#a twelve pound weighted blanket is not enough

[not-actually-a-fox]

Once again overcome with the need for someone to put their entire body weight on top of me

[secretblogofdog]

I snicker and sit down on the bed, watching you and reaching out a hand towards your small bump that seems to be steadily growing. "No painful one this time, I promise, I do like watching you squirm...but I love your moans more." I hum. "You'll be big, darling, but I know you'll be able to handle it."

I pant, feeling the growth rub against my cervix. The baby's growing from low in my womb, and every little movement by the growing fetus sends shivers up my spine. "Feels so good. It feels so good, Rosie," I pant, reaching down to my clit and rubbing feverishly. The baby won't be here for a while, but if it's not going to hurt, then why not get a few orgasms in before the party starts?

By the time my fourth orgasm passes over me, my belly has swollen up the sheets enough that I can no longer see over it. I'm still achingly horny, watching my stomach grow and hang heavy in my hips. "Jesus...jesus christ, that feels good." I'm almost immobile in bed, trapped under the growing weight of this kid. Nine? Ten? Twelve? Fifteen pounds? I can't even tell, but my g-spot is being squashed flat, and my body seems to have no shortage of dopamine. I squirm and whimper as the first contractions send waves of pleasure up my spine, cervix fluttering and beginning to open up. "So-sorry for the mess," I breathe, trying and failing to reach my clit again. I draw up my knees and lean up a bit on the bed, hoping to let gravity help a bit more. Secretly, I don't want to. I want this birth to take its time so I can experience every orgasmic second of it.

When my water breaks and soaks the sheets, I manage to toss the blankets off my belly and resist the urge to push. Please stay in there, baby. Please keep growing forever. But no, that's not what we're here for. That's not why you gave me that potion. So I have to obey my body's overwhelming urge to PUSH!

As the baby slides out of my cervix, my voice becomes an addled river of joy, pleasure, and self-evident observations. "Oh, the head, oh, it's stretching me out! Stretching my cuUUUUNT--" I push again, feeling my birth canal stretch wide to accommodate the massive head. "Not ready, baby, baby, please, pleaaaase--" My body pushes again and the head slides close enough that my labia stays open. I'm rocking hard into my stomach, hoping that the still-bulging mass is enough to keep me stimulated. "Getting--getting there, baby, stay, stay right there, you feel so goo-OOOD, oh GOD!" I cry out as the next push cements the head directly on my G-spot, trapping me in a steady stream of stimulation. I shudder violently on the bed, hands moving anywhere they can to increase the feeling--my breasts, my belly, anything, anywhere, I need more, more, MORE--

The next push puts my baby at a crown, and I come hard, whiting out as the baby slides out the rest of the way. With your help, it finds its way to my chest as I slowly return to consciousness, the infant feeding from me. "Hello, baby. I wish you could have stayed," I murmur, the bliss lasting for hours after.

[mellowwhumps]

Whumperless Whump Event Day 8: Migraine | Light & Sound Sensitivity | “I can close the curtains…”

OCs: Verrill, Nivae/Twelve

@whumperless-whump-event

——————

He’d been living with the possibility of being overwhelmed by sound for his whole life, naturally born with the talent to etch anything heard onto the crevices of his mind. Even so, rarely was it ever so bad.

His head spins. He can barely think properly: the pain bombarding his mind and pounding repeatedly at its crevices, the spots in his vision making it difficult for him to rely on his sight any longer. It’s much too bright for his liking, though a couple hours earlier he would have more than preferred going out and enjoying the afternoon sights. 

He closes his eyes, covers his ears and waits for it all to be over. 

Preferably sooner than later.

Abruptly, the lights in his house turn off. It almost never occurred to him that there was someone else in his house, only recently having invited the almost-ghost present as a guest in his living room. He opens his eyes to check and immediately shuts them, still too bright for his liking. 

Nivae, observant as always, notices his reaction. “Not enough? I can close the curtains…” They breach the length of the room before Verrill gets the strength to object, sliding the curtains together and blanketing the room in darkness.

“Y…you won’t be able to see without light.” Verrill finally keeps his eyes open, heaving a too-big sigh of relief. Even his own voice makes his head throb like it’s going to break open. He’s thankful Nivae’s voice isn’t too jarring or loud, something peaceful amidst the chaos rampaging his senses.

“Used to it, remember?” Nivae tilts his head, nearly unnoticeable with the lack of any source of illumination. Right. He’d forgotten where they came from, not that he wanted to remember. It’s already past that, anyways. He should be the one taking care of them, not the other way round. They shouldn’t need to care so much about him.

“Does it still hurt?” They ask once more, waiting by his side like something much too eager to help.

“Mmmhm.”

The other begins playing with a strand of hair, clearly a nervous habit. Verrill hastily fixes his sentence, realising his mistake, “I mean! Pain’s better now. You’re helping, no need to worry at all. It’s been a whole morning, it should be over soon…”

“Oh. Okay.” They settle down by his side, leaning against him. The weight by his shoulder is something easier to focus on than anything in his vision, and slowly, he drifts into dreamless sleep, his breaths acting as a guide. In, out and over.

