#According to Lane anyway

[bijoumikhawal]

RE: how the tattoos would look when you get older and archeological evidence from an Egyptian perspective

Tattoos that were done at a young age in most of history would indeed distort and get blow out as you got older, to the point of being nearly unrecognizable if you got very old. Some photos of Egyptian women I've seen with traditional tattoos look like their faces are just smudged. However, those are VERY old women, often in their 80s or 90s. Traditional tattooing in Egypt is sometimes done as an adult, but written records indicate it was common for children as young as 5 to get tattoos. Copts traditionally tattooed our children at a young age too (some Copts I've talked to think this was to prevent them being kidnapped), but today I don't think doing them that young is as common for a lot of people, especially not for Copts in diaspora or in cities. These days a lot of us machines too, so the tattoo quality is better, but based on that and those old women likely being tattooed as children, I agree that the tattoo would distort over time. It also means that even by 30 or so, the tattoo design may still be recognizable, but there probably would be blow out making the tattoo appear blue-ish like you suggested

additionally in Egyptian archeology there's trouble establishing the commonality of tattoos for similar reasons you've described. One is we aren't sure of certain items were for tattooing, and the other is that tattoos on mummies are rarely visible with the naked eye. You have to scan them with a machine (I forget which one) to get the images, and only a few mummies have been scanned. One of then was on display for decades before being scanned and no one noticed the tattoos, or something like that, to give an idea of how it's slipped notice

Did the ancient Celts really paint themselves blue?

Part 2: Irish tattoos

Clockwise from top left: Deirdre and Naoise from the Ulster Cycle by amylouioc, detail from The Marriage of Strongbow and Aoife by Daniel Maclise, a modern Celtic revival tattoo, Michael Flatley in a promotional image for the Irish step dance show 'Lord of the Dance'

This is my second post exploring the historical evidence for our modern belief that the ancient and medieval Insular Celts painted or tattooed themselves with blue pigment. In the first post, I discussed the fact that body paint seems to have been used by residents of Great Britain between approximately 50 BCE to 100 CE. In this post, I will examine the evidence for tattooing.

Once again, I am looking at sources pertaining to any ethnic group who lived in the British Isles, this time from the Roman Era to the early Middle Ages. The relevant text sources range from approximately 200 CE to 900 CE. I am including all British Isles cultures, because a) determining exactly which Insular culture various writers mean by terms like ‘Briton’, ‘Scot’, and ‘Pict’ is sometimes impossible and b) I don’t want to risk excluding any relevant evidence.

Continental Written Sources:

The earliest written source to mention tattoos in the British Isles is Herodian of Antioch’s History of the Roman Empire written circa 208 CE. In it, Herodian says of the Britons, "They tattoo their bodies with colored designs and drawings of all kinds of animals; for this reason they do not wear clothes, which would conceal the decorations on their bodies" (translation from MacQuarrie 1997). Herodian is probably reporting second-hand information given to him by soldiers who fought under Septimius Severus in Britain (MacQuarrie 1997) and shouldn't be considered a true primary source.

Also in the early 3rd century, Gaius Julius Solinus says in Collectanea Rerum Memorabilium 22.12, "regionem [Brittaniae] partim tenent barbari, quibus per artifices plagarum figuras iam inde a pueris variae animalium effigies incorporantur, inscriptisque visceribus hominis incremento pigmenti notae crescunt: nec quicquam mage patientiae loco nationes ferae ducunt, quam ut per memores cicatrices plurimum fuci artus bibant."

Translation: "The area [of Britain] is partly occupied by barbarians on whose bodies, from their childhood upwards, various forms of living creatures are represented by means of cunningly wrought marks: and when the flesh of the person has been deeply branded, then the marks of the pigment get larger as the man grows, and the barbaric nations regard it as the highest pitch of endurance to allow their limbs to drink in as much of the dye as possible through the scars which record this" (from MacQuarrie 1997).

This passage, like Herodian's, is clearly a description of tattooing, not body staining or painting. That said, I have no idea of tattoos actually work like this. I would think this would result in the adult having a faded, indistinct tattoo, but if anyone knows otherwise, please tell me.

The poet Claudian, writing in the early 5th c., is the first to specifically mention the Picts having tattoos (MacQuarrie 1997). In De Bello Gothico he says, "Venit & extremis legio praetenta Britannis,/ Quæ Scoto dat frena truci, ferroque notatas/ Perlegit exanimes Picto moriente figuras."

Translation: "The legion comes to make a trial of the most remote parts of Britain where it subdues the wild Scot and gazes on the iron-wrought figures on the face of the dying Pict" (from MacQuarrie 1997).

Last, and possibly least, of our Mediterranean sources is Isidore of Seville. In the early 7th c. he writes, "the Pictish race, their name derived from their body, which the efficient needle, with minute punctures, rubs in the juices squeezed from native plants so that it may bring these scars to its own fashion [. . .] The Scotti have their name from their own language by reason of [their] painted body, because they are marked by iron needles with dark coloring in the form of a marking of varying shapes." (translation from MacQuarrie 1997)

Isidore is the earliest writer to explicitly link the name 'Pict' to their 'painted' (Latin: pictus) i.e. tattooed bodies. Isidore probably borrowed information for his description from earlier writers like Claudian (MacQuarrie 1997).

In the 8th century, we have a source that definitely isn't Romans recycling old hearsay. In 786, a pair of papal legates visited the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms of Mercia and Northumbria (Story 1995). In their report to Pope Hadrian, the legates condemn pagans who have "superimposed most hideous cicatrices" (i.e gotten tattoos), likening the pagan practice to coloring oneself "with dirty spots". The location of the visit indicates that these are Anglo-Saxon tattoos rather than Celtic, but some scholars have suggested that the Anglo-Saxons might have adopted the practice from the Brittonic Celts (MacQuarrie 1997).

A gloss in the margin of the late 9th c. German manuscript Fulda Aa 2 defines Stingmata [sic] as "put pictures on the bodies as the Irish (Scotti) do." (translation from MacQuarrie 1997).

Fulda Aa 2 folio 43r The gloss is on the left underlined in white.

Irish Written Sources:

Irish texts that mention tattoos date to approximately 700-900 CE, although some of them have glosses that may be slightly later, and some of them cannot be precisely dated.

The first text source is a poem known in English as "The Caldron of Poesy," written in the early 8th c. (Breatnach 1981). The poem is purportedly the work of Amairgen, ollamh of the legendary Milesian kings. In the first stanza of the poem, he introduces himself saying, "I being white-kneed, blue-shanked, grey-bearded Amairgen." (translation from Breatnach 1981)

The text of the poem with interline glosses from Trinity College Dublin MS 1337/1

The word garrglas (blue-shanked) has a Middle Irish (c. 900-1200) gloss added by a later scribe, defining garrglas as: "a tattooed shank, or who has the blue tattooed shank" (Breatnach 1981).

Although Amairgen was a mythical figure, the position ollamh was not. An ollamh was the highest rank of poet in medieval Ireland, considered worthy of the same honor-price as a king (Carey 1997, Breatnach 1981). The fact that a man of such esteemed status introduces himself with the descriptor 'blue-shanked' suggests that tattoos were a respectable thing to have in early medieval Ireland.

The leg tattoos are also mentioned c. 900 CE in Cormac’s Glossary. It defines feirenn as "a thong which is about the calf of a man whence ‘a tattooed thong is tattooed about [the] calf’" (translation from MacQuarrie 1997)

The Irish legal text Uraicecht Becc, dated to the 9th or early 10th c., includes the word creccoire on a list of low-status occupations (Szacillo 2012, MacNeill 1924). A gloss defines it as: crechad glass ar na roscaib, a phrase which Szacillo interprets as meaning "making grey-blue sore (tattooing) on the eyes" (2012). This sounds rather strange, but another early Irish text clarifies it.

The Vita sancti Colmani abbatis de Land Elo written around the 8th-9th centuries (Szacillo 2012) contains the following episode:

On another time, St Colmán, looking upon his brother, who was the son of Beugne, saw that the lids of his eyes had been secretly painted with the hyacinth colour, as it was in the custom; and it was a great offence at St Colmán’s. He said to his brother: ‘May your eyes not see the light in your life (any more). And from that hour he was blind, seeing nothing until (his) death. (translation from Szacillo 2012).

The original Latin phrase describing what so offended St Colmán "palpebre oculorum illius latenter iacinto colore" does not contain the verb paint (pingo). It just says his eyelids were hyacinth (blue) colored. This passage together with the gloss from the Uraicecht Becc implies that there was a custom of tattooing people's eyelids blue in early medieval Ireland. A creccoire* was therefore a professional eyelid tattooer or a tattoo artist.

A possible third reference to tattooing the area around the eye is found in a list of Old Irish kennings. The kenning for the letter 'B' translates as 'Beauty of the eyebrow.' This kenning is glossed with the word crecad/creccad (McManus 1988). Crecad could be translated as cauterizing, branding, or tattooing (eDIL). McManus suggests "adornment (by tattooing) of the eyebrow" as a plausible interpretation of how crecad relates to the beauty of the eyebrow (1988). The precise date of this text is not known (McManus 1988), but Old Irish was used c. 600-900 CE, meaning this text is of a similar date to the other Irish references to tattoos.

Kenning of the letter 'b' with gloss from TCD MS 1337/1

There is a sharp contrast between the association of tattoos with a venerated figure in 'The Caldron of Poesy', and their association with low-status work and divine punishment in the Uraicecht Becc and the Vita. This indicates that there was a shift in the cultural attitude towards tattoos in Ireland during the 7th-9th centuries. The fact that a Christian saint considered getting tattoos a big enough offense to punish his own brother with blindness suggests that tattooing might have been a pagan practice which gradually got pushed out by the Catholic Church. This timeline is consistent with the 786 CE report of the papal legates condemning the pagan practice of tattooing in Great Britain (MacQuarrie 1997).

There are some mentions of tattooing in Lebor Gabála Érenn, but the information largely appears to be borrowed from Isidore of Seville (MacQuarrie 1997). The fact that the writers of LGE just regurgitated Isidore's meager descriptions of Pictish and Scottish (ie Irish) tattooing without adding any details, such as the designs used or which parts of the body were tattooed, makes me think that Insular tattooing practices had passed out of living memory by the time the book was written in the 11th century.

*There is some etymological controversy over this term. Some have suggested that the Old Irish word for eyelid-tattooer should actually be crechaire. more info Even if this hypothesis is correct, and the scribe who wrote the gloss on creccoire mistook it for crechaire, this doesn't contradict my argument. The scribe clearly believed that eyelid-tattooer belonged on a list of low-status occupations.

Discussion:

Like Julius Cesar in the last post, Herodian of Antioch c. 208 CE makes some dubious claims of Celtic barbarism, stating that the Britons were: "Strangers to clothing, the Britons wear ornaments of iron at their waists and throats; considering iron a symbol of wealth, they value this metal as other barbarians value gold" (translation from MacQuarrie 1997). If the Britons wore nothing but iron jewelry, then why did they have brass torcs and 5,000 objects that look like they're meant to attach to fabric, Herodian?

Brass torc from Lochar Moss, Scotland c. 50-200 CE. Romano-British trumpet brooch from Cumbria c. 75-175 CE. image from the Portable Antiquities Scheme.

Trumpet brooches are a Roman Era artifact invented in Britain, that were probably pinned to people's clothing. more info

Although Herodian and Solinus both make dubious claims, there are enough differences between them to indicate that they had 2 separate sources of information, and one was not just parroting the other. This combined with the fact that we have more-reliable sources from later centuries confirming the existence of tattoos in the British Isles makes it probable that there was at least a grain of truth to their claims of tattooing.

There is a common belief that the name Pict originated from the Latin pictus (painted), because the Picts had 'painted' or tattooed bodies. The Romans first used the name Pict to refer to inhabitants of Britain in 297 CE (Ware 2021), but the first mention of Pictish tattoos came in 402 CE (Carr 2005), and the first explicit statement that the name Pict was derived from the Picts' tattooed bodies came from Isidore of Seville c. 600 CE (MacQuarrie 1997). Unless someone can find an earlier source for this alleged etymology than Isidore, I am extremely skeptical of it.

Summary of the written evidence:

Some time between c. 79 CE (Pliny the Elder) and c. 208 CE (Herodian of Antioch) the practice of body art in Great Britain changed from staining or painting the skin to tattooing. Third century Celtic Briton tattoo designs depicted animals. Pictish tattoos are first mentioned in the 5th century.

The earliest mention of Irish tattoos comes from Isidore of Seville in the early 6th c., but since it seems to have been a pre-Christian practice, it likely started earlier. Irish tattoos of the 8-9th centuries were placed on the area around the eye and on the legs. They were a bluish color. The 8th c. Anglo-Saxons also had tattoos.

Tattooing in Ireland probably ended by the early 10th c., possibly because of Christian condemnation. Exactly when tattooing ended in Great Britain is unclear, but in the 12th c., William of Malmesbury describes it as a thing of the past (MacQuarrie 1997). None of these sources give much detail as to what the tattoos looked like.

The Archaeology of Insular Ink:

In spite of the fact that tattooing was a longer-lasting, more wide-spread practice in the British Isles than body painting, there is less archaeological evidence for it. This may be because the common tools used for tattooing, needles or blades for puncturing the skin, pigments to make the ink, and dishes to hold the ink, all had other common uses in the Middle Ages that could make an archaeologist overlook their use in tattooing. The same needle that was used to sew a tunic could also have been used to tattoo a leg (Carr 2005). A group of small, toothed bronze plates from a Romano-British site at Chalton, Hampshire might have been tattoo chisels (Carr 2005) or they might have been used to make stitching holes in leather (Cunliffe 1977).

Although the pigment used to make tattoos may be difficult to identify at archaeological sites, other lines of evidence might give us an idea of what it was. Although the written sources tell us that Irish tattoos were blue, the popular modern belief that woad was the source of the tattoo pigment is, in my opinion, extremely unlikely for a couple of reasons:

1) Blue pigment from woad doesn't seem to work as tattoo ink. The modern tattoo artists who have tried to use it have found that it burns out of the person's skin, leaving a scar with no trace of blue in it (Lambert 2004).

2) None of the historical sources actually mention tattooing with woad. Julius Cesar and Pliny the Elder mention something that might have been woad, but they were talking about body paint, not tattoos. (see previous post) Isidore of Seville claimed that the Picts were tattooing themselves with "juices squeezed from native plants", but even assuming that Isidore is a reliable source, you can't get blue from woad by just squeezing the juice out of it. In order to get blue out of woad, you have to first steep the leaves, then discard the leaves and add a base like ammonia to the vat (Carr 2005). The resulting dye vat is not something any knowledgeable person would describe as plant juice, so either Isidore had no idea what he was talking about, or he is talking about something other than blue pigment from woad.

In my opinion, the most likely pigment for early Irish and British tattoos is charcoal. Early tattoos found on mummies from Europe and Siberia all contain charcoal and no other colored pigment. These tattoos range in date from c. 3300 BCE (Ötzi the Iceman) to c. 300 CE (Oglakhty grave 4) (Samadelli et al 2015, Pankova 2013).

Despite the fact that charcoal is black, it tends to look blueish when used in tattoos (Pankova 2013). Even modern black ink tattoos that use carbon black pigment (which is effectively a purer form of charcoal) tend to look increasingly blue as they age.

A 17-year-old tattoo in carbon black ink photographed with a swatch of black Sharpie on white printer paper.

The fact that charcoal-based tattoo inks continue to be used today, more than 5,000 years after the first charcoal tattoo was given, shows that charcoal is an effective, relatively safe tattoo pigment, unlike woad. Additionally, charcoal can be easily produced with wood fires, meaning it would have been a readily available material for tattoo artists in the early medieval British Isles. We would need more direct evidence, like a tattooed body from the British Isles, to confirm its use though.

As of June 2024, there have been at least 279 bog bodies* found in the British Isles (Ó Floinn 1995, Turner 1995, Cowie, Picken, Wallace 2011, Giles 2020, BBC 2024), a handful of which have made it into modern museum collections. Unfortunately, tattoos have not been found on any of them. (We don't have a full scientific analysis for the 2023 Bellaghy find yet though.)

*This number includes some finds from fens. It does not include the Cladh Hallan composite mummies.

Tattoos in period art?

It has been suggested that the man fight a beast on Book of Kells f. 130r may be naked and covered in tattoos (MacQuarrie 1997). However, Dress in Ireland author Mairead Dunlevy interprets this illustration as a man wearing a jacket and trews (Dunlevy 1989). Looking at some of the other figures in the Book of Kells, I agree with Dunlevy. F. 97v shows the same long, fitted sleeves and round neckline. F. 292r has long, fitted leg coverings, presumably trews, and also long sleeves. The interlace and dot motifs on f. 130r's legs may be embroidery. Embroidered garments were a status symbol in early medieval Ireland (Dunlevy 1989).

Left to right: Book of Kells folios 130r, 97v, 292r

A couple of sculptures in County Fermanagh might sport depictions of Irish tattoos. The first, known as the Bishop stone, is in the Killadeas cemetery. It features a carved head with 2 marks on the left side of the face, a double line beside the mouth and a single line below the eye. These lines may represent tattoos.

The second sculpture is the Janus figure on Boa Island. (So named because it has 2 faces; it's not Roman.) It has marks under the right eye and extending from the corner of the left eye that may be tattoos.

I cannot find a definitive date for the Bishop stone head, but it bears a strong resemblance to the nearby White Island church figures. The White Island figures are stylistically dated to the 9th-10th centuries and may come from a church that was destroyed by Vikings in 837 CE (Halpin and Newman 2006, Lowry-Corry 1959). The Janus figure is believed to be Iron Age or early medieval (Halpin and Newman 2006).

Conclusions:

Despite the fact that tattooing as a custom in the British Isles lasted for more than 500 years and was practiced by at least 3 different cultures, written sources remain our only solid evidence for it. With only a dozen sources, some of which probably copied each other, to cover this time span, there are huge gaps in our knowledge. The 4th century Picts may not have had the same tattoo designs, placements or reasons for getting tattooed as the 8th c. Irish or Anglo-Saxons. These sources only give us fragments of information on who got tattooed, where the tattoos were placed, what they looked like, how the tattoos were done, and why people got tattooed. Further complicating our limited information is the fact that most of the text sources come from foreigners and/or people who were prejudiced against tattooing, which calls their accuracy into question.

'The Cauldron of Posey' is one source that provides some detail while not showing prejudice against tattoos. The author of the poem was probably Christian, but the poem appears to have been written at a time when Pagan practices were still tolerated in Ireland. I have a complete translation of the poem along with a longer discussion of religious elements here.

Leave me a tip?

Bibliography:

BBC (2024). Bellaghy bog body: Human remains are 2,000 years old https://www.bbc.com/news/uk-northern-ireland-68092307

Breatnach, L. (1981). The Cauldron of Poesy. Ériu, 32(1981), 45-93. https://www.jstor.org/stable/30007454

Carey, J. (1997). The Three Things Required of a Poet. Ériu, 48(1997), 41-58. https://www.jstor.org/stable/30007956

Carr, Gillian. (2005). Woad, Tattooing and Identity in Later Iron Age and Early Roman Britain. Oxford Journal of Archaeology 24(3), 273–292. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1468-0092.2005.00236.x

Cowie, T., Pickin, J. and Wallace, T. (2011). Bog bodies from Scotland: old finds, new records. Journal of Wetland Archaeology 10(1): 1–45.

Cunliffe, B. (1977) The Romano-British Village at Chalton, Hants. Proceedings of the Hampshire Field Club and Archaeological Society, 33(1977), 45-67.

Dunlevy, Mairead (1989). Dress in Ireland. B. T. Batsford LTD, London. 

eDIL s.v. crechad https://dil.ie/12794

Giles, Melanie. (2020). Bog Bodies Face to face with the past. Manchester University Press, Manchester. https://library.oapen.org/viewer/web/viewer.html?file=/bitstream/handle/20.500.12657/46717/9781526150196_fullhl.pdf?sequence=1&isAllowed=y

Halpin, A., Newman, C. (2006). Ireland: An Oxford Archaeological Guide to Sites from Earliest Times to AD 1600. Oxford University Press, Oxford. https://archive.org/details/irelandoxfordarc0000halp/page/n3/mode/2up

Hoecherl, M. (2016). Controlling Colours: Function and Meaning of Colour in the British Iron Age. Archaeopress Publishing LTD, Oxford. https://www.google.com/books/edition/Controlling_Colours/WRteEAAAQBAJ?hl=en&gbpv=0

Lambert, S. K. (2004). The Problem of the Woad. Dunsgathan.net. https://dunsgathan.net/essays/woad.htm

Lowry-Corry, D. (1959). A Newly Discovered Statue at the Church on White Island, County Fermanagh. Ulster Journal of Archaeology, 22(1959), 59-66. https://www.jstor.org/stable/20567530

MacQuarrie, Charles. (1997). Insular Celtic tattooing: History, myth and metaphor. Etudes Celtiques, 33, 159-189. https://doi.org/10.3406/ecelt.1997.2117

McManus, D. (1988). Irish Letter-Names and Their Kennings. Ériu, 39(1988), 127-168. https://www.jstor.org/stable/30024135

Ó Floinn, R. (1995). Recent research into Irish bog bodies. In R. C. Turner and R. G. Scaife (eds) Bog Bodies: New Discoveries and New Perspectives (p. 137–45). British Museum Press, London. ISBN: 9780714123059

Pankova, S. (2013). One More Culture with Ancient Tattoo Tradition in Southern Siberia: Tattoos on a Mummy from the Oglakhty Burial Ground, 3rd-4th century AD. Zurich Studies in Archaeology, 9(2013), 75-86.

Samadelli, M., Melisc, M., Miccolic, M., Vigld, E.E., Zinka, A.R. (2015). Complete mapping of the tattoos of the 5300-year-old Tyrolean Iceman. Journal of Cultural Heritage, 16(2015), 753–758.

Story, Joanna (1995). Charlemagne and Northumbria : the influence of Francia on Northumbrian politics in the later eighth and early ninth centuries. [Doctoral Thesis]. Durham University. http://etheses.dur.ac.uk/1460/

Szacillo, J. (2012). Irish hagiography and its dating: a study of the O'Donohue group of Irish saints' lives. [Doctoral Thesis]. Queen's University Belfast.

Turner, R.C. (1995). Resent Research into British Bog Bodies. In R. C. Turner and R. G. Scaife (eds) Bog Bodies: New Discoveries and New Perspectives (p. 221–34). British Museum Press, London. ISBN: 9780714123059

Ware, C. (2021). A Literary Commentary on Panegyrici Latini VI(7) An Oration Delivered Before the Emperor Constantine in Trier, ca. AD 310. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. https://www.google.com/books/edition/A_Literary_Commentary_on_Panegyrici_Lati/oEwMEAAAQBAJ?hl=en&gbpv=0

[can-of-pringles]

Got curious and went to BehindTheName. Interesting...

[serethereal]

70 81 and 89 for the ask game <3 xoxo miss you!!!!!!

hiii lane <33 i miss YOU also we are long overdue for our REDACTED buddyread.

70. Is there a profession you picture your future spouse doing?

a chef. or a baker. idk have you watched that cinderella movie ab her step sister anastasia and how she finds simple love with a baker ya i always wanted that… also i can not cook or bake for shit so that would be nice

81. Tea or coffee?

tea !!! i hate coffee

89. Which are better black or green olives?

neither !! olives are gross #pickyeater

from this ask game

[natalievoncatte]

Lena squared herself up after she stepped from the elevator.

This has taken considerable work. She’d had to arrange for her absence from boarding school to go unnoticed, or at least, unremarked upon. If Lillian got wind of her running away, she’d have been skinned alive. Perhaps literally. Since her adoptive father’s death, she’d actually looked forward to school, and to being away from Lillian’s abuse. Lex was now the only thing keeping her from Lena, and Lex was preoccupied with his project.

Her brother had been away for school for some time, but they had summers off together at least. When Lex took over the company when he turned 21, he grew distant and aloof, spending more time with his friend Clark or at work than with family.

With his absence came Lillian.

Still, she had managed to build a support network. Frank, her bodyguard-slash-driver was Lex’s man, but he was useful. Lena had spent months buttering him up to participate in her plan: she needed wheels.

In the meantime she’d acquired blackmail material. The head master at the school gave her a broad latitude after she implied that she might expose certain proclivities of his. That gave her the time away she needed. She’d carefully negotiated a higher allowance from Lex in exchange for accelerating her studies in anticipation of beginning her undergraduate studies at sixteen, which was a triviality for her anyway.

Lena walked down the hall, heart pounding against the backpack clutched to her chest. Each step felt heavy, alive with portent.

She could turn back now. She could turn her back now.

