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1d1195 · 3 months

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Dolcezza VII

Read Dolcezza here.

Warnings: more angst, stalking stuff, some fluff. that's pretty much it.

~7.8 k words

“Hi, Principessa,” he whispered.

“Hi Harry,” there was a breath of laughter in her voice, and it felt like winning the lottery. All his organs felt like they had their own heartbeats and they all simultaneously skipped one beat. God, she was so pretty.

Despite the mail she received—and despite seeing him in the same building—there was nothing to report for the rest of that week. She got her car back on Monday, there was no creepy presence around her, and it felt safe again. No one followed her to the gym, the grocery store, or even when she went into the office. But there was one little thing that indicated it was still, in fact, a problem for her. Subconsciously she knew it wasn’t just going away and as much as she pushed it away, it all but stared right back at her.

She didn’t tell Harry about the picture.

Every part of her wanted to tell him the moment she looked at it. She stuffed it back in the pile of her mail, left her to do list and nearly tripped as she sprinted back down the steps and hurrying out of the alleyway like there was someone there, lurking in the shadows. She burst into the kitchen looking a bit alarmed, but Harry was laughing at Niall. Didn’t even hear what it was that made the happiest sound she had ever heard come from his lips.

Telling him would ruin that happiness.

The middle of a shift didn’t seem like the right time to present the information. When they returned to Harry’s place, it seemed ridiculous to bring it up. Especially when his lips were right in front of her, and she was dying to kiss him like she needed it to continue breathing.

So over the next few days, she convinced herself it wasn’t that bad. Outwardly, she assured herself it wasn’t that bad. The guy never broke the distance rule outlined in the restraining order. It was scary yes, but then... a second week passed. Then a third. Before she knew it, she felt comfortable venturing out on her own during the day. It just seemed like an extra thing she needed to worry about which seemed so silly when he wasn’t there.

It was blindingly stupid on her part. The most annoying, nagging part of her brain reminded her that this was a serious, horrible thing and she should have told Harry about the picture immediately. Even telling him now nearly a month after the fact would be better than not telling him. Honestly, she should have told everyone under the sun. But it had been almost a month! He was gone, it seemed. If he wasn’t going to make a move now, after the picture, the note, coming into the restaurant for God’s sake... it wasn’t something she needed to worry about.

At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

Besides. There were plenty of other things she could worry over.

The larger part of her brain—the part that told her this wasn’t a big deal, that it wasn’t that serious (perhaps it was the part of her brain that was trying to tirelessly keep her calm)—was constantly overshadowing the part that wanted her running to the police.

After the day she saw him, she didn’t think much of it. Almost like when Eleanor told Harry about it on one of her first visits home. It wasn’t a big deal. Really it wasn’t. He was creepy at worst but otherwise harmless.

But he had never sent a picture of her before.

No, it was fine. She had her family’s incessant messages to worry about. There was Emma’s school work to edit, her mom’s venting sessions, James’ financial difficulties, and her own daily life to tend to. There was simply too much on her plate to worry about someone who had proven to be harmless for almost two years. Eleanor wanted to know if she had time to read her article before she sent it to her editor. Harry was asking about dinner.

Her to do list seemed about ten miles long.

No, it wasn’t a big deal. Repeating it helped. She could feel the anxiety leaving her chest. A weight off her shoulders. It wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t a big deal.

It was not a big deal.

Harry was the best boyfriend.

He texted her every moment of the day they weren’t together. Well... most moments. It wasn’t to the point of excess. It had been so long since she felt that kind of excitement waiting for Harry’s name to show up on her screen. Even though she had been friends with him for nearly a year, it was so nice to feel butterflies in her stomach with each adorable message he wrote.

Can’t stop thinking about you, Principessa.

Making garlic bread for when you’re done working. (Garlic bread messages were one of her favorite ones to receive from him.)

I know there’s something wrong with me... but please come down as soon as you’re done. I’m missing you so much and I saw you only yesterday.

It was adorably sweet. She wished she wasn’t so busy with work that she could run downstairs and say hi to him more often. During a fifteen-minute break between meetings she ran down to get her mail so she could possibly run into him taking out the trash. It was beyond silly. She should have just asked him to come see her in the alleyway. Even if it was for a minute. But she was a little overwhelmed with how much she liked Harry, and it clouded her mind, making her overthink a little too much.

Fortunately, she had a plethora of people to distract her from making an idiot of herself in front of Harry. Her group chat with James and Emma alerted her during her lunch break, preventing her from running down to see Harry once more. Mom’s birthday? Emma wrote.

Don’t look at me. James responded immediately. She sighed, adding another item to her to do list.

Does anyone know if Dad got her anything?After two minutes of nothing back she sighed. Never mind. That was a dumb question.

She rubbed her forehead going to her notes for anything her mom had mentioned recently. After trying to come up with gift ideas for everyone under the sun for years and always stressing herself silly, she finally started keeping lists of anything someone mentioned something they liked or saw. The item immediately got added to the list and made her holidays and birthdays infinitely easier.

You’re the best, Sis. James sent a kissy face.

Can you read my scholarship application essay? Emma asked instead of thanking her. Small steps, she supposed. She added that to her to do list as well.

Eleanor’s face illuminated her screen as she finished responding to Emma with reassurance that she would read it by the end of the day. “Hey El, what’s up?”

“Just wondering why you hate me,” she sighed.

She rolled her eyes smiling at her dramatics. “Christ Eleanor, give her a break,” she heard Louis in the background of the call.

“Just... been really busy the past couple weeks,” she said. It was true. Between the chores, work, her car, the anxiety, and her newly found relationship, it was a lot. Add in the extras now, reading essays, birthday shopping, it was... overwhelming. As usual, she downplayed it to Eleanor and even Harry. Seeing Harry each day, while perfect and lovely, left little time for her to get what she needed done. But she knew he was really worried about her since she saw her stalker. She prioritized seeing Harry above almost all else. It wasn’t hard. Honestly, it was better than most of the tasks she needed to do, but it helped ease a little bit of the... guilt she felt about being happy not doing other things that needed to get done knowing that it eased Harry’s anxiety too.

Especially since he wasn’t aware of the picture.

“You don’t have time to call me in between dickings?” Eleanor asked seriously. She heard Louis snort. She was glad it was a phone call and not a videochat so Louis wouldn’t get to see her blushing madly at Eleanor's bluntness.

“I’m going to hang up, now...”

“Okay, okay, but seriously. I’ve missed you. What’s going on?”

So, they spent the remainder of her lunch break chatting and catching up.

Again, the anxiety, the overwhelming emotions... everything... she didn’t tell Eleanor about the most recent updates regarding the stalker. It seemed needless. Eleanor was a whole plane ride away. It wasn’t like she could come out and protect her. Plus, with him no longer hanging around, no pictures, no notes... it seemed stupid to even bring it up.

But the nagging part of her brain reminded her that it was on the tip of her tongue the entire time they chatted.

“I miss you,” she giggled at Eleanor’s impression of Louis complaining about her need to decorate their house like a Pinterest board. It was all good fun because she knew that Louis would let her do whatever she wanted if it made her happy. It was why she loved Louis as her best friend-in-law.

“I’m going to try to come for your Mum’s birthday,” Eleanor’s smile was evident in her voice, and it made her heart warm. She imagined their spa days in their dorm room. Eleanor always helped curl her hair and was extremely kind and considerate of her excessive helpfulness toward her family. As grateful as she was to be done with final exams, late night study sessions, and crummy dining hall food, she longed for the quietness, the simplicity of laying across Eleanor’s plastic mattress and telling her about the cute guy she saw in her lecture.

“Oh, El... That’s so nice,” she frowned feeling emotion bubbling in her chest. It was more than both her siblings were doing. But as excited as she was about seeing her best friend, the nagging part of her brain reminded her how she would need to get Eleanor at the airport. Of course, she wanted that. She wanted to see her best friend. But it was yet another thing she would need to do.

“I know I called you and now I’m rushing off, but I just wanted to triple check that everything was good since I hadn’t heard from you. I’m going to be late to a meeting, so I have to go. I love you, and I’ll see you soon! Send Harry and Niall my love.”

“Love you too,” she responded with a smile.

“Enjoy your dickings,” she called at the last second making her face flame even though she was alone.

Begrudgingly, she returned to her to do list. Almost instantly her head felt a little achy.

She was going to have to tell Harry she had to stay in tonight. There was simply too much to get done and not enough of her to go around. Tomorrow would be better... maybe. Honestly, she could stand two nights in (and a vacation—but that was minorly unrelated). But the idea of not seeing Harry made her feel miserable. She knew he would understand, but it felt terrible to think about telling him. In the month since she slept at his place for the first time, there were maybe two or three nights total they had spent apart. One of them was only because she got stuck at her parents’ place helping Emma with her choir concert practice late one evening.

But it was Wednesday.

There were a lot of things that had changed about her relationship with Harry, but she would be damned if she didn’t sit at that bar and eat eggplant with spaghetti and garlic bread while watching him work every Wednesday.

Harry lost track of time. It didn’t happen as much anymore because it felt like every minute spent without the precious woman who lived upstairs was an utter waste. One moment, as far as he knew, she was still working. It would be hours before he saw her. But in the next, he was nearly dropping the veggie broth from the freezer seeing her at the bar outside the kitchen window.

She looked beautiful. So beautiful, it was why he nearly dropped the broth. It was adorable. The way he made pots and pans clatter at the sight of her. It made her stomach flip that he had such a reaction to little ole her.

The sweet girl was finally all his, which seemed like magic in itself. This beautiful angel—that he had literally and figuratively fallen for almost a year ago—was all his. Every time he held her hand or slept beside her, it felt like he was in heaven. It almost felt like he didn’t deserve it sometimes because he had spent so long waiting. But he wouldn’t give up a second of that time. There was no pressure, it was meant to happen when it was supposed to happen. But he was utterly grateful the time was now and not a moment further in the future.

But of course, she smiled at him. He ached to kiss her lips and touch her skin. It was like some primal need. “Hi, Principessa,” he whispered.

“How was work?” He asked trying to quell the excitement that was shaking everything inside of him.

She nodded. “Good, busy. I was going to come down at lunch, but Eleanor called,” she explained. “Sorry,” she frowned as she added the apology to her little explanation.

He frowned too. Not because he was disappointed, but because she thought he was. “S’okay, kitten. M’glad you’re here now. Everything okay?”

She knew there was deeper meaning behind what he was asking. It was essentially a signal that he unknowingly decided on, so that she could answer in public, and Harry could ask without overwhelming her and more importantly, without being obvious. “I’m okay, Harry,” she smiled sweetly.

But Harry was getting used to every little twitch of her eyebrows, every minute pinch of her lips, or the tiny scrunch of her nose. As beautiful as she always looked Harry could see the exhaustion creasing the space between her eyebrows. Seeing it up close as he did now, he realized how many times he missed it while pining over her for the better part of a year. There was stress showing behind her kind smile. Every word she said sounded a little more strained. But as attuned to her as she was, he could sense the willingness she was forcing herself to push forward. Like if she ignored her feelings, they would go away.

“I can’t stay over though,” she pouted. He frowned this time because of actual disappointment. Still not disappointed in her, just the situation. Sleeping without her seemed criminal, now. He had spent almost thirty years of life without sleeping with her. But now it seemed wrong and awful to do anything but wake up to her soft hair tickling his nose and her warm body pressed up against him. It wouldn’t be ideal, but he would manage.

“Do y’need help?” He asked coming from the kitchen to lean in front of her against the bar. It was a bit chaotic back there. But Niall could hold it down for a minute while he chatted with her. He grabbed a glass of water while he stood before her.

Honestly, he knew better than to ask if she needed help, he should have just done something for her. Of course, she would brush him off. It was lucky her car had broken down that day. She had no choice but to take Harry up on his offer to drive her around. He was grateful to the car gods. Her car dying was the best thing that could have happened to their relationship.

“Just... you’re very distracting,” she admitted, her cheeks pinking under his gaze. He gave a half smirk.

“Oh?”

She nodded. “You know that...” she grumbled and looked away from him briefly before returning her gaze to him again. “I just...” she sighed. “I need to get a few things done without distraction,” she sucked her lip into her mouth. “Does that make you mad?” She wondered.

Oh fuck. She was going to break his heart. Or cause a heart attack. That was the sweetest thing she could have said. But it broke his faith in the people in her life to hear her ask her question so shyly. Like not hanging out with him would make him love her any less. “No, Principessa. Not even a little. You’re entitled t’ your own time. Course, I’ll miss you, kitten. But y’can have all the time y’want t’yourself.”

“Oh...I don’t want to be by myself. But I need to. If you’re around I’ll just want to kiss and snuggle and stuff,” she looked at the bar and tapped her fingers on the flat surface. Harry thought his heart might pop as he chuckled to himself.

“Hmm,” he hummed. That was definitely preferable. Hearing that she wanted to be around him but needed to get some stuff done. It was also undeniably the cutest thing he had ever heard—and he already thought she was the cutest. “I can live with that. Another day?” He suggested tilting her chin up so he could lock his eyes on hers.

It felt like he stole all her breath. Her vocal cords were surely possessed by Harry now. He was gazing at her like she was the most special thing in the world. Her lashes fluttered slightly trying to grip the last of her coherent thoughts. “Oh... oh, uh... tomorrow?” She asked.

He nodded with a smirk and kissed her swiftly, a brush of the lips so as not to distract her a moment longer. “I’d come by at two in the morning, kitten,” he promised. “Any time, y’ask. M’there,” he headed back for the kitchen leaving her a mess and heart fluttering.

Harry was doing his best to not freak out. It was easier to chant it to himself each time he saw the frown etched on her lips, or the crease between her eyebrows painting her features with frustration. It was a miracle she could continue standing and breathing at the same time. She did more in an hour of time than most people did in a week. It made his chest ache with worry over her. Nights were his favorite, especially when he had the day off (but still ended up cooking a delicious meal) so she didn’t have to cook. She spent his day off at his place, waking up and working at his dining room table after making Niall breakfast before he headed to Dolcezza. “Tesorino, Harry simply doesn’t deserve someone as sweet as you,” he sighed dramatically biting into whatever she made that morning (muffins, eggs, or pancakes).

Harry slept in only slightly on his days off. The moment she heard his bathroom door click she had tea and food laid out for him at the table beside her before he even realized what was happening. She was back at her laptop before he could say anything else. He kissed the top of her head leaving her to work and spread himself across the sofa and watched his shows. If he needed to run errands, he did, but it was hard to leave the house knowing she was there. Just a room away.

It was easy to fall into routine almost instantly. Other than their weekly routines, they went to visit her parents one other weekend aside from the first, but the visit was much shorter and much more relaxed. Harry was a crowd favorite. Emma was in love with him. She could see it in her younger sister’s eyes. But she couldn’t fully blame her. Her parents adored him—it was instant. That she knew well, too. James would have visited as well, but he got an internship at the local police station. It was a great opportunity for him to see more and more before he entered the career officially for himself. But Ethan was very grateful to not see the lovebirds which James was happy to tell him about every chance he got.

Harry liking her family was a dream come true.

Other pieces of their routine included Harry sleeping in her bed. It was also a dream come true. Harry thought it was the best because it smelled overwhelmingly like her. They mainly slept there the night before she had to drive herself to work so she had quick access to her car. She tried with all her might to leave silently, but Harry always managed to steal her kiss meant for the top of his head and snag her lips between his instead right before she departed. Harry had her apartment key now, not Antonio. As overwhelmed with how quickly things moved with Harry, it felt like magic. After pining for three quarters of the year for him, it seemed simple to integrate him so seamlessly into her life.

On Wednesday’s she still sat at the bar and watched him cook through the window. Patiently through most of the shift even though he told her countless times she could go upstairs. But she refused to leave. Leo sometimes kept her company, working hard on their coloring skills. One week she read a book with him doing her best to teach him sounds and symbols that he was starting to learn in preschool. It had Antonio falling for her kindness as much as Harry fell for it. “Are you the best big brother?” She asked Leo with a light giggle. Harry loved watching her with Leo. The five-year-old adored her nearly as much as the rest of them did.

Leo nodded proudly. “Mumma said I’m the best,” he told her. She smiled.

“I knew you would be,” she smiled and ruffled his hair gently. “Can’t wait to meet him.”

“Can he color with us?” Leo asked.

“Maybe in a few years, but I bet he could watch us,” she promised. Harry imagined her with the little one attached to her in a twist of fabric holding the baby around her torso. It did something to him that wasn’t normal, and he knew his face was heating up and it wasn’t from the water boiling in front of him.

“Tesorino, surely you want more than Harry,” Antonio rolled his eyes. The moment he realized that Harry had stolen her heart officially (courtesy of Niall shouting it the moment she arrived to the entire kitchen staff the day following their first kiss) he had not stopped antagonizing Harry. She simply laughed.

“I don’t think so,” she shook her head. “Not many people can handle my family.”

“Well, he works in an Italian restaurant; requires a special skillset,” Antonio affirmed.

“That’s true...” she giggled again continuing her coloring. “You may have inadvertently trained him for my family specifically.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “They weren’t that bad, Principessa.”

“I still think you could do better,” Antonio said knowingly. Harry thought his eyes might get stuck rolling once more at his boss’s words.

“I don’t think so,” she said so softly. Almost like she didn’t want Antonio to hear. Or cared if he heard. She knew he was joking. But Harry heard her quiet voice and he melted so thoroughly; he was lucky there wasn’t a puddle of himself on the floor for everyone to slip through if they exited the kitchen.

“Prin-pessa?” Leo asked.

“Yes, honey?” She turned her attention to him, looking at him as if he was the only one in the world. Harry knew that feeling well.

“Are you going to marry Harry?” He asked.

Her cheeks flamed and Antonio laughed so hard he could hardly catch his breath. Once Niall caught wind of it, he laughed just as hard and Harry smirked, looking at his boiling pasta. “Uh...” she cleared her throat wishing he would jump in to save her. “We’re just dating right now,” she explained as if a preschooler would understand what that meant.

“I love you, Leo,” Niall called from the window.

Her hair fell in front of her face to cover her expression and Harry shook his head at Niall. “Leave her alone,” he grumbled.

“I wanna marry you, Prin-pessa,” Leo said shyly, tucking his face into his neck a bit. Like it was difficult to say.

“Oh, I see,” Antonio was cackling. He nudged Harry with his elbow. “Tell Harry he has competition, Leo.”

“Oh goodness,” she whispered. “Leo, when you’re old enough, we can talk about getting married,” she pulled him off his seat and into her lap. She kissed the top of his head and nuzzled her face into the top of his head.

He frowned, making eye contact with Harry. He winked at him with a shake of his head and shy smile. The cute little bugger was going to give him a run for his money. “Like when I’m six?”

Harry could see the exhaustion setting in more so this week than the last month and half combined. Every time he thought she would have less to do by the end of the week, it seemed like fate wanted her busy as could be. Every time her phone rang, she added a new item to her to do list. Her mum’s birthday was just around the corner. Her apartment needed to be cleaned (Harry wasn’t sure dust existed up there, but he knew better than to interrupt one of her weekly cleaning fits). She would need to get Eleanor from the airport.

