish, of torment, his chest felt more and more like lead, heavy with guilt.

Gravity couldn't hold a candle to a broken heart.

As he tried to wipe his face—to no avail as the waterfalls were unrelenting—his ear perked at the sound of a small bottle rolling out of the lifeform's palm, landing next to a white pen. He reached over to grab the container, at which point he noticed something drawn in ivory ink on Shadow's arm: an arrow pointing to a small circle with a caption that read, NARCAN.

Sonic viewed the tiny bottle again and gasped, ransacking the nearby supplies for a new syringe. He found one, using it to draw the substance from the vial, and injected it directly within the scrawled outline on the agent's blood vessel.

Then Sonic held his breath, waiting for what seemed like an eternity.

Suddenly Shadow gasped to life, coughing from the quick intake of air. He groaned, but as the hero came into focus, he gave a weak smile.

Now Sonic's tears were ones of happiness as he embraced the lifeform tightly, fondly, as if his life depended on it...

As if love were the drug.

#sonadow scenarios #sonadow #sth #needles/#death/#but with a happy ending i swear #inspired by the movie countdown #suicide/#kinda

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imagine-it-to-be-true · 3 years

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Fix You - Caius Volturi x FemOC Three Shot: Part 2

Hey guys! So, originally, this story was supposed to be a One-shot. But because of the overwhelming amount of requests I’ve received (thank you so much sweeties, by the way), I’ve decided to make it into a three parter. This is part 2, and the first part can be found on my blog. I’m not sure when I get around to writing part 3 as uni starts back up today, but I’ll try my best not to keep you in suspense for too long. This part is more centred around chaos than romance. Nothing belongs to me (including the GIF) Also, warnings: violence, blood, death.

Andromeda’s POV

The sensations were weird. First, I had been in a lot of pain around my stomach region. I could hardly breathe, let alone express my pain to the handsome-yet-creepy, blonde stranger taking care of me. Though I’m sure he knew. I mean, even I knew I was dying, and he was helpless to save me, so I didn’t bother speaking. I could see the concern in his eyes and hear his sweet whisperings as he stroked my cheeks and wiped away my tears. But these little comforts were not enough to stop the hurt. Then, when I saw him holding a huge syringe, it sent me into panic mode. I never liked needles, not to mention ones which were about to inject unfamiliar liquids into me. But he reassured me it would help, which calmed me down. Not like I could defend myself in that moment anyways. I guess it couldn’t hurt me more. It turned out he was right. After a few minutes, I noticed the pain slowly going away. Maybe it wasn’t the liquid, but the fast-approaching release of death, I wasn’t sure. My cries began to slow, and I could feel more pleasant sensations, such as the pale man stroking my hand with his thumb, gently massaging circles into it. Then, he asked,

“What is your name, omorfiá mou?”

Gasping for air, I attempted to speak,

“Andromeda,” came my whispered reply. With my half-opened eyes, I was able to see his perfect lips draw up in a smile. Focusing on his features, I didn’t even realize that my pain was entirely gone, and I was feeling rather loopy. I watched the man bend down closer to me, brushing my hair back and running his ice-cold knuckles down the side of my neck. Suddenly I felt a sense of vulnerability. I felt his cool breath hitting my ear as he whispered,

“Do not be afraid. You will live forever. You are mine now, and I will never let anything hurt you again.” I was confused and fear began to resurface. I had gotten away from one creep, only to be taken by another. This man scared me to my core. But before I could dwell on my thoughts, I saw him quickly lean down towards my neck, as if he was about to kiss me. That was not what happened.

Indeed, I momentarily felt his cool lips touch the sensitive skin of my neck. But then a sharp pain erupted. Whatever it was that he injected into me was definitely helping. I was aching again, though differently this time. It was a dull, electrifying, fiery sensation, which immediately spread from my neck to my brain, and all the way down to the tips of my toes. My body was on fire, but it was not as intense. If one were to be scratched over and over and over again, pain would increase. This was what I was going through. It was continuous and that was making it worse. An hour had passed, then two, then I lost count. I couldn’t see anything anymore, my vision clouded. Yet I could still hear him. He never seemed to leave. Others would come and go. Time would pass and I would feel needles in my arms. I assume he kept injecting me with whatever it was, which managed my pain; probably morphine. I learned his name was Caius from others who had come in and spoken to him. Caius. What an unusual name. But it fit him.

He had injected so much morphine into me that the dull burning sensation eventually stopped. That, or perhaps I adjusted to it. I could not tell how much time had passed, but by now, it had been a while, for sure. I had given up. If it were not for his constant voice, and feeling of his icy hands touching my own, I would have believed I passed on. But eventually, my vision slowly began to return. I hadn’t felt injections in hours, and no pain returned, which was strange.

The entire time I lay there, presumably dying, I thought of my life. Who would miss me? I had no parents. Both died in a car crash when I was 12. I was in the back seat and miraculously survived. Given no time to adjust to the tragedy, I was immediately placed in a foster home in New Haven, where I experienced endless amounts of bullying. But as with all foster children, my stay was temporary. For the next five years, I bounced from one home to the next. This made me reserved, quiet, and untrusting. I was socially awkward and had very few friends. My main comforts came from the company of animals. Truthfully, I got used to this solitary existence, finding that I expressed myself better through storytelling than the spoken word. In fact, my unfortunate childhood did not impact my standing at school. I was always a good student, and this landed me a fully paid scholarship to NYU where I completed a double degree in journalism and history. The lack of family and friends allowed me to dedicate all my time to my studies and work, which was conducting research for my professor. Then, after graduating, I decided to make a drastic change and start fresh with a move to Europe. For the last two years, I had spent my time travelling several countries and writing articles on historical artifacts, buildings, and churches. I sold my stories to networks as a freelance historical journalist, living alone and moving often from place to place. In fact, Volterra was my last stop in Europe before I planned to relocate to Egypt and focus on Pharaonic history there. Not many of Volterra’s tourists knew about the building I had been photographing, which was off the main street and down an alleyway. It was not glamorous, but historic, which drove me to it. That is where I was and what I was doing when I was suddenly grabbed and dragged into a dark alleyway.

My life had been flashing before my eyes over and over again. I wanted to live. To do better. To be better. I was sick of being alone. So, when my vision began returning, I was filled with motivation to live. Really live. Finally, I could focus my eyes. I stared up at what appeared to be a bed canopy. It was velvet, and dark red in color. To my right, I could sense the smell of burning candles. It was so prominent that it made my nose burn. My hands were balled into fists, grasping the cotton sheets and I could see that I ripped holes in them. How much pain was I in that I ripped a bedsheet with my bare hands? I then noticed something strange. I was not breathing. Since when was I not breathing? This frightened me immensely, and I bolted into an upright sitting position. As I did, the bed violently shook. The canopy swayed as if it would collapse at any second. Did I do this? I’m a weak little girl who couldn’t even fight off a drunk man in an alleyway, how was I doing all this? I heard a sound to my left and immediately snapped my head towards the source. It was a young woman – girl more like it – that I did not recognize. She had strange red eyes, much like my rescuer. But she frightened me more than him. There was a certain evil surrounding her, I could sense it. How, I did not know. All I knew was that she did not wish me well.

“Hello, Andromeda.” She spoke coolly.

I looked at her, suspicion and confusion painted over my face.

“H-how do you know my name?”

“Master Caius told me.”

‘Master?’ that sounded strange. Not something a girl would call a man. What was this, a sex trafficking operation? Before I could speak, she continued.

“He has been by your side. He will return any minute now. He went out hunting for you.” She spoke like an information-giving robot: just spewing facts, unmoving, her expression unchanging.

I closed my eyes and shook my head. “Hunting… that’s not necessary. I- I don’t eat meat.” Her expression finally changed. Her smirk transformed into a creepy smile, and she let out a laugh.

“Believe me, dear girl. It is not exactly meat he will be returning with.” She turned on her heels and stormed out of the room. Two guards opened the bedroom door for her and shut it as she left. So, they have my room guarded. I guess they aren’t going to let me leave.

I was not in a hurry; I needed to see Caius. Thank him. And ask him how he was able to fix me. Was I remembering correctly that he bit me?! What a strange thing to do. I looked down on my stomach, which was completely injury-free. Then, I reached my hand to the back of my neck, trying to feel any bitemarks there. Nothing. What the hell? I did not understand. I had a lot of questions and needed answers, the most pressing of which was why my throat was on fire. I would have asked the girl, but something in me yelled to keep my distance from her; that she was dangerous. Slowly, I stood up from the bed, noticing that the white dress I had on when I was shot was no longer on me. Instead, I wore a soft, white nightgown, with lace on the collar. It seemed like a typical garment from Tudor England, or something. It was unlike anything I had seen in any mall or shop. Come to think of it, the entire room had a historic, gothic feel to it. The décor resembled a royal palace.

My feet hit the marble floor and I began walking around the room, making my way to the bookshelf. There, a massive assortment of books awaited. However, they were not the typical books one would find in a normal home. These were all historic and ancient. I picked up a copy of the Iliad. Looking at the bindings, I could tell the book was old. More interestingly, it was still written in Homeric Greek – not a language many would be able to read. Whoever this belongs to was most definitely smart.

Suddenly, I felt the burning in my throat worsen. The sensation intensified to the point where I was nearly panicking. Ready to run for the doors and ask the guards for help, I heard footsteps approaching.

The door swung open, and the man… Caius walked in. No longer dying, I could properly admire his features. He looked perfect, truly. Not a single flaw on his face or skin. His nearly white, blonde hair carefully combed back behind his ears. He moved towards where I was sat in an armchair and knelt in front of me. Immediately, I was filled with a calmness. It was like I was home. I cannot describe it completely, but it was as if all problems were erased, and I was safe. This was the second time I managed to judge a person based on feelings, all within the last few minutes. First with the young woman from earlier, and now Caius. Before he could speak, the feeling was gone, and replaced once again with unease and danger, as I watched the young woman reappear, dragging a man by his wrist. Behind her, the guards entered the room and stood on either side of the man. I could feel that he was not dangerous, as the fear was practically radiating off him. The woman stepped behind him and gave him a push towards me.

“Dinner,” she stated coldly. I looked from her to the frightened man, to Caius. I could see annoyance on his face, as he turned to her and spoke.

“Must you, Jane? Do you not know of patience?”

“Forgive me, Master Caius. You were not one to show patience often, and I do learn from you.” She stated simply.

When Caius turned to me, I was grasping my throat, which was burning almost unbearably. “What is happening?!” I choked out.

“I know this will not make sense to you right now, and I will explain everything, I promise. But the only thing that will stop the ache is if you drink blood. You need to drink this man’s blood.” Caius whispered to me, out of earshot of the poor man.

I froze and looked at him with wide eyes, face in complete and utter shock.

“WHAT?! What did you just say?!” I exclaimed, not believing what I heard.

He sighed and leaned in once again, whispering. “In order to save your life from your injuries, I was forced to turn you into a vampire. You need blood, and you need it now. Trust me.” He tried again.

“I WILL NOT! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!” Hastily standing, I pushed him away. My intention was to give him a normal, hard push so that he gets the message. But nothing prepared me for what happened. When I pushed him, he went flying across the room and hitting a marble column, which shattered on impact. Immediately, the room was filled with noise and dust as the column went crashing down around him. I pushed myself into the corner of the room and watched in terror. That impact would have killed an elephant. Yet Caius, simply rose, brushing dust off his blazer and pants. The evil woman – Jane as he called her – appeared emotionless as she turned her attention from Caius to me.

“Fine. More for us then,” she said. What followed, was simply too much for me to handle.

First, I heard Caius yelling, “Jane, NO!” In one swift motion, she tore the frightened man’s throat with her teeth. Blood gushed out from the wound, spilling all over the white marble floor. I screamed in terror. But what was even more terrifying than the poor man’s death, was the smell of his blood. It was driving me crazy. It was like nothing I had ever experienced it. I craved it. Needed it. And was so close to taking it all for myself. But with any remaining strength I had left, I stopped myself. This was not me. I was a vegetarian because I cared for the well-being of animals. There was not a thing in the world which would force me to do anything to harm another living soul. So, I curled up in a ball in my corner and rocked back and forth, trying to focus my senses on anything other than the delicious smell of blood.

“I will deal with you later. Take him and leave, now!” I heard Caius’ voice. “You are not to come here again; you are not to see her! Now go!”

“Yes, Master Caius.” I heard her disgusting, venomous voice once again as she left. The doors closed and the room was filled with silence.

I momentarily thought Caius left too, but then I felt the sensation of safety return to me.

“How did I do that?” I ask with a shaking voice.

“You are a new vampire. For the first few weeks, you will be stronger than the rest of us. This will pass, and you will adjust.” He said gently.

I continued hugging my knees and rocking. Caius continued.

“This is not how a newborn should experience the first moments. But Andromeda…” he hesitated, “You need to feed. If you do not, it will only get worse. Your awareness will seize to function, and you will eventually kill more than you would have otherwise.”

With no response from me, Caius reached for my hands, placing his own over them. This woke a rage inside of me. I grasped his wrists and pushed him backwards. His back hit the wall, not as hard this time. I began speaking.

“You did this to me. You made me this… this… monster. This is on you. You should have let me die. Now, because of your selfish need for heroism, I will murder countless others.”

We both rose to our feet. He gently approached me again, saying my name, but I held my hand up to block him. “Get out. I don’t ever want to see you again. I hate you.”

With that, I pushed him towards the direction of the door. He paused,

“Andromeda-”

“GET OUT!” I picked up a glass vase and threw it in his direction, and he finally left. I sat down on the cold marble tiles, pressing my back against the wall, and screamed in agony.

#caius volturi #caius #twilight #new moon #eclipse #breaking dawn #volturi #volturi imagine #oneshot requests #oneshots #vampire #love #romance #hurt comfort #jane volturi

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buck-buck-boose · 3 years

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I'll Love You 'Til I Die

Masterlist | Playlist

Summary: A Brooklyn schoolgirl fell in love with James Buchanan Barnes at the tender age of nine. With this love she made a vow, promising to love him until her very last breath.