[orboros]

Blood on Snow

The blisters on your feet stung as you climbed even higher. But this was no place for weakness or rest. So you pushed yourself forward, right leg, then left arm. The ice pick embedded itself hard and fast into the frozen wall. Your muscles ached, but it was too late now; you didn't look down. The climb up the wall was a familiar one by now, and you were not foolish enough to risk falling just to look at the ever-expanding world below. The wind was harsh and sharp; it eluded your lungs with every breath. Still, you secured your pick and climbed another step higher. The cold, the aches, the blisters—it would all be worth it in the end. Raiding the villages south of the wall was easy. The Southerners, though they may call themselves northerners, were weak.

Their lives were too easy; no frost to take their babies, nor beasts to take their lives. They lived sweet lives, lives that could easily be taken. The only thing to worry about were the crows; the majority weren't particularly skilled, but their steel weapons and armour made them a pain in the arse to kill. But that didn't stop you before. A soft yell pierced your ears.

Your leader, Gurnard's gruff voice, could only be faintly heard against the incessant wailing of the wind. Your dry eyes turned upward; he was at the top. The tired muscles attached to your bones were filled with new life. You pushed yourself forward with a swing; further and further, higher and higher, you went. Your feet stung, and your calves ached, but the end was near. You stole the winter air and plunged it into your lungs with each breath. The edge of the wall came alive with sweat and blood as you dug your gloved fingers into the ice. Gurnard pulled you up onto the top of the wall by your armpits, like a babe reborn from ice and snow. You slid onto the top of the wall. The pounding of your heart didn't cease. You had done it yet again; you had climbed the wall.

"Hog! Get back here; we need to pull up Ygla and Vigyn."

The fibres in your forearms pushed your torso up and off the snow-capped wall. You stood up to your feet, tall and strong, and reached to take hold of the woven rope. The weight of your body leaned back as you pulled Ygla upward. This was only her second raid, while this would be your seventh. The grunts of Gurnard reminded you that this was his thirteenth raid. His stocky arms, along with your own pulled-up Ygla, despite his experience in raiding, frostbitten sweat dripped from the brown spurts of hair that came out of his hood. With all your force, Ygla was brought onto the top of the wall. She panted like a dog as your gloved hands grabbed her by the arms and slid her out of the way.

Despite how tired you were, how much your muscles ached, and how your skin blistered, you took the rope back into your calloused hands. Vigyn was easier to pull up than Ygla; the twelve-year-old was light and quick with his climbing.

When he was safely brought onto the top of the wall, you were finally allowed to sit. The four of you panted and sweated like dogs as you watched the others in your raiding group climb to the top. Eight groups of four had started the journey together. Only two groups had all their members. Luckily for Ygla and Vigyn, they were placed with very experienced raiders. You and Gurnard.

Now came the hard part: the crows. If all went to plan, you wouldn't see much of the kneelers in black. The sun was beginning to rest, just as planned; everyone would climb down under the thick blanket of night. Then the pillaging would begin.

Pink streaks soon ran through the grey sky. The other raiders soon gathered around the four of you as Gurnard began to speak

"We have to secure the hooks while there is still light; once darkness falls, we climb down the wall. Then we take those southerners for all they have!" His guttural voice bellowed out as a grin spread across his wrinkled face.

Soon, the twenty-one of you who survived the climb secured the hooks. Now you've waited for nightfall. You rested against the snow-covered wall behind you. It was a short little thing to stop the crows from falling off the edge. As much as you wanted to rest fully, you couldn't; you were in the south now, and death lingered around every corner for people like you.

Ygla's fur-covered body slumped against yours. Immediately, you push her off of you with a ram of your shoulder. The fourteen-year-old wined, but moved over none the less. Vigyn sat across from you, picking at the seams of his gloves. He let out a small cry as you kicked him in the shin.

"What is it?" You asked. You didn't particularly care, but none of you had any room for weakness or fear. Not when raiding.

Vigyn's blue eyes looked at yours as he cradled his shin. He looked first to the left, then to the right.

"Where are the crows?" His words made everyone's eyes snap towards the boy.

"They have been dwindling by the day; not even the Nightfort holds any men now," Gurnard said.

"Just think of it; soon the crows will be nothing but ash and bone." A grin spreads across your face at the thought.

{Haelena pov}

The familiar haze came as she stuck her needle into the embroidered fabric. This one was strong; she could feel it. She had, on some level, always seen beyond what others could. It came out of her in spurts, in words and rhymes, but from time to time her eyes would lose focus, and she could see it, not in passing glimpses but fully. Her eyelids fluttered as smoke came into view. Ice and snow

Nothing but ice and snow, There was no fire to light the way. It was too weak to survive the frost. The visions cleared, and as always, Haelena found herself muttering something. The words took a moment to find her ears, but when they did, she heard this.

 

"The blaze below cannot survive the coming snow."

[jaxxandcomet]

the only thing I don't want to burn - JJ Maybank x reader

in which a boy tells a girl that he is real and the things that haunt her, no matter how realistic, aren't.

word count : 2600

trigger warnings : blood, paranoia, self harm, burning ( as a form of self harm ), schizophrenia, love haha, swearing

requested : no but they are open!

this one's rough buttercups, but I love angst and this was a good thing to get out emotions on !

gif credit : @outerbankspov

You were never alone. You stood in lines in the school cafeteria and tried to ignore the voices circling around outside, both the real ones and the ones made up by your mind. You laid on the HMS Pogue and soaked up the sunlight and tried to shake the feeling of someone choking you or of someone plugging your ears.