“Principessa,” he said softly as he watched her fold laundry and read Emma’s essay at the same time.

“Hmm?” She hummed her eyes trailing as she folded a T-shirt as if she worked in retail her whole life.

“Could I pick Eleanor up from the airport?” He asked.

She turned from her laptop screen and dropped the folded T-shirt into the basket. “What?”

He smirked. “Your friend Eleanor? Y’remember her, yeah?”

She rolled her eyes. “You would...do that?” She asked.

“Course, kitten. I’d do anything for you,” he shrugged. “I’ll call her and handle it tomorrow?” He offered.

Her expression looked so relieved. A minor little thing that he didn’t know could create so much happiness. A simple little gesture, a tiny piece of help. It hardly made her to do list any shorter. But her thankfulness was so thick in the air, Harry nearly tasted it. It was no question Harry thought she was always beautiful, but right now, she was somehow more stunning.

She stopped folding laundry. It was the exact problem she told him about and he couldn’t help but smile anyway as she straddled his lap and melted into his embrace kissing him when he really knew she needed to get some things done on her to do list.

But there wasn’t a person, place, or thing on her to do list that could pull Harry away from her lips.

It was Wednesday yet again. “M’taking five t’call Eleanor,” he told Niall.

“What a good boyfriend you are,” Niall chuckled.

“Gotta beat out Leo, y’know?” he winked and headed to the alleyway to keep the noise of the kitchen and the roar of the main room from bothering Eleanor.

In true Eleanor fashion, she didn’t even answer with hello. “I hate when you call me, Harry. I always think it’s going to be something horrible.”

He chuckled. “S’nothing, serious,” he promised. The timing was just so she could tell her right when she came to say hi, in fact, he thought he saw her headlights illuminating the entry to the alley. It would be good news for her after a long day. She had to run to her Mum’s after work because Emma needed her help with about a thousand scholarship things. Taking an item officially off her to do list would be good. “We haven’t seen him since we made cupcakes for Emma,” he shrugged kicking at the rock on the ground absentmindedly.

There were moments in Harry’s life that he definitely knew he messed up. Cutting the hair off Gemma’s doll when he was five. Losing the money his mom gave him for books in college because of a poker bet. Or when he was so tired, he grabbed the hot baking sheet directly from the oven without a glove or rag and burned his hand so that he was out of commission and out of the kitchen for a week.

Telling Eleanor that they saw her stalker was immediately the top spot for one of the worst things he had ever done.

Eleanor inhaled sharply. “You...” her voice died, and the silence was so thick, so horrible, Harry could feel the mistake he made claw through every inch of his circulatory system begging for a way out of his body.

But it was too late. “Shit,” he whispered to himself.

“You...” she tried again. “You saw him?” she whispered as if she was trying to piece the idea together with the words. It didn’t make sense. That was wrong. Harry was playing a joke, surely. Right? Right? “HE SAW HER?”

“Oh... oh no,” Harry whispered. “She... she didn’t tell you.” It’s supposed to be a question, but it came out as a statement. Oh no. “Eleanor, I—” But it was too late, before Harry could utter another word, she was gone. How could she not tell her best friend? He never even told her he would pick her up from the airport. Calling her back brought him right to voicemail. He had no choice but to go back in.

The love of his life was already in the kitchen making her way to the door for him.

Harry saw her yell at Emma pretty badly that first day he met her family. But that was nothing in comparison to the furious look in her eye presently. He didn’t know she could look so mad. “You told on me?”

Harry felt tongue-tied stepping back into the alley. “I-I... I didn’t—Principessa, y’have t’know.... I thought you told Eleanor—”

She rubbed her temple with her fingertips holding the phone out half an arm length in the other hand. “Of course, I didn’t tell her,” her teeth were clenched tight as she said it. It was distracting to listen to just her while Eleanor was shrieking through the speaker.

“Kitten, respectfully, that doesn’t make any sense...she’s y’best friend.”

“Which is why I didn’t tell her!”

“M’really not following, my love. M’confused. I... I know I shouldn’t have told her, but... I really truly assumed—”

“I can’t do this right now,” she snapped and stormed for the entry way to her apartment. With the phone to her ear, she nearly had to shout to be heard over Eleanor. “I will call you in two minutes!” She shoved her phone in her pocket and rubbed her temples again.

Harry closed the door before she could hurry away. “Whoa, hey. Principessa—please stop. I don’t understand—”

“Of course, you don’t understand!” She shouted and put a hand on her forehead and avoided meeting his gaze.

“M’confused,” he repeated so softly, it was a whisper. Hardly to be heard over the crowd that was chattering down in front of the restaurant and almost spilling into the alleyway while waiting. With the warming spring weather on the way, more and more people were willing to wait outside. Even on a Wednesday night.

To be fair, she was more than overwhelmed. She was tired, busy, and overworked. Snapping at Harry wasn’t fair at all. She could rationalize that while she continued to feel angry at him. “I am really frustrated, and I need to go to bed,” she whispered. Tears filled her eyes, and she felt her phone continually vibrating in her pocket. She knew it was Eleanor, worried beyond belief. She groaned and pulled the phone and pressed the speaker button.

“El—”

“I know you hide this stuff from your family, but I thought I was the line,” she snapped immediately. She sounded angry. It was all Harry’s fault they were arguing. “I thought you would always tell me what you were feeling because you feel like you can’t tell anyone else. Have you ever thought that you only have yourself to depend on because you don’t let anyone else have the chance?”

Harry felt sick hearing her best friend say that out loud. “Fuck you, El,” she muttered with a shake of her head.

“Fuck me? Fuck you. What do you mean?! How could you not tell me!?”

“Eleanor,” she could hear Louis from the other end.

“I can’t do this right now.”

“Oh, you’re not getting rid of me. Call me every name in the book but your Taurus is showing full force right now,” she hissed.

The poor thing was just as angry as Eleanor. Her whole body was shaking with anger. All of her muscles felt tense. Like a dog sensing danger before anyone has time to figure out the problem. She hung up again and was immediately met with more phone calls.

“Kitten, I didn’t know she didn’t know...” Harry repeated. He looked apologetic. Remorseful even. Like he really didn’t know he was going to open a can of worms. She stared at her feet, her eyelashes glittering as tears clung to them. There were several silent moments, just listening to the sound of the crowd and the vibration coming from her pocket. “M’sorry, kitten... really... I guess... jus’ lemme walk you up,” he sighed, resigned that it wouldn’t be fixed before bed. Immediately, she went first, Harry following close behind. His phone vibrated. He ignored it. But after the first call ended, it vibrated again right as they reached the top of the stairs. “It’s Eleanor,” he murmured.

She sighed bitterly, grabbed his phone. “I’m saying good night to Harry. I’ll call you in fifteen seconds,” she hung up again. “Good night,” she muttered staring back at the floor.

“Principessa,” he felt so terrible and sad. “I’m so sorry,” he promised.

“I know, me too,” she looked teary and frustrated. She pecked his cheek and went inside without another word. But Harry felt like complete shit as he stood there. He heard the frantic sound of her voice from the other side of the door, and he didn’t want to do it, but he couldn’t leave without knowing. He closed his eyes and knocked. “Are you serious, Harry?” She hissed pressing the phone to her chest.

He sighed shoving his hands in his pockets. Biting the inside of his lip, he felt deflated and horrible. “Can y’lock your door, please, Principessa?” Harry swore her gaze softened ever so slightly. If he wasn’t so in love with her, and so attuned to those tiny eye twitches of her, he might have missed it.

“Jesus Christ,” she grumbled and slapped the door shut and snapped the lock in place. Sighing, he headed back for Dolcezza. At least she was safe.

Niall took one look at him as he returned to his kitchen post and whistled. “Oh, that’s not good,” he murmured. Harry ran his hand over his face and shook his head. “Must have been an exciting five minutes,” he raised his eyebrows waiting for Harry to elaborate.

“Forget it, let’s finish up,” he mumbled. “I want t’go home and go t’bed.”

It was like the universe was trying to tell her something. She just didn’t know what. The long afternoon/evening at her family’s, her argument with both Harry and Eleanor...she was exhausted.

So rather than deal with the issue at hand, she stared at the steering wheel like it was the sole reason for all the betrayal. “Why?” She asked simply and pulled up her app for the car service. Naturally, on a rainy day, they were overwhelmingly busy and wouldn’t be there for over two hours. Stupid hunk of metal.

Ubering seemed like a terrible idea and even though she was irritated with Harry, she didn’t want to upset him that much by doing something even stupider. The rain was pouring on her windshield in sheets. James texted as she looked at her weather app to see if it would let up anytime soon or if she was stuck walking in the rain. It was a safe bet that it would be the latter, of course.

Hi Sis...uh...I need groceries again. There was an embarrassed-emoji along with his message. Right now, she wanted to scream at everyone. It felt like agony trying to come up with a response in that moment, so she ignored him.

Naturally, another message came through. Good morning, Principessa. Hope you have a good day. She knew Harry was trying. But right then, she didn’t want to deal with that either.

Rubbing her temples, she grabbed the umbrella she kept in her car, zipped her bag up so no rain would get in, and locked the car once she stepped out. A walk in the rain, might honestly, be exactly what she needed.

However, she would never find out if the rain was going to cleanse her mind because she only got another two blocks before someone beeped at her. She jumped in alarm, the umbrella nearly taking off with the wind. “What are you doing?!” Harry called out the passenger window leaning toward her. His eyes were wide in surprise, worry painting his features, and his cheeks were red—like he had spent his drive over screaming in his car like she wished she could have. Maybe there was something to what Eleanor had said about her Taurus showing. She was still pretty mad at him and had a mind to just keep walking. Instead, she just stared at him, the rain pattering on her umbrella. “Principessa, get in the car.” She didn’t like the way he ordered her, stubborn on her part once more. For a moment longer, she just stood there, staring at him and his car. Part of her wanted to disappear out of thin air. Poof. “Kitten, please,” he begged gently. “M’not letting y’walk t’work in the rain. S’not happening.” It was awfully hard to be mad at him when he was unbelievably nice. She sighed heavily, yanked the door open and closed it once inside. The warm heater felt good in comparison to the chilly rain. They sat in silence while Harry pulled into a parking spot so he could turn around. It was still early enough the roads weren’t too busy and no one paid attention to his maneuver. “I’m sorry, Principessa,” he said again.

It felt illegal to be in the car with him without holding his hand, but she was cranky and upset. Maybe she should have just held his hand. Make up for the time being. But it felt like it was more than that.

“Why are you even here this early?” She asked.

“To apologize,” he sighed. “I didn’t sleep.”

She frowned, feeling guilty that he didn’t sleep. Her own sleep was a bit restless, so she knew how he felt. “I’m sorry,” she murmured staring out the window.

“M’not worried, ‘bout that, m’love,” he sighed rubbing a hand over his face. “I want us t’be okay.”

The fact he still saw an us was a good sign. “I’m still upset,” she admitted. He nodded and gripped the steering wheel tighter.

“I know,” he released another long breath and rubbed the back of his head. “I’m so sorry I upset you, sincerely,” he promised. “I hated not sleeping with you,” he glanced at her peripherally, minding the slick wet roads. He looked so sad. It was hard for her to stay grumpy. Sad Harry should have been as illegal as not holding hands with him.

Plus, she hated not sleeping with him too but telling him that would be admitting that she was wrong. At least a little. “I didn’t like it either,” she whispered.

“Thank God,” he sighed. She smirked despite herself and shook her head. “Can we talk tonight?” He asked.

She nodded. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” her voice was soft and creaky. Harry didn’t want her to cry before work. He frowned.

“We can talk ‘bout it tonight. I’ll pick y’up when you're done,” he promised.

“You don’t have to—”

“Principessa,” he shook his head. “Please.”

She bit the inside of her lip and nodded. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

“Very,” he promised. “M’gonna make it up t’you. Promise.”

“You better. Didn’t get garlic bread last night.”

He chuckled. “First on m’own to do list, kitten.”

Harry spent the day trying not to freak out while he cleaned her already spotless apartment. How do you know this place is dirty enough it needs to be cleaned? He texted her.

You do NOT have to clean

I know... I know, Principessa. But I want to. Really want to.

Thank you, Harry. Really.

So it felt a little better. Harry didn’t feel like he was going to throw up the way he did during his restless sleep.

Of course, my love.

Harry wanted to make her garlic bread and run her a bath. He thought she needed a back massage and a personal assistant, but he could only manage so much. So, he cleaned instead; going over surfaces that seemed so spotless, it was ridiculous to even clean them. But he knew it would make her happy.

But while cleaning off her little dining table he knocked over her mail pile. Frowning, he gathered the envelopes and coupons into a semi-organized pile to put back. But there was a picture peeking out of the pile. A glossy print.

All at once, he wanted to throw up again. His hands shook and he dug through the pile looking for more photos before he could stop himself. He sifted and came up short but found the note that went with it. All his cleaning was nearly for naught given he was about to throw up all over her floor. “No,” he whispered to himself.

Work was uneventful except she felt like she made ten thousand mistakes she would have to go over the next day. It might have been better had she stayed home. She almost left early just so she wouldn’t bother Harry in the middle of the dinner rush. As nice as it was to chat with Harry (sparingly), it felt like something was really wrong the whole day and caused more distraction that she didn’t need.

When Harry picked her up at five-thirty exactly, interrupting the early bouts of the dinner rush, she remarked on how bad she felt about bothering him. “I could have walked,” she mumbled.

He shook his head and winced at the thought. “I’d be heartbroken, Principessa.”

The ride back was tense and quiet. The progress made in the morning seemed to disappear the closer they got to Dolcezza. Harry parked outside the restaurant. The line was starting to build, and she just felt worse and worse about having him come get her. The messages from her siblings nagged on her brain too. Eleanor texted her a thousand questions.

And Harry spent the day cleaning her apartment.

It was all too much.

She was frustrated. Her embarrassment fed into how frustrated she was as well. Eleanor calling her out for exactly the reason she didn’t let other people help her, because she didn’t want to bother or burden others with her needs, made her extra self-conscious.

“I feel like you’re doing too much for me,” she whispered. “It’s not necessary.”

“Principessa,” he nearly scoffed. “That’s insane.”

“I’m not worth all the fuss, Harry,” she whispered quietly.

There was too much on her plate. She was running herself too thin and weary. Harry telling Eleanor about the reappearance of her stalker was just too much. People worrying about her made her feel self-conscious. No one was supposed to worry about her. She worried about others.

“Principessa,” he whispered just as softly, he reached for her, but she turned her face. Looked out the window.

“You told Eleanor. Behind my back.”

“Kitten, she loves you and—”

“I don’t want her worrying about me. What is she going to do a plane ride away? It’s not even worth it. Now she’s going to be stressed and—”

“Kitten, what’s wrong. You’re acting—”

“Acting what, Harry? Crazy? Of course, I am. I don’t like people worrying about me. There’s nothing to worry about. He obviously saw me holding hands with Niall or with you and he hasn’t been around—”

“Obviously s’not true if he took pictures of you. I understand that s’hard for you t’accept help. I really, truly—” At that point the air left her lungs and she turned back to him. Her eyes looked watery. It looked as if someone just told her some of the worst news in the world—as if she was diagnosed with a terminal illness. Harry didn’t understand the reaction. “What—”

“You went through my mail?”

Harry felt his body deflate. His jaw dropped ever so slightly. The silence in the car may as well have been filled with screams. Harry looked at his lap because he realized how bad it was. His heart hurt, instantly. It was beating too fast, and it hurt. Ached. Felt like his lungs had been squeezed shut. He knew he messed up. He knew.

“I didn’t go through it... the stack fell while I was cleaning... and I picked it up and... m’not apologizing, kitten,” a beat of silence ensued again. Harry felt betrayed as much as she did. Her answer scared him. “You knew? I thought y’jus’ hadn’t gone through y’mail again. Y’didn’t tell me?” Now it was her time to be silent. She looked back out the window and Harry could see the gentle shake of her shoulders. “Principessa,” he cooed. “S’terrifying and you’re brushing it off because y’don’t think you’re worth being cared for and you’re wrong. It’s so wrong and s’hurting me more than if you—”

Instead, she interrupted, her voice cracking while she tried not to cry, but nonetheless an angry biting tone. “Thank you, for the ride Harry. For making sure I’m okay. I’m good though. I don’t need your help. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” She got out of the car before Harry could stop her and slammed the door shut behind her.

Harry was speechless and hurt. Frozen with shock and sadness as he watched her retreating figure head up to her apartment. “Goddammit,” he hissed smacking the steering wheel.

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @youdontcaredoyou @tiredinwinter @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach @straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals @angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams @summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland @lolyouallsuck @buckybarnessimpp @stylesfever @harrysxcarolina @haarrrys @lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles @toosarcastic03 @luvonstyles @tenaciousperfectionunknown @classychalamet @love-letters-to-uranus

Dolcezza: @matildasatellite @crossyourpeter @lovingfurypanda @sideboobrry11 @slayyyyyyyyyyyyyysblog @theresnooneheretosave @emmaawbr @hermionelove @12yeahiminluvwu @cohnfusedarling

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#harry #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #one direction #one direction writing #dolcezza

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dazaiandhislovelybandages · 5 months

Text

There for you {Shinichiro Sano}

A/n: I feel utterly ridiculous for writing this but unfortunately this is the only way to get my feelings out. This whole scenario is literally what I'm going through rn, I wrote it just in case I could sort my feelings out, maybe see a possible answer to my questions but unfortunately I don't. This little vent is literally so uncalled for but I actually have no one else to turn to and talk because I only have one friend

Pairing: Shinichiro Sano x f!reader

Warnings: strong mentions of self hatred, mental breakdown, feelings of worthlessness,

Christmas at the Sano household was definitely the best time of the year. Technically Christmas wasn't there yet but with two young kids, two hyperactive young kids, in the house, decoration time came early.

It was a nice day so far, a little too chilly and with dark clouds approaching, but it was a nice day for mid to late November. It was the reason you had decided to skip your morning classes at university, preferring sitting on Shinichiro's bed to freezing in the auditorium.

You could swear you were walking faster than your normal pace, crossing the street and taking a sharp turn to the left. Your day hadn't started well and getting to see Mikey, Emma and Shinichiro. They were the only people whose laughter and clinginess would definitely not bother you when feeling down.

"I swear the next time I see you not dressed properly..." Shinichiro was leaning at the wall outside of the household, a cigarette lazily placed between his lips. Grandpa Sano would have definitely scolded him about smoking inside the house. "It's cold, baby." He reached up and removed the scarf he was wearing, wrapping it around your neck.

"Thanks." You smiled, getting on your tiptoes to place a soft kiss on his cheek.

But Shinichiro was no fool. Considering it mostly a curse rather than a gift, Shinichiro could easily feel it whenever you were feeling down.