Pairing: Bucky x OFC

Warnings: Language, mild violence

Word Count: 4.6k

Author's Note: Big things are happening y'all

Chapter Twenty-One: The Super Soldier

March 19, 1943

Dawn crept up on Camp Lehigh in a thick haze of fog, the chirp of crickets its only whispered greeting. A late-winter frost bloomed across what little grass remained, the majority having been trampled underfoot by platoon after platoon of soldiers. Winter was quickly fading, giving way to a promising spring, but the bitter chill still latched onto those dewy mornings to remind Camp Lehigh’s inhabitants of the cold season they’d just nearly escaped.

Although sessions of training were not due to begin for hours, warm bodies were stirred from slumber in their barracks, meeting the cold, stale air of their poorly-insulated lodgings. The nurse’s barracks was lit by a lamp's dim glow, which splayed a flush of golden light across the room. Five women quietly and nimbly dressed, none of them wishing to break the silence that balanced among them; the early morning was sacred to them, as it seemed to be the only time apart from nighttime in which one could be alone with one’s thoughts.

Lottie deftly pinned her mousy curls beneath her white cap, caring little for their arrangement or appearance. Once upon a time, she’d tamed her curls with gentle finger waves and carefully pinned back strands, desperate to look the part of a fair woman like Ginger Rogers. It was a quieter, more joyful time in which she had the time and desire to put ample effort into her appearance. How simpler life in Brooklyn seemed, in retrospect. She only had to care for Steve or Bucky’s wounds, usually from some street brawl instigated by Steve and ended by Bucky; now she had soldiers to care for. Soldiers who would one day be covered in great, gaping wounds, some so deeply ingrained within their souls that neither the highest of morphine dosages nor the strongest suture could soothe them.

Lottie made swift work of fastening her blue cape around her neck, situating it so that the inner red lining wasn’t peeking out. In her peripherals, Mary smoothed a hand down her white skirt in a weak attempt at combatting its wrinkles while Betty gave her face a once-over in a battered compact that she always seemed to have on her person. Lottie was downright envious of her ever-red lip and sultry gaze, they seemed to turn the heads of all the young privates on base, which earned them more than a few reprimands. It was only a few weeks ago that Betty had explained her reasoning for putting such effort into her physical charm, even in the middle of the war.

“Nurses are supposed to provide comfort, care, right?” She sat across from Lottie at their table in the mess hall, smoke curling from a freshly lit cigarette resting between her fingers. She puffed on the cigarette for a moment and slowly exhaled the smoke, “Well these boys have been stuck in a war for over a year now and they probably haven’t seen a pretty face in a while. They’re probably missing their sweethearts, fiancées, you name it. Either way, they’ve gotta be awful lonely out there, so what’s the harm in being that girl with the pretty face that can make them a little less lonesome?”

Before anyone could raise a question, she continued, “I’m not talking affairs or anything illicit, sometimes they just need a pretty face and a nice voice to remind ‘em of home, to ease that loneliness.”

Betty’s little sermon drew Lottie’s thoughts to Bucky. He was a fiercely loyal man who would stop at nothing to protect or care for his closest companions. For his own sake, Lottie hoped that he’d found a sort of comradery with his fellow soldiers, a bond to strengthen him while they were separated by an ocean. He’d always had a habit of flashing her his trademark grin and ruffling her hair, all while declaring something silly like “You ‘n Steve are all I need, Little Lottie. It’s always gonna be the three of us, ‘til the end of the line.” Lottie could only hope that Bucky had found a bond like theirs with his fellow soldiers as a source of comfort and a respite from loneliness.

“Lottie dear, Dr. Erskine’s waiting for us.”

It seemed that the other nurses had filtered out of the barracks as Lottie was lost in thought. Only Gladys remained, waiting for her expectantly at the doorway. Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled back in a tight bun, with her white cap nestled daintily atop her head, held in place with a handful of pins.

“Apologies, Gladys, I’m coming.” Gladys gave her a small smile as she caught up, nerves keeping her from forming her true toothy grin. All the nurses were nervous, to be truthful, as it was a significant day. Their serum was finally being put to use; they had found their first Super Soldier in Steve Rogers.

When Lottie had received the news of his selection to receive the serum, she’d nearly fainted with shock. Steve was a man with a heart of gold, she’d always known that, but it only served to heighten her self-doubt with regards to the serum’s efficacy. If the serum went awry as it did with Schmidt, Lottie wasn’t sure how she would be able to live with herself.

Dr. Erskine and Colonel Phillips’ debriefing as to why Steve had been chosen to become America’s first Super Soldier was a source of comfort, though. The two men had cornered the five nurses outside their barracks right as they were heading inside to turn in for the night.

The scientist had been the first to speak, “Ladies, we wanted to catch you as soon as possible. Colonel Phillips and I have decided upon our candidate for the serum. Private Steve Rogers will report to our facility in Brooklyn promptly at ten hundred hours tomorrow. We will need to depart camp at six hundred hours so we have abundant time to become accustomed to the equipment that will be in use. Mr. Stark will be joining us there.”

Lottie was sure there’d been spots in her vision, the announcement had nearly knocked all the wind out of her.

“I expect you ladies to uphold the same sense of secrecy and vigilance that you’ve had up until this point,” Colonel Phillips interjected, “This is only the beginning of our mission. We must continue to protect Project Rebirth, no matter how hopeless it may seem.” His voice was laced with bitterness, obviously doubtful of Steve’s abilities.

Nancy furrowed her brow, “Forgive me if I’m wrong, but isn’t Private Rogers the ninety-pound asthmatic? Why him and not someone more… reliable, like Private Hodge?”

Lottie bristled slightly, as she did not take kindly to critical remarks regarding her friends.

“Need I remind you that the serum is not focused only on the physical?” Dr. Erskine fixed Nancy with a level gaze, “He is not the most well-built soldier, I admit that. But as you have seen yourself, the serum is capable of incredible cellular change that will only strengthen him. It will also amplify the qualities that he already has inside of himself. He has proven himself to be a good soldier and a worthy recipient of the serum.” Lottie glanced at Colonel Phillips, whose face was twisted into an awkward grimace, though he did not comment.

“During training today, he exhibited qualities of strength and humility that I have yet to see in any other soldiers thus far. Would Private Hodge throw himself over a grenade to protect his fellow soldiers? He showed me today that he would not, but Private Rogers would.”

Colonel Phillips muttered something along the lines of, “Still skinny,” though the bitterness seemed to fade. All of the nurses came to accept the news, trading in their expressions of shock and concern for ones of uncertainty and anxiety. It seemed that reality had hit for all five of the nurses at once; their work had finally come to fruition, making the road ahead even more daunting than before.

There was little conversation in the nurse’s compartment on the train to Brooklyn. There were moments of brief chatter among the women, but they were all too lost in their thoughts to carry on a proper conversation. Lottie shifted in her seat every few minutes, the poorly-cushioned seat providing little comfort during the duration of the train ride. Beside her, Gladys flicked through a stack of paper, which she’d pulled out of a manila folder that had been stamped with the word “Confidential” in large red letters. Ever the levelheaded academic of the group, she’d decided to look over their notes on the serum and its activation procedure one last time.

Across from her, Mary and Nancy were busying themselves with embroidery, an activity that a few of the nurses had picked up to improve their abilities with stitching. Lottie pictured a frayed handkerchief in her mind’s eye, a tattered old thing covered in clumsy pink flowers with a “JBB” monogram stitched carefully onto its corner. She wondered if Bucky had taken it with him overseas. He’d always kept it on his person back in Brooklyn, “Never know when a dame’s gonna go all misty eyed on me,” he’d say, humor in his eyes. There wouldn’t be many women for him to comfort overseas, but maybe he’d need it for his tears someday.

Betty sat to the right of Gladys, scanning the pages of a battered copy of Gone With the Wind. She’d never struck Lottie as a bookworm, but more often than not, she was the last of the women to fall asleep at night, usually engrossed in a novel for an hour or two past lights-out.

Two hours passed uneventfully; its monotony was only interrupted by the transferring from one train to another. Lottie’s heart seemed to pound in her ears as they approached Brooklyn, the tall buildings in her window becoming more and more familiar to her. Her heart swelled at the sight of it; she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed the city until she returned after all that time. Of course, she’d been gone from the city for longer while she was in nursing school, but it tugged at her heartstrings even more than before because a damn war was what kept her from her beloved borough.

It wasn’t long before the train had arrived, initiating a flurry of movement out of the train car and toward a car that sat at the curb, waiting for them. All five nurses clambered inside, with Dr. Erskine following behind in his car. The car ride was a short one, though Lottie took the time to observe her surroundings; she wanted so desperately to drink in the familiar alleys and side streets before she had to return to Camp Lehigh, to war.

Their car stopped abruptly in front of a cozy antique shop; one she’d never paid much attention to. Dr. Erskine’s car had arrived just a few moments before theirs, so they followed him inside. Once inside, they were faced with an aged woman, who greeted them with a casual question, though her eyes betrayed a deeper glimmer of suspicion, “Wonderful weather this morning, isn't it?”

Dr. Erskine responded promptly, “Yes, but I always carry an umbrella.”

They were quickly led through a false bookcase, which hid a vast laboratory full of all that was needed to complete the transformation that would occur in a few hours. There were dozens of monitors and gauges, all for measuring Steve’s vitals and the Vita-Rays that were intended to activate the serum within his cells. In the center of it all, there was a bed on which Steve would lie, and when injected with the serum, the bed would be surrounded by a chamber while the Vita-Rays were projected into him.

Lottie and her peers stood at the top of the stairs, taking it all in, while Dr. Erskine descended the steps toward a control panel. He glanced back at them briefly, “Shall we all get accustomed to this now, ladies?”

Over the past few hours, Lottie had tired herself by calibrating various instruments, readying the equipment, and arranging several vials of serum within the transformation chamber. Throughout that time, doctors, higher-ranking soldiers, and members of the SSR slowly filtered into the room, some even gathering in the observation booth that looked down on them from above. She knew that Steve was due to arrive with Agent Carter at any moment. Frankly, she was terrified— mortified, even.

Howard Stark flitted about the laboratory, checking up on the various devices that would be used throughout the process. The Vita-Ray chamber was his brainchild, so a majority of his morning was spent double and triple-checking its minute parts and its stability.

At precisely 10 o’clock in the morning, Agent Carter and Steve stepped into the laboratory, two metal doors held open by guards for their entrance. Silence quickly descended upon the scientists and personnel who had been moving about the room in a sort of organized chaos. Lottie knew that most of them were looking at Steve in confusion, and in some cases dismay, but she made sure to send her best friend a reassuring smile. Even if the bullheaded scientists in the room were doubtful of his abilities, Lottie was with him. She believed in him. Her only doubts were in her abilities.

The staff quickly returned to their business as Agent Carter and Steve descended the steps and approached the center of the laboratory to meet with Dr. Erskine. They shared a brief greeting before Steve was ordered to remove his hat, tie, and shirt; Mary waited beside him with a kind smile, accepting his shed clothing. Agent Carter stood a few feet behind Steve, respectfully averting her gaze as he partially disrobed. Lottie took a special interest in their interactions, examining the way in which she treated Steve. She didn’t ignore or belittle him as some women did, she treated him with more dignity and respect. For that, Lottie was grateful.

Lottie busied herself with sterilizing several glass syringes as she impatiently awaited the initiation of the transformation. She could just barely make out a conversation that Dr. Erskine and Steve had shared about schnapps, but before she could quite figure out what was said, the scientist turned to the inventor beside him, “Mr. Stark, how are your levels?”

“Levels at one hundred percent. We may dim half the lights in Brooklyn, but we are ready as we’ll ever be.” Mr. Stark stood in front of the chamber where Steve now lay, projecting an air of confidence despite an uncomfortable look in his eye.

Agent Carter was dismissed to the booth to join Colonel Phillips, who was seated with several other seemingly important men that Lottie didn’t care to know. Dr. Erskine addressed the crowd in the booth using a microphone, explaining the purpose of Project Rebirth. Meanwhile, Lottie and her fellow nurses prepared the Vita-Ray chamber; she’d just situated the paddles on his chest when his gaze met hers. They’d been in a similar position so many times before. There were countless times over the past decade when she and Bucky had shown up at his apartment, soup and medicine in hand, to make him feel better during his latest bout of sickness. Bucky would always sit on one side of the bed, leaning on the mattress as he tried to distract Steve with idle conversation. She always kept vigil on the opposite side of the bed from Bucky, pulling Steve’s sheets up to his chin no matter how much he complained of the heat. She would never have to do that again, Lottie realized, as the serum would (hopefully) strengthen his immune system to the point that it would nearly be impossible to get sick. He wouldn’t need her or Bucky to look after him anymore. It pained her only slightly; she was overjoyed that he would be strengthened and healed by the serum, but it felt like the end of an era for her. She wasn’t truly needed anymore.

When the scientist’s speech to the booth had concluded, Lottie disinfected Steve’s shoulder and injected a syringe of penicillin into it; beforehand, she gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, warning him for the pain of the jab. She felt him sigh in relief, “That wasn’t so bad.”

Lottie bit back a giggle while Dr. Erskine looked down at Steve with a furrowed brow, “That was penicillin.” The scientist gave her a look and without missing a beat, began the countdown.

Five

The doctors and scientists that were scattered around the laboratory rushed to their control panels, monitoring Steve’s vitals and the Vita-Ray levels that would soon be harnessed for the serum’s activation.

Four

Those that were observing from the booth looked at the scene below with bated breath; they either anticipated either a predictable failure or an unlikely success.

Three

The five nurses gathered around the Vita-Ray chamber, monitoring the serum infusion. Two mechanical arms latched onto Steve’s biceps and embedded several syringes deep into his muscle.

Two

Dr. Erskine placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder. Lottie met Steve’s gaze once more, she was that little girl at his bedside, sitting her vigil for one last time.

One

A switch was flipped and several syringes of the serum were injected into Steve’s system. Lottie could already see the strain it was putting on his body, his face contorted and he grunted in pain as he felt the serum begin its work in his body.

