#SIGHS........... when i get out of bed i guess ill keep picking away at that red sun piece but until then. i need snzz.

[mamawasatesttube]

fucked up that there aren't more sappy fluffy tender emotional t4t smut fics in the timkon tag. must i do everything myself

[sb-1495]

“Hm? Did our sweet Nami-swan make this?”

Zoro rolled his eye as Sanji reverently stared down at the hot bowl of rice porridge in his lap, the sterile white of the infirmary barely less blinding than the cook’s visible excitement. For a brief moment, he considered lying, knowing Sanji will sing praises over the food no matter how it tastes, and the look on the cook’s face when the witch inevitably broke his heart would be priceless. But something in the back of his mind bristled against the idea as he stared at Sanji’s flushed face.

“Nah dartbrow,” Zoro grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest as he reclined back in the chair beside the hospital bed, “I made that.”

The energy from cook quickly evaporates with an annoyed click of his tongue.

“Well, then I’ll appropriately lower my expectations,” he grumbled, picking up his spoon. “Even if it’s moss soup, it’s beneath me to waste it.”

Zoro scoffed, watching from the corner of his eye as Sanji carefully scooped a spoonful, pausing to blow away the steam and inspect the concoction for the tiniest signs of tampering or inedible elements.

“Skies above, it’s not poisoned,” Zoro sighed, his head lolling back in dramatics. He knew Sanji’s fever was more to do with an infection received on the last island, but maybe his theatrical attitude was contagious.

“Just making sure none of this green is your hair,” the cook spat, turning to childishly stick his tongue out before finally shoving the porridge in his mouth.

He chewed with a scrunched face, his eyes squeezed to brace for a sour or spoiled taste, but slowly it morphed into… open confusion, the cook’s brow furrowed and eyes minutely darting around.

For a brief moment, Zoro worried the cook would throw up.

Instead, he took another bite, chewing thoughtfully in the way he did when they visited island restaurants and he was trying to reverse engineer the recipe from a dish. As though the porridge was a problem to solve instead of something to soothe his illness. Then another bite, carefully considering it before swallowing with a glare. Alright, here comes the scalding criticism.

“Ha ha,” Sanji said dryly, cradling his free arm around the warm bowl, “Very funny, trying to trick me like that. I may be sick, but I’m not stupid, I know Nami-swan or Robin-chan made this.”

Zoro blinked. “What? No, I said made it.”

“Pfff, liar!” Sanji scoffed. “Am not!!” Zoro sputtered, his hackles instantly raising over the cook’s smug expression.

“You’re better at keeping a fib up than usual,” Sanji taunted, “but there’s no way that you cooked this.”

“Curls, why would I lie about that?” Zoro sighed, resolutely ignoring his earlier plans that were just that.

“To trick me into saying disparaging things about the ladies’ cooking!” Sanji yelled, curling around the bowl more protectively. “But I’m onto your scheme, there's no way you could've cooked a meal of this caliber in your life!"

Zoro squinted, trying to process. Was he saying that…

“Cook, I’m not lying,” Zoro stated, keeping his voice as firm and even as he could muster. "I cooked you that porridge."

Sanji must’ve seen the sincerity in Zoro’s gaze, because his own faltered, falling back into panicked confusion as he turned back to the bowl in his lap.

“But, but that’s…” Sanji stuttered, face quickly turning pale before flushing again. “Then Nami must have… given you instruction on how to cook this! Yeah, that’s it!”

Now it was Zoro’s turn to click his tongue. “I have enough debt to follow me to my grave. Like hell I’d pay for her ‘instruction.’”

Sanji’s lip tightened into a line, staring down at the bowl harder like there was an answer in there. Zoro leaned forward, a hint of a smug expression ghosting his lips.

“Guess that means you..."

“Get out,” Sanji muttered.

“Hm?” Zoro hummed, dramatically putting a hand up to his ear. “Sorry, was that a thank you I heard—"

“GET THE FUCK OUT!” Sanji yelled, weekly kicking his leg out in emphasis. Obviously his words nor actions held any bite if the swordsman’s snickering was anything to go by. With two surrendering hands, Zoro got up and made to leave.

“You’re welcome, shitcook,” Zoro taunted, even in the face of Sanji’s scalding glare. He paused briefly at the door.

“There’s more if you get hungry again,” he added, notably quieter and with less teasing. "Take it easy."

With that, the door to the infirmary closed.

Sanji stared resolutely down at the bowl of rice porridge, hating it more and more the longer he stared. Gently, he stirred it around, trapped steam escaping as the green onion garnish incorporated more into the mixture. Quickly, he shoveled another scoop into his mouth, tempted to just swallow it down without tasting so he could just get rid of this cursed meal. However, his instincts didn’t let him, taking time to savor the flavor and warmth that it provided.

It must be the illness, he quietly decided. Sickness often messes with your sense of smell, and therefore your taste buds. THAT’S why the moss’s barbaric concoction actually tastes…

He swallowed the porridge with a lump in his throat.

That’s why it tasted so good.

He’d blame all this, along with his fluttering heart and blushing face, on this accursed fever until the day he died. And with how this whole mess had him feeling, he predicted that day would arrive soon.

[shootingstarwritings]

"Old Men are Cute"

Maria was a young woman with an obsession to two things: cute things and the occult. Combined with a particular knack with spells, she was an entertaining member of her university’s underground witch club. Those lacking the innate talent relied on her to cast a spell on them to live out their fantasies. Her seniors would often laugh and enjoy the little misadventures Maria would tell to the club. “It’s another tale of the witch Maria, cuteness maestro,” she would sometimes proclaim before launching into another tale.

The title had little competition as all of Maria’s club members agreed that her definition of “cute,” was as eccentric as she was. “Old men,” she had responded when asked about her type of guy. “They’re the cutest. By far.”

It was due to that talent and unique mind-set that her friend, Frankie, would figure she would put the new spell he had found to good use. “Astral… projection?” she read out loud. Frankie had come bursting into her room, brandishing the sheet and babbling away far too quickly for her to understand. “Frankie, dear, what’s this new spell you got cooking?”

“Found it in my granny’s old stuff,” he said, a sassy hand on his hip. “Think a freak like you can handle it? Seems difficult to pull off.”

“Spells, dick, our landlord, I can handle anything,” Maria said, her chest puffed up with pride. The two looked it over for a while, exchanging notes as they tried to translate the runes. Handling the weathered page was difficult, but after a few hours and a tea break later, they finally had a firm grasp of the spell.

“Phew! Girl, are you sure you’re gonna be able to handle something like that?” Frankie asked her.

“Yeah, of course! Stuff like this is really useful. Like, body swapping into hot guys and jerking off is fun, but it’s difficult to handle because there’s always a straight guy just going, ‘Nah bitch, give me back my body. Hate this lower back pain and mentally ill brain.’” She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I know that my boobs aren’t big, but c’mon! Just enjoy the ride. And shapeshifting is also tricky. Boys don’t like it when they suddenly have a long-lost twin trying to pick up guys at the club.”

Frankie sighed. “You really are a freak on a whole ‘nother level. Well, I can keep an eye on your body and cast a spell to make sure it’s nice and healthy until you come back.”

Maria grinned. “Thanks, bestie. You always know exactly what to say.”

“But you gotta cover my rent for the month.”

Maria’s smile dropped, but she still agreed. Taking a deep breath, she allowed her mana to gather. The room darkened as the very light in the space she occupied gathered around her. She raised her hand and grasped an object that came to existence in that very instance.

“A bottle…?” wondered Frankie. Magic always took on the eccentricities of their caster. What exactly was Maria doing…?

Maria twisted the cap and slowly pulled it out. Frankie let out an aggravated sigh as he saw the plastic bubble wand in her hands. Maria, unperturbed at her rude audience, took a deep breath and blew through the hole. A barrage of bright pink bubbles flew through the air, heading straight for a closed window.

Before Frankie could think of opening it, the wave of bubbles phased through the glass. Meanwhile, Maria’s body grew limp before finally collapsing onto her bed. To any oblivious party, she appeared fast asleep.

“Well, guess I get a quiet afternoon,” said Frankie as he prepared to cast a few protective wards on Maria’s body.

Meanwhile, Maria’s soul flew through the air like a pack of hot-pink, hungry locusts. She had the perfect target in mind for her little playtime. Her literature professor, Mr. Jeong, was a stoic, well-dressed, and masculine hunk of a man. That’s why he made the perfect guy to invade first. With Maria in the wheel, she could bring out a sort of ‘contrast,’ that only men like him could pull of.

Mr. Jeong’s office hours were just about to wrap up, so Maria flew towards his office. People looked up and stared at the mass of bubbles that somehow knew where they were going, but Maria merely drank up the attention. All they could do was look up and stare as Maria soared without wings. Much of her life was spent as as a ‘have-not,’ but with magic she would become a ‘have-it-all.’ That was her promise to herself, and she intended to keep it.

As expected, Mr. Jeong was wearing another dull suit and a boring pair of slacks on a Friday afternoon. He was too busy sitting by his desk, scrolling through essays from his students to notice Maria’s myriad of bubbles staring at him through the window. ‘You’re mine, Mr. Hunk!’ thought Maria as she flew through the window. To experiment, she allowed just one bubble to phase through his back.

Mr. Jeong’s body tightened and shivered. His hips jerked forward, almost propelling him off his chair. For Maria, she could feel just a bit of Mr. Jeong’s weighty form. Her experiment was over. Now it was time for the real thing. Maria’s bubbles all surged forward and slammed into Mr. Jeong’s back and ass. Mr. Jeong let out a high-pitched moan as waves of pleasure surged from his back and focused on his ass and dick. “Argh…! Ah! Ahhh…!” His back arched into a C as Maria’s soul ruthlessly pounded and flowed into him. “N-No…” He gripped the armrests on his chair and tried to lift himself up, but there was little he could do as Maria’s essence flooded and overwhelmed his on. His fat ass slammed onto his chair as his whole body convulsed. Soon, his eyes shut and his body relaxed.

Maria let out a moan with Mr. Jeong’s deep voice as she stretched her stolen body. “Oh yeah…” she whispered to herself, smirking as she ran calloused hands down the tight and thick thighs hidden beneath the boring slacks. She took out his phone, relying on the face recognition to unlock it, and turned the camera on. She pused his lips, smirked, and stuck his tongue out with his eyes staring up at the ceiling. With each out of character face, she made sure to take a selfie and send it to her own number. She needed to make sure she had proof to show the club of her little escapade.

Satisfied, Maria pocketed the phone and began to run her hands down the nice, hunky chest. “Now what should we do, Mr. Jeong? It’s Friday, your office hours are up, and we got all weekend to show the campus another side of you.”

A few hours later, Maria browsed Mr. Jeong’s phone once more as she leaned back into his old recliner. She searched for the latest picture she had taken of his body and sent it to Frankie.

It took only a few seconds for the phone to start blowing up with messages containing nothing but nonsense. Then, she received a phone call.

“Are you crazy?!” Frankie yelled from the other line. “What about his private life? Are you gonna just ruin it all?”

Chuckling, Maria said, “Relax, bestie. I got it covered. His girlfriend’s out for the weekend, so it’s just me, this DILF bod, and the four walls I’m gonna stain with his old man cum. Maybe I’ll even stain his brand new Hello Kitty slippers that I bought with,” she clicked her tongue as she patted the fat wallet in her pocket, “all of his credit cards.”

“I dunno. Still seems kinda risky…”

Ugh, how annoying. Frankie always got nervous ever since he had nearly turned his father into a vegetable while rewriting his memories. Even after Maria had fixed up the spell and even made Frankie’s dad a little bit more bisexual as a treat! However, Maria knew every single chink in Frankie’s armor.

Taking a deep breath, Maria leaned back on the recliner and let out a guttural moan. To add to it, she made sure to spread her powerful legs.

“Uh, um, uh… w-well…”

“And get this, Frankie,” Maria chuckled as she put the cherry on top. “Y’know when you were guessing just how much this body was packing?” She patted Mr. Jeong’s crotch, grinning madly as his cock began to swell and even leak. “You underestimated him.”

“...I’ll be right over.”

[pinstripesandparliaments]

Rantaro and Korekiyo with a sick partner <3

i'm sick . apologies in advance if this is written strangely !

i love my boys ; some of this is a little intimate, but not explicit

enjoy :)

Rantaro Amami

Growing up with so many sisters, a caring instinct was practically ingrained into his brain.

He can tell when you’re coming down with something, and will stop you from doing anything once he catches the first hint.

You stood desolately in your lab, leaned up against one of the counters. You had work to do, but the weighted feeling of ailment hung on your shoulders and eyelids; it was hard to do much of anything in these conditions. 

“Things are looking real productive in here.”

Your boyfriend's voice startled you slightly, but your nerves were soothed as you felt his fingers press into the back of your neck, causing you to let out an exhausted sigh.

“Just… tired, I guess.”

Rantaro hummed softly, using a gentle hand to tip your chin up to look at him. “When was the last time you drank water? Your lips are chapped.” 

You could only shrug, time was moving strangely and you didn't have the energy to calculate your water intake. Your weakness was apparent, making concern well up within him. Regardless, he simply had you take whatever work you had to do up to your dorm to work on in bed. 

He brings you anything he thinks you might need, picking up the specifics of your condition while youre delirious with illness.

“Hey.” 

You wake up groggily, too weak to even look at him as he puts a hand to your temple to see how warm you were. “Are you allergic to anything? Ibuprofen, penicillin, anything?”

You mutter a response soft enough for only him to hear, and he hums an affirmation, putting a kiss to your temple.

The next time you see him, he's spooning you cough syrup and placing water glasses on your bedside table regularly; times like this, you wonder, how did you get so lucky? 

Korekiyo Shinguji

You don't know how he does it, but it seems Korekiyo can just sense when you're about to fall ill.

“Your aura is different today, my love.” you brush it off with a laugh and a flushed face, assuming he's just complimenting you in a strange way. But he keeps a close eye on you, suspicions confirmed when your voice becomes hoarse and your limbs weaker.

He’s always trying to incorporate his studies in with your recoveries; you’ve consumed more ancient remedies than your families home remedies because of him; most of which were very helpful.

Korekiyo insists you keep your eyes closed often when you're sick, for whatever reason. You're unsure if there's a scientific reason behind it, or if it just helps him rest easy, knowing you were resting to some degree, or…

“Kiyo, I’m serious, I need to get work done.”

Your boyfriend tsk’d softly, putting you back into bed with a gentle push. 

“I’m quite serious myself, lovely. Your work won't be the best it could be if you perform it under your current ailment.” With that, he made a soft stroke over your face, inclining you to close your eyes.

Literally how you would a corpse.

He's so cute, but it's time like these you see how people get a little off put by his nature.

You let out a defeated huff, wallowing in the overbearing haze of your illness; eyes shut, mouth agape, lips chapped and mouth dry.

You felt Korekiyo’s hand brush your hair away from your forehead, and the soft sound of rustling leather reached your popped ears faintly. Another slim hand slid its way under your upper back, lifting you up.

A soft, warm, sensation planted itself on your forehead. It took a few seconds, but you slowly processed that he was kissing you. A smile grew onto your face, a mellow giggle escaping your lips in the process.

“You've got a fever, I’m afraid.”

He takes your temperature with his lips when a thermometer isn't available, and honestly you've started to question if that's why hes so keen on having your eyes closed. Regardless of your position as his girlfriend, he's still not too comfortable being seen with his mask off.

You've asked, and he insists it's just the most accurate way to determine whether someone has a fever without a thermometer. Given that hes always wearing gloves, you guess he’s not wrong.