Pill 1

This pill was light blue, but it reminded you nothing of the sky. You held it in your fingers, trying to hold enough water in your mouth so you could swallow it. You’d read the orange bottle it came in, the bottle that your doctor had prescribed, and told yourself it would work. That it had to work. But the people standing around you told you it wouldn’t. Just like how they told you to kill yourself or cut yourself or how they took your thoughts away from you.

You swallowed it and blinked at yourself in the mirror. You hadn’t taken a shower in days - the last time you did spiders crawled up from the drains and screamed in your ears. You looked down at your arms and still saw the scratches you’d given yourself to get the spiders off of you - even though they were made up by your mind.

The figures behind you that you’d come to know well stared you down, still chirping. You could see their reflections in the mirror, tainted.

“Come on y/n.” The boy with the red hair told you. “This isn’t going to work. I will be with you forever. We love each other, don’t we?”

“Y/n, why would you ever think that you could get rid of us? We love you more then JJ or the Pogues ever could. Listen to us. We do everything for you!” The girl said. The Haunter’s always told you lies, and you always believed them.

You sat on the floor for the amount of time it said it would take the pill to kick in. You waited for their voices to go away, for their darkness to stop tainting your eyes, but they never did.

You got up and left your bathroom, the Haunter’s following you down the hallway to your bedroom. Your parents were gone, and your middle-class home was silent. It seemed to you as though they were always gone. It was only the Haunter’s that were ever really with you.

You didn’t turn on the light when you walked inside and shut the door to your room, and you prayed it would stop the Haunter’s from turning your vision. Of course, their whispers could never be silenced. You crawled into bed and screamed when you felt a warm lump at the end of it.

“Fuck, y/n! It’s just me! I’m not going to hurt you!” A voice told you, and for a second you believed it was one of the Haunter’s still trying to configure your mind. They would always be trying, you reminded yourself. At least at this rate.

“God dammit JJ, you scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry, sorry.” You felt a hand on your foot, so warm that you were sure you were making it up. It was gone a second later. “You are freezing! Get under the blankets before you go hypothematic.”

“Before I get hypothermia, you mean.” You corrected, trying to focus on the texture of the blankets as you crawled under them. You felt JJ lay down a second later, right next to you, a mess of blankets separating your skin.

“Thematic, thermia. Potato, tomato. Same thing.” JJ said and you could smell weed and salt on his skin. The last thing you remembered smelling was your own blood.

You tried to laugh but only hollowness sounded.

“Are you okay? You seem weird.”

“Wow. Thanks. I’m a weird person.” The word almost choked you. You felt your mouth dry. You were weird. That’s why you could never tell him. He would leave, and hate you, and that would feel worse then waterever the Haunter’s said about him now.

“I didn’t mean it like that, you just seem not yourself.” He spoke quietly, and you closed your eyes and focused on keeping your hands on your stomach so as they wouldn’t try to plug your ears. The Haunter’s were shouting at each other at the foot of your bed.

You took a deep breath. “I’m fine, JJ, just tired. I’m going to try and sleep. You can stay if you want.”

After the words slipped out of your throat, an encore of anger blasted from your feet. The Haunter’s screamed at you.

“No! What are you thinking! We are here, you do not need him. He is nothing compared to us. You love us and you know that he will never love you.” They told you. You tried your hardest not to believe them.

“You need your sleep. I’ll see you soon, Y/n. Goodnight.” He crawled over you and left via your window, which you quickly closed, preparing yourself for what the Haunter’s would tell you next.

They weren’t telling you, they were shrieking at you. “You love us! How could you ever replace us with him! You need to hurt yourself! What in the world were you thinking!”

You tried not to believe them. But this was the slipping point, and open air was soon under your feet. You got up, and walked to the living room, where you grabbed the lighter from above the fire. You sat back down at the edge of the bed, and lit the flame apon your wrists.

Pill 2

This pill was orange, and it felt heavy in your fingertips. The Chateau bathroom stood around you, and you popped the pill in your mouth before replacing your hands to where they lay on the bowl of the sink. You’d become an expert in the past four months of swallowing pills without water, and since you’d tried several other types of pills, you’d also become very good at reading the orange bottles. This pill had the strongest dosage, and was the one of the market that seemed to work best for severe cases of your ‘condition’. At least that was how your doctor put it, when she handed you the bottle with a smile.

It didn’t seem like just a condition to you or the Haunter’s, but they’d been ghosts for the past day, and on days where they went half-away, you tried to make the most of it.

You walked out of the bathroom and sat down on the porch with the rest of Pogues. Pope, who sat next to you on the couch, was drawing a route on a map for a day trip they were planning. Kiara offered you a beer and you shook your head.

“Come on, dude! I haven’t seen you drink anything in like four fucking months. Loosen up a little bit.” She said, taking a swig of her own beer.

“Don’t fucking pressure her like that Ki!” JJ said from his spot on the side of the railing.

“Says you!” John B shook his head as JJ pretended to punch him. Sarah, who was sitting next to JB, turned and ran her eyes over you.

“Are you okay, y/n?” She asked lightly, laying a hand on your jean covered leg. JJ turned his head quickly and nodded.

