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matildashoney · 4 years

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Loving You’s the Antidote: Chapter Eleven

MASTERLIST // MOODBOARD // TAG LIST // TAGS // PLAYLIST

TAG LIST: @cock-a-doodely-doo, @ihearthemcallingforyou, @goldenfeelin, @detroitkiwis, @wherearethewatermelons

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this chapter contains themes of sexual content please read with caution.

author’s note: there are no words to describe what a despicable time this is in the world, right now. i know this is a trying time, and i am posting this chapter early to hopefully give you space from the negativitiy if you want one. take care of yourself. i love you. i’m here for you. i see you. here is a page of links for you to sign petitions, learn, and donate. i encourge everyone to educate themselves. thank you for reading.

Going out was fine in the beginning.

Talia and Mylie were sat in the chairs opposite Amelie, their drinks nursed in their hands, talking about their boyfriends and their lives and their jobs. Her phone is vibrating every so often, likely from Harry, but they’ve already given her flack for not going out with her friends enough – even though she sees her best friend nearly five times a week – and always being attached to his hip when they’re together – which makes sense when he’s out of the country about six months a year – and it’s made her too anxious to excuse herself to check it. Harry would understand when she explained it.

“Can you tell me what you two are staring at or are you just going to keep looking past me like you’ve seen a ghost?”

“Getting a weird vibe from this guy that’s been staring at you all night,” Mylie says, squinting to try and get a better glance at who it was. “Don’t know, maybe I’m seeing things.”

“Anyways,” Talia interrupts, trying to break the underlying tension that is hovering above their table and causing all three girls to draw circles around their glasses, “How’s Harry? You two alright? Haven’t seen him in a while.”

Amelie smiles, her lips tingling with the mixture of tequila and the sensation of Harry’s lips on hers. “Harry and I are good. Love that man, I do.” Her teeth clink against the rim of the glass, taking the rest of the drink smoothly down her throat and standing. “Want another?”

“One for me,” Mylie smiles, sliding her glass towards Amelie. “Want me to come?”

“Not that crowded,” Amelie shrugs, taking a deep breath and gathering all her anxiety into her stomach. “I can do it.”

You can do it. Ask for a drink, wait for it, leave. Two minutes max. You can do this. Harry would be really proud of you for going out and being able to do it. You can do it.

Amelie walks to the wooden bar, slightly less crowded than it had been an hour and a half ago when they arrived, Talia and Mylie’s attention turned towards their own conversation. Her arms lean on the sticky counter as she waits, the bartender walking away to make her drinks, her hand reaching into her pocket to grab her phone and message him back, to tell him that everything was going alright. Amelie’s mind is elsewhere, clouded with tequila and rum and the drink that the bartender made when they walked in.

Until a hand lingers a bit too long on her lower back and a breath hits the back of her neck.

Amelie’s muscles immediately tense, dropping her phone on the counter and her head turning over her shoulder, all of the oxygen knocking out of her lungs at the sight in front of her.

“Look at you,” Jack slurs, his hand brushing the curls hanging over Amelie’s shoulder behind her back. “Get rid of that boyfriend of yours, finally?”

Amelie gulps, shaking her head, her hands reaching for her phone, fingers shaking, her eyes drawing out a path that would take her to her friends and they could leave. Her thumb is too sweaty to swipe across her screen, and every breath that she takes seems to be weighted and never make it into her lungs.

“Doubt that he’d ever leave you alone when you’re out. Always has to ‘ave an eye on you,” he mumbles, drawing his fingertip along her arm, chuckling darkly when she shrugs him away. “Must not be here, then.”

“Leave me alone, Jack,” Amelie spits, her tone echoing the fear that is welling tears in her eyes. Harry’s contact was the first on her screen, a few swipes and there would be a message to get him to her.

He steps impossibly closer, their chests touching, his breath hitting her face. His height is much shorter than she remembers, her fingers tapping anxiously against the bar as her eyes try to make contact with her friends or anyone that could see that the situation was uncomfortable.

And before Amelie could realise what was happening, Jack was leaning in to kiss her, his breath hot on her mouth, her head turning quickly as he grabbed her forearm, his lips hard and rough against her cheek. Her lips parted as she squeaked, her hand pressed against his chest, pushing him away. Her vision fades into flashing stars and her cheeks heat, all of the blood rushing to her head.

He stumbles backwards, fumbling into the security guard. His eyes fade into darkness that Amelie doesn’t recognise and there is this pit in her stomach that is making her want to be sick. Her eyes squeeze shut, trying to picture herself anywhere but where she is, anticipating his hand on her jaw and forcing her to kiss him like he likely would have, until one of the bartenders walks towards her, gently setting her hand on her shoulder and nodding towards the security guard, eyeing the situation.

Amelie is barely able to make out the words that are being said to her, only the thoughts about getting outside, to the fresh air, to the one setting where her lungs could get oxygen and feel full. Talia and Mylie nearly run over to her, grabbing her hands and her phone and bringing her outside, their concerned voices making her head feel like it’s going to implode at any given moment. Her hands are shaking as she messily scrambles to call the only person that would understand her, that would help her.

His phone barely reaches a second ring, his breathing slightly heavy through the receiver. His voice is rasped and worried as if the air was knocked out of his lungs the moment she called.

“Harry?” Amelie hiccups, her throat tight and tears falling down her cheeks.

“Doll, what’s wrong?” Harry whispers, his legs swinging over the edge of their mattress and reaching for the nearest trainers.

“’m out and ‘m scared,” she mutters, her breathing shaky as she walks further away from Mylie and Talia and beneath a light, her phone tight against her cheek, her body pressed against the brick wall. “Need to come home, Harry. I need you. I want to come home.”

“Mon ange, ce qui se passe?”

“’m sorry ‘m calling so late,” she chokes, trying to catch her breath.

“Hey, hey, j'ai besoin que tu respires pour moi,” he soothes, his voice calming and talking her through. His fingers brush through his hair, drying the sweat that gathered there. His voice is tense, hating that he’s not there to talk her through her panic attack, to squeeze her hand and remind her that he’s there because he’s sure that she’s near the point where she might go unconscious because of how heavy she’s breathing. “Don’t have to apologise to me. ‘m always here. Can you tell me where you are?”

“’m at some bar,” she says shakily, drying her eyes and trying to see anything she recognised around her. “Haven’t been to this one before, I don’t think. Mylie and Talia wanted to try it.”

Harry is starting to get nervous. He knows her. He is sure that she wouldn’t have called unless something was really wrong. That’s when he knows. He is sure that he knows what was making her feel uncomfortable, or who rather, and the thought alone makes him livid and his fists grip the duvet.

“Can I come and get you? Would that be that alright?” Harry questions nervously, a quiet hum in agreement all that was needed. He walks downstairs, mumbling that he would be right there, his hands reaching for a sweatshirt to toss over his torso to avoid meeting the bitter air. “Getting in the car, now,” he says, his fingers tugging at his roots and bringing it to a knot on the top of his head, the length becoming a burden with the knots and the strands sticking to his forehead. “’m gon’a stay on the phone until we’re together, alright?”

“Okay.”

And the line goes silent for a minute, Mylie and Talia walking over with their boyfriends and talking to Amelie, yet every thought in her head is spinning and she wishes that Harry would talk more to take her mind away from the feeling of his lips on her cheek and the harsh grasp that he had on her arm. His touch stung, cold and bruising, much like a wasp stinging the centre of someone’s chest. Her breathing is shaky, coming in pants, and Harry’s about to swear at every stoplight that he hits on his way to her.

Twenty minutes is twenty minutes too long.

His thumb drums dramatically against the steering wheel, his eyes scanning over the outside terraces of restaurants and bars and the nightclubs scattered in between. “Can you tell me what happened? Can you tell me why you want to leave?” Harry’s fingertips tap against the screen, using the directions to her location to guide him. Hearing her take a breath; Harry isn’t sure he wants to know the answer, even though that’s what he has to do. “Do you want to wait until we’re together?”

Amelie sucks in a breath. “Had fun at first,” she says very slowly, the alcohol evident in her voice, “and all ‘f us were dancing, drinking. Mylie and I wanted more, and it didn’t look like the line for the bar was too crowded, and it was me that offered to go. Felt someone touch m’ back but didn’t know who. Turned around and it was, you know.” Her voice goes silent. “He leaned in and said something ‘bout you, he smelt like booze,” she whispers. “’m not even sure what happened but ‘e went in to kiss me and I pushed ‘im away. I was really uncomfortable, Harry.” He can hear her start to cry, again. All Harry wants is to be holding Amelie in his arms, comforting her. “That’s not, I just. He isn’t supposed to do that.”

“No,” Harry breathes, trying to subdue his anger. He is furious. Only with Amelie’s luck would Jack be there the one night that she decided to go out without him. Jack was the reason Amelie only went out with Jenny or Harry, to begin with. Harry should’ve been there, with her, protecting her. Guilt rises into his chest, his throat, and he thinks he might be sick. “He isn’t supposed to do that. That’s wrong. This isn’t your fault, you know that, right?”

Amelie nods her head, oblivious to the fact that Harry can’t outright see her.

His chest heaves with a staggered breath as his tires roll to the nearest parking space, the sight of her making him want to collapse. Her eyes are hooded, and her cheeks are puffy. He could only imagine how hard she’s been crying. He can imagine that she’s nearly gone unconscious, by now. “Can see you, baby. I’ll be right there.”

“Okay,” Amelie mutters, ending their call and turning slightly to where the slamming sound was coming from, Harry’s body coming into view as his feet pound against the pavement running towards her.

“Hey,” Harry whispers, immediately wrapping his arms around her head and pulling her into his arms, his lips touching her hair, his hands holding her tightly into him. “Are you alright?” Amelie grips onto his sweatshirt, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to only think about his breathing and his scent and his heartbeat that is beating in her hears with her head against his chest.

“Harry, we didn’t even know it was him,” Mylie rushes over, her hands tucked into her pockets, her heart breaking at the sight. Amelie always appeared so beyond the thing with Jack – not that they really knew what happened other than a messy breakup – but this put everything in an entirely new perspective. “Thought it was someone just watching us because of you two, honestly.”

Harry doesn’t want to blame Amelie’s friends. His frustration, his anger, his guilt, is begging him to blame someone other than himself. “Not your fault.” His hands gently brushing through Amelie’s curls and trying to soothe her. “Have they kicked him out?”

“Think so.”

“I’m going to go in there and talk to someone,” Harry says, his hands gently dropping from around Amelie’s torso and causing her to panic.

“Harry,” Amelie whispers dryly, barely lifting her head from his chest and squeezing his hips, “Harry, no.”

“Alright, alright,” Harry sighs, returning his hands to her hair and kissing her hairline, “you’re okay.” His cheek rests on her head, his eyes meeting the worried eyes of her friends, “Don’t worry, I’ve got her.” He kisses her hair, squeezing her shoulders and whispering, “Can I take you home? Can we go home?”

Amelie nods against his chest, grabbing his hand and interlocking her fingers with his, her body walking one step ahead to make the distance between where she once was. Harry opens the car door for her, kissing her temple and wiping the tears on her cheeks before moving back.

“Can you kiss me?”

“Course,” Harry smiles softly, disheartened by the trepidation in her voice. Her cheek turns to him, a tear wiped by her thumb as he whispers, “On your cheek?”

“Mhm.”

Harry’s heart sinks to his stomach. His lips gently touch her cheek, kissing away a tear that betrays her and falls against his mouth. He kisses her jaw, her cheek, her temple, making his way to her mouth to kiss her deeply, longingly. Her hand grabs his as he’s about to walk around and get into the car, her eyes flicking between his lips and his eyes. He kisses her, giving her reign, allowing her to mould her lips in whichever way she wants against his.

Harry has to take a breath, guilt washing over him in the worst way. He could’ve been there. He knows that she hates going out without him or Jenny. He knows that she doesn’t feel safe that way, that her anxiety is too overwhelming and makes her feel that way. Harry knows that Amelie wanted to prove that she was making progress more so to herself than anyone else, and she would have been so excited to tell him that she went to the bar all by herself and the night went great.

Until it didn’t.

“Have about twenty minutes until we get home,” Harry says, easing onto the street and beginning their journey home. “Glad you called me. Thank you for calling.”

“Had no idea what to do,” Amelie whispers dumbfounded, the alcohol still swirling in her brain. “Kept trying to press on your contact but m’hand was shaking and I couldn’t get it.”

“Hey, hey,” he soothes, kissing her knuckles and squeezing her hand, the volume on the music silent. “Everything’s alright now. I’m here. You’re safe.”

“Did I wake you?” she wonders, wet eyelashes pressed on her cheeks, her lips pursing together as the red tint of her lipstick begins to fade away. “Didn’t mean to.” Her hand reaches for the water settled in the console for her, taking a heavy sip and letting the cool liquid smooth down her throat.

Harry snorts, shaking his head and pressing a hard kiss to her hand. “Didn’t wake me, angel.”

“Oh no.”

His chuckle vibrates his chest, his heart warm as a smile tugs longingly at the corners of her lips. “Don’t think you want to know what I was doing.”

“Well, I mean, now yeah, since you’ve teased it, I want to know. Especially, since now, we’re together at a bright,” Amelie says, staring at the time on her phone and waiting a few seconds for the digits to process in her brain, “two in the morning.”

“Look, sometimes, things get a little, hard, and you have to do some things,” Harry begins, his lips curved in the cheesiest smile, a hard laugh bellowing from his chest as Amelie slips beneath the seatbelt and further into the seat, her hand covering her eyes. “You asked!”

“Oh my god.”

“Thinking of you, if that helps any.”

“No,” she says, biting her bottom lip to suppress a laugh itching at her throat, her cheeks flushed with his confession. “No, Harry, it really doesn’t.” Harry turns to stare at her, quirking his eyebrow suggestively and nodding his head. “Okay, a teensy bit.”

Harry and Amelie talk quietly about nonsense the rest of the way home, trying to distract from the sexual tension and the lingering conversation waiting to be had eventually. Her thighs were held tightly together, her hand and her phone between her legs, his hand holding hers on his thigh and away from the tent in his jeans.

Harry’s hand lingers on Amelie’s lower back as they walk inside, his hands gently holding her hips to make sure that she wouldn’t stumble going to their bedroom upstairs, her knees slightly shaky and her words drawn together as the alcohol begins to wear through her system.

Amelie’s eyes flicker to the alarm on the wall near their bedroom door. Harry nods towards the ensuite, his lips pursed together as her fingertips begin to take her clothes and toss everything into the laundry bin, taking her favourite robe from behind the door and wrapping it tightly around her torso. Harry waits for the three beeps before following her, frowning as she harshly takes a washcloth and begins rubbing at her cheek.

And Harry knows why.

“Baby,” Harry whispers, making eye contact in the mirror before setting his hands on her shoulders, gently rubbing her muscles and kissing her hair. “Gentle with yourself.”

“Can feel it on my skin,” Amelie whispers, her eyes welling with tears at the thought. “Want it to go away.”

“Can I do it? I’ll take it all off.” Harry waits for Amelie to nod, his hands holding her hips and lifting her onto the bathroom counter, her thighs spread slightly for him to stand between. “Love the way you do your makeup, you know. Always makes your eyes so bright.”

His hands gently wipe away the tears and the foundation and the running mascara, revealing her bare cheeks and supple lips and soft eyes, begging to be peppered with kisses. He kisses her cheek, his breathing choking in his throat as he waits to see how her reaction will go. Her cheek leans into his hand, her lips turning to meet his and her hands holding his shoulders, the kisses languid and sloppy and sweet.

“Come on,” Harry breathes, circling his hands around her waist and gently setting her on the ground, walking around her and turning on the water. “Know you better than anyone and the only way for you to avoid a hangover is a shower and a good night’s rest.”

Amelie wonders, hooking the robe near the shower door and stepping under the warm water, her hair wet and clinging to her skin beneath the pour. Her eyes meet his through the glass wall, her arms folding in front of her chest. “Coming in?”

“Don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Harry sighs, scratching the back of his head. He wanted nothing more than to be in the shower with her, to be touching her – even innocently – and telling her that he loves her. He wants to tell her now more than ever.

“Harry, ‘s just a shower.”

His fingers tuck between his teeth, biting at the skin nervously. He shrugs, nodding and pushing his jeans down his legs and slipping his shirt over his head. “Alright, alright.”

“Not even briefs?” she giggles, her fingertips gently massaging her shampoo into her hair, all of her movements drawn out with the lingering alcohol in her veins.

“Go on,” he laughs, stepping inside the shower, squeezing her shoulders and nudging her to turn under the water, his body slightly stepped to the side, “turn around and let me rinse out your hair. Gon’a got soap in your eyes if you keep opening them to talk to me.”

“Takin’ care ‘f me,” Amelie smirks, wrapping her arms around his torso and pulling him into her, puckering her lips and tilting her head back to inch her lips towards his.

“Always will,” Harry says assuredly, kissing the corner of her lips and gently squeezing out the water in her curls. “Could literally ask me to give you the clothes on my back and you’d have them.” His hands reach for her sponge, gently running the soap and water on the material and coasting it along her skin, kissing her neck and she leans into his touch.

Her voice is quiet, the water running over her skin as his hands gently rub into her shoulders, the muscles that tightened with the anxiety and the panic slowly loosening enough to allow her to have a night’s rest and to reconvene in the morning. His touched her hairline, allowing her to lay against his chest and have the water wash over their connected skin. “Have you seen anyone since we went on, you know.”

“On a break.”

Amelie nods, “That.”

“Haven’t seen anyone but your beautiful face every day,” Harry smiles softly, his thumb dragging along her cheek and his lips pecking her temple, his hands reaching to turn off the water and grab a towel from the rack nearest to them. “You’re it. Always.”

Amelie walks onto the rug first, holding onto Harry’s hand and wrapping the towel tightly around her torso her feet pressing into the fibres to dry and avoid slipping on the damp tile. Her hands reach for his warm sweatshirt on the counter, her hands rummaging around the drawer in their wardrobe for her favourite pair of silk shorts and pulling the material up her thighs.

Her voice is quiet as Harry gets dressed behind her, the cotton briefs clinging to his hips, his hair dried in a towel as she tucks the sweatshirt sleeves over her hands and walks to the bedframe, sorting her side of the bed and opening up the duvet for him to climb into.

“Cosy in that?” Harry asks, turning off the bathroom light and shutting the door, all of the lamps slowly beginning to turn over and the room becoming bright only by the moonlight shining through the thin curtains.

Harry’s fingers are about to shut his light when Amelie whispers, “Dumbest thing I’ve ever done was talk about that break.”

“Didn’t really give you much of a choice,” Harry sighs, turning to look at Amelie and sitting his back against the headboard.

“Have a choice, now,” she says, swinging her thigh over his waist, and straddling him, her fingertips coasting along his chest, her lips peppering kisses from his jaw to his neck.

“Hey,” he whispers, his head tilting slightly to allow her lips to make suckling marks on his neck. Harry was Amelie’s, undoubtedly and unabashedly. “Doll, we shouldn’t.”

“Baby.”

“Don’t want the first time we make love to be when you’re drunk, Ames. Don’t want you to regret that,” Harry gulps, his hands holding her thighs, gripping onto her lightly and feeling her skin under his fingertips.

“Could never regret you,” Amelie confesses, gently bringing her lips to hover over his, hot breaths panted over his mouth. “Kiss me, then. Not a fake kiss. Kiss me like you love me.” Her words are interrupted by hiccups, and Harry couldn’t find her more attractive – freshly showered, holding onto him, kissing him, wanting to profess how she feels; that’s more than he’s gotten in nearly a month. Her eyes meet his with all sincerity. “’ve been, dreamin’ about this.”

Harry’s thumb lightly pulls her bottom lip, “Have you? Missed these lips.”

Amelie kisses his fingertip, “Mhm.”

His fingers brush her hair away from her face, his hands cupping her jaw sweetly and kissing her cheek. “Are you sure?”

Her hands wrap around his wrists, having his hands firm on her face and unable to move. “Mhm.”

“Ames.” His voice is barely above a whisper, mouth inching towards her wet lips, the slight flush of pink on the flesh making his stomach flip with butterflies. His mouth is longing to be on hers.

“Je t’aime,” Amelie says, a smile tugging at her lips as Harry’s eyes move away from her lips and meet her stare, surprise and love overwhelming his emotions and features, “and I want you to kiss me.”

“Je t’aime,” Harry grins, brushing his nose against hers and lightly pressing a kiss to her lips. “Could listen to you say that for the rest of m’life.”

“And you will.”

Harry’s lips crash onto Amelie’s, their mouths messily colliding, their rhythm slowly building from sloppy to sweet, perfect alignment and steady intake of breaths as their tongue taste the lingering mint and tequila that is between their lips. Harry moans into her mouth, soaking in the way her fingers slowly inch into his hair and scratch at the nape of his neck, his hands holding her thighs and her back, their arms tightly around each other, barely giving space for their lungs to intake any oxygen.

Amelie’s kiss is begging for something more, desperate for Harry to take away whatever is lingering in her brain. Maybe it’s the anxiety. Maybe it’s the underlying doubt that they won’t work out a second time around. Maybe it’s the memory of someone else’s lips on her skin that she never wants to feel again. Harry answers it all with his lips on hers, kissing her cheeks and her mouth and her jaw and her cupid’s bow, leaving a bright red mark on the cut of her jaw below her ear and whispering his love for her.

Harry’s kiss is longing, aching for more of Amelie. His hair longed to be tugged by her, his neck marked by her teeth, his skin scratched by her nails, his sensed overwhelmed by her scent. He wanted all of her immersed in him, to be in her skin and knowing her. He wanted to erase the memories of anyone that’s ever hurt that, that’s ever made her feel like she deserves less than every star in the sky. His lips are slightly harder against hers when a tear slips down her cheek, needing her to feel his love deeper than the surface.

Her hand trails down his chest, lingering over where their thighs meet. “Have to give you a cut on tequila, Amelie Fay,” Harry chuckles dryly, gently moving her hand and bringing her fingers back to his hair. “Can’t resist you when you come home when you’re like this.”

“That’s what I love,” Amelie smiles, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. Her lips touch right below his ear, gently marking his skin.

“Fuck,” Harry breathes, gently sliding further into the duvet and bringing the covers over Amelie’s back, tucking their bodies together and his hands settling over the curves of her bum and trailing up her spine.

“Knowing that you have that control shows that you really love me,” she whispers against his skin, gently kissing over his jawline and making her way to the corner of his lips. “That’s good, you know, because, I love you.”

His eyes well with tears. Harry needed Amelie to say that more than he thought. “I love you. God, I love you. Don’t leave me, ever again,” he croaks, his fingers tangling in her hair and gently coaxing her to meet his glossy stare. “Need you, angel.”

“Need you,” Amelie murmurs, her thumbs gently wiping the tears from beneath his eyes. Her heart is thumping so loudly in her chest that it can be heard in her eardrums, a bass drum kicking a new beat. All that she wants is to have Harry’s lips on hers. “I love you. Je t’aime.”

“I love you. I’ll love you to the ends of the Earth. Do you hear me?” Harry breathes, his lips realigning with hers and making a home on the mouth that knows his so perfectly.

Her voice is hushed against his lips, barely breaking apart their kiss and the moonlight fanning over their bodies in the middle of the mattress. His hands are planted on her hips, firm and steady. “Don’t let me go.”

“Never, Ames. I never will.”

Harry can only pray that Amelie will feel the same in the morning.

“Oh mon Dieu. Oh mon Dieu. Oh mon Dieu.”