When given his signal, Mr. Stark flipped a lever to encase Steve in the Vita-Ray chamber, which maneuvered Steve into a vertical position before he was completely locked into the machine. Dr. Erskine knocked on the metal, “Steven? Can you hear me?”

A muffled response came from within the metal, “It’s probably too late to go to the bathroom, right?” Lottie snorted, only Steve would make a terrible joke at a time like that.

The scientist faced Mr. Stark, “We will proceed.” Below him, Mr. Stark slowly turned a dial and donned a pair of goggles. Lottie and her peers followed suit, as the luminosity of the Vita-Rays would cause vision damage if their eyes were left uncovered.

Lottie worried her lip as Mr. Stark slowly increased the radiation levels by turning a wheel that was mounted on the control panel. Next to him, a doctor carefully monitored Steve’s vitals; he reported that they were all normal, which calmed Lottie a tad.

At around the seventy percent mark, cries began to ring out from within the Vita-Ray chamber. It was as if screams were being torn from Steve’s throat, they were so hoarse and raw. Dr. Erskine rushed to the chamber while Peggy quickly descended from the booth, urging the personnel to cease the radiation. Lottie stood in shock, stuck in an internal impasse. She worried deeply for Steve’s safety, she always had and always would. Simultaneously, she needed to trust in the years’ worth of work she’d put into Project Rebirth. She and her fellow nurses had worked day after day, slaving over the Super Soldier Serum and Vita-Ray theories to develop the perfect transformation method. If she couldn’t trust her abilities and research, what could she trust?

But when Steve’s cries seemed to echo throughout the laboratory, she knew that his safety superseded whatever pride she had in her research. Lottie had just opened her mouth to call for an end to it when Steve insisted from within the Vita-Ray chamber, “Don’t! I can do this!”

A burst of warmth bloomed in Lottie’s chest; Steve trusted their work and he was fighting to see it through. Mr. Stark continued to raise the radiation levels until they had reached one hundred percent. The staff and observers from the booth could only look on in shock and wonder as the light from within the chamber continued to glow brighter and it began to give off a steady humming noise.

Without warning, sparks began to spray out from the control panels as a result of the copious amounts of electricity being funneled into the transformation. Lottie cried out, ducking down with Mary to avoid the sparks that showered down on them from overhead. Across from them, Nancy, Gladys, and Betty assumed similar positions, clutching their white caps as they attempted to shield themselves from the onslaught.

As quickly as it started, the sparks ceased, as did the humming of the Vita-Ray chamber. The laboratory was far dimmer than it was earlier, with the light from the radiation gone, and nearly half the bulbs in the laboratory having been blown out.

All eyes were on the Vita-Ray chamber as they all awaited the final result of Project Rebirth. The chamber hissed open and released a gust of air, revealing an exhausted-looking Steve.

Lottie could barely believe it, not only was he exhausted-looking, but it seemed as if he’d gained nearly 8 inches of height and a few dozen pounds of muscle. Gone was that scrawny blond boy who’d gotten lost in crowds far too easily, here was a man— a Super Soldier —who was perfectly enhanced on a cellular level.

The SSR agents and politicians who were previously gathered in the booth rushed to meet with Steve, barely able to contain their excitement. They clambered over each other, all of them desperate to be the first one to speak with America’s first Super Soldier.

In all the chaos, Betty had sidled up to her, her jaw nearly touching the floor, “Hot damn, Lottie Green. Hot damn.” She ogled at Steve as she took in his new physique. Lottie rolled her eyes, “Just because he’s got more muscle doesn’t mean he’ll be able to talk to you any better. Or that he won’t step on your toes if you get him to dance.”

Steve stood in the middle of a crowd of men, though Agent Carter stood in front of him, attempting to look at anything but his chest.

“I think you might want this, Stevie,” Lottie moved in to stand beside Agent Carter and offered him a shirt, which he accepted gratefully. He smiled down at her gratefully, murmuring a quiet, “Thank you, Lottie.”

How odd it was to be looking up at him. It was certainly something that Lottie wasn’t used to, she’d gotten quite used to looking down at him, in fact. By age sixteen, she’d gained about two inches on him, and though he was loath to admit it, she knew it pained him to be the shortest of the three of them. Luckily for him, his new height delegated her as the most diminutive of the Brooklyn trio by far.

Amid the jubilation following Project Rebirth’s success, grave mistakes were made. Gladys had left her manila folder of notes— all the notes that the nurses had ever taken during their research —on one of the control panels closest to the stairway, just close enough to the exit to be snatched up by a discreet hand. An extra vial of Super Soldier serum sat in its case, at the ready for its eventual use; it stood unguarded and unwatched.

The once-unassuming Fred Clemson hung back from the crowd, a lighter in hand. Dr. Erskine was the first to notice his position apart from everyone else; the scientist opened his mouth as if to say something, but before he could form a sentence, Clemson had flicked open the lighter and triggered an explosion from the observation booth.

Screams rang out from the middle of the laboratory as glass rained down on them. Sparks even worse than before began assaulting them and left stinging burns in their wake. Lottie grunted as she felt minuscule shards of glass tear at and become embedded in her skin; it would surely be a pain to treat such small cuts and remove the pieces of glass later on. It was shocking, really, how quickly the mood of the room had shifted. Just moments before, she’d been looking at Steve in awe, fully processing all that the serum had accomplished. Her sentiments of excitement and pride quickly evaporated, replaced by a growing sense of panic and dread.

The force of the explosion had thrown Lottie and some of the other nurses to the ground, so she scrambled to her feet in an attempt to take action against the man. It was all in vain, for as soon as she regained her footing, all she saw was the bespectacled man diving through the crowd to grab the last vial of Super Soldier serum and the thick manila envelope that Gladys had brought with her. Lottie’s stomach dropped in terror; she opened her mouth to cry out for backup, but Dr. Erskine was one step ahead of her. He commanded the man to stop, but the only response he received was several gunshots in the chest.

Deep red stains formed across the front of his shirt and seeped into his lab coat, his vibrant blood was a sickening contrast to the crisp white color of his lab coat. The scientist fell to the ground, his legs sprawled out before him and his arms at his side. Lottie knew that there was no hope for him— there were no exit wounds and she was more than certain that at least one of his lungs had been punctured. His breathing was labored, his chest heaving with every inhale and exhale. Lottie didn’t need to perform an examination to know that the wounds would be fatal. There was no time for an examination anyway, gunshots continued to ring out across the laboratory, and Agent Carter was in hot pursuit of the offender.

Mary looked at Lottie for some sort of reassurance of direction, her mouth agape, “Lottie, he's— he’s gonna die if we don’t do somethin’. C’mon, we’ve gotta help him.” Her voice came out in a whimper and her hands shook as she searched the floor for any fallen bandages. She took Mary’s trembling hands into her clammy ones, “Mary, look at his breathing. You know there’s nothing we can do for him now.”

She knew it was a heartbreaking thing to say, but Mary was a brilliant nurse; she already knew all the signs of a punctured lung. Lottie knew that she was having a hard time processing the information due to the shock that was no doubt obscuring her senses and rational thought. What Mary needed was a calm voice to guide her back from the brink of hysteria, a friend to bring her back to reality.

The nurses learned a jarring lesson about reality’s harsh nature that day; they learned of its cycle of gains and losses, successes and failures. The five nurses of Project Rebirth had achieved all that they’d been dreaming of for more than a year, they’d proven themselves to be reliable and even stellar researchers in their field. It had all been ripped away from them in a matter of moments, with the loss of their notes and serum, as well as the brutal death of Dr. Erskine. All they could do was clutch each other helplessly as they watched Steve follow the man in hot pursuit— the man who had stolen everything from them. Lottie, Mary, Betty, Nancy, and Gladys had certainly entered a new era in their careers as nurses, an era of uncertainty. With nothing left from Project Rebirth besides the Super Soldier himself, their futures were left in limbo until the Strategic Scientific Reserve could figure out what to do with them next.

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menofchaos · 4 years

Text

Coco

Note/Warning: Some blood/injury mentions but that's about it. Hope you guys like it!

Coco’s eyes darted nervously toward Bishop as Taza and Tranq helped Alvarez into the van.

“Did someone tell Santana?” he asked, his eyes on Coco. Angel’s jaw dropped in realization.

“I will,” Coco offered.

“Tell Chucky to bring her to Vicki’s “ Bishop told him, watching Coco as he pulled his phone out and walked away, his phone to his ear.

“Hello? Is everything okay?” her voice was strained, he could hear she was in tears.

“He’s got some bruises and cuts but he’s okay,” Coco spoke softly, frowning.

She let out a sob that broke his heart, “Where is he? I need to see him.”

He closed his eyes, rubbing his chest, “Have Chucky bring you out to Vicki’s house, yeah? I’ll take you from there. He’s okay, baby. You trust me?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“He’s okay,” he repeated, “I’ll see you soon.”

“Thank you,” Santana sniffled before hanging up.

Coco turned around to see Bishop approaching him. He slid his phone back in his pocket, “Whats up?”

Bishop crossed his arms over his chest, “I specifically said don’t fuck her. And I find you two in her room.”

“I know,” he held his eye contact, “But it started before she stayed at the clubhouse.”

“What?” he glared.

Coco glanced at Alvarez, then back at Bishop, “I was out at a bar one night and saw her. Felt like I shouldn’t leave Padrino’s kid alone in a weird bar. We hooked up that night.”

Bishop huffed, “Dammit, Coco, you know I have to tell him now-“

“I’m in love with her,” Coco interrupted him quietly, watching Bishop’s eyes widen.

“Are you joking?” he growled.

Coco shook his head, “No, I’m not. And I’m not asking you to keep this from him. I’ll tell him.”

Bishop rubbed his eyes, “Jesus. Alright. Let the doctor look him over first.”

Santana’s hands shook as she rode in the truck with Chucky. She kept glancing at her phone screen, hoping to hear from her dad.

“I couldn’t help but notice you’ve grown close to our Johnny Coco Cruz,” Chucky commented, his eyes still on the road.

Her eyes widened, “Um...yes. I have.”

Chucky nodded, “He’s a very good man. Strong but sensitive. Everyone cares for him greatly. I hope to know that some day.”

Santana nodded, “He is, yeah.”

Chucky just grinned as he stopped in front of Vicki’s. Coco got up from the porch, tossing his cigarette before he opened Santana’s door to help her out.

“Thanks Chucky,” Coco rubbed her back when she stepped closer to him.

“Anything you need, Johnny Coco Cruz,” Chucky saluted him and drove off.

“That dude loves you,” Santana murmured.

Coco laughed softly, “I know. He’s a good guy. Are you okay?”

She nodded, “I wanna see my dad. Please.”

“Okay but I need to tell you something first,” Coco took her hands.

Coco was leaning against the wall next to Gilly, waiting for Nestor to leave the doctor’s room. He knew as soon as he did, Bishop would be pulling Coco in.

“Mano,” Angel whispered, “He knows?”

Coco looked up, “Yeah, bro. He caught us.”

Gilly whistled, “Damn. Scream if Padrino beats your ass.”

Angel grinned, “Tore open hand and he’ll still fuck you up.”

“You aren’t helping,” Coco rolled his eyes as Gilly and Angel laughed.

“Coco.”

He took a deep breath and walked into the room. A few nurses were buzzing around Alvarez, cleaning up and tending to him. Bishop closed the door behind them, leaning against it.

“El Coco,” Alvarez greeted him, shaking his hand, “What’s going on, hermano?”

“You feeling alright, Padrino?” he asked.

He motioned to the IV, “Just fine.”

Coco glanced at Bishop, who nodded. He took a deep breath, “I wanted to tell you, man to man. I’m in love with Santana.”

Alvarez frowned, “Excuse me?”

“I’m in love with her. I should’ve told you sooner but...I don’t know. I don’t wanna hide shit anymore,” he shrugged, “You can beat the shit out of me, strip my patch. Whatever you want. But I’m in love with Santana.”

Alvarez listened, looking over him for a moment, “I can’t strip your patch, kid. And I’m not really in the shape to kick your ass. Yet,” he glared, “Santana’s coming here, primo?”

“Yes,” Bishop confirmed.

“I’ll talk to her first,” he said, “Then I’ll figure out what to do. Maybe once I’m healed I’ll take you in the cage.”

Coco held up his hands, “If that’s what it takes.”

Santana slapped his chest, “You told him?!”

Coco grabbed her hand and pulled her closer, “I’m not dead yet, that’s a good sign.”

She groaned, “He’s waiting for me so he can kill both of us together.”

He laughed, “Come on. Let’s get you down there.”

“Since he knows, I guess we can do this,” Santana kissed him gently, making him smile against her lips.

“Yeah, baby, we can,” he kissed her again.

Santana laced their fingers together as they traveled through the tunnels. He helped her climb up the stairs, only making a joke about the view once. He pecked her lips a few times once they reached the doctor’s office.

“Ready?”

Santana nodded as Coco opened the door. Santana’s eyes filled with tears when she saw her father. She covered her mouth and stepped into the room.

“Estoy bien, mija,” he murmured, “Ven aquí.”

She hugged him gingerly, crying against his shoulder, “Papa...”

He rubbed her back, “I’m glad you’re safe,” he whispered, closing his good eye.

Santana sat next to him, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Got some morphine, everything will heal. What about you?” he asked.

“I’m okay,” she rested her head on his shoulder, “Nothing too bad.”

He took her hand, “You know we need to talk about Coco, right?”

Santana sighed, “Yeah, I know.”

“He told me he’s in love with you,” Alvarez murmured.

“What?” she pulled back, “He said that?”

He frowned, “He didn’t tell you?”

She looked at the door as she stood up, “He just said he told you about us. He didn’t...tell me that,” Santana couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across her face, “He said he’s in love with me?”

He nodded, “You in love with him, too?”

Santana watched her father quietly for a moment, “Yeah,” she admitted, “I am. He’s good to me. You know he can protect me. Please don’t kill him.”

He smiled sadly, “Only if he hurts you, hm?”

She kissed his cheek, “Te quiero, papa.”