What if she was wrong? Paranoid, addled, as crazy as her mother, just like Lillian said? What if she was about to not only blow up her whole life, but slander her brother. If this went sideways, she didn’t know what exactly would happened to her, but Lillian had once, while tipsy on whisky from Lionel’s stash, told Lena that if not for Lex, she’d have Lena garroted with piano wire and buried on the estate, and like any bag of trash, no one would notice she’d been disposed of.

When she told Lex, her hands shook like leaves. He looked at her for a long cold moment and she worried that he’d slap her or scream or throw her out of the house, but he simply said, “I’ll talk to her about it.”

He did. She never made another threat.

He also brought her a wooden box, ornate and polished. Lex sat next to Lena and opened the box, showing her the contents, lying on red velvet. A five shot snub nose revolver and two speedloaders.

“I’ll teach you how to use this,” Lex said, grimly. “I know you’re smart enough to know if you need to. If anyone tries to harm you, kill them. I’ll clean it up.”

Lena had been terrified of it for months, even as she enjoyed the shooting lessons from Lex, given in a remote part of the estate near a burbling creek, the shots cracking the morning peace and shaking dew from leaves.

She had the gun in her backpack, and her hands were shaking.

The other contents of her bag were a weapon far more devastating. She was about to fire it and she’d have to accept the consequences.

Finally, she stood outside the door. Apartment 18B. The name on the lease was Lois Lane, but according to Lena’s reconnaissance, Clark Kent had been living with her virtually full time for the last six months, not long after something changed in his relationship with Lena’s brother.

Lena’s hand hung before the door for a good minute before she knocked, weekly. She hadn’t considered what might happen if they were simply not home. Her legs felt watery and her eyes burned. She knocked again. She was committed now.

The door swung open and Lois Lane stood before her. She was beautiful in an understated way, obscured by limp hair in a chaotic bun, rumpled clothes, and the stink of coffee on her breath.

“Who- what? Kid, what do you want?”

“I need to see Clark Kent. Is he here?”

“Who’s asking?”

“Lena Luthor.”

There was a gust of wind behind her, and Kent stepped into view.

“Lena?” said Clark. “Lex’s little sister? What are you doing here?”

Lena’s throat went tight. She swallowed hard, and as she anticipated, his demeanor changed. He softened. He craned forward slightly, studying her intently, and his brows shot up when looked at her bag.

He was checking her vital signs and he’d spotted the gun. In the bag.

“He knows you’re Superman,” Lena choked out, “and he’s going to kill you.”

Lois glanced at Clark with a stunned, stunned wide expression. Then, she grabbed Lena and yanked her inside, slamming the door. Lena squeaked.

“How do you know that? Lex knows? Did he tell you? What do you mean he wants to kill Clark?”

“Hey,” Clark said, crouching beside Lena to bring himself to her level, resting a comforting hand on her slight shoulder. “Take a breath, Lena. You’re safe here.”

In Lena’s plan, she was going to begin explaining, starting with how she deduced his identity and lay out what she discovered in his files. That was her plan, but no plan survived first contact with the enemy.

Lena began to sob.

Superman knelt beside her and removed his glasses, and enveloped Lena Luthor in a warm, protective hug. She sobbed harder, burying her face in his shoulder.

“Jesus Christ,” Lois whispered.

She drew the gun out of the bag and checked it with professional, practiced familiarity, dumping the shells into her hand.

“I think she’s telling the truth.”

Clark nodded.

Over the next hour, Lena was swept to Lois’s big couch and sat in the middle while the pair sat on either side of her. When she was hungry, Clark went out to get her favorite guilty pleasure meal, a big greasy burger and fries, and a milkshake too. Between bites, she explained everything, telling them about her brother’s insane plan to turn the sun red.

They believed it all. Lena had receipts.

Eventually, Lena was exhausted, everything had been said, and she sat with dull shock on the couch and stared at the black mirror of a blank television set, marveling at how small and helpless she looked, like a drowned rat.

“Why don’t you lay down for a while?” Lois said, gently. “Here, I’ll put something on the TV for you.”

Lena didn’t make it ten minutes in before she was asleep, curled tightly on one end of the couch with a pillow under her head.

She woke sometime later. It was dark now and she heard voices on the far side of the apartment.

“I called Bruce. He said he’s in, and he’s bringing reinforcements. I’m going to try to get a Green Lantern on board. We have to move fast. Nevermind me, if Lex does this, millions of innocent people will die. We’ll have to move fast.”

“What about the girl?” said Lois. “She can’t go home now. We have to get her somewhere safe.”

“I have to get you both somewhere safe. I should probably come up with a reason to get the building evacuated. One Lex realizes he’s been caught out, he’ll come after both of you.”

“You’re right.”

“I want you to go out,” said Clark. “Make it look like you’re heading out to a convenience store. Bruce is sending Alfred to pick you up, he should be here in an hour. I have somewhere else in mind for Lena.”

“Where?”

“It’s better if I don’t tell you, just in case.”

When he emerged from the back bedroom, Clark Kent was resplendent, clothed in the persona of Superman.

“Lena?” he said, gently. “We have to go. I’ll take you somewhere safe, where your brother won’t find you.”

Lois joined him. “You’re going to put on some of my clothes, and I’m going to check your hair. You can’t take anything with you. Lex Luthor might have been tracking you the entire time.”

Lena’s stomach dropped. What if she was right? That might be a move Lex would play, tracking Lena so that he could use her against his enemy. Lex had become cold, single minded. Lena was wondering how long it would be until she was disposable.

“Okay,” said Lena.

“I’m going to have to fly you.”

Lena did as she was told. She put on an outfit that belonged to Lois, a hilariously oversized Gotham U sweatshirt and leggings. When it was time, Superman bundled her up in his cape.

“I’m scared of heights.”

“I would never drop you,” he said.

Lena screamed when he took off. She was glad for the cape, glad she couldn’t see the ground. She curled up around him and pressed her eyes tightly closed, wondering exactly how fast they were going.

The landing came surprisingly fast. He’d alighted on the grassy lawn of a lovely beach house. Lena smelled something baking and heard voices inside. Clark knocked on the door.

A girl, a little older than Lena, opened the door. Golden curls spilled over her muscular shoulders, and she wore an oversized pair of glasses that did nothing to dull the endless depths of her blue eyes. There was something profoundly sad behind the curiosity in those eyes. She looked at Lena with mild confusion.

Lena stared back. There was a wild stirring in her stomach, and she shifted uneasily on her feet.

Then, the girl addressed Clark in a rapid, clipped, and utterly strange sounding language.

It hit Lena like a shockwave.

They were speaking Kryptonian.

“Lena,” said Superman, turning to her. “This is Kara Zor-El, my cousin. The last daughter of Krypton.”

[reverie-starlight]

{need you now- hawks}

y’all remember need you now by lady antebellum?

gn!reader, no physical descriptions. angst-ish? kinda fluffy. I’ll be doing a part two of this from keigo’s perspective eventually.

you can’t sleep.

this has been happening more and more lately, and you wonder how much more you can take without starting to hallucinate.

he’s back home from a mission now, which you only found out because of one of his fan accounts. well- “home”. he’s been staying in the luxurious house the commission kept aside for him. nothing homely about it according to keigo, but it’s not like he has much of a choice.

not after you got caught up in the argument and told him you wanted nothing to do with him.

you had shrugged it off when you saw the post, not knowing if it’s been too long to try and reconcile, but now you’re going down memory lane, holding back tears as you flip through the photo album he made you.

you fight yourself to stay off your phone, but you get to a photo of him kissing your cheek and you can’t stop yourself any longer. the loneliness you’ve been feeling all this time finally wins out.

the clock reads 1:15 AM.

is he even awake right now?

it’s been a month… and he’s always so busy, do you even cross his mind anymore? he always seems to be on yours.

you call anyway, against your better judgement and your heart lurches into your throat when he actually answers.

after two rings, at that.

“hello?” his voice both soothes you and chills you to your bones at the same time.

“hi keigo,” you whisper.

“hi, ba-“ you think he’s about to call you baby out of habit and you wish he hadn’t stopped himself. “did you need something?”

he sounds… somber. solemn. sad.

not at all like the keigo you love.

guilt pools in your stomach at the mere idea of you hurting him this badly.

“I…” you bite your lip. “I miss you.”

you hear his breath hitch. “really?”

you wish you could see his expression and figure out what he’s feeling. he’s always been so good at keeping his voice free of emotion.

granted, he always tried to turn that skill off around you, so you gather that he must be feeling guarded.

you keep going. “I’m so sorry for that night, keigo. I said things that I didn’t mean and I regret it so much… I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

he’s quiet on the line for a few beats and then and exhaled “I’m sorry too, baby. we both said some pretty awful things, didn’t we?”

you laugh, but it sounds a bit more like a sob to you. “yeah,” your voice breaks. “keigo, I… I need you here with me. can you please come over so we can talk about this?”

he clears his throat, likely working overtime to continue to keep the growing emotion out of his voice, but it sounds thick when it breaks anyway. “y-eah. yeah, I can come over. I need you too. I’ll be there soon, okay? unlock the window for me, sweetheart.”

he hangs up and you quickly move to do as he asked.

five minutes later, he’s on your balcony, sliding the glass and slipping into your room.

he immediately wraps you in his arms and your body, once cold and empty, fills with a warmth only he could provide.

he’s whispering words into your scalp. “I love you, y’know that? I love you too much to ever want to break up.”

you nod against his chest, letting the tears flow freely. “I love you too. I’m sorry,” these words are repeated between the two of you- they shoot out of your mouth and hit his chest, sinking into his skin and bubbling up his throat only for them to hit your scalp and absorb into your brain, then fall out of your mouth again like a well oiled machine working overtime.

but there’s nothing habitual about these phrases- as is the case for any time you say them, they’re promises.

promises that will never be broken again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’ve had this idea for a while and I finally wrote it :3

AND I’m gonna work on this from his POV, which I’m almost more excited abt than this one 👀

@emmyrosee sum angst (ish)

[arcane-ish]

Preliminary Zaundads timeline

(note: this is not a great, story, it's just what I think fits the facts presented the most)

Vander either falls in love with his miner buddy Silco or they knew each other first and became miners together.

They strike up friendships with their miner budies, Felicia, Connel and Sevika. Maybe they all meet in this shack to spend their breaks or plot their revolution.

At some point they organize. They create or take over the drop. According to Vi's mom they "turned a crack in the earth into a thriving commuity" on the very day where Vi's mom tells them that she's having a kid and Vander names the kid. She credits both Vander and Silco with having had that idea of creating the thriving community.

At this point Vander is satisfied with what they've achieved (We're done).

[admittedly, that could be sarcasm because he knows that they still have work ahead of them] However, Silco is thinking of more, of Zaun. Felicia describes their situation "living week to week" and says that that's "a lot of shit down here" that she would have to protect Vi from.

Vander seems to be into the idea of raising children and already talks about raising more than just a single one.

She talks about carving Zaun out of the bedrock through menial work ("blisters") and that Silco and Vander will figure it out together. Silco toasts to Zaun. Vander only toasts to blisters and bedrock (note that he calls back to that in the letter to writes to Silco after nearly killing him).

Vi gets born, Powder gets born. It seems Mylo and Claggor are sort of around?

Note that even though Powder and Vi are older, their mom and dad still work as miners.

My theory:

1.) Whatever Vander and Silco and the others were doing, they probably funded themselves through the mines? That's why Felicia and Connel kept mining. Or maybe they do deeper tunnels for additional housing? My theory is still that their big thing was to take over the mine they were working in and running it themselves (seize the means of production!) and they were able to fund a their thriving community.

2.) At this point Vander and Silco's relationship becomes more and more unhappy. And Vander distracts himself by throwing himself more and more into his role as an uncle and living vicariously through Felicia and Connel's relationship.

Vi and Powder apparently have a very happy childhool.

However something happens, leading to the Day of Ash uprising. (maybe something threatens their "thriving community") Where Felicia dies and Vander snaps and attacks Silco. However, he afterwards feels bad and writes him a letter, but Silco keeps his distance, not returning for years later.

Now, granted, most of this is still pretty unsatifying. For example, everything about Vi and Powder's childhood looks way too pristine and clean. Mining looks too happy and clean for how shit it should be.

Even Vander's Lanes after he drove out Silco were never that clean. (this is probably my hate for beardless Vander talking, maybe beardless Vander = Vander's self image of his more innocent self)

And that is aside that head canoning Vander and Silco running a criminal enterprise together is just way more fun than them completely sanely funding it through respectable mining.

How exactly did Vander get his Hound of Underground name anyway? I like to headcanon that he was a pit fighter like Vi, but was that before he became a miner or during or afterwards?

And how exactly did he get a reputation as a revolutionary at all when it feels that he barely did anything?

I'm just gonna pretend:

1.) Warwick is not dead. His healing factor will kick in. 2.) These are just the happy, sanitized, idealized memories of Vander's. We will get another flashback that will reveal that the truth was way darker and more fucked up and that Vander's happy memories were as fake as Viktor's happy cult community.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN THIS WILL PROBABLY NOT HAPPEN BECAUSE THERE'S ONLY THREE MORE EPISODES AND THOSE WILL BE DEDICATED TO OTHER STORYLINES THAT STILL NEED TO WRAP UP. I CAN'T HEAR YOU.

[octuscle]

Student Fare

"According to my system, you have booked a ticket for economy class in the student fare… And it says Mason and not Martin Harper. I'm sorry, but I'll have to make a few adjustments." Annoyed was not an expression for what Martin felt. He had had a successful, but also very exhausting week. And he was now looking forward to a quiet flight to Chicago. Not in economy class. In business class. And he certainly hadn't booked a student fare. Well, not him anyway. His secretary normally took care of the bookings. But she was on vacation. And the replacement was clearly incompetent. And she would be fired on Monday morning.

"Give me your luggage, please. Actually, I should send you to an economy class counter. But I'll make an exception," said the ground staff lady. Martin wanted to reach for his suitcase. But instead of the expensive aluminum suitcase from Rimowa, there was an old, worn sports bag. Martin was about to call the police when the lady told him that it was okay, she had had to adjust the luggage because of his fare. Martin nodded understandingly, but inwardly wondered what was going on. Did he have hand luggage? Martin wanted to reach for his laptop bag. But there was only a rucksack. Completely irritated, he held it up and the lady smiled, gave him his boarding pass and wished him a good flight. But he should hurry, the queue at security was long. Martin replied that he could use the fast lane. The lady smiled wryly and just said "Student fare!"

Martin picked up his rucksack and, cursing inwardly, headed towards the security checkpoints. When was the last time he hadn't used the fast lane? He had probably really been a student then. He hated crowds. He loved flying primarily because his money and his success allowed him to travel privileged and away from the crowds. It was no fun that way. It was crowded, the people around him were sweating, pushing and shoving. Martin took off his jacket. He wanted to loosen his tie knot. But apart from his cool necklace with the pendant he'd brought back from spring break in Acapulco, there was nothing there. Shit, that was hot. Matin took off his cap and wiped his forehead. His hair was soaked with sweat. Even though it looked silly, he tied his jacket around his hips. He rolled up his sleeves. His hairy, muscular forearms were also glistening with sweat. The various bracelets he wore looked cool, but they were a nuisance in this sweltering heat. Masin smelled his wrist. Shit, the bracelets really stank to high heaven.

Finally, the security checkpoint was in sight. It was just as well, boarding started in half an hour. Masin threw his rucksack into the plastic tray, added his belt and cap and had himself x-rayed. Although nothing had beeped, the crisp security officer demanded that Masin be checked. It was probably no accident that he was able to get right up to his nipples through the large sleeve holes of Masin's tank top. Masin had to restrain himself from reflexively grabbing the bulge of the Latino in uniform. "Hey, college boy, is that your backpack?" Shit, the weed, Mason thought to himself. The face of the officer standing at the security checkpoint with his backpack looked menacing. "My bro is clean, let him pass!" the Latino shouted to his colleague. Shit, he really deserved a firm grip on his cock, Mason thought to himself and blew the Latino a kiss.

Boarding had already started. Nevertheless, Mason urgently needed to take a piss before boarding. Fortunately, there was a toilet right opposite the gate. The businessman in the navy blue suit at the urinal next to him looked at Mason's cheesy uncircumcised cock with a mixture of disgust and lust. Mason didn't miss it. He hinted at a wank. The guy next to him immediately started too. Mason laughed. What a pathetic faggot. He lifted his right arm, tensed his biceps and let the guy inhale the smell of his wet armpits. Normally Mason took ten dollars for that. Or at least an invitation to a beer. Shit, beer! He had to get supplies for the flight!

"Last and urgent call for Mason Harper, booked on American Airlines Flight 241 to Chicago," Mason quickened his pace a tiny bit. Beer and protein bars in his backpack. Whichever poor devil was sitting next to him was either going to have a lot of fun or none at all. The young man at the boarding pass control was playing fate. "I'm afraid we're overbooked," he apologized. The only seat available is in Business Class. Would you mind? Business Class! Bloody hell, Mason had never had that before. He boarded the plane. In the seat next to the last available seat was a businessman in a navy blue suit. Mason stowed his rucksack in the overhead compartment, took out two bottles of beer and sat down. This could be a fun three hours.

[getosbigballsack]

𝑻𝒆𝒏 𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒔

𝑭𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒖𝒓𝒐 𝑻𝒐𝒋𝒊 𝒙 𝑭𝒊𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒚 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑺𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔: 𝒂 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒅𝒓𝒖𝒏𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒇𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅'𝒔 𝒇𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈: 𝒖𝒏𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒆𝒙, 𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒔𝒆𝒙 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏'𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓.

𝑨/𝑵: 𝒔𝒐 𝑰 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒅𝒊𝒅 𝒊𝒕. 𝑰 𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒛𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒈𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒂 𝑻𝒐𝒋𝒊 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚. 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰'𝒗𝒆 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒏 𝒂 𝑻𝒐𝒋𝒊 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚, 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒇𝒖𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒊𝒕 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍. 𝑰 𝑨𝑴 𝑵𝑶𝑻 𝑻𝑨𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑨𝑵𝒀 𝑹𝑬𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑺𝑻 𝑭𝑶𝑹 𝑻𝑶𝑱𝑰 𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹𝑰𝑬𝑺 𝑨𝑻𝑴... 𝑻𝑯𝑨𝑵𝑲 𝒀𝑶𝑼

𝑾𝑪: 2.6𝒌

𝑬𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚

“Hey,” you heard a deep raspy voice whisper in your ear. You groaned a bit and grabbed the sheet that was covering your naked body and pulled it up to your head. 

You didn’t want to wake up just yet. It was too early for that, and you were feeling exhausted. 

“Hey,” the voice called out to you again before tugging the sheet from your body and exposing you to the cool morning air. “I suggest you wake the fuck up if you don’t want my son to see you sleeping in the same bed as his father.” 

“Fuck!” you squealed and quickly sat up in bed. How could you be so reckless after having a couple of drinks at the bar last night? “You dumb fucking bitch!” you cursed at yourself as you got out of the bed and went scrambling for your clothes. 

“How could you do this to your best friend?” you asked yourself. “Fuck I’m so stupid.”

The man who was currently sitting on the bed, watching as you struggled to get your underwear on, laughed as he listened as you insulted yourself over and over again. 

“What are you laughing at, old man?” you asked him. He shrugged his shoulders before pointing at you. 

“Megumi sure has some interesting friends,” he said, sounding a bit amused as he rose from the bed and walked over to you. You watched him as his tall, muscular body towered over yours. “Pretty interesting friends.” 

You could feel your body cower a bit as you stared up at him. You already knew that Megumi’s father was a big man, you practically lived at Megumi’s place, so you’ve seen his dad around and about a few times. But to see him up close in your personal space with his chest in your face and his dick brushing against your thigh, you felt extremely small. 

“Mr. Fushiguro, c… could you move. I need to get dressed before Megumi gets here,” you said as you tried to duck under his arm, but he didn’t let you. Instead, he rested his big, calloused hand on your hip and pressed your body against the wall behind you. 

“I would but, I don’t feel like it,” he teased you. 

“Stupid old man,” you said to him, but he only laughed and squeezed your hip a bit harder. 

“I know I’m old. You don’t have to rub it in my face,” he said to you. “Look at this small little thing standing before me calling me old, like I didn’t just fuck you silly last night.”

“That was a mistake, I was drunk,” you blurted out. “That phone call was meant for Megumi, I was trying to call him just so could pick me up.” 

“Is that so?” he asked. 

“That’s the truth,” you lied. 

You had all intentions of calling Megumi’s dad. But you didn’t expect to be waking up in his bed the next morning. Truth to be told, you’ve always had a crush on your best friend’s dad. You always thought that he was handsome, hot, and just so down to earth sexy. 

Before his second wife died, you were actually a bit envious of her. She had the man that you wanted. But anyways before we stray down that path called memory lane, let us divert ourselves back to the story. 

As you were saying, that call was meant for Mr. Fushiguro. At the time you just wanted to call him to let him know how you’ve felt about him, knowing that he would give a shit about what you’d feel because according to Megumi, Mr. Fushiguro was still hung up over his dead wife. 

And what you didn’t was that at the time when you were in the middle of confessing your feelings to him, he was watching you from across the road in a ramen shop eating ramen. You know where we’re heading with this right. After you confessed, he came over to the club, pulled you out, you talked with him for a bit, kissed him and the next thing you knew, you were having sex with your best friend's dad.

“I guess that confession was meant for Megumi as well?” he teased you as he brought his other hand to stroke your flustered cheeks. Damn it you stupid old man, you cursed at him in your mind - knees trembling as you stared up at him with your doe eyes. Why… on earth did you have to let your desires get the best of you last night? 

“I had fun last night,” he said to you. 

“I… I didn’t,” you stuttered, quickly turning your head away from his view to avoid him staring at your flustered face any longer. 

He chuckled and squeezed your hips then he responded, “If that’s the case then how about you let me tap your pussy once more. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it this time around. So, what do you say?”

You swallowed the thick lump in your throat and closed your eyes from embarrassment. “Baka… Megumi-chan is on his way over here.” 

“I didn’t hear a no,” he chuckled before resting his other hand on your hip, lifting you up and over his shoulder then quickly making his way towards the bed. “We have 30 minutes until he gets here, I’ll make you cum in 10.”

Your eyes widened the moment you felt your back came in contact with the bed, your clothes being ripped from your hands and now Mr. Fushiguro was hovering over your small body. “W… wait, wait. We can’t do this… Mr Fushiguro.” 

“Drop the formalities and call me Toji, I think we’re past that,” he said as he leaned down to kiss the side of your neck. “Plus, we did it once, so why can’t we do it again. Are you scared that Megumi would find out that his best friend slept with his dad?” 

You whimpered, not entirely sure how you were going to respond to this. You were trying to think of a quick comeback, an insult to divert his mind from his current train of thoughts while you figured out how you were going to get out of his grasp. But it all is a failure, when his lips felt so rough against your neck, his calloused hands on your hips gently caressing your skin then he slowly moved to grab both thighs before pulling them apart to relieve your tiny, cute little pussy to him. 

It’s been awhile since Fushiguro Toji slept with a woman. Ever since his wife died it felt a bit impossible for him to sleep with anyone else. So, to crave his hunger for sex, he’d usually bury himself with work or drown it with alcohol until last night you presented the opportunity to him. 

A young fresh, woman. Small and cute, and just a little bit spicy. He sort of liked you, mostly because you were a good match for his son Megumi (in terms of you brought out the more talkative and expressiveness of his son). You reminded him of his wife and that’s the reason accepted your confession and took you to his bed last night to have a taste of you, and now that he had his taste and fill of you, he knew that he won’t be able to get enough.

And now, he wanted to have more of you, to taste you another time, even if he meant that his son has to walk in on him screwing you then so be it. 

“Mr… Fushiguro we can’t do… this,” you whimpered, your hands gripping his muscular arm for support as he continued to kiss your skin. “Mr… Toji… ahh…” 

“10 minutes is all I need,” he said before flipping over on his back, grabbing your hips to pull you on top of him. “Ten minutes?” 

“Fine 10 minutes,” you said while pouting your lips at him. He smirked because he knew that you wanted this too even though you were being stubborn, he could tell just from how much your tiny pussy was clenching and dripping around nothing when he parted your legs earlier. You swallowed and licked your lips as you rested both hands on his chest for support as you slowly lifted your hips to line his cock up with your entrance. 

“Careful now, don’t hurt yourself,” he teased just before a most slipped past his lips. 

“Shut up,” you said to him. You took a deep breath before your pussy met the tip of his thick girthy cock. “Shit…” you cried, feeling the mushroom tip split open your folds, bullying its way past your entrance and slowly gliding and resting against your spongy walls before you were fully seated on his cock. 

You cried, nails digging into his chest - your toes curling against the bottom of your feet as you tried to relax and allow yourself to relax and welcome. But Toji couldn’t wait for you to do so, he had 10 minutes to make you cum before Megumi got home, and he intended on making you cum. 