Though, some part of you wants to believe that he just wants to kiss you.

Bonus poly hc’s <3

Both Korekiyo and Rantaro have notably cold hands, Kiyo moreso. While they sometimes use it to tease you, (pressing their hands to your back when you're unsuspecting, snaking their arms around your front unprompted, etc.) it's actually quite pleasant when you're feeling feverish.

On the contrary, you find that they’re not opposed to using their charm to “sweat out” your fevers. 

“Oh, you poor thing. You need to lay down, let us take care of you.” “My love, how it pains me to see you like this… yet you’re still so beautiful.”

Kisses to your temples, hands… other places. Anywhere that gets your blood pumping and sweat flowing.

They try and cuddle with you… all the time, and when you're sick, it’s no exception. You try and argue with them, telling them how sick they'll get ; to no avail. You fall asleep with them both at your sides, arms crossed over you as if to keep you strapped into bed with them.

As much as you protest, there’s nowhere you'd rather be.

[musketeers-brothersinarms]

Chapter Three: Window Washing and Wishing

Julius had always been deathly afraid of heights. When he was little, he never joined his brothers in climbing trees or leaning over bridges to watch the Seine slip by below. Even glancing up at the towering spires of the cathedrals they walked past was enough to turn his stomach.

So it was with horror that day that he read the first entry on the daily list of janitorial tasks Pete had tacked to the door of their quarters: Clean Hall windows inside and out.

No, please, no, he thought helplessly, sitting down heavily on the bed and putting his face in his hands.

“What’s wrong, Jules?” Oswald asked from the table in the corner. He and Mickey sat with two cups of coffee and a stack of crepes that they were busy tucking away. “Did Pete give us stable cleaning again?”

“Worse,” Julius groaned, the list crumpled up in his fist. “We have to clean the windows today. Inside and out.”

“Ah,” Oswald said, furrowing his eyebrows. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”

“He KNOWS I hate heights!” Julius cried in despair. “He’s doing this on purpose!”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Mickey said thoughtfully, cupping his coffee mug in two hands.

Julius felt dread pulsing in his stomach, threatening to upend the crepes he had eaten. Meanwhile Oswald tapped the side of his mug, thinking. “Maybe you can work on the ground windows by yourself?” he offered. “Then me and Mickey can do the higher floors.”

“He’d think I was trying to slack off,” Julius muttered, then clutched his upset stomach. “I’m gonna be sick.”

“Oh!” Mickey said brightly. “If you do get sick, hen he’ll think you're ill and you can lie in bed while we clean.”

“That’s a non-factor in Pete’s mind,” Oswald countered. “Remember last winter when we all had the flu? We still had to scrub floors for three hours.”

“Oh yeah…” Mickey paused. “Shoot. Well, maybe we can blindfold Julius, so he doesn’t see the ground from up high?”

“Then he can’t see what he’s cleaning, doofus. Maybe we could get a dummy of Julius and make Pete think he’s cleaning with us, and he can sneak off and work on something else.”

As they started shooting more hare-brained ideas back and forth, Julius smiled slightly in spite of himself and set the list down on his bed. “No, I can do this, guys. I’ll be fine. We’ll need all three of us to get everything done on time, anyways. If Pete wants to give me chores I hate, fine. I’ll just… stomach my way through it.”

He stood up, handed them the list, and started gathering tools from the corner cupboard to keep his hands busy. Mickey stuffed another crepe in his mouth while he read it through. His ears drooped at the massive list:

-polish furniture in the ballroom

-clean and polish the floors of the throne room

-shovel gravel on the garden paths

-set up rat traps in the cellars

-scrub ballroom stairs

-clean all the fireplace grates and chimney

-replace leaking water pipes in the basement

And that was just the first side of the paper, he realized, flipping it around and seeing another long list on the back.

“Does he think we can freeze time?” Oswald exclaimed in shock, reading the list over Mickey’s shoulder. “We can’t do all this in a day! And some of these aren’t even our duty,” he noticed indignantly, pointing to a task that read -clean musketeer capes in storage. “We’re not maids!”

“I suppose all the maids and court servants must be busy with the coronation preparations,” Mickey reasoned, although he too was frowning at the list. “We’re going to have to skip dinner and maybe supper to get this done… We should probably grab some food to bring with us.” He stood and stretched, then grabbed his musketeer hat and put it on.

Julius held out a bucket and rag to each of them. “Guess we’d better get started, then? If we hurry, we can fix those pipes before we start on the windows.” He was mostly successful at keeping the shakiness out of his legs. Mickey nodded in agreement.

Oswald sighed and gulped down the last of his coffee, then picked up his bucket and rag and followed his brothers out the door. It’s going to be a long one, he thought.

~~~~~~

The morning went by much too quickly for Julius’s liking, and as much as he tried to cherish the moments spent soaking wet and wrestling with pipes in the basement, before he knew it they were headed outside to begin the window cleaning. Mickey and Oswald chatted aimlessly as they walked ahead, letting Julius lag behind them. 

It frustrated the cat how easily heights filled him with terror. He wasn’t entirely sure what had borne the fear inside him- It was just the thought of being so high up in the air with nothing underneath him, falling and plummeting forever, dropping like a rock through the sky to the ground with the wind rushing by and everything so far below and nothing to catch him or save him— He shook his head furiously, heart thumping wildly in his throat. Thinking like that isn’t going to help you, Julius! Just bite the bullet and get through it. You’re just going to wash some windows 50 feet in the air. It’s not that bad. Steeling his nerves, he jogged ahead to catch up with Mickey and Oswald as they reached the shed.

The suspended scaffolding system used to maintain the higher floors of the palace was nothing more than a few rickety wooden boards lashed together with twine, two pulleys strung with frayed rope on either side, and a couple of loosely nailed-in iron railings, all of which lay cobbled together and largely unused in a shed outside the Great Hall. It was, in Oswald’s humble opinion, the worst feat of engineering in the entire world. I wonder what it would take to convince Pete to let me fix it, he thought offhandedly as they carried it around to the front and began attaching the ropes to the pulleys. 

Julius took a minute to pull himself together as he gathered the supplies and lifted them onto the platform next to a couple of dusty empty crates. You’ll be fine, it’s going to be fine, he chanted desperately in his head as Mickey and Oswald started tugging at the ropes to lift the scaffolding into the air. The courtyard fell slowly but surely away from under him, and he felt his insides once again lurching as if trying to escape his abdomen. He clutched the bag of food they had brought along with trembling hands.

“Alright, first window,” Oswald announced as he and Mickey stopped tugging and tied the ropes into place. Julius swallowed hard and tore his gaze away from the ground twenty feet below to start work on scrubbing the windows. It was slow work, but gradually the grime and muck disappeared under the determined scrubbing of the three brothers. For a while they worked in silence, save for the squeak of wet cloth on glass and the occasional splash from the water bucket; after a while, Mickey broke stillness with a small sigh. 

“This is going to take all day,” he said despairingly. 

Oswald rubbed at a spot on the window and shrugged. “Maybe, but all we can do is just keep working at it. We’re almost done with this floor, at least.”

“But we have the whole rest of the list to finish on top of this,” Mickey replied, wringing out his rag anxiously. “And Captain Pete wanted all of it finished today!”

“Honestly, Mick, Pete has to know we can’t do all that in one day. If we have to push some of those tasks into tomorrow, then we’ll do that,” said Julius resignedly. “And he’ll just have to deal with it.”

“But he’d think we weren’t trying hard enough. He’d think we’re incompetent, or… or lazy.” The small mouse dipped his rag back in the bucket with a quiet sploosh. “It’s just… I guess I want Cap’n Pete to see me as a hard worker. I want him to think I’m trying my best.”

Julius frowned. “You are a hard worker, Mick. I’ve told you that.”

“But… he doesn’t think I am,” Mickey sighed. “We try so hard every day and he still doesn’t take us seriously. And if he doesn’t think we’re hard workers, if he doesn’t think we can work together, then he won’t... I mean, we have a bad track record, but couldn’t he change his mind? Couldn’t he just see we really want to be musketeers?”

So that’s what this is all about, Julius realized. That’s what was bothering him this morning too, I bet. He shifted from one foot to the other uncomfortably; what could he say? He wanted nothing more than to reassure him and Oswald that of course Pete would make them musketeers, but that would just be lying. The last thing he planned on doing was sugarcoating anything for his brothers; at the same time, he didn’t want to voice his real doubts. His doubts about whether they should be musketeers at all, whether it would really ever work out for them. No, that would just discourage Mickey further. The best option, then, was uneasy silence. 

“Well… I think there’s a chance,” Oswald pitched in, hands on his hips. “I mean– Pete’s not an easy one to persuade, and it’s not like he’s ever presented the opportunity to us in the past five years, and he likes reminding us about how much he loathes us every chance he gets,  but…” he shrugged. “Rome wasn’t built in a day, so we might as well keep trying and keep hoping, right?” 

He grinned and twirled his rag jauntily, and Mickey smiled back gratefully. “Anyways, whether we’re musketeers or janitors, I don’t see the hurt in working hard. That doesn’t mean we need to bust a gut doing an impossible amount of jobs in one day, though. Let’s just take it slow.” Mickey nodded, looking relieved.

Julius sighed quietly. “Well,” he said, examining the windows one more time. “If we’re done on this level, then we’d better get to the next floor.” Mickey jumped up quickly and ran to the first pulley, Oswald heading to the other. Julius, suddenly remembering they were suspended in midair, swallowed hard and busied himself with the buckets. 

The platform had started to rise shakily, when suddenly there was a creak of doors opening below and the sound of crunching boots and chatting filled the air. Mickey gasped in excitement, straining to see down to the ground while pulling on the rope. “The musketeers are coming out to drill!” Oswald leaned over the rail to watch, his eyes glowing.

“Keep going up,” Julius reminded them, staring at the sky now, and Mickey gave an absent tug on the rope in reply. The musketeers had formed into rows and were listening to orders commanded by the hulking figure of Captain Pete. Soon the chinking of steel on steel filled the air as the musketeers sparred together. Mickey and Oswald were entranced, following every move, window cleaning forgotten. Sensing no movement, Julius tore his gaze away from the clouds to see his brothers leaning over as far as they could to watch. “Can we go UP?” he demanded impatiently. Startled, Mickey gave the rope a hard tug- too hard, it turned out.

The mossy old ropes in Mickey’s hands, unused to the sudden stress, groaned their last and snapped. Julius barely had time to yell in fright before the entire end of the platform swung downward, throwing him over the side. Oswald was the luckiest- his grip on the ropes gave him enough support to stay in place. Mickey, however, was thrown stomach-first against the railing, punching all the air out of his lungs.

In a moment of panic he gasped painfully, blinking stars out of his eyes as his feet found traction on the wood. The ground swung back and forth below, a blur of stone and gravel. A frayed rope swung through the air, snapped in half. The sounds of training below had been replaced with shouts as the musketeers stopped drilling, although their attention barely registered in Mickey’s mind.

“Are you okay?” Oswald asked, his voice panicked. “Where’s Julius-?”

A puffed up white tail appeared over the edge, followed by the terrified face of Julius as he scrabbled at the railing. “HELP-!” he yowled, terrified. Mickey jumped out to grab his hand, attempting to haul his brother back up onto the platform with much yelling and clawing and wild thrashing (mostly from Julius). Oswald, clinging to the other rope at the top, started to feel it straining and snapping under his fingers. He barely had time to close his eyes with a heavy sigh before another loud SNAP pierced the air, completely severing the ropes holding up the lift.

For a few comical seconds, they hung in the air- three brothers, a rickety platform, and a sudsy soap bucket. Then those seconds ended, and the only thing Mickey and Oswald could hear was jumbled yelling and wind whistling by as the earth rushed up towards them like a giant stone fist ready to punch their brains out.

~~~~~~

“Are they dead?” “Sacre bleu… “It was those janitor boys again, of course." "Really? I thought the Captain already fired them." “How on earth did they do this…?” “I don’t see any movement.”

A crowd of musketeers surrounded the pile of wood and rope that lay in the courtyard, muttering and staring in shock. Dust swirled about underneath polished brown boots and swishing blue capes, and a few musketeers shook their heads, used to the shenanigans of those janitor brothers.

A small mouse, his head and shoulders poking out underneath a rotted board, blinked his eyes open blearily and looked around, dazed and disoriented. Through a raging headache he vaguely heard a booming voice commanding musketeers out of the way, not quite registering as a hulking figure made his way forward to stand, seething, over the wreckage. It wasn’t until a large, meaty hand shot out and grabbed him by the arm, yanking him free from the rubble with a swift tug that he came to and realized the dire situation they were in.

Dangling in the air by his arm, staring into the cold glaring eyes of Captain Pete, Mickey swallowed hard and smiled nervously. “Morning, Captain. I, uh, guess you might be a little upset…?” Upset wasn’t quite the word for what the snarling captain was. More like collasally, tremendously, completely pissed off. Mickey barely had time to mutter a prayer to Mère Marie before he was being dragged off across the courtyard under the glaring sun to an unknown, but almost certainly painful, fate.

____

A/N: GOD, FINALLY I'M DONE WITH CH 3!! I'm literally so sorry it took so long to post, I've had so much happening in my life and then of course writer's block hit... anyways, I plan on releasing chapters WAY more frequently now! Also sorry there was no illustration this time- more technical difficulties :( Anyways thanks for reading!!

[crimsonlyinglilly]

Princess Viserra's line

Guess who let themselves think to much HotD and Mikaelsons together.

@riderofblackdragons mostly your fault, you encourage, I share I over think.

also can be blamed on @nightingale2004 Post here

Viserra our drunken horse riding princess got picked as the Mikaelson's Targaryen link so she lives yay, get gets to be the mother of the start of this nightmare mess

Warning for incest, I couldn't pick which parent was the Targaryen before I realised why did I need to pick just one.

Slight changes to Characters names

----

Princess Viserra was once known as the most beautiful of Queen Alysanne Targaryen's daughters, after her marriage she became better known as the cold dragon.

Following her marriage she vowed to give her father what he wanted and never return south, King Jaehaerys wanted his daughters out of his sight so he would never lay eyes on her again.

She kept her word, when years later following the birth of her first child; she refused to present her to the king and queen. 

Queen Alysanne flew White Harbor herself with offers and promises, princess Viserra’s children would be princesses and princes of the realm.

Still the princess refused to leave the north instead Queen Alysanne returned to king's landing to present Princess Daehlia to the king, this was repeated the following year for Prince Mikael and a couple of years after that with Princess Aesther.

Theomore Manderly was clearly proud of his youngest children but after the birth of Princess Aesther he refused to share his wife’s bed claiming he had been widowed enough that he wouldn’t risk losing his princess.

Even when King Jaehaerys grew ill and it was said pleaded for his daughters and wife, Princess Viserra, his last living daughter, laughed and refused at both the letter summoning her south and her children’s request.

Her father didn’t want his daughter running about the kingdom, she had sworn a vow and she would keep it.

—

As the children grew it was clear while Princess Daehlia had gotten her mother’s dark purple eyes and fine features even if she had gotten the dark hair found in northerners, her younger siblings were thought of as the king and queen come again.

Yet the arrangement came from kings landing that princess Viserra’s eldest children would wed as the Targaryen way, however Princess Daehlia vanished before the wedding could pass and Prince Mikael and Princess Aesther wedded.

Rumours spread that Mikael had done away with his dark haired sister so he could wed his golden one.

But however it happened, the marriage proved more fruitful than the royal couple’s with their second child coming just days after the princess Rhaenyra’s tenth birthday.