“Te quiero también,” he murmured, “Bring him in.”

She ran to the door and opened it, finding him waiting next to the door, “He wants to talk to you.”

Coco followed her back in the room, “Is this my execution?”

“You took care of her the whole time she was at the clubhouse. You kept her safe at your house and when I asked you to take her out of town,” Alvarez arched his eyebrow, “And I’m pretty high right now, so I’m not gonna kill you today. I know you care about her. I’ve never seen her face light up like it did when I told her what you told me. You hurt her and I will kill you,” he held a hand out.

Coco smiled and shook his hand, “Gracias, Padrino.”

“I’m still taking you in the cage when I’m better,” he warned, making Coco laugh.

“Hell no,” Santana frowned, “You’re not bringing him in the cage, papa.”

Alvarez smiled, “Take her home, Coco.”

She kissed his cheek, “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Later, Padrino,” Coco nodded before walking out of the room with Santana. She stopped and pushed him against the wall, “Aye, what?”

Santana put her hands on his hips and kissed him, “I’m in love with you too,” she whispered.

Coco smiled and stroked her bottom lip with his thumb, “You heard about that, hm?”

“Not from you,” she pouted.

Coco held her chin, moving to whisper in her ear, “I’m in love with you.”

Santana hugged his waist, “Good. Now you’re stuck with me.”

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” he admitted.

“What, me?” she asked, stroking his hips gently.

He nodded, “You to be mine. Now if you don’t stop touching me like that, I’m gonna fuck you right here,” he let his lips brush her ear.

A shiver ran down her spine, “Better take me somewhere else, baby.”

Coco smirked and grabbed her hand, pulling her down the hall.

#coco cruz imagine #coco x santana #mayans imagine

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221castiel · 4 years

Text

Day 5 - Daydreaming

Dean and Cas are soldiers and I watch way to much Ratched

August 27th, 1944. Dijon, France

The pain.

Burning, searing, mixing with the adrenaline that had taken over his body.

The pain.

A blaring of bullets around him, the screaming of soldiers, all barely audible over the hammering of his ears.

The pain.

He couldn’t stand. He couldn't breath. Fuck.

The pain.

A scream immediately ripped through his throat, as a nurse shifted his bloody leg, the skin shredded, torn apart from the back fire of a bomb. “Cut it off!” Dean screamed not caring that they were in the midst of a battle, only able to focus on the pain. The pain. He couldn't breathe, no matter how many times he gasped. “Fuckin cut it off.”

Cas was at his side, probably speaking recurrence trying to calm Dean, though there was no calming him.

“Dean breathe.”

He could only shake his head in response, eyes squeezing shut in attempt to stop everything. His hamemring heart, the ringing of bullets, the scremaing, the mud agaisnt his back, the pain “Just fuckin cut it off.”

It was stabbing, burning, angushing, it was like nothing he’d felt before, controlling his whole mind. Every thought that passed. He needed it over, in anyway possible.

The nurse shifted his leg again, another scream tearing through his throat. “FUCK.”

“Dean it’s okay,” he could feel Cas’s gloved hand pressed to his sweaty cheek, though it brought no comfort as his eyes squeezed shut, teeth gritting. “They have morphine, it’s okay.”

“Dean it will be okay.”

“Breathe.”

When Dean’s eyes fluttered open he was no longer met with the dark night sky, but instead the tent ceiling above, the fabric illuminated by the soft glow of a candle. He could feel the ache even without shifting. Taking over every inch of his body despite only his right leg receiving any damage front the bombs backfire. He’d been lucky he wasn’t any closer.

He didn't feel lucky.

“Dean,” He let out a low grown, mind still foggy from the morphine.

Slowly Dean sat up, his head turning at the sound of his name, and to Cas, who sat at his bedside. The other's face illuminated in a soft glow from the candle, making his expression, which Dean could only assume was concern, clear.

Dean held the oher’s gaze for only a second before he looked back down the bed, his legs both covered by a thin sheet. It didn't matter he didn't need to look. He’d seen enough bodies to know the way his skin would blister, the burn marks overlapped by scars, a mess of flesh and muscle. He didn’t need to look.

He didn’t want to.

Dean’s gaze stayed there for another moment before turning back to the other.

“How are you feeling?” Cas asked softly.

“Shitty.” The smallest smile tugged at Cas’s lips. “Really fuckin’ shitty.”

Cas glanced to the right, to the path that traveled through the center of the tent, created by sheets. It gave them a bit of privacy, similar sheets hanging on either side of Dean’s end in a makeshift wall. No one else seemed to be awake, no other glow of candles, no other soft whispers.

They were alone.

Without another second of hesitation Cas reached out, lacing the fingers together.

They continued to sit in silence, the lack of noise almost painful, compared to what Dean had last remembered. The bomb going off, ringing through his head, bullets, screaming, his own, and other soldiers. Noise seemed to be the only constant in his lids, and now without, Dean felt almost empty, abandoned.

“I’m tired Cas,” Dean finally whispered. He wasn’t sure what caused him to speak, especially about the thoughts he’d spent so long keeping to himself. The Morphine that still clouded his head? The blood loss? “People are fuckin dying.” Why wasn't he dead. Men only a few feet a head had died. Why wasn’t he dead. He should have been dead. “And we’re gettin’ nowhere.”

“We have Paris.” Cas replied softly, his eyes locked on Dean’s, in his usually intense gaze. “We’re almost to Dijon. We're winning Dean.”

“And if we don’t”

“We will.”

Dean didn’t reply, instead running his thumb over the other’s fingers. He knew the chances were looking good, better than last month, though they still had miles to trek, to liberate France alone, never mind Belgium, or Poland, or Germany. The chances of dying were getting higher with each day, of more importantly Cas dying. He could care less about himself but Cas-

Cas who on his first day of training had stopped to watch the squirrel in a nearby tree, who took special care in evacuating children, who still found joy in the fields they marched through. Cas who even in the midst of a world war, with a gun in his hand, and blood staining his skin, was a good man.

“When we get back,” Not if. Dean couldn’t think about if. “We should buy a house.”

“Dean,” Cas’s voice was low, barely above a whisper, holding a warning that Dean knew all too well. Not now. Not when anyone in the medical tent could hear them.

Maybe Cas was right but between the morphine, and the throbbing pain of his leg, Dean couldn’t care, he wanted to pretend things were normal. He wanted to imagine that when they got back they could buy a house together, they could be together. “We could buy one of those two floor ones with a white picket fence,” Dean continued, speaking in the same low voice as Cas. “Or we could get something on farm, whatever you want.”

The smallest smile tugged at Cas’s lips. “We could get a dog, maybe a Husky,” Dean continued.

“Or a cat,” Cas suggested.

Dean’s own lips tugged up. When was the last time he’d smiled, he didn‘t think he had since they invaded the beaches a month earlier.

“If we lived on a farm we could get both.”

“And horses, and goats.” Cas continued on, the smile across Dean’s face only widening as he listened to the other talk. Cas’s features casted in shadows by the small candle that still danced on Dean’s bedside tabel. His blue eyes that still somehow had this shine to them, his messy hair, his tanned skin, the bags under his eyes, the scratch that scarred his right cheek. Everything. Dean was willing to memorize every inch if he could. “We could have a bee farm.”

Dean laughed, “Yah, we could.” His gaze finally dropped from Cas’s and instead to their hands, both dirty and calloused. “We could have a record player in the living room, and a swing on the porch.” Dean paused for a moment, he could picture it, the perfect life. “We could go skating during the winter, and horseback riding during the summer.”

When Dean looked back up to the other, the smile no longer rested across Cas’s face,a dn instead a sickened expression holding his features. Lips pressed in a tight line, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “Cas-”

“You should get some sleep.”

Slowly Cas stood, letting his hand fall from Dean’s. “Stay for a bit longer.”

“You need to rest.” Dean couldn’t argue much, he was exhausted, though he didn’t want to be alone. As childish as it was, he wanted the other to hold his hand all night, bring some kind of comfort, some kind of swarth, that had become so hard to find.

Cas glanced over his shoulder before he lent down pressing the quickest kiss to Dean’s forehead. “We can talk more in the morning.”

Cas stepped back, and for a moment Dean could only stare, across the other’s face, and down his body. He still wore his beige pants, the fabric stained with blood, though now he wore a simple white top that hung loosely around his frame. Dean could stare forever, he could sit next to the other and talk forever.

He wished they had forever.

Maybe when the war was over, they could have the closest thing possible.

“night, angel.”

The smallest smile tugged at Cas’s lips. “Good night Dean.”

Dean waited until the other had disappeared, before laying back into the cot, the smile still across his face, thoughts still swirling his mind. A farm, or maybe a cabin in the woods, or something out in the middle of nowhere. No matter where, they could do it. After the war, be together.

Within minutes, Dean had fallen asleep, and for the first time in a long time, feeling hopeful.

#suptober20 #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #destiel fic #destiel fanfic #fic #supernatural

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sahbibabe · 4 years

Text

hotel: lilith

Hotel Lilith is a safe haven for criminalized demons and halflings with nowhere else to go. Dante and Vergil, labeled as terrorists after Vergil's latest and last grab for power, are forced to retreat to the long hidden fortress after the local populace of Fortuna begins turning their attention towards Nero.

In an effort to keep him safe, both brothers keep their distance and keep an eye on the situation from afar, but they have a new mystery to unravel during their stay: and her name is [Name] [Surname].

chapter one. madame yulara.

BLOOD POURED ITS WAY down Vergil's back like a waterfall. It stained his once brilliant blue coat a dark red so deep that it was almost black. It tore in places to expose still healing flesh, pink and gory, knitting itself together in a painstakingly slow motion. The Yamato hung limply between his long, pianists fingers, arms too weak to lift it up and fight off anyone who wanted a second round.

"Damn." Dante stumbled up beside him, looking as worse or nearly as bad as he did. He held no weapon other than his gun and had been unwillingly stripped of his shirt and red leather jacket. Claw marks and bullet holes riddled his body like wicked artwork to the point where there was no skin visible beneath all of the blood. "When did the humans get their hands on angel blessed weapons?"

"They've always had it," Vergil exhaled lowly. His breath fogged in the air. "I'm certain they've never had proof to use it before now."

Dante swept his wrist across his nose. The only clean spot of skin on his hand came away bloody. "Huh. Would you look at that? Not healing as fast as I usually do. You?"

"Faster than you, it seems," Vergil answered. Several shallow cuts on his chest had already healed to faint pink lines. "But I wasn't the one taking hollow bullets filled with holy water to the chest, either, so there must still be some in your blood."

Dante choked out a laugh and reclined against a brick wall. "Didn't know I had enough blood left to make a difference."

"Well, well, look what we have here."

The sound of heels against pavement had Vergil turning around, Yamato raised, even though he was shaking hard enough that he couldn't hold it straight. His entire body rebelled against the action, pleading for him to let go and hit the ground face first, but Dante was behind him, breathing shallowly, and just barely clinging to the wall.

A sharp, black laquered fingernail pushed Yamato's blade to the side. Tingles and sparks, not entirely unpleasant, began crawling up his arms and shoulders and darted down his spine. His devil side, though tired and exhausted, rose to the surface of his consciousness to taste the air and the Identity of the new arrival. Dante's sharp inhale behind him confirmed his suspicions.

"Madame Yulara," Dante croaked, greeting the Mistress of Hell with a half assed bow. "I would greet you properly, but I can't exactly move my hand without letting my organs spill out on the sidewalk."

Madame Yulara--dressed in little else but what could only be described as strips of leather and lace--laughed lowly. Her long auburn hair brushed her hips as she shook her head in amusement.

"Dear Dante, I know you would if you could," she sighed. She glanced at Vergil with an unusually concentrated green gaze, then looked back at his brother. "You're in bad shape, aren't you, sweet boy? Your brother as well."

"Humans with blessed weaponry," Vergil explained when Dante began a rough, chest heaving cough. "I'm unsure of how many hits he took."

"I see." Drumming her fingers against her lips, Yulara reached over and pressed her palm against the wall. Where there were once bricks there was now a black door with a red neon sign upon it.

Hotel Lilith.

"Come inside," Yulara said urgently. "We will get you healed up in no time. In the meantime, while you recover, you can stay here. Free of charge."

"Your hospitality is not unwelcome," Vergil began,"but I insist that we--"

"Nonsense. I owe Eva more than I can say," Yulara rolled her eyes. "The least I can do is help you two boys. Now get inside."

"Thanks, Madame Yulara," Dante mumbled tiredly. "You're... the best."

"I know I am, darling."

Vergil, supporting Dante with what strength he had, followed the woman inside the hotel. The atmosphere quickly changed from the humid, somber tone outside to an electrically charged dry heat. Devils, half bloods, and Fallen alike resided within the room they had entered, all of them following the twins with their eyes and ears.

"In here," Yulara told him, gesturing to another door that she held open.

Inside was a room littered with surgical grade steel and white curtains. A steel table was put in the middle of it, equipped with restraints of various kinds, and had stirrups not unlike that of a gynecological exam chair. Judging by the faint smell of blood, Vergil could only guess it doubled as a birthing chair as well.

"Lay him down there," Yulara ordered. She busied herself by pulling out fresh scalpels and a giant pair of medical grade pliers. She laid them out on a tray and filled a syringe full of morphine. "This might not help a lot, but for now he'll need it."

Vergil laid his brother out on the table as she told him. She made quick work of restraining him to the table. When he caught her eye, she said,"I don't want his devil coming out and trying to get a taste of the doctor."

"You aren't doing it yourself?" he inquired.

"Hell no," she said dismissively. "I'm not qualified for demonic surgeries. Do you think you can control of your devil if it decided to come out right now?"

He highly doubted it, but one look at his brother lying prostrate on the exam table made his mind up. "Of course."

"Good." Yulara stuck her head out the door and yelled something that was smothered by the loud music pounding in the other room. Dante groaned, his words unintelligible. "Damn, wearing off too soon. Need a horse tranquilizer. No, better be an elephant dose."

She produced a second syringe from a drawer. It was the size of half her forearm and had a needle longer than her finger. She emptied its contents into Dante's thigh and the half devil slumped back, mouth open, oblivious to the world.