He grabbed your waist and pulled you down to his chest, you almost moaned when your tits came in contact with his chest, they were very hard and felt excellent against your own chest and you would’ve ogled at his chest a bit longer if it wasn’t for the fact that he legs were moving and so were his hands. 

“Toji… what are you… fuck,” you yelped feeling as his hands lifted you from his cock before harshly bringing you down. His hands cupped your ass - clenching your cheeks as he lifted you from his cock once more and began to bounce you on his cock while he thrust his hips upwards to meet his quick movements. 

“Fuck…” he grunted as he lifted his head from the bed to see the damage that he’s doing to you down to below. The harsh movement of his hips thrusting into your pussy hard you are screaming and crying out his name. You could feel every rippled vein on his rigid cock sliding against your gummy, soaking walls and the bulbous tip kissing your cervix. 

He licked his lips as he took sight of you in the mirror below his bed, watching as your tiny pussy stretched around his cock, creamy white fluids running down the sides of his cock, each time he thrust in and out of you. You were such a remarkable sight, or let's just say that your pussy was. He was mesmerised by your ass clapped against his thighs with each thrust.

So tiny yet you’re able to fit all of him inside of you without any complaints or whatsoever. It’s because he had already stretched your pussy out the night before. Your pussy was just fucking wet from his deep harsh fucking? Or you were just a filthy slut who just enjoys the feeling of a big cock inside your tiny hole. 

Whatever the reason is, he’ll take it. 

“Fuck… I'm … so deep,” you muttered incoherently trying your hardest to keep your mind from going into overdrive. But with the way his cock was penetrating you, it’s impossible for your poor little fucked out mind to not go into overdrive. 

Every pull, every drag of his cock inside you had you desperately panting for air - your nails scratching his chest while drool leaked from the corner of your mouth. It felt slightly impossible for you to breathe, to even moan with the way his cock is just repeatedly slamming against your g-spot. You swore you felt that warm bubbling feeling in your tummy. 

Fuck… he was staying true to his words; you were about to cum soon. 

He gradually moved his hand from your ass to deliver a spank against the flustering flesh, your body jerk and lurched, goosebumps rose against your heated skin just moments before he ripped a scream from your lips. 

Having sex with your best friend's father felt good, despite the lack of intimacy (as in kissing on the lips) regardless of it felt mind blowing. “Don’t have much time left,” he grunted as he pulled you away from his chest. 

“Wah… huh?” you mumbled, then gasped when his hand wrapped around your throat and before you had time to process what the fuck was happening, your back was once again on the bed, your lips at either side of his hips while Toji hovered over you with his cock still resting deeply inside your pussy. 

Your jaw dropped the moment you felt him pull out before sinking back into your wet and tight heat. “Ohhh…” you gasped, your hand dropping from his shoulder to cling tightly onto the bed as he slammed his cock repeatedly into you. “Fuck… ahhh,” you screamed, “So… deep please don’t…” Toji was quick to shut you up by slapping his hand over your mouth. 

"Too loud, don't want the neighbours to know we're fucking right," he chuckled. You shook your head not before closing your eyes and immersing yourself in this mind-numbing ecstasy. You just have to acknowledge it to yourself: Fushiguro Toji was making your pussy ecstatic. Despite the fact that everything about this encounter with him seemed wrong, you were thoroughly enjoying yourself. 

He grunted as you moaned while he continued to slam his hips into yours. His eyes trained to the sight of your tummy bulging each time he thrust his cock deeply into you. “You gonna cum soon?” he asked, already knowing that you were clenching and dripping around his cock. 

You nodded your head, unable to respond because he had his hand over your mouth at the time. He bit his lower lip as he watched tears fall from your eyes; he thought you looked cute like this and would have kissed you if it weren’t for the fact that kissing you would have made him forget he was on a mission to make you cum. 

Quickly, he used his free hand to bend your knees and rest them both on his shoulders, then pressed his chest into the back of your legs, allowing himself to bury deeper inside you. You screamed beneath his hand, eyes squeezing shut when you felt him fucking you at this angle. He was deep deep, and you knew that in a matter of moments you were about cum. 

“I wanna pee… I wanna pee…” you cried beneath his hand, and he chuckled. Peeing is one way to describe the feeling that was now fast approaching down into your pussy, but Toji knew that this was far from what you were about to do. He removed his hand from your mouth, his big finger slowly inching down to play with your swollen clit, harshly rubbing and flicking at the throbbing nub. Your body began to tremble beneath him, your toes curling above his shoulders - and your head tossed back into the bed, and you screamed. 

Your body felt hot, your pussy clenching and thigh spasming as this man who was built like a fucking mountain kept on repeatedly slamming his hips against yours until, you snapped, your body tensed as clear liquid began to spurt from your pussy. Toji was quick to pull out, but his thumb kept flicking on your clit, watching as your pussy pulse with every burst of liquid. You were able to moan, words and sound got caught in the back of your throat as you rode out this intense orgasm. 

“Told you, I only needed 10 minutes,” he chuckled while watching as you trembled and cried beneath him.

𝑺𝒐 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒅𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌?

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt from the one where Krypton lives and Kara did not sign up for this.

Only Kal would manage to get his DNA stolen on a planet called “Earth”, of all the godsdamned stupid places.

Might as well just be named “The Planet” or something, she swears. 

“All three it is,” Kara says, waving open her wall storage and grabbing her rice pot out of it. She only has the one because she's never had to cook for anyone else in her life, much less anyone who was staying with her, but she'll make it work. 

Somehow. 

Can't be any worse than pulling off mission-critical military maneuvers in shit conditions with untried and under-trained new recruits, she figures. 

. . . though she is admittedly more prepared for that situation than this one, if it comes to it. 

Look, that’s just experience, alright? She’s been on a thousand maneuvers and missions she didn’t have the resources for, but Kal doesn’t get cloned every day. 

Well, at least not when he’s not on incredibly uncreatively named alien planets, anyway. 

Kara dumps three times the usual amount of rice into her rice pot while Thirteen hovers just outside the kitchen and Match stands very, very still beside him. Neither of them says anything else, though Thirteen looks like he might want to. He seems to be the talker, from what Kara can tell. 

Or at least, he’s the one they’ve designated to be the talker. He asks more questions, and sometimes Match looks at him like he’s expecting him to ask a question. Even if they don’t necessarily get along, they seem to be cooperating at least that much. 

Well, it makes sense. They’re the only other successful Kryptonian-human clones that anyone’s aware of existing, and they know cloning is illegal on Krypton, and Kal isn’t here right now. Who else are they going to rely on when meeting a total stranger? 

Even a total stranger who is, technically, family. 

Or at least arguably, anyway. 

Her house communicator plays a familiar identifying little melody as she’s juggling her spheres of katso sauce and dried spygin in one arm while trying to dig out the last couple of bly fruit she <i>knows</i> she had shoved in the back of her cold storage, which admittedly is a bit cluttered with premade meals right now. Or . . . always, pretty much. 

In her defense, she really doesn’t cook very much. Or very well. Or . . . at all, really, when she can avoid it. 

She’s a grown woman and a decorated general, alright? She doesn’t need to cook if she doesn’t want to. 

“Accept call,” she instructs briskly, and the communicator’s holoscreen materializes to her side. Thirteen startles slightly; Match doesn’t so much as twitch. Doesn’t so much as breathe either, though, so she’s pretty sure he was startled too. At least, that’s the impression she’s been getting from the way he’s reacted to things so far. 

Avoided reacting to things, more like. 

“Oh, look who’s finally calling,” she says, eyeing Kal’s image on her projected screen. He looks just barely harried and the slightest bit sheepish, and she can see a dark-haired woman who’s presumably his new wife sitting behind him in his home office wearing peculiar clothing that is definitely not Kryptonian, but also doesn’t look nearly as indecent as what Thirteen and Match both showed up wearing. She seems occupied with a reader, and keeps activating and deactivating it like she’s never seen anything like it before. 

So probably the wife, yes. Lois Kal-El, née Sam-Lane, according to Kal’s previous calls. Though he also says that humans have slightly different naming schemes than Krypton does. And apparently more varied ones than Krypton does, too. 

Why Kal apparently made sure his grown wife was more appropriately dressed than the children were is beyond her, though.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Nothing ever go according to plan | JJ Maybank x Reader

Summary: The plan to get the cross back turn sour and JJ end up putting his life on the line

Word count: 1k

Request: can I request a JJ Maybank fic with numbers 4 and 6 from the obx print list please! thank you sm <3 ‘’Can you stop being so fucking reckless? I’m tired of being scared of losing you.’’ + ‘’Don’t push me away.’’

Can you write the pursuit/accident from episode 5 but instead of Kie on the bike with JJ, it’s reader and they are a couple 

Note: That scene had me on the edge of my seat!!

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Getting caught stealing the cross into Topper’s truck was not part of the plan, but you had to roll with it. When does anything go according to plan anyway?

You saw a flash of red and blue lights, then heard the siren. Shit.

You quickly got behind JJ on his motorcycle, holding onto him tightly as he revved the engine and took off. A mix of siren wailing and tires screeching filled your ears, making the blood pump faster in your veins and your anxiety increase. Being part of the pursuit was less fun than watching it happen on TV.

‘’J…’’ you warned worriedly, looking over your shoulder and seeing the police car getting closer and closer.

‘’I know, I know,’’ he said, his own nerves translating in his voice.

He slid into the other lane and sped again, trying to catch up with Topper. Once he did, he told him to keep going straight and that he had a plan.

‘’Get ready to jump.’’

‘’What?!’’ you exclaimed, not on board with that plan. You’ve seen Footloose, it looked dangerous. ‘’Have you lost your mind? I’m not leaving you.’’ You clung to him, fingers gripping his shirt.

‘’Get in Top’s truck,’’ JJ repeated with more bite in his words.

Your safety was important to him and he couldn’t have you on his motorcycle if he wanted to continue with his plan.

Reluctantly, you did as told and jumped onto the box holding the cross, Pope’s hand holding yours tight so you wouldn’t fall during the process. He helped you get inside the truck, finally safe.

‘’Are you okay?’’ Sarah asked from the front seat.

You nodded, but everyone’s attention shifted when you heard a screech of tires right behind and saw that JJ had stopped and turned his bike around to distract the cops. Was that his plan? Getting the cops to go after him instead of the truck with the cross?

‘’Holy shit!’’ Cleo said, watching from the back window. ‘’I think he threw something at the cops.’’

The police car turned around and fell right into JJ’s plan. While distracting the cops was a good idea, he just committed a criminal offense.

Sarah turned to Topper. ‘’Topper, turn around!’’

He shook his head stubbornly. He agreed to help her, but he wasn’t going to go to prison for her friends — Pogues. ‘’Absolutely not.’’

‘’We’re not leaving him. He’s gonna get arrested,’’ you said, protecting your boyfriend at your turn.

With some more insisting from Sarah, she finally got Topper to turn around. You and Pope shared a relieved glance. The caution to get JJ out would be very salty and none of you could afford it.

The next minutes were intense. Pope was yelling directions at Topper while you were silently panicking in the backseat. The amount of stress this boy always put you through was crazy.

‘’No way, he's up on the overpass. What is he do—’’

Sarah didn’t get to finish her sentence. Up on the overpass, you saw JJ losing control of the motorcycle and crashing through the barrier and railing and falling down the overpass. The car echoed with gasps, watching the accident unfold.

Topper hit the brakes and you all stumbled out of the truck to check on JJ.

The motorcycle broke into pieces at the impact. There were parts here and there on the road, but no sign of JJ.

‘’JJ…’’ Your eyes were frantically searching for the blond as your hands were beginning to shake. ‘’JJ! Where is he?’’ You searched the surroundings, but he wasn’t there. ‘’JJ!’’ Your voice was desperate and panicked, mixing with the other’s.

‘’Maybe he’s up on the bridge,’’ Pope suggested, staying optimistic.

You crumbled to the ground as tears blurred your vision and a sob escaped your lips, thinking the worst. Cleo watched you with sadness and kept looking for JJ for you. She didn’t want that traumatic scene to be your last memory of him. He had to be alive.

‘’I wish I could say I did this on purpose, but that was the gnarliest powerslide I've ever done,’’ a familiar voice said from behind you.

Everyone whipped their heads around, seeing JJ standing and dusting off his hat.

‘’You’re alive!’’ Pope yelled, tackling his friend into a hug.

JJ groaned in pain, his whole body aching from the fall. ‘’Yeah, I’m surprised too.’’

Everyone went and hugged him, sharing a few words. Everyone except you. You were still on the ground among the debris, tears running down your face. He was there before your eyes, alive and well, but your state of shock held you frozen.

Noticing you were still on the ground, Sarah helped you up and called JJ, tearing his attention away from his conversation with Pope and Cleo.

Guilt filled his guts when he saw you and he freed himself from his friends to come over. ‘’I’m gonna go check on my girl.’’ 

If this would’ve been a movie, it would’ve been a perfect moment to put in slow-motion, but your life, although chaotic and implausible sometimes, was not a Hollywood production. 

Another tear fell when you felt JJ’s embrace enveloping you. This time, it was a tear of relief. ‘’You’re okay,’’ you stated, your voice muffled by his chest.

‘’A little sore, but—’’

You pulled back and hit his chest sharply. ‘’Can you stop being so fucking reckless? I’m tired of being scared of losing you.’’

He hissed, but accepted the hit. He deserved it. From your perspective, the accident must not have been easy to watch. If he had been more careful, he would not have lost control of the motorcycle and fallen off the overpass.

JJ gently wiped your tears from your face, looking at you with soft guilty eyes. ‘’I’m sorry. I just wanted to help, I didn’t think my plan would turn to shit.’’ He tried to hug you again, but you didn’t let him. JJ sighed. ‘’Don’t do that. Don’t push me away.’’ He went again, but this time you wrapped your arms around his neck, pushing away the part of you that was mad at him.

—

OBX taglist: @moralina @eudximoniakr @toylewestinnyc @rottenstyx  @sweeterheartxamerica  @jordierama @viridwityy @izzy-laufeyson @kenzi-woycehoski @lilaconner @Katsukis1Wife  @hawkegfs @mommyruuetrue  @acornacreacure @snownjune @nmedina8611 @slvtherinseeker

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs  @gillybear17  @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (III)

Chapter 3 : ‘I miss him in the wheeping of the rain; I want him at the shrinking of the tide’

Hi, everyone!!! Here is another chapter! Break up is rough, angst is everywhere!

I hope you like this series! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 3954

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Time does not bring relief; you all have lied   Who told me time would ease me of my pain!   I miss him in the weeping of the rain;   I want him at the shrinking of the tide; The old snows melt from every mountain-side,   And last year’s leaves are smoke in every lane;   But last year’s bitter loving must remain Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide.   There are a hundred places where I fear   To go,—so with his memory they brim.   And entering with relief some quiet place   Where never fell his foot or shone his face   I say, “There is no memory of him here!”   And so stand stricken, so remembering him.

Edna St. Vincent Millay, Collected poems, 1938

You woke up in an empty bed.

Your alarm rang, it was time to get up and go to work. There was no one else on the other side of the mattress, nobody else’s warmth beneath the sheets. There was still Frank’s scent everywhere though, but no item left on his bedside table. You got up, took a shower where his shampoo and bodywash had disappeared, his toothbrush and razor missing by the sink. None of his clothes were left, and the thought suddenly struck you that he couldn’t have packed all of his things in the hour he stayed the previous night. Where had he left anyway? He must have planned everything…

You were so overwhelmed with emotion that you weren’t even sure what you were feeling, in the end. Hurt, anger, loss, shock, denial… God, you couldn’t believe that this was truly happening…

You looked down at your left hand, and your engagement ring was still there, on your finger, where it belonged. None of this was real, it was a mistake, a dream, a prank even… but it couldn’t be real.

How could Frank be gone? And if he was… what on earth was this story of his about a woman he had just met, a woman he barely knew? He was ready to throw away the past six years for a stranger? Was that truly all you meant to him?

This was a mistake, clearly. Frank was making a mistake. Perhaps he was stressed with his job, maybe he was freaking out because of the wedding. Whatever it was, he would realise soon that he was acting on an impulse, out of all logic, and he would come back to his senses. He ought to…

… he ought to, because how could you live without him? You had forgotten how to do it.

Andrew sent a text to Samantha, as he did every morning. He was late, as per usual. He almost tripped on Elwood, while the dog was stretching in the middle of the hallway, rushing as he did to get his coat. He checked in his pockets.

Phone, yes.

Keys, yes.

Wallet, yes.

Glasses were upon his nose, he had his bag thrown over his shoulder with his laptop, a water bottle, a thermos and…

He rolled his eyes, cursed under his breath.

An empty thermos. That’s what he had forgotten to do this morning, prepare himself some coffee or tea. Never mind, Andrew would prepare something at work, he didn’t have the time.

Anyway, the list…

An empty thermos, the article he had brought from work last night, the book of poetry he was currently studying…

He pressed ‘send’ on the screen of his smartphone, spotting a spelling mistake before he could close the app, but he didn’t have time to correct it.

Good morning, love. Hopng for a good day for you. Are you planning on dropping by tonight?

… A notebook, a couple of pencils, a hair tie. Wait, did he have a hair tie? Yes, around his wrist, of course, bloody idiot…

He petted Elwood’s head, told him to be a good boy, and hurried outside.

During his drive, he thought about Samantha, wondered if her meetings had gone well the previous day. She hadn’t sent him a text to tell him she was safely home, but upon receiving no news and no answer to his calls, he had called her friend Jess, who had told him she was indeed home, safe and sound. She was probably just drunk and had gone to bed, forgetting to text him. As long as she was safe, Andrew didn’t really mind, but he had been worried about her. He made a mental note to remind her to text him the next time she went out.

He heaved a sigh, turning up the volume of the music, letting Duke Ellington and John Coltrane fill up the space around him. A sentimental mood started playing, he felt all his muscles relax as the saxophone sang.

His mind wandered with the airy notes, jumping from Sam, to work, to you. He was happy to see you today, to ask about your work at lunchtime. You would probably have thought about your classes during the evening, would have a lot of things to discuss over a salad or a sandwich at noon. He smiled at the thought as he parked his car at Trinity.

He checked the time on his watch before leaving his car. He was late, although he had no meeting nor class to give. But he had hoped to be in his office by nine o’clock, and it was almost nine thirty. Where did these thirty minutes go? God, he really was a terrible time-keeper…

He hurried through the university grounds, left empty by the summer, students enjoying a well-deserved rest. There was still a little bit of dew wetting the grass, making it shine with pearly specs of light. The sky was a mix of blue and cotton-white, as if it pondered for now on whether to give Dublin a sunny day or a rainy one. Andrew paid little attention to those details, hurrying towards his work, his head already busy with all he had to do. He stopped by the cafeteria before heading to his office to prepare himself some coffee, filling up his thermos. He took a sip of the too-warm beverage as he exited the room, walked down a corridor, burning his tongue a little in the process. He cursed under his breath at the feeling.

He heaved a sigh, hurried towards the staircase and climbed all the way up to your shared office, a smile back on his lips as he thought of seeing you. Maybe this day had not started in the best way, but you would greet him in just a moment with your usual enthusiasm, and it would make him feel happy again. He hurried down the corridor leading to the wooden door that sported both of your names, engraved in copper.

When he opened the door, you were there, indeed. You were focused on your computer screen, didn’t seem to notice that Andrew had come in. He smiled at you anyway.

“Morning, Y/N,” he greeted you with warmth, making you finally look up at him.

“Oh… morning, Andrew,” you gave him a polite smile, right before focusing on your screen again.

The gesture was tight-lipped, professional. He frowned at the sight, blinked a couple of times before finally putting his thermos down on his desk and his bag on the ground by the side of his desk.

“You’re alright this morning?” he asked, trying to hide that his question was genuine behind a neutral tone.

“Sure. You?”

“Yeah, yeah… all grand.”

You didn’t look up, merely stared at your screen. He noticed that your eyes were red, that you seemed tired. He wondered if anything wrong had happened for you to act so cold. But then again, you were colleagues, had been for less than a week. Perhaps you were always like that. Now that the excitement of the first days was over, maybe you were just falling back into your normal character, turning professional rather than friendly. And it was alright, of course. You were colleagues. As long as you would both get along fine together, you didn’t need to be anything more.

Still, Andrew couldn’t refrain the feeling of disappointment that washed over him.

You remained quiet for the rest of the morning, and so did he. He was focused on his work, you were struggling to keep your eyes away from your phone, glancing regularly at the device propped on your desk, right by your side.

When it was finally time for lunch, Colm came knocking on the door of your office, without waiting for an invitation to come in.

“Well, hello, busy bees! Time to eat! I’m starved!” he proclaimed, making Andrew chuckle as he got up.

You didn’t move from your seat, merely granted Colm another one of your polite smiles.

“Erm… you’re eating with us, Y/N?” Andrew offered, putting on his jacket.

“Thanks for offering! But I’m really not hungry today.”

“You’re sick?” Colm asked, crossing his arms before his chest. “I know it’s your first week, but if you’re sick you can just go home. No need to act all brave and tough just to gain points towards… nobody, really.”

“No, no… it’s not that at all. I’m not sick, just… not hungry.”

“As you wish…” Colm shrugged, turning towards Andrew, who didn’t seem convinced by your explanation at all.

“Come on, Treebeard! I’m starving!”

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Andrew asked you, ignoring Colm for a moment.

But you nodded, the same neutral smile on your lips. You seemed sad, upset even.

“Sure, I’m alright.”

Andrew nodded, giving up. He was a mere colleague to you, after all. He wasn’t your friend, surely something was wrong but it was perfectly normal for you not to want to discuss it with him. Still, he forced himself to walk out of the room, guilt tugging at his heart.

Andrew ended up eating with several colleagues, and he had a nice time. He checked his phone, but Sam had not replied to his text yet. He started making assumptions, worrying about her all over again. He admonished himself for being such a worrier, for not being able to let go. She had had too much to drink, she was probably dealing with a hangover, nothing more, nothing to worry about… Besides, how hypocritical of him it would be to get angry because she wasn’t answering right away, when he was terrible at managing texts and emails himself. He too often forgot about a text he had left on read, being busy when he received it, only to remember to reply days later. He didn’t do that for Sam, though…

He walked back up the stairs with Colm and Ronan, who worked at the IT department and turned left instead of right to go back to his own office. A nice guy, commented Colm, they ought to hang out with him more often. Besides, it was always a good idea to have someone good with computers close by. The remark made Andrew chuckle, while he let Colm reach his own office. Andrew was alone again as he opened the wooden door of your shared working space.

He was quiet as the door slid open, and you weren’t. Over the noise of your own conversation you were having over the phone, you didn’t notice as Andrew was walking in, closing the door behind him. You were facing the window behind your desk.

“Frank… you can’t be serious about this.”

Frank. Andrew recognised the name. He was your partner. Perhaps the two of you had a row…

He was taking off his jacket already, but stopped before he would finish his movement. Perhaps he should just tiptoe out of the office. You didn’t seem to have noticed him, and this was clearly a personal conversation that he had no business hearing.

“What do you mean you’ve taken your decision?! Have you taken a minute to actually think?! We’ve spent six years together! Yes! No! Yes, you’re right, I’m not accepting your ‘decision’, because it makes no fucking sense! Look… just… let’s meet up tomorrow, and discuss things, okay? Are you chickening out because of the wedding?”

Andrew silently slid his jacket back on his shoulders, pulled his hair from under the collar, and slowly walked back towards the door.

“Frank, this is ridiculous… it makes no sense…”

Your voice broke, Andrew ached at the pain it was revealing.

“No, I don’t want to!”

Andrew had almost reached the door when the tiles under his feet cracked, and you spun around in a jolt. He gave you an apologetic smile, but remained frozen under your stare.

“Frank, I’ve got to go, babe. Just… please, think about what you’re doing, okay? And we need to discuss this properly, face to face.”

Your face fell, he saw that you were about to cry, before you pulled your phone away from your ear, stared at the screen with a blank stare.

“Y/N? You’re alright?” Andrew asked, staring at you, at how distressed you looked.

You blinked up at him, put your phone down on your desk. And then you shook your head, covered your mouth with your hand, and started crying. Or sobbing, rather. Andrew stared for a second with round eyes, not knowing what to do.

His first reaction was to hold you, and so he took a couple of steps towards you, but then he remembered that you were colleagues, that you barely knew each other, that it would be inappropriate for him to touch you in any way. So, he stopped abruptly, stared at you some more.

“Y/N?”

You stared at each other for a moment, while your sobbing got worse, and Andrew was thinking of what he should do. But then, you were the one to circle your desk, and basically let yourself fall into his arms. He caught you easily, held you in a tight hug.

“Hey… what’s going on? You’re alright? What’s wrong?” he asked, making his voice even softer than it usually was, rubbing soothingly your back.