While the lost of their first born Fraeya was said to have gutted the prince and princess the safe delivery of another son just months after her death was considered a breath of hope; but no one knows why, when any mention of how much the new child favoured the lost Princess Daehlia was met with rage from the new parents.

—--

“Brother please” his little brother’s normally controlled voice contained almost panic when he discovered in his room “don’t do this.”

“Aelijah.“ Finn sighed pausing in his packing, “I can't be father’s heir.” he tried to explain.

“And I can?” Aelijah heaved a sigh forcing Finn to turn to look at his little brother, just turned four and ten years old but with his hands set on his hip and looking at him with a serious look in his dark purple eyes he looked far older. Aelijah could be the perfect heir if not for birth order and the other misfortune of birth.

Finn stepped forward the moment he noticed the expression crumpled, Finn wasn’t sure if it was greenseeing of grandfather’s northern blood or the dragon dreams of grandmother’s but the dreams had left AElijah overcome with moments of fear and confusion. Finn had grown up managing his brother’s slip ups, he knew Niklaeus was just a versed, he wasn’t truly needed anymore

“Finn the things that are coming,” AElijah muttered into his chest “the house of the dragon is going to snap and claw and bleed itself and I can't face it alone.”

“Alright, I'll find another way.” He lied.

Prince Finn was last seen travelling with a flame-haired wildling woman.

—-

Rumours abound that Hayley Stark’s daughter is the child of Niklaeus’ not Aelijah’s, and Cregan used the shame to bring the calmer of the royal brothers into his house than lose his sister to another but whatever the truth was Prince Mikael’s rage at losing another heir was clear to all.

There was no talk about the marriage itself the north knew better than to question whatever is going on between the younger sister of Cregan Stark, Prince Mikael’s former heir and Lord Knott, it was their marriage and the mountain clans had their own way of doing things.

—-

Klaeus hates his father, that Mikael’s grasping reach for power was the reason Aelijah took the first chance to flee to House Stark.

He knows Mikael blamed him for everything, that Niklaeus’ arranged it all so he could wed Rebaekah himself but he wanted his siblings to stay with him losing Aelijah to the starks was not part of it.

He was just glad he could still over over him though the ravens, it was how he knew the dreams were getting worse.

Klaeus grew up with Aelijah's dreams and then Rebaekah’s he knew to listen and read them, House Targaryen was going to tear itself apart and Mikael's want to be a part of it, for the power, was going to destroy them.

Klaeus was going to need to do something about his parents before they got them all killed.

[allylikethecat]

⋆˚࿔ october prompts 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Guess what!! It's day two and I haven't given up on this prompt situation yet! I'm way prouder of myself than I should be. Thank you so much to all of the kind people who read the first one and were sweet enough to drop it a like. I hope you enjoy day two!

²⁾ sore shoulders

George groaned dramatically, rolling over onto his back so that he could look up at Matty. He was standing over George next to the bed, his arms crossed in front of his sweater clad chest.

“What’s wrong?” Matty asked, his brow furrowed in concern, the coffee he had picked up for George on his morning walk was sitting on the nightstand. His cheeks were pink from the cold and his curls windswept. If George thought he was capable of sitting up at the moment he would have done so, kissing Matty until his cheeks darkened even more with desire. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” George said, even though rolling over had hurt more than he had expected it too, and he wasn’t entirely sure that he was even going to be able to reach the night stand to retrieve his coffee. He wanted to cry. His shoulders hurt and he wanted his coffee. 

“Something is clearly wrong,” Matty argued. George couldn’t help but wish that for once in his life, Matty could just let something go. “You’re always up when I get back.” But then again, if Matty had just let it go, he wouldn’t be Matty. 

“Well maybe I just wanted to sleep in today?” George tried even though he knew that Matty would easily see right through him. 

“If you wanted to sleep in, you would be sleeping and not arguing with me about something being wrong,” Matty quickly snapped back and George sighed, feeling guilty when he saw the genuine concern etched across Matty’s features. Maybe if he admitted to him that he had tweaked his shoulder in the studio the night before, he would push the coffee closer to him.

“Are you ill?” Matty asked, “We have some over the counter cold medicine left in the bathroom from when I was sick, but if you tell me what’s wrong I can run out to Boots and get more—” 

“My shoulders are sore,” George said quickly before Matty could continue his spiraling concern about illness. 

Matty blinked. “You’re being dramatic because you have sore shoulders?” Matty asked and George chuckled. 

“I think you’re the one that’s being dramatic, but I guess so,” said George good naturedly. Matty blushed, the tips of his ears turning the same shade of embarrassment as his cheeks. Fuck, George wanted to kiss him but he was so far away. 

“Roll over,” said Matty, kicking off his trainers. 

George frowned, rolling onto his back in the first place had been hard enough, what did Matty mean he wanted him to now roll over. 

“What?” George asked dumbly and Matty rolled his eyes. 

“Roll onto your back,” he said, “I’m going to rub your shoulders.” 

“Oh,” said George, complying as quickly as he could. Matty settled over him straddling his back, careful not to put any necessary weight on him. George couldn’t help but flinch as Matty’s cold hands made contact with his hot aching skin.

He moaned and Matty laughed, digging in with firmer pressure. 

“Watch it,” he teased, “you’re gonna start something you can’t finish if you keep making those kinds of noises.” 

George made sure to moan extra loud, and extra dramatically a moment later. 

Day: 1 |

[heroloverangel]

Good Morning

Ingenium remains #1 on the list of characters who deserve more screentime.

You’ve never been a morning person, but this is ridiculous. For weeks now, you’ve woken up every day feeling nauseous beyond belief. Every meal has become a 50/50 chance of your stomach rebelling and sending you running for the nearest bathroom and you’re rapidly getting tired of it. You knew pregnancy wasn’t going to be easy, but you assumed you’d get to enjoy at least a little bit of those wacky cravings instead of gagging at the sight of most normal foods.

You stagger out of bed this morning, just like every other morning this week, into the kitchen and drop heavily into a chair at the table. Tensei’s been awake for awhile; coffee is just the latest item on the list of smells that make you queasy, and he’s been great about drinking it as far away from you as possible. “Hey,” he smiles over at you from his place at the stove and you groan back weakly. “You having another rough morning?”

You give a dismissive shrug. “I still feel like garbage, but it’s better than yesterday.”

He nods and reaches for a pan. “At least that’s something. Think you can handle some breakfast?” You weren’t hungry a minute ago, but your stomach rumbles at the suggestion and he laughs. “I take it you want your usual?”

Your usual at this point is just plain eggs with no seasoning. There aren’t many foods you’re able to reliably keep down when you wake up, but a boring plate of eggs is certainly the most convenient. You’re not unreasonable enough to demand freshly grilled salmon every morning, and you’d just feel bad sending him out for those chocolate-stuffed croissants from the cafe a few blocks away that always has a line out the door in the mornings. You’re more than happy enough with your bland scramble made with love by your adoring husband.

Or at least you would be, if your stomach didn’t choose today to betray you yet again. One moment you’re sitting peacefully at the table watching Tensei stir a spatula around the pan, and the next moment you catch the scent of the frying eggs and have to actively fight your gag reflex. Without a word you lurch out of your chair and rush for the bathroom, illness rising higher in your throat with every second. “This sucks,” you wail to him across the house between heaves; you know he’s busy with the fire hazard on the stove and only vaguely hear him yell back a sympathetic response.

After twenty minutes you pry yourself away from the anchor that is your toilet, gargle half a bottle of mouthwash, and then collapse back into your bed. Tensei reappears soon enough with a tray for you, only toast and ginger ale, and you sulk as you pick at your new breakfast while he rubs your back soothingly. “I wish I could do something to help.”

You relax into his touch and sigh. “I wish there was anything you could do. The doctor said it should pass in a couple more weeks and we’ve just got to wait it out.”

He runs a hand through your disheveled hair. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing a great job handling this. I know it can’t be easy.”

You smile faintly and cuddle closer against him. “Oh no, it’s awful. But I’ve got the best hero in the world giving me plenty of support.”

“Best hero, huh?” His grin matches your own, and you can feel his stubble when he leans over to kiss your cheek. “If you’re already that impressed, I guess I didn’t need to call the cafe and order some of those croissants.”

You force yourself to swallow the bite of toast you just put in your mouth. “Hey now, I didn’t say that.”

You’ve always loved his laugh. “Think you can wait about thirty minutes for them?”

“That’s a big ask,” you tease and take a small sip of your ginger ale. You know it’s supposed to help with nausea, but you drink so much of it you’re starting to hate the taste. “I’m guessing your brother wouldn’t be willing to speedrun them over, huh?”

Tensei’s eyes crinkle with happiness at your joke, “You know that sense of humor is just one of the many reasons I married you.”

“Oh really? You know we’ve got thirty minutes, we’ve got time for you to tell me all the other reasons.”

You’ll be the first to admit that this morning didn’t exactly get off to a great start. Now though, as you curl up in your husband’s arms with his pipes positioned safely out of your way, your mood’s improved significantly. There’s a cool breeze coming in from the window with the morning sunshine, and you get the feeling you’ll doze off before the food arrives. You don’t mind that idea, you know your precious croissants will be waiting for you when you wake up.

You let out a yawn and blink up at him. “Love you, Ten.”

“I love you too. Go ahead and get some rest, you two need it.” His voice is soft, and the last thought you have before you fall back asleep is that no one else in the world could ever make you this happy.

[snormynight]

So…I started writing this in the middle of S2, loving the Wee John and Izzy bits and Olu supporting Izzy onto the cursed ship. I really loved season two but it absolutely devastated me and feel like I’ve been swimming in anxiety ever since then? If anyone gets me?? So I guess I’m plunging myself into art so here’s some plotless thing about Wee John and Oluwande taking care of Izzy.

Izzy shuddered, his whole body lighting up with goosebumps. He drew Oluwande’s attention immediately.

“Oh are you okay? The beds not warm enough I think.”

Wee John clicked his tongue, knitting a smidgen quicker. He’s sat on the opposite side of Izzy.

“Hold your horses. I’m moving as fast as I can.”

Izzy just rolled his sore eyes as he held himself tightly, rubbing his back against the wooden wall behind him. After their last dock he had managed to pick up a nasty cold that seemed to sap him of every bit of energy he had. The revenge found herself stuck in a minor storm, so most of the crew was up on deck managing that predicament. But when Izzy was discovered to be ill, he was banished below deck, lest he get worse. So there he was, smushed between Wee John and Oluwande (who were recruited to keep an eye on him) feeling useless and stuffy and a little bit queasy.

The ship gave a confirming lurch that all was still not well, and Izzy clenched his jaw, biting back a wave of nausea. He sniffled wetly, a tickle igniting in his sinuses. This did not go unnoticed.

“You okay? You look real peaked.”

Izzy flinched before he could answer, a hand coming up abruptly to meet his forehead. His temples pounded against the contact. As did his sinuses. He sucked in a raggedy breath before exploding into three sneezes.

“Heh-issh! Hrrush-ah!…aiISHHU!!”

He shivered as the wind howled on the deck above. Izzy became increasingly aware of the heat emanating from Oluwande’s right side and he wanted nothing more than to just lean into him. But he had to quite literally force himself to remember that he was angry to be in this predicament and he did not actually care for the two men he was sandwiched in between.

Except he really did.

Wee John shuffled a bit, making one big loop in his makeshift jumper and began raising it above Izzy’s head. “Here you go. It’s not finished yet but I managed a temporary knot at the end. I’ll get back to it later.”

It was softer than anything he was used to, and Izzy disguised the wetness in his eyes with a deep sniffle.

“S nice,” he muttered, before sucking in a ragged breath. “hh-heHCHUUE! Hahtzhuu!!…guh.”

He rolled his sore eyes back as he thumped the baseboard of the bed with his head. Even without the visual of the sea his vision swam. He felt drunk. His nostrils twitched in anticipation for another fit.

Oluwande reached down and pulled the blanket up to Izzy’s chest that he had kicked away earlier. “I’ve just noticed that you started shivering again. You do need warmth if you want to keep your strength up.” He almost went to comb his hair back but decided against it, not wanting to risk losing a finger. “Just a suggestion really.”

Izzy wanted to tell Olu that the blanket was next to absolutely useless, but part of him wanted to protect him from this knowledge while the other half of him was busy staving off another sneeze. Wee John patted his leg.

“C‘mon love, let it out. No use tying yourself in knots.”

Izzy shook his head, but his breath wavered with his heaving chest. It was coming whether he wanted it or not. His eyelids fluttered shut, collecting moisture there and he relented, nose scrunching up with a gasping breath. And then…

“Ah’heHChzzhuh! Htc-huh! Atch-UUuh!”

Izzy slumped forward, and Wee John caught him with a hand around his chest just in case. He propped him back up, but Izzy felt completely depleted of energy. He let his head loll to the side.

“Better at all?” Wee John probed.

Izzy groaned, shrugging his shoulders. “I ‘spose,” he rasped. It ripped something terrible through his throat. He sighed and then shook himself alert, realizing his eyes were falling shut.

They all could still hear the wind, but the thrashing of the ship seemed to have calmed into a gentle bob. Izzy’s stomach churned slowly in him while Wee John and Oluwande carried on in their own conversation. Izzy found it hard to concentrate due to the low nausea and his ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton. He felt his head move down on its own accord and desperately wished for relief. His head fell on Oluwande’s shoulder, and he honestly meant to yank himself back up, but then the warmth from his leg was seeping through his cheek and chest as well. He waited to be reprimanded, but it never came, so he gave one last sniffle before he sunk into the shoulder and drifted off.

Oluwande and Wee John gave each other a look full of triumph and fondness before returning to their respective activities. Wee John started another knit project and Oluwande took the opportunity this time to fix the hair on top of Izzy’s head. Izzy sighed, and he didn’t look particularly peaceful, but Olu reveled at the softness that shined through. And when Jim and Frenchie arrived to relieve the two of them from their shift, he found it just a trifle hard to pass the baton onto them.

[scarlet-fantasies]

Hey can u please make "eren taking care of sick/ill" gf headcanons? + I really like ur hc:)

Hi anon!

Thank you so much💗💗 and of course. Sorry this is kinda short and that it took a while. I feel making long hcs can be annoying sometimes so I will try to keep some things more brief.

-Scarlet

Taking care of their sick gf

::𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬::

sfw & nsfw

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

𝑃𝑟𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑡

𝐼𝑛𝑏𝑜𝑥 𝑖𝑠 𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑛

𝐶𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑘 𝑡𝑜 𝑗𝑜𝑖𝑛 --> 𝑇𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

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

© 𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑒𝑡-𝑓𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑠𝑖𝑒𝑠 // 𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑙, 𝑟𝑒𝑢𝑠𝑒, 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑠. 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝑢𝑛𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑤𝑖𝑠𝑒. // 2021-𝑃𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑡.

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

💊would be upset if you didn’t tell him and try to hide it.

💊he like doesn’t it when you deny that you're sick.

💊“I’m not sick.”

💊“Really, I guess there’s no reason for the tissue box then.”

💊“yeah but I have to blow my nose.”

💊”Aha so you are sick.”

💊“It’s just a cold.”

💊”it’s just a cold.” He’d mock leaving you speechless.

💊”I’m serious.” You’d pout only to have him grin.

💊”in that case you need to rest and someone to look out for you.”

💊“no But you have to go home and go to work tomorrow.”

💊”I’ll cancel, now take a rest and let me get you medicine.”

You constantly remind him not to kiss you.

💊“No Eren, no kisses.” You’d say worriedly.