"What's wrong?" He asked, and if you didn't know him any better, you would have sworn he didn't care. But it was Shinichiro's usual laid back tone.

"What happened?" You asked him back, wanting to avoid this as much as possible because the tears in the corners of your eyes were threatening to fall.

"You can't fool me, babe." He removed the cigarette from his lips, throwing it on the street to light it out before picking it up and throwing it in the nearby garbage. "Now what's wrong?" His hands quickly found your waist, not caring about the old lady watching you from across the street.

"Do you want to guess?" It was a stupid attempt really, but if you were going to talk about your feelings then you would very much like to do it in a light-hearted way.

"Your best friend who is not your best friend because you don't know if she feels the same keeps talking about how much she likes her other friends?"

It wasn't that surprising. Shinichiro was always so attentive to whatever happened in your life. In the early stages of your relationship it had really taken you aback, thinking that he actually wrote things down somewhere. But no, he was just like that.

"Close."

An expression that could be translated as one of pure disgust and exasperation replaced the soft and caring one. "What did she do this time?" He looked at the sky, letting out a sigh.

"She called me this morning saying she is heading to this trip with them... I don't mind really, she can do whatever she wants but..."

"But you're tired of always coming second and pushed to the side."

If it wasn't the situation you had been in for the past year, with whom you thought was your best friend constantly talking about her other friends, saying how great and funny they were all the time, then it was definitely Shinichiro's warm gaze that made you cry.

The expression on his face turned into a serious one as you began crying in his embrace, his left hand pressing your head on his chest and his right resting on your face.

It wasn't the first time you had cried in his arms, complaining about your only friend and he was sure that unless you actually stepped up to say something to her it wouldn't be the last.

He didn't mind listening to you. He loved listening to you. What he did mind was the way you were being treated, constantly pushed to the side but then given a second of affection from your friend. He had told you many times that this wasn't what friendship was supposed to be like and you always agreed.

"Am I doing something wrong?" Your voice came out broken. His turtleneck black shirt was now stained with tears but he didn't care. "Am I a bad friend?"

"Of course not-"

"Then why?" You cut him off and just when he thought you were going to stop crying, another fit came again with your hands clenching onto his shirt. "Why do I always have to listen about others but never have someone talk about me? Why am I the friend who always learns things last? Why am I the friend who receives the short end of the stick?"

Before Shinichiro could respond, he felt something hitting his arm. Still pressing his head on his chest, he turned his head around to look towards the direction where whatever had hit him came from.

And there they were. Mikey, Emma and Baji with oranges on their hands.

"I didn't... do anything." He tried to defend himself, his hand moving to caress your hair even though you had stopped crying. "Manjiro go wear a jacket right now."

"You make her cry, you pay." Emma's eyes narrowed, her grip on the orange tightening.

"If you want to throw oranges at the one who made her cry, I can gladly give you an address-"

"Shin!" You hit him playfully on his arm.

"What?" He looked down at you, taking the cigarette packet out of his pocket. "Maybe if they hit your best friend hard on the head she'll come to her senses."

"I want to throw oranges at someone's head!" Mikey turned to look at an equally eager Baji.

"No you don't." You walked towards him, taking the oranges from his small hands.

"Why?" Mikey and Baji asked in one voice, their eyes shining while looking at you.

"Because it's wrong, we've talked about this." Shinichiro joined you, taking the oranges from Emma's hands.

"You've talked about not throwing oranges at people before?" You turned to look at him, almost surprised.

"It... um... has come up... as a subject of discussion before..." Shinichiro urged the kids to go back inside and pulled you in another hug. "Do you feel better now?"

"I don't know what to do..." You mumbled, resting your chin on his chest so you can look up at him.

"Talk to her... and if that doesn't work, just leave." He pressed a loving kiss on your forehead. "It's better not to have any friends than to feel like that. And it's not your fault." You let out a sigh and looked away. Shinichiro quickly grabbed your cheek gently, forcing you to look at him. "No, no, eyes on me. Look at me and tell me that it's not your fault."

"It's not my fault." You mumbled.

"Good girl." With his arm now wrapped around your shoulder, Shinichiro walked the two of you inside, sure that with a cup of hot cocoa and the dance Mikey and Baji had prepared for the Christmas decoration day, you would soon feel way way better.

#sano shinichiro #sano shinichiro x reader #tokyo revengers shinichiro #shinichiro x reader #shinichiro sano #tr shinichiro #tokrev shinichiro #tokyo revengers shinichiro x reader #shinichiro sano x reader #tr shinichiro x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #writing #anime and manga #anime #manga #tokyo revengers fluff #shinichiro fluff

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nightghoul381 · 8 months

Text

Silvio 3rd Anniversary Event

A Beast's Dream Realized by Beauty Premium End

Returning from my voyage ahead of schedule, Emma showed me a faded treasure map.

I didn’t even realize at the time that this was a gateway to my dark past…

Emma stared at the map so intently as if she wanted to go, and the words spilled out involuntarily.

Silvio: “Do you wanna go to the island?”

Emma: “What, is that okay? I really want to go!”

Silvio: “How refreshingly honest of you.”

Silvio: “It’s about as far as a kid can go. It’s not a dangerous island or far enough away to cross the sun.”

Silvio: “It’s just right for an inexperienced voyager like you.”

(You’ve been saying for a while that you want to sail together.)

Emma finally has the opportunity to fulfil her wish, and the corners of her mouth rise in happiness.

Emma: “Silvio, I love you!”

Silvio: “Hey, I always tell you not to hug me outta nowhere like that.”

Emma: “I know you’re secretly happy inside!”

(This woman…)

Silvio: “If you know, don’t go out of your way to tell me!”

Emma: “Wha… mmm, Prince Silvio…”

Half as revenge, I rolled Emma onto the bed, bringing our lips together in a deep kiss.

Kissing for the first time in a few days shatters all rationality, we lose all restraint as our tongues twine together.

(…It’s not every day you get to see someone so happy to go on their first voyage.)

The innocent smile from earlier tickled my chest and a slight ache followed.

(…you’re so different from me.)

The reason I first went to sea wasn’t for longing or anything, it was just an escape.

Silvio: “Fuck you, you old bastard!”

I grabbed a pebble that had fallen near me and threw it into the sea.

The dumb sound that should have been heard was disturbed by the waves, and the pebble fell without a sound.

Sitting on the sandy beach, I clenched my fists painfully, trying to control my anger.

(What did I do? I ain’t done nothing!)

(Which one of us is the kid, acting as if you don’t know me, denying my very existence!)

(The other guys open their mouths too. Compared to Valerio, Prince Valerio is better, If it was Valerio…)

(You ain’t looking at me or Valerio properly, so don’t compare us!)

(Hit your finger on the corner and scream in agony! You idiot!!)

Because the old man hates himself, the strange looks he gives me for such a stupid reason,

How good is Valerio? I’m sick and tired of being compared,

In order to release the pent-up anger, I would regularly come to the sea like this to vent my emotions.

I held my knees and gaze out at the jewel-like shimmer of the deep red-colored water.

(…..)

(…I’ve gotta go home.)

Just thinking about it made it feel like there was a heavy weight pressing down on my shoulders.

When I return home, I’ll have to face another unreasonable and suffocating day, which I can’t do anything about as a child.

I’d gotten used to it compared to when it first started.

Still, if I have the option not to go home, I don’t want to go home.

(I’d be happier diving into the sea and feeling suffocated. That’s how much…)

(I don’t wanna go home!!)

The old man who spits out he’s a kid in that way comes to mind and I angrily throw another stone into the sea.

No matter how many times I come to the sea, I will never be completely free of discomfort, anger or loneliness.

Still, I don’t know how to calm my emotions other than throwing stones or kicking sand.

(I need to hurry up and become an adult.)

The options offered to me now are too few.

Silvio: “……”

Silvio: “…Maybe if I went across the sea, I wouldn’t have to think about all this.”

I didn’t want to use my longing as an excuse to escape.

But even my bravado had a limit at this time.

After that, I rushed through preparations and went out to sea early the next morning, alone.

I had heard from adults about the dangers of the sea, but if I had said anything, they would stop me because I’m a prince and a member of the royal family.

So what. Who would be sad if something happened. No one.

Then I’ll annoy you to no end.

Such a childish rebellion may have been the main trigger that brought me out to sea.

I rowed a small boat out to where I couldn’t see the harbor, and when my arms began to get tired, I let go of the oars.

I leaned back against the luggage and closed my eyes.

Silvio: “…”

Silvio: “…It’s quiet.”

All that could be heard was the sound of the waves hitting the boat.

The sea was quieter than I had imagined and I felt a little scared.

(But there’s no one here to deny me or compare me.)

(…even though I’m lonely, I don’t feel bad about it.)

It’s a dozen times better to feel alone at sea than to feel alone among people you know.

Silvio: “Hmm…there’s something over there… an island?”

The shadow suddenly came into view and I picked up the map behind me and leaned forward to check it.

(Yeah, it’s a lonely island after all.)

(Just looking at the map alone, it doesn’t look like a very big island.)

(Often in stories, pirate treasure is buried on islands like that.)

(…Or I’m really asleep.)

Not knowing how to control my overflowing curiosity, I found myself reaching for the oars and rowing frantically.

I continued to row for more than ten minutes, but the island never seemed to get any closer.

(Damn… I need a break.)

(I thought it’d be easy because it’s a small boat, but it’s tough. It’s taking all of my strength.)

(If I’m going out to sea, I’d rather be with someone else than alone.)

(By rowing the oars one at a time, I can conserve energy and carry half my luggage.)

(…plus, I bet there’ll be treasure to hunt.)

(I guess it’ll be twice as much fun to search for the treasure as it is to find it.)

Silvio: “…”

Silvio: “… ha, that’s bullshit.”

Self-deprecating words spill out of my mouth and I pretend not to notice the rising bitterness as I row the oars.

(Even children know that expectations can be betrayed.)

(No one’s ever gonna accept me and only me, without any titles or ties.)

(I can’t do this for the rest of my life.)

Silvio: “Don’t push there you idiot!”

Emma: “Eh?

Emma: “Whaaaa…!!”

The uncomfortable feeling didn’t come until after entering the cave, when I remembered memories that I had completely forgotten,

Emma got caught in a trap and we were separated.

Silvio: “Damn, I remembered too late.”

I hit the wall vigorously and held my head.

(The treasure, the map, the traps were actually from me as a kid…)

(If Emma gets hurt because of this, I’ll hate myself for the rest of my life!)

(In other words, when you see a treasure map, remember it right away. I’m an idiot!)

(I’ll go to where Emma is for now.)

(If I remember correctly, that trap should have been connected to a spot on the second level of the cave.)

After taking a deep breath, desperately trying to suppress the urge to hit myself,

Running through a number of traps, I was able to join up with Emma without incident, but another problem surfaced.

The problem was exactly what I expected.

Emma: “Will you let us continue our treasure hunt?”

(I knew this would happen…)

Emma grabbed my cloak to stop me from leaving the cave.

Silvio: “I told you earlier, it’s a treasure I hid when I was playing as a kid.”

Silvio: “I don’t remember what I put in there either, but it sure ain’t worth more than a piece of junk.”

Emma: “Not to me.”

Silvio: Ah?”

Emma: “The treasures hidden by you are priceless, Prince Silvio.”

(I expected you would say that.)

(Because you’re interested in anything related to me anyway.)

That, for Emma, is what makes it valuable.

It’s more embarrassing than pleasing.

But it’s more adorable than embarrassing, makes me want to scratch my chest.

(You’re askin’ me to do something for you. I’m weak, you idiot.)

A loud sigh of surrender spilled from my lips.

Silvio: “Alright, keep searching for the treasure till you’re satisfied.”

Emma: “Thank you so much…!”

Silvio: “But from here on, no more hints.”

Silvio: “If you want it enough to beg for it, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

Emma: “Yes, I will definitely find it!”

As promised, Emma pushed deep into the cave, map in hand.

I followed behind her while hiding my uneasiness and worry that she may get caught in a trap.