Harry could hear the panic in her voice. He’s only heard the stress and anxiety in her voice like this a few times, namely when they’re arguing, and there is a twisting in his stomach that is telling him that whatever is going to happen isn’t going to be good. He stirs, slowly prying his eyes open and blinking to focus his vision, the clock on his phone reading 06:28.

They’ve only been asleep for four hours, and Harry knows that Amelie’s had a nightmare that she didn’t wake up from.

Amelie’s hands were covering her face, her hair slightly matted from sweat and his fingers and the way he was tangled in her hair as they kissed. And the way the whole scene is panning out, it’s as if there is no recollection of the night before, her hands running over her body, ensuring that there are clothes covering her skin and the stickiness is only from the closeness of their bodies throughout the night. Amelie reaches to take Harry’s hand away from her hips, her knees pulling to her chest and her fingertips pushing against her temples.

And the panic attack is in action, full force, without a sign of hesitation or hindrance. Harry can see it happening.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” Amelie mumbles under her breath, her heart pounding so hard against her chest that she swears Harry could hear it from beside her. “Harry, I need you to let go of me.”

“’ey,” Harry murmurs, the rasp in his voice coating every word with exhaustion, “tell me why you’re panicking. Can tell me, I’m right here. ‘s only a nightmare, you’re safe.”

“I, I.” Like that, every word in Amelie’s vocabulary is beginning to disappear. All she can see is the balcony and the promise of fresh air and the slight possibility of her heart to quit beating against her ribs in a way that would make it implode and rupture. “Let go, please.”

Harry immediately loosens his grip. He can see her making a mental path to the balcony and his heart falls to the pit of his stomach. He reaches for a pair sweatpants that are strewn on the chair near the vanity, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and yanking them onto his hips. “Jus’ le’ me turn the alarm off. One minute.” Harry walks to the bedroom door, clicking the buttons to turn the alarm to the setting that wouldn’t blare a horn when she opens the door. “Doll.”

Harry’s eyes follow Amelie as she rushes outside, satin shorts on her hips, her knuckles turning white as she holds onto the railing for dear life, as if moving would make the entire world turn upside down and she would be the first to fall. On the corner of the horizon, the sunrise is beginning to show promise of the new day, the dew clinging to her skin and slight breeze of the morning chill hitting her cheeks. Her thighs are covered in goosebumps, but there is nothing she can feel besides the heat of her blood pressure in her cheeks. He rubs his eyes, trying to gather all of his words and thoughts and wake himself enough to at least know why she’s panicking.

“Oh mon Dieu, je t'ai appelé. Je n'aurais pas dû appeler,” she murmurs, her words slurring together in a string of sound. “Qu'est-ce que je fais, bordel?” Heaving breaths, her chest is tight, the overwhelming weight on her lungs suffocating her.

Oh my god, I called you. I shouldn’t have called. What the fuck am I doing?

Harry takes a second to try and grasp what she’s saying. He can’t comprehend what she’s saying that quickly and that jumbled. “Say it again. Slower, please.”

“This is,” she says quietly, pausing to think but every word and thought is scrambled and making her head hurt. “Can’t breathe.”

“Ames,” Harry says calmly, taking a breath and standing beside her against the railing. He is well aware that she doesn’t like to be touched during a panic attack, that’ll it’ll cause her to hide away and never speak, but she has to see him, “slow down. Talk to me. Called me at the bar, last night, remember? Came home with you. Only us, here.”

“Can see everything,” Amelie whimpers, her fingertips curling around her hair, her nails scratching her scalp, her eyes squeezing shut. “Had a nightmare and it wasn’t you touching me. Can’t make it stop.” Harry’s eyes are fixated on her, his body seeming too close even though he is far away. “Don’t want to see it, again.” Her chest is rising and falling rapidly, and Harry is sure that she’ll pass out at any moment if she doesn’t take a breath. He sighs as she turns away, laying her palms flat against the bench that decorated the space beneath the lingering window – the bench that she chose nearly a week after she moved in.

“Know that, baby,” Harry breathes, leaning his back against the balcony and watching her every movement, careful to not overwhelm or scare her. His voice is soft and soothing, all of his words chosen very carefully and particularly. “Want to take it all away from you.”

“But you can’t, Harry,” Amelie says desperately, taking a seat on the bench, her fingertips digging into her knees, her eyes set on the flowers beneath the balcony and in the garden. All of her hope is drained from her voice. “He’s never going to go away.”

“Amelie, that’s not true. Don’t start thinking backwards, now.”

“Do you think I did something to want to be this way? Is that why you said the things you did? Do you think that?” Her voice cracks between sobs, her chest shaking beneath the tears and the unsteady breathing. Her eyes can barely open with how heavy the tears are. “Harry, I don’t know why I’m like this. This wasn’t my choice.”

“Mon ange, écoutez-moi,” Harry whispers, his stomach twisted into knots and a sob lodged in his throat. He should’ve never said the things he did. Never. “Know that this wasn’t your fault, none of it. Have nothing to say for m’self other than ‘m a proper arsehole.” He takes a step forward, their feet barely touching. “Have had a lot of time for reflection and learning over the last month, you know. Understand a lot more, now. Don’t have to forgive me, but I am sorry, Amelie. I’m so sorry.”

Her fingernails scratch at her bare skin, leaving crescent marks in her flesh. “Jack told me I was going to be alone. He told me and I didn’t believe him,” Amelie sniffles, her teeth biting at her bottom lip and tearing at the skin. Her tongue swipes over the flesh, taking the blood that trickles from the cut. “You’re going to hate me like everyone else. You are. Only a matter of time.”

“You think that I’m going hate you,” he sighs, taking a seat from the corner of the balcony and bringing it towards the bench, his knees knocking with hers and his fingers set on his thighs, nervous to take her hands. “You think that I could hate the love of my life.” Harry’s eyes meet Amelie’s when she lifts her head – he knew that would bring her attention to him. His heart falls into his stomach, taking in the tears staining her cheeks and the bright red circling her eyes. “I’ll never hate you.”

“Can’t believe you,” she mumbles, taking the sleeve of her sweatshirt and wiping her skin roughly, scratching at her cheeks and heaving a staggered breath into the fabric. “Anxiety, it ruins everything. Depression, it ruins everything. Me, I ruin everything.”

“No, you don’t ruin everything.”

“Our holiday was ruined by me.”

Harry’s lungs collapse in his chest. “Our holiday was not ruined by your anxiety. Us staying inside an extra day or two and leaving two days early didn’t affect our holiday in the slightest.” His hands hesitantly reach for hers, his throat swallowing a cry when her hands retract further into her sleeves. “Could have gone home the very next day with you and it wouldn’t have mattered to me.”

Having a spiral on holiday effectively ruins it, Harry.

“Can you listen to me fo’ a second? One minute, that’s all.” Amelie nods silently. “Haven’t felt this much guilt in a long time, and I am sorry. There were so many opportunities to make the conversations and the behaviours that were triggering to you stop, and I didn’t take them. Overstepped a boundary that you had and that was wrong.” Harry’s thumbs gently wipe the tears falling down her cheeks. “Had every sign that you needed me, that you were having anxiety, that your depression was there, and I did nothing. That’s all my fault. Not yours. Have every right to be mad at me, to not forgive me.” His heart squeezes so tight in his chest at the thought of her never forgiving him that he thinks he might break into sobs. “Don’t have to forgive me, that’s okay. Need you to know that I know what I did, I’m sorry, and I’ll never do it, again.”

I forgive you. I forgive you and I love you. That’s what Amelie wants to say. “Je n'aurais pas dû te laisser tomber amoureux de moi. I’m sorry I don’t communicate, and I tend to react on my emotions. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you. Je suis désolé de ne pas suffire. Tu mérites mieux.”

“Don’t say that, Ames,” Harry whispers, aggressively wiping away the tears that fall down his cheeks and itch his skin. “Couldn’t have stopped me from falling in love with you if you tried and you are more than enough to me. All I want is you, you and me. Don’t you dare say that.” His eyes are welling over with tears, desperately wishing that they could go back to last night, where they were smiling and kissing and promising to be together, that they love each other and always will.

“Harry, you’re going to fall out of love with me. One day you’re not going to want me,” Amelie says, her jaw clenched as she wipes her eyes and stands on her feet, avoiding Harry’s reach for her hand and stepping towards the balcony railing, her eyes meeting the bare colours of the flowers in the garden.

“That’s not true, angel. I swear on my life. I swear to God. I love you,” Harry cries, pushing his body from the chair and sliding it away, disheartened by the way her shoulders tense at the words and her jaw tenses. “I love you.”

And despite the way Amelie refuses to turn around and utter the three words that Harry so desperately wants to hear, Harry knows that Amelie loves him, that she’s in love with him. He has to believe that, otherwise, all of his defences and will to let the words her anxiety is spewing from her lips pass without regard will disappear and he will break. But she needs him, right now, and he refuses to abandon her. Harry refuses to let Amelie slip through his fingers, again.

“But our hatred is almost indistinguishable from our–”

Harry knows that Amelie’s anxiety can make her second guess everything, to make her overthink and believe in the falsities that have been told to her time and time again. Her thoughts make a façade making her believe that she is undeserving of the love in her life, and all the kindness that encompasses her. Her heart wrenches and twists and squeezes against her ribs, hiding away from saying the three words that she desperately wanted to, making an exterior that would guard anyone against ever touching her soul and her emotions and love, that would protect her in the least convincing way. All that Amelie’s gone through to be where she is, to make the art she creates, to love the way she loves, to treat others way she does, is played into the thoughts that make her question all of behaviours and reactions and relationships.

Anxiety makes her mistake the love in her life with hate for herself, and Harry refuses to let that happen again.

“Finish the quote, baby,” Harry says, standing behind Amelie and sucking in a deep breath. “But our hatred is almost indistinguishable from our–”

“From our love,” Amelie whispers, releasing her grasp on the railing and taking a step backwards, returning to her seat on the bench. Her head is pounding and there is a heat creeping onto her cheeks, her blood pressure raising under the sporadic breaths leaving her chest.

“Tell me you love me, angel. Need you to tell me that you love me, baby. You have to remember that feeling,” Harry says slightly louder, slightly more abrasive, taking another step away from her to allow her to move without touching him, “and unless you say that you don’t love me, you’re not moving, you’re not leaving me.”

“Don’t shout at me.” Harry wasn’t shouting. Not yet, at least. He can feel himself getting ready to yell, though. He is ready to yell at the thoughts in Amelie’s brain that make her second guess everything she does, that make her feel like she’s not worthy to be loved by him, that make her feel like she isn’t enough.

“Fine,” Harry’s voice is bitter as he resumes sitting in the chair set in the middle of the balcony, his arms folded in front of his chest. “That’s fine.” He stares at her blankly, his emotions unable to be portrayed on his face. “Guess we’ll stay here all fucking day.”

This is where it ends, her anxiety says. This is where he falls out of love with you. This is where he kicks you out onto the streets and makes you go to your parents’ house, where you have to move out in a week and find a place to live and somehow pretend that you aren’t in love with him and have to settle for someone and marry them just because they like you enough. This is why you ended up with Jack. This is why bad things happen. This is why. This is.

“Um,” Amelie chokes out, tears beginning run along her cheeks, her skin burning with the heat of her blood pressure, “you know, I can go. I’ll leave. I’m sorry. I should go. I’m so fucking sorry. I ruin everything. I didn’t mean to do this. I don’t want you to hate me. I’m sorry.” Her head is pounding so deeply in her temples that she has to squeeze her eyes shut, the tears falling onto her bare thighs, and she swears that if she makes one sudden movement, her mind will go unconscious.

Harry leans forward in the chair, sliding slightly forwards and leaning over his knees, their legs barely touching. “Did I not just tell you that you’re not leaving until you say you don’t love me.” He heaves a sigh, standing on his feet and walking to the railing, defeat etched into his features and sadness echoed in his words. “Tú devez arrêter de faire cela. Tú dois arrêter de me faire ça. ’m begging you to stop running away. You’re saying all of these things and insisting that you have to leave. Arrête de parler de partir et parle moi!” Harry shouts, slamming his hand into the metal bannister, his knuckles white as he clutches onto the rail, his body turned away from hers as she clings to the edge of the bench overlooking the garden, every muscle in her body frozen and unable to move. “Arrête de nous faire ça et dis moi ce qui ne va pas.”

You have to stop doing this. You have to stop doing this to me. Quit talking about leaving and talk to me! Stop doing this to us and tell me what’s wrong.

Say something, her brain screams. Say something before he hates you.

And quiet washes over them.

Harry swallows a sob, turning around and walking to Amelie, his feet carrying him over to the bench, his body uncomfortably kneeling against the concrete, his hands holding her thighs, making her feel his touch, making her know that he is there. “Je sais que tu m'aimes.”

Amelie’s eyes barely meet his, tears streaming and the light eyes that Harry knows are washed out, blurred, dim. Her hands shake against his, her chest rising and falling much too rapidly. All of this, every tear and shaky breath and unsteady hand is a make of anxiety and a nightmare and a toxic relationship. Harry wants to take it all away.

That’s the thing that Harry doesn’t understand. All of Amelie’s boundaries have disappeared with him. All of the guards to protect her heart and her brain and her soul. All of the measures to ensure that she never fell in love, that she never gave herself the opportunity to broken.

Harry has made all of that disappear, and that is what is so terrifying.

He has made her fall so in love that she would impulsively make any decision to see him, to touch him, to kiss him, to be with him because he said the three words that she needs to hear. He makes her feel so sure of herself, that she doesn’t think twice about it. He makes her feel like she is everything and anything, that she can do everything and anything.

That is the scariest thing; there is someone that makes you feel so loved, that you feel like you can do anything. Love is that powerful.

“Tú ne savez pas que,” Amelie whispers, desperately trying to break the intensity that is building between them. Telling Harry that she’s in love with him would prove her point, that the love that they have has broken every boundary she has ever set for herself, that she has ever set to protect herself. “Je vais tout foutre en l'air. Je vais te faire me détester.”

“Listen to me, baby, please,” Harry pleads, grabbing her hands and interlocking her fingers with his, squeezing and kissing her skin. “There’s nothing you could do to mess with you and me, that could fuck us over. Could never hate you, Amelie, ever. Have to believe me on that.”

One day you’re going to hate me. One day it’s going to happen. I am so afraid of that day. I don’t want you to hate me.

“Regarde-moi dans les yeux et dis-moi que tu ne m'aimes pas,” Harry retorts, secure in his judgement and every word that is rolling of his lips.

Look me in the eye and tell me that you don’t love me.

Harry is angry with Amelie – angry that the anxiety is winning and that all those thoughts are going to change the way she sees herself, the way she sees him, the way she sees their relationship. Harry is angry with himself – angry that he hasn’t done enough to make sure that all those thoughts are gone, that they are deep enough in her worries that they’re never a second glance, that they’ve almost disappeared from the atmosphere. Harry is just fucking angry. “Have to say that, because that’s the only thing that could ever screw this up, fuck this up. That’s the only thing that could ever make me hate you.”

“Can’t do that,” Amelie mutters, sucking in a heavy breath and willing her eyes to meet his. Harry’s features portray his exhaustion, now, and her heart aches knowing that she’s caused this. She loves him. Amelie never wants him to feel this way. Harry moves only slightly, his arms gently coaxing around her waist and slowly encouraging her to stand. He wraps his arms around her, only tight enough to ensure that her knees wouldn’t give out, his face leaning away to stare at her. He can feel the sobs being held in her chest, the tightness in her breath, the shakiness as she clutches onto his back. “You know I can’t say that.”

“Pour une fois, s'il te plaît, arrête de te battre contre mon amour pour toi.”

For once, please, stop fighting against my love for you.

Harry’s voice is barely above a whisper compared to her rasped tone, thick with tears and regret and anxiety. “’s not that simple, Harry.” Harry releases her when she takes hold on the railing, his hands holding the metal beside her body, uneasy with how shaky she is against and frightened that she might fall. “Don’t deserve for you to love me, like this.”

“Tell me why. Tell me why you aren’t allowed to be in love. Tell me why I can’t love you.”

“Can’t,” Amelie murmurs, sucking in a heavy breath and turning around, tucking her arms in front of her chest and facing Harry, his eyes meeting hers and his arms tightening closer by her sides, holding her between him and the metal railing. “Can’t have a love like this.”

Harry is frustrated, his breathing heavy, his body adjusting the weight in his legs and making his eyes meet level with hers. “’m asking, no, begging, you, do not shut me out. One of your rules is to never leave someone that needs you. Guess what? I need you. Anxiety makes you think that no one needs you. Depression makes you think that no one needs you. I need you, Amelie. I fucking need you.”

“Harry.”

His cheeks stained with tears, his eyes glossed over and etched with pain. “Have all of me with you, and you promised that you wouldn’t leave me, that you need me.” Harry is desperate for Amelie, now. “On that day you scared me nearly to death because you wouldn’t answer m’calls or m’texts, remember, you told me you would never leave me. On the phone last night, when you were plastered and petrified to come home, our home, alone, you said you needed me. On our bed, last night, when we were kissing and touching, when you were clinging to me and squeezed me and kissed me, you said you always wanted us together. Can’t have you say goodbye to me this way, not when you promised.” Harry’s eyes are etched with pain and fear. He is afraid of what she is going to tell him, more so, what her anxiety is telling her to say. “Tell me this isn’t goodbye, fo’ fuck’s sake. I’m begging you, now, Ames.”

“This isn’t goodbye. This isn’t it. I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Amelie says quietly, her heart breaking watching the emotions move through his body. “I need you; I do. I need you, Harry. I’m not fighting you anymore. I’m sorry. I’m scared, I’m really scared. I’m sorry. Je t’aime. I’m sorry for everything. Je t’aime.”

Harry wraps his arms around her waist, his face tucked into her neck, tears wetting her skin, his hands squeezing her hips, gripping her sweatshirt in his fists. His grip is telling her that he’s there, telling him that she’s there. “Don’t fucking scare me like that ever again. Makin’ me think you can’t love me anymore.”

“Okay,” Amelie agrees quietly, untangling her arms from her chest, circling around his shoulders, her fingertips finding the baby curls at his neck, her face falling to his neck and her lips breathing out a sob. “’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. Don’t,” Harry says flatly, his hands squeezing her torso, her chest tucked tightly against his, physically melting into his touch.

“Harry, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” she cries, shaking her head against him, holding him tighter. “’m sorry.” Harry waits to say anything, knowing that she isn’t quite finished. “Gotta get better. Give me time.”

“J'attendrai avec tu,” he whispers, gently ghosting his fingers along her skin, reaching to take her cheeks in his hands and slowly bringing her to face him. “I love you. You’re not doing this alone.”

I’ll wait with you.

Harry takes a breath, gathering his emotions and steadying his breathing, his thumbs tracing over her cheekbones and drying the stray tears that stained her skin. “Je suis désolé, je n'ai pas pu le voir. Couldn’t see that things were getting bad.” His chest is so tight, his lungs could implode. He could apologise. He could make things right. He could fix this. “Wasn’t there for you like I should have been. I’m sorry. Going to be different, now, I promise.”

I’m sorry I couldn’t see it.

“Je ne voulais pas être un fardeau, that’s why I didn’t tell you,” she mutters, gently kissing his palm, her eyes glossy as she stares at him. “Going to talk to you from now on, I promise.”

I didn’t want to be a burden.

“’ey, you are never a burden,” Harry assures her, his lips touching her forehead, her nose, her chin comfortingly. “Could do nothing to make me not love you or be in love with you. Quite literally, you are everything to me.” All of Harry’s love pours through his words. “Only thing I need in this fucking life is you. Only you.”

“I,” Amelie breathes, squeezing her eyes and blinking away her tears, having a moment to gather her courage, the three words she has to say stuck in her throat. “I love you.”

Harry chastely touches his lips to hers, his heart breaking as he feels the tears stain his cheeks. He savours in the way she tastes, the way she kisses him with so much passion he knows her heart is his without having to say a word. His thumbs brush her cheeks, his lips repeatedly kissing hers for comfort, for love, for reassurance.

Harry doesn’t know what’s going to happen when his mouth leaves hers. He doesn’t know what she’s going to say and how she’s going to react. He doesn’t know anything other than his love for her, and the love that she has for him.

Harry remembers the quote that Amelie marked from their favourite novel, the one that reminded her of him, the reminded her of how she felt about loving him. All of it, every ounce of love that he has for her, all of the thoughts and dreams and feelings for her, everything makes sense.

They were meant to love each other.

Kissing her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, Harry lets his lips linger on her hairline, his arms around her shoulders, bringing her into his chest and holding her tightly. Her hands are squeezing his torso, her face tucked into his neck and sucking in deep breaths, steadying her shaking and trying to process all the thoughts in her head.

“Can feel you thinking,” Harry whispers, his mouth on her hair, his eyes taking in the way the sun is beginning to rise over the mountains far off in the distance and the birds are beginning to sing their morning song.

“Thinking about Finch and Violet, and the Jovian-Plutonian Effect and the Moon,” Amelie tells, her fingertips drawing on his skin and her lips parting with the heavy breaths reaching her lungs. Her cheeks are starting to feel cooler, her blood pressure slowly lessening and her head beginning to feel less achy. “Think we were made to love each other, somehow. Don’t know how that happened, but I’d like to think we were.”

Harry grins, his arms loosening around her shoulders and his hands cupping her cheeks, his mouth tilting into a kiss and soaking in the way her lips so perfectly mould to his. “I love you. I love you so fucking much.” His words are rushed over, needing to have her kiss, the sensation intoxicating and enticing. All that Harry wants is to share his love with her so intimately. “Je t’aime.”

“Je t’aime,” Amelie breathes, squeezing his hips and gently sponging kisses along his jaw, making a light path to his ear. “Fais-moi l'amour.”

His head tilts to meet her lips, his hands gently coasting along her figure and wrapping under her thighs, encouraging her to settle on his hips, her legs tightly circled around his waist and her arms squeezing his shoulders, the balcony door quietly shutting as they messily walk towards the bed, as their breathing hitched together as their mouths entangle in longing and loving kisses. His heart is thumping against his ribs, nearly extending through his lungs and radiating through his fingertips. Her skin is glowing beneath the rising sun, his fingertips trailing over her cheeks and tucking beneath the hem of her sweatshirt, pulling the material over her head and tossing it onto the ground. Her fingers shove the waistband of his sweats down his legs, their movements wanting and hurried.

“Missed this,” Harry breathes, light kisses feathering across her chest, suckling over the moon tattooed on her sternum, his hands dragging her silk shorts down her legs and laying a kiss on her calves as he slinks over her naked body. “Missed you.”

“Missed you,” Amelie whimpers, a moan echoing around their bedroom as Harry’s fingertips gently taste her arousal, his thumb rubbing circles over the bundle of nerves between her spread thighs, her fingers wrapped in his hair as their kiss becomes more passionate and heavy with the wetness on their skin. “Entrez en moi.”

Harry nearly groans at the thought, “Might not take me that long since all ‘ve been using only m’hand for nearly a month.” His weight is supported on his forearms, his hand tugging at his cock, heavy in his hands, his thumb dragging her arousal over his throbbing tip and teasing her heat. “God, ‘ve missed being this close to you. J'ai manqué de faire l'amour avec toi.”

Harry and Amelie gasp in unison as his cock gently eases into her core, her warmth swallowing him, her velvet walls taking all of him inch by inch, her thighs around his waist and her muscles soft under his touch. His hips are flush against her pelvis, thrusting and grinding into her, his thumb drawing patterns on her nerves as her fingernails scratch at his back, dragging along his spine and breathing as his cock reaches her hilt, sponging against the sweetest spot inside of her. “Harry.”