💊He’d sigh, “I’m not gonna get sick, now let me kiss you”

💊 You pushed his mouth away from your lips with your fingers gentle. “No, I don’t—“ of course he refuses to listen to you and takes your hand away from his mouth only to surprise you with a kiss.

💊Although he’s grown to take less risks with kissing you when you’re sick and he’s learned that the hard way.

💊When you get chills he pulls you close to keep your warm.

💊Or he sits on your bed beside you to warm you up.

💊His hand on the back of your head as you have your face buried into his chest.

💊“You’re going to get sick.”

💊“Shhh, quiet babe, go to sleep.”

💊“But, Eren.”

💊“This flu only attacks weak babies, now sleep.”

💊“I’m not a baby.”

💊“Yes. You. Are.” He’d grin.

💊 He doesn’t like it when you get out of bed

💊 Head kisses when you watch movies

💊 He reads to you and you fall asleep.

💊“So then . . . Y/n, babe? You fell asleep.” He’d smile finding you cute before putting the blanket over you.

💊 He cannot cook to save his life so he’d ask his mom to make you something because he loves you anyways.😊

💊 Although with him telling her that you’re sick she’s going to check on you.

💊“Omg is she okay? That poor girl.”

💊“She’s fine she just has a cold.”

💊 She ends up making a lot of food for you that you even have left overs for a day or so since she knows it’s hard to cook when you’re sick and bc Eren isn’t good at cooking.

💊 When he picks up your medicine at the store he also likes to pick up snacks, some which are your favorite and others which you two can try together.

💊 So you always kinda look forward to it.

💊“Okay I got you your medicine but I also got some snacks.”

💊“You didn’t have too.”

💊“But you would’ve wanted me to.” He’d add making you smile as you pat the spot on your bed next to you.

💊“This is why I love you.” You’d tease.

💊“For food?” He’d raise a brow teasing back.

💊 You’d smile, “No, because you know my needs.” You’d giggle.

💊 He’d give you a smug look leaning in to kiss your head, “Hmm needs? And are there any other needs my girlfriend has tonight?”

💊 You’d laugh, as he turned his back to set up the amount of medicine needed.“Not any that I could think of, but did you have something in mind?” *

💊 He turned to look at you with a smirk before pinning you to the bed, “Plenty.”

@bi-effing-simp @sofijaeger @lucifugovs @xxghoulishspritexx @sp00ksic0la @keithandlevi-ontheroof @songbirdgardensworld

@bubs-world

::Previous Post::

1

[rogertaylorshbb]

"friends" roger Taylor fanfic {part 2}

I'm gonna be doing 4 parts to this story, part 3 will be posted soon, enjoy!!

the next day you contemplated whether you should actually help roger or not. as much as you would love to go out with Daniel, ava was your best friend and you wouldn't want her to get her heart broken by roger who you knew had girls jumping at him left and right.

At break you sat on a bench outside reading your favorite book when you were disturbed by roger again. "hey so have you talked to ava yet?" he sat down beside you putting his arm spread out across the bench.

"no, because I'm not going to, I take back the deal" you said.

"why, you shook on it!" he responded.

"look, why do you need my help, I've seen how you are with the girls why cant you pick her up yourself if you want her so bad, and in the end I know your probably gonna break her heart anyway, roger, get another one night stand" you explained shutting your book.

"I'm not gonna break her heart, and so what if I just want a one night stand, please y/n, I promise. I- I've tried to talk to her but she's always busy, and this seems more easier, just chat her up about how amazing I am and ill do the rest" he begged.

"its gonna be a bit hard to say your amazing, guess ill have to lie, and if you hurt her I swear to god you will never see the light of day" you harshly smiled.

"I will not hurt her, I swear on it, and trust me ill get you and Daniel a date" he smiled crossing his legs.

you rolled your eyes and waved goodbye walking back to your dorm room. once you entered your dorm room ava was there. she was sitting on your bed reading a music magazine. "oh y/n, so glad to see you!" she jumped up hugging you. "hey, same here, what you doing" you asked making small conversation. "oh just some reading" she said sitting back down.

"ugh y/n, I am so bored, there's nothing to do, all I do is read and read, why don't we ever go out to parties and stuff like we used to!!" she complained with a smile. this was your chance to bring up roger.

"well why don't you find a date...hm that could be nice maybe, find a nice guy, one night stand?" you said.

"a date? I mean that could work, there's no cute guys though" she sighed.

"why-" ah fuck this was gonna be hard to say "why don't you go out with roger"

"roger?" ava laughed "your talking about the stupid and rude roger taylor, are you trying to kill me"

"I'm being serious, he- he's actually not bad, he- uh- he actually apologized for giving me a hard time and you know if you have a one night stand with him you wont get attached" you shrugged.

"huh....I guess he's not bad looking with those blue eyes and all, maybe eh, he always sleeping with girls" she said thinking hard about if it was a good idea or not.

"I mean, what's there to lose, a-" this was also gonna be incredibly hard to say "cute, experienced guy for one night" you spoke.

"well" ava laughed "some girls have told me some pretty cool stuff about him in bed-"

"ew, shut up" you laughed throwing a pillow at her before she could finish. "well you have convinced me y/n!" she got up from your bed "I need to go now, my mum wants to have a 'family meeting' ugh, but ill come back later, bye" she hugged you and made her way out.

*rogers pov*

y/n walked away from me I had finally convinced her to talk to ava about her going out with me, but now I had to keep up my end of the deal, talking to Daniel.

I walked into Daniels dorm room. "hey thought you had band practice?" Daniel questioned. :"nah, I canceled on Brian" I responded.

"then why aren't you bothering some chick" Daniel laughed.

"eh not in the mood, why aren't you?" I questioned.

"ha ha roger, you know I'm not looking too date right now, I have to focus on my studying" Daniel said.

"ugh what a bore! c'mon, why wont you find a girlfriend, do you wanna be alone forever?" I put my hands on my hips.

"alone? I have friends, you for example" Daniel smiled.

"like why don't you go out with someone nice...y/n for a uh- random example" I suggested.

"y/n, huh? why would you say that, thought you didn't like her?" Daniel raised and eyebrow at me.

"so what if I don't like her, saw you too talking today, you guys could make a cute couple" I shrugged.

"c'mon there's a party at bens house on Saturday, why don't you ask her?" I continued.

"fine ill ask her just get off my back about it, jeez" Daniel chuckled.

"well, wanna go out to the movies, I have tickets?" I questioned.

"yeah, wait ill get my shoes" Daniel said picking up his worn out runners.

@sarcastic-sourwolf

[night-garden-fic]

Chapter Fourteen: In the Morning Light

(Read on AO3)

"Cage up that heart of yours, Russell."

��    During that first week in the Clinic, Russell spent most of his time asleep.

     Edward joked that it was as though he'd just discovered the concept, and he supposed that, in a way, he had.  With the steady, controlled dose of medicine—to say nothing of the crushing fatigue that accompanied his illness and injuries—Russell found that sleep came easier than it had since his relatively untroubled adolescence.  Rather than chasing it futilely, he seemed to run into it everywhere he turned, all the while reveling in the alien luxury of easy rest.

     And truly, it wasn't as though he had much choice in the matter.

     Russell's exhausted body, working hard around the clock to mend itself, would demand he fall right back to sleep after breakfast, and not wake again until lunchtime.  After lunch, the early afternoon would arrive; so sunnily lucid that, juxtaposed against the rest of the heavy-lidded day, it was those sky-blue hours that felt dreamlike and unreal.  Then it was a short nap before dinner, followed by the long hazy back-and-forth of the evening, and the final heavy descent into night.

     Presently, it was afternoon, so Russell was sitting up in bed, alert and almost restless.  He was nearly finished with the novel Sabrina had thoughtfully brought from his room, but he had no idea what to read next.  Every time he tried to figure it out, he found himself getting distracted.

     Oh, Sabrina.

     He still hadn't seen her, and still had no idea what he could even say.

     As Russell's mind wandered, his hands wandered as well; from the sharp edges of the butterfly bookmark, to the rumpled sheets, to the shaggy edge of hair that fell annoyingly across his glasses.  He kept having to clean jagged greasy marks from the lenses, and was beginning to feel like those damned souls from the old stories, each condemned to endlessly perform some pointless task that was never quite finished.

     "...Hmm?  You all right?"

     Edward, who was reorganizing a drawer on the other side of the room—lost in his own pointless task, one might suppose—must have heard Russell sigh in annoyance.

     "Yeah.  My hair's just bothering me...  It hasn't gotten this long in years, and I guess I'm not used to it."

     Russell began cleaning his glasses again.  Edward lazily spun around on his stool, chuckling slightly.

     "Well, I can't help you there...  But you know, a long time ago, many doctors also worked as barbers.  I'm obviously not one of them, though."

     For emphasis, Edward picked up a long sheaf of hair by the ends, and slowly let it drop.  Russell smirked.

     "Yeah, I was actually just wondering how you put up with that."

     Edward shrugged.

     "Well, you said it yourself...  I'm used to it."

     Russell pushed his own straggling locks out of his eyes.

     "How come you wear your hair so long, anyway?"

     Edward absent-mindedly ran a hand through that long, dark river of hair.  He seemed either deep in thought, or just plain hesitant to answer.

     "Well...  At the hospital where I worked back in the Empire, there was a dress code, and I had to keep it clipped short.  So when I moved out here, I just thought...  Never again.  And you know what?  I haven't had a proper haircut since.  I just snip it once in a while to take off damage at the ends."

     Suddenly interested, Russell leaned forward, elbows resting on crossed legs.  Edward rarely spoke of his time in the Empire, and certainly never with such specificity.

     But, before he could say anything more, the Clinic's door groaned open, and Edward stood to see to whoever was now waiting out there.

     Russell leaned back on the pillows and thought for a while; of Edward walking the claustrophobic maze of some Imperial city, Edward with short hair, Edward casually snipping off his own damage and sweeping it away.

     We're such different people.

     (What does he have that I lack?)

     Unable to come up with anything, Russell simply listened as the sound of Edward's muffled voice carried from the waiting room.

     "...But pretty tired...  Yes, he's been sleeping a lot...  Awake now...  If you want..."

     Another voice, sounding nervously jubilant, warbled in reply.

     Russell would have recognized it anywhere.

     Not two seconds later, Sabrina had ducked around the exam room's entryway; a stack of books in her arms and a warm, bright grin on her face.

     Russell—who couldn't help grinning in return—painfully scooted his body towards the wall.

     "...Hey!  Sabrina!  Come on in."

     He'd thought she would sit down on the edge of the bed.  But instead, Sabrina placed the books on the table and climbed right in next to him, wrapping his whole body in a soft embrace.

     "Oh, Russell...  How are you feeling?"

     Russell flinched slightly at the pressure on his injured side—and at the suggestion of tears low in her throat—then melted contentedly into her arms.  Pain or no pain, this was where he wanted to be.

     "I'm...  I'm okay.  Probably doing pretty great, considering."

     Sabrina pushed aside his shaggy hair, cupped his scratchy stubbled cheeks, and regarded him for a moment.

     "Well, you look...  Oh, sweetie...  I'm not going to lie to you.  You look awful.  But I'm so glad to see you awake...  I came by a few times, but you were always sleeping."

     Russell pulled her closer, too tired and giddy to worry about accidentally sending the wrong signals.

     "I heard...  Thanks a lot for the book, by the way.  I think it's the only thing keeping me sane in here."

     Sabrina, for whatever reason, seemed equally unconcerned.  She leaned into him with an instinctive ease.

     "I figured as much...  I also figured you'd make short work of it, so I brought you more."

     Russell rested his chin on her shoulder, reading through the tall stack of spines on the table.  Mostly novels, mostly slow-paced, all re-read and re-loved countless times.  He savored his memories of those well-worn pages and smiled dreamily, sinking back into the pillows and tucking his head under Sabrina's chin.

     "Wow...  Couldn't have picked those better myself."

     One of her skillful hands was rubbing comforting circles on his back, as lazy and familiar as one of those old favorite books.

     "If you get through them all, I can always bring more by...  How've you been doing otherwise?  Is Ed feeding you enough?  Feels like you're all skin and bones."

     Russell—who was in fact still digesting a large bowl of fried rice—found this a rather silly question.

     "Oh, believe me, he is...  Three meals and two nutrition drinks a day.  I feel like a bird with a broken wing."

     Sabrina laughed.

     "...What?"

     Russell shrugged, struggling to keep a straight face.

     "You know, when a kid picks up an injured bird, puts it in a box under the bed, and tries to make it better by giving it bread crusts."

     As the pair quietly laughed to themselves, Edward walked back into the room.

     "...No, I don't feed him bread crusts!  Russell, what have you been telling her?"

     Russell had laughed himself into a mild coughing fit, and Sabrina was boiling over with playful mock belligerence.

     "Well, he looks like you've been feeding him nothing but bread crusts!  You can't blame a gal for assuming!"

     Edward shook his head disapprovingly, obviously straining not to laugh along with them.

     "...Hey! Not a week ago, he was lying face-down in a ditch.  Neither of us needs your criticism right now."

     Sabrina scruffed a hand through Russell's hair.

     "You're right.  I'm sorry, sweetheart."

     Having just barely caught his breath, Russell was laughing again.

     It was, he realized, just the way he imagined it would be; back when he was idly planning those joint birthday celebrations.

     Next year.  Whether she's married or busy or living on the damned moon by then.

     Russell smiled inwardly, giving himself a small approving nod.

     So it be done.

     Meanwhile, Sabrina's hand hadn't left his hair.  She was now pulling it straight between her fingers, testing the new length.  Without moving her hand away, she turned her body twistily to face Edward.

     "...Say, Ed?"

     Edward had returned to rummaging through his drawers.

     "Yeah?"

     Sabrina smoothed Russell's shaggy hair flat around his pallid, content face.

     "Can I give our guy here a little haircut?"

     Edward shrugged.

     "Not my scope of practice.  I imagine you should ask him."

     Sabrina turned back to Russell, gently brushing the hair from his eyes.

     "Well?"

     Russell raked the whole mess back from his forehead.

     "That would be great, if you could...  It's been bothering me since before I came here, actually."

     "Before I came here."  It was an odd choice of words; as though he had taken up residence in this bed on purpose.

     Sabrina, seemingly without thinking, gave Russell a quick peck on the forehead.

     "...Of course I could!  Not a chore at all...  Hey, Ed?  You got scissors?"

     Edward placed something in Sabrina's outstretched hand.  Then she sat up on the bed; gracefully crossing her legs and pulling Russell up with her.

     "Okay, then...  Let's get started! If you're ready..."

     Russell realized that either he was smiling again, or he just hadn't stopped.

     "Yeah.  Go ahead."

     He was deathly certain that a pair of surgical shears had never looked so beautiful.

~*~

     Come the next day, Russell was grateful to be looking tidier, and perhaps a bit more presentable, for he had another visitor.

     And an important one at that; someone who he was, even now, strangely eager to impress.

     "Sorry I didn't come in sooner...  From what I heard, you haven't been up to talking much, so I figured I'd let you rest."

     Lady Ann took a seat on the stool, propping her elbows on the bed the way she sometimes did at her desk.  Russell—who had actually been preparing to nap before she came in—sat up blearily in bed, leaning against the wall.

     "You heard right, yeah.  I like to think I've been getting a little more energetic, though."

     Russell smiled fondly, genuinely happy to see her, but unable to conceal his obvious exhaustion.  Lady Ann drew her mouth into a firm line, averting her sharp blue eyes.

     "Listen...  I'm sorry...  I didn't know you'd...  Gods, that sounds like an excuse..."

     Russell had never heard his Lady sound quite so uncertain before, and it unnerved him greatly.  He reached out and took her hand, the way she'd sometimes do for him when his mind would start running wild.