“I was just about to ask the same thing,” his eyes glazed over your body. You’d lost weight and replaced tighter clothes with baggier ones. His face paused when looking at your own, noticing the bags under your eyes.

“I didn’t sleep well last night. I hope I’m not too much of an eye soar.” Pope laughed at your remark.

“You will never be,” JJ looked away, holding up his blunt to his mouth.

You sat next to Pope and tried to look away from the Haunter’s, who were slowly getting louder in your ears and darker to your eyes. Before you knew, they were laughing and calling you names and pretending to shoot you with their guns and you couldn’t take it. You got up slowly and fumbled down the steps, a head rush pounding into your skull.

“Y/n? Y/n?” JJ got up quickly and ran down the steps behind you, seeing you drag yourself to the street so as you could walk home.

You turned around slowly and smiled lightly, trying to put away the Haunter’s remarks for you to shoot yourself. You gripped your sleeve tighter, praying he didn’t see the burn marks on your arms. They never healed for more than twelve hours.

“What’s up? I can walk you home if you want to go. You don’t look okay.” You could hear the worry laced into his voice.

“I’m good, JJ. Just got a little headache and want to go home and try to sleep. I’ll see you soon, okay. Don’t worry about me.” Before he could respond, you walked away and down the street.

Pill 3

This pill was red. It stuck to your tongue when you swallowed it, and you felt as though it may never hit your stomach. None of the pills ever helped. Some made the Haunter’s worse. None of them made them fade.

The sun beat down on your skin, and you pulled your long sleeve down over the scars on your wrists, and now arms. You could feel the sway of the HMS hunderneth you and the wind muffled the Haunter’s whispers, at least for a few minutes.

You didn’t pay attention to the conversation the rest of the Pogues were having, and focused only on how good the flame would feel when you got home. The Haunter’s were right that warmth helped.

That night, you sat on your downstairs porch huddled around the outside fireplace, surrounded by the Haunter’s. Their voices rang into your skull, and the only thing you could do to distract your mind from them was to pull up your sleeve and hold it over the open flame. Whenever you pulled your arm out of the glow, they would shout at you to put it back in. So you complied. It was the only thing that made them happy.

Your eyes lost themselves inside of the orange fluorescence, and you didn’t hear the twigs snap next to you or the gasp that sounded. The only thing you could feel was when someone pushed your chair backwards and you landed on the concrete.

“Shit! Oh my god. What in the fucking world were you doing,Y/n!” It took you a second to place JJ’s voice in your mind, and you tried to pull down your sleeve, but it was too late. You felt him pull you upright and drag the chair away from the fire pit.

“Your arm was on fire. It’s burned! Why were you holding your hand in the fucking fire!” With each word he said, your breathing quickened. This was normally the part you hated the most. The withdrawal from the flame. The Haunter’s shrieked in your ears and you could see them dancing in the light in front of you.

You peered down at your arm and screamed, and before you could do anything JJ had picked you up and pulled you through the French door’s of your house and onto your couch. You pushed yourself away from him, holding your hands up in front of your eyes, peering at them as though they weren’t your own.

“Y/n! I need to know what you were doing! I need to know if you are okay! Why aren’t you looking at me? Nothing’s over there. Stop! I need you to answer me!”

“JJ?” You asked faintly and glanced over at him for a second. A tear slipped down his cheek, and you could tell he wanted to touch you, but didn’t want to hurt you. “I need you to leave.” Your voice was quiet. You still could protect yourself. JJ didn’t have to know about the Haunter’s.

“I’m not going to leave you, Y/n. You were hurting yourself, and I need to know why. I need to know if this is related to why you’ve been acting weird. I need to know if you are okay.” He was sure in his tone and you understood that you wouldn’t be able to get yourself out of this. He’d seen your arm in the flame.

The Haunter’s had followed you both into the house and were trying to coax you back out of to the flame. Your eyes flickered between them and JJ, and they were all getting louder. You couldn’t hear your own breathing.

“SHUT UP! FUCKING PLEASE SHUT UP!” You screeched and your arms and legs shook. “Please. I don’t want to go out there again. I don’t want to hurt myself. Please stop trying to make me. Please. Please.” The tears glided down your cheeks as you shut your eyes. You trembled and kept repeating the word to yourself. “Please. Please. Please. I don’t want to hurt myself.”

When you stopped, the Haunter’s had quieted themselves and JJ was there and watching you.

“Y/n?” JJ took you in softly. “Please tell me what just happened.”

Still shaking hard, and glancing around to make sure the Haunter’s didn’t return, you opened your mouth. “I’m so sorry JJ. I can’t. I can’t.”

“I need to know why you were hurting yourself and what just happened. I want you to be okay, Y/n. I might be able to help.”

You let out a breath, quivering. “I see things, and I hear things. And they tell me bad things. They tell me to hurt myself, and to kill myself. They never leave me alone. They want me to die. They make me believe I want to die. The doctor calls it schizophrenia. I call it my own death sentence.” Your words slipped from your throat. JJ didn’t pull away, instead, he lay a hand on your thigh and ran a finger through your hair.

“Are they talking right now?” He whispered, and you nodded, tears creating a damp spot on your shirt. He nodded back, and held your fingertips against his own. “I need you to listen to only my voice, y/n. Focus on my voice. I know it's hard, but you have to.