I said it to myself, but I didn’t want to experience the frustration of not being able to do anything even though I was by her side.

~~~

After some time, Emma finally finds my childhood treasure.

It was unexpected, even for me, that I was so pleased to see her running up to me with a big smile on her face that I couldn’t help but be happy with her.

If anything, I was happier than Emma.

(Damn it… I was more of a kid than anyone else, wasn’t I?)

By the time we left the cave and reached the sea, the sky had turned a deep red.

Emma set the treasure box on the beach and looked up.

Emma: “So… Can I open it?”

Silvio: “There’s no way there’s anything important in an unlocked box. You don’t need to ask.”

Emma: “There’s always a ‘maybe’!”

I deliberately raised my eyebrows but crouched next to Emma, resting my chin on my hand.

Silvio: “If there is anything of worthwhile in there, I’ll have to give myself a pat on the back for understanding the value of things as a kid.”

Emma: “Oh, I wouldn’t expect that at all.”

Silvio: “You know what I mean. Come on, open it up.”

(Looking at the box, I still can’t remember what I put in it.)

(I mean, it really doesn’t matter.)

Feeling a little sorry, I poked her arm with my elbow to hurry her along.

Emma opened the lid as prompted and looked inside to find a translucent stone and a faded piece of paper.

My shoulders, that had been raised with tension, fell with relief.

(Thank goodness… No weird stuff in it.)

Emma: “It’s a beautiful stone.”

Silvio: “It’s an agate. You can probably find one on the beach if you look hard enough.”

Silvio: “The surface is so clean, it had to have been polished on purpose.”

Emma: “It think it was worth it for little Silvio at the time, wasn’t it?”

Emma: “Can I keep the agate stone?”

Silvio: “You found the treasure, do what you want.”

Emma: “Thank you.”

(It’s just like you to be that happy because of a rock a kid found on the beach.)

When I was a kid, I never would have imagined that the one who would find the treasure would be my future fiancée.

(The rest is just a piece of paper but what’s written on the back?)

At the same time that I looked at it, Emma picked up the faded piece of paper.

I watched her curiously, wondering if she was thinking the same thing I was, then she gently turned it over.

There, written in a child’s messy handwriting is…

“I’ll make you my number one henchman. Together we’ll acquire all the treasures of the world!”

“First Prince of Benitoite Silvio Ricci.”

My mind went blank and I found myself reaching for the piece of paper in Emma’s hands.

Silvio: “AAAAaaagggghhhh…!!!”

Emma: “Aaaahh! Don’t tear the paper!!”

Whether I wanted to steal it or not, I grabbed the edges of the paper. It’s a tug of war.

Silvio: “Shut up! If you don’t want me to die, let go!”

Emma: “I don’t want you to die or let you destroy it!”

But Emma was a cut above the rest, shaking me off and running down the beach.

(I knew I shouldn’t have let you look for that treasure…!)

(The reason I couldn’t remember wasn’t because I forgot, it’s because it was no good for me.)

(Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been convinced!)

I chase after Emma, but the sand is uneven and I can’t step properly.

(If this happens…)

Silvio: “Damn it, give it back!!”

Emma: “You said ‘do what I want with the treasure’, I also own this paper—”

(Now…!)

Emma: “Uwaah…!?”

I jumped up, wrapping my arms around Emma’s waist, and we fell onto the beach, sliding on the sand.

It’s not how I would have grabbed my fiancée, but I can’t afford to be considerate right now.

(Did I really want to go out to sea so badly as a kid that I would go to the trouble of putting this paper in my treasure?)

(Did I really… want a friend that much?)

I couldn’t tell anyone and still couldn’t give up.

This is a child’s silly little dream, hiding his hopes in a treasure chest.

Once I realized and admitted it, my heart became even more flustered.

(I’m so embarrassed, I want to drown, screaming into the sea…)

(This is just dark history!)

Emma, lying on her back, looks up at me.

The paper was held tightly in her hands.

Silvio: “Give it back.”

Emma: “…Understood.”

Silvio: “Suddenly you’re very understanding. What do you want?”

(This woman says things that are out of the ordinary, which makes me curious--)

Emma: “Prince Silvio, make me your number one henchman.”

Silvio: “…What?”

(What is she talking about? Are you kidding me?)

(No, it’s Emma, she really wants to be.)

(…are you really taking what a kid wrote in the heat of the moment seriously?)

When I was at a loss for words from the shock, Emma’s eyebrows lowered for some reason, as if she had remembered something.

(What did you think this time, busybody?)

Emma: “Since I’m your fiancée, can I not be your henchman?”

Silvio: “……”

Silvio: “Pffft…. Hahaha…!”

Emma: “You don’t have to laugh so hard!”

Silvio: “Of course I’d laugh, you’re making such a blatantly depressed face… Hahaha.”

Laughter spills out incessantly and even I can’t control it. 2613

When I look down at Emma, whose face is redder than the setting sun, she presses her hands to the beach to hide her embarrassment.

(It was a dream I had forgotten, but I can’t just dismiss it as a memory.)

(That said…)

Silvio: “You definitely can’t be my henchman.”

Silvio: “A henchman who gets seasick after an hour would be useless, right?”2618

At my words, Emma smiles dazzlingly.

Emma: “I will definitely cure my seasickness!”

Emma: “I want to do a lot more sailing and treasure hunting with you, Prince Silvio,”

Silvio: “You got my hopes up, I’m not gonna let you give up halfway through.”

Emma: “Of course, I’ll keep all the promises I’ve made to you.”

Silvio: “Ha, you would say that.”

(We’re both blushing, what are we doing?)

(… I look like an idiot, but I’m happy.)

The reason I went out to sea that day was to escape.

But without it, I wouldn’t have been able to remember my childhood dreams and accomplish them in a different way.

(No, if I hadn’t met Emma, I would never have been able to remember or achieve it.)

(Don’t try to make me like you when I’m already your fiancé.)

I don’t care if it’s called an accusation.

If I don’t put some tyrannical words together, I won’t be able to control my thoughts.

(…It’s probably too late for that now.)

As if admitting everything, but still not wanting to be noticed, I deceptively press my lips to hers.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Premium End | Epilogue

#ikemen prince #ikepri #silvio ricci #ikemen silvio #ikepri silvio #ikemen prince silvio #ikemen prince translations #ikepri translations #ikepri silvio ricci

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jell0buss-37 · 2 years

Text

Charmer (Dylan Lenivy x reader) part 4

It's here! It's here! This chapter is a lot better, I promise you guys :')

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Tw: so much fluff, canon angst. :))

The time had come. The phones were charged, the fire was ready to be set, the protection from just about anything was with you guys, and here came Jacob with Emma and what appears to be a wheelbarrow.

"Alright everyone! We've got it all- booze, watermelons, fireworks, aaannnnd-" "WOAH, are those-" Nick spoke up suddenly. Jacob gave him an approving nod. "PUFF PUFF PEANUT BUTTER BUTTER POPS!!!" "Oh god-" Emma shakes her head in disapproval. "PUFF PUFF POP 'EM IN YOUR MOOUUTH!!!!"

You laughed at the little dance they were doing, beginning to do a little shimmy yourself, bouncing on your feet, smile bright on your face.

You hear a chuckle, and look up to see Dylan smiling at you and your steps. It would've felt less embarrassing if the smile he wore wasn't so damn genuine and intense on your heart, causing you to heat up and stop, looking down all shy, a bashful smile painting your features.

Distracted from the conversation the others are having, Dylan walks over to you, smile a little more teasing now. "Awe, why'd you stop? Your moves were blowing me away, man!" He bumps his hip with yours, now starting to what looks like the cha cha real smooth part from the Cha Cha Slide. Yes, this was obviously a cultured white boy with extraordinary amounts of swagger.

You laugh out, smiling at his dorkiness. "I was holding out, is all. Trust me, if I really started busting it down, all you fuckers would be done for." You jut your hip out towards him, finger guns in tow.

There it is again, that damned adoring smile on his damned adorable face. Except this time you didn't shy away, instead putting on your best Elvis impression. "Say, lil momma, what's a sweet thang like you doin' dancing by yourself?" You saunter over to him a little, winking.

His face now aflame, he turns away, laughing harder now. "NO. If we are doing this, we are going to be doing this on MY terms. If any of you guys fuck around even a little, the guns going away, CLEAR?" You turn to the sound of Kaitlyn's scolding.

"Woah, where'd you guys get the gun?" Dylan spoke your question for you. "Oh, it was in the stores with all the booze. Nick and Jacob are gonna have a shooting contest for the Peanut- uh, peanut butter and jelly-" Emma was struggling with the name. "Ugh, the stupid peanut poppy things."

Dylan snickers a bit next to you. "Oh. Well, uh you guys go ahead with that. We're gonna get to setting everything up." You say, starting to walk to the firewood. Your joined by Ryan and Abi. Dylan going over to his phone to 'set up the sweetest jams for the night', as he had explained.

"So, uh, what was that whole thing earlier? With the missing something?" Abi asked you first. You can tell that Ryan was also curious. You blush, a little embarrassed at them seeing you like that.

"Oh, yeah, about that…. So, I uh-" you decide to tell them. They both really deserve to know, and plus it'd be nice to have someone else to vent to other than Kaitlyn.

"I-I like Dylan…" you whispered, not wanting him to hear you guys. Abi's face lights up, pure excitement in her features. "Oh my god, yes!!!" She squeals quietly. "This is so perfect, (Y/n), Dylan-" "Uh, DYLAN is a really great guy, and the two of you would be very nice together." Ryan cuts Abi off, giving her a pointed look.

"Oh- yes. You guys just have a LOT of similarities now." She saves herself. "Now??" You ask. She just laughs it off, walking back to the pit with some wood in her arms. Ryan shakes his head at her a bit, turning to you. He lets an encouraging smile out at you though. "No but seriously, you should really tell him."

"Yeah, haha, that's actually what I planned to do earlier. I left our bags next to the Radio Shack, and I had this whole plan to tell him when we went to go get our bags. I just had it all planned and everything, but then Abi and Emma got them for us, so I just kinda had a small panic attack."

You let out a nervous laugh. Ryan nods in understanding, the two of you beginning to walk back to the fire pit. "Well, I think tonight is the perfect chance now." "Yeah, I'm just going to go with the flow now." You smile.

You guys reach the others, setting the wood down. "Oh, let me get that for you (Y/n)." Dylan walks over, beginning to put the wood into the pit with Ryan. His face is a bit pink, and you look at Abi questioningly, who just turns to get some paper to begin lighting the fire.

Once you guys get it started, you all go to sit, hearing a couple gunshots in the distance. "Looks like we're gonna see who the winners are in a second." Abi says next to you.

And soon enough, in comes the others, Nick walking triumphantly with Jacob looking dejected behind him.

Kaitlyn has the gun, and flops down next to you, setting it down lightly between you guys. Abi moves from beside you to sit with Emma, and with that, you all begin to talk in your own little groups.

"I told Abi and Ryan about Dylan." You whisper to Kaitlyn. She looks at you a bit surprised. "Huh, I thought you'd be too chicken to tell the others. That's great though!"

You roll your eyes playfully at her, continuing on with other topics. After a while, you hear Emma speak up. "Okay guys! I think it's high time we play a little game." She has a look of mischief in her eyes. Oh no… not-

"Truth or Dare." Everyone nods in approval. "Hell yeah, let's go back to our middle school days, this'll be great!" Dylan pipes up, genuinely excited. "The ultimate game of secrets and lies!" You laugh at his excitement.

"Well, since house deals, I will go first. Ryan." He quirks up at his name. "Truth or dare?" "Truth." He says without a doubt. Emma smirks, and asks, "So. Mr. Hackett. What were you guys talking about in his office?" She has a mischievous sound to her sentence. "Ha, I know you guys are expecting an actual juicy answer, but it's really boring. I was just asking him for some advice."

"Advice?" "Woah woah woah, Em, don't worry, I got this. Okay, dude-" Jacob speaks up. "So, you go to the settings, and they have this incognito mode. Just turn that on, and be sure to turn it off as soon as your done-" "EW, Jacob, gross." Kaitlyn cuts him off, everyone chuckling now. "Yeah, I meant life advice. About school and everything, dude." Ryan shakes his head at Jacob.

"Well, why not ask us?" You speak. "Well, you all have your own shit to worry about… that, and I'm sure if I brought up school, Jacob or Dylan would start like, hemorrhaging." Ryan smirks at the end of the sentence.

"Woah, okay, first of all- fuck you. I actually like school." Dylan defends himself. Jacob just looks a bit hurt. You feel a bit bad for him, given he actually isn't as dumb as you'd think.

"Well, it's my turn now, so Dylan." "Nope, forget you guys, I'm doing truth. Ask away!" Dylan leans back, all chill and whatnot. "Okay, so… the first song of the playlist you put together. Who was it for?" Everyone starts to 'ooh', like bunch of kids who's peer just got in trouble. Dylan's face darkens visibly, his macho persona straightening up.

But he just puffs out his chest. His eyes locking with yours, with what looks to be fake confidence, but you can see the fear behind them. Your heart flutters at his answer.

"It's uh, (Y/n)'s favorite song."

You smile brightly, seeing Abi squirm in her seat from excitement. Kaitlyn nudging your side. Dylan coughs, eyes averting from yours, as he moves on to the next person. "Kaitlyn. T or D?" "Truth." She smiles. "Okaayyy, have you ever had feelings for Jacob? Ya know, since you guys like have known eachother since you were two cumshots or whatever" Kaitlyn grimaces at Dylan's phrasing, but answers nonetheless.

"Being honest? At one point, I'm sure. But he's like my actual brother. Being two only children, we were kinda the closest thing we had to eachother." Jacob smiles warmly at the answer, eyes softening. "Awe, sis-" "Yeah yeah yeah, Emma." Kaitlyn ignores Jacob, face a bit pink from being all sentimental.

"Dare." Emma answers without hesitation. "Okay, first one tonight. I dare you… to kiss Jacob" Jacob smirks. "Or Nick." Nick's head shoots up in surprise. "Oh, sorry Nick, this isn't really a dare, so sorry about the obvious rejection-" "I choose Nick." Emma answers simply.

Everyone's face pales as Emma practically shoves her entire tongue down his throat. You see Abi's eyes tear up, a heartbroken look behind them. Jacob slowly growing more and more pissed, very rare for him.

You feel just disgusted, and disappointed in your friends. "Okay, that's enough." Jacob says. "THAT'S ENOUGH." On that note, they finally pull away. Abi runs off into the woods, tears running down her face. Jacob stands his ground.

"Did you have fun kissing my girlfriend!?" He growls at Nick. "She's not you girlfriend, man." The words hurt Jacob. And he runs off to the docks, heartbroken.

"I should probably go with him…" Emma says, now realizing that she took it too far. "Yeah, I'm gonna go find Abi." Nick rises to begin walking in the direction she ran off to. As does Emma, to find Jacob.

Dylan, Ryan, Kaitlyn and you are left to yourselves. An awkward silence surrounding you guys. After a couple minutes of silence, you stand as well. "Uh, I'm gonna go down to the shore…" you begin to walk. "U-uh, me too. Let's go together (Y/n)!" Dylan jogs to catch up. You smile thankfully.

After walking along the beach for a second, you speak up first, for the first time serious. "So, you really chose that song for me?" If he had a drink, he would have choked on it. He coughs awkwardly again, looking at his feet and rubbing his neck.

"U-uh, yeah. You told me once you really liked it, and so I just sorta like, immediately went to listen to it when we got our phones back. You have good taste." He blushes more and more.

This is it. This is the moment you've been waiting for. So with your heart pounding in your chest, you open your mouth to speak, when you're interrupted-

"(Y/n) I really like you." You're shocked, all words lost. "And it's okay you don't have to like me back I completely understand and I mean hey it's no biggie and I just really think you're the coolest person ever and I just can't help it but please don't push yourself to like me back or anything I just really wanted to-" You cut him off by reaching up to grab his face.

"Hey- hey listen." He stops talking, a bit out of breath and red-faced. You can feel his heart pounding itelf, moreso than yours. It speeds up a bit when you smile up at him. "I really like you too, Dylan. I like your disposition, your humor, how selfless you are- just everything…"

His breathe hitches when you lean in more, now whispering as you lightly touch your nose to his. He has to lean down a bit, reaching for your hands, placing one over yours, the other on your bicep.

"And I like how I don't have to, I want to. Desperately I want to. I like you so much, Charmer." His breathing calms, and he smiles so wide that you feel it in your hands.

You lean up a bit more, your lips lightly brushing as your eyes flitter shut.

But then you two hear a scream.

Part 5

#dylan x reader #dylan the quarry #the quarry dylan #dylan lenivy x reader #the quarry x reader #the quarry dylan x reader #the quarry #fanfiction

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vampzzi · 2 years

Text

IDENTIFY VAMPIRE?? 一 ♡ ﹒﹒﹒NICK X VAMPIRE! READER

CW; Reader is black and agender, Readers genitals is not specified, Eventual smut (in chapter 2), reader is of age and is 19 whilst Nick is 20 years old, reader is turnt into a vampire, mild desc of gore/blood, belief mentions of sex in this chapter, hypersexual reader, reader has a darker aesthetic to them (kinda...), you know Emma, Max and Laura before The Quarry, Non-Beta Read

⌗ → PART 1 ﹒﹒ ﹒ PART 2 (in the works) ﹒﹒﹒PART 3 (Bonus)

<3 ; 3K WORDS,, takes place during the ending of readers closing highschool year shifting into the summer of them now going to college

The end of highschool was smooth, you finished with a decent amount of credits not enough to be seen as the smartest person ever but just enough to pass highschool as an average. Your skin shivered as your mind held the flashback of sitting in a cold classroom, clutching onto your jacket while you disassociated from what the professor was saying as a few tears hit the paper from how cold you were. Could you blame your eyes from watering? No, but it didn’t help either the tears ran down your cold cheeks, stringing your skin as you sighed out.

You shook your memories away as you laid in bed, your roommate had nagged you on to do something exciting for summer instead of rotting away in your room like the lazy bum you were, wait ouch, that’s too harsh you just didn’t wanna leave the comfort of your home for your own sake. You rather lay in your room with the air down to a reasonable temperature while your laptop was open to some random smut, sketchbooks open on the bed, half naked in bed with one of your legs out on top of the covers. Ass out and everything who cares it’s the comfort of your own home. But nooo, you had to do something to occupy yourself or you’d wake up at 3:15AM listening to your roomates loud moans, as the bed smacked against the wall while you the smell of sex flowed through your vents and made you cringe in your sheets.

You hated listening to the loud “I love you’s” while the sound of bed banging got louder, sometimes you’d hear your walls crack wondering if one day they’ll fuck the bed through the wall, it made you sick. You had been single for the longest time. You'd tried to stay in relationships but they always left you because you were “too much” for them to handle. Whatever the fuck that meant as you harshly grabbed one of your comfortable pillows and pulled it over your face as you yelled into it, the muffled sounds of screaming only ringing through your ears, taking the pillow off your face you looked at the ceiling. When would you find your true love, you could really use a shining night and armor in your bed right now maybe not even having sex with you just kissing your neck to your collarbone, sweet love you’s.

That’s all you ask for, why is it so hard to achieve that? Who fucking knows dude.

Picking your phone up off the night dresser as it was charged up as you yanked the charger out, the stupid thing only worked at an angle anyways and it pissed you off so much. As you opened up you saw Laura and Max on your feed, you had been with them during your highschool days thanks to late study nights with Laura you passed the scieney part of your report with flying colors. Seeing them making dancing tiktoks and enjoying their life made you fucking sick, seeing them feed each other food and then a quick peck made you shut yout phone down and toss it as you sat up quickly to inspect it and make you didn’t break it as you let a harsh breath.

Your lovely best friend Emma posted about working at the Hackett’s Quarry this summer and you gulped you had heard all kinds of crazy shit about that place, the lady who haunted the place looking for her lost son and turning anyone she saw fit into her son. The mysterious fire, the saviors, everything. You’ll never forget the day your friend said she’d plow Travis Hackett and oh my gee, you’d have to agree with them. He was on campus one day and my friend and I wanted to drop dread when we saw him. Telling his heroic story that was life changing for the name “Hackett’s Quarry”.

Omg, I should tell the story of how I met Emma. Eh, that’s a side story but some crazy shit happens between you two that can be told later on cause you’re too tired to talk about it in your mind. You bundle yourself into your covers and close your laptop as you yawn and lay your head into your soft pillow, looking at the ceiling as your eyes get too heavy for your own body as they shut close and you black out into a deep slumber before your eyes burst open and you grab your phone with a painful grip to mankind as you stare at the time “2:06AM” lovely.

You could read some smut until you fall asleep, as you open your browser and switch to incognito mode typing in your favorite characters name before clicking enter and scrolling through the fics to read. “F!vampire reader x (insert character) NSFW!!” ugh, why is it female reader always and she’s always described as a basic white girl, blonde straight hair, ocean like blue eyes and plump ass kylie jenner lips. You don’t mind female readers but you don't consider yourself female, you consider yourself as just an agender human being in the world.