     "Hey...  It's not your fault, and it's not even that you didn't know.  It's that I didn't know.  I just wanted to get a good night's sleep, and you just wanted to help...  And you know what?  I'm still thankful for that, because you really were trying to do right by me.  All of this?  My fault.  I should have...  Maybe taken my history into account a little bit."

     Lady Ann squeezed his hand gratefully, still not quite willing to meet his eyes; her own eyes glittering hecticly with suppressed tears.  Then she sniffed pointedly, turning them reassuringly steely once more.

     "Well, maybe I should have taken your history into account."

     Russell shrugged.

     "Maybe we both just expected history to be...  Well, history.  Even if we of all people should have probably known better."

     History, indeed, was supposed to stay history.

     But, in that moment, Russell swore he felt the indistinct forms of two mournful ghosts haunting the air around them; a boy standing in a long line of other boys, and a man lying in a deep, dark cave.  Both of them lost, neither with any chance of ever making it out.

     You did.  You're here, aren't you?

     ...But did I make it out?

     (What are we even asking?)

     Perhaps, Russell decided, it was a pointless line of questioning in the first place.

     Wherever he was, wherever he'd been, he was here.  Holding the hand of someone who, in a funny way, he truly did love.  Watching her shoulders relax as she slowly became able to meet his eyes again.

     "So are we...  Is everything going to be all right?"

     He smiled, lacing his fingers with hers.

     "Of course...  Actually, when I get out of here...  Well, I'd like to see you again.  If you want to, of course."

     And there it was: that old, devious, spellbinding smile.  He'd missed it more than he realized.

     "...Only if you're up to it."

     Russell pulled her in, until she was practically kneeling on the bed.

     "Hey...  If I'm out, it means I got a clean bill of health.  So you'd better not go easy on me!"

     Lady Ann raked her free hand through his hair.  Then—as though fearing her touch could break him—she gave the ends a gentle tug.

     "Oh, darling...  Never."

     Before either of them quite realized it, she blessed Russell with a lingering, gloriously impulsive kiss.

     It was then that Edward wandered in, surely searching for some important tool or document.

     "Okay, break it up, you two...  My Clinic isn't a honeymoon suite."

     While his voice scolded, Edward's face showed nothing but amusement, mild surprise, and—most strangely of all—what appeared to be relief.

     Though Lady Ann wasn't typically one to blush, both lovers were flushed and stammery as they laboriously pulled themselves apart.  Russell cleared his throat, crossing his arms in a way he was sure must have seemed comically over-formal.

     "...Right.  See you soon?"

     Lady Ann smiled; still devious, but with a hint of an unfamiliar innocence.

     "I'll be waiting!"

     Russell thought her pale pink face looked lovely.

     So will I.

     Later, as he lay in wait for his afternoon nap to begin, he replayed their visit in his head.  The apologies, and the invitation; the promise, and the sly searching hand through his hair.

     Our kiss.

     Feeling a bit juvenile and silly, Russell smiled dopily into the blankets, and felt a profound relief wash over him.

     It seemed that he did, indeed, have a life to go back to.

~*~

     Lady Ann, of course, soon returned to Russell's bedside.  And Cecilia came to see him daily, occasionally with Tori in tow; bringing news of his beloved library and the frigid, opalescent realm that glistened just beyond the Clinic's frosty windows.  Most afternoons, Sabrina would come by for about an hour, warming the sheets with her healthy solid body and keeping him company as he read.

     Then there were the few other acquaintances from around town who dropped in to wish him well; either spontaneously, or as a coda to one of the routine office visits that he did his best to politely tune out.  On one particularly memorable morning, Raguna came in with a dislocated shoulder he'd sustained trying to curtail a runaway Wooly, and tried to carry on a conversation about Cecilia feeding the Cluckadoodles even as Edward pulled and wrenched his bones back into place.

     Russell didn't know whether to retch or laugh at such a bizarre spectacle.  But he decided, in the end, to simply listen; which he did for the next hour, long after the appointment had formally ended, and until Edward practically had to chase Raguna out the door.

     This steady trickle of visitors, with their suggestion of an outside world that he couldn't wait to rejoin, sustained Russell's spirit through the long, idle days he spent in the Clinic.

     But, for the most part, he spent those days with Edward.

     At first, it felt a bit strange.  Russell had, by now, grown accustomed to living his home life alone, or at least as the only adult present.  But, before long, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

     Sometimes, they'd talk, and the conversation was generally pleasant.  More often, they'd simply slide into companionable silence; lost in their own books or thoughts, feeling comfortable in the knowledge that company was always close at hand.

     They took each day's breakfast and lunch together.  And, while Edward would typically retreat to the kitchen to eat dinner with Camus, he'd always return to the bedside when they were finished, with a full plate and some friendly words.  Russell found he enjoyed Edward's cooking; not dissimilar to his own utilitarian bachelor fare, but with a little something special, a little extra thought and care.

     They sipped endless cups of tea together, and bid one another good morning and goodnight.  Through the window, they admired the falling snow, the sun glinting off icicles, and the occasional puffed-up winter bird.  Russell watched Edward do his paperwork, and Edward listened as Russell read favorite passages from his books.

     It seemed that they were, at least for now, sharing a life.

     Russell found this wonderful, but strangely confusing.

     On one hand, he was weak and in pain, and his general mood was still quite low.

     On the other, he hadn't felt so secure and comfortable in a long, long time.

     Not since Sabrina.

     (Not since before the war?)

     After a while, even the clinical scenery that once set his teeth on edge ceased to bother him.

     And, though his wartime experiences had left him with a skin-crawling horror of medical examinations, he found that he didn't even mind that part so much.  Not anymore.

     In fact, he almost looked forward to them.

     Being poked and prodded and questioned made him feel sick, it was true.

     But being gently checked over every morning by someone who really, truly cared about his well-being was altogether different.

     It helped, of course, that Edward was different.

     Russell wasn't sure what had happened during those lost first days, but whatever it was, it had changed his friend profoundly.

     The self-conscious performance of clinical distance was all but gone.  Where Edward had once hovered stiffly, he was now constantly patting Russell on the shoulder, or gently nudging his forearms to get his attention when his mind wandered, or offering his own sturdy frame for support when Russell needed to stand.

     It was a strange shift, but not an unwelcome one.

     To Russell, it seemed as though Edward had finally realized that what he needed for good health was not just a doctor, but a friend.

     Edward had been, as he often was, effortlessly correct.

     But Russell soon realized how likely it was that the doctor, too, might simply be in need of a friend.  In fact, when he gave it some thought, it made perfect sense that Edward may very well have been, in private, a terribly lonely man.

     He was at least vaguely friendly with everyone, but truly opened himself to no one.  Even during their more agreeable periods, his son was a tad uncommunicative, and the pair had little in common.  No one knew much of anything about his past, and that in itself was enough to suggest that it was rather troubled.

     Much like Russell, Edward served as the solitary master of a small, dark domain; holding the chaos of the world at arm's length, knowing all the while that he was also denying himself much of that world's dizzying sweetness and mystery.

     Diligently, in their neighboring parallel worlds of blood and ink, Edward and Russell had protected themselves from everything.  Including themselves.  And, perhaps most painfully of all, each other.

     But here, now, with their armor broken and their shields dropped in the dirt at their feet, it was as though they weren't quite sure what to do.  Other than begin taking tentative steps forward, finally bridging that well-kept gap.

     It's like we're starting over.

     It's like we're holding out our hands.

     ("Let's be friends?")

     And so, each reached for the other's invisible hand.  Somewhere inside, Russell was sure he'd felt them shake on it; felt the keen blade of blood-brotherhood on his palm.

     Though he could never be sure, it seemed like Edward had felt it, too.

     But there was something else that neither of them had accounted for.

     Which was, of course, the terrible unwieldiness of Russell's heart.

     One night, as they were both preparing for bed, Edward passed Russell the hot water bottle.

     This was not, in itself, unusual.  The heat did wonders for his sore ribs, and the act of holding the bottle itself quelled the compulsion to bother and inspect his injuries, which had proved so persistent that it was impeding the healing process.

     What was unusual, however, was the feeling that overcame Russell when Edward leaned over him; when his long hair brushed his cheek, and his warm hand rested on his shoulder.

     It was unmistakable, and it hit him with all the force of that old dark sphere.

     The same feeling he'd get when Sabrina would encircle his waist from behind and puff her humid breath on his neck; hot, slithery, achingly needful.  A feeling that, if he didn't know what it was, would likely make him worry that he might be dying.

     He hadn't felt it come on so strongly in quite a long time.

     I think my brain is misfiring.

     Russell had been, after all, terribly lonely.  And he was still worked up from Lady Ann's merciless teasing on their most recent visit.  His body simply yearned for touch, any touch.

     As he held the bottle to his aching side, willing the flush from his cheeks, he felt rather satisfied with that explanation.

     Then Edward sat down to braid his long, thick hair for the night; his robe slipping open to reveal a gorgeous wedge of his soft-looking, yet surprisingly well-formed chest.

     Russell felt the doubt creep back into his mind.

     Maybe I'm just overtired.

     I'll feel normal in the morning.

     He firmly closed his eyes, and soon enough, morning arrived as predicted.

     A new start, a clean slate.

     And, as he watched Edward sipping his tea—the golden early sun lighting his glossy hair, his strong jaw gone slightly soft with contemplation and the penumbra of last night's peaceful slumber—it occurred to Russell that he might actually have a few things to think about.

     Thinking, of course, came naturally to Russell.

     Too naturally, one might say, for it didn't take long for him to get lost in one of his thorny snarls.

     At first, he felt so embarrassed that he literally curled into a ball, claiming pain and refusing to meet Edward's gaze.

     Falling so hard and fast for one's close friend felt somehow inherently silly.  It reminded him of his maladroit adolescence, and of how he'd followed Sabrina around after that first drunken encounter under the pier.

     And as for falling for one's doctor...

     ...Well, that felt, for lack of a better word, slimy.  Like he was becoming the kind of person who might start claiming whatever symptom might require him to undress, or find his breathing growing noticeably heavy during routine exams.

     Russell, however, was not that kind of person.

     Instead of misusing his position as Edward's patient, he began nervously shrinking from his touch all together, fearing the cruel whims of his own body and heart.

     The mind?

     The mind—once Russell's only refuge—had grown unstable and unreliable.

     But, as he continued to sit with his thoughts, he began to feel, strangely, a bit better.

     For one thing, there was much that at least made a modicum of sense now.

     Suddenly, there was a sensible context for so many brief, vague tuggings and yearnings that had needled him over the years.  Twinging aches felt and forgotten in the space of seconds; moments that haunted him for weeks without clear reason.  That nagging feeling of something unfinished as he lay awake and drunk in bed.  Visions of white roses, dark wine, silver moons, green and red everything.

     The strange thing about what he felt that night was not its newness, but the fact that it was nothing new at all.

     How did I not understand?

     The simplest answer would be that he just wasn't looking out for it, because Edward was another man.

     But Russell's life never lent itself to such simple answers.

     He had, of course, been with a man before.

     He had been with a man first, in fact.

     Until now, he'd assumed it was merely circumstantial; something that had likely created a few pathways in his mind, but pathways that would never need to fire again once he'd reentered the civilian world.

     And now here they were, firing.  Throwing sparks, setting fires, blowing out Russell's poor nerves.

     Gradually, he began to face the real reason they'd lain dormant for so long.

     I just didn't want to think about him.

~*~

     Back in the war, when the boys had no one but each other, it was something many of them did.

     Russell knew about it almost immediately, but was at first entirely disinterested, just as he had been regarding most things romantic or sexual in his former life.  A bookish late-bloomer, his experience was limited to growing tongue-tied and red as a fresh radish in the presence of a few brainy, graceful girls; most a year or two older, many seemingly unaware of his existence.

     And if they had felt eternally out of his reach, these strong young men must have been all the way on another continent; doing esoteric things to each other that Russell couldn't quite get his naive mind around.

     Indeed, the twin mantras of his nonexistent sex life, thus far, were as follows: "I don't know how," and "why bother?"

     Pathetic as it sounded, it never troubled him much.

     That is, until it did.

     Until just after he turned nineteen.

     It was nothing particular to being nineteen that changed his mind.  That was simply when he started becoming truly convinced that he wasn't going to survive.  And if he was about to die...

     ...Well, there were some things that he wanted to experience first.  And most of them, he knew, were well out of his attenuated grasp.

     But sex, he figured, was all around him.

     Bristling with determination—and without the slightest idea what he was doing—Russell set his sights on a particular young man; for reasons that, at first, were mostly arbitrary.

     For one thing, they'd exchanged more than five words in the past, which was a rarity in itself.  He was exactly Russell's age, so the difference in experience couldn't have been too great.  And he was one of those robust, nimble farmboy types, so there was hope that he'd be physically competent across all domains.  Most interestingly, his hair was a warm, dark blonde; so different from Russell's drab ashy brown.

     The only question that remained was whether he'd be willing.

     Russell knew that, even in their desperate circumstances, not all men took an interest in other men.  Moreover, he knew that he, himself, didn't have much to offer.  He'd never done anything before, and wasn't even sure what to do.  And even if he eventually figured it out, he'd still be plain and weedy and awkward.

     Who would ever want me?

     As it turned out, the young man he had chosen would.

     What Russell had said to convince him, he didn't really remember.  Only that it was something to do with loneliness or boredom, when they were already half-dressed for other reasons.  That seemed to be the protocol, and he wasn't confident enough to deviate.

     In fact, having gotten his in, Russell wasn't sure if he was confident enough to go through with it at all.

     As it turned out, he didn't really have to be.  The other boy walked him through the process with a patient, gentle sureness; so delicate and adept that Russell was surprised when he later learned that it was also his first time with another man, and only this third time overall.

     And then it was over.

     It really happened.

     At first, Russell was disappointed at not feeling somehow changed.  But his disappointment soon gave way to an odd, giddy rush.

     Because, now that they had done it once, it was established that they could do it whenever they wanted.

     Which, of course, proved to be quite often.

     The first few times were fumbling and experimental, as they each worked out how the other operated.  But, soon enough, certain patterns were established.

     Russell, as it turned out, far preferred to be the one receiving; ideally with his hands pinned to the ground or behind his back, having already begun to discover his taste for rough treatment.  The other boy liked it when Russell kept talking, telling him what a good job he was doing through a voice strained to snapping with pleasure and the occasional sweet wisp of pain.

     And they both, they soon realized, liked holding each other when they were finished.

     After a while, it became clear that this was more than a physical relationship, more than the occasional encounter to stave off loneliness and frustration, as most of the trysts among their unit tended to be.

     Neither one ever used the word "love."  They were too aware of the precariousness of their lives to fully give their hearts away.  What's more, despite that precariousness, they were still barely grown, and the seriousness of it all didn't quite suit them.

     Nonetheless, it was clear to both of them that this was something more.

     Over the course of a summer, they became inseparable; eating silent meals together, sleeping side by side in the trenches, sneaking away so Russell could read aloud to them both without distraction, managing their scanty free time to ensure that their dalliances could be as lengthy and frequent as possible.

     The heat of those memories, when he dared to remember, was always strange to Russell.

     Typically, when he thought back to his time in the war, he remembered the winter, the cold.  The hands curled blue-white around his sword, the meals already lukewarm by the time they reached him.  The sleet clinging to his hair, the ache in his frozen-stiff joints, the constant rattle in his chest.  A dirty layer of ice over everything, to match the one that had seemed to settle around his heart.