“I’m so thankful you told me. I was so worried about you. I still am. But I can try to help you now. You aren’t alone anymore. You will always be importa-” JJ’s voice faded and you looked over away from his eyes at the Haunter’s, who were starting to reappear.

“I’m right here, Y/n. Look at me, I’m right here.” He touched the sides of your face and positioned your eyes so they stared into his own.

“You will always be important to me. I’m willing to fight with you. I love you so much, and you can’t let them tell you differently.”

“I don’t even know if you are real, JJ. I can’t tell anymore. I want to believe you, I promise. But it’s really hard.”

JJ lead your hands to his sides, where his hips met his body, and then to his stomach and abs, and to his shoulders, and around to the sides of his face. “I”m real. I’m right here, and I’m real. I know it's hard to believe me. I understand. But for me, you need to. I can’t lose the only thing that I don’t want to burn. I’m real. And I’m here for you.”

[lightsovermonaco]

Golden Hour (Piarles)

Masterlist

This is based on an amazing piece of art by @ffragmentals in honor of their birthday. Happy birthday, friend! Beta read by @acollectionofficsandshit​​ as per usual 🥰

Word Count: 1.1K

Song: “Euphoria” by Elephant Castle

Fuzzy mornings are Charles's favorites. Ones where neither he nor Pierre has anywhere to be anytime soon and Charles can simply admire how the sunrise claims Pierre as her muse, painting his skin in dappled golds and oranges.

Pierre's eye cracks open, spurred awake by Charles's fingers in his mussed hair. "Lemme sleep."

"You've slept for twelve hours." Charles snuggles closer, running his socked foot over Pierre’s shin. "Pay attention to me."

"Wanna sleep." Pierre pulls the blanket over his head, robbing Charles the opportunity to continue admiring the sun's masterpiece. 

Pierre won't wake up until he's ready; Charles learned that long ago. So he kisses the vague shape of Pierre's head, just visible beneath the thick covers, then slips from the room on silent feet.

Charles loves the off-season, because he gets to pretend he and Pierre are an average, everyday couple instead of international racing stars. No cameras following them around as they lounge on the couch watching reruns or fans begging for photos when they go out for drinks. At home in Monaco, their neighbors have already gotten the awe out of their systems. Pierre and Charles are generally left to their own devices, free to wander the streets with ease.

The fancy coffee machine on Pierre's counter still intimidates Charles, but the faint pounding of his head begs for a cup of caffeine. He pulls out the dust-covered manual, discarded in the top right kitchen drawer where all instructions go to die in Pierre's apartment and follows the steps to mute the machine. Only once he's positive it won't beep loud enough to wake the entire building does Charles brew himself a cup of liquid gold.

He takes his steaming mug to the tiny balcony, opening the sliding glass door to allow the crisp morning air to wash over him. He stretches out on the cushioned lounger, enjoying the warmth on his bare torso. 

The city wakes beneath him. People call out to each other in French, offering wishes of good mornings and apologies for bumping shoulders. Baked apple and cherry waft up from the bakery down the block, making Charles's stomach rumble. Tires glide along streets of concrete and cobbles, commuters on their way to their nine-to-fives.

Charles tips his head back to let the sun touch as much of him as possible. Like a housecat, Charles is nearly asleep thanks to its heat when the lounge jostles beneath him and a soft weight settles against his chest.

"Well good morning, sleepy," Charles murmurs, automatically curling his free arm around Pierre's chest. 

Pierre's brows draw together and Charles predicts his request before the word tumbles from Pierre's pouted lips, "coffee."

"Mmm, no can do. Machine is broken." Pierre's head falls against Charles's chest and he glares at him, the effect entirely canceled out by the upside down orientation of his face. Pierre was a bit of a bear before his morning ritual, and Charles might enjoy teasing him about it a bit too much.

"S'not."

"Is to."

“No!”

“Honest truth.”

"Then gimme yours."

Pierre makes a grab for it, quick as lightning despite his hazy demeanor. Charles successfully evades the wild grab without spilling a single drop of the precious, perfectly crafted liquid, bringing it to his lips for another taunting sip.

"Charles, please," Pierre whines. Charles half expects Pierre to stamp his foot like a petulant child, and cute as it would be, Charles doesn't want to deal with a crabby boyfriend all day. He gives in with a sigh.

"Okay, I'll make you a cup." Charles steals an awkward kiss, noses hitting chins thanks to Pierre's position.

While the second cup brews, Charles swipes a strawberry lollipop from Pierre's secret stash. It's not all that secret, no matter what Pierre insists; if he wanted to keep Charles from raiding his stockpile, he really should hide it in something that didn't look exactly like a cow-shaped cookie jar.

Pierre is curled in Charles's spot when he brings back his coffee, topped perfectly with a heart in the foam. "Quit stealing my lollipops," Pierre grumbles, hands stretched out for the mug.

"I’m the one that buys them anyway. And I only eat the ones you don't like." 

Pierre tugs on the stick hanging from Charles's mouth and he opens, lest Pierre knock his teeth out. His tongue darts over the candy, Charles tracking the movement. "Liar. Strawberry is the best."

His gaze is still locked on Pierre’s mouth, thoughts quickly turning sinful. "Maybe I just want to taste good so you'll make out with me. Ever think of that?"

Pierre grimaces and Charles laughs. "You're way too cheesy in the mornings."