“Love you,” Harry moans, his lips suckling on her throat and marking her skin with a bright magenta bruise. His pelvis grinds with the arch of her hips, her heels digging into his bum and bringing his cock as intimately inside her warmth as physically possible. Her arousal sounds around the bedroom as he thrusts into her, the wetness on their thighs and their sheets and their moans encouraging the sweet love. “Fuck, I love you.”

“I love you,” Amelie whispers, a tear falling down her cheek with the pleasure and the orgasm growing so deliciously in her stomach, squeezing his cock tightly inside and feeling as though the emotions and the love and pleasure is bringing her face to face with heaven. Harry was heaven. “Want you always.”

“Have me,” Harry grunts, his thumb pressing to her bundle of nerves and groaning into her neck as her orgasm spills around him, milking his orgasm inside her warmth and squeezing him deeper, her thighs shaking around his hips. His mouth presses kisses into her cheeks as their orgasms wash over their bodies, her glossy eyes meeting his as he whispers, “you fucking have me.”

All of Harry’s thoughts are jumbled and in disarray as the café comes into view. Amelie’s mural is painted on the concrete wall opposite of where his car is parked, and his forehead rests against the steering wheel for a moment, trying to centre his thoughts and not make any unreasonable decisions. He isn’t quite sure what made him turn down the wrong street and go in the opposite direction of the café that he and his girlfriend – that feels so good to think and say – get their coffee and breakfast from.

Maybe it’s the anger. Maybe it’s the hurt for Amelie.

Harry was lying beside Amelie in their bed, brushing his fingers through her curls, his lips touching her hairline as she sleeps soundly in his warmth. His skin was sticky, sweat covering his forehead and his hair slightly damp, his chest slowly rising and falling with his breathing. He finally was where he wanted to be, with his favourite person, speckled purple bruises appearing across her skin. He was taking in the sight, the way her skin shone brightly under the sun and the quiet hum of her breathing was making his heart beat faster.

And then before Harry could fully process what he was thinking, anger was the only emotion speaking to him, overwhelming his thoughts, thinking about the beautiful woman tucked in his arms. He kissed her forehead, tucked the comforter tighter around her naked body, his fingers tightened the string of the loose-fitting shorts around his waist and shoved his feet into the trainers near their bedroom door, walking quietly out of their house. Harry didn’t want to worry Amelie. He wasn’t going to do anything stupid.

Until Harry was doing something stupid.

“Harry! How are you, mate? Saw Amelie the other day,” Jack smiles devilishly, and Harry’s fists clench together. Amelie described that smile, the one that is a stroke of mischievous and malicious, and Harry could see why his features would make her nervous on sight. “Lookin’ better than ever, isn’t she?”

“You and I need to talk outside,” Harry says through gritted teeth, his keys tucked in his back pocket, his wallet and phone abandoned in his car. “Now.”

“Don’t think we do, Harry.”

“Jack, I swear to God,” Harry grunts, rolling his eyes and folding his arms in front of his chest. He’s taller than Jack, a bit more built muscularly, but there is a tone behind every word that comes out of his mouth that is threatening.

“Be right back,” Jack mentions, two or three younger workers staring awkwardly and shockingly at the interaction happening. Harry walks outside first, barely holding the door for Jack to follow suit.

Harry walks around to the mural, standing a few feet away from Jack and creating their distance. Jack takes one wrong move and Harry is ready to knock him straight in the jaw and never look back. One for Amelie. One for Harry. “Alright,” Harry spits, pursing his lips together as his jaw tightens, the intensity lingering in the foggy January air swelling over. “Firstly, I’m not your mate, I will never be your mate. Secondly, how the fuck did you know Amelie would be at that bar, last night? Do you fucking follow her or summat?” Jack opens his mouth with a smirk, Harry’s hand immediately waving his answer off. “Don’t fucking answer that.”

“Don’t worry, Harry,” Jack shrugs, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it, moving to stand against the mural and setting the nicotine between his teeth. “That was just a coincidence. Good coincidence for me, but a coincidence nonetheless.”

“Wipe that fucking smirk off your face,” Harry growls, his bottom lip pinched painfully between his fingertips, his eyes a deep shade of green that would be unrecognisable to anyone that stared at him. “I swear to God, Jack, if you ever say anything to Amelie, again, if you go to see her, if you blink towards her, if you even breathe near her, I will not hesitate to break your fuckin’ jaw.”

Jack chuckles, flicking the ash and taking a drag, blowing the smoke directly outside of Harry’s vision. “Do you ever stop to ask yourself why she always comes here? Out of all the bakeries and cafés and coffee shops, Amelie keeps coming back here. Why is that?”

“Hasn’t come here in six months,” Harry retorts, laughing at his insinuation. Amelie’s gone to The Beachwood nearly every day since they moved in together in August. His mind is well aware that his words are meant to get a rise, and it’s scary how much it’s working on Harry’s temper. “Don’t feel fucking flattered. She liked the coffee and your mother, you fuckin’ prick.”

“Did you ever think it could be because Amy misses me?” Jack teases, pursing his lips and shrugging his shoulders, the cigarette burning with a sizzle under his fingertips. “Maybe, I treated her better.”

Harry is seething, his cheeks puffed out with panted breaths and tears pricking his eyes with how angry he is. “Don’t fucking call her that. After all you did to her,” Harry scoffs, shaking his head and twisting his heel in the pavement. “Left me, her boyfriend, to be the one to change everything. You’ve got to be fucking joking.”

“Could think of a few things we did together.”

“Jack, you’re fuckin’ treading on the thinnest ice.” Harry walks closer to Jack, laughing as the cigarette falls to the ground and smashes under his trainer, their chests barely missing each other, his breathing erratic as the anger builds inside of him. His fists are clenched, and his knuckles are white, and there is sudden gratitude for putting all his rings on his hand before leaving their house. Harry wanted it to hurt if anything were to happen. “One more thing is said, and it’s a promise that you’re done.”

“Harry, tell me, do you think it’s because I gave it to Amy better than you?” Jack taunts, his arms crossed in front of his chest as Harry’s fist begin to slink further up his body. His words make Harry want to vomit. “Bet Amelie thinks of me.”

And everything goes into darkness.

Harry swings, punching him swiftly in the jaw and the nose, shaking out his knuckles, his rings twisted on his fingers, the taunting boy planted on the tarmac, his back pressed against the mural on the wall as his mother comes barrelling outside. Jack struggles to stand, his nose bleeding heavily and an imprint of Harry’s rose ring on his cheek.

“Harry,” his mother gasps, her eyes wide and her hand covering her mouth at the sight of her son stumbling to stand on his feet, “what’s happened? I don’t like the look of this.”

Harry doesn’t know when he began crying, but there are tears on his cheeks and his breathing is erratic and there is a heaviness in his chest that could only be relieved by the girl sleeping beneath their duvet. His throat gulps a cry as he gathers his voice, the dark smile on Jack’s lips making his anger worsen. “Tell her what you did to Amelie. God knows you’ll live your life pretending it never happened, but you hurt her.” His voice is barely above a shout, the humming traffic and busy streets barely drawing attention to the two men fighting behind a café and an older woman trying to understand the reason. Harry refused to tell what happened – that wasn’t his story to tell – but he would make sure that someone told the truth. “Fuckin’ broke her down to bits.” Harry’s cheeks stained with tears, thinking about how broken his girlfriend was telling him what happened for the very first time. He’ll never erase the images of her face and the fear in her eyes when she told him what happened. “Amelie made me promise that I’d never tell anyone, but you should know that he did unspeakable things. He isn’t allowed near her, ever again.”

Harry looks at Sarah with a despaired expression on his features, a worried line written in his forehead, his lips pulled into a tight line and a nod acknowledging the end of their conversation. Her eyes travel between the two boys, fighting over malicious behaviours and abuse. “What have you done, Jack?” Her heart aches for the boy staring at her son, hatred in his eyes and a tear falling down his cheek.

Harry stalks away before their conversation can meet his ears, his fist clenching and unclenching to bring the feeling back. He angrily climbs into his car, locking the doors and taking in the sight in the mirror. His hair is falling out of the knot on his head, his knuckles red and bruised and bleeding, his rings scratching at the cuts made there.

Go home. Go home to your girl. Go home and love her.

Harry reaches for his phone, eyeing the five missed calls on his screen. His fingertip goes to click on Amelie’s contact, another call breaking through. He answers, bringing his phone to his ear as the engine in his car turns over and his head lays back against the headrest, his mind fully blank and his eyes seeing flashing colours.

“Harry,” Amelie sighs, “baby, I know where you are. Come home to me.”

Harry is sure that she’s only woken up a few minutes ago, the slight distance and rasp in her tone telling him so. “He deserved to have someone smack his face in,” Harry grits, hissing at the feeling of his thumb rubbing over his cut knuckle. “Fucking cunt.”

“Did you do something?”

“Yeah.” Harry can hear Amelie sigh disappointingly through the speaker. “Don’t know what he was saying to me, though, Ames. He deserved it.”

“You’re right,” Amelie agrees, breathing into the speaker and pausing to collect her thoughts, “and he does deserve that. But I’m here and I don’t want you getting hurt or in trouble.” Her silence is deafening to Harry. “Come home.”

“Don’t even know how I got here,” Harry breathes, looking at the café and the way the street is suddenly silent. “Honestly, I going to get us breakfast, and I looked up.”

“It’s okay,” Amelie breathes, her tone softening with her words, sensing the anxiety that is overwhelming Harry and trying to calm him. “You’re okay.”

Harry settles into his seat, shifting the gear and beginning to drive, his hand wiping away a tear and trying to gain composure of his emotions. “Coming home, now.”

“Good.”

Harry is seemingly mindless the entirety of the twenty-minute drive. All of his movements are done without intention, the directions and the attention and the calculated motions all felt without emotion and thought in his brain. His heart is heavy, aware that his actions might have caused harm to the only person that he cares about. He should’ve thought his actions through. He should’ve been more aware. Harry was just angry.

Going over all of the apologies in his head as he walks inside, Harry chokes out a breath as Amelie wraps her arms around his shoulders, bringing her into his chest and holding him tightly, his hand barely able to reach and shut the door behind them as he melts into her embrace. “Hey, baby.” His lips touch her neck as she hugs him tighter. “God, it feels good to have you in m’arms, again.”

“I love you,” Amelie says, gently coaxing Harry’s face out of her neck.

“Feels better to hear you say that,” Harry sighs, kissing her sweetly and squeezing his arms tighter around her waist. “I love you more.”

“Come on,” she smiles, kissing his cheek and interlocking their fingers, squeezing his hand, her eyes trying to avoid the cuts and scrapes covering his knuckles. “I’ll make you a coffee.”

“Are you sure? That’s a lot to handle in the kitchen,” he teases, tossing his phone and wallet and keys onto the side table and following her into the kitchen, his heart swelling as he takes in her minimal appearance – the vintage shirt that she wore on their first date and a simple pair of cotton panties on her hips – and the comfortability that she has with him. That’s all Harry wants.

“Considering I’m making lunch, right now, I don’t think it’s all too much to handle,” Amelie giggles, wiggling her eyebrows and rolling her eyes as Harry tucks his arm around her waist, clinging to her as she pours him a mug and walks towards the toasty press that his mother bought for the holidays.

“Lunch, hm? How fancy of you,” Harry hums, releasing her and moving to sit on the freshly painted stool near the island, amused at the way there was always a sense of fear whenever Amelie was in the kitchen.

Amelie turns over her shoulder with a pointed stare, her eyes squinting at Harry as his lips tug into a smirk and hide a laugh. “Don’t just stand there if you know I’m going to ruin it.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, love.” Harry sets the mug on the counter and uses the tongs to pull the toasty out of the press. “How do you burn everything?”

“Good question,” she says, sipping quietly from her straw and staring at her boyfriend as he walks around her to clean the mess she’s made of their lunch. “Have to have you cook for a reason.”

“Don’t go anywhere,” Harry says, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her into his chest, his hand over her tummy, frustratedly unplugging the machine and bringing out the menu for delivery. “Fuck it, I’m ordering pizza. This is hopeless.”

“Have to clean your hand, Harry,” Amelie whispers, her fingertips running over the bruised and distressed skin, dried blood accumulated across his knuckles.

Harry shakes his head, kissing her hair and taking Amelie’s phone to ring the restaurant. His eyes widen as she takes the phone from his hands, setting it on the opposite side of the counter. “’s fine, angel.”

“Baby.”

Harry and Amelie stare at each other for a minute or two, silently arguing over who would win this argument. Her arms wrap around his waist, her cheek lying against his chest, her fingers gripping his waist in a tight hug, silently hoping that he’ll give in to her. She doesn’t want to know what was said to him, but she has to. Harry needs to hear that it isn’t true, that whatever thoughts were put in his head aren’t real. There wasn’t anyone to say that to her, and she refuses to let him ruin their relationship. Harry is everything to Amelie, and there isn’t anyone that’s going to get in the way of that.

He silently kisses her hair, squeezing her hip and telling her that she can lead the way. Hand in hand, they walk into their bedroom and to the bathroom, Harry sitting on the toilet and leaving his hand over the counter for Amelie to clean and bandage the right way. Her silence is overwhelming, and Harry wonders if she’s angry with him.

“Tell me what Jack said to you.”

His chin lifts from his chest, “Doesn’t matter,”

“Harry,” Amelie sighs, tears pricking her eyes as Harry winces with the sting of the peroxide, “tell me. That’s the only way I can tell you that he is wrong.”

He thinks for a moment and tears well in his eyes as he thinks about all that was said to him. “Coughed up saying you miss him and miss being with him,” Harry whispers, a tear falling down his cheek in betrayal. “Fuck.”

“Harry, baby,” she says, her thumb gently wiping his cheeks, her fingertips ghosting over his bruised knuckles.

“Can’t stop seeing you, fucking sixteen and abused by this prick, and he has the audacity to say those things to me,” he whimpers, stealing his hand away and covering his face, his elbows on his knees, his mouth covered by the heels of his hands. “Can’t stop seeing it. Need it to stop.”

Amelie’s cheeks flush with a heat of anger. “Bébé, bisous, s’il vous plait. Je t'aime. Putain, je t'aime. J'ai besoin qu'on oublie toutes ces choses qu'il a dites. Je veux l'oublier.” Her gentle voice is hurried and melodic, her hands prying away his from his face and bringing his eyes to meet hers. “Bisous. S'il vous plaît.”

Baby, kiss me. I love you. I fucking love you. I need us to forget all those things he said. I want to forget it. Kiss me. Please.

Harry’s hands grasp Amelie’s cheeks, their lips melting to each other and their tongues tasting the salty tears falling onto their skin. Her fingers grip onto his shirt, her thighs straddling his waist and her eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as his hands roam across her figure. “Je ne te ferais jamais de mal, tu le sais, n'est-ce pas? J'ai besoin de savoir que tu le sais.” Harry stands, holding his arms under her and walking into their bedroom, their lips melted into a rhythm as they kiss and share their unspoken love, taking away all that was ever said against them. All that there is in this moment is Harry and Amelie.

I would never hurt you, you know that, right? I need to know that you know that.

“Oui, je sais.”

Harry lays Amelie gently on their unmade mattress, gently kissing along her jaw and neck, his hands lifting her shirt to kiss the pudge at her hips. “Need to kiss where he hurt,” he whispers against her skin, his mouth trailing wet kisses on her inner thighs and the tattoos that cover her legs. “Need to erase all that hurt from you.”

“Can’t you realise that you have? Made me see that I’m so much more than what happened,” Amelie whimpers, her thumbs running over his lips as his chest lays against her, her legs wrapped around his waist and his forearms beside her head to carry his weight. Kissing over his cheeks, his jaw, his lips, she says, “I love you. I do.”

“Love you,” Harry murmurs against her lips, soaking in the way her warmth encompasses him, “Love you to the planets that haven’t even discovered yet and wherever the hell you are. Would go to the ends of the Earth for you.”

“Know you would,” Amelie smiles, gently nudging their bodies forward and her fingertips prying her shirt away from her torso, leaving her skin naked and bare to Harry’s eyes. “Don’t you think I’d meet you halfway?”

“Know you would.” Harry smiles, kissing Amelie’s belly as his fingertips tug the cotton down her thighs and her fingers pull his shirt over his head messily. All of their kisses are messy, and their teeth are gnashing, and lips are being bitten in the sweetest way, the way that means they love each other so deeply and unconditionally that there is nothing else in the world that matters except their way their hands are touching each other.

And then Amelie’s phone starts vibrating.

Harry groans, his hands squeezing Amelie’s hips and pressing a chaste kiss to her lips to try and persuade her. “Don’t want to answer it.” His breath is hot against her mouth, intoxicating and making her want to ignore the call. “Ignore it.”

“Harry,” Amelie whines, “Could be Jenny in labour.”

“Fine.” Harry reaches for Amelie’s phone, swinging his leg over her thighs and settling on the edge of the mattress, his hand reaching out to make her wait as she goes to grab her shirt. “Don’t get dressed, yet.”

His fingertip slides on the bottom of the screen, their best friend’s voice echoing through the speaker and making a smile come to Amelie’s features. Her arms wrap around his shoulders, her cheek lying against his bare back as she snuggles into him. “Don’t care if you two are in the middle of doing it,” Jenny says, breathing heavily and groaning as a contraction begins to wash over her. “Have to get to the hospital because I’m in labour.”

Harry’s eyes roll at the way Amelie smirks at him, her fingertips tickling his tummy as he squeezes her hands. “Ha.”

“Holy shit,” Harry breathes, “Alright. We’ll be there soon.”

“Told you,” Amelie giggles as Harry hangs up the phone, laying on her back and tugging at his hand as his head turns over his shoulder, his eyes meeting hers. “Better make this fast.”

Harry cocks his head to the side, his eyebrows rising and his eyes blinking rapidly to ensure that he really heard her correctly. “Doll.”

“Baby.”

Harry stares at Amelie in awe. Her smile is spread across her lips and her eyes are narrow as she desperately tries to persuade him to bury beneath the comforter with her, to have his skin melting into hers, to kiss her and pretend that they are the only thing in the universe that matters. His heart is pounding so heavily in his chest because she is the only thing in the universe that matters to him. Amelie is everything – all the colours, the stars, the sun and the moon, the songs and lyrics and melodies, the art and literature and the good and the bad. Amelie is all of that and more.

“I love you.”

Amelie grins, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and kissing him sweetly. “I love you. Always.”

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angelofthequeers · 4 years

Text

Hold Me By Both Hands: Chapter 41

Disclaimer: I don’t own ML.

@smolplantmum tagged as requested :)

Chapter 40 | Chapter 42 | AO3 link

“Who’s meeting us here?” Nino says as he, Marinette, and Alya make it to the Place de la Concorde to watch the fireworks, with Alya only being released after Nino defeated her overprotective older sister Nora in an arm wrestle (which Marinette may or may not have rigged), and Adrien and Kagami aren’t even with them in person because strict parents and all that. Ugh.

“I know Luka, Juleka, and Rose are,” Marinette says, and a shiver runs down her spine as it always does when she thinks about Luka for more than a nanosecond. “Chloé and Sabrina might.”

“I still can’t believe we’re friends with Chloé,” Alya says and makes a face. “Well…not-enemies. Frenemies.”

“Neutral parties?” Marinette says. Alya snaps her fingers and finger-guns Marinette.

“That’s the one.”

“I think she really has changed for the better,” Adrien says through Alya’s tablet. “Even if she slips up, I think she hit that point of no return.”

“Hi, guys!” Rose cries and waves from near the base of the Ferris wheel, and Marinette, Alya, and Nino rush over to join her. Juleka’s next to her, their fingers laced, while Chloé and Sabrina stand close enough to be part of the group but far enough to make a statement. And next to Juleka is…

“Hey, Marinette,” Luka says. His smile is like sitting next to the bakery ovens during winter, and it takes every little shred of Marinette’s willpower to force out a hello without stammering or otherwise looking like a weirdo.

“I wish we could be there,” Kagami says from the other half of the tablet screen once they’ve all paid for their tickets and have organised themselves in two compartments; Marinette, Alya, Nino, and Luka are in one, while Rose, Juleka, Chloé, and Sabrina occupy the next one down.

“Well, this is the next best thing, right?” Marinette says and angles the tablet so that Adrien and Kagami can see the fireworks erupting in the evening sky. “At least you get to see them.”

“That’s true,” Kagami says as Marinette turns the tablet back towards her.

“Beautiful,” Adrien sighs. He shakes his head. “The fireworks! They’re so beautiful!”

“Well, duh,” Alya smirks, while Marinette bites her lip and looks down. “What else would you have been talking about?”

Adrien’s cheeks darken. “Shut up.” Then his eyes widen. “Marinette, behind you! I saw something go by!”

“So did I.” Kagami leans forward with narrowed eyes. “What was it? A bird?”

“I don’t see anything,” Luka says, looking over his shoulder. “It could’ve –”

The ground starts to rumble before Luka can finish his sentence, and the Ferris wheel screeches to a halt. Nino yelps and throws his arms around Alya.

“Dude, please don’t tell me we’re gonna be stuck up here!” he whines.

“I thought you said you were going to protect us,” Alya teases. And speaking of protecting, as Marinette stands up and peers out the window of the Ferris wheel pod, Luka slides up behind her and plants his hands on the glass on either side of her head, as though shielding her back. Heat erupts in her cheeks, and she rests her forehead on the glass, as though this’ll cool her face down.

“Over there!” she gasps at the sight of the black and yellow spider-like being hanging off the middle of the Ferris wheel, spraying webs from its mouth to gum up the wheel. “A supervillain!”

“Uh, maybe you shouldn’t film it, Alya?” Nino says as Alya gleefully records the akuma on her phone. “You don’t wanna attract it to us when we’re up this high!”

And when they can’t transform. Shit. Marinette can’t transform! On the tablet screen, the pictures of Adrien and Kagami vanish as they either hang up or lose signal.

“A new scoop for the Ladyblog!” Alya’s bouncing on the spot. “The heroes will be here any minute!”

How is Alya so ecstatic? She’s Rena Rouge! She can’t show up if she’s stuck up here!

“Well, well,” the akuma cackles when it’s hanging outside their cabin. Up close, Marinette can see that it’s most definitely a spider akuma, with extra arms and everything. “There you are, fly-weights!”

Oh. “Nora?” Marinette, Alya, and Nino gasp. The akuma gives a twisted little grin, her dead white eyes standing out against her dark face and bright suit.

“Nora’s not here to protect you anymore. I am Anansi, super spider!” Then she grabs their Ferris wheel pod and leaps down to the ground to slam it on the concrete.

“All those arms are convenient, but you destroyed my scratching post!” says a blessedly familiar voice.

“Don’t mock the akuma when she’s got hostages!” Ryuuko says. Chat Noir just grins and tilts his head like an adorable little kitten, and between that, Ryuuko’s eyes darting around to take in their environment on her first akuma mission, and Luka’s arms around her as he helps her out of their pod, Marinette about melts on the spot.

“Lizard breath’s right, kitty cat,” Anansi grins. “How about we play a game of fetch?” She darts at Chat Noir and Ryuuko, dodges Chat Noir’s baton, grabs Ryuuko around the wrists with two of her hands, then throws Ryuuko into the Ferris wheel so hard that it creaks and rolls loose from its webbing. “Go get it!”

“No!” Chat Noir bounds after the Ferris wheel and Ryuuko. Just as Alya and Nino climb out of the pod, Anansi lands next to them with a thud.

“Now that you can’t cheat anymore, cappie,” Anansi says and grabs Nino in a reverse bear hug, “show us just how you plan to protect my dear sister with your muscles of friendship!”

“Hey! Let him go!” Marinette dives for a struggling Nino, but Anansi yanks him out of her reach.