     But when he remembered that love affair—that friendship, that whatever-it-was—Russell felt sunshine and dry dust.  Stubborn trampled flowers on the battlefield, fragrant sticky skin.  The angry sunburn on his bony exposed shoulders, and his lover's golden tan.  The few times when the unending warpath took them past a river, and they gleefully swam; magically transformed into exuberant young boys once more, as though time had unwound just for them.

     On one such afternoon, they knelt together on the grey sand of some anonymous riverbank, Russell comfortably leaning back into the other boy's arms.  Still drenched from their dip in the cool bottle-green water, they inevitably began fooling around.  Russell shivered at the whisper of warm breath and soft lips on his neck.

     "...Gods, you're so beautiful!"

     Russell felt himself blush.  Not just at the compliment, but at how effusive this young man was about everything.  He thought it was the sweetest thing in the world.

     "I'm really nothing special..."

     The embrace tightened, as though he were trying to pull Russell into his body, to literally keep him in his heart.

     "...You're so special!  You're so beautiful, and smart, and good!  And you know what else?"

     Russell smirked playfully.

     "...What?"

     He felt his lover nuzzle his shoulders, then begin to gently nip.

     "When you first came up to me that day...  You know, I actually thought 'I can't do anything with this guy.  I'd break him in half.'  But you were so brave coming up to me like that, so I just went 'okay, let's see what he's about.'  And then we just kept doing things, and..."

     He bit down, hard, seemingly for emphasis.

     "...And you just don't break!  It's amazing!  I don't know how you do it!"

     Russell shuddered with pleasure.

     "...Could you do that a little harder?  Please?"

     Gleefully, the young man sank in his teeth again and again, until neither of them could stand the passion of it any longer.  They made love right there on the riverbank, Russell's left cheek pressed into the cool sand.

     When they were finished, they washed themselves in the river, then trudged back to their nightmare world of steel and blood.

     For more than a week, Russell wore that garland of purple crescents like a noble mantle.  They were proof of how deeply he was cherished, and—most importantly— of how much he could endure.

     "You just don't break!"

     Those words, too, settled on his frail shoulders, squaring them with pride.

     It would be a while yet before they began to ring bitter and hollow in his mind.

     Gradually, those violet bruises began to fade along with the yellow sun.

     And, just like that, their summer had ended.

     But it was the mid-autumn that would blow them apart like leaves.

     It was not, of course, the first ambush their company had endured, but it proved particularly grueling.  They fought for nearly twenty hours straight, blind with exhaustion and deaf with the clatter of swords; each man lost in his own private hell, where the only language spoken was the crude guttural patois of dodge-parry-strike.

     By the time their superiors found the good sense to make them retreat, their unit had been cut down by nearly a third; the mud littered with bodies that could not be safely reclaimed.

     Russell, by some miracle, was not among them.

     "You just don't break!"

     Unbroken, and horribly alive, the second thing Russell did once they were settled at their new camp—after collapsing into sick dreamless sleep for the better part of a day—was go looking for his lover.

     He wanted to rejoice in their survival, to mourn their defeat and their losses.  To show off a shallow gash he'd received on his forearm, and perhaps receive a kiss for his trouble.

     Just picturing that smiling face made Russell shiver with delight.  He could hardly wait.

     But that golden young man was nowhere to be found.

     In fact, it was as though he had never existed in the first place.  The company often talked about "fallen brothers" or "a lot of good men," but there was never a mention of who, exactly, those men might have been; individually, or to each other.

     Perhaps, it was simply too painful.

     And that, at least, was something Russell could understand.

     Indeed, for the next two months, he became a knot of solid pain.  A great, horrid, snarled thing; full of thorns and broken glass and rusted pushpins.  Its layers tightened around his soft skin, flaying it raw.

     Why didn't I run to protect him?

     Why couldn't I make him any promises?

     Why couldn't I let him know how much I cared?

     Why did I never tell him I loved him?

     For a while, Russell all but stopped eating, preferring to spend any free hours or scheduled mealtimes lying flat on his back on his bedroll; his helmet pulled down over his face like a blank mask, his mind trying in vain to will itself into nonexistence.

     When he slept, he dreamt of strong golden hands.

     Mostly, he couldn't sleep, and merely imagined them.

     Soon, he realized he'd been asking all the wrong questions.

     What the hell is wrong with me?

     What on Earth was I thinking?

     Why did I ever open my heart even a crack in this awful place?

     Russell had no answer, but the question sat heavy in his palm like an iron skeleton key.

     Wordlessly, he found a sturdy lock inside himself, and swore he heard the solemn heavy chunk of the imaginary mechanism.

     There.

     Now his heart was closed, and closed it would stay.  Until Sabrina, with her crafty searching fingers, would dare to pick the lock.

     But all that, of course, was years off.

     For quite some time, he would drag that caged, heavy, half-dead heart behind him like a child's broken hand-me-down wagon.  It did him no good, but he found he couldn't cut it free entirely.  It came along with his body; as inextricable as his painful, frayed spine.

     But, as with his spine, Russell could often forget that it was there.

     He could forget how badly it was hurting him.

     And, in time, he found that he'd also forgotten the young man's name, along with most of his face.

     Even so, he had never forgotten his hands.

     Nor, in fact, had he forgotten his words.

     I loved you, but you were wrong.

     Everything about me is hideous.

     If I were smart, none of this would have happened.

     I'm pretty sure none of us are good.  Not anymore.

     And I think I'm broken now.

~*~

     I'm neck deep in a swollen river, a strong current threatening to drag me away.

     But for now, all it can do is threaten.  Someone has my hand, and I can't tell if they're pulling me to shore, or simply struggling against the rush of the water to hold me in place.  Either way, I owe them my life.

     I open my mouth to speak, and water rushes into my lungs.  I hack, sputter, and try again.  Once more, I am flooded.

     And, just as I manage to keep my head above water long enough to begin to utter "thank you," their hand slips.

     I slip, too; a dizzying slide over jagged rocks and cold, spongy logs.  I can't seem to get hold of anything.

     Instead, I get hold of myself.

     Because I understand now.

     It had to be like this.

     They would stay where I left them, and I would ride the river down until it tossed me in the unforgiving sea.

     To stay with them was to remain in place forever.

     (I accept this, mostly because I'm not sure which is worse.)

     The sea yawns before me, and I offer myself to it.

     (It's not like you can change directions.)

     The waves batter me.  I don't know why I'm even trying to keep my head above them.  So, for a few moments, I stop trying.

     (I'm so cold.  I'm so tired.)

     (It had to be this way.)

     Then my head bobs up again, and I glimpse a small rowboat, white and nearly incandescent in the moonlight.  It rocks calmly on the surface, out beyond the waves.

     And I think I've seen that solitary helmsman before; in a different place, but one just as strange.  Somewhere else I must have gotten lost.

     (Somewhere dressed in red and green.)

     Whoever he is, he sees me, and he holds out his hand.

     I want to swim to him.  I'm desperate.  I kick frantically, thrashing in place.

     (You're already too tired, aren't you?)

     (Yeah.  I guess I am.)

     The tide drags me down, and I panic when I see the wavering moon growing dimmer and dimmer as I descend.

     I scream, and it comes out as a stream of bubbles, racing to meet the moon just as I'd been struggling to meet the helmsman.

     (I'm sorry.)

     (It's not like I could change directions.)

~*~

     "Hey...  Just a bad dream.  You're all right."

     Russell felt strong hands on his shoulders.

     Two hands.

     (River, ocean.)

     He gasped for air, not quite realizing that he wasn't actually drowning; or at least, not in anything he couldn't easily cough up.  Turning away from what he now understood to be Edward, Russell hacked, groaned, and pulled a pillow over his head.

     To him, it was never "just" a bad dream.

     Still, he had to admit, they took less of a toll on him when he wasn't alone.

     In the Clinic, Russell had nightmares as often as ever.  More often, in fact; just because he was sleeping so much.

     But, no matter where in the building Edward was, he usually seemed to hear them happening before Russell even had a chance to cry out, and could usually drag him out of sleep before things got too bad.  And then—when he'd usually resign himself to lying awake the rest of the night—Edward would effortlessly slide him back under, like a fish into cool water.

     To Russell's astonishment, it didn't usually take all that much.  Once Edward had him awake, he would dab the sweat from his face with a cool cloth, tuck the heavy blankets around him, place a soothing hand on his shoulder, and begin telling some silly story.

     Usually, it was about something Camus had done as a child, or one of the more anodyne cases he'd seen at the hospital in the city.  Generally, there were themes of someone swallowing something that wasn't meant to be swallowed, standing on something they had no business standing on, or saying something strange in the heat of the moment.  All of them made Russell laugh, though he never stayed awake long enough to be quite sure how any of them ended.

     Of course, that was before.  Back when Edward could touch him without kicking up a dust devil of dizzying questions.

     On this particular grey morning, Russell drew up the blankets like armor, faced the wall, and did his best to imagine himself alone.

     Which was a bit difficult, what with Edward testing his cheeks and forehead for heat, then gently stroking his hair.

     "Hey...  You've been so skittish these past few days.  Are you feeling all right?  Should I take a look at your incision?"

     Russell pressed his forehead against the wall.

     "I'm fine."

     Edward's hand came to rest on the dome of Russell's skull.

     "I just hope you'd tell me if your joints were tender or something...  Or if you're just sick of me."

     That last part was obviously meant to be a joke, and Edward had puffed it out with a breezy laugh, but it just made Russell want to cry.

     Edward, after all, was his friend.

     He's my friend.

     (And he's as alone as I am.)

     Suddenly, Russell felt almost nauseous with shame at how he'd been behaving.

     He'd sworn to himself that he'd keep being Edward's friend, no matter what.

     No matter what.

     Not "unless I can't stop wondering what it would be like to kiss you."

     (Yes, I've been wondering.)

     Well, wondering or not, Russell knew he had to stop pulling away, for both their sakes.  With a weary sigh, he rolled onto his back and smirked slightly at the ceiling.

     Cage up that heart of yours, Russell.

     "No, nothing like that...  Either of those.  I guess I've just been a little on edge.  Cabin fever, you know?"

     Edward nodded thoughtfully.

     "Of course...  That's not uncommon.  You'll probably be well enough to leave soon."

     Russell turned to face his friend; realized that, in the morning light, Edward's eyes weren't the nondescript "dark" he'd always assumed.

     They were a deep, flinty blue.

     The color of a moody winter sea.  The calm of a still wooded lake.

     Fathomless.  Beautiful.

     This might be harder than I thought.

[soriaryl]

He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not Part 03

Continued from 09/13/2023

“I don’t understand what the problem is, Emma,” Logan, pleads as he put on the black and neon blue wetsuit.

“How do you not understand the damned problem?” I growl at him. I stare at him while he pulls the neoprene up to his chest and shoulders. He is large, two hundred pounds and six-feet-tall. His red hair glints in the sunlight and his green eyes sparkle with the ocean’s reflection. I point to his mother, holding my fins in my hands. “You invited your mother on our second honeymoon. After what she pulled at the wedding, she’s lucky that we don’t cut her out of our lives completely. You promised me that she wouldn’t be here.”

He stiffens at my statement. “I can’t cut her out of my life. She’s my mom, and I’m the only person she has left.”

“Logan, you always pick her over me. Hell, I woke up this morning on the pull-out couch, instead of in bed with you. You’re my husband, and I want to spend our second honeymoon together.”

“But I’m here with you now,” he sounds confused.

I sigh, knowing that I am not getting anywhere with him. “Never mind.” I take my fins and walk away from Alicia and him so I can get some of the fresh ocean air in my lungs.

“Everything all right?” the skipper of the dive boat asks me.

I paste on my fake smile. “It’s doing good. Just wish my MIL wasn’t here to ruin my second honeymoon.”

He cringes at my statement. His dark sun-tan skin accents his dark blue eyes and blond hair. He is toned, like a swimmer, and for a brief second, I imagine going diving with him. His lean body kicking the water as we glide under the water’s surface. He smiles at me when Alicia’s shrieking rips my daydream away from me. “I guess you should get back to your disaster waiting to happen.”

I return his smile. “You have no idea. Maybe a shark will eat her.”

His laughter is loud but warm and inviting. “Maybe.” He leans down as I pass in front of him to get back to my husband. “Or maybe you’ll find someone who will treat you better than he does his mother.”

I think about his words as I walk back to Logan and Alicia. My husband was helping Alicia put on her neoprene wetsuit over her ill-fitting bikini. He zips up the back of the suit, and I think that she looks like an over-stuffed sausage in casing. Logan helps me get the buoyancy control device (BCD) on my back. He holds it in place until I get the vest snapped on fully. I put on the weight belt that will allow me to sink into the water. I feel comfortable in my gear, having bought it years ago before I became obsessed with numbers for my job.

“Looooogaaaaan,” Alicia whines. “I need help.”

He looks at me. “Do you mind helping her while I get the rest of my gear on?”

I want to tell him that I would, in fact, mind, but I cannot get the words passed my lips. “I can.” I walk over to Alicia and pick up the BCD. “Put it on like a backpack.”

“I don’t want your help,” she snarls at me.

“I don’t want to help you out, either, but Logan asked me to,” I whisper sharply in reply.

She finally snaps the vest on, and I head to the back of the boat. There are three other groups with us for this dive trip. I put my fins on my feet, place the mask over my face, and step off the boat into the crystal-clear water. I inflate the BCD with the air from my tank to keep me afloat. I flip onto my stomach while the other divers hop into the water. I breathe through the snorkel while looking at the reef below.

The bright coral was muted with the water’s depth. The reds, oranges, and yellows of the fish were still visible from where I floated. I look to the sides to see if Logan and Alicia have come into the water yet. The other divers are already gone, swimming down to the reef’s edges to see the beauty that lies there.

Part of me wants to swim away and into the reef. The other part of me knows better to wait for my husband as my dive partner. I let my mind wander to the boat skipper and my imagination took over. I could see us swimming amongst the coral and fish, going inside an undersea cave, then spending the rest of the night looking up at the stars from his dive boat. I allow myself this daydream, because even though I am an accountant by trade, I am a diver by desire. I wonder if I can give up the life I have to become a dive instructor. Teaching people how to properly care for their equipment, how to navigate in the open water, and how to find themselves when they are lost in a cave.

I shake my head of such thoughts, because they would not pay the bills that I need to afford. That reminds me that Logan and I need to have a talk about his mother and how much he pays her per month. We have discussed having children, and if he continues to pay Alicia, I want to stress that we will not be able to afford both children and his mother.

I know that Logan will never cut his mother off, so I have some tough decisions to make. This trip has opened my eyes in many different ways. He will always put her first. It is like I am the mistress impeding on their lives. It is not just this second honeymoon that she has ruined. She ruined the engagement announcement, the wedding, our first honeymoon, our credit scores, and the ability to buy a home.

They finally jump into the water. Logan helps Alicia with getting her BCD inflated so she would not sink to the bottom of the ocean like the anchor she is. “Ready?” he asks me, and I nod. He tosses me the dive camera. “You forgot this!”

I catch it and attach it to my wrist. I press the button of the BCD to sink under the water. He and Alicia both follow me down. I make my choice to go into the reef, whether they follow or not. I need this time to recenter myself for the fight ahead. I love him, but he will never love me like I need in return. It hits me like a shark flying through the water. I want a divorce.

I glide through the water, using minimal energy to kick, so not to annoy the creatures of the reef. I take my pictures, letting the joy and wonder of the ocean fill me. I add a little bit of air to my BCD to keep me neutrally buoyant, so I neither sink nor float up.