"Only on the mornings I wake up next to you." Charles sits cross legged on the edge of the lounge, Pierre bending his knees to his chest to make room. The two sip their coffee in amiable silence, one wholly awake and the other just minutes removed from slumber.

Charles rests against Pierre's shins, reaching an arm back to stroke whatever skin he can find. His fingers connect with Pierre's stubbled jaw. Charles taps out a random rhythm, grinning when Pierre huffs.

"Quit."

"Wake up, Pear. It's our first proper day of winter break and I know you don't want to spend the whole time inside."

Pierre grumbles. Charles smiles. Eyes roll. Hearts melt.

Charles turns over on his tummy to wrap his arms around Pierre's calves and rest his chin on his knees. "Do you like your coffee?"

Pierre groans, squeezing his eyes shut. Charles bites his lip, fighting back a laugh. "I love you but merde, you're killing me, Char."

"All I heard was you love me. I chose to ignore the rest.”

Later, Pierre leans in the balcony door frame as Charles finishes up the dishes. They had wound up spending all day cooped up in the apartment, trading lazy kisses and lingering touches. Charles didn’t mind when Pierre dozed off with his head on his thigh, or when he woke up and immediately demanded dinner.

And now, Charles wishes he might send the sun a thank you card for the way it once more renders Pierre a living work of art. Netflix still drones on, the soundtrack to a perfect day.

Charles winds his arms around Pierre's torso and rests his chin on his shoulder. "Tomorrow we go out."

Pierre's head rests on his own. "We'll see."

Either way, Charles will fall more in love with Pierre, like he intended to do every morning for the rest of his life.

[frankcastleissoft]

Lover

Frank Castle x reader

Word Count: 4,431

Warnings: angst, attempted rape, conflict/tension, and fluff (( but that’s not a bad thing :) ))

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This new life with Frank was very simple. Not much else to be said about it. You both went to work and came home. Day after day, week after week. Simple.

It had been almost five months since Frank had finished off the last of the people responsible for his late family’s death. You could tell it still hurt though. It stung deep in his core. Like there was a ton of bricks inside of his chest, weighing him down. It hurt you too, to see him like that. Work for him was just a way to let out everything he was holding deep inside of him. He worked at a construction site, tearing down an old building. Sometimes he didn’t come home till dark and that scared you.

You worked at a catering company. You would go to the companies and help cook and keep the food refreshed. Cooking was something you really loved to do, so when you were able to get this job it really helped the situation.

The situation:

Frank was dead. And technically you were too. Not really anyone knew about you, but you had to be dead too. Now you both were living in a small, one room apartment.

You would come home around 5:00pm every day. Frank never beat you home. The last five months had been rough to say the least. Your marriage felt like it was hanging by a thread. You hardly talked and there was always this tension between you two. Some days you wouldn’t see Frank at all. He would come home after you were asleep, take a quick shower, find the plate of dinner in the fridge, then go to bed. You always made him dinner. Without fail. Frank loved your cooking. He was always starving when he got home.

And by the time you woke up in the morning, he’d be gone. It gave you this ache in your heart when you woke up and he wasn’t beside you in the bed that was much too small for the two of you.

So you would get ready for the day, then head out the door for work. It was always the same. Unless on the rare occasion, Frank would be dead asleep next to you, breathing heavily. He slept so hard sometimes it made you worry about how intensely he worked.

Work was long today. It felt like everything was ten times harder than it usually was, so you were looking forward to getting off your feet and sipping some tea, while reading a book. The little things meant the most living like this. The air was cool as you walked along the busy, Brooklyn streets toward home. You pulled your coat collar up against your neck, attempting to warm yourself.

After a few flights of stairs, you pulled your keys out of your bag and unlocked the door. You set your things on the table in the middle of the room and put your coat in the wardrobe that was just small enough to fit in the room. You looked around the apartment. The bed was facing you, across from the door and the wardrobe. In the middle a table sat there with two chairs on each side. To the left was a door that led to the smallest bathroom in history. Then a doorway beside the bathroom led to the narrow kitchen. The cabinet space was limited and there was a small oven and only a little bit of counter space. The Fridge seemed to take up the most room. It wasn’t much, but you did your best to make it feel like a home. Flowers on the table— they were dried up and dead now. A rug in the kitchen, a knitted quilt on the bed, and a few books on the nightstands.

You made your tea, then made dinner soon after. Just like always, saving a plate for Frank. You had finished dinner, avoiding the mess, now sitting at the table, reading and indulging in another cup of tea to help you sleep well tonight. Then you heard a key slide into the lock and the door opened. Frank’s heavy boots stepped in, the weight of his feet sounded like he had had a long day too. He placed his metal lunch box on the table, and sat down to take off his shoes.

“Hey,” his deep voice whispered.

“Hey,” you said just as quietly.

He put his shoes by the door, then went to the bathroom to wash his hands. You watched him from where you sat. His dark hair was getting longer and his beard made him look so different. You didn’t mind it though. Your eyes traveled down to his hands. They were so calloused with so many welts and blistered. More proof he worked so hard.

“I wish you wouldn’t work so hard,” you said without even thinking about it.

Frank turned off the water and patted his hands dry. You knew he had heard you, but he pretended not to.

“I’ll heat up your dinner,” you said, setting down your book and heading for the fridge, avoiding eye contact.