Gender neutral smuts were cool but they always had female genitals but here’s the thing: your genitals were just genitals, something that could suck in a cock and grip it forever could be your ass or your pussy who knows? You clicked onto the smut anyways and read through the author’s long ass notes before continuing” “He ran his fingers through her brown silk locs while gripping her plump white hips, thrusting his cock between them while she flashed her fangs in surprise biting into his shoulder as he groaned out as the precum slipped onto his milky white thighs”

Exactly what I mean, like are we even the reader or is this just smut for YOURSELF. Like cmon now, you shut your phone as you weren't horny anymore and more frustrated than anything, forcing yourself back into anger slumber.

“Wakey wakey (name)..it’s 8AM”

You groaned as drool was on the side of your face and you looked rough as fuck, you gulped as your throat was dry and itchy as you coughed out. “G-Goodmorning Kuron” Her curls tickled her face as the rest of her was pulled back into a silk headwrap, a satin pajama set covered her body as her beautiful black features stood tall and strong in the morning sun. “Goodmorning, (Name) !!” you said in a sing-song voice as she headed for the door “When you’re cleaned up, my darling made you some of your favorite pancakes” You nodded and cracked a small smile as the door closed and you sighed out. They are perfect for each other, if they aren’t like Jaiden then you don’t want them. You laugh to yourself as you know you’ll take anything you can get well not just anything you’re kinda picky, maybe.

You let your cold feet hit the ice cold floor as your entire body freezes and you open your door to tiptoe to the bathroom, slamming the door gently behind you as you start the water, listening to it hit the sink as you pick up your toothbrush and begin your morning routine, wash your face, brush your teeth and floss (to be safe.). You also check if you should shave to also be safe you

never know when you’re gonna get laid I guess. Making your way out the bathroom to the kitchen as you wave at them “Goodmorning (Name)” Jaiden says to you as they have a warm smile on their face. You smile back before muttering a good morning and sitting down and grabbing the fork as you dip into the pancakes of pancakes, sticking the knife inside and cutting a piece of a taking a bite of the delicious stack of pancakes you’ve ever eaten.

You mutter “so goods” you continue to eat the stack of flapjacks until they’re completely gone and the plate is nothing but a few drops of leftover syrup drops. “That’s was so good Jaiden, thank you so much” you hum out as you kick your legs back in n fourth as it was a habitat you had as a child, as they could only chuckle out and reply with a thank you. You got up and waved to them as you made your way back to your room as you grabbed your phone and checked to see a few texts from Emma.

Okay so one of the pics was Emma in a bikini top, water dripping down the suit and glowing on her perfectly shaped breast as you gulped and looked at the caption “Super Fun beach day!! Streaming later for my emmanation <33” You giggled at the name “emmanation” it was such a cheesy name for her followers but you were glad she was happy,you scrolled through the messages once more before settling on “You should sign up to be a Counselor at Hackett’s Quarry with us.” Your heart hit the floorboards as you gasped out for air and looked back out the message “Hackett’s Quarry”?! Was she out of her damned mind!! But then again, you should really get out the house cause Jaiden and Kuron's honeymoon was soon and they said they were ready for and- you don’t wanna say anymore.

You texted her back…

YOU!! ; I’m down..

READ AT 9:15AM

Emmii; Yay yay! I’m so glad you’ll be joining me this summer here’s the number to talk to Chris Hackett (XXX-XXX-XXXX) <3

YOU: Thanks Em, you’re a trooper heh get it?

READ AT 9:17 + EMMII HEARTED YOUR MESSAGE

You crack a smirk at the short conversation you two exchanged as you click from social media to your phone app, as you enter the number the exact way Emma sent it as you click the call button and let the phone ring, as you got hesitant you wanted to hang out. What if you didn’t make the cut, Emma would laugh at you for days on days. You almost clicked the end call button before a cheery males voice connected to your ears, “Hello! This is Chris Hackett, owner of Hackett’s Quarry. How may I assist you today!”.

You froze in your tracks, trying to figure out what to say to Mr. Hackett “We-ll, M-Mr, m–my name is n-nAmE!!” you say it is broken with low soft parts, mixed with loud excited parts. He hums over the phone “Well, name, how may I assist you?”

“I was wondering if you were still accepting camp counselors” He tapped the desk as he looked at the list and smiled before returning back to you “Yes, we are! Are you interested?” “Yes. Yes I am” you responded way faster than you thought you would, “I’m gonna ask you a series of questions and then I’II see if you quantify “Yes sir.”

After being quizzed on for what felt like hours, he was finally done. “Well Name, I’m gonna have to say…” your head filled with possible answers ‘you didn't make the cut” “sorry kid, you don’t fit it” but his response shocked you. “Welcome to the Team.” Your body eased at the response, still tense but more at ease as you nodded “Thank you Sir, I’II see you in 2 days then.” “See you then kiddo”

You flopped onto the bed letting out a sigh of relief as your body reacted differently you were in relief and pure shock, you couldn't believe you had got the position, your first reaction was to calm down and then text Emma the news but instead you just decided to straight away text away, which backfired because of your anxiety and shit grammar.

YOU!! ; I gotfj the jobd1!1!

Read 10:24

Emma; that’s good to hear, I’m so excited to spend this summer with you.

You: same <3

Read 10:25

Smiling as you place the floor down, you stare at the ceiling, you have 2 days to get some nice clothing, get your messy hair situated and get packed. You better head out now and oh– you get paid later today, your paycheck should hit around 6pm since the systems are down. What could you do for 5 hours until 5:30? Walking around you step on your gaming controller and you pick it up and click your tongue, maybe play some skullgirls or Detroit becomes human. You really need to get all the dbh endings so you’ll settle on that for now. Walking over to your PS4 and beginning the start it up and you drop onto the bed and flick through the small amount of games before loading up dbh, as the story progresses so does the day as the day shifts from all sunny to a beautiful orangy, yellow color with hints of red in the sky.

. ～ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) - uh oh..name..run while you can..

Your phone dings when the timer goes off as it’s 5:30 and you decide to get off the couch, saving the game and powering off the game system as you get and stretch your body followed by a loud yawn. Making your way over to your dresser you pick out something light and simple to put on, it’s still hot and moist out and you wouldn't wanna risk it, a tank top (with a picture or not, your preference) and some pants fit this category. You slide on your cozy shoes and grab your belongings off the night dresser and make your way out the room, Jaiden and K are sleeping on the couch while a cheesy romcom plays with the fake laughter in the background.

You open the door and step out as the cool air hits your body sending chills down your entire body as you make your way to your car, opening the door, climbing inside and starting up the vehicle. While on your way to the store, your payment was processed and it already hit your card while you were driving and humming to the tunes of your favorite song.

As you pulled into the parking lot of the store. You step outside the car and make your way to the store, something feels off as the chilly weather blows paper bags in the wind as you walk into the store. This takes you a while to pick out clothes going through the many aisles, picking out outfits you find amazing outfits to wear as you place them in your handbasket. Making your way to the front of the store you pay for the items and making your way out stepping outside something feels extremely wrong.

As you walk to your car, open the passenger door and place your bags inside you hear a woman scream you flinch at the sound as you quickly shut the car door, now normally you wouldn't check it out but the help me and save me gets to you and before opening your door you bolt into the woods. It’s dark, wet and quiet. The sun is basically gone and it's nothing but darkness. You crunch the leaves and continue running before slowing down to catch a breath and listen to heavy breathing, seeing the corpse in front of you , you freeze but bolt something running behind you in a quiet fluid motion, something you’ve never seen before.

You don't stop, you won’t stop, you can't stop. Your body is pushing beyond it limits for your safety as you can see the lights, you push yourself faster to get into the lights of the parking lot as you drop your phone out your jacket pocket, fuck fuck fuck. Forget it, your life is more important right now. You continue to pace yourself and run. It hasn't stopped chasing you yet and it attacks you from a tree branch, gripping your hair and pushing your face into the dirty ground as you watch the little worm wiggle across the leaves as your head is hit into the ground, again and again. Blood dribbles down your nose as the vicious thing opens its mouth and licks at your bruised bloody nose, before retracting and biting you– hard.

You can do nothing but scream out for help as it muffles you by pushing your face into the pile of leaves, you can feel the teeth ripping your skin away as the blood runs down and then the cold wetness of this monster's tongue follows the trail. You can't breathe, you’re in shock and you don't know how it’s gonna get out of you. Gripping at the ground, you make your way to the rock as the monster claws at your hand, you yell out and grab the rock bashing it into the monster's head as it hits the ground running in the opposite direction while grabbing your phone before bolting off.

Your screen protector is cracked but you can't worry about that now, the only thing you can worry about is calling someone and getting help. Your lungs feel tight and like they’re on fire as you finally make it to the other side of the parking lot running to your car and unlocking it and getting inside, closing the door and locking it behind you. You want to dial the police, your roommate, anyone but people would think you’d gone crazy so what could you really do. You felt your neck as you hissed out in pure agony as it hit like hell to touch bringing your hand to the face to see the dark red crimson blood on your hands as you began to cry, you had got

attacked and barely made it out alive, All cause you wanted to be a hero, how stupid. You start up the car and get away from the store and forest, you need a story and goodnight of rest to put your panicked mind at ease. The car was pure silent as you looked into the rear mirror of your car, gulping as your body was warm and your hands trembled while you were driving, quickly getting off the road as you parked into the driveway, got the bags and went inside you sighed out as the house was dark and moaning could be heard from the other room as you let out a louder annoyed sigh.

After a warm shower and getting the first aid kit, you're patting at the bite with some rubbing alcohol, yes it fucking burns but it’s for the better. You don't need this nasty ass bite getting infected right?? You put the bandage over the bite and lay down as you look at the ceiling once more, you're so drained out of energy it only takes one breath and you're out like a light. Little did you know, your downfall has only began,, over the course of the 1 day you spent packing, you were insanely weak, too weak for your own good as you struggled to get outside the house,getting into the car and making your way to your reversed hotel room for the night as you thought it would be a better idea to be there so you could be closer to Hackett’s Quarry.

You made your way into the hotel with your small baggage and took the key from the ladies hand as you made your way to the elevator and went to the 6th floor of the building walking through the cool halls as you unlocked the doors and walked into the fairly nice sized room. Tonight, you would rest and in the morning it's off to Hackett's Quarry Summer camp.

Author’s note; breaking this story into TWO parts because I don’t want this to be too long. You will have your smut in chapter two I promise you just give me some time lovelies <3

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angelic-brutality · 2 years

Text

heyo

look at what i made

decided to make an angst fanfic to try it, here it goes

it's a draken x neutral reader :-D based on that song "deja vu" by olivia rodrigo bc yes

and also i'm brazilian so i'm sure there's grammar mistakes here, don't act like i didn't said nothing 🙌

----

“hope you enjoy the trip!”

it was the comment i sent as soon as i realized that what draken posted was a photo of him and emma traveling together, in osaka, right in that place. it was a city he liked. we got used to go there at least two times a month just to relax, and we both had special memories about that place.

i don’t even know why i sent the comment, he never answers. not in the picture that showed the both in an ice cream shop eating ice cream in the same cup, and also ignored me when i said they looked cute in each other’s jackets.

part of me said that if we had broke up, it wasn't meant to be, even with the good memories we built together that usually bring me a smile in my face every time i remember them; but now i just feel an empty and sadness when i realize ken is not coming back, not even if i begged. it’s all over. i was used to the idea that ryuguji is a human with choices and if he wanted to he had the right to leave me, but that just makes me so sad.

the other part of my mind just wanted to make any convenient excuse just so i wouldn’t feel so bad. said that ken was just confused when we broke up, seeked for emma’s comfort but things developed and they ended up like they are nowadays; but he still felt something for me, no one would fall out of love this fast. thinking about this makes me want to scream ‘cause i don’t hate emma, trully, but i hate the way she conquered him with such ease. thinking about this makes me so angry.

when i realized that as a whole and how divided i was i just felt so confused. hate or don’t hate emma, ‘cause she was my friend but now she didn’t even stare at me ‘cause i’m her boyfriend’s ex. hate or don’t hate draken, ‘cause he had choices but it didn’t gives him the right of hearing so much vents of mine but now pretend i don’t exist. hate or don’t hate myself, because i can’t want two people that are meant for each other to break up just because i was confused and jealous, but at the same time i hope that one day they will realize that everything was weird because it started from another break up.

in the beginning, i used to joke about it, saying “i bet he almost calls my name when he’ll talk about her”, “it’s obvious that he tells my jokes like they're his” or even “it’s a different person but he acts like it was me”, but as the time passed by i realized these things were true. i always traveled to osaka with him. i shared my ice cream in the same cup in a romantic way with him. i liked to change our jackets to see how it would look in the other. i passed nights watching series and movies with him, always introducing something new. everything was reused. even though i wanted to go back like we were before, i was sure it would never happen.

maybe in another universe where i’m (or he’s?) not too stupid and manages to make this work, but not in this one.

----

:-(

taglist: @rome-alone (i need more people in my taglist </3)

#!!.polle writes #draken x male reader #draken x reader #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokrev x reader #draken #ken ryuguji #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev #tokrev #draken angst #tokyorev x reader

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luvliewriting · 2 years

Note

could you turn the Jacob Custos first kiss headcanons into a fic pls?

❦Hopelessly Devoted❦

Pairing: Jacob Custos x GN!Reader

Warnings: wouldn't be a Luvlie Fic if there wasn't some angst

Note: If you couldn't tell this was based off the song Hopelessly Devoted from Grease. I may have changed somethings from the headcannon but hey it still works

❦❦❦

Stupid summer fling, that's all it was. Jacob always said that him and Emma was just a fling, something to pass the time. Yet when the words 'girlfriend' left his lips at that stupid party what were you to think? No one just calls a summer fling their girlfriend! It felt wrong almost to be walking to the docks but he seemed pretty upset when he stormed off. You felt like it was your obligation to go check if he was okay as his bestfriend.

Ah bestfriend, what an interesting phrase you know. Last time you checked, bestfriends don't see each other naked, don't cuddle at night when the other has a nightmare or is sad etc. There was that one time on August 9th that you and Jacob may have had too much to drink one night and woke up beside each other bare as the day you were both born. Of course you two don't remember a single thing that happened that night and promised to never talk about it.

Of course you never forgot that morning and a part of you wished you weren't too drunk to forget. You had woken up long before Jacob did that morning but wanted to enjoy the moment while it lasted so when he woke up you pretended to still be asleep so he would wake you up. You remembered how beautiful he looked that night, his hair tossed in different places on his head, his lips parted slightly, watching his chest rise and fall with each breath.

You heard the dock wood creak under your feet as you walked under the dim light towards the crying man who sat on the dock edge, feet hanging over the edge. You heard him, he was crying. You sighed rolling your eyes sitting down beside the boy, it was like you weren't even there, he didn't even greet you so you took the burden, "you know Emma isn't your girlfriend right? You took broke up."

He didn't say anything but as you glanced at his fist, you saw it tighten at his sides. You looked at his teary eyes, puffy and red. You wanted to hug him but at the same time you just wanted to knock him out.

"No means no Jacob," you tried to explain, his fist tightened a little more but you kept going, "Emma doesn't want you. It was a summer fling, that's all she wanted."

His fist tightened more.

"I mean why can't you just see that? Why do you keep pining over something that isn't there?"

He snapped, getting up from the dock edge towering over you as he shouted, "it was there!" You stood as well, standing toe to toe with Jacob as he vented, "I loved her Y/N! I thought as my bestfriend you would understand that."

"And I thought as well that maybe you could see something so obvious?" You argued back at the man in the green jumper, he ignored your words going to walk away as you grabbed him harshly, not letting him leave as he tried to tug you away, "Jacob Antonio Castos don't you fucking walk away."

He tried to tug himself free as you tightened your hold on him, "what not like you care? Emma is the only one that's ever cared!"

"You fucking idiot," you felt anger rushing through your blood as you wiped Jacob around, jabbing your finger into his chest making him move back ever so slightly with each jab, "who the fuck has been there? Who has been the one to let you stay at their house on bad days? Who has defended you when you were being bullied? Who came to each one of your games? Who fucking loved you despite you going to make out with Emma every five seconds!?"

Eventually Jacob reached the end of the dock, one more jab would send him over and that's exactly happened. With one more swift jab, he tumbled going to grab you for support but pulling you down under the water with him.

When you two surfaced, you gasped for air while Jacob stared at you shocked. You swam back to the dock, going to pull yourself out but Jacob stayed in the water as he stared at you, "you love me?"

You froze, half in the water and half out. Your hair was drenched, your clothes heavy and soaked, you looked at him from the corner of your eyes as you pulled yourself up on the dock, "not like it matters. Emma, remember?"

You went to leave the dock, water dripping down your body before you were grabbed and turned around by Jacob. You went to ask him what he was doing but he just cupped your face in his palms, placing your lips against his. You were shocked at first but than melted into it.

You wrapped your arms around his neck feeling his on your waist. You felt him smile into the kiss before he pulled away, resting your forehead against yours, speaking softly, "I'm so sorry."

You looked at him, a small frown on your face, "but what about Emma?"

Jacob leaned away from you, tilting your chin to look at him, "trust me, I got it."

❦❦❦

Thank you for reading, sorry it kinda ended weird. Please like and please reblog as it really does help me out

Taglist:

❦❦❦

#jacob custos #jacob custos x reader #the quarry #the quarry x reader

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shivunin · 1 year

Note

BREAKS DOWN YOUR DOOR

For Emma: 24 Elowen: 27 Salshira: 35 Arianwen: 42

:D ALL my babies!! Thank you!

24 (Emma): How do they relax? Is that a solitary activity, a group activity, or both?

A couple ways! Emma likes gardening most. She really likes feeling connected to growing things, and seeing the progress of weeding and plants growing is very affirming for her. She tends to sing while she works, too, though she's not always actively cognizant of it (and Cullen leaves the windows open while she's in the garden so he can hear c:) If she needs to relax specifically post-battle, she prefers a long, hot soak in a bath either alone or with Cullen. Also, she'd never turn down a nice cup of tea and a book in the library, and after Adhlea has the coordination for it the two of them do crafts together.

27 (Elowen): What is their romance’s theme song?

Choosing only one song took the longest of all the questions lol (and also. the urge to just put one for each of them was almost overwhelming). So I chose two:

School Nights by Chappell Roan and Everything is Color by Juniper Vale

35 (Salshira): What is something they’re ashamed of but others find extremely cute?

When Salshira is really, actually laughing she snorts loudly. It's why she usually limits herself to like. A hearty chuckle. She was teased about it as a kid and she's always kind of monitored how hard she's actually laughing because of it, but the Inquisition is her first time she is every laughing so hard that she does it in public (during the Wicked Grace scene) and half the people at the table awwwwwed over it :)

42 (Arianwen): Let them vent for a second, without the fear of being judged. What would they like to say?

"I love animals. I love them. They never make stupid jokes in the middle of battle, or get into arguments while you walk, and they sure as fuck don't take the last of the cookies I bought in Denerim and hid in my tent.

But that nug?? That nug that I especially bought in Orzammar so Leliana would stop telling me about Andraste and baby the thing instead? Drives me to kill. If I have to listen to it squeak one more time as the background rhythm to yet another story around the campfire, I---I won't be responsible for what happens next! I just feel the itch in my hands, and Oghren is right there for stabbing and---"