I look around and see Alicia heading into an underwater cave. Logan is chasing after her, yet neither of them have cave diving experience or training. I flick my flippers and race to catch them before they hurt themselves. I reach the cave within half of a minute. I take a picture of the cave for prosperity sake.

I look inside and see their flashlights reflecting off the dark cavern walls. I carefully swim inside. I reach out to find the guideline, but there is none. This is not good. A guideline is used to get people out of caves in case they get lost. I am glad that I always carry my bright orange twine with me. I find a stalagmite and tie the end of the twine to it.

I go into the cave, flicking on my flashlight. I swim towards the other two lights, trying to catch up to them before they get too far out of my sight. I find them quickly and grab onto Logan’s ankle. He kicks me off of him, until he realizes it is me. He points ahead, where Alicia is still going into the cave.

We catch up to her and try to get her to turn back towards the reef. She refuses, shaking the two of us off of her. I look to Logan, who just shrugs. I hold up the twine reel, so he knows that I can find the way back out of the cave. He gives me a single curt nod and follows his mother into the cavern.

Continues 09/27/2023

[criminalamnesia]

Matchmaker (part three)

warnings: no use of Y/N, not proofread, she/her pronouns used, I have no knowledge of hunting or shooting a bow so forgive me, part three of a miniseries (part one here!)

summary: The hunt begins.

author’s note: forgive me for my lack of knowledge of shooting a bow, I tried my best lol. But enjoy!

You awoke early the next day, as you always did. You were still situated in that old, rickety wooden chair. You groaned as you stretched your arms above your head, your stiff bones clicking in protest. You wiped sleep from your eyes before standing and instantly setting to work; stripping yourself of yesterday’s clothes in favor of a fresh gown; brushing your horribly tangled hair; putting your own thoughts on the backburner of your mind as you thought of what you needed to do for Rhaenyra. 

Minutes later, you were quietly shutting the door to your chambers as you began down the hall. It was still a little dark outside as the sun just began to peek over the horizon, and you wished you could stop for one moment just to take in the sunrise- but you had no time.

You passed a handful of servants as you made your way to Rhaenyra’s rooms. It may have been early, but the servants around the keep never slept. Even when the royalty went to bed, they were up washing pots and pans, preparing breakfast, folding laundry- all duties that never ended.

You nodded at them as you passed, and they nodded in return. By the time you made it to Rhaenyra’s door, you were awake enough to wish the guard standing watch a good morning. He nodded in return as you raised a hand to knock one, twice on Rhaenyra’s door before pushing it open enough to slip into the room.

She was still in bed, unsurprisingly. It would probably have given you a heart attack if she hadn’t been. Rhaenyra had never been a morning person, and she wasn’t likely to start being one any time soon.

“Good morning, Princess,” you called to her as you neared the drapes obscuring her windows. Rhaenyra grumbled as you pulled the drapes to the side, allowing the now fully-risen sun to enter the room.

“‘Oh, good morning to you too, my lady! I’m so happy to see you,’” you teased in your best impression of Rhaenyra’s voice, earning an even louder groan from the Princess.

You rolled your eyes with love as you approached her bed, reaching down to pull the covers away from her grip. She did not fight you- she let them go willingly, although she certainly voiced her objections.

“Please, can’t I just go back to sleep?” She whined, to which you tsked. You turned away from her then, heading to her wardrobe to pull out her attire for the day. 

Today was the day you were to leave for Aegon’s name day hunt- which you guessed is why Rhaenyra seemed even more reluctant to leave her bed than usual. As you turned back to her bed, you saw that she had once again pulled up her covers, covering even her head with them. You sighed, gently laying her outfit on a nearby table before approaching her.

“Rhaenyra,” you spoke gently, with just a touch of scolding. “You must get up. We are to leave soon for the hunt. You cannot miss it, no matter how much you wish you could.”

“Do you think my father will believe you if you tell him I’ve fallen ill?” She asked, her voice slightly muffled from under the covers.

“Yes.” You replied.

“Really?” Her voice was a tad hopeful.

“No.” You deadpanned, yanking the covers from over her head. “Now get up.”

She groaned again but obeyed, slowly sliding off of her bed to stand before you. You gave her a smile and she scowled before turning her attention to the outfit you had chosen for her. 

“Leather?” She asked, looking at you with a grin. You nodded, picking the clothing up once more to show it to her. 

“I’d say a hunt is the perfect excuse to wear something more comfortable than those stiff gowns. It’s still a dress- but we cannot have everything we wish for.”

Rhaenyra laughed and began to undress. You helped her, the pair of you following a routine you knew well. Once you had finished fastening the clasp on her dress, you spun her around to take her in. She looked absolutely beautiful- she always did- but she especially shone in outfits like these. It was a shame she rarely got to wear things other than fancy ball gowns. 

“Done staring?” Rhaenyra teased, to which you rolled your eyes. 

“I’m making sure nothing is amiss. They would have my head if I allowed you out of this room with even a hair out of place.”

“And you say that I am the one who is dramatic,” she snorted, to which you giggled.

Once you had finished preparing her for the day, the two of you departed her quarters and made your way to the courtyard. It was absolutely buzzing as servants, lords, ladies, and guards moved about in various stages of hurry. Horses whinnied and neighed in impatience as they were saddled. 

“Will you be riding alongside Ser Harwin?” Rhaenyra jested, a mischievous grin on her mouth as she turned to look at you.

You shook your head. “Much to your dismay, no. I am stuck with you.”

“A pity,” Rhaenyra replied, to which you huffed.

“Princess” a voice called. “My lady.”

Speak of the damn devil and he shall appear.

Ser Harwin grinned as he approached the pair of you. You could almost feel the smug glee radiating from Rhaenyra as she nodded to the knight. “Ser Harwin,” she spoke as the man came to halt in front of you. “I did not know you would be joining us.”

“Of course, Princess. It is my honor.” He was speaking to Rhaenyra, but he was watching you. You could feel your cheeks redden under his gaze, and you wanted to punch Rhaenyra as you caught a smirk forming on her mouth out of the corners of your eyes.

“I assume you will be hunting?” Rhaenyra spoke again, and Harwin finally tore his gaze away from you. The second he looked away, you remembered to breathe. 

He nodded. “Yes, Princess. I will join your father.”

Rhaenyra nodded. “Of course. Well, I wish you good fortune with your hunt. I am sure I will see you around the camp. We both will,” she smiled as she grabbed your hand. You wanted to strangle her.

“Princess Rhaenyra, your father requests your presence in his chambers,” a servant approached the three of you. Rhaenyra nodded once more, releasing your hand as she began to move. She did not plan this, she could not have, but you still wanted to curse her as she threw you a grin over her shoulder as she departed.

You watched her go, silently hoping Harwin would slip away with the absence of the Princess. Of course, he did not. You turned back to look at him to find him already staring at you.

“I’m sorry about last night, my lady,” he began, and you were already shaking your head in protest as he continued to speak. “I should have let you rest.”

“Nonsense, Ser. You were simply checking on me. It was appreciated.”

“Was it?” He grinned, and you knew he was teasing.

“At the moment, no,” you told him honestly. “But now, yes.”

He hummed in response, his hands clasped behind his back. Then, you truly took him in for the first time that day- your eyes lingering on his hair. Part of it was pulled back into a tight bun, leaving the rest down. You wanted to tell him you preferred his hair that way, but quickly decided against it.

“I take it you will be with the ladies and the Princess during the festivities.” He stated, to which you nodded.

“Yes, and I’m sure it will be incredibly boring.” 

He chuckled, and you realized that you probably should not have said that out loud. You never complained about your duties- not to anyone. And even though you weren’t outright saying anything bad, you were complaining to Harwin, and you did not know why. You barely knew him, after all.

Right?

“Well, if you and the Princess wish to join me on the hunt, then I can sneak you away from the ladies for a few hours. Although, I’m sure the ladies will certainly miss the pair of you.”

“Mhm, yes- they will miss the pair of us whispering to each other in the corner, and Rhaenyra giving short replies to them, and me not speaking because none of them speak to me.”

“It almost sounds like you are asking me to save you from that dull experience, my lady.”

“I would not miss that dull experience for the world,” you rolled your eyes, and Harwin gave a short laugh.

“Jesting aside,” he took a step forward, leaning his head down so you could hear him as he lowered his voice. “I will gladly whisk you away. Simply say the words.”

You flushed, and Harwin grinned as he pulled back from you. He gave a small nod of his head before turning and disappearing into the busy courtyard. You inhaled for the first time in what seemed like a minute before shaking your head, clearing your thoughts, and going to help the servants in loading the carriages.

—

You should have seen this coming.

After returning from seeing her father, Rhaenyra had been in a sour mood. She had maintained that sour mood throughout the entire journey to the Godswood (being forced to play nice with Alicent did not help), as well as through the setting up of camp, visiting with the ladies for all of five seconds, and finally, very loudly (and very publicly) arguing with her father in front of an entire tent of people.

So, you really should have seen it coming when she stormed out of the tent, paying you no mind, and disappearing into the Godswood on horseback; you caught a glimpse of her as you finally made it out of the tent.

Shit.

You inhaled deeply, closing your eyes for a brief moment as you tried to compose yourself. You could not help but feel almost angry with her for abandoning you, but you could not blame her.

If you had just gotten in a fight with your father in front of a lot of people, you’d probably grab a horse and disappear, too.

But still, you were upset she had left you alone with people who did not speak to you.

A lady brushed past you as she made her way into the tent, jarring you from your small pity-party. Instead, you steeled your nerves and started subconsciously walking in the one direction you probably should not have.

“My lady?” Harwin’s voice cut over the clamor of the camp as he spotted you. He sounded a tad surprised, but in a good way. Like he wasn’t expecting you, but he was happy you were here now.

“Hello, Ser.” You spoke as you made your way to him. He was standing behind a table, working at sharpening a knife. As you got closer, he set the knife onto the table and looked at you curiously. Others milled about around you, but no one was paying the two of you any mind. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” He said.

“It seems I’ve been abandoned. The Princess has ridden off into the Godswood-” 

“What?” He questioned, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. He reached for the knife he had been sharpening and moved to shove it into his belt. “Has anyone gone after her?”

You nodded. “I think a Kingsguard did. She will be fine, she is just upset. Understandably so,” you said. Harwin relaxed slightly at your assurance.

“May I ask what happened?” He asked.

“I’m not exactly sure myself. She was speaking to the King- well, fighting with him, rather. And then she just stormed out and left. I only just saw her ride into the Godswood on a horse.”

Harwin nodded. “Are you alright?”

You furrowed your eyebrows, looking at him with a confused expression. “Am I alright?”

“That’s what I asked,” he teased. “Are you?”

“Of course,” you said. “Why would I not be?”

“Forgive me, my lady, but I was beginning to believe you and the Princess were attached at the hip. You two are rarely without the other.”

“That is my job, Ser. In case you have forgotten.” You told him, to which he shook his head with a grin.

“Oh, I have not forgotten, my lady. I look forward to knowing that I will see you when I take my watch.”

“Did you and Rhaenyra plan this?” You asked then, taking him by surprise.

“Plan what?”

“This,” you waved a hand. “Her leaving me, knowing that I would seek out the one other person who speaks to me-”

“You think too highly of me, my lady. I fear I am not clever enough to orchestrate a scheme such as this. The Princess, however—”

You gave a small laugh at how ridiculous this all sounded- asking if he had planned this. If Rhaenyra had actually conspired with him, agreeing to fight with her father so that you and Harwin would be forced together again. 

“No, of course you did not plan this. It was foolish of me to ask-”

“You could never be foolish, my lady.” He interrupted, to which you shook your head.

“You think too highly of me, Ser.”

He did not argue. He simply looked at you, something gleaming in his eyes that you could not quite place. 

After a moment, he spoke again. 

“I was just about to go and hunt some rabbits. Would you care to join me?”

“Me?” you asked, confused. “I’m afraid I do not know much about hunting.”

“I did not ask if you knew about hunting,” he gently reminded you. “I asked if you would care to join me. Forgive me for assuming, but I did not think that you cared to rejoin the dull ladies you think so highly of.”

He was teasing you, and his mouth was a crooked grin as he waited on your response.

You were nodding your head without much more thought. 

“I would love to join you, Ser.”

—

Within the hour, you and Harwin were riding through the Godswood side by side. You smiled for the first time in hours- a real, true, wide smile as the wind blew through your hair. Although people would certainly notice the Princess’s absence, no one would bat an eyelash at your disappearance. 

You savored the feeling of the wind on your face as you rode, your hands gripping the reins of your horse, your eyes glancing over at Harwin every minute. He seemed to be enjoying this, too, if the smile on his face was anything to go by.

It was late afternoon now, and the sun was still blazing as the pair of you wound your way through the trees. After a while, Harwin finally slowed his horse to a stop and you followed. He dismounted and came to your side, holding his arms up to you in assistance. You took the help without hesitation, allowing his hands to grab your waist as he helped you down from the horse. He removed his hands quickly after you were on the ground, and you found yourself missing his touch.

“That was certainly better than listening to those ladies speak about nothing,” you told him, watching as he took both the horse's reins and led them to a nearby stream. 

“I should hope so,” he chuckled. You watched as he untied a bow from the saddle bag of his horse, along with a quiver of arrows. “I promised you a hunt. Does that still interest you?” He asked as he made his way towards you.

You nodded. “Yes. I’ve always wanted to know what all the fuss is about.”

He laughed at that, holding out the bow to you. You took it hesitantly, unsure of his plans. You had not expected to actually hunt- just join him, maybe speak, maybe just sit and watch. Anything was better than standing unseen in a corner and listening to women you did not like drone on and on over insignificant matters. 

“The fuss is about eating, my lady.”

“Well, I know that-” you defended, watching as he chose an arrow from the quiver. “I meant as a sport. Some men just hunt to… hunt. For pleasure. I guess.” You shrugged. Harwin watched you amusedly.

“Some do,” he conceded, still amused. “But for many it is a necessity. Now, if you ever find yourself in need of something to eat, you’ll be able to remember this moment and hunt for yourself.”

“You’re jesting,” you rolled your eyes, gingerly taking the arrow in his outstretched palm.

“Of course not,” he told you. “I’m teaching you a valuable skill.”

“Mhm,” you hummed, not convinced. You turned your attention to the bow and arrow now in your hands, admiring the craftsmanship of both. “I do not even know where to begin with this,” you confessed, glancing up at Harwin.

He nodded. “That’s alright, my lady. That is why I am here to teach you. May I?” He asked, and although confused, you nodded. He moved to stand behind you, his hands on your body as he moved your limbs into the proper positions. You inhaled shakily as he worked, neither of you saying anything. He was so close, you could feel his breath on your ear.

“Okay,” he started, guiding your hands in his as he knocked the arrow, then raised the bow. “This is how you want to stand when you’re about to shoot. Don’t ever raise the arrow unless you are prepared to let it fly.” Harwin told you, and you nodded dumbly. All you could focus on was his proximity to you. You wanted to hate it, but you didn’t. Once again, you wanted to curse Rhaenyra for always being right. Damn her.

He moved his hands and yours, pulling the bowstring back with the arrow in place. “I’m going to help you with this one, just so you can get a feel for it. Okay?”

You nodded once more. 

“So, you’re going to aim…” he trailed off as he turned you gently towards a tree nearby- his chosen target. “And then you’re going to take a deep breath…” you inhaled deeply. “And now, you’re going to let the arrow go.” You exhaled and released the arrow, his hands still guiding yours. The pair of you watched as it flew through the air, embedding itself into the trunk of the chosen tree. You squealed with glee and turned to face him excitedly.

“Can we do it again?” You asked, and he nodded, a smile on his lips and an affectionate gleam in his eyes.