“You wanna eat dirt, baguette?” Anansi swats Marinette across the stomach, sending her flying clean off the top of the pod.

“Marinette!” Before Marinette’s head can crack on the hard ground, she’s enveloped by warm darkness that smells of sea spray, and then she’s rolling and gasping but not hurting, and what’s going on? She gets her answer when she finally comes to a halt and pushes herself up rather woozily.

“Luka!” she cries. Underneath her is Luka, out cold with blood trickling down his face and abrasions all down his right arm, undoubtedly from cushioning her fall. With a gasp, she carefully reaches out and brushes Luka’s hair aside to reveal the gash that’s heavily oozing blood. “No!”

“Marinette!” Chat Noir lands next to her, and there’s a sharp intake of breath from him when he sees Luka’s state. “Luka! Is he –?”

“I think he’s just unconscious…” Marinette grits her teeth against the white-hot rage that’s bubbling deep in her gut, because how dare Hawkmoth hurt someone she loves like this? “But there’s so much blood! Is he even breathing?”

“Head injuries bleed a lot,” Tikki says from inside Marinette’s purse. “He’ll be fine, Marinette!”

“Tikki, I don’t think he’s breathing! Did the fall – did he crack his head that hard –”

“Marinette! If you transform, you can take care of Anansi and heal Luka!”

“Tikki’s right.” Chat Noir grabs Marinette’s hand and squeezes. “We can’t let this distract us, princess. If we let Hawkmoth take advantage of the people we love, he wins.”

Marinette takes a deep breath, then nods and squares her shoulders and pushes herself to her feet while swiping her sleeve across her face. “You’re right. We have to –”

“Can you step on it, you mangy alley cat?” Honeybee lands next to them. “Guitar boy’ll be fine once Ladybug’s here. Just shove him somewhere safe and come help!”

“Can you take them both?” Chat Noir says. “I have to go back up the others. Who else made it?”

“No one. We’re it,” Honeybee says. “Ryuuko’s trying to save the Ladyblogger and DJ Tupac all by herself so, like, maybe you should hurry the hell up before Spider-Wasp gets her Miraculous.”

“Right. Right.” Chat Noir stands up and twirls his baton. “Make sure they’re safe, Honeybee.”

“When did I turn into a goddamn taxi service?” Honeybee grumbles as she grabs Luka and slings him over her shoulder, then does the same with Marinette. Marinette’s expecting Honeybee to just dump Luka when she bounds into an alleyway a few streets over, but she’s almost gentle as she sets Luka down next to Marinette.

“Honeybee!” Marinette says before Honeybee can disappear. Honeybee looks over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow. “Thank you. You’re a great hero.”

“Of course I am,” Honeybee scoffs, but her cheeks are pink and there’s a softness in her blue eyes that Marinette’s never seen before. “Just keep guitar boy safe, okay? That mangy cat cares about him and I’ll flip my shit if I have to carry Chat Noir’s dead weight against Spider-Wasp. Ugh, and I was actually having a good time before I transformed. I so owe Spider-Wasp a sting up the –”

A crash from a few streets away cuts off Honeybee before she can finish her sentence. Shaking her head, she leaps away.

“Hawkmoth’s gonna pay for this,” Marinette growls, brushing strands of teal-tipped hair away from Luka’s forehead and away from the gash. She’s tempted to check for breathing or a pulse – oh, how tempting it is – but what if she doesn’t like the answer she gets? If Miraculous Ladybug will fix it anyway…well, maybe it’s better that she doesn’t know. Injuries fade, but memories don’t.

“Just keep a clear head, Marinette,” Tikki says. “If you let yourself get clouded by Luka getting hurt, Hawkmoth will win. It’s one of the reasons why secret identities are a thing!”

“I know. I promise I won’t let this knock me down, Tikki. Luka didn’t sacrifice himself for me to let Hawkmoth win.”

Tikki darts up and nuzzles against Marinette’s cheek. “Good. You know what to say!”

“Tikki, spots on!”

Although only half the team is there, the fight against Anansi is quick enough with a well-timed Wind Dragon from Ryuuko to keep her distracted, allowing Honeybee to Venom her and Chat Noir to destroy the helmet containing her akuma. After they’ve pounded it and then scattered to detransform, Ladybug makes a beeline for the alleyway where Luka had been left and she detransforms around the corner so that he doesn’t see her.

“Luka!” she cries when she rounds the corner and finds him blinking slowly and pushing himself to his feet. “If you ever do that again, I’ll – I’ll –”

“It’s okay, Marinette,” Luka says with a soft smile. “Ladybug always fixes everything.”

“That’s not the point!” Marinette stamps her foot. “I – I care about you, you jerk! Ladybug might fix everything, but she doesn’t – she doesn’t take away the memories…”

“Hey.” Luka’s warm arms slip around Marinette as she sniffles, and she buries her face in his shirt, cursing the inevitable draining of adrenaline that turns her into an emotional mess half the time after akuma battles. “I’m sorry that you had to see that. But I’m not sorry for what I did. You’re extraordinary, Marinette. As clear as a music note, as sincere as a melody…you’re the song that’s been playing inside my head since the day we met. How could I not save you?” One of his hands slides between them to rest on her chest, above her heart. “You and Adrien have the most unique songs in your hearts. I’d do anything for you. For both of you.”

“That’s not a good thing,” Marinette says thickly. “There’s such a thing as being too selfless.”

“Perhaps.” Luka’s other hand starts to stroke Marinette’s hair, and she sniffles again and leans into the touch like a girl dying of thirst. “But we all have our flaws. I’d prefer to be too selfless than not selfless enough. And I get the feeling that you have that problem as well.”

“Yeah. I guess,” Marinette says and closes her eyes so that she can nestle even further into Luka’s embrace. “But still. You’re a jerk.”

“You’re still here, so I’m happy to be a jerk,” Luka says. When Marinette pulls away to squint up at him, she’s greeted with a teasing little smile, so she huffs and slaps him on the shoulder.

“I’m calling Adrien and Kagami,” she says, fumbling around in her purse for her phone. “We need to talk before I explode. And you can give up the act, Luka. I know you know who Adrien is.”

Luka shrugs with a small smile. “If you insist…Ladybug,” he says. Marinette’s heart jolts in her chest at the sound of someone other than Adrien calling her civilian self by her superhero name. “Tell them to meet us at the houseboat, then. Juleka was planning on staying at Rose’s after the fireworks, and Mum’s gone for the night. No one should be able to listen in.”

“S-Sounds like you want to lure us there and murder us in the dead of night!” Marinette jokes weakly.

“Now, why would I do that to such cute people?” Luka replies with a wink, and Marinette just whines and flushes because dammit, why does he have to be so adorable?

With the text sent, the two of them emerge from the alleyway and set off for the Couffaine houseboat. They’re walking close enough that Marinette can reassure herself that he’s very much alive, but far apart enough that no one will mistake them for a couple. Not that Marinette would mind, but maybe after the inevitable talk rather than before.

When they reach the houseboat, Chat Noir and Kagami are already waiting for them. There’s a tiny shred of jealousy that curdles in Marinette’s gut when Chat Noir heads straight for Luka and throws his arms around the taller boy, but she squashes that jealousy down like it’s an annoying akuma. No. This is not the time for jealousy, especially not when they’re about to have this long-needed conversation between the four of them. She’s not going to lose Chat Noir just because he chooses to show affection to Luka first, especially after what had happened that evening.

“You never did have that conversation with him, did you?” Kagami says, jolting Marinette out of her own mind.

“I never got the chance. Today was so busy because we were at Alya’s for the day, then Anansi happened…is it really that obvious?”

“The way you looked when Chat Noir went for Luka, even though Chat Noir isn’t pursuing a relationship with him. It was only for a split second, but I still saw it.”

“I know I shouldn’t be jealous. And I told myself that it was silly because it’s not like I mean anything less to Chat just because of another guy. But…”

“Feelings are irrational,” Kagami says with a small smile. “I know. I get jealous seeing you and Adrien together sometimes.”

“Does it ever go away?” Marinette says softly. “I don’t want to feel like this every time Chat hugs Luka, or Luka hugs Chat.”

“It’s natural to be jealous when you’ve spent so long believing that relationships can only be between two people,” Kagami says. “But so long as you’re open and don’t bottle it up, it’s easily handled.”

“Some more sage advice from Rin?” Marinette grins. Kagami laughs.

“Yes. I do miss her sometimes, but I’m glad I moved to Paris. I have more friends here. Friends I’m actually allowed to spend time with.”

“Your mother didn’t approve of Rin?”

“Not rich or influential enough. I don’t think Mother cares about who my friends are so long as they’re successful. I’m still afraid to tell her that I like girls, though…”

“You think your mother would approve of Marinette and Luka?” Chat Noir says. Marinette nearly jumps out of her skin when she realises that Chat Noir and Luka have been watching and listening for a while, although she couldn’t say exactly when they’d started eavesdropping. Hopefully, it was after the jealousy thing.

“Marinette? She just might,” Kagami says. “After all, Marinette won Mr Agreste’s design competition and her hat caught the eye of Audrey Bourgeois. Not to mention that she’s designed for Jagged Stone before. Mother might see that budding potential as good enough. But Luka? I’m not entirely sure, not unless he was to make a name for himself in the music industry.”

“I plan on it,” Luka says with that adorable smile where one side of his mouth curls up. Marinette about dies on the spot at the sight. It’s so different to Chat Noir’s toothy grins and Kagami’s barely-there smiles that creep up on her, yet it makes her insides explode in exactly the same way.

“But you know what?” Kagami says. “I find that I don’t really care who Mother approves of. I’ll always strive to be a daughter she can be proud of but, well…she can’t really say who I can and can’t be friends with, can she?”

“That’s the spirit,” Chat Noir says cheerfully. “Besides, you’re not dating Luka or anything, so…”

The dreaded d-word wipes the smiles off everyone’s faces. Clearing his throat, Luka steps onto the plank connecting the houseboat to the concrete bank and holds out his hand to escort Marinette across. Chat Noir does the same for Kagami and for a moment, it’s so similar to when Adrien had helped Kagami across on the day Marinette had first met her that Marinette’s forced to blink and shake her head to dispel the image.

“Drinks? Snacks?” Luka says once they’re all down in the living area and he’s flicked on the lights.

“I feel like you’re stalling,” Kagami says. Luka shrugs.

“Kind of. We all know how we feel about each other, but we’ve never actually talked about it.”

Chat Noir sighs and throws himself onto the couch. Marinette’s oh so tempted to sit in his lap or snuggle up to him, but she feels like that wouldn’t be fair to Luka and Kagami with the conversation they’re about to have, so she instead just sits next to him. Kagami takes the spot next to her and Luka ends up next to Chat Noir, sandwiching him and Marinette.

“So,” Marinette says. “Who, uh, wants to go first?”

“How brave of you, princess,” Chat Noir says dryly. “Fine, I suppose your knight in shining leather will have to take the plunge.”

“Never call yourself that again,” Marinette, Kagami, and Luka say in unison. Chat Noir pouts.

“I’ll go first, if only to never hear that name ever again,” Kagami adds.

“Alright, but can I do something first?” Chat Noir says. “Luka already figured it out, so it’s not fair that you don’t know. Marinette and I, uh…aren’t in a polyamorous relationship.”

“What?” Kagami’s brow furrows. “But she’s with Adrien, and she was caught kissing you.”

“Yeah. About that…” Chat Noir scratches the back of his head.

“Are you sure, kitty?” Marinette says.

“Yeah. Kagami can’t be the only one who doesn’t know. Claws in.”

Kagami’s jaw drops at the sight of Chat Noir transforming back into Adrien. “Oh,” she says faintly. “Oh. Um…okay. Yes. That makes sense. That’s why you and Chat Noir are never seen at the same time. And if you’re not all in a polyamorous relationship but you were kissing Marinette…”

“Y-Yeah,” Marinette says with a nervous little grin as Kagami leans in and brushes aside a lock of hair to reveal one black earring. “I kind of forgot that I wasn’t transformed when I was kissing him.”

“Wow.” Kagami sags back against the couch. “I think I need a minute to process this. How did Luka already know?”

“Their heart songs,” Luka says. “Slight differences when they’re transformed, but overall the same.”

There’s silence for a minute or so, to give Kagami time to process everything she’s just learned. Finally, she shakes her head.

“Okay, I think I’ve caught up with my brain,” she declares. “We should talk about where we each stand before I pass out from information overload. I’ve made my feelings for Marinette and Adrien clear. I also told Marinette that she needs to talk to Chat – Adrien – about what boundaries they want to set, how they’ll deal with jealousy when it arises, whether they’ll be open to each other dating others beyond us, but she obviously didn’t get a chance to talk to him until now.”

“You could’ve just DM’ed me,” Adrien says.

“Yeah, but it felt like a conversation to have in person, you know?” Marinette says. “And, uh…it’s not like I was in any hurry to have that conversation. Okay, so I may have been putting it off a little…”

Adrien snorts. “Well, I’m only the jealous type when I can’t have something or someone,” he says. “So long as I’ve got you, angel, and I don’t lose any time with you, I don’t mind who you date.”

“Still sounds like something you might want to work on,” Marinette says. “The whole “jealous if I can’t get what I want”.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s just…not easy, y’know? You know I’m not exactly wanting for anything in my normal life. And since my father’s a colossal jerk…”

“Oof.” Marinette laces their fingers together. “Affection-starved and not used to not getting something.”

“Maybe you could see a therapist,” Luka says. “Or someone who could help?”

“I’m not messed up in the head!” Adrien says automatically.

“That’s debatable,” Marinette mutters, earning herself a pinch that makes her squeal. “But seriously, you don’t have to be messed up to see a therapist. They’re just someone you can talk to who don’t know you personally, so they’re like a third party. My mum used to see one when I was a child, although I don’t remember why.”

“As if my father would let me,” Adrien says. “I, well…being Chat Noir’s my escape. And it’s freeing, yeah, ‘cause I get to let loose, but in a way…I kinda resent it? I just…want to be able to be open and affectionate as me as well as Chat Noir.”

“You know I love you with or without the mask, right, kitty?” Marinette says softly. “Your civilian and hero selves aren’t separate people.”

“Marinette’s right,” Luka says. “You’re the same person no matter what. Chat Noir is just one instrument in your soul’s band.”

“Having more freedom to let loose behind a mask doesn’t make you a completely different person when you’re wearing it,” Kagami finishes. “It doesn’t mean that you’re “your true self” as Chat Noir; you’re just putting on a different face for the situation, just as everyone else does. And you know exactly where I’m coming from when I say this.”

“Thanks, guys,” Adrien says with a soft smile. It’s so raw that Marinette can’t help but lean into his side and rest her cheek on his shoulder, offering him that little bit more comfort. “You next, princess.”

“Okay, okay, I guess I can’t run away forever,” Marinette says. “I don’t exactly know what boundaries we’d set off the top of my head. Maybe we could just go with the usual “open communication” and that sort of thing and figure out the rest as we go?”

“Sounds good to me,” Adrien says.

“The jealousy thing? I think the only thing I can do about that is to just keep forcing myself to unlearn it. Like…” Marinette sighs and looks down at her fidgeting hands. “Rationally, I know there’s nothing to worry about. I know you’re not going to leave me for someone else. I just…guess I’ve spent so long fantasising about meeting the perfect person and having three kids and a hamster with them that I’m still not used to the idea of having multiple people and balancing that.”

“If you need time to sort that out, Kagami and I would be more than willing,” Luka says. “If the original melody is off, any additional ones would just muddle it even further.”

“No. No. I want to be with you and Kagami as well,” Marinette says. “I guess…well, just slap me around the head if I ever start being overly jealous.”

“We wouldn’t harm you for it,” Kagami says. After a moment, she blinks slowly. “Oh. It was a saying.”

“Yeah,” Marinette says with a small laugh. “Luka?”

“I’ve made my feelings clear as well,” Luka says. “I’d love to date both you and Adrien. But I understand if the relationship between you two takes priority –”

“Whoa, whoa, no,” Adrien says. “There’s no priority. You’re all equally important to me.”

“What he said,” Marinette says. “Adrien’s not more important just because I was with him first. We’re not gonna just shove you and Kagami aside when things get rough, Luka. That’s why we wanna be sure we’ve figured this out before we go jumping in.”

The smile that spreads across Luka’s face is wide and warm, like sinking into a hot bath. If Marinette was sitting next to him, she’d almost certainly have melted into him, and it feels like Adrien would be doing the same thing if he wasn’t currently snuggling into her.

“Well, I’m not usually a jealous person,” Luka says. “So long as something’s not being flaunted, I guess. And I don’t really mind if you both date anyone else, so long as there’s no sneaking around.”

“Sounds like there’s a bit of history there,” Marinette says carefully when a scowl flickers across Luka’s face at that last comment.

“Let’s just say there’s a reason Mum’s single and we’ve got her last name. The less said, the better.”

“Oh.” Adrien reaches across to take Luka’s hand. “Sorry.”

“It’s cool. We just don’t think about him. That’s way more energy than he deserves.”

“My father died several years ago,” Kagami says. “Is Marinette the only one of us with a normal family life?”

Kagami’s joke successfully breaks the ice, as Adrien and Luka snort and Marinette rolls her eyes.

“I’d offer to have my dad adopt you three, but since you’re all my partners, I feel like that’d be a bit weird,” she drawls. Then she blinks and giggles. “My partners. Wow, that’s such a rush to say.”

“I know what you mean,” Kagami says and shifts so that she’s resting against Marinette with her cheek tucked against Marinette’s arm. “I felt light and fluttery when you said that.”

“Just give us a steady supply of treats and we’ll call it even,” Adrien says.

“Bad kitty.” Luka playfully swats Adrien around the head, causing him to hiss. “No begging for treats. Even if they’re Dupain-Cheng treats.”

“I thought bringing you three treats would be a given,” Marinette says. She rearranges herself so that she’s lying across Adrien’s lap, with her legs in Kagami’s lap and her head against Luka’s thigh. Luka immediately starts stroking her hair, while Kagami drapes an arm over her legs, and both Luka and Kagami lean against Adrien’s sides. She can’t help but let out a soft purr and curse Plagg, that damn kwami, because he hadn’t warned her that she’d be left with faint Black Cat side-effects from her few weeks as Lady Noire!

“So, uh,” Adrien says. “How do we do dates? I don’t think it should be all four of us all the time, especially because Kagami and Luka aren’t dating in this dynamic.”

“And I think we’d all appreciate being alone with one or both partners every so often,” Luka adds. “It’d give us a chance to work on our individual relationships. You know, so we’re not just known as Lukadrigaminette the four-way package deal.”

“That’s a mouthful,” Marinette says. Luka chuckles.

“I know. Some days, we might want Adrienette. Or Lukadrien. Or Kagaminette. Or even Lukadrienette or Adrigaminette.”

“What are you, a fanboy?”

Luka just shrugs. “Blame Juleka,” is all he says, while Adrien shakes with laughter against Marinette. “She’s a closet nerd, so neither of us are any strangers to shipping.”

“Plus, it might be a good idea to not be open about your relationships with us until you know how you want to announce it,” Kagami says. “The last thing you need is to end up in the tabloids with accusations of infidelity.”

“How about we do all that annoying thinking stuff later?” Marinette grumbles. “Just shut up and cuddle, all three of you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Adrien, Luka, and Kagami reply immediately.

31 notes · View notes

potaetaezz · 5 years

Text

|| Sweet Like Coffee || 10

prev << >> next

pairing: Nct Dream x Reader [female]

genre/au: fluff | teeny bit of angst (to come) | enemies to lovers | Everyone is just a clueless bunch of weirdos, you get the drill… or so you thought.

warnings: slight swearing, immature content, underage drinking

A/N: its’s my first fanfic so no judgment lol | Jaemin is getting friskyyy | Longer Chp | here we go~

_____________________________________

You did end up regretting it. But not what you expected.

Your lips didn’t meet Jaemin’s, and a part of you was grateful. Something happened to you when you were with him, it was like the rest of the world didn’t exist. You could say anything to him, do anything with him, and there would be no consequences, no regrets. That of course, wasn’t true. The minute you left you regretted your explanation, your candidness of your emotions, your feelings that won you over. You regretted the ‘I care’. You did care, something inside of you was making that very clear. But you didn’t want to. You couldn’t even distinguish how you cared, or in what way.

There was a darkness, a greyness that inked his eyes, that told you to fall for him. There was a loss of control around him. You hated that. But most of all, you hated his ‘type’. His arrogance, his ego, his cockiness. Everyone always wants the ‘bad boy’, but not you. You craved someone who was good for you, someone who treated you right. Someone like Jeno. But Jaemin was confusing your thoughts, haunting your dreams. And you knew, that if you kissed him, those hazy shadowed dreams would come true. Sadly.

What you needed most right now, what you needed most whenever your emotions became too intimate, was space. You decided to take a step back from Jaemin that day. To take a step back from his bad influence, his dark, bitter eyes, his warmth. You didn’t like when your emotions became too inflamed, overly tenacious. For when your heart was aflame, it was all too easy to be swayed, by emotion, by luring eyes. You needed control, for if your feelings took over your power, took over your actions, you could make some very impulsive, unbearably regrettable decisions.

[7:09am]

You woke up to someone gently singing. A soft but hoarse voice. Lila.

‘How many people have the keys to my apartment??’

“Oh good your awake! Look Haechan’s party, we need-“

“Woah, Lila calm your shit okay, is that even today??”

Haechan’s parties were said to be unreal, and even that was an understatement. Crowds of people flowing in from anywhere to meet people, make bad decisions and have fun. No one knew anyone there, or barely anyone, and that’s what was so compelling. Haechan was basically a modern Gatsby in party terms. Of course, it would be amazing to let loose, have a drink, dance a bit. But you weren’t as sociable as Lila, and you couldn’t drink as much as Renjun.

Renjun used to be like you, a little bit shy yet speckled with gregarious traits. But he befriended Haechan last year, and since then he could chug a naggin of vodka like it was water. And as for Lila, put her in the middle of any social gathering and she’d shine. You just- you didn’t know where you’d fit in - at the party.

“Yes, yes it is. Sooo what are you wearing?”

“Wearing? If I’m going uhm jeans—”

She interrupted before you could finish, with a half-suppressed laugh emerging. “Oh no honey, it’s a Halloween party.”

Leave it to Haechan to throw a Halloween party 2 weeks early.

“I’ll see.” You spit out, eyes smiling as Lila’s beamed.

———

Sitting down, staring at the empty whiteboard, you could feel something on you. A stare. Someone’s eyes mesmerising your figure, capturing you intently. Your back burned from the glare. You turned around. Fast. In hopes of catching the culprit with smoldering eyes.

Haechan. What a surprise. He always knew how to catch one's attention.

He quirked his eyebrows and passed a note to you. Once you gripped it, you could tell Jeno was curious beside you. Peering intently into its contents.

‘You better come to the party. This is a personal invitation y/n.’

‘What a Gatsby move.’

You crumbled the note in one hand and shoved it into your bag, making sure both of them watched. He wasn’t going to influence your decision. If you were going, it would be for Lila, or for yourself. Not for some guy.

Your eyes gazed up to Jeno instinctively. He was focusing intently on the work on the board. ‘There has to be something beyond his smile’ you thought, ‘Eyes full of lust, some tantalising charm behind that innocence.’ Your blood warmed at the thought.

“So are you going?” his voice brought you back to reality.

You assumed he was on about Haechan’s party. “I don’t know” You chuckled lightly.

“You should.” His smile almost persuaded you, right there and then.