"Here."

Vergil found himself pricked with a smaller syringe before he could blink. "What..?"

"Xanax. I need you nice and relaxed when the doctor comes in. Don't look at me like that, it's to protect the doctor."

"Who is the doctor?" Vergil demanded.

Before she could answer, the door flew open. Vergil's devil nearly seized when the scent entered the room and pushed past his nose.

"Sorry! I was asleep!"

Sleepy eyed and with hair as bushy as a raccoons tail, a woman stood in the threshold dressed in what looked like a too short nightgown over a pair of scrub pants that looked too big for her. Her feet were bare and she had thrown a furry robe over her shoulders in apparent haste.

"[Name]," Yulara sighed in relief,"right on time."

Vergil held on to his chair tight enough that his knuckles popped. His devil tested the boundaries of his control, sluggish and weakened by the medicine, eager to sink its teeth into the young woman at the door but not out of rage, like he'd been expecting. It was brought on by a shot of lust strong enough to knock him off his feet. He knew what it was; heard rumors and read books, but never knew if it was true. Dante, responding unconciously, twitched on the table.

A female devil.

A self indulgent work, as you can tell. Takes place in the same AU as Divine Rebellion, connections to Bayonette.

#devil may cry #vergil x reader #dante x reader #dante son of sparda #dante sparda #vergil sparda #nero x reader

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asoulofstars · 3 years

Text

Priorities

The first of my Derek/Riona drabble rewrites takes place during/after 3x06 “About Face”. I was thinking about this scenario in the car one day, and so even though it’s nowhere near the beginning chronologically or even emotionally, it’s one of the drabbles that resonates with me the most, so it became the priority rewrite.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Riona and Derek were walking out of the elevator together; their floor had been cleared. Her fingers were itching to twine through Derek’s like they would have before she was with Mark. But she was engaged; she couldn’t do that with Derek anymore. She was so lost in her thoughts, and she didn’t register Hotch’s yell, even as her ears acknowledged his voice. What she did register, though, was Derek wrapping himself around her like a human shield, and then a gunshot. She fell as Derek’s weight pushed them to the ground, and then another gunshot—or maybe two—rang out. She looked up at Hotch and Rossi, guns pointed over them, and then turned her gaze to Derek as he groaned loudly.

“Derek? You okay?” She ran her eyes over him, and her breath caught in her throat when she saw the blood running down his arm. “You took a bullet for me!”

“Of course I did,” he replied through gritted teeth. “Do you have something to wrap around this until EMTs get here?”

Riona pulled off her scarf and tied it tight around his right arm. She felt him tense, and it made her chest ache. Hotch dropped to his knees beside them.

“Are you okay?” he asked, shooting looks between them both.

“This hurts like hell,” Derek said honestly.

Riona looked at the entry wound. She couldn’t see an exit wound, and she pressed her lips together.

“I think the bullet lodged in your humerus,” she told him. “You’re going to need to go to the hospital and get an x-ray, and that’s one that should get removed.” Her heart was beating more and more rapidly.

Derek took her hand in his good one, and he placed it over his own heart. “I’m right here. Superficial injury. I’m fine.”

“Getting shot is not fine,” she replied, tears welling up in her eyes. “Derek…you took a bullet for me.”

“I did.” Derek wiped at her eyes, wincing with the movement.

She was about to start really hyperventilating, but she could still hear Hotch.

“Dave, take the rest of the team to Max’s house; we have to hope he was holding Enid there. I’ll stay with Riona and Morgan,” Hotch instructed.

“Hotch, you don’t have to stay,” Derek said.

“I’m your Unit Chief. I will be staying with you.” Hotch tilted his head towards Riona. “Will you breathe? You don’t need to end up in a hospital bed next to him because you hyperventilated.” He ran a hand up and down her back.

Riona swallowed and nodded, trying to time her breathing with the movement of his hand. Up her back, in; down her back, out. When the sirens pulled up outside of the building, Riona let go of Derek’s hand so that Hotch could help him up. Once Derek was standing again, Riona moved into his side to try to help ground him. She could only imagine the pain he was in, and she knew that he would never show it—not the true extent.

“Talk to me,” she said.

“About what?” he asked.

“Why did you take that bullet for me?” she whispered; it wasn’t what she planned on saying, but the words slipped out.

“Because you’re my best friend. Because I could. Because I’m not about to let anything happen to you. Riona, there was never a question of me not taking that bullet. There was no time to get us both down, so I did what I had to do to make sure that you were safe. And we got off pretty light here.”

“Yeah, your arm isn’t going to feel that way after they dig the bullet out of your bone,” she whispered, blinking back tears again.

“Don’t cry, Ri. I’m fine. I’d do it again in a second.”

“I know you would. It’s why you never should have made that promise, Derek.” She shook her head, voice cracking.

“He’s ready to go,” the EMT said. “That arm’s definitely going to need to get x-rayed.”

“I’ll meet you there.” Hotch gestured for Riona to ride with the ambulance, and he headed for his SUV.

~*~

Riona didn’t have to fight with the doctors at the hospital. Derek insisted that she be by his side as they dug the bullet out of his arm. Riona hated seeing him in pain; Derek could take a lot, but he was squeezing her hand tight enough that she knew this was really hurting him. They put him in a hospital room, and Riona couldn’t help but smile as he pouted.

“I don’t need any painkillers,” he told the nurse.

“Morgan,” Hotch said sternly. “The case is over; you need to take care of yourself.”

Riona knew he hated having his senses dulled, but she agreed with Hotch. “That bone has fractures radiating from the bullet. You need it.”

Derek huffed but nodded at the nurse. She set up the morphine line for him. Riona could see him relax almost immediately. She smiled and ran her nails over the back of his neck, and he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch.

“That’s nice,” he mumbled.

Riona kept at it, if only because this was the most contact they’d had in months. Hotch gave her a fond smile with a raised eyebrow, and she shrugged her left shoulder so Derek wouldn’t feel it while she scratched.

Riona smiled when the rest of the team came in, watching as Emily and Reid went right to Derek’s side, with JJ hovering at his feet, and Rossi going to stand beside Hotch. Her phone started to vibrate in her jacket pocket, and she gave Derek a gentle scritch-scritch before pulling back.

“I’ll be right back,” she assured him and went out to the hallway. “Hello, Dr. Gallagher speaking.”

“Riona, it’s me,” Mark said. “You on your way home?”

“No, we’re at the hospital. Derek got shot by the UnSub; we’ll probably be leaving for the airport in a few hours. The doctors just want to watch him a little while to make sure that there’s nothing they missed. The bullet lodged itself in the bone, so he’s in a sling, and he’s pretty annoyed about the whole thing.”

“So, you’re not making it back for dinner, huh?”

“No, I’m sorry, Mark. I’m going to drive Derek back to his place once we land, make sure he’s good for the night. He…he took that bullet for me.”

“Are you okay?” he asked, concern lacing his tone.

“Yeah. Derek made sure of that. He’s an effective human shield, even if I would prefer he didn’t do that.”

“What happened?” Mark asked.

“UnSub thought it’d be great to go out shooting. Derek and I were getting off the elevator after clearing the floor we were assigned to. Hotch yelled at us to get down, but Derek wrapped himself around me. He got hit; we went down. Hotch and Rossi shot the UnSub.” She paced across the floor, chewing her lip.

“You know, it sounds like he’s okay. You should breathe,” Mark said.

Riona sniffled. “I just don’t want to lose him like that, you know? He worried me.”

“I know. You feel things too much, Riona. Tell me when you get home, okay? I want to talk to you.”

“Okay. I love you,” she said.

“I love you, too, Riona.”

Riona hung up the phone and went back to see how Derek was doing. His eyes lit up when she walked back in, and he reached for her with his good hand. She took it, and he pulled her close.

“Hey, you know I’m good, right?” Derek ran his nose over the top of her head.

“A sling is not good,” she replied.

“Not bad, considering.” Derek pulled her into the bed with him. “How much longer do I have to stay here? Can’t we just get home? I’m sick of Texas.”

~*~

“Hey, I’m home.” Riona called Mark as soon as she was back in her own apartment.

“Okay. I know you’re probably exhausted, but I’d like to come over if you’re okay with that.”

“If you want to come over, that’s fine. I missed you.”

“I missed you, too. I’ll see you soon.”

Riona waited for the knock, and she watched how Freyja shot the door a look and headed for the bedroom. Riona frowned slightly, and she opened the door.

“Come on in,” she greeted her fiancé.

“Hi,” Mark started. “I…I think we need to talk. I don’t really know how to start, but…I know you love me. I know that. And I know you had the case and that you were worried about your friend. But…you know it’s been almost a year since we started dating; it’s been a while since we got engaged, and we haven’t even discussed setting a date. Every time I ask you for an actual date and not just a season or a month, you don’t have an answer for me. I wanted you home tonight to take you out for a dinner I’d planned for weeks so that we could really talk about our wedding. And I don’t blame you for staying with your friend. But I also know that he’s not just your friend, and that’s a large part of the reason you don’t have any answers.”

Riona chewed her lip. Mark wasn’t wrong. She never cheated on him, but she was Derek’s.

“I know that you never cheated on me. But I also know that if he decided to ask you not to marry me because he wanted you, you’d choose him.” Mark’s voice was soft; it wasn’t accusatory or angry. It was just resigned.

“I wish that wasn’t true,” Riona whispered. “I’ve never been settling with you. Everything he’s ever told me has been that he doesn’t want the things that I want. But you’re right. And it’s not fair to you that a part of me is still waiting for him, even though we’ve never been on the same page. You were always on track with me, but…I said yes to that first date because I was lonely, and he was on vacation out of state. And I never expected it to go that well. But it did, and I fell for you, but it was just never the same.”

Mark held out his hands, and Riona took them, squeezing hard.

“I really hope that he catches up. He’ll be a really lucky guy if he figures things out.”

Riona closed her eyes, trying to fight back tears. He kissed her forehead. She leaned into his touch, letting out a sob. She could feel him slip the ring off her finger.

“I’ll get my stuff and leave my key,” he said softly.

Riona nodded. Freyja came over to her and wound through her ankles as Mark moved about the apartment. Riona barely breathed, frozen, even as Mark stood in the doorway.

“Bye, Riona,” he said.

“Goodbye, Mark,” she replied.

She was frozen in place after the click of the door, the sadness washing over her. From him, from her. He deserved better from her, and she knew it. Everything was heavy, and she didn’t know how long she just stood there before she finally moved.

She looked at her now-ringless finger, and she knew she was going to fall apart soon. And she knew there was one person that would help her fix it. So, she drove back to Derek’s.

~*~

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Derek asked, giving her his patented confused puppy look.

She wordlessly held up her left hand.

“Oh, Ri. I’m so sorry.” He opened his arm for her.

She hugged him, and he shut the door, leading her to the couch. He just let her cry into his chest, and he stroked her hair, and Riona clung to him.

“You want to talk about it?” he asked when she was only sniffling.

“Not really,” she whispered. “It….I don’t know if it was ever going to actually work with us.”

“I’m sorry, Ri. I know he made you happy.”

“Make me forget,” she whispered, looking up at him with wide eyes.

Derek took her face gently between his hands, even as Riona tried to push his right arm back down, and he wiped at the tears with his thumbs. “Not tonight, Sweetheart. You’re emotionally compromised.”

“Derek, I’m asking you to.”

“I can’t. I know that you’re sober; I know that there’s no outside force clouding your judgement. But it still feels like I’m taking advantage of you. Take some time. Grieve over your relationship. And if you want to jump me in a few weeks, I’ll let you. But I can’t do it tonight.”

“Why do you have to be so good?” she asked, a few more tears slipping down her cheeks.

Derek gave her a half-smile. “I think you’re a little biased, there.”

She shook her head, burrowing into his chest again. “No. You’re one of the genuinely good people I’ve met.” She sighed, nuzzling him. “If you won’t have sex with me, will you at least sleep with me? Just...hold me, please?”

“Of course I’ll do that, Ri.” He kissed the top of her head. “For as long as you want.”

“Good.” She kissed his cheek. “You’re my best friend, Derek.”

“And you’re mine, Riona. I hope you know that I don’t take your presence for granted in my life.”

“I do. And I hope you know that I don’t take yours for granted, either.”

“Trust me. I know.”

“Thank you for always being the person I can go to,” she whispered.

“That’s never going to change.” Derek kissed her forehead. “Like I told you, I’m not going to leave you. Ever.”

As Riona curled into him, she decided she wasn’t going to argue like she had when he made that promise. She’d let herself believe it. Because she needed someone who wouldn’t leave her.

#written in the stars (my writing)#otp: you are my home #v: to the morgue i got it (criminal minds)

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harry-styles-sunflower · 4 years

Text

Meeting You In The Hallway Part 3

a/n: HII lovely people! I hope you are all doing well today! This is part 3 of Meeting you in the Hallway.

What it is: You move into the apartment across the hall from Harry and you begin a friendship which you both want more from but can’t communicate that want.

Word Count: 4k

Warning: fluff, angst, cursing, and sexual tension again bc why not.

Lil fun fact: new character in this part named Derek, there's ~some~ (honestly a lot of truth) truth to this character. Different name obvs. If you wanna picture somebody, picture Jacob Elordi, because that’s kind of what the real dude looks like.