As his plate made its way around the microwave, you stared at it intensely, lost in a jungle of thoughts.

You and Frank had met during his massacre in Hell’s Kitchen. One night (or early morning) you were walking home from your dead-end job at a crappy diner, when a strange man came up behind you, sticking a gun against your side. He casually told you under his breath to stay quiet or you were dead. You felt fear spread through your entire body, not one finger left without terror. You continued to walk, the panic making it hard to put one foot in front of the other. But the man helped you out by shoving you along.

“Wha-What do you want?” you managed to crack out.

“I haven’t quite decided yet,” his voice sounded evil and cold.

Your stomach fell through, your heart pounded even harder. You had hoped he had just wanted your wallet, but now it seemed he wanted more from you.

“Come here,” he growled, shoving you into an alley, no one around to possibly help you.

You let out a cry as he shoved you against the wall, your head felt like it could have split against the brick. You sobbed out little pleases and cries.

“Shut up!” the man yelled in your face.

You finally saw what he looked like and you almost wished you hadn’t. He began to pull off your coat with one hand, the other holding the gun at your stomach. You felt paralyzed. You wanted to fight back, to never let this man take this from you, but you just couldn’t. Once your coat was off, he started on your shirt, a white button down, your diner uniform.

“Oh, hello, Y/N,” he sneered, noticing your name tag. “It’s nice to meet you.” His voice echo through your head. You knew it would haunt you if you made it out of this alive.

At that moment, you heard heavy feet scuffing against the sidewalk outside of the alley.

“Please,” you said a little louder, hoping the person would hear you.

“Shut up!” the man yelled again, shoving the barrel of the gun into your stomach harder. And just then, a large man shoved into the man who had half unbuttoned your shirt, knocking him to the ground. You cried harder, relief washing over you. The big man got the gun from the criminal and began beating him with it. Repeatedly and with so much force, you couldn’t help but stare. When his head was much too beat in to be alive, the big man stood up, looking down at his work. You just stood, melting into the brick wall. Both of your breath was rapid and heavy.

“You okay, ma’am?” the big man’s raspy voice echoed in the alley.

You just nodded quickly, almost scared of your hero too. He turned to look at you, his face splattered with blood. This was all too much. You were just coming home from work, looking forward to sleeping for twelve hours. But there was something in his eyes. They were dark, but full of something you couldn’t quite place. Your mind began to fog up and you felt yourself lose control. Then your legs gave out and you began to lose consciousness. You felt strong hands catch you around your waist, then you were out.

It was dark and quiet except for the faint sounds of cars and sirens. You were laying down and staring up at the darkness, a small light illuminated the space around you. When you were fully awake, you shot up, looking around. For a second you thought you had been taken somewhere, kidnapped, but when you saw the man who had saved you, your fear subsided some; but still wary of your safety.

“Hey,” his voice just as gravelly as in the alley. “You’re safe.” He added, noticing your nervous eyes.

“Where are we?” you asked, looking around.

“An old building,” he replied. “You’re safe here.” He assured again.

You took in your surroundings again, lost in your fuzzy brain. Then something struck you, and you looked back at the man sitting on the floor. His face was stained with bruises. Dark ones around his eyes and lighter ones on his cheeks.

“Wait…” you spoke softly. “You’re Frank Castle. You’re The-The Punisher.”

“That’s what they’re calling me.” he said, almost pissed off at the mention of it.

You felt a bit of fear stir up inside of you again, but it quickly settled. He saved you.

“Why did you save me?” you asked.

“I wasn’t going to just keep walking when I heard you were in trouble.” his gruff voice replied.

You gave a slight smile, thinking.

“You’re not like what the news makes you out to be.” you started. “I mean, what you did to that man was pretty… intense, but you saved me. They make it seem like you’ll just kill anyone.”

“I only take out the ones that deserve it.” he said matter of factly.

You grimaced a little at that; you didn’t know how you felt about his morals. But you watched him from where you laid. There was something about him that was comforting. Maybe it was the fact that he had just saved you from something that would have stuck with you forever, or maybe it was that he seemed like he genuinely cared about your well being.

“Where’s my coat?” you sat up, feeling a little frantic. It was something that felt so important in the moment that it made you anxious.

“Oh, I- I didn’t get it. I didn’t see it,” Frank said, noticing your frazzled state.

“It’s okay,” you sighed. It was just a coat.

“Can I go home?” you asked, slightly pulling the blanket off of you.

“Yeah,” he stood up, a grunt of pain leaving his lips. “I’ll walk you back.”

At first you were going to decline for some reason, but then you realized that was the stupidest thing you could do. You stood up slowly, your head still fuzzy from the passing out.

“Here. You can use this.” Frank laid a big coat over your shoulders.

“Oh- thank you.” you said, caught off guard. You slipped your arms in the sleeves that were too long for your hands to poke through.

“Yeah,” he said under his breath.

As you walked home there was silence between you. You wanted to talk to him though. This all felt so surreal.

Then a loud noise, probably a motorcycle backfiring, came out of nowhere. You were still shaken up by what had happened maybe an hour before, so this sent fear through your body. You let out a fearful cry and grabbed onto Frank walking beside you.

“Hey, it’s okay.” He said calmly. “It’s nothing.” He held your wrists, taking your hands off of his arm.