There was an attraction in his gaze, and you knew hoped he felt it too. You were falling deeper into the wrath of his smile, and you liked it. You wished nothing more than to reach over and fuse your smile with his. Nothing more than to simply talk with him, read with him, stay with him. Your feelings grew deeper and you hadn’t even noticed. Spending time with Jaemin really did confuse you. Little were you aware of how deep your feelings ran, in your veins, in your pulse. Little did you know how your tensions drowned away with the smile on his face. You weren’t an affectionate, sappy person, and you definitely weren’t good at expressing or understanding your emotions. Oh but only if you were. Haechan’s party would’ve gone a lot differently.

———

Arriving home, you noticed Ten was already there. Sitting right in front of the television, remote control in his hand.

“How was school?” He asked, trying to act brotherly.

“Do you care?” you laughed.

“Not really.” and he smiled brightly. “You going to Haechan’s party?”

You shook your head. As much as you like socializing, reading a book snuggled up with chamomile tea in your hand definitely beat it. During your final class, you had reached the conclusion that you were not going. You didn’t see the point, and at home, you could catch up on many missed episodes of your new binge tv show. ‘They’ll be fine without me’.

lunalila560 : comin to Haechan’s?? [5:53]

imaginey/n :nahhh, too tired [5:55]

——

[6:16]

A knock came from the door and in stepped Lila. She brought with her a huge blue gear bag filled with her most stylish clothes and makeup, because your most stylish clothes were probably your Christmas pajamas. She wore a short pink dress, with a black cropped denim jacket resting delicately on her shoulders. Black heels embraced her slender feet. Her hair was tied in two loose braids, with white glitter sprinkled casually over. Her makeup was classic with a dash of extra glitter to contrast. She was beautiful as always, and you were still in your pajamas, stuffing your face with popcorn as if watching a fashion show.

“Okay so…” she began. She held out a clothes hanger, your new Halloween costume hanging from it. “You’re coming, I don’t care what you say.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t protest. Lila had clearly put effort into your costume, knowing fully well you would’ve actually worn jeans. She was always so organised like that.

“So what am I?” You sat on the edge of the couch, leaning into her beaming eyes, curious of her plans.

“Lara Croft.”

You nearly choked on air as your eyes filled with uncertainty. Ten chimed in with appreciation. You shook your head but she argued; “Just trust me.”

Lila knew you so well, too well in fact. The outfit was unarguably perfect for you. Not too revealing, comfortable, something you could dance in. She wanted you to wear shorts, but knowing you, she chose green cargo pants with a slit around the thigh instead.

She plaited your hair, pulling out the messy bits at the front. Made your makeup look effortlessly casual. Smeared brown paint like ‘dirt’ on your body and grey tank top. Tied a bandage around the slit in your pants as if you were injured. And of course, who could forget a (toy) gun in your hand. You couldn’t deny you actually liked it.

———

Lila walked beside you up Haechan’s driveway, wearing her version of ‘Jessica Rabbit’. Your breath trembled. You could already hear the music. There were a few people outside. You were late, by approximately 2 hours, which meant the party already started. You gulped. Butterflies dancing in your stomach. No. Wasps, stinging.

By the time you had reached the porch, it was too late. Lila’s arm linked in yours preventing your escape. The sweat clammed your palms, and your armpits, which you prayed the dirt could hide the stains. Before Lila grabbed the doorknob, her eyes met yours. Telling you that it was going to be okay, that it was safe, that you should breathe. Little did she know the reason for your racing heart. But before you could blink, she pulled the door open, music shrieking in your ears.

The party was loud, real loud.

The house was beautifully designed, but there were way too many people to appreciate it. The place was crowded, people everywhere, streaming from the top of the stairs, out of the innumerable rooms up there, and people headed straight into the kitchen downstairs, or what you assumed was the kitchen. The lighting was dim, you could barely make out Lila’s face beside you. People were hanging over banisters, screaming, chanting. Music blaring, deafening your ears. And everyone was clearly very, very drunk.

Lila’s shout met your ear, yet you barely heard her; “Kitchen….drink?”

It didn’t matter for her hand tugged yours into a room, the kitchen. You bumped into everyone, dancing, laughing. You focused your eyes on the floor. You weren’t ready to recognise people yet. You needed alcohol for that. And lucky for you, you were nearly there.

You looked up when Lila came to a halt.

‘Holy shit.’

There wasn’t enough counter to hold all the bottles. From vodka to whiskey, it had everything. You didn’t know where to start. Lila did, however, as she shoved a cup filled with something in your hand. Before you knew it, you too were laughing. You were very nearly drunk on the atmosphere, on the music. You took a gulp of the vile concoction before you felt the heavyweight of a stare settling on you. That familiar glare. You quickly forgot about it as Lila refilled your drink. If anything was going to make this night easier, it was alcohol.

“You came!”

Renjun screamed beside you. He had a rather large glass in his hand.

“Ms.Croft.” He added, “enchante.”

A laugh escaped your mouth easily, “And what may you be?”

“Ayy matey, tis’ I, Jack Sparrow.” He completely failed the accent, but A for effort.

“How fitting.” you quirked your eyebrows, “a pirate always does have a drink in his hand.”

He bowed, his pirate hat falling off. Then, nearly collapsing on the floor with laughter. You couldn’t help but laugh with him.

Your eyes wandered to Lila who was already talking up a ‘Joker’.

The alcohol buzzed in your veins, your body warming up to its comfort. You followed Renjun to another lively room. He began chatting aimlessly with people, and you stood beside him. Your body swayed to the music, feeling looser than it did an hour ago. You were lost in conversation when a finger tapped your back. You turned to see Haechan, standing a touch too close.

“Pleasure to see you here.” His voice engulfed in lure.

“Pleasure to be here.” Words slipped easily.

“Nice gun.” He sniggered, eyes judging it but the smile on his face loving it. You held it out, pointing it at him. You pressed the trigger, releasing a pathetic squirt of water. His hands were up before you could attempt a wink.

He was dressed in a suit, a very Gatsy suit.

He held out a drink, one that smelled sweet accompanied by a strawberry floating on top. He winked, properly, as your hand grasped it. A wink followed by that carefree laugh. You spent some time with Haechan, talking about things you couldn’t remember, drinking things you couldn’t distinguish and dancing, as awfully as you’d imagined. The alcohol began to race, rush through you, bubbling, fizzing. You lost track of time, of faces, of songs.

“Have you seen Jeno?” you asked.

“Oh, lover boy? Nope.” he laughed

Your heart sagged just slightly. You reminded yourself that these parties last all night.

‘I’ll see him later.’

Yet again, you felt a set of eyes find you within the growing crowd. It wasn’t Haechan, you soon realised for you were with him, dancing. You scanned the room, but there was no one you recognised.

Until there he was, walking sauntering down the stairs, holding your gaze. His eyes wandered from yours to your ripped tank top, down to your boots. Taking in all of you. His stare full of deceit and depth, but none the less intoxicating. He stopped in front of you, looking down at you, into you. His teeth taunted his lip, bit his lip. A smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. Haechan disappeared, everyone disappeared, as if it was only you and him in the room.

You pulled out your gun, a smile taking over your mouth. “Hands up, Jaemin.”

He did as he was told, hands following your order.

“And don’t you dare bite that lip.” You added, confidently.

You traced his outline. His body embraced by a black suit. A white shirt peeking out behind his blazer. A black bowtie drawing your eyes to his neck, and then back up to his gaze. While you were admiring his suit, he pulled his own gun out to point at you.

“Fair play.” he chuckled.

“What even are you?”

“You see, Ms.Croft” he began with that deep voice of his, “I was going to be your prince charming, but now, I’m your savior. It’s Jaemin, Na Jaemin.”

You couldn’t hold back a giggle as he winked. He surely was charming, but he was definitely no prince.

You forgot a lot, but the alcohol wasn’t going to let you forget how close you had been before. How close you had been to his bitten lip or his deceitful stare.

“Care for a drink?” he asked.

“Of course.” but this time it was you who winked.

It was when the drink met your lips that his head turned to the corner of the room. Yours followed. It was dark, you were borderline drunk, but you could always spot Jeno in a crowd.

You dropped your drink. Your breath hitched.

Jeno wasn’t smiling at you, he didn’t even notice you. He was too busy sticking his tongue down some girls throat. His hands roaming her body, his mouth desperate, his teeth tugging at her lip. He was on fire yet your eyes watched, like ice.

You knew there was a part of him that was aflame, seduction lurking inside of him, he just didn’t want to show you. Disappointment tugged at your heart. You wanted to look away, but you couldn’t. You were frozen. You didn’t feel jealous or hurt (maybe a little bit). You felt pathetic, stupid for letting yourself believe that even the tiniest part of him was interested in you. Stupid for beginning to like him.

His mouth tore away from her, taking in oxygen when his eyes found you. Found you staring right back at him, at the girl, at their intensity. You almost saw a dim speck of regret in his eyes, but it was too dark to be true.

You panicked, his eyes still watching you. You looked to the ground, and then to Jaemin. His expression changed, from understanding to pure desire. You inched closer, making sure Jeno’s eyes were locked on you. You closed the gap between your beating heart and Jaemin’s. He looked into your eyes as if he was searching for something. Temptation speckled his iris. His hot breath meeting your cheek. Control disappearing from your grip.

Slowly, the music faded and so did the crowd, so did Jeno. It felt like it was just you two in the room, alone, a fraction away from each other. Your heart raced, breath shaky. His mouth searched for your ear, his voice ragged; “You’ll regret this.”

You opened your mouth to speak when his lips crashed against yours. You pulled away for an instant to see lust overtaking his gaze. Then he devoured you, lips moving in rhythm. Body melting into his. You could taste the desperation in his mouth, feel the want on his tongue as it plunged down your throat. His breathy sounds taunted your ear. His hands worked their way around your body, feeling each crevasse, each line until they settled a bit lower than your waist. Pulling you impossibly closer. His teeth teased your lips. Your mouth felt bruised but you couldn’t let go.

His kiss was intoxicating. His passion ignited something in you. You couldn’t hold back a slight moan as his lips moved to your neck. Your fingers intertwined with his hair, pulling it. Want racing through your veins. His tongue demanding more of you, until you broke away, gasping for air. For a moment you tasted the alcohol on his breath, and it brought you back to reality.

His smirk settled on you again.

His mouth dived for your ear once more, nibbling slightly before his hoarse voice spoke.

“He’s still watching.”

_____________________________________

See you next time -> Wednesday 23rd xx

_____________________________________

57 notes · View notes

tibbinswrites · 5 years

Text

Suptober Day 14 - Fire

It was funny, Dean thought, how the memory of the night his mother died (the first time) stayed diamond sharp in his mind. Especially when other things began to fade, more important things, like her laugh, how he’d feel when she’d hug him, the way her hair tickled his nose. Those things had come back with her, of course, and he was grateful for the reminder now, when he found himself mourning her again and those things were a paper-thin barrier to hold back the memory of her first death. And his, if he was gonna be melodramatic about it.

Dean paced around the school, checking supplies, making a back-up salt circle around the building just in case, and avoiding people.

He missed her. It seems he’d spent his whole life missing her. Four happy years was all he got, and then four more later on, during which time he’d kicked her out, lost her to another world for several months and had to deal with a whole load of other crap so the time they’d actually gotten together was less than he would have liked.

Her final death was objectively the worse one; it was still raw, and caused not by a demon or some other creature but by Jack, a kid he’d come to care for, despite his best efforts at the beginning. She’d been killed by family, and he wasn’t sure his brain was processing that right. It was also worse because he’d had time to actually get to know and love Mary as a person, not just the few snatches of softness and kind words that he’d clung to as a kid. He loved her fierceness, her stubbornness, her refusal to compromise if she knew what she wanted, he loved her kindness and her patience and the way she was so eager to learn about the technology and food and places that his modern world had to offer.

Even knowing that, it wasn’t the weight of Mary’s body in his arms that haunted him, it wasn’t all the things they’d never do, or the things they never said. It was the smell of her funeral pyre, and how familiar that stench was.

Xxx

Dean had woken in the dark with a horrible smell in his nose. There was an immediate jolt of panic before he settled again, looking out through the gap in his curtains and seeing the moon calmly hanging. He frowned, sleepy, and then sniffed. Maybe he’d dreamed the smell, and now it wouldn’t go away because he was thinking about it too hard. He rubbed at his nose and sniffed again, sitting up a bit higher in the bed, then he coughed. It smelled like that time Mommy had left bacon in the pan for too long. Why would Mommy be cooking bacon so late?

Maybe he was getting sick, he thought as he coughed again. His throat was scratchy and he felt too warm. He reached for the cup of water next to his bed and took a drink. It helped a little. Then he lay back down and tried to ignore the smell. It would be gone in the morning, he was sure of it.

It was then that he heard his father’s voice. Loud, too-loud for how late it was. Why was Daddy yelling so late? Didn’t he know that he might wake Sammy?

Curiosity overcoming his sleepiness, Dean slipped out of bed and padded across the room. There was a line of light coming from under his door now, but it was flickering, like it did when he pushed a chair under the light switch to stand on so he could turn it on and off really fast. Was Mommy playing with the light switch? Was that why Daddy was mad?

Dean reached for the door an opened it, and a blast of heat and smoke almost knocked him backwards. Fire… there was a fire!

The whole hallway was hazy with smoke and Dean coughed as he left the safety of his room, his eyes stinging. Sammy’s door was open, it was the only one that was, so he made his way towards it.

“Mommy!” He yelled, more scared than he’d ever been in his whole life, his house was on fire and he was alone and he could barely hear his own voice over his father’s yell and the roar of the flames. “Daddy!”

He almost ran into his father outside Sammy’s room and in the split-second before he was noticed, Dean saw through the open door. The whole room was bright, and loud but he could barely see Sammy’s cot; the ceiling was swallowed up in yellow and orange and there was a shape up there too, where the flames and the smell were coming from. He knew that shape; that shape had kissed him goodnight only a little while ago, told him that angels were watching over him. How she was on the ceiling or why she was on fire, those were questions that came later, not that he’d be able to voice them for a long time; in the moment, he only wondered where the angels were.

Then John stumbled backwards and spun, saw Dean and pressed Sammy into his arms.

“Take your brother outside as fast as you can, don’t look back!” John yelled, though he didn’t sound angry, he sounded… scared. But that couldn’t be right; his daddy never got scared, not even when there was a huge spider in the bathtub, or when a wasp stung him right on the arm, he hadn’t been scared then. Seeing his dad as afraid as he was might have been the scariest thing of all. “Now, Dean! Go!”

Dean turned and ran, his eyes streaming for more reasons than the smoke; Sammy started to squirm and Dean was scared he was going to drop him. He’d never held Sammy all on his own before, Mommy was always there, holding them both at the same time, making sure that Dean was supporting his head properly, keeping them both safe. But Mommy wasn’t here right now, and Daddy had to get her off the ceiling, and he had told Dean to get Sammy outside. But it was hard to see and he kept coughing into Sammy’s blankets and he started to feel dizzy and he got to the top of the stairs and stopped, because he couldn’t hold onto the banister without letting go of Sammy, but his legs were wobbly and he wasn’t sure he should run down the stairs carrying his little brother.

A crash from behind him, probably the nursery roof caving in he realised later, decided for him and he tottered down the stairs and quickly and as carefully as he could. He knew he was jostling Sammy more than he liked because he was starting to cry now. Where was Mommy? She would always take Sammy back when he cried.

He emerged into the night air, dewy grass soaking his feet and the hems of his pajama pants and great sobs gasping out of him. He stopped in the garden. He was outside, he made it. And now he didn’t know what to do. Where had Daddy gone? He looked around. There were people on the street, all of them staring at him and at his house with horrified eyes, but none of them came forward to tell him where his Daddy was. Sam had settled in his arms again now that he was no longer running.

Cold slammed into him then, and dizziness. Like when he got out of a bath that had been a little too hot. He looked up at his house. At his home. Fire spurted from Sammy’s window and he knew suddenly, instinctively, that his mother wasn’t coming out.

Something grabbed him by the waist then and lifted, sprinting forward to where Daddy had parked the car on the street.

“I gotcha.” His daddy said, just as a huge roar seemed to come from the house and his father stumbled forwards as he ran before placing his shivering son down on the the grass next to the car and taking the baby from his arms.

Dean stood there then, staring up at what had been his home, his mother. Knowing that they were gone and not knowing why. He was cold, everything smelled of smoke and his throat was sore. He didn’t move while his dad walked around with Sam to soothe him, or when he draped a blanket around Dean’s shoulders. He only moved when a real red fire truck parked outside his house, but that was because an ambulance was there too and he was being guided into the back with his father’s hand steady on his shoulder.

He was asked questions that he couldn’t answer, not even when his Daddy asked him if he was hurt, the fire had burned out his voice.

Xxx

Dean hadn’t spoken for nearly half a year after that. He’d tip-toed around, trying to be as quiet as possible, though he hadn’t been sure what he was hiding from, and he’d never played with light switches again.

Dean sighed as he counted the cans of condensed milk and made a note before putting the clipboard down and raising a hand to his stinging eyes.

Why did that night keep coming back when the night he’d spent burning his mother himself was fuzzy at best?

Because you drank half your weight in whiskey that night, no wonder you don’t remember it, he scolded himself.

Maybe it was as simple as that. Maybe he’d just pickled his brain enough that the two events were bleeding into one grief.

After all, he wasn’t four years old any more, and he knew perfectly well the limitations of guardian angels.

@winchester-reload

If you liked this, please consider buying me a coffee.

#suptober #suptoberart2019 #spn fanfic #day 14 #fire #writing #prompt #TibbinsWrites

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 4 years

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The Art Of Remembrance (Part 5)

A bitter wind whips at her face bringing with it a bitingly cold sting. Azula has come to find that the only thing worse than the poles is the poles at sea. She curls her fingers around the rails and looks out at the rolling waves. Their captain carefully navigates the water, weaving between large blocks of ice. On the odd occasion they come to a block that they can’t avoid, and so the few firebenders on board melt it away.

Having nothing better to do as well as no desire to float in the icy ocean, she takes to helping them clear some of the ice.

She folds her arms over her chest, wondering just what the hell is taking Sokka so long. She lets a few more minutes pass before wandering below deck to seek the man out. As far as she is concerned, she has waited more than long enough to learn a thing or two about her past, especially with the way people look at her.

It isn’t lost on her that they seem to slink back as she passes. That they exchange glances and hushed words and take special care to avoid meeting her gaze.

Finally she succumbs to boredom enough to try to make conversation. She doesn’t quite know where to begin so she simply finds a spot next to girl and mutters, “it’s aggravatingly cold on deck.”

The girl seems to go tense and gives a nervous laugh, “yeah, cold.”

“I suppose that you’re used to it?” Azula asks.

“Just because I’m from the tribes doesn’t mean that I like the cold…” She pauses. “That’s like assuming all firebenders can’t swim.”

“We can’t.” Azula confirms. But the girl doesn’t laugh. Perhaps her delivery had been too deadpan. She is certain that she hasn't said anything particularly unsettling, but the girl seems absurdly uneasy. And so she retreats, finding herself rather isolated and without knowing why.

Yes. It is definitely time to pry answers from Sokka.

.oOo.

The waters roll and rock the boat, but they aren’t the reason for his nervous jitters. He sits in the corner of his quarters and waits for Katara to arrive. She will either be compassionate and sympathetic or completely off-put and angry. There is seldom an in between during the initial discussion.

“Hi, Sokka.” She greets with a cheerful smile. She holds out a steaming cup of tea.

Sokka accepts it but isn’t quite ready for a drink.

“What did you want to talk to me about.”

“ I wanted to talk to you about the woman I saved…”

Katara nods, “what’s her name, anyways?” And then she seems to recall something. “Oh, that’s right, she doesn’t remember it. What have you been calling her?”

Sokka takes a deep breath. “I lied, Katara. She does remember her name. But…” he pauses. “That’s the only thing she remembers.”

Katara crinkles her brows, “why would you lie about something so stupid?”

He supposes that it is better to rip the band-aid. “It isn’t stupid, trust me.” And yet he still finds himself stalling, even if it is only for a single sentence. Katara tilts her head and he knows that, he hasn’t even bought himself that much. “It’s Azula. She’s Azula.”

Katara opens her mouth in a silent sputter.

“I didn’t know that when I saved her and even if I did, we couldn’t have just let her die.”

Katara sighs. “Of course we couldn’t have let her die. But we don’t need to keep her around either. We need to get her back to the institution.”

Sokka reflexively cringes, before logic settles; she was only speaking of sending the princess back to the Fire Nation hospital. His nerves don’t subside, if anything his paranoia hightents. “What if that institution is linked to the one she escaped in the poles?” In which case, he notes, she would have had to have been taken back to the Fire Nation one somehow and then transferred to the location in the poles. Katara leaves him no time to reflect on that theory.

“What if it is?” She may as well have added a ‘so’ at the sentence’s front with that tone.

“She ran away from it…”

“Why are you assuming that they mistreated her and that she didn’t escape to go after Zuko again?”

“She can’t remember a thing.” Sokka replies.

“We last saw her in the Forgetful Valley, Sokka. You don’t think that she might have done this to herself?” Katara asks. “She wasn’t exactly stable when we saw her last.”

“I don’t know. Something isn’t right. I don’t know what it is but I think that it’s more than than. She wasn’t all there,” he gestures at his head, “but she’s not dumb enough to go around pissing off spirits.”

Katara quirks a brow.

“Look, I just think that there’s more to it. She was in the Fire Nation and then I find her, almost dead, in a snowstorm.”

“Here’s what I think happened.” Katara pauses. “I think that she wandered back into that jungle, angered a few spirits, wandered out of the jungle, and was found and re-committed.”

“Then how’d she end up in the poles, Katara?”

“She’s dangerous. TyLee couldn’t be there all the time to block her chi so they sent her to a facility that could...contain her. Like the coolers in the boiling rock.”

“We can’t just send her back there. Not until we know what happened.”

“Nothing happened, Sokka. Nothing that she didn’t do to herself.” Katara insists.

“She has nightmares.” He counters. “I think that she’s afraid.”

This gives Katara pause. A halt that he takes advantage of. “How can we punish her for things that she doesn’t remember doing?”

“She’s still dangerous.”

“I don’t think that she is.” Sokka says. “How can she remember that she wants to hurt us or overthrow Zuko if she doesn’t even remember us at all? Her fire is orange now, I think that she can only bend by instinct.”

Katara hesitates again. “Her being able to bend without remembering any forms...that’s scary. That’s a sign that she is dangerous. We’re going to bring her home and then she’s going back to the institution.”

“We’re at least going to talk to Zuko--you know, her brother--about this, right?”

“She tried to kill him and then me while I tried to save him; he’s going to say the same thing.” Katara replied. “But, yeah, of course we’re going to talk to him.”

The unease in his stomach only intensifies. He truly hopes that he’ll have better luck convincing Zuko. The butterflies double twice over at the realization that he might have just made Katara angry. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner.” He calls to the empty doorway. He flops down onto the bed with a resigned groan. He wonders just why he cares so much, it isn’t as though she had treated him any better in the past.

“There you are.” Azula remarks.

Sokka bolts upright. “Spirits! Don’t do that.”

Azula gives a little laugh. “Priceless.”

“That’s not funny.” He grumbles.

“Well you’re pleasant company.” She frowns.

“Says the one who can’t appreciate the southern water lights!”

Azula shrugs and makes herself comfortable at the foot of his bed. “You said that you would tell me about my past.” She pauses. “Do it.”

“You were always this commanding.” Sokka shrugs.

“So you have a sense of humor afterall.”

“I am the funniest guy on team Avatar!” He declares.

“Team avatar?”