(Inarticulate scream of rage, and then some rustling as she stomps off into the bushes)

Wholesome ask meme

#ask meme #THANK YOU i love them all so much i would shout it from the rooftops #emmaera lavellan #elowen lavellan #salshira lavellan #arianwen tabris

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hauntedbythenarrative · 1 year

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Reblog to give alicent a gun

#alicent hightower #olivia cooke #house of the dragon #has anyone done this yet #?#hotd #got #asoiaf #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #guns tw #mine #emma and her stupid vent

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moonstone27ls · 1 year

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Marvel comics...

heh small vent so don’t look into this too much.

Normally I don’t really get annoyed. At most I only really got upset when they retconned the Maximoff twins as Magneto’s. But every now and then stuff has changed that makes me go “whatttt”

I guess for starters that X-men Krakoa storyline. Has gone wayyyy too long. Too many characters which would not be so bad but too many to keep up with. And they don’t even bother catching up with the other characters. No I don’t mean the obvious main core cast. Referring to lets see I guess an example would be uhh Icarus, brother to Cannonball(to anyone who isn’t a marvel fan sorry you’re reading this and probably thinking I’m nuts). I heard some of the writers had thought of having him date Dust/ aka Sooraya Qadir. But ... as far as I know nothing has happened with his character since you know the whole resurrection crap. He’s kinda like a lot of characters they brought back, used for background maybe but no real development.

Another would be Kevin Ford/ Wither... as far as I know nothing either with that character. I dunno I thought they missed an opportunity to see if him and Selene would have interactions. Nothing, no “Oh whoa I was manipulated” or “I’m still loyal to Selene”. Then Northstar is apparently suppose to get his adopted baby resurrected... but haven’t heard a thing on that. One mention and its radio silence. I know storywise they got all these AUs, etc, etc. But so much goes on and all these new characters you forget there other X-men BESIDES the main core.

Uh not entirely fond that Marvel is apparently retiring Mary Jane as Peter’s love interest. Now before someone starts a shipping war with me. No I’m not entirely against Black Cat, no. Been use to her since the 90s.But I just you know added her in the cluster of love interests. A part of me doesn’t want them to shelve M.J. away. Just hope Marvel’s just doing this temporarily. Like how Scott/ Cyclops was with Emma Frost for a while. You’re use to the new gal but know the old love interest is just as important. I dunno I’m probably rambling sorry.

Anything else... uhh kinda find it strange that since WandaVision it seems Marvel is catering to Disney. I say seems. I only have two examples. Like how although Wanda was bettering herself and going on dates with Jericho Drumm / Doctor Voodoo... they still shoehorn in Vision. Pft... sorry Wandavision fanatics but I don’t care for Vision. That is a ship I wanna see retire, because it was always the SAME with them. Wanda loves him, he either gets reprogramed or treats her like crap Wanda goes through hell. Its why I couldn’t really like Wanda in MCU she put people in hell over a STUPID robot she couldn’t get over... not her twin brother. Her robot a robot if, he was so smart could have downloaded a copy of himself. (its been done peopleeee)

And recently Agatha’s gonna be a villain now... I admit I’m not a 100% caught up in her history comic wise. Buttt... up until hat stupid show. I always got the impression Agatha was an ally. Soo why do this now? I dunno I really don’t oO. That one felt like to cater Disney+ subscribers and I admit that irks me a little.

But oh well they need money I guess.

#marvel comics #small vent #or rant

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just-like-playing-tag · 3 years

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Look I'm not going to vent much more after this because honestly I don't have the energies to be bitter over the anime but really, let me clear up. I'm ok with them avoiding things. I'm ok with them jumping past whole characters and arcs. I can take them straight up killing off all the amazing world building that the manga offered. But I draw the line at how disrespectful the anime was towards Emma. In the manga, Emma was the character who never gave up: she never lost hope. Hope is such an important theme in tpn: it drives on the entire plot. That's what makes it different from series with similar concepts such as Tokyo Ghoul, Shingeki no kyojin, Made in Abyss. Tpn tells you the world is not endless struggling, there's actually light at the end of the tunnel- you just have to keep fighting to reach the end.

Emma never losing hope didn't make her childish or naïve- it's what made her strong and amazing. It's what made her a wonderful landmark for her fellow escapees; someone who they admired, and helped them to keep going- Norman and Ray at the top of the list. The Emma that the anime displays is just... Bland. She's just another anime female character who cries over herself. She's lost her power and drive, her will to live and to let others live as well. She's lost hope. I find it so stupid of her to repeat to herself the words Ray told her back at the house. “What awaits outside is a world of demons. Living outside means we'll be surrounded by enemies. That we all have to survive. That we have to obtain housing and food on our own from now on.” Do you think she's dumb? Do you think she didn't know that stuff back at the house? Do you think she didn't realize what was waiting for them? She knew- c'mon for real, she isn't stupid?? She knew that, but she chose to go nonetheless. She chose freedom, and especially the lives of her family. But as for how the anime is depicting Emma now- sis, she could have as well accepted the role of mama when Isabella offered it to her. It's just. Nothing like Emma at all. Not only the anime took away from her all the things she could do- hunt, protect, shoot, fight- probably just to give that space to her male counterparts. Now they've also hopelessly took her personality and strength away from her. And it's so depressing that they ruined such a beautiful and empowering female character.

#That being said keep enjoying the anime #I'm out 💫#tpn emma #tpn #the promised neverland #Not gonna tag this as spoiler because 1) technically it already happened in the anime (??????????)#and 2) some anime only might need to hear this #Anyway there's no spoiler besides from the manga panels #tpn salt #tpn s2 #tpn s2 ep5 #tpn analysis #mine #Oh well #Anyone wanna go watch Kill la Kill with me

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autistic-paul · 3 years

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I just love Paul so much, guys. I love that he's a boring bitch. I love that he's blunt and presumably clueless about how rude he comes across. I love that he's clearly head over heels for Emma but he never crosses boundaries, he just listens to her vent and gives her money. I love that he's loyal, but won't do shit he doesn't want to do. I love the way his hands are always moving, I love that his posture is so damn perfect, I love that he is bisexual. I love that he is autistic. I love that he's so anxious. I love that he's an absolute mess in important social situations. I love the way he looks at the people he cares about, how he hovers over them, stands in front of them to protect them, touches them so frequently. I love that he clearly likes children but has no idea how to talk to them. I love that he's such a romantic, he wants marriage and a partner and Emma so badly. I love that he's there with a reassuring word when he needs to be. Reassuring Bill that it's not his fault, being there for Emma as she goes on about the mistakes she's mad and doesn't judge her, helps her reconnect with what's left of her family. I love that he's so resistant to change and has no ambitions whatsoever, outside of wanting Emma to love him. I love his stupid fashion sense, the slightly oversized brown suit with a black tie, or an adorable Christmas sweater and fucking khakis. I love that he complains so much. I love that he loves movies. I love that he hates musicals. I love that he's so dramatic, and he babbles in stressful situations. I love that he wears his heart on his sleeve, and that he's so straightforward with how he feels, and what he thinks. I love him.

#paul matthews #tgwdlm #black friday #nightmare time #mine #hooooo boy this sure is a post huh #been a while since i've done anything like this #i just have a lot of feelings right now #there's been a lot going on lately. with twitch and jon and such #i haven't been focusing much on hatchetfield at all #i miss it. i miss paul.#so here's a stream of consciousness text block about him

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 3 years

Text

Canary, Part 16

First

So… fighting people while injured, even if it’s not a particularly long or difficult fight, is apparently a bad thing. Marinette didn’t feel it until the adrenaline wore off, but the moment it did it hit her like a freight train. She’d had to lean against a nearby building, her hand cradling her ribs, trying her hardest to keep her breathing under control.

When that didn’t help as much as she would have liked, she called Danielle.

“Hey, so, hypothetically… what do you think would happen if I ignored the bedrest thing --.”

“The fuck?”

“Sorry?”

“You don’t sound sorry.”

“Hahahaha anyways so what I did was... so, like, I may or may not have, maybe, sort of, um…” She swallowed thickly. Her mouth tasted of copper, which was never a good thing. “Scaled a two-story building, crawled through some vents, flipped a guy that’s over a foot taller than me over my shoulder, lifted said guy back to his feet, and then jumped off the roof? You know… as you do?”

“You do not get to say ‘as you do’ what the fuck that is not a normal thing --.”

“How long do you think it’ll be?”

Danielle sighed and she could hear her count to ten under her breath. When she finished, she said: “... can you afford an extra few weeks? Because that’ll at least set you back half a month. I’d say an extra month and a half but...”

“I hope I can,” Marinette said, biting her lip. Had Emma told Joker how long the doctor had prescribed she took time off? Because if she already did that then there was no way Joker was going to allow the extra few weeks.

Not that Marinette thought she would be able to go that long without doing anything at all, she supposed, but she would love an excuse not to see his pasty face.

“I’ll have to prescribe painkillers if you don’t --.”

“No.”

Danielle scoffed a little but didn’t press it. A lot of Gothamites had seen what painkillers could do to people. And, from what Marinette could find about the woman, Danielle was a perfect example -- she’d struggled with the workload of going to med school and having a job at the same time, she’d gotten hooked, and it had promptly ruined her life. Of all people, she wasn't going to question why someone wouldn’t touch the stuff.

“At least try and stay out of trouble this time, okay?”

Marinette huffed a little (and then winced when her ribs protested it). “I do! The job really hadn’t been that bad today. Trouble just has a way of finding me.”

The doctor only laughed.

It was late at night, but it was cold in her apartment (the heater was broken, which was a surprise to absolutely no one considering how cheap the apartment complex was) and she couldn’t fall asleep. So, Marinette had been making macaroons for Tikki when she’d heard a knock...

On her window. She knew the distinct sound of gloved knuckles hitting glass by heart thanks to the occasional vigilante dropping by her safehouses for help with wounds they didn’t want the Big Bad Bat to see.

But they didn’t know that she was Canary, bats wouldn’t be coming by for her first aid capabilities.

Unfortunately, she could think of one other person that wore similar gloves that had already gotten into her apartment through the window. And he probably wanted his miraculous back, so there was a motive for his sudden appearance.

She didn’t want him in her apartment again. This was her house. It was supposed to be safe.

(Not that her houses have been feeling all that safe ever since Cobblepot had figured out who she was.)

She could hardly breathe -- a feeling she was getting far too used to for her liking. She brought a shaky hand up to the hollow of her throat, pressing on the tiny indent in her collarbone. It was a pressure point, she thought she remembered, it was supposed to help calm her down.

It wasn’t working.

She pulled a knife from her knife block and slowly crept around the wall that cordoned off her bathroom.

Her eyes scanned the apartment for anything that was off. Nope, it seemed that he’d stayed outside… she looked out the window...

Oh. It was Red Robin.

This was… marginally better. Maybe.

Marinette put the knife back and walked over. She bent down to unlatch the window lock and let Red Robin in.

He clambered through the window once she had moved out of the way. He closed it behind himself and, though she knew that was just so it would be harder for eavesdroppers to hear their conversations, it made her skin crawl.

He noticed, apparently, because he didn’t even lock it and he kept a wide berth as he walked around to stand in the middle of the living room part of the apartment, by the couch.

“You should have checked to make sure that it was really me,” Red Robin said and she fought back a wince. That was his work voice.

“Well, no one else would wear an outfit that awful.”

Her voice came out flat. She was still anxious and it was throwing her off. She picked at the fingers of her gloves, pretending to be very interested in a nonexistent loose thread as she tried her hardest to push down the emotions that shouldn’t be there in the first place.

He was there to interrogate her, sure, but that was fine. She’d faced far worse interrogations before, had interrogated people in far worse ways before. This was nothing new, she could handle this.

Knowing she would be fine, though, wasn’t enough to relax her.

She took a deep breath to get herself under control then cringed. Broken ribs shouldn’t be so hard to remember. She brought her hand up to rest over the injury.

“Are you alright?”

His tone had softened a little, but that only made her bristle. She didn’t want his pity. Not when she could see a burn she had caused poking above the neckline of his suit.

“I’ll be fine in a month.”

(Okay, actually it was closer to a month and a half to two months since she had irritated the injury, but who cares about those kinds of technicalities?)

“What about you? Are you…?” She couldn’t finish the thought. She didn’t want to know if it wasn’t going to get better. She knew they were on opposite sides, but that didn’t mean she liked the idea of them getting hurt. They were…

Well, they weren’t friends.

They were like rival football -- sorry, soccer -- teams. On opposite sides, but they held little actual malice for each other.

He seemed to sense the genuine unease she felt at the idea of him being hurt because of her, because he gave the ghost of a smile.

“I’ve had worse.”

She picked at her gloves again. She wanted to take them off to pick at her nails but even the idea of taking them off in front of someone was enough to make her feel a little sick.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to but I needed to make sure you wouldn’t come and arrest me or my friends immediately and I thought that would distract you but it was kind of a dick move and --.”

He cut her off with a chuckle.

Heat rose to her cheeks.

She cleared her throat awkwardly. “Right, the point that I was trying to get to was that I didn’t actually want to hurt you… it was just...”

She didn’t have the words to excuse what she had done. She could only shrug lamely.

Some of the amusement faded. “It’s fine. Like I said, I’ve had worse. It’s an occupational hazard. For both of us, apparently.”

“I -- yeah -- I’m sorry about that, too. I honestly didn’t think we’d all become friends and I felt kind of bad about not telling you but -- but I just couldn’t.”

“I get it.”

She raised her eyebrows just slightly.

He sighed lightly and leaned back against the couch. “I do. You couldn’t tell me. I’m the textbook definition of a narc. You were just looking out for yourself.”

She managed a stiff nod.

But now she didn’t really know where to go. Why was he there? Why hadn’t he told the other bats yet? Was it that they were also narcs and he was protecting her? Why? Sure, he said it was fine that he had blown her up, but she doubted that it was really fine. People were like that, saying things that they didn’t mean because they didn’t want it to be awkward.

The questions swirled around in her head, each one clamoring to be the first one to be voiced. But she still couldn’t seem to come up with any one question to ask.

“I don’t get it,” Red Robin said when it became clear she wasn’t going to be saying anything for a while without prompting.

And, wow, that sentence was exactly what she had needed to pull her out of her thoughts. Because what?

“You just said…?”

“I don’t get why you’re a henchman,” he clarified. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Her frown deepened. It wasn’t all that hard to understand, she didn’t think.

“... because I need money to live, and I don’t really have many other options when it comes to getting it,” Marinette said, her tone making it obvious just how stupid she thought he was. Which wasn’t fair to him, Red Robin was a born and bred rich kid (she knew this fact in her bones, though he would never admit anything like that for fear of her finding out his secret identity), but it was simply obvious.

He shook his head. “It just doesn’t line up. You look up to heroes so you clearly have morals, why would you give that up for money?”

She scoffed at that. Because the real Marinette Dupain-Cheng had done more than looked up to heroes -- she had been one. But even that hadn’t been enough to keep her from becoming Canary when push came to shove.

“Morals are a privilege, Red.”

The lenses of his domino widened.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I drew a line in the sand and, when it became clear that line wasn’t going to be enough for me to survive, I stepped over it and drew a new one. You say you’ll never break a law, and then you say you’ll never hurt anyone, then you say you won’t hurt someone that doesn’t deserve it, and then you say you won’t hurt kids… and then one day you wake up and you realize that there isn’t that many more lines left to cross and the first line you’d made is so far behind you that you can’t even dream of getting back to it.”

Marinette swallowed thickly. She was too close to this, this was way too close to real for her. She hated the old feelings that this case was dredging back up. She hadn’t felt this awful -- this helpless -- in such a long time and she didn’t want to feel this way.

Red Robin didn’t seem to notice, at least, far too stunned by what he was hearing to notice the tears brimming in her eyes.

“But -- but you haven’t even been here that long!”

And he was right. The process had gone fast for the fake Marinette, she’d gotten a job not that long after she had officially arrived in Gotham… but she had an explanation for that:

“I don’t have any other options. You can look up my name and find article after article talking about how I stalked a hero. There goes all the legal options, no one wants someone like that representing their company. And, since Canary exists and has no problem going undercover, most of the Rogues don’t hire Asian women if they don’t have a Rogue vouching for them, saying that they’re a real person and not just someone trying to give information to their competitors. So, I’m stuck with Joker.”

He reached a hand out like he wanted to hug her. She didn’t make any moves to stop him, but he still thought better of the action and let his hand fall limp at his side.

The silence in the room was deafening.

And then, he broke it: “Let me help you.”

That simple sentence had nearly broken her.

Because those were the exact words she had been longing to hear.

They were just many years too late.

Why now? She wanted to scream.

“Why me?” She asked instead.

“Because I care about you,” Red Robin said softly.

The tears in her eyes were getting harder and harder to hold back and she needed to channel that into something more productive.

Anger. Anger was productive. Usually.

“Your job means you’re supposed to care about everyone. Why me?”

He didn’t answer that. Instead, he said: “You clearly want out.”

“Everyone does. Why me?”

He looked a little frustrated. Marinette knew the feeling.

“If everyone wants out then why are you so mad about it?”

Why would she be mad about it?

Marinette found an answer with ease: “I don’t know, Red, probably because I almost had to fight a kid to the death in order to get a job with Joker -- and the best option I could give was to send him to Scarecrow instead. Or because there’s two sixteen year olds working with me… and Benny is smart, he was in honors classes, he skipped grades, he got a full ride scholarship, so it’s not a lack of potential. They’re all good people -- and, above that, they’re kids. If anyone deserves out, it’s them. So, for the last time: why me?”

He couldn’t seem to find an answer. His mouth hung slightly open, as if he was shocked at the outburst.

“Say it. Say the quiet part out loud,” Marinette dared him.

She didn’t actually want to hear it, though. She didn’t want him to say that ‘I care about you more than them’. Marinette liked to think that she’d ended up the way she had because she was inadequate in some way, that if she had tried a little harder or that if she had been just a little more skilled maybe she might have gotten out in a legal way. It was what kept her sane. It was a personal problem, not a systemic one. Personal problems could be fixed, systemic problems never would be. But this entire job challenged that very ideal. Because this ‘Marinette Dupain-Cheng’ she had created was close to the one that had existed ten years ago, but this Marinette was getting so many more opportunities... she was friends with a Wayne and the bats. It had only been three and a half months and she had already found two different ways that she could have gotten out, but if she could do it now then that meant she had always had the capability. It meant that the thing that could have saved her -- no, that the thing that had doomed her was nothing more than bad luck and a lack of good connections.

Maybe Red Robin knew that she didn’t actually want to hear it, or maybe he just couldn’t bring himself to say it… but, whatever the reason, he turned around and made his way towards the window.

“I know I’m a bad person, Red. We both can see that. And that’s fine. But you don’t seem to know that you’re not a good person, either.”

He glanced back at her, lips drawn in a thin line, but didn’t say anything. He simply slipped out the window and disappeared into the night.

She let herself sink to the floor and bury her face in her knees.

She’d gotten what she’d wanted.

So, why did it feel so awful?