You were shaking in his arms, holding on his jacket like your life depended on it.

“Frank is breaking…up… up with me,” you explained, your cries making you stutter, choking on your breathing.

Andrew clenched his jaw, held you a little tighter.

“God… I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“It’s just… out of nowhere… we’re engaged! He says… he says he’s met someone else… but he… he doesn’t know her! They met… like… just a few weeks ago… who does that?!”

“I don’t know, Y/N. I don’t know…”

“What am I going to do now?”

He let you cry for a few more minutes, supporting your weight as your legs seemed too weak to fully carry you, rubbing soothing circles into your back, your head buried in his chest.

“Why don’t you go home, Y/N? Huh? You should go home, get some rest.”

But you shook your head, suddenly breaking free from his embrace.

“No, no… I need to work…”

“You’re not going to get anything done, anyway. It’s alright. Just… go home. Go home, and rest. You’ll come back on Monday morning, once you’ve sorted this out.”

You blinked up at him, dried your cheeks on your sleeves.

“I’m sorry…”

“There’s no need to apologise. Just go home, get some rest. You’re upset, being here will do nothing to make you feel better. We don’t have classes yet, you can work at home if you want to.”

You nodded, but sat back at your computer all the same.

“I’ll leave early.”

“Alright.”

“It’s… It’s better if I don’t think about this, anyway.”

“I understand…”

“I… I’m sorry I hugged you like that…”

“No need to apologise. It’s fine. You’re upset, it’s okay.”

“I… I’m sorry if I’m a little off today…”

“Y/N… I reckon that it’s normal for you to ‘be off’ today. I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, in fact… I was about to walk out again, like… erm… but you heard me before I could…”

“You could have knocked.”

“It’s my office.”

Slowly, you nodded.

“Yeah, right… it’s okay…”

“Do you… want to talk about it?”

But you shook your head.

“It’s better if I focus on something else. Besides, I’m sure you don’t want to be bothered with my personal life.”

He nodded, not saying anything else while he took off his jacket, threw it on the back of his chair and sat down behind his desk.

When he looked up at you, you were still crying, although you were doing so in silence, drying your eyes and cheeks quickly, in an attempt to hide it.

Andrew wanted to hold you again, until you would stop crying for real.

Elwood wasn’t supposed to climb on the couch, but Andrew had such a soft spot for his dog that this rule had been neglected for a long time. Instead, he let his dog lie by his side on the sofa while he watched tv, a beer in his hand, Elwood’s head lying on his laps in search for infinite scratches. And Andrew was happy to comply and offer all the petting his dog desired.

Stallone was suffering of post-traumatic stress on screen, hiding near a village after coming back from war with nothing, but Andrew wasn’t really paying attention to Rambo’s pain. Instead, he let his mind wander off to other places, to worries and lists of things to do. He thought of you, hoped that you would be fine, that you would sort things out with the man you loved. He thought about the article he needed to read the next day, the poems he wanted to select and discuss in his class about Yeats. He thought about the notebook that sat in his office at home, that had remained closed for the past few months, how he couldn’t find any reason to write these days, how he missed being able to produce poetry. It used to quieten his busy head for a while, he grieved for the easy cure, the temporary emotional relief creating provided for him. But then again, things were a little off with Sam these days. He could feel her drifting away sometimes, didn’t feel that they were as close as they used to. They would overcome it, of course, they always did. But what worried him most was that he didn’t know the reason behind it. Especially the past few weeks. She didn’t seem to make much efforts to be with him, to show interest in him. He wasn’t sure if it came from outside, may it be work or family, or if it came from inside their relationship. Perhaps he wasn’t paying enough attention, perhaps he had said something without realising it could be hurtful to her…

Anyway, they were drifting apart, and Andrew couldn’t write. He hadn’t written a single poem in two months, the longest time he had spent not writing at all since his teenage years. He felt kind of lost without that routine, the anchor it provided.

Sam had not answered to his texts today, he was worried. He knew she was alright, he had asked her friend again this afternoon, and Sam had been to work as per usual. It wasn’t like her to simply ghost him, though, that was new.

He would have been lying had he pretended that it didn’t make him angry. He didn’t reckon that he was being too much, crossing boundaries or anything of the kind by asking her to reply, when he just wanted to make sure she was alright. He clenched his jaw at the thought, tried not to let anger win, but he couldn’t help it. She was always complaining about his lack of communication skills, but she was pulling stunts like this? Andrew was far from perfect in that area, he knew it, he tried to make efforts about it, but he had never ghosted her for an entire day.

There was something wrong, and Andrew dreaded to find out what it could be.

Andrew jumped when he heard a knock on the door. Elwood felt his sudden rush of fear, barked in response.

“Shh, it’s alright, boy,” Andrew petted Elwood’s head before standing and walking to the door.

His eyes grew round in surprise as he found Sam on his doorstep.

“Babe? What are you doing here? It’s almost midnight…”

“I… I wanted to see you.”

His heart grew warm at her words, but he was still angry because of her silence. He let her in anyway.

“You’re alright? You didn’t answer me at all since yesterday morning,” Andrew said, trying to maintain a neutral tone.

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry… I was just… busy…”

“What’s wrong? You seem upset?”

“Long day…”

She walked to the kitchen, paid no mind to Elwood as he watched her pass by, sniffed at her jeans, before heading back towards Andrew. The dog followed him around as he walked to the kitchen as well.

Andrew internally debated whether he should start a fight or not, about her silence, about the unanswered texts, about the fact that he was worried sick…

“How was your day, Andy?”

A simple question, Andrew was surprised to be stunned by it. It was a perfectly normal question, one he asked her every day, one she used to ask him. But then, he realised he was surprised because she had stopped asking about his day years ago…

“Erm… fine,” he answered, blinking at her, pushing his resentment to the side for a moment.

He looked at her fidgeting with his kettle, with a mug she had taken from the cabinet above her head. She seemed nervous, distressed even. Perhaps she was summoning up the courage to talk about whatever was bothering her. So, Andrew answered, instead of arguing.

“I… My day was fine. Got a lot of work done, ate with Colm and Ronan, which was nice. I’ve started narrowing down my list of poems I want to talk about for this new class about Yeats I’ll be teaching this year, made some historical research for it too. I’m worried about Y/N, though.”

“Really?”

“Yeah… her fiancé broke up with her last night. She’s devastated.”

He saw how Sam tensed at his words, turned her head slightly in his direction.

“Really?”

“Hmm… they had been together for several years, were engaged and everything. She was upset, like… really upset. I hope they can fix things, she seems to love him a lot. And apparently, it was very sudden too. Which only made things worse. She truly didn’t see it coming. God, can you imagine? Your long-time partner just… dropping a bomb on you like that? Without any warning? She didn’t want to talk about it, I don’t know exactly what happened, but… something so unexpected like that….”

He saw Sam struggling to swallow, saw the fear and the hesitation in her eyes, even though she wasn’t looking at him. He walked over to her, folded his long arms around waist, pressing her back to his chest, kissed her head.

“Anyway, how are you? Are you okay, baby? Why didn’t you tell me you were home last night, I was worried sick…”

“I’m sorry, I just… I’m a little off today.”

“Yeah, I can see that. What happened?”

She hesitated, but then she shook her head, and he could tell that she was changing her answer, that she was hiding something from him.

“Just…” she stopped, stared at the empty mug in front of her. “Do you think that could happen to us?”

“What?”

“What happened to your colleague… do you think that could happen to us?”

Andrew’s heart started pounding, but he didn’t show it. He didn’t show the panic rising in his chest at the thought, he merely tightened protectively his hold on her instead.

“Of course, not. We’ve always been through every issue we’ve had, every row, every hard time. We’ll be fine, babe. We’re always fine.”

She didn’t relax per say, but Sam heaved a sigh, shook her head, turned in his arms to hug Andrew tight.

“You’re right. That’s silly…”

“Babe, what’s going on? What’s wrong?”

But she shook her head, closing her eyes as she buried her face in his t-shirt.

“Nothing. Nothing important. I’m sorry I was so off today.”

“I love you, Sam.”

She opened her mouth to answer, but seemed to change her mind right before speaking. “I know, Andy. I know.”

[bunnyley00]

Bittersweet Punishment

pairing: gang member fem!reader x mafia boss!nanami

genre: slight angst, smut, fluff

rating: 18+ 

word count: 7.8K (something's wrong with me ik)

warnings: slightly angsty, mention of drug usage, nanami is emotionally constipated but eventually figures it out, light bondage with a certain item ahem, impact play (spanking), dirty talk, light degradation, overstim, sex on multiple surfaces, punishment kink, orgasm denial, hair pulling, fingering, oral sex, dom nanami, fluffy aftercare

When you don’t listen to your boss who happens to be running the biggest crime syndicate in the world, there’s ultimately going to be consequences.  

Joining the crime ring scene was probably one of the best decisions you could’ve made with your life. Abandoned by your father, and taking care of your mother as she widdled her existence away doing drugs, you had nowhere else to go. Your other relatives were too far away, and they didn’t even know you. So, you sucked it up and finished school, and managed to get a good job at some random company as a data analyst. You always hated it, felt like you were wasting your life away every day at a desk. The only thing that made it worthwhile was your boss: Nanami Kento. He was tall, handsome, and precise with everything he did. Seeing him about once every week to give him your written reports was always a highlight. You strove to go above and beyond, looking for a sense of purpose through your occupation. Needless to say, it paid off. 

You see, Nanami wasn’t the man you thought him to be. Yes, he looked strong, probably capable of throwing someone across a room, but you had never seen him act out or be violent. So when one random weekend, you received an anonymous invitation to some undisclosed location miles out, only to discover that the Nanami Kento you know happened to be the leader of the Kaisen Syndicate, you didn’t know how to react. But from then forward, you knew you had found something truly special. If you remember the way he put it: “I respect your tenacity and work ethic more than anything else. I would like to see if you’re willing to display those qualities elsewhere.” 

At first, you wanted to deny him, to tell him he’s insane and how could he be in charge of such a terrifying and dangerous group of people. But then, you take a moment. This Syndicate has done terrible things, yes, but only to terrible people: drug dealers, traffickers, money laundering schemists; The list goes on. Even if their methods were less than… moral, the result was a cleaner world, and you could get behind that. So you trained as hard as you possibly could, breaking your limits one by one, body and soul. You probably worked the hardest to get where you were, and it felt good to reap the benefits. You never grew hungry, or without. The Syndicate was like family to you, one you never had. But Nanami, he was always who you had your eyes on, seeking his approval and praise, bettering yourself not only for you but for him. So he could finally just see you without the eyes of a man who’s just in charge.  

You suddenly come to your senses, remembering that you were in a Syndicate meeting and it was hardly the time for a trip down memory lane. This is a huge job. That’s what you think half haphazardly in your mind anyway as Nanami continues with his meeting about the next mission that needs to be carried out for the inevitable expansion of the group. A deal had gone wrong with an enemy gang for some material a month back, and now we were to seize the materials forcefully… use them as an example of sorts. That was the gist anyway. The intel was crucial for everyone who could be chosen for situations like this, in case something doesn’t go according to plan. That’s who Nanami was, even at the company; He was someone who had backup plans for his backup plans. But, who could blame him? Working as a salaryman as a front for his mafioso dealings, he needed the insurance. It wasn’t an option. 

You’d felt as though you’d certainly be chosen for this mission. You were undoubtedly one of the best in the middle ranks, and your colleagues knew how hard you worked. Someone with barely any prior knowledge of combat, manipulation, and intel gathering forced you to become a novice overnight, something everyone respected you for. 

Nanami paced back and forth slowly and methodically in front of a projector displaying the area that would be infiltrated while explaining the details. “As previously stated, this will be a two-man operation at most. There is no need to send the whole Syndicate to a rival organization that cannot respect us or have the common decency to behave. Therefore we shall not be overextending ourselves and show them that we will not be toyed with, with as minimal effort as possible.” His voice was monotone yet smooth, words coming out with purpose.

“You will get in, dispose of any that get in your way, gather the product and return to me. In addition, there is an envelope that you will deliver to their leader. Under no circumstances will you kill him. While it could dissolve them, it could also lead to another person being inclined to take his place and start a full-on war. I’m not a fan of working overtime, as you all know, so a war is not a goal of mine.” 

The room full of members all hummed and nodded in agreement, and you continued to watch Nanami, his words beginning to drown out as you watched him walk. He was clad in his usual attire, always in some sort of suit and tie. The jacket fit him just right but the dress shirt underneath was always a little too small for him in the best way. You swore you could see the outline of his pecks, that the buttons were probably screaming to be let free from the prison that was his fit abdominal structure. 

“I will summon the two members suited for the job later today. You’re all dismissed.” 

Those words made you snap out of your trance, and you stood up, letting everyone file out. You were one of the last ones to leave the meeting room, but Nanami stopped you. 

“Wait. There’s something I’d like to discuss with you,” he piped up as he gathered up files and mission info neatly. He’d been doing that quite frequently lately, asking you about your training, about your work at the company, about just…you in general. It never bothered you one bit. 

“Yes?,” you ask politely as you turn around, making your way toward him. Your eyes meet his through his glasses, the green tint making it hard to see his actual dark brown eyes. “How has your physical condition been lately? I was informed that you pushed too hard during your spar last week. You were limping for days.” You let out a soft, “Pshh,” waving a bit with your hand, “I’m okay. It was just a few scratches.” 

Nanami hated when you lied, especially because you were shit at it. “Besides,” you continue, “Should it matter? I’m just another cog in the machine, right?” “No,” he stated in rebuttal, “I respect and trust every one of my colleagues. Had you been someone else I would’ve asked the same questions.” 

‘Wow, way to make me feel special, boss,’ you thought before mentally berating yourself for expecting any other response but that one. 

You hum, watching his large hands continue to fiddle with papers. “How have you been, then?” you ask with a raise of your eyebrows. “I hardly see how that information is relevant.” “Because I respect and trust you, I want to know how you’re doing. Same concept.” He knew you were playfully mocking him, then again, you always did that.  “It’s not the same. You don’t bear my burdens so my feelings aren’t what matters here.” 

God, he was so confusing when he did this. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him. “Sure, boss.” “That attitude is why you’re always getting into heated scraps. And you know I dislike the title ‘boss’,” he mused, “Even at the company I can’t stand it.” He finally finished gathering his things. “Just continue to execute like you always have. You’re one of my best, don’t squander it by getting so hurt that you can’t.” 

“Yes Sir,” you answered back respectfully, internally blushing at the words ‘one of my best’. He very rarely complimented you so directly in this line of work. 

A day later, you prepared yourself to be called into Nanami’s office at Syndicate Headquarters, the pre-mission butterflies floating around in your stomach in a way that made you increasingly giddy. Walking about the halls, you waited and waited, looking for an announcement, listening for gossip on who he’d chosen. You hoped to hear your name amongst the hushed whispers. However, what you found out frankly just pissed you off. 

“Didn’t you know?”, Itadori asked, chewing on a piece of his milk bread fruit sandwich. “Know what?”, you cocked an eyebrow up. “Nanamin chose me and Takuma-san.” “He what?!” “Yeah, the meeting was earlier this morning. I asked him if he was sure and he just said what he always does. The whole, ‘This is the most efficient way’ spiel.” Your eye twitched and Itadori knew exactly what you were about to do, “Good luck.” 

The other members could see it all over your face, and didn’t try to stop you as you practically stormed up to his office. They knew only you would get away with stunts like this, outwardly and inappropriately showing your anger and or frustration over a decision that’s already been made. You didn’t even bother knocking, just opening the door to a quiet Nanami penning away in his notebook at his desk. “So was it a lie?,” you said curtly, letting the heavy door shut behind you.

“I was expecting you. What are you talking about?”, he spoke up, glancing up at you before returning his eyes to his work. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.” “Is this about the mission?”, he asked, finally giving you his full attention. “Is this about the mission? Of course it is! ‘You’re one of my best’? Was it a lie?” “Why would I lie about something like that?”, he asked calmly. “Well, obviously I’m not because you’re sending Itadori and Takuma! I’m just as good if not better for the job!” Nanami sat back in his large leather chair, fixing his glasses. “Just because I’m not sending you doesn’t mean you’re not equipped for the job.” “So why?!” “Don’t yell.” You didn’t even have time to register who exactly you were talking to and kept going, genuinely hurt by his seeming oversight of your abilities after all this time. “No! I want to know why I won’t be there!”

Nanami grew quiet, just watching you. Why did he not send you? You were an easy choice. Reliable, capable, strong. He trusted you more than some of the other people under his wing. It should’ve been a ‘home run’ so to speak. But, something in his chest stirred when he thought about you facing off an entire organization basically on your own. You weren’t quite ready yet. It felt…wrong to send you. “Because both Itadori and Takuma are a bit more experienced.” “Bullshit.” “Excuse me?” “Did I stutter?! Bull! I don’t care if they are! I’ve worked my ass off! I deserve this! Stop lying to me. Do you think I’m too weak? Is that it? Is it because I’m a woman?! You think I just belong back at the office?!” You knew that didn’t make any sense. Gender never mattered to Nanami, but you were just so angry you wanted to, as bad as it sounded, blame him for something.

Those words made Nanami’s brow furrow. He was getting quite irritated. “You deserve it? Please tell me how exactly you do when you’re in here throwing a fit like a child. And don’t you dare imply such a disgustingly sexist and absurd thing. Not only are you disrespecting me but yourself as well. You aren’t going. That’s my final say on the matter.” You felt more and more of your emotions swirling inside of you, manifesting itself as heat in your face and fingertips. “What’s the matter with you?! You compliment me and give me extra attention and training and tell me I’m one of the best but you don’t send me on one of the most important jobs since I’ve been here?!” You raise your arms in defeat, fighting not to get teary-eyed. 

“Yes! That’s exactly what’s happening!”, he raised his voice back, fed up with your attitude and how you spewed baseless accusations at him. The tone was deep and almost guttural, and it made your eyes widen in surprise and your body jump, startled at the outburst. He never got like this. Nanami couldn’t comprehend why you were so upset. He was just trying to make sure that you didn’t overextend yourself. That was the only reason. Right?…Right? 

You grew quiet, eyes and body relaxing before biting your lip, your eyes growing cloudy despite your efforts. “You know what? Fine. You don’t want me to go? I won’t,” Nanami wanted to apologize for raising his voice, but he knew it would fall on deaf ears. You began to turn around to walk out before turning your head to look at him. “Anything else I should be informed of before I leave, Kento?” Nanami clenched his jaw slightly. You were one of the few people who knew his name. The other members would just call him “Leader” or “Boss”, much to his dismay. Nevertheless, you never used it until now. “You’re dismissed.” He watched you stomp off, putting his head in his hands as soon as the door to his office closed behind you. 

The day of the mission was nigh, and per the meeting, you knew when your coworkers would head out and where to meet. “Screw Nanami. I’ll fucking show him,” you mumble to yourself, getting dressed in all-black attire to carry out the mission without his permission. You prepped as much as you could, and when you arrived at the rendezvous point in the dead of night, both Itadori and Takuma recognized you immediately. 

“Uhh, what are you doing here?!,” Takuma whisper-yelled frantically. “I told you she’d show up,” Itadori mused, a quiet laugh slipping past his lips, “I don’t know why she wasn’t put on the mission in the first place.” “How’d you even know it was me?”, you asked, looking around to make sure the coast was clear. “Because you’re the only one stupid enough to defy Nanami like this,” Takuma stated matter of factly, “And who cares if she’s just as capable, she wasn’t chosen,” he said to Itadori. The pink-haired boy just shrugged, “I’m sure we could use the extra help. I mean, sure Nanamin wouldn’t be necessarily happy about it but we’d get the job done.” Takuma just groaned in disapproval, “Whatever. I don’t approve of this but I can’t stop you.” You gave both of them a cheeky smile, “You’re right. You can’t.” 

Some part of you wished he had stopped you. The mission was successful but at the cost of heavy bodily injuries. Takuma got the worst of it, and you were right behind him. Somehow, though, Itadori came out mostly unscathed, with only a few bruises littering his body. He was always kinda freaky like that, like a walking superhuman. You, on the other hand, had various wounds ranging from stabs, to dark purple and yellow bruises, and your back was littered with scratches from a glass window pane you were kicked through. You wore the injuries proudly though, musing that they were your badge for succeeding. The other members couldn’t help breaking into whispers the moment you 3 returned to Headquarters, no doubt talking about you. You didn’t have the fucks to give though, and you proceeded up to Nanami’s office with head held high. 

The moment Nanami saw you with Itadori and Takuma, he was fuming. It was exactly why he didn’t want you to go in the first place. You were hurt badly and it made him rethink his… feelings toward you because the way his chest felt seeing you that way didn’t feel normal. “Itadori, Takuma,” his eyes landed on you next, taking in your state. “All three of you-,” he was interrupted by Takuma, “Sir, I told them I didn’t approve but-,” It was Nanami’s turn to interrupt him. “I care not about the details of who went. How did the mission fair?” “Went off without a hitch!”, Itadori smiled, “More people resisted than we initially thought though. Took a lot for them to actually get scared.” Nanami hummed, “And the envelope?”

“I delivered it,” you piped up, “It’s with their boss safe and sound. The materials are also back in our possession as well.” “Is that so? Good. Well, as per usual, based on your condition you shall all take a short break from the field. Itadori, you should only need a week or so, right?” Itadori nodded, “Yeah Nanamin! I’ll be all good.” “I thought I said stop calling me that.” “Aw, but it’s a really good nickna-.” “Whatever,” Nanami gives up. They have that conversation every other day and it always goes nowhere anyway. “Takuma, 2 weeks for you. There’s nothing broken, right?” Takuma shook his head. “Just lots and lots of bruising, heh,” he lifted his hand to scratch the back of his head but winced as he did so. 

Nanami returned his hard gaze to you. “I want you on a month's hiatus.” “But-” “No arguing. You have deep stab wounds that need stitching and proper healing. I just know you’ll do nothing but go back to training if you return here. A month at the least.” You couldn’t even fight back, he was right. The wounds were fighting to close, hot and throbbing. “The nurse downstairs will tend to all of you. Go home after, get some rest,” he stood, looking at all of you, “Good job for a successful mission despite some changes in the moment. I’m glad you’re all alright. You’re dismissed.”

After Itadori and Takuma left, you expected to be called back, but Nanami just sat back down at his mahogany desk, continuing to work. “No reprimand?,” you asked in the quiet of the room. He glanced up at you, “Not at this time. Your recovery is more important. You’ll receive some corrective action when you return. I’ll see you at the company in the meantime.” That was unlike him, but you supposed he already felt bad for the argument the both of you had earlier. “Not kicking me out are you?” “Not in the slightest. You just need some… readjustment for your behavior.” “Sure thing, Sir. Goodnight.” “Goodnight. And I’m not lying when I say that I am glad you’re alright.” The statement made you smile a bit. “Yeah.” 

The next month went by fairly quickly, although you weren’t going to Syndicate Headquarters every night. You almost enjoyed the break from the constant fighting, and ended up taking a bit more extra time. You still saw Nanami every day at your day job. The clothes you wore covered most bandages, and you explained the visible ones away as just plain, clumsy behavior. Your wounds healed nicely and at a rate you didn’t expect. Only one stab wound needed stitches. You’d surely have scars but that didn’t bother you. They were merely proof that you were alive. So, when you were back at the Syndicate after almost 2 months, you were welcomed with open arms, literally. They all dog-piled onto you like you’d been gone for years, saying that they’d missed you and your presence around the place. You smiled and laughed with them, once again incredibly grateful for such a large group of people who loved you unconditionally. “Oh! Nanamin said he wanted to welcome you back. He’s in his office,” Itadori informed you. “Okay,” you nodded, promising you’d be back as you made your way toward your leader’s door. 

“You asked for me?”, you piped up as you opened it, letting it close behind you. Nanami was standing, both hands leaning back on his desk. “Lock it.” “Huh?” “Lock the door.” Your heart started beating a little faster just then. “Why?” “I just don’t want to be interrupted.” “O-kay?”, you spoke slowly, following his directions. “Welcome back.” He took off his glasses, running his hand through his blonde hair before setting them aside. Sometimes you forgot that he didn't actually need them to see. He then asked, “How are your wounds?” “Glad to be back,” you smiled, “They’re way better. That extra time I took sped up the healing process..” What was he up to? He looked… different somehow. Oh, how you had no idea. “That’s good. There are 3 things I’d like to inform you of…,” he trailed off, his eyes intense. “First, I am sorry for yelling at you.” You looked down at the floor, “I’m sorry for yelling as well… and accusing you.” “I now know why I was so adamant on keeping you from the mission,” he continued, letting his hands softly move him off of the desk and toward you, “And that brings me to number two.” He used one hand to slowly lift your chin, and the action surprised you. Your eyes widened slightly, and you swore you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. “It was more than your skill set, or even keeping you from overextending yourself.” His voice was silky smooth, deep in all the right ways as he spoke to you. “It was because I wanted to keep you from harm's way. I didn’t want to see you in pain or with so many injuries. Because in reality…,” he’d been slowly walking you back, yet you didn’t notice and were surprised when your back hit a solid wall. 