Pls reblog if you like it 😊 Thank you for all the support so far! Means the fuckin world! Lot of dialogue in this one, let me know if yall like that or not. I think there will be one more part which will wrap this all up.

~~~

You both decided to just sit in silence after you ate, just laying your heads back.

"Do you have morphine?"

"Harry just because I work in a hospital doesn��t mean I have hard drugs lying around my apartment"

"Thought you could sneak some, excuse me" he waves his hands up in surrender.

You sigh, "No, there's a thing called inventory that gets checked every day. And what is it with you and morphine?"

"What do you mean?"

"It was in your song yesterday"

His head quickly looks over at you, "You remember yesterday?"

"I remember everything before the tequila shots" you pinch the bridge of your nose.

"Oh okay" he avoids your question about morphine and maybe if you didn't have a headache you'd keep pushing for an answer.

Your phone rings and it’s an odd looking number, its 10 digits long.

"Har, look at this number"

He looked over before laying his head back against your couch, "Its European"

"European?" you picked up, "Hello?"

"y/n?"

"Yeah who's this?"

Harry was listening, just didn’t show it.

"Hey um, it’s me, Derek. I don’t know if you remember me"

"Oh yeah. Sorry give me a sec." You pressed the mute button, double checked it was on, then whisper yelled, "holy fucking shit!!"

"What? Who's Derek?"

"This guy I had a hugee crush on in college. He was a year above me. We helped each other in Psych. We wo- hold on I need to answer him" you unmuted the call.

"Hey Derek"

"Hey um I was just wondering if you still lived here? In New York. I'm here for a trade meeting."

"Trade meeting?"

"Yeah with my agent, remember? Basketball?"

"Oh yeah, right. Okay. Um yeah I actually live in the city now"

"Oh, that’s great. Did you wanna grab dinner sometime? I’m here until Friday"

"Y-yeah we could settle on something"

"Okay. I'll uh text you a time and date"

"Yeah okay. Cool"

"Cool. Uh bye"

"Bye" you hung up quick. "Holy shit"

"That was the worst conversation I've ever heard in my life" he laughed.

"Shut up we were both nervous" you hit him with a pillow.

"Who is he again?"

"Long story short, we took Psych together in college and he was on the basketball team so every girl was obsessed but we would hang out all the time. A few nights before he graduated, we had like a moment. It was so romantic," you blushed thinking about it and Harry hated it, "and well, the next week he was gone to play basketball in Europe. It was like maybe right person but wrong time?" Harry swallowed before facing you, "Does that mean you see a future with him? If it was right person, wrong time?"

You looked at him and shook your head, "A girl could dream but I don’t know. I don't think I know him the way I used to you know? It's been like 4 years."

"But you're going on a date"

"No harm in that, right?" For some reason it was like you wanted his permission.

"Yeah, I guess, you said he played basketball in Europe?"

"Yeah, his name is Derek Belov, he's really tall."

"Belov? You're joking me."

"I'm not, you know him?"

"Yeah," he shrugs, "he's big over there. Only over there I guess."

You shrug, "I could honestly care less about it. He's a cool guy in general"

"I have a headache, I'm gonna lay down" he says as he adjusts himself on your couch and puts his feet in your lap. He puts your tv on and watches the office.

You check your phone and Derek had texted you about seven minutes ago. It’s alright though because you didn’t want to seem too excited. You two began texting and settled on a date that night. He swore he didn’t need to fight off the jetlag so you agreed. He'd pick you up at 6, It was almost noon now, so you had plenty of time.

"I'm leaving at 6, he'll pick me up."

"The least he could do, will it be a limo?" you could hear the bitterness in his voice but you blamed it on his hangover.

"No." you slid down your couch and harry tucked your feet under his arm while keeping his eyes on the tv.

You stayed like this for a while, you set an alarm for four o'clock so you wouldn't let time escape.

"Har, when was the last time you went on a date?" you wondered if this could answer your question from last night. If Harry was hooking up with somebody.

" I don't know why?"

"Well like years, months, weeks?"

"Month or so I guess"

"Oh okay, I was just wondering. I guess you could relate to me then. Dating life."

"Yeah sure"

He was being super dismissive and you hated it. You were tired of it actually. You sparked 0 conversation and once your alarm went off, he went back to his apartment and you got ready.

~~~

When harry got back to his apartment he felt angry. Angry with the way you spoke about that Derek guy. The fact that you were going on a date with him. He wanted to ruin your plans but he knew he couldn't be selfish. He felt bad for not being the supportive friend he knew you wanted in that moment. With a big sigh and heavy heart, he walked across the hall and knocked on your door 3 times.

You slowly went to open the door, already annoyed with Harry, you opened it with an eyeroll.

"What Harry?"

"I've come in peace," he said with a cheesy smile, "Look I'm sorry for being dismissive earlier I was really just not feeling well and well I'm sorry. Can I help you pick out your outfit now or whatever a girlfriend of yours would do? I even volunteer to do your makeup"

You rolled your eyes and opened the door wider, " Fine. Help me pick an outfit and I wanna borrow the earrings you have on. I like the simple loop look" you said as you walked deeper into your apartment.

"Deal."

You walked into your bedroom where you had a black lace lingerie set on your bed. Harry pretended he didn’t see it as he sat down next to it on your bed.

"I think I might wear a blouse with some high waisted jeans?”

"Yeah I mean why not just go comfy. Wear sweats and a baggy tee. I could lend you one of mine." He winked towards you.

"Harry," you gave him a warning look, "We're having dinner at a restaurant, I'm not gonna wear sweatpants." you looked through your closet and grabbed some black high waisted skinny jeans and tossed them towards Harry. They hit him right in the chest.

"Hey," he grinned at you and laid the jeans flat on your bed. "So is your theme black tonight." he said referencing to the lingerie on your bed.

"Um, I don't know. I think I got too excited. I don't think I'm gonna actually wear it."

"How come? You don't want something to happen?" He hoped not but he kept that to himself.

"I don’t need lingerie to make something happen Harry." he loved your confidence but he hid his smile and nodded.

You grabbed a light blue silky button up blouse from your closet and turned around to face him. "So, I'm thinking tuck the shirt in, roll up the sleeves, and white vans?"

"Sounds.. good"

You nodded and stepped in between his legs from where he was sitting on your bed and then got down to your knees and reached under your bed reaching for a box. The sight made him want to pull you on top of him but he knew he couldn't. Were you teasing him? You pulled a small box and placed it on his lap. Which he was a little thankful because his bulge was only growing in his pants.

"It's my jewelry box, could you pick out some bracelets or something?"

"Yeah, okay" he nodded.

As he kept his head down you went behind him to take off your shirt. You buttoned it up and then jumped into your jeans. Once you finished you faced his front again.

"Should I leave the top two unbuttoned or three?" you said as you unbuttoned a third to show. It showed more cleavage but still wasn't too much.

He rubbed his head and looked anywhere but your chest for too long. "I think two is fine. Leave three for another time. It's still just the first date"

"Aw Harold, you think I'm getting a second date? You're getting better at this girlfriend thing."

"Yeah yeah, here" he passed you his choice of bracelets and his earrings that he took off and you put them on. You enjoyed the fact that you could do this with him.

He grabbed your wrist and turned you around slowly so you were facing your full-length body mirror. You saw him lift his cross necklace above his head and then over yours. He adjusted it between your breast which made you suck in a breath. He felt satisfied when he heard your breath hitch just little bit.

"For good luck." But really he wanted you to remember him while you were out.

You looked him in the eyes through the mirror and whispered, "You don't have to, I've never even seen you take this off"

"Don’t worry about it" He leaned forward and moved your hair to the side and kissed your cheek.

His lips lingered on your cheek for a bit until you heard a knock on your door. You both jumped and walked away from each other.

"I could get it if you want. I know you need to put your shoes on and whatever else."

"Y-yeah please." You felt so confused. You were so excited to go on this date but now you just wanted to stay home with Harry. Feeling his lips on your cheeks made you want to stay and feel his lips on yours. You finished tying your shoes and put some mascara and light makeup.

Harry approached the door and took in a deep breath. When he opened the door, Harry wanted to say "what the fuck" but he actually said,

"Hello, I'm Harry"

"Oh uh, I think I've got the wrong place"

"Looking for Y/n?" he fucking hated that he had to look up to this guy. Damn basketball player, his guess was 6"7. (Derek was actually 6"9)

"Yeah?"

"Yeah she's in here, come in"

"Oh okay," he crouched down just a little to walk. "Do you live here?"

"No across the hall, I'm Y/n's best friend" he grinned. They walked into your living room and took seats waiting for you. Derek nodded at Harry's answer and rubbed his hands against his thighs. Harry noticed his nervousness and debated whether or not to use this to his advantage.

"So where are you taking her?"

"A restaurant, near the Statue of Liberty."

"Nice. Been there before?" maybe with another woman?

"No, actually" Derek looked around like he was becoming impatient with Harry.

You walked out and Derek stood up instantly.

"Wow, y/n it’s so nice to see you," he said as he bent down to give you a hug. It was almost a 2-foot height difference. Harry looked away as it happened. You hugged him back remembering his smell. Some Armani cologne if you remember correctly. Different than Harry's Tom Ford one but why were you even thinking of Harry?

"You too. Let's go? I'm hungry."

"Still the same I see"

"Old habits die hard," you winked. "Har, close the door behind you?"

He nodded at you. You felt bad for some reason and walked over to him and gave him a hug and kiss on the cheek.

"Thanks for everything," you smiled up at him.

"Yeah, no problem." he blushed but you couldn't tell in this lighting.

As you were walking out your apartment with Derek beside you, you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket. You reached into your pocket behind you and saw Harry had texted you.

H: Let me know when you get home please? Or if you stay at his place? Just wanna know you’re okay. Xx

Y/n: most likely coming home H, I’ll let you know tho :)

Harry debated whether or not to ask if she wanted him to stay at her apartment but he didn’t want to intrude on her plans if she wanted to bring Derek back home. He hoped not. He decided to just not answer.

You and Derek approach the elevator and wait.

“I like your necklace, it’s nice”

“Oh yeah, thanks” you fiddled with it.

The elevator doors opened and you made small talk all the way until the restaurant. You had finally made it to Gigino’s, an Italian restaurant by the waterfront at Wagner Park. It was beautifully lit. You’d never been on a date quite like this one. After you finished ordering your drinks, you spoke up.

“I’m surprised you remembered me. It’s been so long”

"I honestly couldn't forget you" he smiled but looked down trying to hide from you.

You bit the inside of your cheek and reached over to put your hand over his. He looked different, more manly.

"How's the big dream been?"

"More exhausting than I thought it would be. I thought college ball was similar to professional but they're nowhere near close. How's nursing?"

"Good, I have many kids I like to think are my own. I work on the pediatric cancer floor."

"Oh wow, that must be tough"

"It can be, can also be rewarding."

"I'm sure you're great for the job"

"Thank you."

Your food came interrupting your conversation but you didn't really mind. You ordered tagliatelle with mixed shellfish. You nearly moaned at the first bite, it was so good.

"So, Harry.. Best friend he says?"

You laughed a little, "Yeah, the bestest." you couldn't believe Harry said that. You weren't mad, you were humored.

"How long have you known him?"

"Few months"

"He hang around a lot?"

"Derek? Why the 20 questions?"

"Sorry, sorry, I was just wondering. Threw me off I guess." He sipped his wine.

"It's okay. Um yeah, I moved in and we became really good friends. We're just always there for each other. That's all." Lies.com.

"Okay. Could I be honest though?"

"Yes," Here we go…

"He likes you."

"Oh my god Derek," you rubbed your temples.

"He does okay, a guy can tell. I really don't care though. I mean, you're here with me right now."

You didn’t know how to take his last comment. Was it cocky? Was it trusting? Genuine? You felt awkward. You just continued eating quietly.

"I'm sorry, I've gone and made this awkward haven't I?"

"Yep."

You had lost your appetite and so you told the waiter you'd like to take the rest home. Derek had finished his plate.

"Dessert?" the waiter asked with his thick Italian accent and gave you the menus. You looked it over and saw the chocolate covered strawberries with whipped cream. Your weakness.

"Do you still like chocolate covered strawberries?"

A little surprised you looked up from the menu and nodded. Derek ordered for you and bought himself a tiramisu.

"Surprised you remembered that too."

"y/n, I don’t think you realize that I was in love with you."

Was.

"Bullshit."

"I'm serious! I was. But I had to leave, my dad would've killed me if I didn’t continue his legacy in the game."

"Yeah I know, how is Mr. Bolev?"

"We don't talk."

"Oh." Now you made it awkward. This night was becoming… disastrous?

"Well, yeah I was. I wish I'd said it sooner, who knows what would've happened."

Maybe it was the wine, but you felt a little tingly. You sipped and squinted at him.

"Yeah, who knows?"

"Care to find out?" he grinned.

"Can't go back in time sweetheart."

"No but maybe I could show you something similar."

You laughed and stayed quiet as the waiter came out with your strawberries. He watched you as you ate your strawberries. You might've been doing it a little seductively if you were honest. You wiped the corners of your mouth with your finger and sucked on them lightly.

"Fuck," he mumbled and called the waiter over. "Check please?"

You laughed and drank your water. You’ve had enough wine.

"Do you wanna walk around the park?"

"Its dark," you leaned in to whisper, "There's rats. I've seen them"

"Holy shit, no way."

You nodded his way and he looked around nervously. You giggled at how big he was yet scared of a tiny, well sometimes big, rat. He paid quickly and grabbed your hand running out of there. You made it to his car and got in.

"So, where to?"

"Um where you got me from?"

"Right." You don’t know why, but you wanted to feel something. You wanted to see if there was anything there still. He was nice, but he wasn’t… he wasn’t what you thought you wanted anymore. If things went wrong you could blame it on the wine. You leaned across the center console before he could pull out of his parking spot and grabbed his face and kissed him. He kissed you back instantly and you felt nothing. Nada. You kissed him deeper trying to find something, anything. You just had a romantic dinner and now felt nothing? What sick game was life playing? He placed his hand on your hips and encouraged you get on top. You complied and straddled him. Now you felt something. He was already hard and he felt big. You had this internal battle in your head of whether you should grind on him or not. You didn’t want to give him the wrong intention. What were your intentions?

"You're here till Friday?" you asked breathing a little heavy.

"Yeah," he licked his lips and you kissed them again.

Maybe a hookup wouldn't be horrible. But maybe not on the first date.

"You free tomorrow?"

"Mhm," he kissed you and you leaned against his wheel setting the horn off. You both jumped and laughed. He put his hand on your cheek and kissed you softly. "Let’s get out of here?"

You nodded and he drove to your building.

"Do you wanna hang out tomorrow?" he looked over at you as he put the car in park.

"Yeah. I'll text you when I'm free and stuff."