~~~

SpoilerAlert: canary totally has a knife kink

TheBetterCanary: what the fuck

SpoilerAlert: why else would you use knives almost exclusively

TheBetterCanary: because theyre quiet

TheBetterCanary: and stabby

SpoilerAlert: you’re so right i’m so sorry

~~~~~

Taglist: @nathleigh @peachmuses @jayjayspixiepop @unoriginalmess @miraculousfanfic127 @probably-a-hologram @iloontjeboontje @mystery-5-5 @flyhighdreamer @starlit-dreaming @aespades @lowhangingtreebranches @twsssmlmaa @queenz-z

#canary #maribat #timinette #timari #timmari #shutterbug #tim drake #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #red robin

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wistfulcynic · 3 years

Text

The Thief of Time

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @optomisticgirl!! You are one of the loveliest and most supportive people in the fandom, a loving cat mom and brutal murderer who would die for a fictional plant and has the t-shirt to prove it. I am so, so honoured to have you as a friend ❤️❤️.

This fic came about because B sent me this post and I immediately said "Yep, Killian would be a wizard or an artificer." And B, unrepentant evildoer and witch!Emma's foremost fan, planted seeds in my head that would not stop growing. This is the result.

SUMMARY: Killian Jones, pirate-turned-artificer, has suffered blow after blow from life and all he wants is to go back to the past and make things right. If only he could get his bloody time machine to work.

Emma Swan, witch, has the ability to See through time and space and the responsibility to stand down any threats to either of them. When an artificer from 300 years ago in another realm devises a machine that could blow a hole straight through the multiverse, it’s her job to stop him.

What they find when they meet is an improbable connection, an understanding that bridges the distance between them. A distance that is in all practical ways insurmountable—by everything but love.

(And one very determined pirate-turned-artificer.)

Words: <9k Rating: T Tags: magic au, witch!Emma, artificer!Killian, angst, Killian Jones is a sad boi, a dash of hurt/comfort, time travel, realm travel, HEA

AO3

The Thief of Time:

Once upon a time there was an artificer.

He wasn’t much of an artificer, it must be said. Artificing, as everyone knows, requires patience, perseverance, and attention to detail, and while Killian Jones possessed a rock-solid stubbornness that stood in well for perseverance as well as a fine eye for detail, patience—at least when it came to tedious, laborious tasks—was not among his strengths.

This is perhaps why, on the particular bright morning when his life changed forever, Killian could be found in his workshop surrounded by shards of glass and a puddle of pale brown liquid oozing through his floorboards that until a moment before had been a bottle of rum. Until Killian, in a surge of frustration at yet another failure, had flung it furiously at the wall.

The rum bottle had been a more or less innocent bystander, a casualty of proximity, a stand-in for the machine that sat on a rickety table in the centre of the hut that served as Killian’s workshop—a machine that continued nonchalantly failing to function even after the rum bottle had met its tragic fate.

It was almost, thought Killian, as though the device didn’t care how many bottles came to an untimely end, it still had no intention of ever working.

He held out his hand with fingers curled like talons and let it hover menacingly over the machine before tightening it into a fist and shaking it. “I should bloody well smash you to bits,” he growled. “I should—”

He had no real idea of what he should do, beyond demolishing the bloody thing, heaving its carcass into the sea, and abandoning this foolhardy plan for good and all. It hardly mattered, though, as the machine made no reply—not so much as a tick of motion to indicate that it cared in the slightest about its own fate. Killian gritted his teeth and with effort reined in his temper. He reached for another rum bottle—there were always plenty standing by—and groped for a moment before he remembered he had the awl attachment connected to his brace and grabbed the bottle with his hand instead.

The bottle was stoppered with a tenuous scrap of cork; this Killian gripped between his teeth and dislodged with an expert twist of his neck, then spat it at the machine and watched as it struck the hammered copper facing with a satisfying thunk. He took the bottle to the porch of his hut—‘porch’ being the word with which he flattered the platform of weatherbeaten boards raised on hunks of driftwood—collapsed into the hammock strung across the corner of it and stared out to sea with the rum bottle cradled in his lap.

Tropical sun beat down on the shack and on the swaying palms that shaded it, and on the stretch of white beach that curved beyond it, and on the azure water glistening beneath the blazing sky. A tumbledown shack on a lonely atoll was not, so Killian had been given to understand, generally the sort of place in which most artificers chose to set up shop. They preferred tiny rooms atop winding staircases in tall university towers, so he was told, or for the more eccentric among them perhaps an derelict castle or even a dark forest hut. Somewhere close and damp and chill, where they could work by artful firelight draped in hooded cloaks and tuck the secrets of their craft safely away amongst the shadows.

Killian cared very little for such things, however, as he was not most artificers. He wasn’t, as has already been remarked, much of an artificer at all. A sailor by blood, a naval man by training, and a pirate by circumstance, this was Killian Jones. And now an artificer, by desperate last resort.

He took a long swig from his bottle and glared at the sea, at the ship that bobbed gently on the waves, anchored just to the left in the atoll’s curving bay. If he had any sense he’d end this foolishness, he thought with a bitter twist of his lip. He’d take his ship and find himself a crew, sail off and vent his frustrations on royal cargo vessels and navy frigates rather than haphazardly assembled collections of wood and scrap metal that would certainly never do more than than sit there smugly not working, taunting him, and—

Click.

Killian froze, with every muscle in his body. He waited. And waited. And—

Click.

Again. Killian exhaled slowly, cursing the faint vibrations of his breath in the air. He waited. And waited. And—

Click.

It was working.

—

A week later and Killian’s temper once again was hanging by the barest thread; the click of the device that had at first spurred him on now plucked at the frayed edges of his nerves and rattled inside his head each time he tried to focus. It was clicking, the mechanism was turning over, he had everything he’d thought he needed but still an element was missing, something vital that he couldn’t put his finger on, that hovered just at the edge of his perception like some fey spirit sent to taunt him.

Maybe you should just give up.

Killian spun around at the sound of the voice, a woman’s voice, with a wry tone and an unfamiliar accent. His eyes scanned the empty room. “Who’s there?” he called out, though it was plain to see no one was there. He was alone.

Quite alone.

He knew he was alone, of course, though the tingle between his shoulder blades did not concur, and remained even when he turned his attention back to his work. The sensation of being watched by unseen eyes is frequently a distracting one, but Killian stubbornly disregarded it and focused on his task. The sensation persisted.

He worked doggedly for several minutes, then set down his tools. “Lass,” he said to the room at large, “it’s bad form to stare.”

He swore he heard a chuckle.

“I do understand how it can be difficult for women to take their eyes off a devilishly handsome rapscallion such as myself,” Killian continued, “but I’m trying to work here so if you wouldn’t mind…”

He turned back to his workbench and as he did his elbow struck the edge of it, knocking over his latest rum bottle and sending a shooting pain up his arm. He squeezed his eyes shut and spat a stream of vicious curses and very nearly stabbed himself with the awl before recalling that he had no hand with which to cradle the afflicted elbow and rub away the pain. When it finally subsided and he opened his eyes once more, the sight that met them had him swearing a new and even bluer streak.

His device now sat bathed in a pool of rum, with sparks shooting from behind its copper face and very ominously not clicking. With a snarl Killian slammed his fist down on the table and ground it into the wood. He’d have to mop up the rum and wait at least a day or two to be certain whatever had seeped into the mechanism was completely dried before attempting to open it again to determine whether he could repair the damage. If he couldn’t he’d have to start over.

Or you could just give up.

“Are you responsible for this?” he demanded of the voice. “At long bloody last I was on the right track, and now—now—” He slammed his fist into his workbench again, sending rum droplets flying.

Look, don’t get cranky, mister. I’m just trying to stop you doing something stupid.

“Oh?” Killian snarled. “Is that what you’re doing? You’re a bit bloody late.”

What?

“I’ve done many a stupider thing than this, unhindered by any disembodied voices. You couldn’t have stopped me doing any of them?”

I—

“Where were you, for example, when I lost my brother in a cursed land, travelled back from that land, and then in a fit of rage burned the only method I had of returning there?” he demanded. “Where were you when I threw away my naval career, stole my brother’s ship, and led her crew into piracy? Where were you when I ravaged the land of my birth? Where were you when I fell in love with—” he broke off with a choking sound, then sat with his forearms resting on his knees, staring at his hand and at the leather brace where its twin should be. “I don’t know why I’m even saying this aloud,” he murmured, “you’re not truly here.” He ran his hand over his face then through his hair. “Perhaps I’m finally going mad. It’s an occupational hazard, or so I’ve been told.”

A breeze rustled through the shack, gentle and soothing. It whispered across his skin in what could only be called a caress. Despite himself, Killian felt comforted.

I’m sorry for what you’ve suffered. The voice’s compassion was undoubtedly genuine. But I couldn’t have prevented those things. They were not my business to See.

“And this is?” Killian demanded.

Yes.

He shook his head. “Who are you?”

There was no reply. The soothing breeze was gone, leaving the late afternoon air heavier and more still in its absence. His neck no longer tingled. He was alone. Again.

Always.

Killian pressed his fingers to his eyes and sighed, then grabbed a fresh bottle of rum—plus a second, upon further consideration—and headed out of the shack. Headed to the rowboat and the Jolly Roger, and, with any luck, a drunken stupor that would last until he could work on the device again.

“Hear this, lass,” he murmured as he paused in the doorway. “I will be back. I’m not giving up.”

We’ll see about that, whispered the voice, once he was gone.

—

Three days later and Killian’s hangover throbbed between his eyes, but his device was dry and in a less disastrous state than he’d feared. He tapped the magical stone that powered the mechanism until it sparked sharply in response, reconnected a few fine filaments of copper, snapped the gears back into place and held his breath.

Click.

Killian exhaled. It was still working.

Sort of.

He sat at his workbench and glared at the device, as though intensity alone could help him see what was missing in it. When it did not, he reached into his satchel with a long-suffering sigh, and withdrew a book.

He really should have gone to the books first. That’s what the other artificers had advised. Research before experimentation, a solid foundation of scholarship on which to build. In another life another Killian would have listened too, would have loved the prospect of hours, days, weeks spent in a library, absorbing the wondrous knowledge that it held. But that eager boy had long been lost, and the man who remained had spent too many years in wasted endeavours, hunting elusive magic beans and fairy wands, anything he heard of that he thought might aid his quest. When every lead he could scrounge all came to nothing he’d had no choice but to alter his course, and no bloody time to start from the beginning and do the thing properly. He’d already wasted so much time.

But perhaps, he conceded now, that had been a mistake.

The book had a weighty heft that testified its age, as did the brilliance of the jewelled ink on its vellum pages. Modern books with their rag-paper and plant inks were lighter, more fragile, less vibrant. Cheaper to produce of course, and more accessible, but the earnest, bespectacled scholar that still lived in Killian’s heart found them far more difficult to love. This book had been scribed centuries ago, by the hand of a monk whose name had long since vanished into time but whose skill was evident in the carefully crafted words and illustrations, the diagrams of fantastical devices that he had seen only with the eyes of his mind, never in reality.

Killian traced his finger over the lines of an engraving, squinting through his headache and the glaring sunshine to make out the tiny words that labelled it. With painstaking strokes he massaged his temples and let himself fall into the book, lost in study for the first time in many a year.

The hours sifted away like sand through his fingers, until a soft breeze ruffled through his hair and he became aware of that telltale tingle at the nape of his neck.

“Lass,” he said wryly, “has no one ever told you it’s rude to read over a person’s shoulder?”

It’s the only way I can find out what you’re up to.

“And just what prescisely makes that any of your concern?”

It just is. I can See it.

Though he could not have said how, Killian was certain she didn’t mean the sort of seeing one did with one’s eyes.

“So tell me then, what do you make of my choice of reading material?” he inquired.

Seems a bit dry.

He chuckled. “It is at that. But useful.”

You’re still planning to go ahead with it, then?

“I am. As I told you before, I don’t intend to give up.” A sharp smile flashed through his memory, the smell of sea salt on skin and in wind-whipped chestnut curls. His fist clenched. “I can’t.”

The breeze swirled up around him, wrapped itself about his shoulders in the gentlest embrace, and for a moment—just a moment—Killian let go. Let himself be comforted. Let himself relax. Tears prickled behind his eyes and his tired heart sighed. He swallowed hard.

You won’t find what you seek in this book, said the voice. Not what you really seek.

“Perhaps not. But it’s all I have left.”

Without warning the soft breeze stiffened, whipping up with force behind it and sending a half-full rum bottle teetering dangerously—but if Killian was prepared for anything these days it was betrayal. He caught the bottle before it could fall and set it safely aside, away from his device and his book and anything else that had the potential to be harmed by it.

“Nice try,” he sneered. The wind huffed a frustrated sigh.

This isn’t over.

“Why are you so determined to see me fail?” he demanded, but the words fell flat in the still and empty air—the absent prickle on the back of Killian’s neck informed him that she was gone again. “It’s not like I need any extra assistance in that area,” he grumbled. “I can fail perfectly well on my own, thank you very much.”

He bent to pick up the rum—a drink to soothe the ache in his heart—when his gaze caught on a diagram he hadn’t spotted before. He frowned and leaned closer, the rum forgotten, and began to read again. Soon he was absorbed once more, his eyes voracious as they scanned the pages. He made notes in the margins as he read, and tiny drawings and equations, and muttered half-formed thoughts to accompany the scratching of his pen. The clicks from his device soothed him now with their regular beat, and the tingle between his shoulder blades, when it returned, did not so much as register in his mind... though it lingered there as he worked, as the afternoon waned, until the sun began to sink below the horizon and Killian packed up his notes and his book and not his rum, and made his way back to his ship.

—

The next day found him in his workshop early, his mood uncharacteristically bright. He’d awoken that morning without a hangover for the first time in far longer than he cared to remember; the resulting clear head and sharp senses made the bright sunlight less oppressive in his perception, less like its exuberance was a judgement on his choices. Even his shack appeared cheerier than he recalled it, quaint rather than run-down, its slight slump to the left charming and not at all ominous. Killian was dangerously close to whistling a merry tune as he approached it, with his satchel slung over his shoulder and heavy with books.

He had brand new ideas to test.

His workshop itself consisted of the shack’s lone room and a single, long table that sat at the centre of it. On the table was his device, looking right at home there in the sense that it too was rickety, haphazardly constructed, and pitched to the left. Killian had told himself that the appearance of the thing didn’t matter so long as it functioned, but after it failed for so long to do even that he had begun to treat its exterior as a sort of whipping boy for his frustrations. The wooden casing bore deep gouges from his hook and other implements he’d attached to his brace; the copper facing was tarnished and dented. Hairline fractures criss-crossed the glass that covered the three small dials on the front and the long copper pole that was meant to be attached to the rear casing sat forlornly in a corner, looking as though it would dearly love the ability to rust, just as a way to express its feelings on the situation.

Looking at his device for the first time with clear eyes, Killian found that he felt rather bad. He really had made a dreadful hash of it. And although Killian Jones was frequently reckless, sometimes rash, and from time to time even a bit unhinged, he had never before been incompetent. Making a firm mental note to pick up some new materials the next time he made a supply run, he hefted the satchel onto his worktable, seated himself on the bench before it, and removed a book from the bag.

If he’d had two hands, he would have rubbed them together in glee.

Whatcha reading?

She appeared so suddenly that the prickle on his neck didn’t even have time to warn him. “I’m certain you can see the title for yourself, from wherever you are,” he replied.

Arithmetical Principles of the Mechanics of Time? Not very snappy.

“Never judge a book by its title, love.”

I thought that was by its cover.

“Title’s on the cover, isn’t it?”

So it is.

The voice sounded amused, and Killian chuckled to himself as he settled in to read. The tingle on the back of his neck remained as the unseen woman read along with him. He could feel her presence there, her eyes on him and on the book as he made his customary notes in the margins: quick diagrams and calculations and questions he would need to answer before he could proceed.

He was astonished to discover how engrossing the book was and how easy it was to lose himself in its pages, just as he had done the day before. How long had it been before then, since he’d allowed himself the luxury of a full day spent reading? Years, certainly. Time and tides, as the saying goes, wait for no man, and nor do rival pirate captains or deep-sea hellbeasts—they certainly do not wait for a man to finish his chapter before launching their attacks. Lazy days like this one took him back to his time in the naval academy, the long afternoons in the library there, the wonder he’d felt at all the knowledge contained in the books that surrounded him. An entire realm at his fingertips, just waiting for him to explore.

He had explored it in actuality years later on his ship, sailing her to the edge of the maps and beyond, but that first exposure to all the wonders the world held still shone as a jewel in his memory. For a young boy who until that moment had known only abandonment, drudgery, and abuse, the discovery that the world was far, far larger than he could ever have dreamt had been an invaluable treasure.

You love books.

Killian started; the voice sounded different now. It no longer echoed in his head, instead it seemed to come from somewhere to his right. He turned, and as he did perceived a shimmering in the hazy air, one that disappeared the moment he looked directly at it.

“I did,” he replied. “Once.” His mouth quirked in a wry smile. “Are you in my head, then, lass? Reading my thoughts?”

Of course not. It’s just obvious from your face.

“You’re familiar with the expression I’m wearing then, I take it? Perhaps because you’re inclined to wear it yourself?”

It was a shot in the dark, but it seemed to hit its mark. The shimmer grew more solid.

I—I’ve always loved to read. When I was a child it was all I had.

Something in the tone, a wistfulness perhaps, struck a chord in Killian. “You were alone, as child,” he said. “The books were your refuge.”

Yes.

Silence stretched for a moment, then he spoke again. “When I first arrived at the naval academy I could barely read,” he said slowly. “I was twelve years old. Where I come from literacy is a privilege of the wealthy, which my family was certainly not, but my mother’s father had been educated and he taught her to read and write. He was the younger son of a nobleman, disowned when he fell in love with a village girl. My mother in turn taught my father and also my elder brother. She had started to teach me as well but she grew ill and I was still so young, and then…” He trailed off, choked by the decades-old memory that still had the power to wound.

Then she died.

The voice was soft, so soft, and it settled around his shoulders like a blanket. He nodded. “Aye. She did.” He pressed his fingers to his eyes, just briefly, then continued. “After she passed, Liam, my brother, took over with my lessons, but there was never much time for such things. We were cabin boys on a large merchant ship by then, worked most days from dawn to dusk—but in what moments we had, we did try.” He shook his head. “Liam did the best he could, though our resources were so scarce his efforts produced little result. I was years behind the other lads my age at the academy at first, something they found highly entertaining.”

But you didn’t let that stop you.

“I did not,” he agreed. “Instead it spurred me on. In less than a year I had matched them, and in a year surpassed them. It was satisfying to make them eat their words, but in truth that was not my motivation.”

You wanted to know a world beyond the one you lived in.

“I wanted to know a world beyond the one I lived in.” He smiled at her, at the shimmering air in the corner of his eye that he almost fancied formed the shape of a woman. “As, I imagine, did you.”

Mmm.

Killian quirked an eyebrow at the shimmer. “Another orphan, I gather?” he pressed. “Alone in the world, unable to see a way out? Escaping into books for adventure, for a sense of the potential that lay beyond the narrow parameters of your life?”

You read me pretty well for someone who can’t even see me.

“You’re something of an open book, darling. If that metaphor isn’t too on the nose.” And perhaps, he thought, it wasn’t necessary to see someone to know them.

Faint laughter rang through the room. Open books read both ways, Killian Jones, her voice whispered, and then she was gone.

“Touché,” he muttered, as the tingle in his neck faded and a wave of magic pulsed in the air. A sharp snapping noise sounded from the device, followed by an echoing boingggg. Killian’s lips twitched. Softness followed by sabotage was becoming rather a thing with her.

He opened the casing and after a moment’s poking around in the mechanism identified the target of her attack—a small coupling in the box responsible for managing temporal currents. Killian felt himself grin. He was certain his unseen nemesis wouldn’t trouble herself to destroy anything that wasn’t crucial to the functioning of the device. He turned back to his book and flipped to the section on temporal flow.

“Thanks for the tip, love,” he murmured to the empty air.

—

Over the next month Killian worked doggedly on his research, leaving the device untouched and himself unhindered by tingles or voices or shimmery thickenings of the air. He read every book in his rather considerable collection, all the texts he’d… liberated from the universities and private collections of the realm’s best artificers then barely glanced into before he began constructing his device. He took a week off for a supply run, to collect the materials and bric-a-brac he’d need to construct the thing properly along with even more books, which he read eagerly at night on his ship, greedily absorbing the knowledge they contained as he lounged in his bunk.

Every day he thought about the voice, and about the very real woman he now felt certain was behind it. She wasn’t just a voice in his head, a symptom of madness or loneliness, or both. She existed, he had felt her, though he had never seen her face. He’d felt her presence and the connection between them—a peculiar sort of connection to be sure, but no less genuine for it.