His face moved past yours and dipped down for his mouth to reach your ear, the tips of them hot much like the rest of your body. “I’ve always wanted you,” he whispered. “Every part of you. At first, I thought it may be just the way I admire your tenacity. It wasn’t an unreasonable thought. You work hard, all for me, don’t you?” You didn’t even register that a question was asked, mouth dry and mind foggy from the kindling of fire in your lower regions. Your breath rose and fell steadily but deeply, your breasts almost rubbing against him with each inhale. “I,” you started, “I, yeah. I do.” “Exactly. And then I thought: ‘How did I not notice?’ Whether you’re at the company, making sure you wear a low-cut shirt so the tops of your breasts are flashing me while you read off your report to me, or when you wear tight pants to incite me to look at your curves at the Headquarters, you’re always seeking my attention. And more importantly, you’re seeking my praise. Am I wrong?”

He was reading you like a book now, and even though it took him an eternity, you still didn’t expect to feel so exposed in the moment. He pulled his head back a bit to re-establish the heady eye contact. You tried to be coy. “I mean, not necessarily,” you managed to breathe out. “You really are bad at lying, you know? The extra training, the almost excessive reporting, taking on extra work, asking me repeatedly, ‘How’d I do?’ The look on your face when I compliment you is filled with warmth and something else. But I can probably infer what that is.” 

Being pinned against the wall was the least of your worries, as your clit throbbed against your panties, hands at your sides and Nanami kept you caged in like a predator closing in on his prey. “And the third thing?”, your voice trembled. “Ah, the third thing. Do you recall what I said before you left my office 2 months ago?” “Something about readjusting my behavior?”, you breathed, beginning to put the pieces together. “That’s right. Good girl.” The shiver that ran down your spine shouldn’t have been that intense, and it made you squirm against him. “Now, is this what you want?” His question was serious, not laced with arousal but genuine. “Maybe,” you said slightly playfully. “A terrible liar as always,” he said quietly, leaning down to kiss you. Your lips slotted together slowly yet intensely, and it was everything you’d been waiting for. His large hands made their way to your waist, squeezing you softly as you moaned into his mouth. He let you indulge because this would be the last time you would for a while. Your arms made their way up to his broad shoulders, wrapping around them while he nipped at your bottom lip. 

Your body screamed, begged for more, the heat in between your legs growing in intensity. After what felt like an eternity of teasing bites, small prods of tongues, and little sounds being consumed by Nanami’s lips, he pulled back. You just about whined and Nanami couldn’t help a small smirk. “I’m sure you’ll live. You waited this long, right? Don’t forget,” he squeezed your hips a bit more, “This is a punishment. You directly disobeyed my orders. So now I have to take my time and break you down piece by piece, and put you back together again.” “Heh,” you let out a breathy laugh, “Is that what you intend to do?” “Oh, darling, it’s what I’m going to do.” 

You had to be dreaming, but the way your breath hitched and your pussy ached had to be real. His hands moved upward, trailing the sides of your abdomen and then shifting to take the hem of your shirt and lift it up. You let the shirt slide over your head, watching as he tossed it aside. You took no time in taking off your shoes, Nanami leaning down to kiss you again as he kneaded your tits through your bra as you worked on your pants. Now that he’s gotten a taste of you, he is going to indulge in every facet of your body. As soon as your pants were discarded you were left in your matching bra and panty set. He pulled back. “I want you bent over my desk, with your hands resting on your back.” You nodded a bit, “O-Okay,” you said breathily as your body began moving towards the desk. His words stopped you in your tracks. “Okay, what?” “Okay, Sir,” you corrected yourself, and you swore your pussy got wetter. “That’s better. Good girl.” 

He watched you get into position, and when you were, he took a moment to admire your body, how small it was compared to him. It made his dick throb a bit in his pants. In just a few minutes you’d be putty in his hands, moaning and writhing all for him. It really did take him too long to get here. You heard the sound of clothes rustling and then what you immediately recognized to be his tie tying your wrists together. The desk was cold against your skin, sending goosebumps along every inch of it. “Isn’t that your favorite tie?”, you asked playfully. He only reserved his tan suit and speckled tie for special occasions. “It is. Why wouldn’t I wear it on a day when I train a brat on how to behave?”, he asked, finishing the knot and following up his question with a smack against your ass. 

“Ah!,” you yelped in surprise, squirming against the desk. “Not too loud now,” Nanami mused, “You wouldn’t want the rest of the Syndicate to know how much of a disobedient brat you are, would you?” Slap. “A-Ah! No!” “No, what?” Slap. “N-No, Sir!” “Good, good.” He rubbed his hand against your now slightly red cheeks, the touch soft despite his calloused hands. “This is long overdue, you know? How many times have you disobeyed me? Ignored my instructions because you felt like you could do it better your way? Even at the company, trying to undermine my authority.” Slap. “F-Fuck,” you moaned, fighting back the instinct to get loud. “It really is a pity, darling, that I had to resort to such,” slap, “physical means of getting through to you.” Your ass was on fire and you jumped a little every time Nanami’s hand came down on your cheeks. You wanted to squirm away but it felt so good. At this point, your panties were soaked with your wetness, a visible spot on them. 

Nanami watched while you squirmed and shifted on the desk, your ass jiggling with every sharp movement. You were nearly on your tippy toes, and he could tell you were enjoying yourself. “Now, how many times do you think I should bring my hand down on this ass of yours?”, he asked. You heard him shift and then felt fingers tugging at the hem of your panties. They were pulled down slowly, your bare ass now on display. A wet string of slick connected you to your panties until it broke, the clothing item now at your feet. “I-I don’t know,” you whined, the cold of the room hitting your core. “You don’t? Want to take a guess, darling?” Nanami reached a hand to your pussy, lightly running two large fingers against your folds. You gasped and moaned, hips moving back against the touch. “You won’t get what you want until you give me a number.” Your forehead was up against the mahogany wood, breath escaping as mild panting, heating up your face more in the process while he persistently teased your pussy. “T-Ten,” you finally spoke up. 

“Only ten? Do you really think a brat like you only deserves ten?” Nanami did a few quick circles on your clit. “Fuck, N-Nanami, I don’t know, please.” “Hm? Please what? You still haven’t honored my request yet.” He pulled his fingers back. “Okay! O-kay. Twenty?” “Twenty sounds fair enough for all the trouble you’ve put me through. Good girl.” Slap. “That’s one.” “Shit!” Nanami used his other hand to continue to rub your clit at a painstakingly slow pace, occasionally dipping the tip of his digits into your entrance. Slap. “Mmfm!,” you moaned, biting your lip to hold in your sounds. With every slap came the delicious feeling of focusing on his fingers, but the combination of pleasure and pain left you dizzy. “You’re enjoying yourself aren’t you, darling?” Slap. “Does this feel good? Me punishing you for being a bad little brat?” Slap. “Your greedy pussy is dripping for me.” Slap. “G-God, yes it feels good!”, you answered obediently and he rewarded you, sheathing the full length of both fingers inside of you. “You look so gorgeous tied up like this.” Slap. “I should punish you more often, shouldn’t I?” Slap. You were drowning in pleasure rutting back against his fingers and eating the satisfying sting of his palm against your ass. Although the pace was slow, the knot in your lower abdomen began to build, your orgasm creeping toward you like a thief in the night. By the last slap you were whining and whimpering, Nanami’s fingers still working inside of you. 

“Would you like to cum, darling?”, he drawled, the sound of his fingers entering and exiting your hot, wet slit filling the room. “Y-yes! Please!”, you beg without much fight, cloud nine so close but so far. Nanami kept going, speeding up his fingers until he felt your legs tremble and your breath become uneven. You were just about to tip over the edge and then…nothing. The loud whine that you let escape your mouth didn’t even sound like you to your ears, and Nanami took both hands and squeezed your thoroughly reddened ass cheeks, your arousal still on his fingers. “It seems that you’ve forgotten that this was a punishment, darling. You don't quite get what you want yet.” “Nanami,” you whined again, hips moving back in search of something, anything to cure the ache in between your legs. “You really are an impatient little thing aren’t you?” 

Nanami helped you get to your feet and guided you to the other side of his desk. He sat in his chair. “Kneel for me,” he spoke up, and you followed directions swiftly. He made sure that you didn’t lose your balance. You watched as he unfastened his belt, and you felt a sliver of shame as your mouth began to water. He unbuttoned his pants and then looked at you. “Use your teeth.” “Yes, Sir,” you almost moaned, leaning your upper body forward to get into position. You let your teeth grab ahold of his zipper, following a command of, “Look at me,” as you pulled it down slowly. Nanami let out a small sigh and assisted you in pulling his throbbing dick out of his pants. It bounced out of his briefs, his tip sticky with his pre. “Show me you’re a good girl,” he spoke up, using a hand to softly caress your jaw and trailing it up into your hair. 

You leaned into the touch, letting out a soft, “Yes, Sir,” as you let your head descend and your mouth wraps around the tip of his cock. It was thick, and you moaned at the taste of his pre cum. Looking up at him, you began to slowly bob your head, coating his length in your saliva. He groaned, letting his head rest against his chair as he watched you intently. “That’s a good girl. There we go, just like that,” he praised, making your already swollen clit almost hurt from the arousal. You lifted your head off of his dick, licking from his balls to the tip repeatedly to trace the pulsating veins that ran up it. Your head went back down onto him again, taking him in more and more with each movement. His hand guided you through it all, your sticky spit running down his dick and onto his balls. You began to wonder if you could really handle not cumming for this long, your pussy hot and needy. You tried to sneak your other hand down to your clit and the grip he had on your hair tightened. “Where’s that hand going, darling? Did I say you could touch yourself?”, he asked, pulling your head up and off of him. 

Your spit ran down your chin. “N-No.” “Right, I didn’t say that, did I? So why is your hand trying to play with your bratty little pussy?” You moved your hand. “I-I’m sor-” The moment you did he pushed your head back down onto his cock, moving it up and down forcefully. “And here I thought you learned your lesson,” he grunted, moaning at your hot mouth, “But I guess brats never really learn do they? Have you got anything to say? Hm?” You struggled to produce the words ‘I’m sorry’ as his dick moved in and out of your mouth and throat, the sounds coming out garbled and riddled with wet, sloppy sounds. “Yeah? Are you sure?”, Nanami asked, his brow furrowing from the pleasure. You attempted to say yes, but gave up entirely, letting him use your mouth. He pulled your head off when he was close, dick pulsating as he denied himself sweet release. You coughed and sputtered a bit, eyes watery from the forcefulness of it all. Nanami leaned down and pulled your head up, kissing you hard enough to take the little wind left you had out of your lungs. 

You gasped as he suddenly stood, picked you up, and put you on the desk, but ass up face down. He sat back down in his chair, your wet pussy right in front of his mouth. “Is this what you want?”, he spoke right against it and you moved your ass back so much you almost fell. He held your ass and hips. “Please, Kento, please,” you begged, a whining mess with your cheek up against the wood. “I want it, I want it.” Nanami didn’t leave you hanging, instantly starting to suck on your clit. “Oh god f-fuck!” His mouth sucked and licked at your slit, taking in the taste of your arousal with a low groan. He hummed, letting the vibrations give you a bit of extra sensation. Your hips rocked and shook, and he held you tight, not allowing you an inch of movement as he ate you out like it was the last thing he’d ever do. “Kento! Oh god, Kento fuck!-” “So vocal for me. Although I don’t expect anything else from a brat like you who can’t keep her mouth shut otherwise.” He let his long tongue dip inside of you, pushing your hips back and forth to tongue fuck you. His thumbs spread your ass cheeks apart, opening up your pussy for him. 

You were so sensitive you were shaking. Your tits were rubbing against the desk, nipples hard from the teasing stimulation. Your pussy clenched around his tongue and once again you felt your orgasm creep up on you while Nanami licked you. He sucked on your clit repeatedly, letting it go with a small pop sound over and over again, switching between that and using his tongue to soak your slit in his spit. “Shit- shit, fuck,” you panted, brows knitted tightly on your face as your eyes shut. Nanami knew you were close, could see it in the way your legs trembled and your moans broke up into gibberish. “Going to cum, darling? Hm?” “Yes! Pl-please! Kento! Let me cum!” Nanami kept licking and sucking and like clockwork, as soon as the precipice was before you, you were yanked back. It almost made you want to cry. “Kento cut it out, please! I’ll be good, I p-promise! I-”

Your sentence was interrupted by Nanami adjusting you and pulling your legs back down so your toes touched the floor again. He stood up and started to press himself into you, his cock stretching you out in a way you didn’t think was possible. You were so close to finishing the feeling of him sheathing himself inside of you made you cum. “F-fuck! Oh fuck!” You moaned and writhed and Nanami growled behind you, starting to slowly piston his dick inside of your pussy. His hands traveled up to his dress shirt, unbuttoning it and tossing it aside while he fucked you. “You said you wanted to cum, right? Isn’t that what you wanted, darling?,” he breathed. Being edged made you 10 times more sensitive, and all you could do was moan and hiccup from the way your pussy convulsed around his length. “I’m giving you what this pussy wants.” Nanami couldn’t help himself, watching as your ass moved with every thrust into your pussy. All you could do was take it, Nanami’s hands preventing you from running. 

The room was filled with the sounds of sin: the slapping of skin, your desperate moans, and Nanami’s growls and grunts. He began to move faster, and you could feel his tip hit your cervix in the best way with every single thrust. “K-Kento! F-f-fuck!” “Is this all you wanted, darling? You being punished and fucked like the brat you are?” You nodded weakly, too enraptured by the feeling of his cock sliding in and out of you. You began to shake again and Nanami slapped your ass. “Go ahead, I know you want to. You’ve been begging for it all night. Cum.” Your body responded immediately and your orgasm slapped you in the face. Your hips couldn’t buck from his strong grip but the rest of you did, squirming on the desk while you coated his dick in white.  

Nanami didn’t give you a chance to rest, pulling out and quickly picking you up. He slid back in as he carried you over to a small sofa on the other side of his office. He bounced you up and down like you were a rag doll as he walked, kissing you feverishly and swallowing your moans until he laid your back down onto the cushions. Grabbing your legs, he put them over his shoulders, starting to thrust into your pussy again. The change in position left your head spinning, and deeper angle made your moans increase in pitch and volume. “Keep these pretty legs up here while I fuck you into submission,” Nanami growled, holding them as he pounded you. “G-od shit! Fuck! Y-yes, yes, y-yes Sir!” “Now look at that, she’s learning,” he smirked a little, letting your legs rest against his shoulders and leaning down to kiss you more. Your knees were damn near touching his ears and you couldn’t get enough. His hands tried to reach under your back to unclasp your bra, but he got impatient, instead ripping it through the middle and taking a tit into his hand to knead while he fucked and kissed you. 

Moans poured into Nanami’s mouth and he drank them like the sweetest wine he’d ever tasted. His dick started to hit your g-spot, and you couldn’t control the way you grew even louder. He was relentless against the sensitive area, and you started to whine. “I-I’m gonna! G-gonna c-cum!” That was the only warning you gave him as your pussy clenched and tightened around his cock rhythmically. “Oh? Is my good girl that sensitive?” Nanami reached his hand down from your breast to your clit and you started to squirm harder. He had you pinned with nowhere to go as you tried to handle the overstimulation. “T-too much! Please Kento!” “Too much? But I thought you wanted to cum?” He asked, voice breathy but still deep against your lips. He rubbed and fingers faster and harder and sped up his thrusting, and you felt like you could explode. His cock was covered in your cum. But he wanted more. He wanted to show you he could deny you, but he could also make you overindulge. “Give me another one. Now. Now brat, cum again.” 

Your body seemed to be running on autopilot, listening to his command the moment it left his lips. The intense pleasure made your eyes well up with tears and Nanami praised you over and over again. “Good, good girl, there we go, that’s what I wanted,” he moaned as he continued to thrust. He moved his hand and picked you up again all without pulling out once more. When he got to a wall, however, he did put you down, his dick slipping out of you as your weak legs held you up in front of him. “Against the wall.” “K-Kento I don’t think I can sta-” “I won’t let you fall. Hands against the wall, darling.” You turned around, putting your palms against the wall and jutting your ass out. Nanami took one hand and held your hip, easing himself back into you with a moan. He took the other and ran it up your neck, grabbing your hair almost from the scalp and pulling your head back as he began his fervent pace once more. You couldn’t hold back your moans, and your legs wanted to give out. He wrapped his arm around you to keep you steady. 

“That’s right. I’ve got you. All you have to do is fucking take it,” he groaned into your ear. “Y-ah! Yes Sir! K-Kento oh fuck! Oh fuck, oh fuck!” You were trying your hardest, but your words descended into gibberish and half-spoken curses. Nanami was beginning to lose his patience, his dick throbbing angrily inside of you from holding back his orgasm. But he needed one more out of you. He wanted to leave you shaking with ecstasy. “Take it, take it, take it,” he growled with each thrust, your mouth open as you began to slightly drool, hot, salty tears running down your face. The both of you were covered in sweat, and it just made the slapping sounds of his balls hitting your slit even louder. “This is your punishment,” he moaned, “Are you going to disobey me again?” “N-No!” He moved forward slightly so his mouth was right up against your ear. “Are you going to be a fucking brat or are you going to be my good girl?” 

Your vision was getting hazy. His dick was fucking you into oblivion and you gladly wanted to let it. “Answer me,” he growled, yanking your hair a bit harder. “Ah! G-good! I’ll b-be good Kento!” “Say it,” he panted, starting to feel himself get closer to release. “I-I’m a good g-girl!” “Again.” “G-god- fuck Kento pl-please!” “I said again!” “I’m a good g-girl! I’m y-your good girl K-Kento! Fuck I’m gonna c-cum please l-let me cum!” “Do it, darling. Cum for me.” The both of you came at the same time, and he held you as much as he could as he let his cum pour into you. “F-Fuck!”, he moaned loudly while his hand holding your hair moved to cover your mouth, knowing your screams would be extra loud. They were mixed with cries, the overstimulation leaving you weak. Your hips convulsed and he growled into your ear as it filled you up, his thrusts slowing down as the both of you rode it out. 

He gently pulled out of your spent pussy, keeping you upright as he finally untied your wrists. Tossing the garment away, he picked you up and held you close to his chest as he sat down on the sofa. You laid your head in the crook of his neck, your legs wrapped around his waist. “You did so well,” he whispered, stroking your back. The air grew silent then and you both basked in the afterglow of everything. The both of you cuddled for what felt like hours, eyes closed and heartbeats steady. “I really…am sorry,” you piped up, voice a low whisper. “Hm? Are you talking about the mission?” “Yes. I should’ve listened to you. I wasn’t quite ready yet.” “It’s alright. What matters is that you came back safe and sound,” he murmured, absently feeling a scar that ran up your back from the incident. The both of you grew silent once more, letting each other feel and touch each other's skin intimately in the process. “I can’t believe it really took you this long to figure it out.” “…I’m not sure how that information is relevant to the situation.” “Now look at who’s being a bad liar.” 

_______________________________________________________

pumped this one out in two days, it was super fun to write. hope you enjoyed it! <3 -leyley

[moonchildstyles]

lovage

rosemary part four: the past finally caught up with harry and now y/n might have to pay for it.

wordcount: 16k+

—————

It was quiet.

There was no sound above the engine humming and the tires spinning way too fast over the asphalt.

No music.

No talking.

The only noticeable sound was Harry's heart beating in his ears. He just hoped only he could hear that.

(Y/N) hadn't said a word since they pulled away from her home. Harry hadn't pushed her, instead focusing on getting them away from that town as fast as possible, before anyone could have a chance to notice anything out of the ordinary. The fastest route out of there landed them on the highway within thirty minutes, the black pavement stretched out for miles.

Now forty-five minutes out on the highway and the time barely ticking after three a.m., they were one of the few out on the road. Everything was almost eerily quiet after the kind of panic that had been ignited in him just an hour prior. This was why Harry liked making a getaway before the rest of the world woke. He could make note of every car he saw, every marker on the side of the road, and every deserted rest stop when the rest of the world was quiet.

Coasting past every sign and darkened gas station, the next nearest city was another one hundred and thirty-four miles away—at least according to a sun-bleached sign, anyway. Harry made a point to focus his efforts in creating a rhythm so he wouldn't miss a single detail around him. He checked the road ahead of him first, noting the signs and anything that could be an opportunity to slip them further away to somewhere no one would look for them. He then scanned over every exit and shoulder, trying to spot any car lingering in the dark, anyone waiting in the wings to possibly sweep behind them and give chase. Every car he came across was examined as quickly as he could manage without drifting through lanes, Harry noting the driver and anything that may have looked familiar to him in a previous life. His mirrors were his lifeline to ensure he didn't miss anything that popped up behind him. The pattern would then repeat, every detail fixing itself into his brain.

It was a strategic system, one of the few defenses he could manage outside of just going fast and getting away as quickly as he could. It also ensured he wouldn't look at (Y/N).

While he wanted to believe that she was asleep since she hadn't said a word or tried to pry any kind of explanation out of him, Harry knew better. Once in a while, he saw her hands stir in her lap, reaching up to her face or a short sniffle would shudder her chest. She was choosing not to speak to him, not to touch him, not to look at him.

Numbness still coated everything he felt. Even the raw edge of those softer emotions had been dulled. He would mourn that comfort he used to have with (Y/N) once she was somewhere safe.

Once the meter for the gas in his tank drifted too low for comfort, Harry strayed from the highway for the first time since embarking out. He had waited, patrolling the exits, until he saw one that looked well lit and close to the highway to make a quick exit as soon as he was done. While he was ninety-eight percent sure they weren't being followed, he knew that wouldn’t be the case for too much longer. Soon enough someone was going to notice he was gone and had another with him.

Even with his certainty, Harry still took the exit and lingered around the station until he could be sure that no one was following them. When he didn't see any headlights coming after them, a stranger pull out of the shadows, or any other suspicious omen, he finally made his way to the pump.

His movements were calculated to cut every second of time he possibly could, everything efficient to ensure safety was that much closer. He made quick work of grabbing the money he had stashed in the center console, his attention placed on the numbered flag hanging on the meter.

"'M going to go pay inside," he told (Y/N), his voice feeling loud in the silent cab, "Do y'want anything?"

(Y/N) only shook her head.

Harry lingered for a moment, the wasted time going against his instincts though he didn’t budge. "Do y'want to come in with me?"

He watched as she swallowed, one of her hands reaching up to her face and wiping across her cheek. "I'm okay," was her response, the words watery and thin. She sniffled.

His lips thinned when he realized why she was so hesitant to even glance his way. He hadn't known she was so upset. He knew she'd been scared, but there was no indication that she had been crumbling away in the seat beside him.

She said she trusted him.

With limited light reaching through the windows, he wasn't allowed much of a view of her, her face cast in shadows and the details fuzzied by the dark. He didn't make any move to get out of the car. "(Y/N)..."

"Hm?" She barely managed to make her voice above a whisper.

"Look at me."

(Y/N) shook her head at his strict command, her hair covering her face even further. Her hands lingered around her face, wiping tears he was sure she was trying to keep away from his eyes.

"Please, look at me," he tried again, his voice decidedly softer the longer he tried to picture what she looked like with tears streaking her skin, "I jus' want to make sure you're okay."

Something bubbled over inside (Y/N) when she heard his words causing her to whip her face up to look at him, her red-rimmed eyes angry. Her lips though swollen from her silent crying were thinned into a stern line as she matched his gaze. The light shimmer of tears sparkled on her skin.

"I'm not okay, Harry!" she said, no longer trying to wipe away the evidence of her tears, the droplets slicking her skin in unstoppable rivers, "I have no idea what's going on, or where you're taking me, or why I wasn't safe at home anymore! You woke me up at three in the morning, telling me that I have to trust you and that we needed to leave, but you won't tell me why and I'm scared, Harry! I'm not okay! I'm scared, and all you want is for me to trust you but I have no idea what's going on and you won't tell me anything!"

Her hands had formed fists in her lap, her skin heating with a stunted breath shuddering her lungs when she managed to tame some of her rage. Tears poured down her cheeks, cry-swollen lips beginning to quiver as she tried to say something else, only for her voice to break. She all but deflated now that everything was out of her system, only a whimper managing to escape her throat.

Harry couldn't pull his gaze from her. The box he had tucked away in the back of his mind unraveled just enough as he looked at her. He forgot what it was like to be scared like this; it'd been years since he first ran, he barely remembered what it was like to be ripped from everything you knew and have no idea what the future held—even what the next hours would look like. He couldn't look at her crying eyes and not do anything to help.