"Okay." Maybe he expected an invitation upstairs but you weren't in the mood to give him one. You really wanted to go upstairs and knock on Harry's door. You wanted to hang out with him. Derek reached his hand over and played with your, actually Harry's, necklace. Little did he know... He tugged it lightly and leaned in towards you. You gave him a quick kiss and said goodnight. You practically ran inside wanting to change. You went into your apartment and changed into some pajama shorts and a baggy t shirt. You put your slippers on and walked across the hall and knocked three times. You heard harry yell a, 'finally!' before he opened the door. When he opened the door, it seemed it wasn't you he was expecting.

"oh, y/n?" his eyes were red.

"Who were you expecting? Are you crying?"

"No um no, and pizza."

"Can I come in?"

"Um I don’t think that's the best idea."

"Harry what's going on?"

He leaned against the door so you could walk in. Lo and behold he was watching The Vampire Diaries without you. It was the scene where Damon was trapped on the Other side and told Elena how much he loved her but she couldn't hear him.

"Are you serious?"

"I got bored okay!"

"Were you crying over this scene?"

"Maybe."

"Aw, poor baby." you walked up to him and pinched his cheeks.

"How was your date?" he said as he pushed your hands down gently.

You stayed looking up at him, "It was good, food was good," he kept eye contact with you and you didn’t even realize he was still holding your hand.

"He didn't walk you up?"

"No, I kind of didn't let him. I wanted to hang out."

He gave your hand a light squeeze and tried to hide his smile. "Doesn't sound like it went all that well then"

"It was fine Har," you dropped his hands and walked towards his couch. "I should be mad at you for watching without me."

"I know, will you ever forgive me?" you both sat on his couch and he helped you put your legs on him. His fingertips left little flames on your skin.

You take off his necklace and crawl up to him and put it back around his neck.

"Back where it belongs." you twisted a curl from behind his neck around your finger.

"Did you know I used to have my hair really long? Like up to my collarbones?"

"Really?"

"Yeah," he pulled out his phone and showed you a picture. He looked so young. So handsome.

"I think you should grow it back out." you giggled.

"How come?" he settled his arm on your knees as you were still facing him on your knees on his couch.

"I don’t know," you ran your fingers through his hair, "you look handsome either way."

"You think I look handsome?" he looked up at you.

You nodded, scared to speak. You thought maybe you'd say something you might regret. Like how much you wanted to kiss him. Or how you wished Derek smelled like him. Or how you thought of him from time to time. He looked away from you and cleared his throat.

"I guess I should finish this episode."

You nodded and went back to laying down on the other end of the couch. Harry felt confused. You had just gone on a date and come back to him and called him handsome. Did you like him or not? You interrupted his thoughts when you spoke up.

"We kissed," you felt like you had to tell him, yet he felt he could live without that information. "but I didn't feel anything. Like those sparks you're supposed to feel. I don’t know."

Harry stared at the screen and just listened. He didn’t want to hear that you kissed but he did like that you didn't like it.

"But I'm supposed to see him again tomorrow, now that I'm here I kind of don't want to."

Harry sighed and turned off the tv. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Y/n, do you feel anything for me? Because I'm honestly fucking confused. You go out on a date with some guy and then come back here, touching me in some ways. Call me handsome. The other night you put your fingers through my belt loop-" he caught what he was saying when you gave him a confused look.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Tell me"

"The other night, after my gig you were drunk and you pulled me towards you.. You didn't remember so I didn't remind you." He sighed heavily.

"Oh, I'm sorry I did that to you."

"I didn’t mind it"

"What's that supposed to mean"

You both sat up and faced each other. Sharing the middle cushion.

"Harry, do you feel anything for me?"

Part 4 is now up!

#harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #one direction #Meeting you in the hallway #myith #pls reblog

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sympathyfortheblinderdevil · 4 years

Text

All Is Fair: Ch 16 My Many, Many Sins

Tommy gets shot, so he naturally gets strung out on those little blue bottles of morphine for pain control (yeah, right, Tommy). Lia comes face to face with a side of Tommy she's never seen. Fear and loathing ensue.

Lia scarcely registered what kind of noise had jarred her awake, but whatever it was had driven her bolt upright. In the ringing silence, all she could hear was the pounding of her heart in her ears, though she strained to hear any sign of movement. She took shallow breaths. My gun, she thought with a sinking dread. She hesitated, bargaining with herself. Maybe the noise was just my imagination. I’ve always had vivid dreams… but the sound of fumbling, shuffling steps frightened her out of her thoughts and spurred her to action.

Lia slid open the drawer on her nightstand and felt for the pearl-handled revolver that Tommy had insisted that she keep. Her fingers skittered over the short metal barrel and found the cold, smooth grip. Her hand closed around it and she swallowed hard as she pulled the loaded weapon from it’s hiding place. Just as her eyes adjusted to the dark room, she saw a dim glow appear in the hallway. Someone had turned on a light downstairs.

She crept out of her bed and moved toward the stairs. She could see that the light was coming from the WC in the hallway just off the kitchen. Her mind raced as she wondered why someone would break in to burglarize her toilet. She didn’t have to wonder for long. The clatter of glass being dropped on ceramic tiles and a lowly whispered, “Fuck!” pulled her out of her fear.

“Tommy!” Lia called out.

“Come, help me,” his breathless voice confirmed his identity, but he sounded unlike Lia had ever heard.

She ran down to him and nearly fainted at the state of him. Blood pooled at his feet as he slumped over the sink.

“Oh my God Tommy, what has happened to you?” she gasped as she rushed toward him with outstretched arms.

Tommy squinted and flinched. “Put the gun down, Lia.”

She placed the pistol on the ledge of the tub and started checking Tommy everywhere— running her hands over his face, down his arms, up his torso, where she found that he held a towel tightly to his left side. It was stained the bright red color of new blood.

“Baby, we have to get you to a hospital!”

He was preternaturally calm. “I will be alright. Just help me.”

“No! No... look at all the blood you’ve lost!” Lia shouted as she gestured to the floor. It was then that she noticed that the floor was covered in Mercurochrome, not Tommy’s blood.

“Mind your step; I dropped the bloody antiseptic,” Tommy grunted. “Help me out of this shirt.”

Lia threw a towel on the floor to keep from stepping on any chipped glass and unbuttoned him with shaking fingers. Once he was stripped from the waist up, she could see that a bullet had hit his side just at the bottom of his rib cage. The wound was oozing quite a lot of blood, so Lia pressed the towel back to his side. She added another towel to it and rummaged through the cabinet to find a roll of bandages. Coming up empty-handed she fretted, “You’ll just have to hold it there while I find something to wind ‘round it.”

Tommy was now clammy and pale and slumped over on the side of the tub next to her gun, which panicked her anew.

“What are we going to do? What happened to you?”

Tommy winced and ignored her question. “I need a bottle of whiskey and call Arthur. No, Arthur’ll be too drunk this time of night. Call Charlie. Tell ‘im I’ve been grazed by a bullet and he needs to stop the blood,” he panted, “Tell ‘im I said to be quick.”

Lia made the phone call and helped Tommy hobble to the couch. She bundled him in a blanket and put the whiskey on the table beside him. As Tommy reached for the whiskey he hissed through his teeth with pain and Lia frowned at him.

“Who shot you, Tommy?”

Tommy closed his eyes and took measured breaths, so as not to disturb the gunshot wound that seemed to gape open with the slightest movement. After a moment of silence, he opened his eyes to see Lia rooted to the same spot, shivering in her bloodstained nightgown.

“Charlie and Curly will be here any minute now. Why don’t you go and get dressed?” he suggested, still avoiding her questions.

She grabbed a cashmere wrap from the back of the couch and pulled it around herself.

“I’m not leaving you.”

The towels were soaked through. She noticed that Tommy was becoming quieter and more dazed looking as the minutes passed, and she wondered if she was wise to listen to him when he insisted on calling Charlie instead of an ambulance. Honestly, she had no choice but to listen to him. Even when he was wounded and coping with blood loss, he was in control. He spoke with such authority that Lia trusted his judgment. After all, she had never had to deal with a gunshot wound and Tommy obviously had done.

Lia watched his glazed eyes wander the room like he’d never seen it before and began to panic. “Tommy talk to me! How long ago did this happen?”

If he wouldn’t tell her how it happened or who did it, maybe he would tell her when.

“Just after one.”

His gaze returned to her, and he smiled drowsily. He shifted his position and began to breathe a bit easier.

“I drove myself here. Came into the house through the back.”

“You parked around back? That’s why I heard you come through the kitchen.”

She kept him talking. As inexperienced with injuries of this nature as she was, she knew that she didn’t want him to go to sleep.

“Why’d you park around back, Tommy? You could have rung the bell. I could have helped you sooner.”

He shifted his eyes away from hers and swallowed hard.

“Go… go unlock the front door. They should be here by now,” he slurred.

Headlights ghosted across the curtains and the low rumbling sound of Charlie’s engine filled the quiet room. Lia squeezed Tommy’s hand and got up to let them in.

***

Tommy slept through the next day, and Lia was glad of it; she needed time to think. When he occasionally woke he drank one of the little blue vials that Charlie left with him and sank back onto the couch. He refused the tea and soup that she offered to him at intervals, so Lia busied herself with scrubbing the blood and Mercurochrome off of the tiles and out of the towels. Between bouts of crying, she soaked her blood-stained gown and agonized over what she had learned.

The night before, when Charlie came in to tend to Tommy, he brought with him a pair of blinders that Lia had never seen before. He and Tommy fell into their own language as Charlie worked. Tommy’s eyes shifted between her and the back of the house as he gritted his teeth and brought Charlie up to speed. Then he paused to hiss at the boys, “Mind the car. It’s ‘round the back.”

It was then that the penny dropped. Rodney had been driving Tommy that night. Rodney was notably absent when Tommy staggered in. By the time that they all noticed that she was gone she had dashed out to the alley behind her house where she found Rodney’s body in the backseat of Tommy’s car.

The boys coaxed her back into the house. As shocked as she was she went willingly, but when she came back to Tommy she demanded answers.

“Who was it? Who did this to you? To him?”

But Tommy had drunk the contents of a little blue vial and his unfocused gaze told her that he’d be of no use. Charlie patted her arm and said something about how these things sometimes happen and it’s best not to ask too many questions. She wanted to know how Tommy could say nothing, how he could be so calm when he’d just witnessed Rodney’s death, but Charlie had just shrugged and lit a cigarette.

***

She wrung the water out of her gown and hung it over the drying rack. The bloodstains were gone. She ran her fingers over the lace and smocking, imagining the rusty-colored stains that had been there just hours before. She wondered if the blood was all Tommy’s, or if any of it had come from Rodney. She wondered if Tommy had tried to save him, or if he had died instantly.

There was a blinder on her front door and her back door, but Lia was too numb to care.

Ada brought her bread and fruit and asked her if she’d like for her to stay, but Lia shook her head no.

Ada sighed and sat across from her. “I know you aren’t used to this. I told him to talk to you before something like this happened, but you know how he is.”

“I don’t think I do…” Lia spoke so quietly that Ada had to strain to hear her, “...know how he is, anymore.”

“This is part of the life. The part that I tried to leave behind.” Ada softly smiled and continued, “Things are better than they used to be when this was a regular occurrence, but there will always be someone who…” she searched for the right words, “There will always be the possibility that his past will come back to haunt him.”

Before Ada left, she hugged her and told her to call if she needed anything. “Just think, in a month’s time you’ll be in London together and this will all be a distant memory.”

Arthur and Finn came in sometime in that night. She was dozing in a chair beside Tommy, and she stirred awake to hear Arthur say It’s done, Brother. She didn’t even want to know what he was talking about. She caught his eye as he eased out of the room, and he gave her an apologetic nod. She wondered how Linda dealt with the realities of being married to a Shelby. Would Arthur’s past come back to haunt him, too?

The following day, Charlie brought more blue bottles that Tommy swallowed anytime he became conscious. They must have worked some kind of magic because that evening she woke from a nap to hear Tommy washing and shaving. She stretched her sore muscles but remained in her chair. Despite having endless hours to think, she still wasn’t sure how to approach him. When he stepped out into the hallway dressed in a fresh shirt, she watched him buckle his gun holster into place and carefully pull on a clean suit coat. He felt her eyes on him, and he turned to face her.

“Hello, Love.” His voice was like gravel. He cleared his throat and looked her up and down.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

He expected tears and a warm embrace. The bits and pieces he could remember from the previous days were of Lia wiping his brow, begging him to have some soup, and sleeping in a chair by his side. He didn’t expect her to be so blunt.

“I need to go to meet a man about some business.”

It was then she noticed the glass of whiskey he picked up from the side table. “You are in no condition to drive.” She made a valid point, but she was dancing around the conversation that she really wanted to have.

He stumbled, proving her point. “I will have one of the boys drive me.”

That did it. She stood and spoke up, “One of the boys. Rodney was one of the boys, right?”

Tommy stopped drinking and turned to her. “I didn’t want you to find out in the way that you did. You shouldn’t have seen that.”

“When were you planning on telling me? You didn’t even mention him.”

“Lia, I was bleeding. You were upset. I needed you clearheaded.”

“How can you just turn your feelings off like that?”

“I know this is hard for you to understand, alright? But I have to be hard. I am a soldier. I do what I have to do to survive.”

“What war, Tommy? Isn’t it over? How many enemies are still out there?”

He knew what she was doing. He had watched Polly and Ada and Grace all go through this with him. He had fought this fight with every woman who had ever had the misfortune to love him. She was scared for him and scared for herself and she didn’t understand his life because he had shielded her from it.

“Damn it, Tommy. Who killed him? Who tried to kill you?”

“Someone with a long fucking memory! Alright? One of many who want revenge for what I did to their brothers, their dads, their sons. Someone who wants to make me pay for my many, many sins.”

“What happens the next time someone with a long fucking memory takes a shot at you?”

“There won’t be a next time,” he lied because it was the only thing he knew to say to make her stop.