The thought of speaking to her again helped spur him on.

Once he was back his workshop armed with resources in the form of both knowledge and supplies, he threw himself into a flurry of activity. He constructed shelves for his books, so he would not have to lug them to and from his ship every day. He built a sturdier workbench, with drawers to hold his tools, and a new, robust and polished casing and face for his device.

This was close work, requiring dexterity and concentration and the careful application of several magical items that had previously seemed to go out of their way to thwart him. As it turned out, Killian reflected wryly, he had simply been using them wrong. He still made mistakes, of course, and his lack of hand still proved a challenge. But gradually he found that he lost his temper less and less, that as he grew more knowledgeable and skilled he did not give in so easily or so frequently to despair.

He had almost entirely stopped drinking.

He spent a full week tweaking and refining the temporal current regulator in his device, until he was satisfied that not only near impervious to any further sabotage but also featured a clever adjustment of his own devising. Take that, Other Artificers.

He had done it. He knew he had. He had built his device and built it well. It would work now, and not because he threatened it or stumbled by happenstance upon the proper configuration. It would work because he knew what he was doing, and this time he’d done it right.

Killian Jones, artificer.

—

The stage was set.

The device was ready. More than ready. Its polished wood casing gleamed in the playful caress of the afternoon sunlight, which shimmered also off its copper facing and the smooth glass of its dials. The copper tube came up from where it was attached to the rear of the device and curved over the top of it, ending in a wide opening directly over Killian’s head. The rhythmic click of the mechanism was smooth and sonorous, each coupling attached and every gear well-oiled.

Click, went the device, tremulous and eager.

Click.

Every last thing was in readiness. Killian had only to flip the switch.

“You don’t want to do that.”

He paused with his finger poised above the small brass switch and smiled. “Back again, lass?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

The floorboards creaked, under boots that were not his. Leather rustled. Killian froze, then spun around. His jaw dropped.

“Bloody hell,” he gasped.

The woman stood in the centre of his workshop with her hands on her hips and lips curved in a wry smirk. Loose golden waves tumbled over her shoulders to frame an exquisite, fine-boned face and eyes that glinted green. She was dressed... well, she was dressed as no woman he’d ever seen before, in tall boots and tight-fitting trousers with no overskirt to cover them, and a leather jacket in the most outrageous shade of red. Killian blinked.

“You’re—I’m—what?” he choked.

“I said, you don’t want to do that,” she repeated. “If you do, you’ll blow a hole in the universe or—or something, I don’t exactly know. But it’s bad, and I can’t allow it to happen.”

Killian shook his head. He blinked again, harder this time, then rubbed his eyes. The woman was still there.

“What?” he shouted.

“Seriously?” snapped the woman. “You heard my voice in your head and didn’t even blink and I know you felt my presence. But now I’ve actually manifested and suddenly you’re at a loss for words? I thought at least I’d get some kind of smartass quip out of you. ‘At last a face to match the voice, lass’ or something.” She shrugged a single shoulder. “I don’t know. Something.”

“That’s—” Killian’s voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. “That’s your idea of a clever quip?”

She scowled. “Look, I said I don’t know. You’re the smartass.”

“Well you might at least give a man a minute to adjust his premises before you start demanding cleverness from him, when you appear from out of nowhere in his workshop,” retorted Killian. “There is in fact a world of difference between voices in the head and full fledged hallucinations, you know.”

“I’m not a hallucination,” she huffed.

Killian knew that of course, but he still felt on rather shaky ground, metaphysically speaking. “Well what are you then?” he demanded.

“I’m a manifestation,” she replied, as though it were obvious.

“Oh yes of course,” he shot back. “A manifestation, how foolish of me not to have known that.”

She rolled her eyes. He smirked.

“A manifestation of whom, precisely, if I might enquire?” he drawled.

“Emma Swan,” she proclaimed, in a tone one might use to announce the arrival of a queen. “Witch.”

Killian regarded her with his smirk firmly in place, to which he now added a raised eyebrow. “A witch, you say?”

“Yep.”

“Indeed.”

She sauntered over to his workbench, hips swaying in a manner that Killian told himself firmly he did not find enticing, and leaned over, peering at the device. “This looks a lot better than the last time I saw it,” she remarked.

“Yes, well, I’ve been working hard since then.”

“I can tell.” She flashed him a look that had his muscles tensing. “Too bad it’s all for nothing.”

“What the bloody hell is that supposed—”

“Why do you want to travel in time anyway?” she interrupted, turning to face him and crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s a risky business, you know. Loads of people have tried and it never ends well for any of them.”

“That’s rather a bold statement from you, love, considering you are clearly not from this time,” he retorted.

“What makes you say that?”

Killian let his gaze sweep over her. “Red leather jackets aren’t exactly in vogue here,” he said loftily. “I’d be very surprised if they even exist. How did you get it to be that colour?”

“How the hell should I know, I didn’t make it!”

“Fair enough. Still stands out like a sore thumb, though.”

“Well it’s a good thing I’m not staying then.”

“Aren’t you?” Killian felt a twist in his gut at that; he was so enjoying sparring with her. “Shame. I suppose you ought to run along then, and let me get back to my work.”

“Ah, no. That I can’t do.”

“And might I enquire why not?”

Her expression, which had been sparking with the same joy of snarky battle that Killian felt himself, grew solemn. “If you’re successful then the repercussions of your work will echo all the way into my realm, in my time,” she said. “And I can’t allow that to happen.”

“Indeed?” he taunted, before he could prevent himself. “And just how do you propose to stop it?”

Her eyes flashed. “Oh you are so going to regret asking that.”

She raised her hand and twisted it, the merest flick of her wrist that sent a powerful pulse of energy through the room. He felt it throb through his body and he was rocked by its wave. What followed was silence.

Silence. No clicks. Not a one.

Killian spun round in fury and glowered down at Emma Swan, witch, who did not so much as flinch away from him. On the contrary, she appeared quite pleased with herself, and thoroughly unfazed by his very finest pirate snarl.

“I’ve never managed that so successfully cross-realms before,” she remarked.

Killian’s temper snapped. “What the bloody buggering fuck do you think you’re doing?” he roared. Her nonchalance was infuriating.

“I told you,” she reminded him coolly. “I can’t allow you to succeed.”

“I wasn’t succeeding, though, was I?” he hissed. “I’ve been not succeeding for the best part of a year now.”

“I know.” Her smug expression softened into an empathy that set his teeth on edge. “But that was about to change.”

“Oh was it?”

“Yep.”

He knew it was. But she... “And how the bloody hell could you possibly know that?”

“I told you, I’m a witch.”

He scoffed. “Is that supposed to impress me?”

“Well... yeah, I guess it kind of is.” She frowned. “You know what a witch is, right?”

“Of course I do. A witch is a person, most commonly a female, who is possessed of magical or supernatural powers, typically focused on medicine, the body, nature, and the spirit,” Killian recited.

Emma blinked. “That’s… very precise.”

“I’m well versed in defining the various types and levels of magical practitioner,” he informed her. His surge of anger was draining away and he found he lacked both the energy and will to hold on to it. “The Guild is most insistent that registration be precise.”

“Guild?” Her frown deepened. “Registration?”

“Aye. To both.”

“You had to register? With a guild?”

“I did.”

“Register as what?”

“As an artificer, of course. Despite my lack of skill in the discipline, the Guild insisted. Firmly. Fists were involved.”

“I—see.” Her lips twitched. “That seems unethical.”

He barked a laugh. “Welcome to the Enchanted Forest, love.”

Emma’s eyes went wide and her mouth fell open. “Is that where this is?”

“Aye. Though strictly speaking this”—he gestured at the space around them—“is on an atoll in the Far Southern Sea. But the Artificers’ Guild is in the Enchanted Forest, and they care very little for such things as venue or jurisdiction.” He looked at her curiously. “Didn’t you know?”

“Nope.” She shook her head. “I’m not really here, you see.”

Killian had been so caught up first in wonder then in fury that he hadn’t truly looked at her, at least not beyond what was required to note her striking beauty and odd attire. A manifestation, she had called herself, and once he knew what to look for it was plain to see—the faint translucence and hazy outline of her form. Cautiously, he reached out his hand. It went right through her shoulder, with no more resistance than water in a bathtub.

“Huh,” he said. “Curious. So where exactly are you then, Emma Swan, witch, if you’re not here?”

“I’m…” Emma’s brow furrowed and her nose wrinkled. Killian told himself sternly that it was unwise to find a nose adorable when it sat on the face of the corporeal manifestation of a witch from an unspecified realm. “Well, I don’t really know how to describe it,” she said. “I’m on Earth. About three hundred years in your future. Though I suppose this must be Earth too, really.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah. I think so? What do you call it? This… place. Bigger than the Enchanted Forest. You… you know there’s a place bigger, right? Beyond the, um, the forest?”

His lip quirked. Her stumbling attempts to explain were also not adorable. “That I do, lass,” he replied. “I spent years sailing the seas of this realm and have travelled to many a land.”

“You’ve travelled the Earth, then,” said Emma. “Or your equivalent of it. What would you call it?”

“Terra, I believe is what you mean.”

“Yes!” She snapped her fingers then pointed the index one at him. “That’s got to be it!”

“So if I understand you, you’re saying you come from Terra as well, but a different version of it, which you call Earth?”

She gave an eager nod. “Yeah, basically. My Earth was called Terra once too, by people who lived in my past, in a different country. But in my language and my time and my country we say Earth.”

“I... see,” said Killian.

“Yeah.” Emma looked a bit sheepish and waved her hand in a vague arc. “It’s a whole thing with multiverses I don’t really understand, if I’m honest. I’m not a wizard, you see.”

“No indeed. Nor I.”

“Well, I mean, you’re not even much of an artificer. Or at least not until recently.”

She was attempting to tease, he could tell. To keep the mood light between them. But all he could hear was the death knell of his last resort, the only hope he had left of honouring his vow. Without warning, the weight of everything he’d been through, a lifetime of struggle and defeat culminating in his attempt to build a time machine that would apparently destroy multiple realms were it allowed to succeed, settled on his shoulders. It was all he could do not to collapse beneath it. He sank down onto the bench and ran his hand down his face.

“No. That I certainly am not.”

He sensed rather than felt Emma sit down beside him—there was barely more than a shift in the air to mark her movement.

“I’m not an artificer, not even now,” he told her, staring at his hand and brace. “All I am is a desperate man looking to right a terrible wrong.”

“A wrong you need to go back in time to fix?” she asked gently.

“Aye.”

“What happened?”

Killian clenched his jaw. He did not wish to discuss Milah. He never actually had, though others besides Emma had tried to make him, insisting he would feel better if he spoke of it. If he gave vent to his anger and his grief. But he could not—the words caught in his throat each time he tried, stopped by the anger that sat hard and curdled in his chest.

“There was… a woman,” he ground out, faintly astonished to hear the words fall from his lips. “I loved her and she me, but she was married to another. A cringing coward of a man who valued his own comfort and meagre security above her happiness and her health.” He breathed slowly through the anger that still rose up at the thought of it. “She tried her best with him, for years she tried, but ultimately she came to realise that he would never change. She saw the remainder of her life stretched out before her, a grim slog through a grey world of misery, and she knew she had to do something, whatever was necessary to change it. For the sake of her own survival.” He risked a glance at Emma. “But she was a woman, thus her options were limited.”

“So she ran away with you,” said Emma. He searched her face for judgment, but there was none.

He nodded. “She ran away with me.”

“You saved her life,” she said harshly. “But you shouldn’t have had to.”

He blinked, startled at her tone, and watched as her face grew tight with anger. “In my land and my time, women have choices,” she hissed. “We have to fight for them every day, but we have them. We can leave marriages and we can have jobs and we can own our own houses and have our own lives. We don’t rely on men unless we choose to.” She looked up to meet his eyes. “I’m guessing that’s not the case here?”

“You guess correctly.” Killian’s voice was choked, his chest drawn tight by the depth of her compassion. Compassion for a woman she’d never met, who had died long before her time. He cleared his throat. “Milah had nowhere to go and no means to go there. I offered her an escape. It was all I could do.”

A moment passed before Emma spoke again.

“What went wrong?” she asked.

His lip curled. “I expect you can guess.”

He could sense the catch in her breath, though it made no sound in the quiet room. “Her husband found you?”

“Aye. Rather a predictable storyline, isn’t it? But there's an unpleasant twist to this tale, I fear.”

“What twist?” she demanded.

Killian swallowed. “Have you heard of the Dark One?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Well, yes. I’ve read the lore of course, but… are you saying the Dark One is real?”

“Very much so.”

He watched as comprehension dawned in her eyes. “And he—your—Milah’s husband—”

“Had become the Dark One, aye. At the cost of his soul, of course, but for some men that's a small price to pay to punish an errant wife.”

“Wow. I mean—wow.”

“I’m not familiar with that particular expression but it certainly seems to suit the case,” said Killian drily. “Wow indeed.”

“He murdered her, didn’t he?” Emma said, in a voice like the lash of a whip. It was not a question.

“On the deck of my ship,” Killian replied, “as I watched, helpless to prevent it. He tore her heart from her chest and he crushed it to dust.” He held up his brace, catching the sunlight on the curve of his hook. “And then he took my hand.”

Emma exhaled, long and slow. “So that’s why you want to go back. To stop her murder.”

This was also not a question, but he answered it nonetheless. “Aye. I promised to protect her and I failed. I have to make it right.”

“You know you can’t do that, Killian.”

The empathy in her voice, the understanding, the way she said his name… Killian’s anger rose again and he snapped at her. “Well not now that you’ve destroyed my bloody time machine!”

“You couldn’t have anyway.”

“And just how the devil—”

“Look, I told you, I’m not a wizard,” said Emma insistently. She shifted on the bench until she was facing him fully, one leg tucked beneath the other. “I don’t know all the ins and outs of how the universe works, or like, the multiverse or whatever. All I know is that if you turn on that machine it will blow a hole in all of it. Every realm and at every time would be destroyed. It would end the world.”

Killian scowled as his mind sought frantically for a loophole, a counterpoint, a way. His fist was tightly clenched and pressed hard against his thigh, his breathing shallow. “The books said—”

“The books don’t know,” she interrupted in that same insistent tone. “No one’s ever done this before. No one’s ever even come close.”

“And here I thought I wasn’t much of an artificer,” he sneered.

“Like I said before. You weren’t.”

Killian thought of all the reading he’d done, the careful cross-referencing of books that likely had never before been seen by the same pair of eyes. He thought of his temporal current regulator, the refinements he’d made to it. How certain he was that it would work.

He looked over at Emma to find her watching him, with gentle sympathy and not a hint of pity. “You can’t go back, Killian,” she said softly. “The past has already happened. All you can do is go forward.”

“So what you’re telling me is I need to move on,” he snarled. How he loathed that expression.

She nodded. “In more ways than one.”

Cautiously she reached out and placed her hand over his clenched fist, and though he could not feel her touch he felt it, the warmth of her compassion and her strength and her magic, drawn from another realm in another time. He let his hand relax and held it, palm up, beneath hers. He drew a deep, unsteady breath and then released it. Then he drew another.

They sat in silence for some time.

“I can’t recall the last time I considered what Milah would think if she could see what I was doing,” said Killian, finally, in a low voice. “I thought about her all the time, at first. But then… it got to the point where every time thoughts of her came into my head I would drink them straight out of it.”

“Because you knew that if she could see you she wouldn’t like what she saw.”

“Because I knew that if she could see me she wouldn’t like what she saw,” he echoed. “She wouldn’t have wanted me to lose myself in this—obsession. But then I have always been prone to obsession and she knew that better than anyone.”

“Obsession is just another word for intense dedication,” declared Emma, “once you add a bit of healthy perspective to it. It’s sincere devotion to what you value. Maybe all you need is just to shift your focus a bit. Find something new to work on, and another motivation to drive you.”

“Something new,” he repeated, then gave a hoarse, choking laugh. “I confess I’ve no idea what that could be.”

“You’ll find something.” The look in her eyes as she watched him was amused, wry, soft, and sad all at once. An odd sensation twisted in his chest. “I wish—” she began, then broke off with a shake of her head.

Killian realised their hands were still clasped. He wished he could close his fingers around hers, truly feel the touch of them against his skin. “What do you wish, love?” he pressed.

She shook her head again. “It’s just—after today I won’t be able to See you anymore. Once you’re no longer a threat you’ll stop appearing in my visions. I just wish I could watch what you do next, that’s all." She flashed him a grin. "I have a feeling it’ll be something epic.”

He laughed and after a moment she joined him, with a tinkling, joyous sound that made his heart feel lighter than perhaps it ever had. Maybe she was right, he thought. Maybe he could do something different. Something not driven by loss or anger or greed. “I don’t know if I can promise epic,” he told her. “But I do promise I'll do something. Something important to me. I promise you, Emma Swan.”

She smiled, gorgeous and heartbreaking. “Good.”

Killian could swear he felt her hand tightening on his, felt it in the echoing squeeze in his chest. He heard her next words before she spoke them.

“I have to go.”

He forced himself to nod. “I know.”

She reached up with her free hand and traced her fingertips across his cheek. “Goodbye, Killian Jones,” she whispered… and then she was gone.

Killian sat alone in his workshop with an empty hand and a silent machine, and a brand new ache in his heart. And for the very first time in a life full of loss, he allowed himself to grieve.

—

Killian didn’t drink.

He wanted to. The rum called to him, a siren’s song of numb oblivion, but that was a pit into which he no longer wished to fall. He had things to do now, crucial things, and they required a clear head.

He took the Jolly Roger and he sailed away, far across the seas to a place he'd sworn he’d never go again. The small port village where Milah had lived, and where she’d died. Whose harbour he’d put at his bow for less than an hour before he’d tipped her body into the depths of the sea.

It was the nearest thing he had to a gravestone.

He stood on the deck with his hand on the railing, staring down into the choppy waves below. His throat ached and his chest felt tight.

“I’m so sorry, Milah,” he whispered. “Sorry that I failed in my promise to protect you. Sorry that when I lost you I lost myself as well. I let myself fall so deeply into despair that I lost sight of who I was—and in doing so I sacrificed the man you loved. I’m sorry I became something you’d have hated me to be.” His throat closed up and he swallowed through it, forced the next words out. “When you died I swore to avenge you, but my love, I think—” he exhaled slowly “—I think I have to let you go.”

A brisk wind swept in off the water and ruffled through his hair as Milah’s fingers used to do. It stroked his cheek with the touch of her lips and whispered with her voice in his ear.

I love you, it said. Go.

Killian let his eyes fall shut as he breathed in the scent of her skin, closed his fist in her curls one final time. When he opened them again he was alone.

Alone, but for the first time in many a year, hopeful.

The past is done, he thought, and can’t be changed. All you can do is move forward.

Somewhere, some time, there was a green-eyed witch with golden curls and a sharp tongue and the softest heart he’d ever known. One who could read him like a book and understand the story it told. And he was an artificer who knew how to build a bloody time machine.

It was time to move on.

—

The afternoon was warm and hazy as it often is in August on the coast of Maine. The air was heavy and humid and buzzing with the hum of bees and midges as they swarmed and bumbled their way through late-summer flowers. Flowers that bloomed in full riotous colour in the remarkable garden of a thoroughly unremarkable grey clapboard house.

A figure approached the garden gate, tall and oddly dressed for this realm. He wore a long and sweeping leather coat over an ornately embroidered waistcoat, tall leather boots and a matching heavy satchel slung across his back. He paused, and regarded the gate with a raised eyebrow and all the deference he could muster.

Killian Jones knew magic when he sensed it.

“May I come in, lass?” he inquired of the air and the gate and the bumblebees, and whomever else might happen to be listening.

The gate swung open.

Killian favoured it with a small bow then sauntered through it, through the bright and fragrant garden and up to the porch steps and the door atop them. It opened as he approached to reveal a woman with long curling hair, a tight white tank top and very short shorts. She placed a hand on her hip and smirked.

“Took you long enough,” she said.

Killian climbed the porch steps and dropped his satchel, hooked a thumb beneath his belt buckle and treated her to his flirtiest grin. “Time is relative, I think you’ll find,” he replied. “Also an illusion. And there are some philosophers who claim that—”

His words were cut off by Emma’s lips, her fingers tight on the lapels of his coat as she pulled him in close. She was solid and real against his chest, her mouth hot and her skin so soft. Killian groaned as he sank his fingers into her hair, as he kissed her back with everything he’d held in his heart since he saw her last.

The kiss was short but rich with feeling, with potential, with hope. When it ended they paused for a moment, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other’s breath.

Emma spoke first. “You came forward,” she said. “You actually did it.” She laughed, and thumped her fist lightly against his chest. “I can’t believe you actually did it.”

“Aye, well, as it turns out, I’m a hell of an artificer,” he replied, and she laughed again. He pulled her against him, wrapped his arms tight around her and sighed as she tucked her head beneath his chin.

“And the rest of it?” she inquired softly. “Milah, and the Dark One—”

He took a moment to consider how to answer. There were many things he could say, so much he wanted to tell her. But it would wait. They had time. In the end he said simply, “I’ve made my peace. It’s done.”

“Good.” She looked up at him with that glorious smile and his heart sang with happiness. “That’s good.”

—

@ohmightydevviepuu @thisonesatellite @katie-dub @kmomof4 @mariakov81 @stahlop @spartanguard @killianjones-twopointoh @captain-emmajones

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