Sokka sighs, “I’ll tell you about that later.” He tries to pick his brain for a pleasant memory. Anything that doesn’t paint her as someone evil. He rubs his head, having trouble doing so. Maybe he ought to just cave in and tell her that she’d been stark raving mad the last time that’d met. But is that really any better than telling her that she was out to conquer or destroy the world in the name of her father?

He observes her drumming her fingers upon the mattress.

He recalls her chasing them down, tracking them and keeping them up all night. He remembers how she’d taunted him about Suki, the way she used her as bait. He remembers Katara recounting how she didn’t think that she’d make it out of that final battle alive.

And he begins to resent the woman sitting on his bed, twirling her bangs around her finger. Maybe he should just throw her back into the institution and let her solve things herself.

“I’m a bad person, aren’t I?”

Sokka flinches. “Why would you think that.”

She gestures around the ship, presumably to people that aren’t present. “Why wouldn’t I?” The question hangs for a moment. “No one will talk to me. You don’t want to tell me anything about me…”

Briefly his mind wanders to how the crew would recognize her when Katara did not. Perhaps she was simply trying not to see the truth. Having let the silence drag for too long already he starts, “Azula…”

Her deadpan expression unsettles him as she cuts in, “I’d rather know that I’m dreadful than know nothing at all.”

.oOo.

Sokka’s expression softens. Whatever resentment that had built up inside of him--no doubt the same breed that is harbored by everyone else on the ship--seems to ebb away. His face softens. “You’re not a bad person.”

“Don’t lie to me!” She snaps. He winces.

“You don’t have to be a bad person…”

“Don’t patronize me either.” She warns, her voice taking on a sinister sort of low.

He lifts his hands, “I’m not trying to.”

His expression, the fear and retreat. She is only confirming what she now knows to be true. “Alright. Fine. I’m sure that there are plenty of people around who will have no problem telling me exactly who I am.” It is probably better this way, she’d find more truth from someone who would disregard her feelings completely.

He catches her hands, “your mom was banished and your brother wanted to find her.” Sokka starts. “We went on this whole journey and there was this thing that happened.”

Azula rolls her eyes. “A thing?”

“We were attacked by some kind of spirit wolf that threw up spirit moth-wasps. It was about to ruin everything and then you made this big ball of lightning and all of the moth-wasps flew into it. The wolf and the rest of the swarm retreated.” He says. “You saved us.”

Sokka’s grip on her wrist loosens and she finds herself sitting back down.

“You told me that I smelled like a wet possum-pidgeon.”

She succeeds in not laughing but can’t suppress a faintly humored smile. She supposes that, that does sound like her. “Why?”

“Because we were trying to sneak around and we needed disguises. I made a beard out of fur. I had too, it’s a classic! But you didn’t like it.” He declares. “On that same quest, we were attacked by...nature.”

“By nature?”

“Long story. The point is, I was about to get strangled...or something...by a bunch of vines. You saved me from that too…and then you said that you only did it so that you’d have more peasants around to keep you safe.”

“If I help people, then why do they look at me the way they do.”

Sokka bites his cheek. “You...uh...you went a little…” he holds his finger up to his head and twirls his finger.

She stares at her palms, “oh.”

“Yeeeah…”

He isn’t making her feel any less awkward.

But she had asked for...demanded answers. “That’s how I ended up in that institution, isn’t it?” At least she can piece together some of the how’s.

“That’s the thing that doesn’t make any sense.” Sokka replies, practically throwing his hands up. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while...you escaped…” he reconsiders his words. “You made a deal with your brother and he let you leave and then you ran away. You were still in the Fire Nation when that happened.”

“Exactly where did I run to?”

“Right into the Forgetful Valley.”

Azula’s belly tickles unpleasantly. She rubs her hands over her face, “so I did this to myself?” She feels a disorientation to match that which she felt in the tundra. Had she taken her own memories? Had they, those people, taken her for her own protection? Perhaps she has simply filled the holes in her mind with visions as ominous as they are untrue.

“I. I don’t think so.” Sokka puts a sudden halt on her self-doubt.

Azula cocks her head. “Why?”

“Mostly because of your nightmares. But I guess it’s also because why would you run away if they didn’t hurt you?”

Azula shrugs, “because I’m crazy.”

She ought to start keeping a tally on how much she makes him flinch.

“You said that they did something to you.”

“I thought that they did…” now she is beginning to doubt. “Maybe I did something to me, Sokka.” What if they were just trying to save her from herself? She rubs her hands over her face again and lets them rest there. It could be that they were trying to save her from herself. That she is a cocktail of mental affliction; simply a mess of amnesia accompanied by paranoid delusions.

A hand presses itself, comfortingly, between her shoulder blades. “You didn’t do this to yourself.”

“I did.” She persists. “You said it yourself, I lost my mind. And then I lost it again...”

#Avatar #Azula #Sokka #Sokkla #Katara #Fanfiction

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edales-drabbles · 4 years

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Hive is Home Drabble 3 pt 2

Summary: Espers are people with powers. Some are good and some are not so good. Ervin is from a family of adopted Espers who work as heroes but lives in his own city attending university. Then he gets hurt on a mission and the 'villains' are now going to have to deal with his family. Including the guy he actually likes. Joys.

Follows directly after three, so I called it Pt 2

---

In the middle of the night, Smiles started coughing. Waking up both Ervin who was in the same bed and Nelson who had made himself a chest on the floor next to it. Nelson didn’t want to leave Ervin with a hive member while the others didn’t know he was here. The coughing got worse and the two crows quickly got Smiles to the bathroom before he started to throw up. Nelson rubbing his back gently and Ervin looked on concerned.

“When I said I didn’t want to tell them you caught pneumonia, I was serious, you know,” Ervin half teased.

Smiles glared at him from the toilet bowl, dark sudden bags under his eyes. Like this, it was easy to see how slight Smiles actually was. Without his makeup and signature outfit, it looked human. He even acted like it. “This is not good,” he rasped, his voice not quite ready for him to speak.

“Who’s this?” Kane asked, appearing next to the door. “And why are they throwing up?”

“Smiles. The Hive subconscious sent him to complain about the state of things and he got stuck hanging outside my window into the rain. Now he’s ill,” Ervin explained calmly as Smiles hacked into the toilet again, Nelson making reassuring noises. “I was hoping he could leave today but I’m not sure we can send him off in this state,” he exhaled, running a hand through his hair. Their father was not going to be happy with this.

“Ah,” Kane nodded. “I’ll tell the others. Rue is grabbing the first aid kit at the moment. We’ll avoid Dad knowing for now,” he promised, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe confidently.

“Thank you,” Ervin smiled gratefully at Kane. It happened from time to time that an enemy or a friend needed their assistance and bringing Darkstalker it would only make the matters worse. The crows were used to hiding strays in their rooms. Sometimes it even worked. Most of the time it was more an exercise in keep-away as Darkstalker got more suspicious with them.

“Hear that, Smiles? You’re safe here for now. Until Dad sniffs you out at least,” Nelson said cheerfully as Smiles groaned in pain, clutching his rib. Ervin grimaced in sympathy. Throwing up that hard like that had to sting.

“And I found the supples,” Rue declared, pushing through Ervin and Kane into the room with a large box. He knelt down by the ill man and stuck a thermometer in his mouth. “Who am I treating today?” He asked as he flushed the toilet and took Smiles wrist to check his pulse. Smiles didn’t fight the treatment, looking about to collapse. He was sweating and his skin was quickly starting to look more green than white.

“I thought you two fought?” Ervin frowned.

“It’s Smiles,” Nelson added. “To be fair, they met once and Smiles was all done up, Dimshit” He added giving Ervin the side-eye. “Most people don’t know what their enemies look like without their masks.”

“Ah, I see,” Rue said cheerfully. He checked the thermometer as it beeped and frowned. “Not good. Any higher and I’d be taking you down to the hospital. Ok. Let’s get you back to the bedroom. Nel, grab a bucket. Kane, go start the vine and Ervin, go connect hive before they get worried,” Rue ordered sharply. All three men jumped into action and Ervin quickly scurried away to Rue’s room. It was the one with the most privacy and less likely to be overheard.

The phone barely rung two beats before Torleif was answering. “Blackbird!” He called in his normal gusto. “Please tell me you’re calling to discuss terms for coming back? Grace is lonely with you gone and Kerrim is being mopey too.”

“Not yet,” Ervin said calmly, pushing away his feelings regarding Kerrim. If Kerrim wanted to talk to him, he was only a phone call away. He still had Ervin’s phone number after all. Not to mention his email. There were ways to contact him. He pushed it all away, focusing on the slightly desperate question regarding his return. “Dad’s still upset but said he will consider it. Soon hopefully. Give it a week? Just, if he contacts you don’t mention the condition you originally gave me. He won’t like it.”

“Frustrating but fair,” Torleif sighed. “The Hive accepts waiting a week. We will avoid talking about terms and conditions to him. Why have you called then?” He asked, slipping in and out of the hive network fluidly.

“Smiles,” Ervin said in one word.

“Was an accident,” the Hive winced.

“I know,” Ervin reassured. “I got that from the whining. Thing is, he got stuck outside in a rainstorm and now is ill. We are going to hide him from Dad for now but his temperature is high. We’ll look after him, of course. If it gets too high, we’ll take him to a hospital. Are there any side effects from being Hive we should know about?” He asked as it suddenly occurred to him.

“Damn. Right. Er,” Torleif and the hive merging in panic and then separating in the same voice. “No side effects from hive normally. May feel more with no Queen to focus on to. Please don’t take him to a hospital. Smiles hates hospitals. Keep us informed?”

“Feel more?” Ervin questioned, frowning.

“Emotionally,” Torleif clarified. “The net has a calming effect for the most part. When we are hurt or ill, it keeps us grounded but Smiles won’t have that. Ah, here she is. Have Grace,” he said cheerfully.

“Hello?” Grace’s voice said uncertainly on the phone, not sure who was about to speak to on the phone. Ervin rolled his eyes.

“Hey Gracie, how you doing?” He said gently sitting on Rue’s bed lightly.

“Ervin!” She said surprised and very happy to hear his voice. “Weirdly? I’m struggling with some things and not with others. The other Wasps are nice. It’s easy to see how you made a working relationship with them. How’s Dad reacting?” She added in a low voice like she didn’t want Torleif to hear her asking. He would. Wasps had enchanted hearing.

Ervin made an unhappy noise, not sure what to tell her. “Better than when Kane went off the rails. You’re still considered family,” he reassured.

“Well that’s one good thing,” she mused unhappily. Ervin could practically hear tears welling up in her eyes and he smiled sadly, wishing he could do more for her. Darkstalker had always been very clear that he would do everything he could to protect them but if they got captured by something like hive, they were on their own.

“You know Dad’s temper. I’m working on getting back out there as soon as possible, I promise. Alger is helping too. Nelson is being Nelson but hopefully, I’ll convince him soon. We aren’t going to abandon you. I promise.” Ervin reassured.

“I know,” Grace murmured. “I have to go. I’m being tested at the moment. They want me to go to university while I’m in my adjustment period,” she frowned. Grace had never seen the point of going to higher learning. The job they did was not one that allowed for a stable job and in her eyes was more important than that. “I explained that I’m no academic by nature but they seem to think they can find something for me.”

“There is always something,” Ervin chuckled. She made an uncertain noise and he laughed loudly. “We love you, Gracie. Stay strong,” he murmured warmly to her.

“That was part of the problem,” she said mournfully.

“Hey Blackbird,” a familiar voice came on next. Kerrim. Ervin shifted, pulling Rue’s blanket close and wrapping himself up in the smell of his brothers. He was safe here. He was at home. Kerrim was back with the Hive.

“Hey, since when do you call me blackbird?” Ervin asked, unhappily. Blackbird was not his alias, as much as Torleif and Smiles seemed to think so. Kerrim had never called him by that name. He didn’t like it from Kerrim. It felt wrong. That wasn’t their relationship, that was something being forced.

There was a snort. “Since the hive is investing in us patching up,” Kerrim said unhappily. “They are sure that me calling you by pet names will help.”

“I’d prefer not. I don’t actually like the nickname, ignoring from Tor and Smiles. They are fond with how they say it. Most use it insulting. You never did,” Ervin trailed off. “Don’t.”

“We need to talk,” Kerrim stated.

“When I get back,” Ervin said firmly. “We are not doing this over the phone.” Not with so many people listening in, he added mentally. Kane was nearby, he could sense it. He wouldn’t be surprised if Nelson was also hiding somewhere. The Hive was unavoidable but Torleif didn’t have to be there for the play by play. Jayiana wouldn’t care one way or another.

“The Hive would prefer…”

‘“I’m sure the Hive would but I’d prefer not. Either wait or come here and book a place we can meet up. Not over the phone,” Ervin said firmly. “This is between you and me, Kerrim, not the Crows and the Hive.”

“Everyone listening in?”

“Would it be surprising?”

“I suppose not,” Kerrim said sounding bemused. Ervin smiled as he heard Torleif complaining in the background. The line between a Wasp and the Hive was a bit grey at times but it was there. The Hive couldn’t force a relationship. Kerrim had upset Ervin, Kerrim was the one who had to make it up to him. “In-person then,” he murmured. “I’ll see what I can do. We don’t want Kerrim to be independent for something emotional.”

“He needs to be if you are going to prove his feelings are his own and not Hive,” Ervin pointed out.

“There is no difference.”

“Once the Hive has what you wish from me, you will put me aside. He will not if he has his own feelings,” Ervin challenged. “And no, I don’t think you will abandon me. I think you will treat me like a contractor. He will stop being a friend because he does not need to be. I don’t want that.”

“We disagree but accept the premise,” the Hive declared unhappily before pulling away. Kerrim breathing harder for a moment. “My feelings are my own, I can separate them,” he murmured softly. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too. Talk to you soon,” Ervin said back before switching off his phone and falling back in the covers. He didn’t have to wait long for Kane and Nelson to surround him. Rue was guarding slash treating Smiles. It was safe to fall apart for a moment and let his brothers look after him. He closed his eyes and buried his face into Kane’s chest as Nelson hugged him from behind.

#slash #slash fiction #fiction #my writing #story snippet #superhero x villian #frenemies #drabble

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astoryinred · 5 years

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Where A Wasp Does Wear Its Sting (Enjonine, modern day AU) Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Be Not So Discomfited

It did not take Cosette very long to decide that it was a good and novel thing that Theodule had taken to hanging around in close proximity to her debate training sessions. On this Friday, she found him waiting at his locker. “Cosette, I have an important question,” he said, bringing out two photos of himself in nearly identical outfits. “Which one do you like better?”

“What is this for?”

“It’s for a shoot.”

Cosette looked from one picture to another, seeing now that the only difference was that in one photo Theodule was wearing a black t-shirt, and the other one had him wearing white. “I think I like the white one better.”

Theodule glanced at the photo she had pointed out. “It’s more—”

“Polished?” Cosette offered.

Theodule nodded. “I was thinking shiny.” He set the photos aside and looked at Cosette again. “So are you going to Dumas’ party tomorrow night?”

“I think so,” Cosette said, managing a smile. “I mean at least I am thinking about it.”

“Good.” Theodule touched Cosette’s arm lightly. “Because I am not going to bother if you won’t be there.”

Something about this made Cosette feel a fluttering in her stomach. “Really?”

“Of course. So see you there?” Theodule asked, lowering his voice.

“Yeah, sure.” She willed herself to turn on her heel and walk off to her debate session before anyone could see that her smile was getting too wide. ‘I wonder if Marius is going too?’ she wondered but she brushed off the thought. Most likely he would be with his friends, and anyway what was that to Theodule Gillenormand asking her out?

Read more at AO3 here

#enjonine #enjolras #eponine #modern AU

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tjkiahgb · 6 years

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Episode Recap: 2.15, “Perfect Day 2.0″

The episode starts with the GHC thinking about how to spend their last week together. Cyrus says, “It’s the world’s saddest countdown,” which isn’t true.

This is the world’s saddest countdown:

youtube

(This is a joke about someone doing a poor cover version of the song “The Final Countdown” by the band Europe. They were big in the 1980s. Ask your parents what the 1980s were.)

They decide they’ll recreate their perfect day, which, in my opinion, is a mistake. Perfect is a crazy bar to clear. You shouldn’t aim that high. I say aim to recreate a fairly good to decent day, like the time I spent a whole day eating Bagel Bites and watching a marathon of “House Hunters International.” Or the day I had three meals that were just fine and saw a cool cloud. Or the day I slept through.

The GHC commits to the plan, though, and get their bikes fixed up to take off on adventure.

They begin by doing some of the shakiest bike riding I’ve ever seen and Andi says this:

Which feels like a personal shot at me, because that’s all I’m doing here. I’m reading into everything. Including this line of dialogue. Which is a personal attack.

The GHC bikes through the countryside into the woods in search of pumpkin donuts, which seems like an Autumn-based seasonal product? Is this Autumn still? I thought last episode they were trying to get Buffy to stay until the end of the school year, so I assume it’s Spring-ish? I’ve lost all control of the timeline. I want to assume it’s Spring, but I have a tough time believing this store would do something so stupid as to sell pumpkin donuts out-of-season when there’s so much good, fresh fruit available! Who runs a small business out in the middle of the woods like this?!

Also, this seems way off the beaten path. They did this same trip years ago? Like when they were small children? That’s a lot of rope to give 8 year olds. Celia let Andi bicycle into the woods and buy sugary treats, huh? Ok.

Anyway, the GHC get cider and pumpkin donuts.

Back in town, Jonah gets an anxiety-induced attack.

Jonah appears to just be going everywhere now in a constant state of panic. He bursts into the music store where Bowie’s hanging out, panting and pacing.

He’s also wearing half of a Def Leppard shirt and half of another shirt that’s also maybe a different Def Leppard shirt? I can’t make heads or tails of it. It just says “Def Le” and becomes another shirt. Like Jonah’s having so many panic attacks, he’s ripping his shirts in half and piecing them back together at random.

Bowie tries to calm him down and teach him some guitar chords. Jonah plays the chords with body language of someone defusing a bomb.

Bowie asks if he wants to play more. Jonah asks if the store manager will mind, which, of course not. If you don’t want hippy-looking dudes and teenagers just hanging around your store, playing music and not buying things, then you don’t open a guitar shop! It comes with the territory! Bowie invites Jonah to come watch him play a show sometime. Jonah agrees.

The GHC get ready to leave the food shack in the woods when they discover 2/3 of their bikes have been stolen, which is horrible. Used to be you could go out into the middle of the woods and not have to worry about crime. Nowadays? The world’s going to heck in a hand basket, I tell ya.

I wonder where TJ is.

Buffy says they should call Bex. Andi doesn’t want to because they need to recreate their perfect day down to the smallest detail. She thinks they can all ride on her old bike, which they can’t, so they start walking.

A bee, possibly the one that came near him earlier in the episode, comes after Cyrus. Cyrus takes off running.

I don’t know if it’s Josh the person bleeding through or Josh the actor is doing an amazing job pretending to be a very uncoordinated character, but every physical thing Cyrus does, from bike riding to running, looks incredibly laborious.

Cyrus ends up with his foot in a hole. He loses his shoe to nature. They try to figure out how they’re going to continue when, dear God a county sheriff officer is right up on top of them in her SUV. She came up really quick and out of nowhere like some kind of spirit guide of the forest that drives a very quiet Ford Explorer and rescues lost children.

The sheriff offers them a ride and they start getting into the car.

Meanwhile, Jonah and Bowie are having themselves a little jam session.

Bowie figures out there’s more going on with Jonah and that he’s having panic attacks. Jonah admits he’s not seeing a doctor about it, and though he doesn’t want to keep having them, it seems his plan is to just tough it out, ducking into random places to wait out his constant attacks until he either finds himself back in a relationship or... dies of old age? I’m not here to judge anyone’s choices regarding their mental health, but I got to say, I feel like that’s not going to work.

Jonah asks Bowie not to tell Andi. He says he won’t, but adds that he thinks she’d understand, which, yeah, probably. She’s been friends with Cyrus for this long and he’s like a walking panic attack. I’m sure she’s figured out some stuff by now.

Bowie says Jonah has talent and offers to give him lessons. I guess it’s a pretty lucky thing Jonah came into the music store where Bowie was and didn’t run into the bakery or something. Although, he could also have a talent for making pastries. The world will never know now.

Back in the woods, the GHC finally finish getting into the sheriff’s car. It took them a very long time. At least two static scenery transition shots worth. They see their stolen bikes being ridden away and ask the sheriff to stop the thieves, but the sheriff gets a call about a grand theft auto, so she’s got to go to that. Used to be you could park your car in town and not have to worry about it getting stolen. Nowadays? Heck in a hand basket. Heck in a hand basket.

What do you think TJ’s up to at this very moment?

The sheriff drops them back off at the donut place. They realize too late that they left almost all of their stuff in the back of the cop car. The sheriff is gone before they can get her attention. (Life pro tip: if you want a police officer to come to you, all you need to do is commit a crime, like violating a noise ordinance, or getting publicly intoxicated, or armed robbery. There’s almost literally no place you can’t commit a crime. Get creative. The GHC, for example, could’ve burned down the closed donut shop. Arson would’ve brought the sheriff back with all of their stuff in a hurry.)

Cyrus’ phone has 2% life in it. Buffy wants to call Bex to come get them, but Andi doesn’t want to give Bex the satisfaction of knowing she was right. Andi goes to tell Bex, but then bails as Cyrus and Buffy scream and the phone dies. Bold move on Andi’s part. I, too, would rather die in the woods than let my parents know they were right about something trivial.

Andi admits this craziness is all because she wants Buffy to leave with a good memory. The bee returns and stings Cyrus.

Look, off-topic maybe a little here, but I’m with Cyrus in his hatred of bees. I know, I know, everyone now is all like, “Bees are important. The bees are dying and we don’t know why. It could ruin the planet! Save the bees! Save the bees!” I’m like, nah, kill ‘em all. Do it. And while we’re at it: wasps, yellow jackets, any bug that can sting or bite. Dead. All of them. Also, cockroaches. They don’t sting or bite, but I hate them, too. Let’s just do it and see what happens. I bet we’ll be fine. And if not, the human race can go extinct knowing that at least we took the bees with us. That’s enough of a victory in my book.

Anyway, the GHC march through a field and are saved by a Deus Bex Machina (this is a really good joke, trust me). Bex takes them all back to town and to The Spoon where they joke about their misadventure. It won’t be remembered as their worst day, but possibly their craziest.

They then see two boys wearing shirts from the Alpine slide they never made it to and jump to the wild conclusion that those are the bike thieves. With rage in their eyes, and madness in their hearts, the GHC vows to get revenge.

They run out of the restaurant and steal the two boys’ bikes. They get 30 feet away before realizing the bikes they’re on aren’t theirs. Then they laugh wildly about their larceny.

Used to be a time you could park your bike outside the local diner and not have to worry about it being stolen by a group of maniacs. Heck, hand basket, and all that.

They suddenly remember they only have a week together again and the mood sours. They hug and say they’ll see each other tomorrow. Andi and Cyrus go to return the bikes and Buffy does this:

She turned around! Which, as anyone who’s paid attention to the show understands, means she:

a. likes Andi

b. likes Cyrus

c. likes stolen bikes

We’ll have to wait to find out, though, because that’s where the episode ends.

Unrelated, but I bet whatever TJ was up to during this episode was good. Like, I bet he was off practicing free throw shooting, or helping the elderly eat food or something. Whatever he was doing, I bet it wasn’t thievery, which is more than I can say for some of the characters on this show.

#Andi Mack #Buffy Driscoll #Cyrus Goodman #Jonah Beck #Bowie Quinn #Bex Mack #Andi #episode recaps

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thebibliomancer · 6 years

Text

Essential Avengers: Avengers #202: This Evil Undying

December, 1980

Merry Christmas, here’s the Christmas robot here to punish the naughty. Protip: Everyone is naughty.