“He is dead, Tommy! Dead! How can you….don’t you feel anything? Nancy… she…”

“His fiance will be—“

“Nancy. She has a name, Tom.”

“Nancy will be provided for. We have a fund—“ He poured another whiskey.

“Provided for?” she stammered and brought her fingers up to her temples to press in on her pounding head, “a fund, Tommy?”

Since she’d seen Rodney’s lifeless body in the back of Tommy’s car she had thought of little else but the hell that Nancy was living through and how she would feel in her place.

“She has lost the love of her life.”

Tommy felt around his coat pockets for his cigarettes but came up empty. He nodded at Lia and made a hmmm noise to let her know he was still listening.

“What if it had been you instead of him? Do you think a fund could replace your love? Your arms around me at night?” her voice broke as she went on, “Your children growing inside of me?

His face fell at her last question; he was caught completely off guard. He loved her, but he kept his mind on their very near future. He hadn’t dared to think of what could happen in the coming years. A ripple of anxiety passed over him as he realized that she had been entertaining ideas that any woman her age in a serious relationship would. He couldn’t believe that he hadn’t seen it coming.

In the seconds that ticked by as he stalled, the conviction in her eyes was replaced by hurt. He saw that she had read his thoughts as surely as if he had spoken them aloud. He cleared his throat and reached for his glass. He hid behind the whiskey while he considered what to say, how to bring her back around. He was in no way equipped to have this discussion now.

He took an unsteady step toward her and tried to salvage her feelings, “The worst part, the thing that haunts me most, is the thought that you could have been with me, Lia. I could never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

The transparency of his attempt was insulting. She took a step back from him. “You seem to have amazing powers of recovery. Maybe the loss wouldn’t be as great as you think.”

She was talking about Rodney, but Tommy couldn’t be sure if there wasn’t a whisper of Grace implied. The whiskey, the morphine, and his recent loss of blood were doing him no favors. His ability to interpret what she meant was diminished, so he assumed the worst. Scorn flashed across his face, and for the first time ever, he lashed out at her. He reached out to grab her shoulders, but thought better of it at the last moment and spun away from her. He stalked to the other side of the room, ran his hands down his face, and then stepped back to her.

“That’s what you think of me, eh?” he growled. When Lia didn’t respond, he shouted, “Is that what you fucking think of me?”

“I don’t know what to think of you anymore!” she cried. “I don’t know you like this. How can you see someone die right before your eyes and just pretend it didn't happen?”

His tangled mind was still unsure if she referred to Rodney or Grace or both. He spat out, “Because I don’t have a fooking choice. This is who I am. Why do you think I wear this? Eh?” He gestured to the ever-present gun that he kept under his jacket and lowered his voice to a sneer. “Do you think it’s fancy dress?”

She hugged herself more tightly and furrowed her brow. She knew that he wasn’t in his right mind, but she didn’t know how to react. The change in him had happened so easily. His meanness fit him like a glove. She cringed as he overfilled his whiskey glass and carelessly sloshed it across the rug as he brought it to his lips. He brought his hand to his side and hissed through his teeth, his injury no doubt causing him pain.

“I can be a legitimate businessman, an OBE, an MP, but my past will always be there to remind me of what I have done and who I have killed to get here.”

Who I have killed It rolled off his tongue so effortlessly.

She couldn’t look at him anymore. This wasn’t her Tommy.

“I think you should go.”

“You think I should leave me own house,” he laughed, reminding her that his money had bought everything in her home right down to the shoes on her feet.

I can’t look at him like this. I don’t want to remember what he looked like when he broke my heart. “You need to go see a man about business, remember?”

He swayed silently in front of her.

It’s the morphine and the alcohol, she told herself as she fought to hold her tongue. The whiskey stains on the rug blurred before her eyes. “Then I will go if you prefer.”

“No,” he bit out.

“Then what Tommy, because I can’t be around you while you’re like this.” She squeezed her eyes shut and braced herself for his next volley.

Instead, she heard his uneven breathing come closer until it warmed the top of her head. She felt his arms close around her shoulders, and his body shaking as he desperately pulled her to him. She stood frozen for a moment, then she realized that he was sobbing.

“I’m so tired. I dunno what I’m saying.”

“I know, Tom,” she whispered.

“He was just a kid. No older than Finn,” he wept into her hair.

“I know.”

Masterlist

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #peaky blinder fic #peaky blinder fiction #peaky blinder fanfic #tommy shelby fic #tommy shelby x oc #all is fair

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team-council · 4 years

Text

Title: It’s never getting titled

TW: Character Death, Lightly Grotesque descriptions of wounds, Possible Scuicidle Implications (I didn’t really mean to imply it like that, but I realize it can be read that way and will tag to be safe)

Description: Takes place directly after the council manages to quell the everblaze from book three. Bronte takes some healing salve to Oralie for her shoulder and reflects on Kenric’s death.

Notes: I would scincerely like to thank anyone who bullied me. I haven’t finished a fic in literally ever, meant a lot. This monstrosity is also not proofread and I am sleep deprived so I’m sure it’s absolute garbage near the end but just ignore that. Might clean it up and put it on ao3 later who knows.

An angry grey sky wept dry shudders of ash over each of the miserable, bowed figures that stumbled across the rolling fields stretching beyond and between the crystalline castles scattering Eternalia’s fading outline. The sun was nothing but a sunken stain on the sky, feathery gold light turned a sick shade of pewter as rising smoke choked the warmth from what of it still lingered beyond the horizon. The neon glare of Everblaze could no longer be seen melting crystal and dragging harsh lines of terror down the face of the distant city, but the air still smelled like burning sugar and dizzying sweetness.

With every ragged breath Bronte drew the saccharine sting of the now extinguished fire coated his tongue anew and prompted another fit of coughing to wrack his body. Though the soot that caked his face in thick, dark splotches had long dried his eyes, the muted sting of fresh burns sweltering along his cheeks and arms coaxed tears to blur his staggering vision. He’d long abandoned attempting anything resembling a graceful stride forward, allowing his feet to stumble over each other with every messy attempt he made to not hit the earth. Ignoring the trembling in his knees. Praying mutely that they might give way beneath him. That he might fall and never get have to get up. A fantasy of melding into the cool grass enticed his mind from the fervent protesting of his aching muscles. He imagined idly how the paled blades would curl at the corners of his mouth, cradle his hands and still the weary tremors that weighted his chest. Dazed, he was unable to keep from fancying what it would be to shatter into the dirt. To become ethereal and unknown, sunken beneath a tangled weaving of root where there would be naught to do but unlearn the world. To divorce sorrow and grief. To let the burdens of the many long centuries he’d endured go in passive dismissal.

His thoughts were interrupted as his foot caught the edge of something tough, and when at last he fell it was only to be met with the glassy, calloused embrace of faceted crystal. A dim, concerned muttering of multiple shrill voices hovered above his head, but as the councillor drew to his knees he found in clarity only the gaunt, drawn man staring back at him through the fuzz of a soot-drowned Amaranth stairway. Reminding him. Mocking him. To disappear was not a mercy he deserved.

“Councillor,”

Bronte was forced to respond when the stairs beneath his legs fell away from him, a large pair of hands having drug him up by the shoulders. Well, respond might have been a gracious word for the half-conscious grunt he managed to the goblin bearing his weight in their palms, his eyes not bothering to search the face of the guard, to know whether or not they held his weakness in contempt or pity. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t fathom caring. All that mattered was that there was no attempt to stop him from dragging his reluctant body up the steps, that no hand batted his away from the knob of the door, that the scanner reading the intricacies of his palm managed to make sense of his identity despite how fresh burns and ash might’ve tried and scrub it away. There was no triumph in the silent, inward sliding of the towering doors, no pleasant rush as frigid, bitter air swept the welts tapering down from his forehead. He hardly found himself capable of much but standing at the brink of the darkness that spilled forward into the until living room at his feet.

Lavish furniture sat steeped in shadows deep enough to sink under, curtains drawn to block the pitiful laces of grey-yellow light that might have struggled through had they been parted. Bronte’s own silhouette was absorbed effortlessly into the black, his whole body soon after as he mindlessly stepped forward, doors clicking shut at his back with an echo of finality.

The world was void of sound until the shake of a fragile breath bit the quiet in faint retaliation. Bronte followed the quivering whimper around the barest, ebon outline of a table, managing to discern only a tenebrous jumble of shapes wrapped up in the stifle of self imposed twilight. Whatever discomfort he might have felt at the still sightlessness, it was welcomed compared to the snap that brought light back into the chamber, cutting through the veil of blissful ignorance that had pardoned any necessity to look upon what it had charitably concealed. However selfish it might have seemed, for the smallest instant Bronte thought of turning the lights off again,

“Sit up,”

It felt wrong to speak- especially ask anything of Oralie. Her ringlets- dull and stringy- pulled down in thick tangled over her face as she rigidly drug her back up the arm of the lovesteat she’d curled into, blankets falling limp onto the floor with a meek thud. Bronte simply knelt atop them, his fingers trailing the pockets of his clock for the smooth outline of a familiar metallic tin. Oralie made no sound of pain or acknowledgement as he pulled down the sleeve of her shirt, revealing a thickly wound bandage fastened over her shoulder. The white color had turned yellow, and as the kneeling figure peeled back each layer the room- what of it he could smell above the saturated, sugary smoke bathing his clothes- began to scent of balms and puss, a littering of welts and shrunken skin having festered beneath the dressings. The case in his hands came open with yet another sound Bronte found himself too far away to register, his fingers diving numbly into the salve inside,

“It’s my fault,”

Came a sound like the shifting of a fault line. Bronte traced his fingers over the rim of the burn,

“I couldn’t do anything but watch,”

Cracking like stained glass. Bronte smoothed his thumb across a patch of withered, pink flesh,

“H-he moved so quick,”

He had been avoiding her eyes, her face. And still he found himself caught in both. Her soft features hollowed. Her warm eyes gutted, occupied only by vacancy. Ghosts of the nots. Of the would never bes,

“And I- I jus-just-“

And her anguish came again with vengeance. Came with strength she did not have to spare for tears she did not have to shed. How dare she think she had wept enough. How dare she think she couldn’t hurt any longer. With a long, godless wail it came back to her in waves, thin fingers gripping his shoulders as she curled forward, her whole frame shaking with the labor of forcing from her throat a cry like cracking ice. What little tears she could manage soaked through his cloak,

“And I j-us did no-nothing! I di-didn’t do anything! I jus-just le-let him go! I le-let him d-“

She had been doomed to fail the sentence from the very start, her broken declarations falling to senseless sobs and howls of pain as she rocked her forehead into his shoulder, re-adjusting her grip at his arms every so often as if letting go might send her physically spiraling into whatever pit of grief pulled at her mind, down somewhere she couldn’t be followed,

“It’s not your fault,”

Again. It felt wrong to tell her anything with certainty, even the truth,

“It’s not your fault,”

It came stronger this time. Still a whisper in her ear, but less like a mist and more like a fog,

“It’s not your fault,”

That’s right. It wasn’t her fault. It was his,

“You couldn’t have known,”

But he had.

“There wasn’t a way you could’ve known,”

He’d known everything. That the healing was dangerous. That he should’ve gone with them.

“You did everything right...”

It was his fault that they hadn’t listened,

“I promise,”

That Kenric hadn’t listened,

“You were everything he needed you to be,”

Why should he have? He had been impatient. Stubborn. Cruel. /Weak/.

“You’ve been so strong,”

For the past three years his judgement had been ruled by fear. Fear of a little girl,

“And so brave,”

And hatred. Hatred of species who’s betrayal’d dawned the advent of millenniums lifetimes ago,

“This could never have been your fault,”

Kenric was dead,

“It will never be your fault,”

Because he hadn’t been stronger,

“No matter what you might think,”

Because he hadn’t been wiser,

“Kenric wouldn’t want you to think that,”

Because he hadn’t been kinder.

“Ever,”

Her wailing had only gotten softer, grip having loosened the slightest bit. He couldn’t tell if anything he’d said had reached her or not. Had he even been speaking aloud to begin with? Had he even been loud enough for it to matter? He had to hope so. Their ilk was not meant to die, and thus not meant to grieve death. To mourn in earnest was not theirs. It never was. He knew too well how easily it would be for her to break beneath the weight of it. He could already feel himself webbing with cracks,

“I-I....”

She couldn’t protest beyond a dry heave, her shoulders raised for what felt like ever in a deep wrenching motion as Bronte clasped the fresh bandages over her newly dressed wounds. In the end, she merely fell into him, grabbing his shirt. His arms. His cloak. Anything she could to prove to herself she was still there with him. Every new hold she had on him felt like another clutch of guilt bearing at his knotted stomach. The morphine drip of shell shock had begun to fade and chip away. Clawed to pieces by the daggers of sharp mourning that broke his haze with every whimper Oralie managed into his shoulder. He knew even in the pathetic state he was in he couldn’t outrun his guilt forever. But he’d been hoping that he might for a bit longer. Selfish as it was,

“Oralie...”

He whispered after a moment. And was met with quiet. Quiet and trembling breaths. She’d become heavy against him, her grip gone slack, eyes finally falling to tearless rest. Good. He hadn’t been sure what he was going to say anyways. The lights echoed out again with another dry snapping sound and Bronte stood from the thicket of blankets at his ankles, propping Oralie’s head on a pillow before draping her in covers again, still hoping- desperately and undeservedly- that she had believed him.

He paced the length between his and Oralie’s office with more grace this time, aware now of what the lull to fall and fade and become nothing but memory was in truth.

Not escape from sorrow or grief, but from consequence.

Consequence for the person he’d become. For that he’d done to others... There would be no reckoning with Councillor Kenric. He was dead. No apologies or tears- though he would certainly be giving both in abundance regardless- would change that.

But Oralie wasn’t dead.

The rest of the council wasn’t dead.

Sophie wasn’t dead.

He wasn’t dead.

And to that end there were still plenty of consequences to face.

#TW #TW Suicidal thoughts #TW gore #TW death #keeper of the lost cities #angst fic #kotlc council #councillor bronte #councillor Oralie #councillor kenric #so much angst #no beta we die like Kenric

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