That unraveling allowed him to stretch over the center console and meet (Y/N) halfway. Her balled hands were taken in his, her fingers laying limp across his own as Harry cuddled them in a stern hold. He waited for her to reluctantly match his gaze before speaking.

"'M sorry, (Y/N)," he said, his voice a low croon as if there were anyone else around to hear. He pulsed his hands around hers, pressing the apology into her skin and in hopes of making her believe it. "If there were any other way to take care of all of this, I would have done it. But, we don't have enough time. I need to get y'somewhere safe before I can tell y'anything. I didn't want to scare you." That initial unraveling allowed for a crack to budge through his foundation. He held himself together with a thick swallow and his grip on (Y/N)'s hands—his reality. "I-I couldn't leave y'back there, but I promise I will get y'home when 's safe again. As soon as I know you'll be okay, I'll make sure y'make it home."

(Y/N)'s breathing evened out from the angered pants she'd gone through during her own speech. A level of clarity reached her glossy eyes. She squeezed her hands in Harry's, her statue limbs coming alive to reciprocate his hold.

"Y'still trust me?" he asked her cautiously, dipping his head and looking at her through the fan of his lashes.

No hesitation before she was nodding her head. Her eyes shimmered in the dingy light. "I'm scared."

"I am, too." His voice was barely a whisper. A true secret just for her to hear—one he'd never let out before.

She nodded her head as if accepting everything she was learning, and everything she wasn't. "But, we're going to be okay, right?"

Hearing the word we come out of her mouth felt like a punch in his chest, something breaking and shattering against bony knuckles. Even knowing he was the reason she was no longer safe, she still wanted him to be safe with her.

Harry's throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly. "'M gonna make sure you're alright and safe by the end of this, okay? I promise."

If there was anything he was going to accomplish in all of this, it was ensuring that she was safe and could go back to the life she had before she had the misfortune of knowing him. Even if it meant Harry had to go back to his old life or end up somewhere he would never be found again, that's what he would sacrifice. Nothing mattered except making sure she was going to be well and happy after he left her alone.

Something flashed in (Y/N)'s eyes as she listened to him, a pinch appearing between her brows. Before she could say much, he squeezed her hands once more. "'M going to go inside, yeah? Do y'want to come with me or stay here?"

Her features relaxed, gaze darting around the empty station. "You'll be fast?"

"I'll be back before y'know it."

His stupid quip was just the thing to get a short smile touching at her features. The first one he'd seen since he last bothered her days before.

"I can hold down the fort here, then," she told him, offering him a view of that gentle smile as she tipped her chin up just enough to feign confidence.

With her chin tilted just right and the low light filling the area, Harry wanted nothing more than to kiss her. He wanted to show her he could still be that man she invited into her home, the one that earned her trust in the first place, the one that could hold her gently and show her that she wasn't alone. But, the first thing that popped into his brain before he could even inch forward was the photo stashed away in his bag. The moment didn't seem so romantic now.

Backing off, Harry pulsed his hands around hers for just a moment longer.

"I'll be right back," he muttered to her, pushing his door open. "Lock the doors while 'm gone."

Even when he heard the click of the locks and felt the static of her gaze on him, Harry didn't look back as he walked away from her.

—————

Sighing, Harry pulled into the parking lot of the powder blue motel.

The only drawing factors to the rundown building were the lights being on in the check-in station and the vacancy neon lit up on the roadside sign. If not for the fact he'd seen (Y/N) nodding off an hour back on the highway, he would have kept driving. It'd been hours since she bawled at the gas station, and Harry wanted to give her somewhere comfortable to sleep for the night—even if this place didn't look particularly safe or clean.

Nonetheless, this wasn't the first time he'd stopped at a place like this, and they were good cover; less traffic went through, allowing Harry to make note of every person he saw, the rooms were cheap with attendants that didn't ask questions, and they were further out of the way and harder to find. Besides, it couldn't be too bad. Just in case, back at the gas station he had purchased a couple of fleecy, cheap blankets and travel pillows. Even if the place wasn't perfect, she'd have something to keep her comfortable for the time being.

Putting the car in park, he saw (Y/N) perk up from the corner of his eye. Her features were lit up in the glow of the neon, her skin painted a pearly blue with streaks of orange and red splashed across. She was exhausted; puffy eyes, swollen lips, and cheeks that just barely glistened in the light with perfect tracks of tears.

"We're stopping?" she peeped, her voice low to match the still silence in the car.

"For tonight," he decided, hands falling from the steering wheel. "We'll sleep, eat when we wake up, then we'll keep going." Even as he spoke of sleep, Harry doubted they had much more than an hour before the sun would begin to rise after the time spent on the road.

(Y/N) nodded quietly, moving to unbuckle herself as Harry did the same. He stopped when he heard the click of her seatbelt unlatching.

"Y'stay here, yeah?" he asked. "I'll come get y'when I have a room and everything."

She didn't fight him, instead just settling in her seat once more. "Okay."

Harry's jaw ticked at her dejection. Under that steeled demeanor he had curated for this, seeing her so defeated poked at the soft bits that didn't have time to hide behind his walls. More than anything, he wanted her to stay back so there would be less witnesses to pair them together if anyone came asking for him. It was safer this way, he wanted to tell her, all of this was to keep her safe more than anything.

Instead, he stepped out of the car silently, locking the doors behind him.

With a facade in place, Harry revived a version of himself he thought he left behind long ago. This Harry had an air of unwavering confidence. No one would dare question him. He was unfeeling, completely stoic and unshakable. This Harry had no qualms about the things he had to do.

That was who stepped inside the lobby of the motel, a bell jingling above his head. The attendant that had been lounging behind the desk, phone in hand, startled awake. He hadn't been expecting anyone, that much was obvious.

"Hi, how can I help you?" he rushed out, his voice in monotone after a near-silent shift.

"I need a room."

The attendant unabashedly yawned, mouth wide as he nodded. Looking to the computer screen in front of him, he clicked with taps of his fingers on the mouse. "How many nights?"

"Just for today."

He stopped his tapping at the computer, the screen stalling as a dark brow was arched over a suspicious gaze. Harry didn't flinch as the kid's eyes assessed him. "Just you?" he asked, skeptical.

"For two, please."

The attendant's gaze moved on, Harry's matching eye contact being more than enough to push his attention away. He appeared bored once more as he looked at the computer in front of him. "Our only two bed room is out of order at the moment. Sorry."

Despite the fact Harry couldn't conceive of a way a room could be out of order, especially in a place he doubted had particularly high standards, he thinned his lips and nodded his head. "Whatever y'have available then, please."

"I have a single queen open."

"That's fine," Harry blinked, already bored with the fact that this was taking longer than he liked. "Thank you."

"Cool," the attendant offered, sounding just as disinterested as Harry felt. "It'll be thirty-five for the rest of the night. Check out is at three or earlier, but if you want another night just come back up here. Second night's cheaper."

After the price was passed along, the rest of the explanation fell on deaf ears as Harry pulled some cash from his wallet. This pricing was just one of the reasons he preferred these kinds of places. He didn't want to blow all of his run-money on having somewhere to sleep for a few hours.

Harry worked quickly, passing along the cash in exchange for a sheet of paperwork he needed to sign. The page called for names and contact information, a whole top section saving the motel from any kind of liability if anything were to go wrong in one of their rooms. Particularly in the bathrooms.

It wasn't a comforting passage to read through, but Harry didn't care at this point. The longer he let (Y/N) sit alone in the car, the more anxiety built in his system. While he had a good idea that they weren't being followed, he could never be completely certain.

"So, you on vacation or something?" the attendant chatted, leaning on the front desk while Harry printed out fake names and numbers for both him and (Y/N).

"Kind of."

A hum left the attendant's throat. "That your girl out there then?"

The pen in Harry's hand skipped over a digit of the fake number. This kid was half asleep when he walked in and now there were all these questions to be asked?

Through a ticked jaw, Harry grumbled, "Something like that." He spared a single second longer to forge a nonsense signature before he was pushing the page and the pen back to the opposite side of the desk. "Which room?"

Recoiling, the attendant barely glanced at the information page before he was reaching around for the key. "Um, room six," he mumbled, passing along a key with a red, plastic tag with a large six stamped across, "Just leave the key on the table and the door unlocked when you leave."

"Yeah, thanks," Harry huffed, his muscles strung tight. How much time had he wasted in here?

"Have a nice night, man," the attendant offered.

Harry kept walking.

He rounded the car, heading towards the back seat where he had all of their bags and (Y/N)'s creature comforts. He could feel her eyes on him as he moved. It didn't surprise him when he heard her push her door open, feet stepping over the gravel of the unpaved parking lot.

"We're good?" (Y/N) asked, voice harmonizing with the sounds of the night around them.

Nodding, Harry passed her the key as he hiked the straps of their bags over his shoulders. "We're in six," he told her, jerking his chin down the length of the motel.

(Y/N) hesitated in her spot, eyeing all of the baggage he was shouldering. She looked just as tired as when the night started.

"C'mon," Harry prompted her, taking steps down for her to follow. She almost tripped to catch up with him.

Counting down the room numbers, they found number six towards the end of the strip, right beside the room with the Out Of Order sign. Harry's lips thinned at the sight.

Overall, the room wasn't too bad when they managed to make it inside. The lock stuck for more than a minute, the jamb unyielding as it held onto the door. (Harry didn't mind that quirk, really. He saw it as a built-in protection should anyone try to push their way into the room). Inside, the same color palette of powder blues and dull grey filled out the furnishings. An oddly colored landscape print was hung above the bed, complete with a ruffled blue ocean that matched the bedding below it. A tiny bathroom was shown off through the open door, seashells decorating the shower curtain.

Harry's attention almost immediately fell on the heavy curtains on the window, the split between the two panels a little too large for his liking. The second he had the bags settled, that was the first thing he fixed. He couldn't tell if they were dyed grey or dulled down from a collection of dust.

While he had his complaints of the space, it wasn't like Harry had much room to stand, he knew that. His apartment wasn't much better. The bed even, despite the comforter looking as if it needed a good wash, had a better bed frame than what he had been sleeping in for the last almost six months. He just hoped (Y/N) would be able to relax here, even if just for a few hours to decompress.

From the corner of his eye, (Y/N) wandered about the room. She seemed almost in a daze as she cast her gaze around, even peeking into the bathroom though she didn't appear to take much in. He couldn't blame her for being disconnected; if he could do the same, he would be almost catatonic.

Pulling the blanket from the flimsy packaging and one of the travel pillows, Harry laid them out on the blue bed. "Y'can sleep on these tonight if you're not comfortable with the bed."

(Y/N) snapped out of her daze at the sound of his voice, almost stumbling in her spot. She focused on him, eyes glazing down to the puff of a blanket he had folded on the foot of the bed. "Hm?"

"Jus' got y'some things so y'could sleep a little better tonight," Harry explained, urging himself not to tear at his cuticles, "You tired?"

She lagged in her spot for a moment. "I think I want to shower first, actually. Is that okay?"

He pulled back the sigh that wanted to escape his throat. He didn't like that she suddenly started asking him for permission.

"More than okay," he settled, "I'll be out here if y'need anything, yeah?"

Shooting him a small smile, (Y/N) went about collecting all of her things. It was slow the way she moved, glancing at him more than once as if he would strike if left unmonitored. The only movement he made was dropping himself into one of the understuffed armchairs positioned in front of the window.

Once the bathroom door was locked behind her, Harry felt a tightness in his chest. He knew it was most likely an instinct, but it poked at him, thinking that she was now scared of him. How was he supposed to keep her safe when she thought of him as a threat?

The thought made Harry restless, the sound of the running shower meshing with the buzz of his brain. He couldn't sit for longer than a handful of minutes before he was up and fussing about the room. Sparing both of the blankets he purchased, he made a cot for (Y/N) atop the already made bed, travel pillow dotted at the top. Though he wasn't particularly inclined to use it, he still grabbed the extra quilt that was tucked in the chest of drawers underneath the window. That would be his bedding, he decided, a pair of his sweats folded up under his head would be his pillow. The longer she was in the shower, Harry couldn't distract himself enough until he was changing his clothing into something comfortable enough to sleep in (or lay around for hours in, which is what he knew he'd be doing instead of finding sleep). He knew he wouldn't be able to shower tonight; the thought of being vulnerable and behind another set of doors with (Y/N) to fend for herself made his skin crawl.

By the time (Y/N) stepped out of the bathroom with a plume of steam, she seemed more exhausted than when she stepped in. Nonetheless, she still offered him a quiet smile as she tucked her clothing back into her duffle.

"Hi," she peeped, fingers fumbling with the zip.

"Feel better?" he mused, sitting in what he was considering his armchair for the night, plucking at a loose thread on the arm.

"A little, yeah," she settled on, standing to the full of her height with her clothes tucked away. Her gaze landed on the bed on top of the bed Harry made for her. "This is for me?"

Harry nodded, matching her eyes on the double stack of blankets. "I know these places aren't always the cleanest, so I picked a couple of things y'could use if y'wanted."

(Y/N) fell silent as she cautiously sat herself on the corner of the bed closest to him. A knit appeared between her brows, as she cast her eyes onto her hands in her lap.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you earlier, Harry," she mumbled, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

He sat forward then, elbows on his knees as he looked at her with his own brows in a furrow. "Hey, I don't want you to apologize for that, okay? No reason to be sorry for any of that."

Her throat squeezed as she swallowed thickly around her words. He was sure she could feel his gaze on the side of her face, but she kept her gaze on her hands. "I just... You said you were scared too, and I shouldn't be screaming at you when we need to be helping each other. I just shouldn't have done that, and start being more helpful an—"

"No, you're not apologizing to me for this, okay?" he cut her off, unwilling to hear whatever narrative she decided on where she somehow had accountability in any of this, "This is my fault; I am the reason we are in this situation. Y'were right, and needed to let all of that out, (Y/N). Don't apologize to me.

"I don't want y'saying sorry for my problems. Y'don't need to be helpful or anything else in all of this. 'M going to fix all of this, I jus' need y'to trust me." Harry swallowed, his throat feeling dry as the weight of his own words caught up to him. "I know that's a lot to ask of you, but that's all I need from you. That's all I need to be able to get y'home soon."

A sniffle had her nose wrinkling, a small nod causing her wet hair to sway. She looked at him for the first time since sitting down, eyes glossy and wet. "I trust you, Harry," she murmured, voice watery.

In a split second, Harry saw the way she reached out for him. It was a twitch of her fingers, that purse of her lips, the tensing of her legs, that told him she was going to reach for him, wrap herself into a hug he gave to her freely before this. While he wasn't proud of it, he dropped his gaze from hers, moving his hand out of reach for her as he brushed his knuckle against the tip of her nose. He leaned just that much away from her, a movement he could pass on as absent. As if he wasn't trying to dodge her touch.

Feeling the warmth of her skin and allowing himself to grow reckless enough to reciprocate was one of the many reasons she was now roped into this mess. He couldn't make the same mistake now, not when her safety was the only thing he had on his mind.

He didn't deserve her touch after all that he'd put her through in the last few hours.

Something dimmed in (Y/N)'s eyes when he dared a look up at her. She sat still in her spot.

Clearing his throat, Harry passed his gaze to the palette behind her. "We need to sleep while we can," he started, absently picking at his raw cuticles, "We can eat when we wake up, then I think we should head out again."

"Okay," she said after a beat, voice distant. Spotting the makeshift bed on the floor, she flicked her gaze to Harry. "Is that where you're sleeping?"

"I want y'to take the bed."

For a flash, Harry could see that stubborn smoke he saw back in the bakery when she was so insistent about him indulging in her treats for free. It was the way it drained almost immediately that poked at the soft part of his heart.

"Thank you," she told him instead. Grabbing the edge of her makeshift bed, she slipped underneath the fleece. "Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight, (Y/N)."

The words echoed in the silence of their room. Harry stiffly followed her suit, finding his own bed on the ground.

Harry didn't find sleep until he saw shards of light pitching through the curtains, the rising sun having beat him.

—————

Despite having fallen asleep last, Harry woke up first only a few hours later after a dreamless sleep. (Y/N) was still sound asleep, curled up in the cot he made on the top of the real. While she didn't look particularly peaceful, he knew she needed to sleep. The visible exhaustion he had seen on her remained in his brain. He wanted her to have as much time as she could to relax before he'd be putting her through another day of running.

Harry let her sleep as he showered. The rinse under the water he did barely could be considered a shower, but he didn't want to spend more time than necessary with (Y/N) unattended. By the time he made it out and changed into the set of clothing he'd used as his pillow during the night, she had barely moved in her spot, only the crease between her brows deepening just that much more. Harry wanted to smooth out the furrow, but kept his hands to himself.

He didn't disturb her as he went about trying to plan what the rest of the morning would look like before he'd set them on the road again. Unwilling to go very far from her, Harry only wandered as far as the front desk station, now manned by someone other than the attendant from the night before, though they seemed just as insistent on learning what Harry was up to. Asking about breakfast options close by, he was directed to a diner down the road, closer to the center of the small town they'd landed in.

In the interest of allowing (Y/N) to sleep in and make everything as easy as possible on her, he wanted to head out on his own and pick up meals from the diner and bring them back to their room. Maybe, it would make her smile to be greeted with warm food after what he was sure was a traumatic night.

But, the thought of being so far away from her for less than an hour, had something in his veins beginning to buzz. Anything could happen in that time while he was missing, and he would have left her completely defenseless. He'd never forgive himself if her life came down to takeaway boxes. If he could barely handle showering and walking as far as to the front desk without constantly feeling the need to check on her, traveling fifteen minutes away was going to be out of the question.

Instead, Harry took himself back to their shared room and took up residence in the same floral armchair that he took over the night before. This way, he'd be right there if she needed him.

The silence was something he hadn't accounted for, though.

While the last twelve hours had been on the quiet end, this was different. Before, (Y/N) was there, in her own world, but there to sit beside him and give him something to focus on—something real. Now, with her sound asleep, he was virtually alone. The freedom was more of a curse to his brain than a decompressing moment he had hoped for.

He didn't know where they were going, where he could take her, where they even were outside of a few roadsides. He didn't even know when they could stop running—if they could stop running.

Though this sloppy getaway was the only option at the time, the loose ends he hadn't thought about were getting more and more tangled the longer he left them without a plan. In all of the previous times he'd escaped his past, there were never this many variables to work out; (Y/N) wasn't a ghost like him. He didn't know when she would be safe, how closely they were being followed, and yet he had promised he'd be able to take her home soon.

He worried he wouldn't be able to follow through on that promise.

But, this was giving him time. The running and dodging was earning him time to figure something out. Anything.

Flicking his glazed gaze down to her curled form, the only thing Harry knew was that he wanted to keep her safe. He'd do anything.

—————

An hour of more rest passed before Harry forced himself to wake (Y/N).

Despite the fact he knew they were on a thin time limit, guilt still wracked his system when she had blinked her eyes up at him, something a little wild and scared appearing in her gaze for a split second. He knew she remembered everything that had happened after a moment when she settled into the mattress and only looked dejectedly at him.

He didn't know what to say to her. Instead, he only told her they needed to go eat before he'd start driving them out of town again.

(Y/N) had followed his directions quietly, only nodding and humming. He hoped it was only because she was still tired. Maybe she could sleep in the car today.

After getting dressed and ready to head out with their bags packed and room key sitting on the side table, Harry guided them back to the car. He felt a little better once the doors had sealed behind them, motor running with the key in the ignition. This was his only defense at the moment—the only thing he was in control of. It comforted him.

"There's this diner down the road we can eat at, then we've got to get going again." Harry's voice was a rumble that matched the engine as he backed out of the space he'd taken at the motel.

He hadn't been expecting to hear anything from (Y/N).

"Do you know where we're going, yet?" she asked, her voice small.

Harry swallowed, his throat bobbing. He was grateful for the fact he had to focus on backing them out so he wouldn't have to look at her when he spoke.

"No."

(Y/N) only nodded.

—————

Breakfast at the diner was quiet. Even with the food set out in front of her—an omelette with cheese and spinach, though the hash browns weren't as crispy as he knew she liked—she was more interested in the hollow town outside the window. She picked at the edges of her eggs, taking a bite here and there before instead tearing it apart and pushing the pieces around. She didn't bother with the hashbrowns. As soon as she realized Harry had finished his own plate, she was telling him she was ready to go when he was. He didn't argue with her.

Now with the town behind them, Harry forced himself to focus on blending in with the crowds of cars on the busy highway. Now with the sun up, he wasn't able to weave and swerve the way he did the night before without attracting attention. Driving so controlled and slow made him more anxious than the high speeds and knee-jerk lane switches.

Once he merged into a group of other travelers, his speed regulated and route nothing more than a straight shot forward, he allowed a brief glance outside of the constant cycle of checking every mirror. From the corner of his eye, (Y/N) was tucked into her seat, her eyes fluttering closed in long blinks before she was forcing them open and her attention forward. She looked moments away from curling up and falling asleep once more.

"Y'can sleep, you know."

(Y/N) startled in her spot, a short gasp blowing through her nose as her posture straightened to something uncomfortable. "What?"

"Y'can sleep if you're still tired. I'll wake y'up when we stop," he explained, his voice low as he tried to keep his eyes from drifting and sticking to her.

"Oh," she sounded, looking at him with her bottom lip trapped between her teeth even with the relief in her eyes. "Thank you."

With that, (Y/N) shucked off her shoes, brought her legs up underneath herself and curled up as best she could in the confined space of the cab. Her hand cushioned her head against the doorframe. She didn't look particularly comfortable, but with the way she drifted off almost immediately, he figured it couldn't be that bad.

—————

Despite what he had told her, Harry didn't wake her when he stopped for petrol later in the drive. If she was able to sleep through the jostling of the drive and the noise of the dirt road he had to take to get to the station in the first place, she was too tired for him to not feel guilty over waking her.

Merging back onto the highway, another dense group of travelers becoming his home for the next stretch, Harry tried his best to relax. Though he knew she was right there, he was spending too much time with his thoughts, unable to ignore the swirling pit forming in his stomach.

This was the kind of stress he hadn't felt in years, not since the first time he ran like this, and he had hoped he never would again. But, if this was the cost of keeping (Y/N) safe, he'd go through his over and over and over again.

Trying to stay a step ahead, he stitched any kind of plan together he could think of in the moment. Major cities were being advertised on the guiding green signs off the side of the road, miles marked between each. There had to be a small village he could stop them off in somewhere between, somewhere quiet enough to keep them hidden. This time, he hoped he could let her sleep and be comfortable for longer than one night, though he doubted his anxiety would allow them to stay in one spot for very long.

The longer Harry sat, stewing in all of the possibilities and variables that followed after them, he felt his hands grow restless wrapped around the steering wheel. His cuticles were already picked raw from the night before when he laid staring at the ceiling. Flicking his gaze to the glove compartment, an inch started in his palm. A glance in (Y/N)'s direction showed that she was just as deeply asleep as she had been for the last hour.

It took barely a moment of hesitation, a deep breath through his nose, before he lessened his foot on the gas just enough. He reached across the center console, making a point to keep his touch from hovering around (Y/N). His fingers caught on the latch to the glove compartment, pulling the door open.

A small strip of light clinging to the top lit up the contents: loose napkins, an old gas station receipt, one of his guns, a lighter, and a pack of cigarettes.

The carton and lighter were the two things he grabbed before splaying the napkins atop the firearm. Smoking was a habit he kicked a long time ago—it was too expensive and a fix too temporary for problems he knew ran deeper than just ten minutes of smoke in his lungs.

But, he could only be so strong. Back in the thick of it all, smoking used to be one of the only things that would relax him, take him off the teetering edge of his anxiety. It wouldn't be so bad to have just one right now; maybe it would help his brain settle and allow him a moment of clarity in all of this.

(Y/N) won't even know, he'd make sure of it. He'd smoke a single one, and then put it out before she woke up.

Cracking the window just enough, he kept his eyes on the road as he rested the single cigarette between his lips. The carton was quickly replaced into the glove compartment before he carefully ignited his lighter and lit the end of his cigarette. Once the cherry lit a warm red, the lighter joined the pack to be tucked away.

His first breath in exhaled like a sigh, the smoke trailing out the open window. Just the single drag allowed a level of calmness he hadn't felt since he was leaving his shift at the grocery store. As much as he complained about the mundanity of his job and his pestering coworkers, there wasn't much he wouldn't give to go back to just a few days ago.

But, this was the most he felt like himself since the last time he had caved and picked up this carton. In an odd way, each puff reminded him of what he was set out to be doing, and what kind of man he needed to be to get through this. He'd lost some of that self control over the time since he'd met (Y/N), but now was the time for him to find them. This time, these walls weren't going to be for his sake, but for her. She needed him to be that kind of man again, because he would be the one that would get her home safe, and ensure none of his problems followed after.

Harry pressed harder on the gas, the speedometer ticking ten above the limit.