Okay but no, this isn’t really a Christmas story. Preponderance of red and green aside. But if I read this during December it would be a sweet Christmas gift of sorts from Marvel.

Aside from that, nothing much to say about the cover because this is kind of a generic Ultron cover. All I can tell from it is that this is during a time when Vision, Cap, Thor, and Wasp are on the team. Because that really narrows it down.

Last time: After the #200 debacle, the Avengers wanted nothing more than to clean up and just forget that #200 had even happened. Mostly nothing happened but then a robot broke into the Pym house, stole some important resins, and blew up the Wasp.

This time: The art looks weird. There’s a weird lifeless quality that I can’t quite put my finger on. I think its the inking, maybe.

Also, Jim Shooter once again gets a ‘based on’ credit. And since last post, I’ve actually discovered what that signifies. This two-parter was adapted from a paperback Avengers novel that Jim Shooter wrote.

I don’t know how much of it is Jim and how much was added making it into a comic and I couldn’t find out much about the novel. I imagine everything situating this within the post-Carol time period was an addition. Probably much of the domestic slice of life moments in last issue.

Also also, the window explodes and Cap logically assumes that they’re under attack because dammit they just got this place cleaned up!

Also also also, they’re all here late at night because Iron Man called an emergency meeting.

Lot of context to this splash page of a window exploding.

No further attack comes and Iron Man’s iron ear heard a tiny cry. Looking among the glass shards he finds...

THE WASP!

Jubilation, she lives!

I knew they wouldn’t kill off the Wasp! At least not until Secret Invasion!

.__.

Besides she’s on the cover and it would be a real dick move to put her on the cover alive if she died in the previous issue.

Anyway, surprise alive Jan tells the Avengers about what happened to her, in a surprisingly lucid fashion considering she just flew through an exploding window.

She has the facts down. None of this ‘says one ominous thing and then passes out’ biz.

Wasp: “I guess I should explain, huh? It seems longer, but it was only about an hour ago when I was awakened by a loud crash. And since my better half had already left for a scientific symposium in Tokyo -- I went to investigate, only to discover a huge robot carrying a pair of metal cannisters from Hank’s ‘impregnable’ security vault. And I guess the robot didn’t want any witnesses, because... it tried to kill me!”

Luckily, although she was stunned by a recent explosion, she possessed the wherewithal to shrink to wasp-size and escape.

And then she flew alllll the way to Manhattan from New Jersey because dammit she can do that if she wants to. She has endurance like whoa.

Still she was tired by the time she reached the mansion and lost control and was headed to thump against the window so she shattered it with one of her stings instead. Because crashing into a pile of glass shards is so much safer than hitting a window?

But after all of that, Wasp only has one concern.

Wasp: “Golly, I’ll be my hair is just a mess!”

Scarlet Witch: “You look fine, Wasp.”

Crisis averted!

Wasp always going to Wasp. I guess I don’t mind it because that’s just her character. It’d be a problem if Scarlet Witch were the same because then it would feel like Women Just Be Like That. But Wanda usually has different priorities going on.

Anyway, although the hair crisis is averted, there is still an attempted-homicide robot out there and the Avengers here an ominous clanking sound coming down the hall.

So hey all take defensive positions at the door so that they could hypothetically all be taken out in one shot.

“The ominous rattling grows, getting closer... until...”

Oh, its just good ol’ Jarvis with the early morning coffee and buttered muffins.

He interprets all the signs of imminent violence as the Avengers wanting breakfast later. Or maybe that’s just his droll Bronx/English? sense of humor.

Later, after the Avengers have affirmed that actually yes coffee and muffins will be lovely, Jarvis, Iron Man questions if the canisters the robot was stealing were labelled... “Ad Resin X and Ad Resin Y”?

Because, this just confirms Iron Man’s theory that he didn’t yet share with anyone, not even us last issue that Ultron has returned. BUT APPARENTLY he was chums enough to share it with the cover artist?

I feel slighted.

Hawkeye being Hawkeye says the dick thing.

Hawkeye: “Aw, geez, can’t we ever get rid o’ that tin-plated Napolean? Maybe your hubby’s lab deserved to get trashed, Wasp. After all -- Ultron wouldn’t even be around if Hank Pym hadn’t created him!”

Why do the Avengers like to spend time with this guy, again?

I mean Cap immediately tells Hawkeye not to be a dick but Jan’s response to that is just ‘well I think I would recognize Ultron if I saw him.’

Because the robot that attacked the lab wasn’t Ultron. As we see on the cover (too soon) Ultron is still looking pretty Ultrony. He has a pretty strong self-image actually.

Iron Man decides that this calls for him to explain to everyone (all of whom have fought Ultron and/or were created by him) how dangerous Ultron is.

Mostly because he’s made of adamantium and even though adamantium is a pain to store (once you mix the resins you have to keep it at 1500 degrees Fahrenheit and even then you only have eight minutes to mold it) once it has hardened, it can withstand a direct hit from a hydrogen bomb.

It was fairly long ago in another Ultron story in Avengers #66 when adamantium was introduced but one thing that sticks with me is the creator going ‘well shit this changes everything in a bad way.’

Its so indestructible that its a threat to the safety of the world. Very few counters to it exist. We haven’t seen a few yet like Rune King Thor or Antarctic vibranium which is the vibranium that kicks adamantium’s ass because its from space.

But one counter that we have seen is the reliable ol’ Scarlet Witch, most competent person on the team.

The way that a fully adamantium robot can even work is a molecular rearranger built into Ultron. And Scarlet Witch’s powers can make that rearranger malfunction and tear Ultron apart from the inside. Also, hypothetically, probability alteration should be able to just break adamantium or turn it into a less durable material. Its probability alteration. It doesn’t have to make sense.

Captain America: “That makes you, in Ultron’s eyes, the most dangerous of us all -- and the one he’s most likely to strike at first.”

So with Ultron out there somewhere plotting nefarious plans, this time the Avengers are going to be proactive by being reactive! Their plan this time is: protect Scarlet Witch!

Scarlet Witch protests though that she is accustomed to taking care of herself and really they should just track down Ultron and beat him up. Jocasta can track him, right?

But no, she cannot. Something is jamming her otherwise OP pls nerf cybernetic senses. She can’t find Ultron and heck she can’t even track Beast’s mutant energy like she did before to find Beast and Wonder Man.

Remember? They went to go tape Wonder Man’s show last issue but then Wonder Man got fired? Who knows what they’re up to now. Probably getting ruinously drunk.

Anyway, Vision offers a compromise. What if he takes responsibility for his wife’s safety? They’d be hanging around each other either way and she likes him already. A double marriage with a tree proves that.

She seems partial to the idea judging by that look she gives him.

And. I don’t even know whats going on with that side-eye Jan is giving them. I just. Do not.

Anyway, the rest of the Avengers are dismissed to go about their duties but also to stay near the mansion because WE ARE ON YELLOW ALERT PEOPLE!

I don’t think a color-coded alert system was ever explicitly established and have to believe that Cap just made it up this instant and everyone is just kinda going ‘ok Cap whatever you say.’

Hawkeye catches up to Wasp and apologizes for being an ass. He’s got that problem where his mouth is faster than his brain.

Wasp forgives him but only because he’s cute. That’s how she rolls.

Later, the sun is finally rising. Do these Avengers ever sleep?

We get a cute scene of Scarlet Witch and Vision watching the sun rise.

Scarlet Witch: “The dawn is beautiful, is it not, darling? Do you think it was meant to inspire us?”

Vision: “Actually, Wanda, the coloration you refer to is the result of the unique refractive qualities of the various airborne pollutants present in this vicinity.”

Scarlet Witch: “Wha--?! Blast it, Vision! Can’t you see that I’m looking for a little tenderness? A little compassion?”

Vison: “What would you have me do, my wife?”

Scarlet Witch: “I’d have you let go of me, that’s what! If you’re so blamed insensitive that you can’t tell when your own wife needs comforting --.”

Vision: “But I cannot let you go -- my job is to protect you. Would you like me to list the refractional indices of the chemical pollutants now? Perhaps in descending order?”

Scarlet Witch: “You do and I’ll hex you into plastic slag, you computerized --”

And then he kisses her. Because he was just teasing.

Is cute.

Apparently Vision’s ‘I do not understand human emotions and it makes me angry’ routine has evolved into ‘pretending not to understand human emotions except its foreplay.’

You’re an interesting guy, Vision.

“And the comfort that these two warriors and lovers find in each other’s arms gives evidence that the sunrise has, indeed, inspired them both.”

So yeah. ‘Beep boop what is love?’ is how Vision flirts now.

I wonder how far a gulf there is between this and Wanda dressing up in a Starfleet uniform and Vision asking Captain Wanda to explain this human concept of love.

Anyway, this page is sure to make the Seeing Red shippers very happy. They deserve it.

Meanwhile, in the basement training room, Captain America relaxes his own way. Through constant training.

According to Iron Man’s computer study, the Avengers typically face an average of four opponents in a typical battle. Presumably a typical battle against mooks and not against one superpowerful opponent that kicks all their asses.

So he sets up a training exercise with four targets and breaks them all with his shield. Its just a quick little one-page action scene.

In the event that he ever has to face four guys at varying heights, he’ll totally be able to hit them all with his shield in only a few seconds.

Skills.

In fact, he did so good that he gets positive reinforcement from thin air.

Thin Air: “Wheeee! Do it again!”

I josh. Its actually the Wasp.

In yet another new costume?

This is a very mercurial period in her fashion sense. It looks good though. Although it looks like she’s wearing yellow Saiyan armor. Actually she looks a lot like she was cosplaying Vegeta but maybe hadn’t seen a color image of his outfit. Because she’s got the bodysuit, the boots, the gloves, and the armor with shoulders.

Anyway, she was peeping in on Cap’s training routine and riding on his shoulder for a very important reason.

Wasp: “Sorry, Cap, I couldn’t resist hitching a ride. You’re so adorable when you’re concentrating.”

Cap: “I didn’t realize I was that easy to sneak up on, Wasp. Thanks for pointing it out -- I’ll work on it.”

Wasp: “That’s not exactly what I had in mind, Captain. Oh, what’s the use? It’s no fun flirting when Hank isn’t around to get jealous, anyway.”

... A really healthy relationship you have there, Mrs. Pym.

I do love Cap’s takeaway of ‘she must be telling me to work on my situational awareness!’

Hawkeye pops into the training room to report that Ultron’s robot struck again, stealing ‘secret materials’ from a British arms depot and wiping out an armored division in the process.

Hawkeye grouses that while this was going on, the Avengers were just sitting on their thumbs. Cap counters that they’re doing a very important job that nobody else can do by guarding the Scarlet Witch.

Wasp: “You mean you’re guarding the Scarlet Witch. I’m going back to the Cresskill to clean up the mess that drone made of Hank’s lab!”

Captain America: “Wait a minute, Wasp! We might need you!”

Wasp: “I doubt it, Cap. Let’s face it -- I’m the lightweight of the group. If the rest of you super-strong Avengers can’t stop Ultron, what good is a Wasp going to do? But don’t worry, I’ll stay in touch between loads to the trash bin. ‘Bye.”

... Its true but you shouldn’t say it.

Geez. Even the character is self-aware of how ineffectual she usually is. She’s not going on any Clint Bartony pity party about it but still.

I feel that if the writers were better at figuring out the non-combat utilities that shrinking powers were good for, Wasp would contribute a lot more. Maybe I’m just thinking this because I watched Ant-Man and the Wasp before starting this post and there was so much good shrinking action.

Later in the day, a weary hasn’t-slept-a-wink-all-night-probably Iron Man records a voice log.

Iron Man: “This is Tony Stark, also known as Iron Man... and this is the most difficult message I’ve ever had to dictate. I had hoped to speak directly to Thor, but he hasn’t responded to the summonses I’ve sent. I can only pray that he will before it’s too late.

For I’ve reason to believe that the man who reconstructed Ultron was... myself!

The fact that only a handful of men in the whole world could have done the job, combined with the fact that certain necessary components at Stark International were accessible only to me, can lead to but one conclusion -- that Ultron planted a post-hypnotic command in Tony Stark’s mind before last fighting the Avengers, ordering him to recreate Ultron’s form should he be defeated.

In other words, I was his ace in the hole -- though I’m sure that getting Iron Man under his control was something that even Ultron didn’t anticipate!

What worries me now is that I may still be subject to Ultron’s influence. Which means that when Ultron finds out my dual identity -- he could use Iron Man to fight the Avengers!

Which is why I constructed a tracing device last night, tuned to my armor’s energy mode. It’s locked in the basement vault in the mansion, and is to be used if I should become Ultron’s puppet -- used to track me down... and to destroy me!

Print one copy, seal it in an Avengers priority envelope addressed to Thor, than erase tape. Communication ends.”

Phew. A lot to unpack there.

One: So Ultron prepares for defeat a lot for a guy that never expects to be defeated.

Two: When did Ultron even get the opportunity to put Tony Stark under manchurian candidateism? Geez, I hope being brainwashed by villains doesn’t become a big thing with Tony.

Three: So I guess the invention he was working on last time that would cause his death at his friend’s hands was this tracking device. Hmm. Not what I expected but okay.

Soon, Iron Man finds Jarvis cooking a nice roast and asks him to give it to Thor when he arrives.

Iron Man: “But if I start acting unusual, acting like I’m not, well, myself, then get it into the hands of any Avenger immediately! And whatever you do, don’t give it back to me -- even if I threaten to kill you. I’m counting on you, Jarvis.”

Jarvis: “Thank you, sir. I promise I’ll not let you dow- kill me --?”

God. Jarvis puts up with so much. Double his salary and vacation time. He deserves more but thats for starters.

Also, its evening. A full day! We started at night, then the sun rose, and now its night again.

And Iron Man has approached Jocasta with a solution to the sensor jamming. All she needs to do is plug into this console and the problem will be solved quite nicely.

I don’t mean to cast suspicion at the man who explicitly suspected he was under brainwashing (oh hey, a bit of minor karmic comeuppance for letting Carol waltz off while brainwashed. Weird.) but Iron Man comes off very ominous here.

What with the shading but also the random italics.

But that klak is the last bit of this scene for the very next page and mere moment later, Iron Man knocks (or rather ‘noks’) on Vision and Scarlet Witch’s room.

Where apparently Vision is helping Wanda with her hair? Cute.

Iron Man tells Vision that sensors have detected unusual vibrations in the bedrock below the mansion. Maybe Ultron is trying to sneak up through the floor?

Hey, since Vision can alter his density maybe go check that out? Iron Man will watch the Scarlet Witch.

Vision doesn’t want to leave Wanda (this is the most time they’ve had together in weeks and maybe months) but he goes off anyway.

Wanda questions why Ultron would attack so obviously.

Iron Man: “That’s simple, Wanda -- he wouldn’t!”

He then grabs Wanda and zaps her unconscious.

Gasp! The traitor is Iron Man!

-eats popcorn-

Iron Man places a call to Ultron, specifically identifying as “Tony Stark in Iron Man armor” which is technically correct but also an amazing way to weasel out of revealing your secret identity when you’re technically brainwashed. Outstanding, Tony’s subconscious.

Iron Tony reveals he has incapacitated Scarlet Witch and asks Ultron whether he wants her killed or brought to him.

There’s a second pause.

It would have been a good place for a beat panel.

To drag out the suspense.

And then Ultron tells Iron Man to bring Scarlet Witch to him.

But for the flip of a coin, imagine how things could have been. If Ultron had been more cautious and told Iron Man to kill Wanda. If Tony had come out of the hypnosis to find that he had killed a long-time friend and teammate. Even if Vision understood and didn’t kill Tony in his grief, I don’t think Tony would ever forgive himself even if it was something out of his control.

Now there’s some good fodder for a What If story. But its terrible and I never want to read it.

Anyway, Iron Tony blasts out of the mansion carrying Scarlet Witch but before he goes, he spots Jarvis napping in a chair near a window. With the important envelope on a table right in front of him.

“There, he raises a gauntleted finger -- and cybernetically activates a pencil-thin laser beam -- turning what could well be the most important envelope in the world into a cluster of blackened ash and shattered hope.”

Dammit, Evil Tony! Stop taking precautions against your precautions!

But at least he didn’t murder Jarvis. Small miracles.

So Iron Man flies off to Neville Island where an abandoned Davreax heavy metals plant hides an Ultronish secret.

Its Ultron.

That’s the secret.

He’s got giant bubbling cauldrons of adamantium set up and ready. Despite the high tech lasers and stuff, it gives it a real gothic vibe.

Ultron congratulates Tony on his clever thinking of dressing as Iron Man.

Iron Man: “I... feel the need... to serve you... Ultron.”

Ultron: “Yes, my psycho-hypnosis has seen to that. And you are but the first. For soon, all humanity will serve me. They will serve... or die!”

Oh. Good. At least he’s not trying to wipe out humanity this time?

Actually I’m very vague on what Ultron’s overall goals have been up until now. I’d go back and check but most Ultron stories are stupid.

But elsewhere, an electronic cry of human anguish.

Vision has discovered that Scarlet Witch is missing. Although in classic robo-angst fashion he immediately tries to dismiss his obvious display of emotion.

Captain America: “Vision! What’s wrong? That scream -- !”

Vision: “I apologize for that, Captain. My... vocal circuitry was misaligned. I merely wished to call the Avengers’ attention to an emergency.”

Just admit that you can feel feelings, Vision. You’ll be a lot happier if you do. Happiness, by the way, is one of those emotions you totally feel all the time and yet deny feeling.

But just as Vision is telling Cap that Iron Man sent him on a wild goose chase and tricked them, Hawkeye calls in on the intercom to say that he thinks Iron Man tricked them.

Because apparently when he said he was going to fix Jocasta’s circuits he meant ‘fix’ with scare quotes because when she plugged into that computer console, he scrambled her brain.

Weirdly, the book almost misleads you into thinking you were misled about the ominousness in the Jocasta scene. Iron Man has her plug into a computer to fix her cybernetic sensors and then moments later he’s upstairs going ‘hey something weird on the sensors.’

You kidnap one of the female cast, you turn another one’s brain into mush? Stop being such a dick, Iron Man!

Thor picks that moment to arrive because its the most dramatically appropriate time to arrive. He even says the equivalent of ‘then good thing I’m here!’ in Asgardian speak.

With Thor arrived, Jarvis tells him about the secret envelope Iron Man left for Thor but also that someone burned it while he was merely napping, only this and nothing more.

HOWEVER

Jarvis: “However, knowing the missive’s importance, I took the liberty of xeroxing the message -- without reading it, of course.”

Jarvis, you beautiful man! You beautiful boundaries respecting forethought having man! You deserve a dozen backup stories! Nay, a dozen dozen!

Thor reads the letter and immediately runs to the vault. Unfortunately, Tony welded it shut. Fortunately, Thor just WHA-KAMs right through it.

Which considering the letter was meant for Thor feels like the intended outcome. He welded it shut so that not even he could get in there. He took precautions against him taking precautions to his precautions! Tony, you magnificent bastard!

Inside the vault there is but the Iron Man tracer device that the letter spoke of. Although Thor says it traces Iron Man’s ‘energy aura’ because he’s gotta be fantastical about things.

But either way the device picks up a clear signal from the west so the Avengers Assemble their asses into a Quinjet and go looking for iron.

Or at least I hope that’s the tracer and that they’re following Iron Man’s signal because that device is clearly a cassette player and they may only be following Iron Man’s mix-tape.

... I kind of want to listen to Iron Man’s mix-tape.

Meanwhile at Ultron’s heavy metals plant, Iron Man is starting to come out of the hypnosis when Ultron reveals his plans to hurt the Scarlet Witch.

Apparently, he had Iron Tony bring her from the mansion because he personally wanted to kill her. And to do so in an ‘eye for an eye’ fashion. Since her power tore him apart last time, he’s going to do the same to her.

Iron Man won’t be standing for that and though he doesn’t know how he got here, he’s not going to let Ultron hurt Wanda.

Unfortunately, Ultron still has his Win Button from last time.

When Iron Man grapples with him, Ultron just instantly drains all of the power from Iron Man’s armor, leaving him... well powerless.

This scene would make a hilarious sequence animated. Just charge Ultron and then immediately get dropped to the mat.

It does mean though that the Avengers lose the signal. And without it, they have no choice but to set down somewhere and wait until daylight to make a visual search.

Uh oh. So much for the cavalry.

But back at the plant, Iron Man hasn’t given up. A scraping sound clues Ultron in that the dude is crawling across the floor trying to get to a wall outlet to recharge his armor.

I’m not sure how fast you can recharge a suit of powered armor from a standard wall outlet but I’ll give Tony props for determination.

Ultron decides to be smart and just kill Iron Man this time. Why take chances?

But a tiny but apparently painful and distracting tzzzing painfully distracts him.

The Wasp of all people has shown up out of nowhere and started blasting Ultron in the face.

The Wasp: “I knew I wouldn’t be much good in a frontal assault, so I hid away in Wanda’s glove, figuring I’d be more useful as a surprise!”

That’s that good shit! That is what I’m talking about! Good job, Jim Shooter and/or David Michelinie in having the Wasp use her powers in an intelligent fashion! Misdirection, stealth, and the ever distracting tiny energy blast to the face!

Please keep writing her this smart! Please!

Also, she was apparently in Wanda’s glove the whole time. And they’re not exactly roomy so Wanda knew the whole time that Wasp was there.

Anyway, Ultron threatens to crush Wasp like the insect she is because his superior robot intellect isn’t really great at one-liners but suddenly

SHRAK-OOOM

Ultron gets blasted through a wall.

It turns out that you can recharge an armor a lot in a very short time with a standard wall outlet. Who knew?

Humorously, when Iron Man thanks Wasp for the distraction, she replies that he can repay her with an autographed picture of Tony Stark. Oh, you!

Everyone involved is pretty clear that just blowing Ultron through a wall hasn’t significantly stopped him so the plan now is to grab Wanda and skedaddle.

But just as Iron Man scoops up unconscious Wanda, Ultron emerges from the wall hole and blasts at them. Its a near miss but it still knocks Iron Man off his feet and stuns him.

Ultron: “That’s right -- grovel in your pain! Rue that you are but flesh, while I am all-abiding metal! You shall die, but I shall go on forever! For there is not a single power in the universe that can stop me!”

Narration: “No, no single power... save perhaps the hammer of Thor!”

FRAKOW

I love it when the narration plays off the happenings like that.

So when Iron Man completely recharged his armor from a wall socket, as ya do, the tracer reactivated. So the cavalry has arrived after all!

Bursting through a wall like the Kool-Ade man because that's just how the Avengers roll.

While Hawkeye (really? Really??) distracts Ultron with concussion arrows, Vision and Cap run off to check on Wanda and Iron Man respectively.

Iron Man tells Cap to be careful of the liquid adamantium vats. Remember to remember the vats, he seems to be saying.

Thor scoffs at the need for caution because while Ultron has stomped mortal foes, now he faces A GOD!

And he throws his hammer hard enough that we need to zoom to the outside of the factory to show the impact.

Which is big ol’ lightning strike and the building and even ground cracking and crumbling from the force of uru striking adamantium.

But it is adamantium its striking.

I don’t know why Thor finds this so hard to grasp. Adamantium is really, really, really durable. Although, Thor at his strongest can break it. But we are talking Thor as All-Father or Rune King or whatever.

This Thor that we have right here is comparatively a baby Thor or perhaps a gawky adolescent Thor. He’s not there yet. He doesn’t even have a beard.