“Maybe I understand the fuss, now,” You spoke as you crouched down to retrieve another arrow from the forgotten quiver. “I quite like the bow.”

“Slow down, my lady,” Harwin chuckled, watching as you attempted to mimic his earlier movements to knock your arrow. “Patience.”

He reached for you again, his grasp on your skin slowing your movements. You obliged, your cheeks heating as he helped you position yourself once more.

“This one is all yours. Once you get the hang of this, we can start looking for some rabbits.”

“I think I will leave the rabbits to you for now, Ser. I’m content with practicing at this moment.”

“As you wish, my lady.” He stepped back, watching you intently as you raised the bow, drew back the bowstring, and aimed at another tree. You followed his teachings: aiming, inhaling, and…

You loosed the arrow, and it completely missed the tree you had been aiming at, instead hitting the one beside it. You sighed, lowering the bow in defeat as you turned to look at Harwin.

“At least you hit a tree,” he teased, and you laughed despite yourself. 

“Come, let’s try again,” he spoke, reaching down for another arrow. 

“How about you get that rabbit you promised,” you told him, holding out the bow. “I’m quite hungry.”

“Are you now?” He raised an eyebrow, and you nodded.

“In that case, as my lady pleases.” He took the bow, picked up the quiver and slung it over his shoulder, and moved past you. You stood rooted to the spot, watching as he walked away and blushing over his words.

“Are you coming, my lady?” He called over his shoulder, jolting you from your thoughts.

“Of course!” You called, jogging to catch up with him. He smiled, and you smiled back, and for once you were grateful that Rhaenyra had left you to your own devices.

—•—

tags: @janelei @missusnora @richierich009 @andyrazzledazzle

[eds4bunny]

⁺˳✧༚ secrets ˚✧₊⁎

premise: you find eddie's secret stash of candy! pairing: caregiver!eddie munson x regressed!gn!reader word count: 467 warnings: mentions of weed, that's really all !! extra: SORRY THIS IS REALLY BAD AHHH i wrote it at like 1am and rushed so i could go to sleep!!! also not proof read wahh ill fix any mistakes when i wake up !!!

you kicked your feet in your chair excitedly, smiling as you saw eddie's van pull near the trailer through the window.

he had left to go to the store real quick to grab some cupcake mix for the two of you, as you were having a pretty stressful day, and he wanted to cheer you up.

you got up, throwing open the door and yelling out an excited greeting as he shut the van door, making his way towards you with a food lion grocery bag in his ring-covered hands. "hi, you're back!!" you cheered, running towards him and giving him a huge hug.

"awh, hi honey! i missed you." eddie gave you a big smile, patting your head softly with his non-occupied hand. "up?" you gave him your best puppy dog eyes, tugging on his shirt. eddie chuckled, bending down a little bit to pick you up with one hand, as you wrapped your legs around his waist, hiding your head in his neck. he continued walking towards the trailer, setting down the bag for a second so he could open the door, he used his leg to keep the door open while he reached back down to grab the bag, quickly moving inside. "ready to make some cupcakes bunny?" eddie set you down in the kitchen, placing the bag down on the counter at the same time. you nodded excitedly, reaching into the bag and taking out the cake mix carefully reading over the instructions on the back. "so what do we need baby?" he preheated the oven, then looked back at you.

"mm, water, vegetable oil, and 3 eggs daddy!" you smiled as you watched him grab all the ingredients and a bowl. "ready?" ______________ you were cuddling with eddie on his bed, blushing as he kissed your head over and over and told you how sweet you were to him. eddie was truly the best thing that happened to you, the best caregiver you could ever ask for, you didn't know what you did for him to fall so madly in love with you.

as you guys were talking, you heard the oven timer go off. eddie knew you were tired, so he decided to let you stay in bed while he went to go get them out of the oven and into the fridge so they could cool down. "i'll be right back, bunny, stay put!" he tried to press another kiss to your cheek, giggling as you sneakily moved your head so his lips met yours. "mmm'kay! hurry back, wan' cuddle more!" you thought you sounded normal, but to eddie, he just heard a bunch of babbling which he found adorable. he smiled again, nodding before getting off the bed and wondering out of his room. ______________ eddie was taking awhile in your tiny brain, even though he'd only been actually gone for about two minutes. lazily, you rolled onto his side of the bed and sat up, rubbing your eyes for a few seconds. when you finally placed your feet off the bed, you felt a plastic bag under your foot, mostly hidden by the bed covers. originally, you got startled for a second, but giggled to yourself as you realized what it was and how you were just being silly. hopping off the bed, you pulled the covers up so they weren't covering the bag anymore, and gasped once you saw what was in the giant plastic bag. a bunch. of candy. a bunch. you thought it would be gross weed or something, but this was so so much better! grabbing the bag, you jumped back onto the bed and began munching away happily, stimming as you kicked your legs. suddenly, eddie came in and let out a playful sigh as he saw you eating a starburst. "oh well, that was supposed to be one of your secret suprises later, but i guess the cat is out of the bag, huh?"

[purplekiwis]

OMG YES! Damaged goods blurb! Can you do a fluff one where one of them is sick with seasonal flu and the other has to take care of them, but they're being stubborn about it because that's just what they do and how they are 🤧

Okay, okay... here she is! It's a bit meh I think, but I hope you like it! 🥰

*

Harry is sick and grumpy, and Y/N takes care of him (from the Damaged Goods AU)

Harry feels miserable.

He’s worse than miserable, really,

because he has a cold… or is it the flu?! He has never known to spot the differences between the two, but he recognized all of the early signs, of course...

As per usual, it started with nothing but a sore throat one morning when he woke up, that ended up lingering throughout the whole day, then came a headache, and the tiredness, and the chills…

It wasn’t so unbearable at first… but the symptoms only kept getting worse and worse as the hours went by, to the point of leaving him with no choice but to skip his classes in favor of staying in bed… suffering.

The worst part about it? He wasn’t even suffering at home – where his mom could be taking her lips to his forehead every so often to see if he had a fever, and bringing him bowls of soup and fruit cubes on that same familiar bedtray that had accompanied him throughout all his periods of sickness.

Mom would also be making sure he stayed hydrated and took his medicine in time... which by the way, he wasn’t taking any. Logically speaking, Harry knew he should have gone to a pharmacy by now, to get something to make him feel better, but how? When he couldn't even muster the will to get up and go downstairs to fill the empty water bottle perched on his nightstand.

He couldn’t move.

Every single inch of his body hurt.

And now he was starting to get shivery under his bedclothes... for fucks sake.

If only he had Pepper, his spaniel mutt puppy, around to snuggle and keep his body cozy and warm like a hot water bag... then perhaps Harry would've been in a better mood. Yeah, definitely. Pepper would've let him bury his snotty face into its soft fur, and not even think to complain if its owner left a puddle of guck all over said fur.

But well, Pepper isn't there.

And being sick sucks.

Especially because Harry really wants some cuddles... and it hasn't been helping his case whatsoever that in this trying day of illness, his mind has done nothing but think of Y/N.

Pondering over what outfit she must have worn that day and what she might be up to while he’s laying there on his deathbed. He also wonders if she has noticed his absence, and if so… if she’s worried about him.

He huffs once he checks his phone again and realizes there are still no messages from her. She doesn’t have to check on him. He knows that, but he can't help that he likes to be cared for sometimes… and as it turns out illness has a tendency to turn him into a big, needy baby... who really wants to have Y/N taking care of him. It would be so good. She could play with his hair the way he likes, give him forehead kisses, hold his hand…

Harry sighs out loud. Her company would be even better than Pepper's, he believes... although Harry isn't so sure Y/N would enjoy having his snot on her as much as his trusty pup would, but that’s beside the point.

It’s even more beside the point because he knows she's not coming to see him.

She’s mad at him, he recalls now. Stupidly so, if he's allowed to think that - he did nothing wrong, after all. She asked him for a “brutally honest opinion” on a design work she was doing for one of her classes, and he simply gave her what she asked for, plain as that. But of course, then she didn’t like what he had to say and got sulky. Just girls being girls, he guesses…

Harry should've known better than to think that would stop her from coming to see him, though. His girl was a little box of surprises, after all... a true master in the art of keeping him on his toes.

She showed up only half an hour after she was done with her classes... softly knocking on his door before poking her head inside with a smile, only for her jaw to drop in shock at the absolute misery that oozed from his pores.

“Y/N…” His voice cracked sickly, almost comically. Harry could have laughed at it if he wasn't so utterly lethargic. “What- what are you doing here?”

“Well, what do you think?” The girl huffed, shutting the bedroom door behind her and heading towards the end of the bed to get a good look at him, hands on her hips. “Why didn't you tell me you were sick? Here I was, going about my day thinking you had slept in for being a bum, only to find out through your friends that you were unwell.”

Harry bit the inside of his cheek, trying to hide his downright amusement at her worried state. Y/N was worried about him? Well then, perhaps her irritation had passed and she had forgiven him… which meant maybe he’d get to have those cuddles he wanted so bad. “I thought you were mad at me?” He poked, eyebrows arching teasingly the best they could with the little energy the muscles on his face could muster.

“Well, I was and am now even more.” She punctuated. “But I still care, obviously. How am I supposed to leave you by yourself when you look like that?” She put down the bag she was holding at the edge of the bed and kneeled next to it on the floor.

“Look like what?” He frowned again. “All snotty and gross?”

“Precisely… and an awful lot like Rudolph the reindeer as well.” Y/N added, with a soft pat to the tip of his swollen, red nose.

Harry smiled at that, right before his eyes fell on the bag over his bed. “Did you go to the store to get those creepy sheet masks you wanted?”

“Huh?” She muttured confused, before noticing where he was looking at. “Oh no, um… these are just some things I got for you. Just vitamins and those gummies for when you have a sore throat, and also uh…” Y/N's cheeks went a little hot. “I got some chicken soup from the buffet restaurant as well, you know… the one next to the drug store. I thought it might do you good…”

“You went to get all that stuff for me?” Harry asked, Y/N hummed happily in confirmation, her eyes gleaming with tenderness. “Y/N... you shouldn't have. That shit is so expensive, and I'm fine, really. It's just a cold. You dont have to worry, let alone take care of me.”

“No offence, but I think I do.” The girl challenged his statement, picking up the halfway used toilet paper roll placed on his nightstand. “For a start, you shouldn’t even be using this to blow your nose. It’ll only irritate your skin and make it more sore.”

Harry rolled his eyes playfully. “That’s such a mum thing to say…” He grumbled in attempt to mask the fact that the secret big, needy baby in him was loving every single bit of the mom talk, and the same applies to when Y/N clicked her tongue chastisingly once he stubbornly snatched the roll off her hand and pulled out some more paper.

She took the chance that he had moved his arm to move a bit closer, sitting on the edge of the bed next to his pillow. “Is there anything else I can do to make you feel better?” She asked, lovingly running her digits through his unwashed curls. They felt a little waxy and knotty in her hands, but she didn’t mind it in the slightest. She just wanted to make him feel better in any way she could. So she kept playing with his hair, scratching at the roots and combing her fingers through his strands just the way she knew he reveled in - only breaking contact once she was almost certain that he had fallen asleep on her... However, as soon as Y/N began to pull her hand away to check her phone, Harry let out a whine and bumped his forehead against her wrist, in a silent request for her to keep going. “You're such a baby sometimes…” Y/N whispered, proceeding to fulfill his wish.

“Mhm... your baby.” He sighed happily.

Y/N smiled to herself at the state of pure bliss Harry was in. So utterly distracted by the slow puffy nature of his breaths, that she almost didnt notice that his droopy eyes had opened and were now fixed on her. He cleared his throat painfully. “Y/N... can I have one of those gummies you got? My throat hurts and I really want to try one.”

Y/N let out a tiny chuckle at the pleading tone he'd used, nodding as she got up to grab the bottle from the bag. She threw it at him playfully to catch midair, knowing that his reflexes were outstanding. “Ohh these seem nice. I love lemon and honey flavored shit.” He told her whilst inspecting the label.

“Yeah?” Y/N couldn’t help but to grin, feeling quite proud of herself for picking the right flavor. But her smile quickly melted into an expression of concern once she watched Harry crack open the bottle and carelessly throw a bunch of gummies into his mouth. “Harry! What are you- that’s not candy! You can’t eat them by the handful!”

“Oi, chill out… it’s just gummies. What wrong could it do?” He asked as he blithely chewed them. Words coming out garbled since he was speaking in between a mouthful.

“Oh, I don't know, perhaps there could be anesthetics in them... but who knows? It was just a thought.” Y/N ironized.

“Really?” He made a wry face similar to hers, inspecting the label closer. “Do you think we can get high on this shit?” He smirked, still chewing as he rolled the container around to check the ingredients in the back. “Cause I'm not gonna lie, that sounds like a pretty good afternoon plan to me...” He half joked, cracking the bottle open again and dropping a couple more gummies in his palm.

Y/N heaved at the suggestion. “I think it’s more likely that you get a terrible bellyache, and we end up in the ER...”

“You really think so?” Harry asked teasingly, taking another gummy to his mouth.

“Okay, that's enough. Give me that.” Y/N demanded, pushing for him to pass the container, but all he did was shake his head with a mischievous, defiant smirk. The girl rolled her eyes at him. “You know what? Fine.” She shrugged. “Eat as many as you want. Can't wait to watch you shit the bed once those anesthetics give you a loose bottom.”

He chuckled at the warning, amused. “If you’re so bothered, why don’t you come get them from me?” He questioned, but before he could prepare himself Y/N jumped on the bed to try and take the bottle away from his hands, what forced him to abruptly sit up and hold it over his head just so she couldn’t reach it from where she sat. “That was... real cute. Is that all you got, hm?”

Y/N huffed and crawled over his legs until she was practically on his lap. Seeing right through his facade once he happily handed off the gummies without putting up a fight and wrapped his arms around her middle to pull her in for a hug instead. “You must think you're so sly, don't you?” She mumbled in question, going back to petting his hair. “If you wanted a cuddle, you could’ve just said so… I don't mind your germs.”

“I was trying to behave to avoid getting you sick, actually…”

“Yeah right...” Y/N grumbled, dropping her head on his shoulder for a moment. “But I guess, since you've already passed me the germs and all... might as well just give me a kiss, no?” She proposed shyly, waiting for Harry to make the move. He did, pulling away slightly and placing his lips in hers softly. “Mm, more.” She pouted.

“Greedy.” He joshed, pecking the girl's lips again, and again... and once more for good measure. The damage was already done, after all... they might as well just keep doing it. “I feel disgusting, though. If I knew you were coming, I would’ve at least taken a shower and brushed my teeth. Can’t believe you still want to kiss me when I am like this.”

Y/N scratched at the frizzy hairs of his nape. “I promise you don't smell or look nearly as bad as you think you do… and you taste like lemon and honey so, that’s nice.” Harry distrustfully scrunched up his nose at her allegation, sniffing up some in the process before his digits rushed to grab some more toilet paper. He took it to his nose, blowing noisily. “Alright, snotty boy…” Y/N laughed, swiftly crawling off his lap. “How about I go downstairs to plate up our soup while you pick a movie for us to watch as we eat? It can be one of those “guy movies” and all, I promise I won't complain... today only, cause I'm giving you privilege for being sick.”

His eyes strayed towards you with interest, the lower half of his face still covered behind the poorly ripped toilet paper sheets. “I was actually thinking more like a musical or a pixar movie, maybe?”

“God, Harry.” Y/N gasped in awe. “I swear I've never felt more attracted to you in my life. Snot and everything.”