The faster this is all over—the faster (Y/N) was safe—he'd pick a new place to settle for some time and move on from all of this. He'd make sure no one had to deal with him like this ever again.

Just barely, Harry heard a rustling from the passenger seat. A sleep-dredged voice said: "I didn't know you smoked."

Taking his last drag, the smoke billowing out the cracked window, Harry flicked the end of his cigarette out the window. "I don't," he told her.

He rolled up the window, sealing everything inside.

—————

"When do we leave tomorrow?"

This new motel's yellow walls looked too bright to be the background to (Y/N)'s sleep-sullen form. Her hair was still damp from her shower, baby hairs clinging to the edges of her face. She sat on the motel's cream bedding, her usual cot of a fleece blanket and travel pillow cushioning her contact with the questionable cleanliness of the space. This room's version of the floral armchair was a plain brown recliner settled beside the window.

"'M thinking sometime in the morning, a little early," Harry told her, his knuckle brushing the tip of his nose, "We stopped early tonight, so I want to make sure we have time to move on."

"Okay," she answered simply, her voice a monotone blip.

Harry swallowed back the sigh that wanted to drift from his throat.

This was the fourth time they've had this conversation. Four days on the road, with this yellow spot being the fourth motel he'd checked them into. The evidence of the rough road was clear in the dark circles under her eyes, and the way she barely had any energy to shower at the end of the night. Harry had to have been driving for a collective forty-eight hours at this point, blending in with others on the road while keeping a close eye on... everything. These days he only slept as much as he did because of the exhaustion pushing his brain to shutter for a few hours.

"I'll see you in the morning, then," (Y/N) said, running a heavy hand through her hair as she shuffled into her cot, "Goodnight, Harry."

Watching her, he knew he wasn't going to wake her until she was ready. She needed every bit of reprieve she could get. "Goodnight, (Y/N)."

Just like she had been lately, (Y/N) fell asleep quickly, her head hitting the pillow moments before her eyes shut. As exhausted as he was, Harry knew he had a few more hours before he would be able to join her, his body still buzzing from the day of escape. Just like every other day.

Keeping his station in the armchair, Harry wished he could distract himself. His cigarettes were in the car (he didn't really want to smoke anymore, anyway. One was enough for a while), his cuticles were already picked raw, and his book was stuffed at the bottom of his bag in the car. He was then left in the dark of the motel, a single lamplight on, and (Y/N)'s even breaths the soundtrack.

She didn't ask where they were going anymore, not after the handful of times he told her he didn't know over and over. She just lets him take her wherever, no questions asked. He couldn't tell if it was because of the trust or if she was defeated after it all.

It broke his heart.

It was still (Y/N) he was traveling with, her bright eyes taking in the sights as they ran through, but she didn't chirp and quip with him like she used to. She pushed around her food until hunger took over and she took whatever snacks Harry picked up at the gas station. He knew she missed everything she had left behind when she agreed to trust him and leave with him, but she didn't speak of it.

He knew it was his fault, that he was the one that was supposed to deal with all of this instead of stringing her along until he forced himself to do so. But, he was being honest when he told her he didn't know.

He didn't know what he was doing, or how to fix everything. If it was just him who was running, there wouldn't be so much worry. Harry knew how to take care of himself, but adding (Y/N) into the mix shifted his priorities in a way that sent his head spinning.

It scared him.

This kind of life used to be so familiar, an old home he grew into, this wasn't the same neighborhood. It had the same architecture, the same doorway, the same floors, but it wasn't the same place. This kind of danger he wasn't accustomed to. This wasn't the kind of running he was going to be able to move effortlessly through like he had before.

It was all going to have to stop soon. Harry couldn't keep finding greasy diners and powdery motels, gas stations to keep them on the run. It wasn't an option to keep (Y/N) away much longer, not with the way he could see her reverting into her shell more and more everyday. She had a life she deserved to return to.

That was all Harry was able to think about as he sat watch for the night, his eyes only shutting when his body finally forced him to sleep dreamlessly.

—————

This motel was a sunbleached pink, patchy and bright. With the setting sun, the off-white trim was tinted a peachy orange, covering the dark stains and unwashed dirt he was sure were left behind on the surface. (Y/N) led the way this time, her duffle bag over her shoulder and the keys in her hand, while Harry was behind with to-go orders of their dinner in his hands. She adjusted the strap on her bag, her eyes scanning around while they scaled the length of the motel towards their room at the end.

"After a while, they all kind of look the same, don't they?" she mused, tossing a look at him over her shoulder, "They're always some kind of pastel, have an out of order pool, and the same three art pieces."

For the first time since embarking out on the run, Harry felt that itch in his cheeks to spread a smile across his lips. This was the cheeriest he'd heard her be in days—the most herself she'd been since he pulled her into the car with him. There was a pressure in his lungs that eased just the smallest amount at the sound of the chirp in her voice.

"They all have the same smell, too," he told her, his eyes softening as he watched her rattle the sticky lock to their room, "Like bleach, but bleach that was here two weeks ago."

A peal of laughter left her lips at his comment, the first airy sound he'd heard from her in a while.

He followed after her as they made it into their room, Harry twisting the lock while she deposited her things onto the bed. She was running out of clean clothes, he knew that, but she didn't say anything as she rifled through the limited amount she did have.

"After I shower, do you want to sit down and eat?" she asked, looking up at him with her hands buried in her clothes.

"Sounds good," he told her as he settled in himself, dropping their boxed dinners on the side table with his own bag slipping down his shoulder.

With that, (Y/N) gathered the few pieces of clothing she had left before moving onto the cramped bathroom. In the silence of the room, the closed door sealing them apart, Harry took a deep breath as he sunk into this motel's version of his floral armchair (this one was a loveseat stationed under the single window).

This was their routine. Harry drove for hours on end, taking them in whatever direction he figured would move them towards safety despite not knowing where safety was, landing them in a motel where (Y/N) would shower before the night began. Sometimes they would eat, other times go right to bed depending on how she felt. Every day had the same ritual with Harry's eyes constantly looking out for any possible threat with (Y/N) waiting for the next powdery motel he picked for the night.

Harry felt guilty even thinking it, but it was kind of nice not doing this alone. Even with all the strain, the stress, and everything working against them, there was a part of him that was almost eased by the fact he wasn't alone in all of this.

Even now, setting up their dinner so she could sit right down after she showered, Harry could hear a small hum coming from the bathroom and he didn't feel so alone.

—————

(Y/N)'s eyelids felt stiff as she forced them open, her limbs heavy and tangled in her cot. The room was warm, baby hairs sticking to the back of her neck. But, that wasn't what woke her in the middle of the night.

Harry's voice was a mumble in the dark of the motel room, his body bundled up on the tiny couch pressed against the wall. (No matter how many times she insisted that they could switch, even for the night, he always took the floor or bundled himself onto one of the other uncomfortable pieces of furniture in the room. He never complained about his back hurting, even when he saw him rolling his neck and shifting all around in his seat while driving). His words were mushed and a little too quiet for (Y/N)'s sleep-addled brain to comprehend. It wasn't until she heard her name that she sat up.

Spying him on the furniture, he was laid out on his back, scrunched tightly into the space, but he wasn't looking at her either. He was dreaming.

His features were twisted with creases between his furrowed brows, eyes scrunched tight, and mouth open as he spoke to no one. The thin sheet he had pulled from the near-bare closet had been kicked down to his waist as he squirmed in his spot. Hot puffs of air left his mouth in between the mumbled words he pulled from his throat. His hands were bundled into fists, one tightly holding onto the sheet and the other laying heavily on his chest.

After he said her name, he seemed to quiet some even though his body stayed tightly strung. His mouth was moving but barely any noise was leaving his lips.

In a burst of energy, he found his voice again, mumbles making way for clear protests. "No, no, no, no!" he rushed out, louder than she had ever heard him speak even during the day. (Y/N) jumped, not expecting the bubble of silence to burst like that. She hesitated in her spot. Were you supposed to wake up those who were having a nightmare, or leave them to sleep like a sleepwalker?

"(Y/N)!"

The syllables of her name were so clear and concise, she thought he was awake for a moment. The blanket in her hands bore the brunt of her fright as her grip tightened. As quickly as he had burst with noise, he was back to mumbling and mushing his words into nothing.

She knew he didn't sleep too soundly—or much at all, really—, but this was different. Harry was having a nightmare.

(Y/N) didn't hesitate then, untangling herself from her cot. It stabbed at a soft spot in her to see someone like Harry so scared and vulnerable over a dream; she didn't want to think about the things that would make someone as strong as him so upset. Hopefully the article she read was about letting sleepwalkers continue to dream, because she didn't think she could keep sitting there watching him break down like this. Especially when he gasped with a sob breaking through his throat. The smallest of tears touched at the corners of his eyes, glittering in the sliver of light remaining from the cracked bathroom door.

Slipping off of her bed, she sat on the floor beside the couch with her legs folded underneath her bottom. Carefully, she reached out and grazed her hand over his shoulder.

"Harry?" she whispered, compounding the soft touch on his tense shoulder.

He only clutched the sheet tighter, his mumbling picking up as a shiver worked through his body.

Swallowing, she tried again with a firmer hand. She could feel the tight set of his muscles as she pushed against his chest, shaking him. "Harry, wake up," she pleaded with him, "You're having a bad dream, you need to wake up."

His mumbling picked up, words becoming slightly more clear before he jerked his head away to face the back of the couch. He wrung the life out of the sheet in his hand. His breathing shuddered for a moment. She shook his shoulder once more.

"Stop!" he burst out, his breathing shaking just before he bubbled into another round of heavy sobbing breaths.

(Y/N) startled, jumping back and dropping her hand from his shoulder. She had thought he was beginning to come to, not still so deeply rooted in his dream to shout through the room. Her own breathing picked up as she tried to center herself after his outburst. He was still asleep.

Looking at him struggle against his own dream, (Y/N) reminded herself that Harry would never hurt her. He didn't even know that he had yelled at her, let alone scared her. He never would have done that if he was aware, she knew that. She needed to wake him up if this was the kind of effect his dream was having on him.

Reaching out once more, she shook his shoulder again. She firmly pressed against his skin, denting his flesh just enough in hopes of bringing him to the surface with her. "Harry, wake up," she told him, no longer trying to be gentle with her tone, "Harry."

Harry's breathing came in puffs, murmured words working in between that grew quieter and quieter as he twisted his hands into the sheet.

"Harry," she said once more. She shook his shoulder harder.

Just like that, he took in a sharp breath with his eyes popping open. His once tightly bundled fists relinquished the sheet and instead shook as he tried to take in his surroundings. A sheen of sweat glimmered on his forehead. She watched as he looked around as if finding the pieces of a puzzle until he landed on her. It was then that whatever had been missing clicked into place for him.

Her hand had fallen from his shoulder, backing away some from the couch when she saw how abruptly he was moving, but that didn't stop Harry from all but falling from the cushions and towards her. His eyes only seemed to focus when he took her in, the moss of his irises clearing. In moments, she had been pulled from the floor and repositioned in his lap, his arms a looping cage around her middle and head in her neck.

(Y/N) was stunned in her spot. Everything had happened so quickly. She had almost forgotten what it felt like for Harry to touch her, the last time she had felt his skin for longer than a brush being when he had barely held her hands and tried to comfort her that first night on the road. Now, he was touching her everywhere, cataloguing every inch of her as if he couldn't be sure she was there and whole. He held her body close to his, his lap cradling her to him to mimic the hold of his arms. She could feel the tip of his nose and the brush of his lips against the column of her throat, words he was saying being forgotten and melting against her skin.

Once she found her footing, she reciprocated his hold with her own gentle hug. With her on his lap, she wrapped her arms around his neck, one hand stretching into his hair and brushing through the curls while the other dipped down his back. The blunt scratch of her nails made a soothing pace over his back, the circuit something he could hopefully focus on. She could feel each of his breaths, the fan of the exhale warming her neck.

"Harry?" she crooned to him.

As soon as she uttered his name, a shuddering breath rocked his lungs. Drops of wetness joined the graze of his nose over her skin, tears sliding between them. His hug tightened. Those mushy words she hadn't been able to understand became more prevalent, his voice shaking.

"I didn't mean to, (Y/N), 'm so sorry, please," he cried, swollen lips glancing over her skin.

A pinch knitted her brows together as she listened. She didn't understand why he was apologizing, but this wasn't really the time to start dissecting his dream when he was looking for some kind of reassurance. (Y/N) simply continued brushing her fingers through his hair and grazing her nails over his back.

"I know, Harry," she murmured, "It's okay."

That wasn't enough for him, it seemed as he shook his head from where it was buried against her throat. His tears slicked her skin. "I-I didn't want to, I promise. 'M so sorry, I di-didn't mean to, (Y/N). I didn't want to do it, 'm so sorry, 'm so sorry."

Her fingers curled in his hair. He was still stuck deep in his dream, she had no idea what he was talking about. Her lips thinned as he brought in a shuddering breath, hands shaking against her form.

"I know you didn't, I believe you," she told him, voice a gentle breeze in the quiet of the room, "I forgive you, okay? You're okay."

While he wasn't perfectly settled, that seemed to quell him enough as his pleads for forgiveness drifted into silence. He held her to him, his fingers pulsing against her body every now and then as if a reminder that she was solid and truly in his arms. As the minutes passed on, his breathing settled, working into even paces that fans across her skin with every exhale. He wasn't crying anymore, the much apse could tell. She kept her own touches up, tracing patterns over his back and threading through his curls.

He moved lethargically as he peeled his face away from her neck. She felt him move around her until he had his cheek pressed against her chest, just where her heart was beating against her ribcage. She was sure he could feel the pumps. He melted against her the longer he held her.

(Y/N) sat with him, their breathing matching one another, every slow exhale rewarded with a smooth of her hand over his hair. If not for the fact he hugged her so tightly, she would have figured he had fallen asleep.

"Are you alright?" she murmured, breaking the fragile silence.

In a blink, something shifted in the room. Harry tensed in her arms, the even pacing of his breathing skipping before resuming at opposing intervals.

"I...," he started, untangling himself from around her, "'M sorry, (Y/N)." Guiding her back to the floor, he helped her off his lap though he didn't dare match her eyes. "We should go back to bed. I want to leave early in the morning."

That wasn't the plan he had told her before, but she wasn't what she was going to bother focusing on for the time being. "But, Harry, you just..."

He shook his head, those curls she had pet back and smoothed through her fingertips now wild and flopping over his forehead. "It was nothing, (Y/N). 'M fine. 'M sorry I woke you up, but we have to leave in the morning. Get back to bed."

Hesitating in his spot, Harry chanced a single look in her direction, surely finding her with downturned brows and confused eyes. He didn't allow himself to linger before he was climbing back onto the couch and leaving her there.

Twisting the sheets back up to his chin, he told her once more, "Go back to sleep, (Y/N)."

Turning away from her, (Y/N) was left with a view of his back and the wrinkles in the thin sheet from where he had been wringing it in his sleep. She didn't know what to do with herself. She didn't even know really what had just happened and now she was supposed to pretend like nothing happened and go back to sleep?

Her head was spinning from how quickly the whole night had shifted and flipped and back again. She moved with absent limbs back onto the bed, slipping into the cot Harry put together for her, travel pillows under her head. She knew Harry wasn't sleeping—he barely did anyway, let alone after everything that just happened. If she had known that he would flip, she wouldn't have said anything.

With her back turned towards the occupied couch, (Y/N) didn't fall asleep again until exhaustion pulled her back down. She hoped Harry didn't have another bad dream if he bothered to sleep more at all.

—————

The cab of the car was as silent as the first night Harry had stolen (Y/N) away without explanation.

He didn't want to talk about the night before. He didn't like being so vulnerable in front of the one person he was supposed to be protecting. The whole reason they were in this mess was because he let his guard down, he couldn't do that again. That was why he dismissed her so blatantly when he realized what had happened; the second he heard her voice outside of his dream had woken him up from the comedown.

He didn't deserve to be comforted, not when his nightmare was nothing but a slideshow of his shortcomings.

It made it easier for him to focus, anyway. If he wasn't distracted with her touch and worrying about what it felt like to be in her arms, he could keep his brain clear. Even if his heart did break more and more every second she spent not speaking.

The sun's glare hit the bonnet of the car, the rays directly above them. They'd left at first light this morning, Harry forcing himself to stick to the lie he'd uttered to her when he was urging her to get back into bed. He needed to get her something to eat now that it'd been hours since she shoved a protein bar in her mouth for breakfast.

As usual, while he looked for a suitable exit to pull off, he cast his gaze to those vehicles around him. The longer they drove out, the more remote of a stretch they had landed on, leaving only a handful of other cars spaced out by a few miles. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, but he still didn't take any chances.

The best opportunity came in the form of a rest stop twenty miles away from the nearest town. The small area consisted of a few small-town shops, an advertisement for a museum of fossils five miles deeper off the exit, and a gas station with a restaurant attached to the building. Coming upon the split in the road, Harry spotted the bare minimum of other patrons, no others on the main highway taking the exit.

Signaling, he pulled slowly off onto the exit, eyes switching to the rearview mirror to ensure he hadn't missed anything suspicious. Coming to a stop sign with a four-way intersection, he lingered a moment longer than necessary. When no one met up behind them, he went ahead, planning on trailing around for a minute or two before pulling into the gas station anyway.

Especially when he saw a big, black SUV cresting the exit ramp he'd just pulled off of.

Keeping his paranoia in check, Harry took a deep breath in. He hadn't seen that car on the road, and while it looked a little too familiar for comfort—a relic from a past life—that didn't mean anything. Anyone could have a car like that.

Nonetheless, he still took his time, making a point to slowly trace his way across the small rest area. If his paranoia was right, this car would pop up behind them at some point.

It wasn't until he pulled up to the single roundabout in the area that would lead out to the fossil museum that he got that dreaded confirmation. While the SUV wasn't right behind them, checking bumpers, they were definitely shadowing Harry. No turn signals were used, only smooth turns and curves to follow after his route.

His hands tightened on the wheel. He really, really hoped he was just letting the lack of sleep get to him.

Forgoing his turn signal, Harry took a sharp left turn into an alley between a pair of the roadside shops. His eyes were trained on his rearview, watching to see if anyone would follow the reckless move.

Unfortunately, a black SUV did just that.

(Y/N) hadn't been paying attention until then, a sharp gasp falling from her lips when Harry jerked the wheel for the turn. From the corner of his eye, he could see the flash of her hair as she looked around them, trying to find what would prompt his change.

"What's going on?" she asked, looking at him with wide eyes while he kept his attention directed ahead.

He didn't have enough room in his brain to try and explain at the moment. He needed to stay focused.

Reaching across the console, he popped open the glove compartment and snatched the gun from under a stack of napkins. (Y/N) stayed silent.

With the firearm on his lap, Harry's hands were white-knuckled around the steering wheel. His eyes only drifted from the rearview mirror so he could see directly in front of him. They knew now that he was aware they were shadowing him, the gap they'd given previously now all but completely closed. The windows were too tinted to make out clearly who was behind the wheel, but if things hadn't changed too much after he'd ran off, he had a good idea of who had been sent to tail him. And, he knew he was better.

His foot pressing on the gas had him racing through the streets, every turn taken sharply without a signal or a tap on the brakes. (Y/N) clutched the sides of her seat, her seatbelt tight across her body. Her wild eyes darted between Harry and the road in front of them.

All of these jerking turns and accelerating was just to bide his time until Harry could find a getaway onto the highway. The downside of these small stop areas, there wasn't much here to cause a distraction or obstacle for a clean getaway. He had to wait.

Lucky for him and unlucky for the driver he'd come across, someone had finally pulled out from the gas station. Harry watched as they came up to the same four-way he'd started this detour at. For the first time since noticing his shadow, Harry pressed on the brakes. He stopped long enough for the SUV to come close behind them. A second before he knew it would be too late for them to leave, Harry saw the third car start to pull out into the intersection.

Now was his chance.

In a move he learned after too many times of needing to get away as fast as possible from a tail, Harry hit the gas and peeled out on the asphalt. Maneuvering around them, the innocent car screeched to a halt in the middle of the intersection. Harry's hand on the emergency brake had him leaving marks on the blacktop, drifting around them to ensure he didn't give this person any more trouble than he already had. Before the SUV had a chance to follow after Harry, they were stopped in the intersection; they couldn't pass without a head-on collision that would cost them more time and damage than they could afford.

It took another sharp turn and a heady step on the gas pedal and Harry was pushing home back onto the highway.

Harry barely thought before he was weaving in and out between cars, and going too fast. His only thought was how quickly he could make that area disappear behind them. They were too close, that third car nothing more than a quick obstacle, for him to relax. Too soon, they'd find they way out here again and do anything they could to catch up. He wanted to be as far away as he could, hidden away in another village, before that happened.

Every reckless pass and blowing through speed limit signs felt like nothing by the time another hour had passed. No big SUV's had appeared on the horizon, just disgruntled drivers who were minutes away from uniting against him.

Forcing a heavy breath through his lungs and a loosening of his fingers around the wheel, Harry slowed. He needed to pick an exit for them to disappear on next. Hopefully, his shadow would assume he was too spooked to stop again, pushing them to assume forward instead of follow.

This time around, he picked a bigger exit, this one advertising chain restaurants and roadside shops. Others were taking the same route, something that made him a little nervous, but at least he could blend in this way. He knew what he was looking for now, he could make his getaway in moments if need be.

It wasn't until he pressed on the brake, signaling his turn, that (Y/N) seemed to come to life beside him.

"What just happened?"

Looking at her from the corner of his eye, she was just as scared as she'd been when he was whipping her around the rest stop. Her eyes were wide, flicking between his face and the gun on his lap, the safety having been switched off. Her fingers were still tearing into the sides of her seat, keeping her steady among whatever it was that was swimming through her head. She looked terrified.

Harry stayed quiet until he pulled into the shopping plaza a couple of miles past the roadside staples. Patrons were walking around, shopping bags in hands as they cruised the sidewalks, enjoying the sunshine on their skin. Bustling restaurants flooded the area with fragrant ingredients. Maybe, he could take her to one of those when he managed to explain everything.

Unable to relax completely, Harry picked a specific parking space, his eyes trained on the mouth of the plaza. He needed to be ready in case he saw someone that shouldn't be there.

"Harry, is someone following us?" (Y/N) tried again, her voice decidedly smaller than the pair of times she had tried to pull his attention. "Is that why we've been running?"

A lance of guilt poked at that soft crack in his heart. She really had no idea what he had dragged her into.

Pulling in a sigh, Harry dealt with the gun on his lap first. With the safety flicked back on, he reached across her to replace it in the compartment. (Y/N) shied away the closer the firearm was.

"Yes," was his simple answer, a deadpan tone to his voice.

A beat passed. "... Why?"

He didn't let his eyes stray from where he was patrolling. His throat bobbed as he swallowed around the jumbled explanation he tried to make sense of.

While he knew the truth was the only thing she deserved, he also knew she was scared enough already. She needed to keep trusting him. The more scared she became, the shorter that rope of trust became. He needed her to keep her faith in him, if only for a couple days more.

She would have to settle for half-truths for now. He'd tell her everything later, if he had the chance.

"I... I've done some bad things, (Y/N)," he started, his voice quiet. This was the most he'd ever spoken about anything from before. "A lot of things 'm not proud of and wish I could take back. When I was able to stop doing those things and leave, there's been people who have been looking for me since. They're not happy I left, and they're willing to hurt you or I to get me to go back."

Harry didn't need to look at her to know her eyes were stitched to his face. The air felt heavy between them.

A moment passed before he heard her voice again. "Harry?" Her voice shook around his name.

Chancing a look in her direction, Harry found her looking just as shaken as when he barged into her house in the middle of the night less than a week ago. He was taken back to the lowlight of the gas station, her hands wrapped in his as she pleaded with him for any kind of comfort.

He told her again what he had said then: "I promise you're going to be okay, (Y/N). 'M going to make sure of that. You're going to go home after this and everything is going to be fine."

Whatever she saw when she looked at him, or heard when she listened to him, caused a sparkling of tears to push into her eyes. Her waterline glittered, her bottom lip wobbled. She hadn't cried since that first night.

Harry dropped his gaze, his eyes falling to his lap. He wanted nothing more than to do what she had done for him the night before, wrapping her in his arms and shushing her, telling her everything she needed to hear to feel better. But, how was he supposed to do that when he was the reason for her tears? He didn't deserve to be the one to make her happy.

Running a heady hand through his hand and a heavy breath filling his lungs, he glanced at her through his lashes. "'M going to get y'something to eat, okay? I'll be right back."

With that, he forced himself out of the car, walking in the direction of the first restaurant he saw.

By the time he came back with a paper bag and warm food, (Y/N) stopped crying, the only evidence being in the sparkling tracks on her cheeks. She didn't say anything more.