Ultron retaliate blasts at Thor but Cap jumps between them and uses his shield to angle the blast right back at Ultron. Because apparently when fusion blasts oppose his mighty shield, even they must yield. And also apparently, its the mirror shield.

Not that it does much. Again: adamantium. REALLY TOUGH.

Its funny though. The motion lines on the panel with Cap and Thor make it look exactly like Thor just grabbed Cap and put him in front of him as a human shield. Instead of the intended read that Cap jumped there.

It’d be way out of character but it made me laugh.

Thor decides that if he can’t just hammer time Ultron hard enough to break something, he’ll strangle him instead!

Okay. Okay. I’m pretty sure this is more of a grappling thing but he keeps pushing the handle of Mjolnir against Ultron’s throat. IT KEEPS HAPPENING.

Maybe it would make more sense to put him in an arm lock. It looks like Ultron designed himself with joints that work like a human’s would. And surely Thor could outmuscle him.

And then when his arms are pinned, I dunno, find a maintenance hatch or something and just start pulling wires.

It wouldn’t work because Ultron pulls powers out of his ass and could... electrify his carapace or something. But still.

I want to see Ultron in an arm lock.

Anyway, Thor’s attempts at grappling are for naught because Ultron just shoots blindness beams with his unlocked arm.

Because he has those. That’s just something he can do.

Then Iron Man calls him out on it.

Iron Man: “That was a dirty trick, Ultron! Let’s find out how good you are at going one-on-one with someone who’s onto your ploys -- like me! Or are you scared?”

Ultron takes the bait for bait it is and jumps over at Iron Man to smash him. Iron Man just flies away leaving Ultron confused and standing next to an adamantium vat that I hope you all remembered was a factor.

Hawkeye: “That’s right, motor-mouth! We humies have a few tricks of our own! Like f’rinstance, the ‘ol’ one-two’ -- in which Iron Man’s the one -- an’ I’m the two!”

And Hawkeye ziplines down at Ultron, kicking him into the adamantium chekov’ vat.

Surely breaking every bone in his foot but oh so worth it.

Then without missing a beat, Captain America and Thor throw their mighty shield and Mjolnir to destroy the lasers heating the vat.

And as the Avengers watch in trepidation, Ultron claws his way out of the vat screaming

Ultron: “No! I... must... sur... viiiiive... *”

And the adamantium cools, trapping Ultron in an unbreakable prison. And he’s powered by fusion so its possible that he’s conscious in there.

“And then it is done, like a tortured fly stuck in glittering amber, Ultron stands frozen, unmoving, unmovable. The threat of the evil undying is over.

For now.”

Couldn’t have happened to a more deserving prick, I suppose.

This is probably one of the better Ultron stories.

I’ve said before that after Ultron becomes adamantium and thus unable to just be punched to death, each encounter with him becomes a puzzle. How do we get rid of him this time?

And although it would be easy to just have Scarlet Witch take care of him every time, that probably wouldn’t be as engaging maybe.

So the solution this time was fairly creative. The Avengers can’t kill Ultron. Or, well, they could. Scarlet Witch was conscious. She could have done her thing. But minus that, the Avengers can’t kill Ultron.

How then do you make him not a threat?

You dump him into adamantium so he becomes a vaguely Ultron shaped statue.

Its an obvious but creative solution that hadn’t been used yet.

And then hopefully you dig a hole and dump him in that hole and dump cement on top of him and then fill in that hole.

I can’t think of a way for this specific Ultron to get out of this but why take any chances?

Also and amazingly: this is the one Ultron story where everybody is smart.

Ultron was smart, hiding behind his robot drones until Scarlet Witch was neutralized. Not having Iron Man kill her was dumb but dude is petty.

Iron Man was smart... ish. Suspecting that he had been compromised, he set up some contingencies to ensure that the Avengers would be able to find him. Making that letter, making the tracer, welding the vault door shut. Smart.

Not telling anyone and relying on a letter to Thor to find its way was not as smart. I understand why though. Revealing he might be under Ultron’s control and may have rebuilt Ultron might lead into revealing his secret identity. Its stupid he has one but its his.

Hypnotized Iron Man: also smart. Came up with clever ways to neutralize Jocasta and get Vision out of the way so he could abscond with Wanda. Also, even hypnotized he protected his stupid secret identity. He also burned the letter without causing much of a fuss.

Jarvis: smart. Realizing from Iron Man’s weird ominousness how important the letter was, he made a backup. While respecting privacy.

Wasp: faked writing herself out of the story for her uselessness, instead proved how useful her powerset is.

Usually, everyone is stupid in an Ultron story. But here, everyone was smart.

They could have done more. Tony should have a team of scientists working around the clock to find ways to deal with adamantium generally and Ultron specifically. They shouldn’t rely on either the Scarlet Witch or having a vat of liquid adamantium available.

Still, way to use your surroundings.

Okay, so despite the story having ‘waiting for Thor’ as a minor plot point, he doesn’t really do much besides bust open the vault but its still something that his and Tony’s mutual trust is what made him the person that Tony entrusted the letter and Iron Man tracker to.

So the real contribution Thor made was not his muscles but his heart. And that’s beautiful.

Its a bit weird that Ultron just so happened to have brainwashed Tony Stark off-panel but that’s not the first time that’ll happen.

Actually, this story is like a much more condensed and much less stupid version of the Crossing. Iron Man turns traitor because he’s brainwashed by a long-time Avengers enemy.

You cut 90% of the fat and the part where Tony is replaced by his younger self and yeah, the similarities are uncanny.

I’m really not looking forward to the Crossing...

Anyway, I think being based on a book helped bump this story’s level of quality up.

I understand that writing a monthly comic means you can’t put as much effort into the story. There’s not time for extensive revising. But you had this apparently pre-existing Avengers novel where more time was spent on refining this Ultron story.

I suspect that the characters that got written out were not part of the novel. Jocasta, Beast, Wonder Man, and Yellowjacket. Also why you had Hawkeye stick around after the nonsense with Marcus. Needed to get him in here so he could kick Ultron.

If anyone knows anything about this mysterious and legendary Avengers paperback novel, please let me know. I’d be fascinated to see what changed and what was kept during the adaptation process.

But yeah. I really enjoyed this two-parter. Its funny that they apparently had run out of ideas for after #200 and had to adapt an existing story but it was good.

Keep it up, Micheline and/or whoever.

How ironic that a machine intelligence who hates humanity would end up the one who has no mouth and yet must scream. Also, follow @essential-avengers because you like me and think I’m rad.

#Avengers #Ultron #Scarlet Witch #the Vision #the Wasp #Iron Man #Hawkeye #Thor #Jarvis #Captain America #essential avengers #Essential marvel liveblogging #A Good Ultron Story #whoddathunkit?#special props to Wasp and Jarvis for being stupendously competent today #hell jarvis was more competent than some avengers #looking at you Thor

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maskererror · 6 years

Text

Trivia,Hecate, Kuratu,Sōgi

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The female in the skull mask was just standing there,watching their every move. Her purple hair swayed each time she switch from one foot to the other. She was waiting for something. The female standing next to her was more calm and seemed like she was perfectly content staying there so her green hair was as still as a tree log.

Finally the purple haired female sighed and walked to us and bent down to our level.We couldn’t see her eyes since the back fabric was covering them but we had a feeling she could see everything. She turned my head side to side as if she was looking for something on it. She shook her head and I heard her heels clicking to the person next to me. I had a feeling she did the same thing to them, unfortunately there was no way of knowing for sure since I could only look forward.

Now I fully understand why we should not talk to people we do not know. My brother and I are now victims to two woman in masks that were probably the woman we met at the cafe that needed a ride home. They said their names were Hana and Masuku but I doubt they would really give out their real name. It was a shame too. They were fun to hang out with. Too bad they only wanted us so they could have pets. This ‘Masuku’ was too nice anyway. Though she did always use the correct pronouns when talking. I suppose that she is always that respectful when trying to get something.

The skull wearing female turned to the green haired female in a wonderland mask and shook her head. The card woman nodded and walked to me. Her mask was what sent most red flags for me. Even though she looked harmless. Her green hair looked like ‘Hana’s’ so I assume that that is her. I suspect that she is only doing all this because of ‘Masuku’. ‘Hana’ looked scared of the other for a few minutes at the cafe.

she bent down to me too and untied me. She only allowed me to walk and stand though. She then brought me to my knees in one swoop of her card. The floor swayed under me. The green haired female whispered a sorry to me right before I was met with darkness.

When I awoke I was on my knees in front of what I believe to be the same purple haired female. The purple hair gave it away even though she had a different mask this time. A mask of a crow. It was clear that she was still figuring out what to do. Her now uncovered purple eyes were scanning me as if I was the threat and not her. One moment I was looking at her the next I was looking at the wall on my right side,she had slapped me. “Do not look at me like that,”she said in somewhat a breathy voice that sounded like a man and a woman were sharing a body and the woman just barely is in more control. Her strong voice was enough for me to look at her feet and now.

She sighed and lifted me. My feet were wobbly but she still let go, understandable . One moment I was not feeling anything and the next a sting like a wasp was in my arm. A syringe was in it and the female was injecting something into me. For a split second I though she had injected fire into me it then remembered it was impossible. The floor was suddenly the only thing holding me up. The female looked down at me writhing on the floor barely holding back screams.

She grabbed the chain on my neck that I didn’t even know what there and started to drag me to a throne in the next room over. Somehow in her heels she was able to drag me no problem. I would assume that was because how skinny I was.

Then, once in the next room she chained me to the side of the throne and injected something else in my arm. This time though it brought the pain away. I stopped writhing and looked at her with tearful eyes and a sore throat. She kneeled to my level and raised her mask just above her lips,and kissed my arm. The last thing I heard before I was in dream land is “rest now...you will have duties tomorrow that will not allow you to get any. Welcome to you’re new life or as I call it your personal Hell”and a giggle from that woman and man voice. Only now it seemed the woman had fully won. How did they not know who she really was with a voice like that.

#my ocs #something i probably won’t finish #random thing i did when i was on a plane way back when

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everlark-your-own-adventure · 7 years

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Mockingjay Manor - Ch 7

Chapter One /// Chapter Two /// Chapter Three /// Chapter Four /// Chapter Five /// Chapter Six

Happy Tuesday dear everlarkers! Last week’s installment of Mockingjay Manor concluded with a drugged and injured Everlark finding themselves whisked away from the terrifying Doctor Snow and hidden in a secret room by an unknown rescuer. You voted to put their trust in this unidentified saviour. What happens next? Let’s check in with the incredible @mega-aulover to find out....

A note, friends, that this chapter is rated M for canon-typical violence and begged-for sexual content.

As always, you have 48 hours, until noon EDT on Thursday, October 12th, to cast you votes in the notes or reblogs, not in the tags!!!

I crumple the note in my fist and toss it on the floor and the syringe I’d hidden in my sleeve drops onto the carpet and rolls away. The warning to stay put doesn’t sit well with me. I’m pissed off, angry at this man, Snow, and his tricks. The stupid portrait looms over me, mocking me. We’ve been attacked, stung by some experimental wasps, and threatened. He will not get away with this.

Peeta groans and my plans for vengeance fly from my mind. I kneel at his side and gently check his stings. “Are you okay?”

“Katniss, I’ve been stung before. Remember? Eleventh grade when you were trying to get rid of that hive.”

The hive had fallen to the ground and we’d both been badly stung. I thought I’d killed Peeta and I kissed him hard on the lips. It was my first kiss. The memory makes me want to blush but instead I grunt, “Yeah, but those were regular wasps.” I gingerly touch a red bump on his neck. “These weren’t ordinary wasps. I couldn’t move.”

“I was knocked out,” Peeta rubs his neck. “Did you find a note or something?”

The discarded note lies at my feet, and I’m fuming once more at the absurdity of the situation. “It says to stay here and that Finnick and Jo are safe.” It’s the last thing I want to do. Fulfilling the will’s requirement to fix up the house has transformed into a personal quest for the truth.

Peeta frowns. “I know that look on your face.”

“What look?” I try not to appear defensive but my arms are crossed and my face has turned into a scowl.

“That nothing-I-say-will-convince-you-to-give-up-or-leave-this-house face.”

Standing, arms akimbo, I say, “Haymitch might have been an asshole, but he was family. I’ve got to clear his name of whatever is going on here. I want answers! Who is Snow and how can I get rid of him?”

“Not alone you won’t.” Peeta struggles to sit up and I pull him to his feet. “We agreed we’d do this together.”

Peeta leans toward me, his sweet face at once disarming me and stirring my libido. It's been this way since we were kids. I’ve never been able to pinpoint whether it’s his boy-next-door face, his sturdy but welcoming arms, or his good natured soul, but it drives me wild.

His hand slips over my chin and its rough texture causes my heart rate to triple. Right before he places a chaste kiss upon my lips, his eyes smolder with unfulfilled passion. Instantly, my panties become soaked, and I think, awe hell, I need him.

I nearly lost him tonight and it’s making me desperate. The anger I’d been kindling is quickly replaced by desire, thick pulsing desire that has me panting.

All of the adrenaline flows south to the juncture between my legs; I feel my body pulse there. My arms wind themselves around his neck. The kiss deepens as his sweet tongue invades my mouth. Peeta always tastes of cinnamon and vanilla. It’s addictive and draws me in further. Passionate electrical torrents pass between us and our kisses become rushed. His large hands grip my hips, then my ass.

He’s still aroused and I can feel his hard length pressing against me. My nipples tighten into buds at the thought of having him. We walk backwards into a wall, and I grind against him. My hand gravitates downward and grabs him through his jeans. He is already thick with need and he groans before tearing his mouth away from mine.

Hungrily he pants, “Katniss.”

His blue eyes are the dark like the night sky; his hands desperately skimming over my body. Seeing him so uncontrolled makes me feral for more of his touch and sends dirty thoughts racing through my mind.

His hands make their way to my zipper and I shimmy just enough out of my pants to give his fingers the freedom to find my needy core.

“You’re so wet,” he mutters against my neck where his lips are burning a path to the sensitive spot under my jaw. His fingers part my folds, rubbing my clit in that magical pattern he knows I like so much. Spending so many hours on the edge of danger has done something to me and the need to feel alive, to know that we are both well, stokes the fire within me until I burn out of control.

“Peeta I neee….” The rest of the words fall away when his thick fingers slip inside of me. It satisfies my cravings for a moment, but soon his fingers aren’t enough.

“Tell me what you want,” he says against my skin.

I am at the summit and I can feel a familiar tightening in my womb. “I need you inside...now!”

He pushes my pants down. I hear the rasp of his zipper and I feel his tip aligned with my entrance.

“NOW,” I urge, as his tongue invades my mouth and his thick member stretches my taught body. My bones melt like ice-cream on a hot pavement.

A muffled groan escapes both of us, his member sliding in and out of my slick, tight walls. Tearing my mouth away from his, I bite his earlobe, causing Peeta to pound into me. My body begins to convulse around him and everything fades to white as we come at the same time.

When I come to, Peeta is softly kissing me. Our bodies slide onto the thick plush rug, somehow I end up lying on top of Peeta. His voice rumbles through his chest, “If the situation weren’t so dire we could play out one of those smutty fanfics you're always reading. Maybe hang from that chandelier.”

My cheeks tinge pink at the mention of my one vice. Fanfic is my one and only guilty pleasure. Peeta happens to be the only person on the planet who knows about it. Playfully I hit him on the arm, “Wiseass.”

Spent, we straighten our clothing. The lightning crackles in the sky and the bright light illuminates the portrait of Maysilee. In the background, I spot white bell flowers cascading from a tree. “Devil's breath,” I gasp, pointing at the painting.

“What?”

“Those flowers in the background, they’re called Devil’s Breath. It’s a plant my mom uses to calm her patients. She’s always careful about using it, because it can make you incapacitated, almost zombie like. It can erase your memories. If Snow has this, it explains why those wasps affected us the way they did.”

“Note to self, stay away from wasps,” Peeta murmurs to himself.

“Quick, help me.”

Startled by the voice we spin around. The dumbwaiter is back, and inside we find an exact replica of Maysilee Donner Abernathy, very much alive and definitely not a monster. “Maysilee?”

“Nope, just her niece, Madge Undersee,” she says, hopping out of the dumbwaiter. “Help me get your friend to the sofa. He was stung pretty badly.” Peeta springs into action, helping maneuver an unconscious Finnick to the couch while Madge disappears in dumbwaiter again to go back for Jo.

“He’s pretty out of it,” Peeta says as he holds Finnick's face in his hands. The dumbwaiter rattles back into the room.

“They need the antidote, Katniss,” says Madge. Together, we move Jo, “Their hearts can stop just like my aunt and your uncle.” Madge takes two syringes from her back pocket.

“Wait, how did you know who we are?” I blanch at the thought of having to administer the antidote. Needles make me squeamish.

Madge rolls up Finnick’s sleeve and administers the antidote as she speaks. “My aunt left me a letter with my mom. After Haymitch died, I did a small inquiry.”

Jo is badly stung and her body is spasming. Rolling up her sleeve, I manage to accomplish what my mother and my sister have tried to instruct me to do a thousand times without success. As the contents of the needle are introduced into her blood system, Jo’s body calms down. “How’s that possible? Your aunt’s been dead for over 25 years?”

Peeta exclaims, “Like in the second Back to the Future when Doc leaves Marty behind in 1955 and writes him a letter from 1855 with instructions to deliver it to Marty in 1955.”

Peeta’s infatuation with Back to the Future could be the only non-attractive thing about him, but I can usually forgive it because that boyish look on his face is yummy.

Madge laughs at his Back to the Future reference. “Sort of,” she agrees. “About six months before I was born, my aunt thought she was going to die and wanted to make sure her killer was brought to justice. She wrote a letter and instructed my mother to give it to me if anything happened to Haymitch. In her letter, my aunt Maysilee wrote that Haymitch wouldn’t rest until he solved her murder, and that if he died, then someone else needed to take up the torch. She also said that if anything happened to her, my mother wouldn’t be emotionally or mentally capable of finding her killer. It’s true, she wasn’t. She still isn’t. She couldn’t even hand me the letter without dissolving to tears.” Madge took out the folded letter from her pocket and held it up. “She died the day she wrote this. As soon as I got her letter, I requested a copy of the coroner's report. It said my aunt died of an overdose. But one of the first things she stated in her letter was that she never took drugs.”

“So that thing in the attic with your aunt’s look, it isn’t her?”

Finnick groans and tries to sit up and Peeta pulls him upright. Clearly, the medication is taking effect. I shudder to think of what could have happened to all of us without Madge’s help. Losing Peeta is my worst nightmare.

“No,” Madge shakes her head, “That thing in the attic isn’t my aunt.”

“Tell me what you know and what’s with that symbol on your locket.” I point to her shirt.

“According to the letter, my family owned Mockingjay Cosmetics. This was the brand symbol. Dr. Snow was in charge of creating and testing out new products. You’ve met his secretary.”

“Effie,” Peeta says as Finnick sits forward. “Haymitch once told me he met her at work. I thought it was at the tech firm he owned.”

Madge pulls out a necklace with a locket. “From what I could find out from the old records my family had, your uncle Haymitch was a genius. He was working with reproducing skin cells, so that they could test the cosmetics without human or animal testing.” She opens the locket to reveal that her aunt and her mother were twins. “When FDA laws became stricter, my family complied, or so we thought. There was an investigation and we lost the company, because of Snow. My aunt believed Haymitch had something on Snow, but she couldn’t prove anything and before she could find out, she died. Your uncle moved to Silicon Valley, where he made his money. My mom has never gotten over the death of her sister.”

“Do you think that beast could have your aunt’s genes?”

“I only know that Snow’s been manipulating the genetic makeup of that mutt. I found some files that seemed to indicate that Effie’s been involved. Snow and Crane experimented on her with the Devil’s Breath, manipulating her memories.”

Peeta speculates, “He made her into one of his mutts.”

Madge nods,“I’ve been able to grab samples of the vials in his lab and send them out for testing. It’s how I was able to get an antidote.”

“So how do we-” My words were frozen mid-sentence as a piercing howl echoes inside the house. A crashing and thumping noise penetrates the air, followed by the high-pitched, panicked screeching of birds. The chandelier shakes above us, and several crystals fall to the ground like broken stars.

Finnick’s eyes shoot upward. Like me, he’s a hunter and he’s instantly alert.

“He let experiment M loose,” Madge whispers, her face and eyes filled with horror.

Grabbing Madge by the arms, I shake her “Are there any weapons in the house?”

Madge gives me a blank stare right before she nods. She pulls on a wall sconce, “I found this one day by accident.” The picture springs open revealing two automatic crossbows. I’m overjoyed as I load it with arrows. The ceiling above shakes, bits of debris of dried plaster and dust fall on our heads . I hear the birds screech in fear and pain. There is no doubt the ape is killing the birds.

Madge bends down and picks up the forgotten syringe. “Katniss, we can stop that creature with this. There’s enough of the Devil's Breath in here to kill it.”

“We did the mash! We did the monster mash,” Finnick sings, as he checks over the other crossbow.

“Finnick,” I warn as I macgyver the syringe onto the tip of one of the arrows with my hair tie.

“Katniss, are you sure this is the wisest thing to do?” Peeta’s voice always has a way of reaching me, even when I’ve got my blinders on and I cannot reason.

We can hear its steps echo through the threadbare walls. The mutt is hunting us. “We got to get rid of it Peeta. If it gets out…you need to take care of Jo.”

“Okay, I’ll take care of Jo, but I swear if I don’t see you in hour, I’m coming after you.” He places a soft kiss on my lips.

I want to tell him that I love him but there’s no time for this so I express it in my kiss. Stepping away, I turn to Madge, “Since you know the house better than us, is there a place where you can take Jo and Peeta, maybe call the cops?”

The howling is getting closer. There is no time to lose. We stare at each other in that pregnant peace before the storm. It knows we’re in here.

“Help me with Jo,” Madge shouts. Peeta tenderly puts Jo into the dumbwaiter and Madge wraps an arm around her waist to hold her up. We realize too late that three people cannot fit inside.

“Take care of her,” Peeta tells Madge and pulls the door closed. As the dumbwaiter rattles away, I hear the mutt sniffing at the door to the room.

“Peeta, get behind us,” I shout. Looking behind me, I see Peeta picking up a chair. The door smashes to splinters and the snarling wolf lunges inside, its eyes glittering with evil. Blood drips from its canine teeth and I spot feathers mixed in with its golden hair.

It snarls and snaps at Finnick, I aim the crossbow. It senses my movement and jumps at me as a blood curdling roar rips from its jaws. The arrow is released and it lodges itself in its chest. It roars in pain and stumbles, but lands on its paws and lunges at me again. Finnick is shooting at it, but his arrows do nothing to it. He tosses his crossbow aside and rams the beast in its side.

“FINNICK NO!!” I scream as he struggles with the mutt.

The chair splinters behind me. I spin around. Snow is holding on to Peeta, who has a syringe buried in his jugular. Snow is wounded. Blood seeps from his nose but his eyes are wild, animalistic. Peeta is limp in his arms and his eyes are glazed over. Yet another secret door gapes open behind them.

“Peeta,” I whisper, my heart is thumping. I hold up the crossbow, Snow in my sights. My mind is flooded with images. Mutts in the attic that look like people, wasps, singing deranged birds, Devil’s Breath and that snake like Dr. Snow accusing my uncle. Finnick is being mauled and Snow holds Peeta. Do I take the chance, shoot at Snow and risk hurting Peeta? Or do I put my weapon down?

#everlark #Mockingjay Manor #Nooooooo!#Our sweet cinnamon bun!#what will happen next?#YOU get to decide!

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