—————

(Y/N) startled in her spot when Harry pushed open the bathroom door after his shower. She'd been jumpy ever since the incident in the car, but no matter how many times he saw her skittish reactions, it didn't make it easier on those parts of him that hadn't steeled through.

"Sorry," he told her, tossing his used towel over the shower rod. His movements felt stiff even with the steam softening his skin. The tense that had strangled his muscles while in the driver's seat still hadn't worn off.

"It's okay," she breathed out, settling once more with her own damp hair being twisted over her shoulder. A nervous habit he'd seen her pick up recently; she worried the ends of her hair the same way he plucked at his cuticles.

He felt her eyes on him as he moved towards his duffle, the bundle of clothes inside being reshuffled as he tried to fit the day's outfit into the limited space. While he brought a little more than (Y/N), he was getting low on spare clothing that was clean enough to wear. They couldn't keep running like this for much longer, even if Harry didn't have much of a plan outside of the open road.

It'd been long enough of a day, he decided, now wasn't the time to be rehashing his strategy. He just needed to get through the night. He'd figure something out tomorrow, maybe.

"We'll leave in the morning after y'wake up, alright?" he told her, zipping his bag closed with his back facing her, "I want you to sleep as much as we can before we head out."

(Y/N) didn't offer more than a hum of acknowledgement, though he didn't expect anything else. She'd been quiet since he gave her his story of limited truth. She was almost as quiet as him at this point. It was unsettling; Harry didn't like the quiet side of her. All he wanted was to sleep now—maybe she'd wake up different. That was all he could ask.

With the day washed off his body and damp curls beginning to dry against his neck, he plucked the spare sheet he'd already taken from the linen closet while (Y/N) had been showering. He made the familiar palette on the floor at the foot of the bed, this motel's armchair not looking particularly comfortable for even the few hours that he'd manage to squeeze in some sleep.

It wasn't until he started folding a hoodie of his up to make a pillow did he hear (Y/N)'s voice again: "Harry?"

"Hm?"

A beat passed, Harry able to visualize her plucking at the ends of her hair like he was sure she was doing behind him.

"Will you... Could you lay up here with me tonight?"

His lips thinned. She made this argument almost every night she wasn't tired enough to let it go. "'M fine on the floor, (Y/N), okay?"

A moment passed with the sound of a shaky breath falling from her lips. "No, I mean... I'm scared. Today was a lot, and I-I don't really want to be alone tonight." She paused once more, her voice thinning. "Since you can't tell me everything yet, please just let me have this."

Turning to face her, his bed abandoned, Harry saw watery eyes looking up at him from where she sat on the bed. Her fingers were twisted in a rogue strand of hair, the strands being worried around her digit, the slightest tremor being shown. The pits and cracks he had poorly filled in the walls around himself began to feel those tremors like earthquakes.

Despite the pit in his stomach that formed every time he remembered those photos of them wrapped around one another in her kitchen—the evidence that was being used to prosecute her on his behalf—he didn't think he could stand there and deny her of anything when she looked at him like that. She didn't deserve to marinate in her fear. She wasn't like him. She couldn't turn things off like he could—pretend he didn't have feelings or worries or anything worth feeling anything over.

It wasn't fair to punish her even more just because he didn't trust himself to keep her safe, even with her wrapped in his arms.

If this was what she needed to feel safe, he was going to try.

The nod he gave her was silent. Her own quiet smile that bloomed over her lips was more than enough to strengthen his faith in his choice.

Her eyes were stitched to him as he crawled upon her bed. His movements were slow, cautious with his fists sinking into the lumpy mattress, thin duvet cover wrinkling under his touch. (Y/N) offered him a space beside her as she lifted the edge of her personal blanket up for him, an invitation into the cot he made for her every night. Her warmth could be felt against him as he found his space beside her—but not too close. He could smell the scent of her lotion when the fleecy blanket fluttered atop him.

While it wasn't his first choice, his only option was the beaten pillow at the head of the bed to rest on. Before anymore more than a few strands of hair could brush the questionable fabric, (Y/N) stopped him.

"Wait, we can share," she told him, pushing her own pillows in his direction.

Harry hesitated, blinking as he looked at her. How close could he tolerate before those walls were erected once more to keep her out?

"Please?" was her gentle plea.

She had to know what she was doing, he thought. She had to know that he wasn't able to say no to her when she did that—when she spoke to him so softly, looking at him with those eyes he hadn't been able to stop thinking about since that first night under the fluorescents. She had to know what she was doing to him.

"Okay," he relented, his voice a soft croon between them. Maybe there were more than just cracks in his resolve; chasms just big enough to fit her through, it seemed.

Laying down, Harry felt stiff despite the soft accommodations. Her pillow cushioned his head, a burst of perfume leaving the fabric every time he adjusted his position, her blanket around his form with that same smell weaved through the fibers. He'd never shared a bed with someone before, at least not like this. Never for just sleep, or under such stiff circumstances.

With his back flat against the mattress, he kept his eyes facing the ceiling. He didn't drift his gaze from the texture of the drywall, even when he could feel (Y/N) looking at him from where shelled on her side. The best he could do was shutter his eyes as if he really had any chance of sleeping tonight.

Harry had counted his breaths up to forty-five before he heard his name wrapped in her voice, a quiet call in the dark.

"Yes?" he answered.

"Are you okay?"

He paused in his thoughts then. That wasn't the kind of question he had been anticipating. His throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly. "Yes."

When she didn't say anything more, Harry chanced a blink of his eyes to open his lids. Turning to look at her, his cheek to the pillow, he found her facing him with those glittery eyes. Every time it looked like one of those glitters wobbled too close to the edge, she gave a fluttering blink to rein it back in.

"Are you?" he pressed.

Watching, he saw her twist the position of her blanket in her grip. "I'm scared."

"I know," he told her, the words floating on a deep breath, "'M sorry, (Y/N)."

Her own lungs shuddered as she tried to mimic his breathing. "It's n-not your fault."

"Yes, it is," he countered, tone firm, "And, 'm sorry for that. I really am."

She didn't bother pushing the subject, just rejecting his fault once more with a shake of her head. Her eyes drifted down from his face, following the line of his form to the broad of his shoulders and planes of his chest. She swallowed.

"Can I... I mean, would it be okay if it...?" She floundered around her words, her gaze flicking from his eyes and to his chest once more as she carefully wiggled over the bed an inch closer to him.

Seeing her become so shy, Harry thought it was a wonder he couldn't feel the heat bubbling behind her cheeks as she tried to speak to him. He really was weak when it came to her, he decided.

He wasn't going to make her spell it out for him, even if he did think it was a bit cute that this was the kind of stuff that had her clamming up.

"C'mere, 's alright," he told her, shifting to open his arm up for her to slip against his side.

A breath of relief fell from her mouth. She didn't waste any time before she was sidling up beside him. Her hands that had been worrying the threads of her blanket were now twined in the fabric of his shirt. The worst part was the way she nosed at his chest, snuggling close to him. She really did trust that he would keep her safe.

He really thought he was doing the right thing, keeping her at such a distance. She didn't even know why they were on the run or what kind of situation she'd been dragged into, but Harry never thought this kind of comfort would be the thing to thaw out the parts of her that were beginning to freeze. He wished he was a better man—a better person—so he wouldn't feel so much guilt giving her something she wanted; so he wouldn't feel like he didn't deserve the way she had so easily melted into him.

Quiet puffs of air fanned across his chest as she laid on him. "How much longer?" she whispered.

He knew what she meant. Bringing his arm down from where he had it laid across the pillows above them, he wrapped it around her and tightened her against his side. "I don't know."

She sounded so tired when she spoke again. "Okay."

God, he didn't deserve her trust. He didn't deserve her.

As they laid together, (Y/N) falling asleep before him with her hands still fisted in his shirt, Harry knew that if he wasn't so wrapped up in his own brain and hadn't cut his feelings off, he would have cried himself to sleep.

—————

Sunlight streamed through the curtains Harry hadn't realized he'd left open the night before. He woke in bed alone, his arm still curled around an empty space that was still warm from a soft body. He never slept later than (Y/N). He didn't even know if he'd had any dreams.

That was when the first bang on the door arrived.

Everything changed in that second. Harry swore his limbs stopped working the second the sound waves traveled through the motel room. He didn't know where (Y/N) was, and now the past was here to catch up with him.

Words were shouted through the door—familiar voices that were reduced to nothing more than droning calls. He couldn't focus on what they were saying when he felt his heart in his throat. His arms wouldn't move. How was he supposed to get out of bed and try to find (Y/N) if he couldn't move?

Where was she?

Only moments later, those bangs and voices on the other side of the door joined him in the motel room. That was how he figured he was the only person stuck with lethargic limbs. The door was broken down like it was nothing with a swift kick and a heavy fist.

Guns were the first things he saw when they entered. The guns lead to burly arms, tattoos he knew too well, and men he had left in a past life. These were the ones he thought he had taken care of when he ran away all that time ago, but now they were here to avenge him themselves. He couldn't pick out individual heartbeats anymore, the paces feeling like a constant stream as he looked at his past.

The instincts Harry expected to take over never came, even when heavy boots stomped over (Y/N)'s duffle bag left open on the floor.

It was then that (Y/N) made her appearance. Stepping out of the bathroom, she looked just like the day he'd first met her. That same cardigan and bow he didn't know she'd packed were adorning her body, bright eyes that he swore he had almost memorized under those grocery store lights now looking wild.

(Y/N) screamed when she realized what was going on. The sound drowned out the beat of his heart.

The men seemed to have grown bigger, looking huge beside (Y/N). Especially when one reached out and grabbed her.

The barrel of a gun was pressed to the side of her head, a heavy forearm crushing against her windpipe. The force cut off every scream she tried to let out.

Harry laid there, limbs too heavy to even throw the blanket off of him. He watched as (Y/N) cried with tears running rivers down her cheeks.

"(Y/N)!" he instinctively shouted.

Two thick voices began talking again. Every word was like mush to Harry's ears. He only heard the bits where they promised they were going to kill her. All because of him.

"H-Harry, pleas-se help m-me," she choked out, the only clear thing he could pick out in the moment.

He tried so hard to wretch his limbs from the mattress, will the cement out of his veins, shake off the dredge of whatever it was that was keeping him down. He did everything he could, just short of actually moving and helping her. What kind of protector was he? Paralyzed by fear.

(Y/N) cried harder looking at him, clawing at the arm on her neck and kicking her legs against the giants around her. She locked eyes with him, caning her head as oceans swam around her irises.

"Why did you let this happen to me, Harry?"

A gunshot sounded.

All at once, the world came rushing back to Harry.

The motel was still dark as he forced his eyes open, a harsh breath filling his lungs. (Y/N) hovered above him with sad eyes he just saw in his dream.

That sharp gasp he took gave way to a heady sob, the crack in his breathing matching whatever broke inside him during his nightmare.

She's okay. He thought she was dead, and hated him, but here she is. She looked at him with concern and care, and everything he wished he could dream of with her.

Harry didn't hesitate before he was reaching up, cradling her face in his hands. Her cheeks were warm under his palms, bottom lashes tickling the tips of his thumbs as he brushed the pads over her soft under eyes. Tears he hadn't realized he was harboring trickled down his temples, falling into his hair as he looked at her.

"You're okay," he whispered, the words scraping his throat, "fuck, you're okay."

He couldn't help himself, mumbling over and over the fact that she was okay and here with him. He traced each of her features, feeling her warmth and every tiny movement of the muscles under his hands. She's alive, and she's looking at him, and she trusts him, and she's letting him touch her, and god, she's here.

"'M so sorry," he sobbed, his thumb cataloging the height of her cheekbone, "Pl-Please, don't hate me, 'm so s-sorry."

She had let him have his fun until then, allowing him to touch and mould her all her wanted. The second his apologies began to spout from his mouth, she reached her own hand out and pressed hair out of his face. She soothed him with small touches over his own face, wiping tears away and petting his hair back. She settled with a palm against his chest, her softened eyes now with creases between the brows as she looked down at him.

"I don't hate you," she told him, whispering an earnest promise, "It's okay, Harry. I'm not mad, it was just a dream."

He only shook his head. That wasn't the point. She didn't understand. "'M so sorry, 'm so sorry, (Y/N)," he babbled, his words thick on his tongue.

Harry wanted to say more, apologize more, tell her that she didn't understand all the things he was sorry for. He wanted to tell her everything, but all of that fell to the wayside when another sob ripped across his chest. He couldn't keep it together when she looked at him like that; when she so much as blinked or twitched her nose, that was how he swore this was real. She was alive and that was the proof that made sense in his brain.

Dropping his hands from her cheeks, he instead wrapped his arms around her and brought her to his chest. He cried as he felt her hands bundle his shirt in her fists, her small reciprocation of his clumsy hug. Her face was pressed against the column of his throat, the tip of her nose brushing against his skin and her heat melting against his own. He held her tighter when he felt her chest expand with a breath, his nose pressing into the crown of her head.

She was breathing. She had a beating heart. She could move, think, see, hear. She was real.

"You're okay," he sighed, his words barely a whisper.

(Y/N) nodded, the movement felt against his throat. He forced himself to breathe so he could hear her speak.

"I'm okay, I'm here," she reassured him, lips grazing his skin, "You've got me."

"I've got you," he repeated, voice shaking with eyes shut tight.

He could feel her smile against his neck. Another round of tears fell from his eyes. He liked knowing she was happy.

"You're keeping me safe, Harry. Thank you," she murmured to him.

A bubbling sob shook her where she laid on his chest. "'M keeping y'safe,” he parroted, his heart easing every time she fed him lines.

"I trust you."

Another deep breath, a tear following the line of his nose and sinking into her hair. "You trust me."

(Y/N) fell silent then, comforting him through touch alone as he came down on his own. The weight of her on his body worked to soothe him, evening his breathing as he didn't want to bother her with the racking sobs.

The longer he stayed on earth, the less real his dream became in his mind. He saw the real motel around him, saw the sliver of the night sky through the split in the curtains, saw the door tight on its hinges. He pulsed his arms around (Y/N) once more. That was the most important dose of reality.

In his better brain, he knew he needed to separate himself from her—that was the smart thing to do. He'd done too much tonight, taken too much when he laid up there with her in hopes of comforting her, not the other way around. But this was different even than the past time she'd saved him from a nightmare. How was he supposed to reject her hold, go back to feeling the chill of the room when he knew what it was like to have her pasted on him and telling him just how much he was helping her?

He knew there was nothing in him that deserved this comfort, deserved this woman, deserved any bit of the warmth he was feeling bloom in his chest. He knew that. But, god, did he wish he did.

If this was how he would get it, the loophole in the contract, he'd take it with both hands.

He hugged her even after his eyes fell closed and breathing evened out.

—————

the lovage herb represents strength; going forward despite the past.

this is a long one w lots happening!!! I really hope yu guys are liking the story only a couple of parts left! thank y sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and if you have any ideas or requests for anything lmk!

[theonceandfuturequeenoftarts]

Harry wandered back from Dumbledore’s office in a daze. He continued to question what he could possibly learn about how to defeat Voldemort by taking a trip down memory lane, as he had since these meetings had started, but now he felt added stirrings of discomfort. Like his skin was a size too small or he’d walked through an invisible spiderweb.

Voldemort, back when he’d been Tom Riddle, was… very much like Harry. Dumbledore could say that their choices defined them and made them different or whatever, and maybe he was right. But seeing how Riddle was talked about by the matron, how Dumbledore treated him in that first meeting – it made Harry realise how very easily he could have been the evil outcast, if anyone had listened to the Dursleys’ lies, or found out about his parseltongue abilities, or if he hadn’t already been lauded as some hero since he’d been a baby. As much as he didn’t like the fame and the wild mood swings of the magical population’s attitude towards him, Harry knew those expectations had guided his path and moulded who he was becoming.

Dumbledore’s actions were… well, unkind was possibly the nicest way to put it. He had instantly judged an eleven-year old as irredeemable, pretended to light all his worldly possessions on fire, and didn’t seem to find anything wrong with how he’d acted even sixty years later. Yes, Riddle hadn’t exactly helped his case with that talk of hurting things, but Harry had seen that desperation for connection, for belonging, that he’d once felt.

And then there was the added fact that he was being shown private moments from Riddle’s history. Harry knew how he’d feel if someone was shown his memories of life at the Dursleys. He still hadn’t told anyone about the cupboard under the stairs, and the rest his friends only guessed at.

Maybe he was reading too far into things, or projecting his own situation. Maybe Ron and Hermione were right and his saving-people-thing was showing. After all, hadn’t Riddle grown up to be a megalomaniac who led a hate group that murdered and tortured muggles and muggleborns? Maybe there should be limits to Harry’s empathy.

But Harry’s secret power was love, according to Dumbledore. If caring was what differentiated him from Voldemort – and especially since he couldn’t seem to stop it even when it left him gutted, cold and alone – then dammit, Harry was going to care.

So, Harry did what he did best (?) and leapt headfirst without looking.

Ducking into a dusty, moonlit classroom, he leaned against a desk, pulled out a bit of parchment and quill, and started to write.

Voldemort,

So, on a scale of one to ten, how pissed would you be

Hope you haven’t murdered anyone lately oh wait it’s you

Hey. I wanted you to know that Dumbledore showed me the memory of you receiving your Hogwarts letter. At the orphanage. With the whole fire wardrobe thing. 

I feel like I should apologise. It definitely seems like an invasion of privacy and I didn’t want to know, but now I do, and I’m sorry?

Is this weird? This is weird.

Anyway, I also saw the matron talking about you, but I know that sometimes people lie for stupid reasons, so here’s a one-time opportunity of me asking for your side of the story. If you want.

You probably don’t care.

– Harry (Potter)

Before Ron or Hermione found out or he could think better of it, Harry snuck up to the owlery and tied the letter to a nondescript school owl. (Hedwig was incensed that he would use another bird and pecked at his head a few times before flying off to the rafters to give him the cold shoulder, but there was no way he’d send his beloved owl off to Voldemort. Sorry, school bird.)

He returned to the Gryffindor common room as soon as the owl flew off, putting the letter as far from his mind as possible. After all, it wasn’t like he’d receive a response.

(thus, friends absent speak)

[randomfoggytiger]

Mitch Pileggi, Nic Lea, and Kim Manners Were Happy about Krycek's Death Scene

On a merry drive down Season 8 Interview Lane (boy, does that trip deserve a dedicated post all its own), I came across this:

According to director Kim Manners, the most difficult scene to shoot was in the elevator with Mitch Pileggi and Nicholas Lea. Conversely, Manners' favorite scene was the one in which Skinner kills Krycek. Manners himself proposed the uniqueness of the shot, which features a CGI bullet going straight through Krycek's head. Extra money was budgeted for Krycek's death.[6] Mitch Pileggi was very happy when he was told he would be killing Krycek; he explained, "when they came to me and told me that I was the one that was going to kill Krycek, I was elated. Not because I wanted Nick to go away or anything, it was just from a character stand-point; Skinner just wanted to kill Krycek so bad."[6] Manners later called it one of his "favorite scenes [he'd] ever directed" and one of the "best scenes [he's] seen in a long time on television."[3]

Reportedly, Lea had become tired of the role and was growing weary of the ambiguous nature of the character. When Lea learned that his character was to be killed off in "Existence", he reportedly welcomed the news. The night the episode aired, Lea wrote on his personal website: "I felt that [Krycek] wasn't getting a fair shake anyway. [...] I wanted more in-depth ideas about the character and it never came to pass. It kind of stopped being fun to play."[4]

-Existence, Wikipedia

[hb-writes]

The Best Gift

Summary: 1925 in the Little Lady Blinderverse. It's Arthur's birthday and Clara is stuck between giving her brother a practical gift, as requested by her sister-in-law, and a gift that Clara thinks her brother really wants.

Characters: Arthur Shelby, Linda Shelby & Clara Shelby (OC)

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—

There was a time when Arthur Shelby’s birthdays were celebrated with a grand affair, a time when the whole Shelby clan could be found together—down on Watery Lane or over at the Garrison—but that had all been before.

Before prison. Before the noose. Before their family had cleaved in so many pieces that Clara could barely remember what it was like to have them all in one place. Before John and Arthur stopped talking to Tommy. Before Ada had gone to America. Before Finn had seemed to forget about his sister.

It was odd to be celebrating with just Linda and Arthur, but Clara supposed the understated dinner was more to Arthur’s suiting these days anyhow. He was more subdued now. Clara couldn’t remember the last time she had seen her brother drink something stronger than tea. He occupied his days with fatherhood. With managing their small farm and driving the local elderly. 

It was a simple life, and the way Linda told it, a simple life was what they needed after all that had passed. 

Linda had insisted on keeping things plain. Their dinner menu was what was typical of Clara’s visits—a uncomplicated meal and dessert. Quiet conversation.

It was after dessert that Clara pulled the slim box from beneath the table and passed it to Arthur as he sat beside her. 

There was surprise etched there on the faces of her brother and sister-in-law. Linda’s surprise was rooted in concern, but Arthur seemed pleased, a hint more youthful about the mouth and eyes as he slipped his finger beneath the ribbon and lifted the box’s lid. 

Arthur pulled the leather driving gloves from the box, immediately fitting his hands inside as Linda heaved a breath of relief on the opposite side of the table. 

She had requested that if Clara insisted on a gift for her brother, it should be something practical. No gift at all was preferred, according to Linda, but Clara couldn't be so easily stopped. She wasn't afraid of Linda. Well, Clara was maybe a little afraid of her sister-in-law sometimes, but not enough that she would let it stop her from doing right by her brother.

“I thought they were quite a practical gift—" Clara nodded toward Linda. "—since you’ve been out driving so many cold mornings recently.” 

Arthur placed a gloved hand on Clara’s shoulder, a smile on his face. “Thank you, sister.”

Clara nodded. “Of course, Arthur. Happy Birthday.” 

“A lovely, practical gift,” Linda said as she stood, collecting the dishes as the kettle whistled in the kitchen. “I’ll bring out the tea.”

Clara watched her brother flex his fingers within the gloves as Linda headed to the kitchen, waiting until the door swung shut behind her.

“There’s something more,” Clara whispered, nodding toward the box. “Check beneath the paper.” 

Arthur flashed a smile before digging beneath the tissue the gloves had been wrapped with to retrieve a small piece of paper cut to the shape of a ticket from the Birmingham Picture House. 

‘One free trip to the pictures with Clara’ was written out in his sister’s neat script with ‘Your choice of film, even if it's a Western,’ written below.

“I thought maybe we could go just you and me," she said. "Like old times?”

Clara didn’t say, 'like back when we were happier.' She didn’t say, 'like back when things were easier.' She didn’t say. 'like back when a night at the pictures was normal.'

Clara didn’t say those things, but she wondered if the sentiment was embedded in her words anyway because her brother didn’t say anything as he tucked the ticket into his pocket. 

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Clara offered, pulling her hands into her lap. “I just thought—”

“I want to,” Arthur answered as he held a still-gloved hand out across the corner of the table. “It’s the best gift.” 

Clara looked up to see her brother’s smile, a slight dampness misting in his eyes. Clara slid her hand into Arthur’s.

“A brilliant idea,” he continued. 

“What was?” Linda asked as she returned through the kitchen door with the tea service. 

“Just the gloves,” Arthur answered as met Linda’s gaze. “I’ll try them out on Saturday.”

Clara watched Linda as she searched her memory for what Saturday could possibly be. She set Arthur’s teacup in front of him and continued pouring out Clara’s as she casually asked, “What’s on Saturday, Arthur?” 

“Did I forget to tell you?” Arthur asked. “I have to ride into town. A gentleman wants to spend some time with his family—his sister, I think. Shouldn’t be more than a few hours.” 

Linda nodded, offering a smile to her husband before passing Clara her teacup. 

“That’s very kind of you to drive him, Arthur.” 

Clara sipped her tea, silent as Linda made her own conclusions from the conversation. She wasn’t entirely certain why her brother had lied to his wife, but she assumed it was for the same reason why she had hidden part of Arthur's gift under the tissue paper. Sometimes it was just easier to keep certain things from Linda, and even if it hadn’t been easier, it was nice to share a little secret with her older brother. 

It reminded Clara of simpler times. 

It reminded Clara of when they were happy. 

When Linda turned her back on them, stepping away from the table to return the tea service to the kitchen, Arthur winked at his sister.

Clara failed to stifle a giggle at the gesture and by the time Linda returned, both Shelbys were dissolved in their laughter. Clara hadn’t heard any of her older brothers laugh in what felt like years, but the sound felt right, as if Arthur had never stopped laughing. 

It was Arthur’s birthday, but as Clara watched her brother shake with amusement, his still-gloved hand reaching up to wipe at an escaped tear, she couldn’t help but feel that seeing her brother like this—laughing and happy—was a gift for her. 

The best gift she could ever think of. 

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