“I’m sorry,” you let out a nervous laugh. “I’m so on edge. This isn’t my average night.”

Frank gave you a smile. His smiles were magic, his eyes smiled too.

“This isn’t too unusual for me,” he snickered. “Except for you.”

That made you smile a little wider. There was something about him. Had you known him for twenty seconds, or twenty years?

“Well, this is it.” You said, taking a step up to your apartment building, now more level with Frank’s eyes.

He stood there, stocky frame, both hands in his pockets.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asked, a slight smile on his lips.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you said quietly, almost blushing at the care in his voice. “Do you want your coat back?” You began pulling your arms out of the sleeves.

“No- you keep it,” he put a hand out in front of you in rejection. “I lost yours, so.”

You smiled again, putting your arms back in all the way. It was quiet for a little while, just standing in front of each other. The city was mild tonight- well, this morning. It had to be 3am by now.

“Thank you.. Frank.” You said his name, really felt the word, nervous what he would think that you used it. Names are weird to say sometimes… when you don’t know the person very well.

He didn’t respond right away, maybe you were overthinking and it hadn’t really been that long.

“—For the coat.” You giggled, holding the front of the coat with one hand like a model.

Frank snickered, shaking his head. “No problem.” He grinned.

The joke hung in the air for a while as an excuse to not leave each other. But then it left and you both stood there in the silence again.

“Good night… uh.” Frank said.

“Y/N,” you replied.

Frank had seen your name tag, but he didn’t want to sound creepy by knowing your name.

“Y/N.” He said back.

The way his voice carried your name gave you this feeling deep in your stomach.

“Good night.” You replied.

He took a step back and you took another step up.

“Be safe.” He said quickly, then turned away, walking back to where you both came from.

The next night, you were walking home from work again. This time with your pepper spray in hand. As you walked, you felt like someone was following you. You became very aware and walked a little quicker. Then you slightly turned your head and caught a glance of the person. You stopped in your tracks. That frame you knew anywhere.

“Are you trying to get pepper sprayed in the face?” You chuckled.

“Not what I was wanting to happen, but worth it just to know you’re taking safety precautions.” You heard a gruff voice say behind you.

You let yourself laugh out loud, turning around to see Frank in a baseball cap and coat. He was grinning from ear to ear too.

It continued like that. He would walk you home every night. “Just for his peace of mind” he would tell you. That made the butterflies in your stomach fly higher. Those butterflies wouldn’t calm down. Even when you were just at home or at work. Frank was all you could think about.

One night you were at the diner, pulling another graveyard shift. You were in the back filling up the salt and pepper shakers. It had been a slow night. The bell sounded, telling you someone had come in.

“One second!” You called, screwing the top back on a salt shaker. Then you went to the front and saw Frank. You both gave each other bright smiles.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, coming out from behind the counter.

“Had the night off, thought I’d pop by.” He shrugged.

“Oh, okay,” you replied, shrugging too, joking like this was a normal thing he did. “Coffee?” You asked, but already started pouring a mug.

“Thank you.” He nodded. “I’ll just wait over here till you get off.” He went over to a corner booth.

“Okay,” you ducked your head, smiling like a fool.

As things progressed in The Kitchen, Frank walked you home less and less. You knew what he was. You knew what he did. It scared you to think about sometimes. There was something so mysterious about him, but there was something rooted so deeply in him that was just simply good. That’s what you saw every time you looked at him. His goodness.

Frank didn’t tell you much about what was going on, he said he didn’t want you getting in the middle of it; you had a couple fights about that. But you knew about Karen and how she was trying to help him. You were thankful for her. That she was helping him in ways you couldn’t.

He told you about his family. You cried. It broke your heart to hear the way he talked about them. His eyes glossy, his voice growing raspier.

Then he got arrested. You were shocked as you watched the news on the tv in the diner.

As the days dragged along, you felt yourself start to think it wasn’t ever going to be what you wanted it to be with Frank. It was hard to come to that conclusion, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to stop caring about him.

One day, you tracked down Karen Page and told her who you were and you both talked for hours. She told you about how she was investigating his case. You told her what you knew about him, it wasn’t much at all, though.

She told you as much as she could about his case. It was nice to have her, you both got along so well.

You kept up with the trial through the news, it hurt to see the way he was handling it.

Then he broke out of jail. That scared you. You didn’t know what he was doing.

Then all of the shootings happened. Everyone was blaming him, and you didn’t know what to believe. Karen was quick to tell you that it wasn’t him and that he had saved her. Those few days you were a nervous wreck. Karen wasn’t answering your calls and you didn’t know what to do.

Then the next night— or very early morning, you were coming home from work. You dumped your coat (the one that was really Frank’s) and purse on your couch and headed for the fridge; you were starving. Then you heard a sound in the corner of your living room, causing your stomach to flip. You slammed the fridge door in fear. Then a figure stepping forward, into the moonlight coming through the window.

“Frank?” you dropped the apple, tears immediately flooding your eyes. “Wha-What is going on?” Your voice quivered with emotion. You noticed is bruised and bloody face.

“I gotta disappear for a while,” he said slowly.

“Frank,” you said again, running forward, into his arms.

This was the first time you two had had any physical contact like this. His arms wrapped around your waist so tightly, you thought he could break your ribs if he wanted to. Your arms were around his neck, your face in his shoulder. Blood was probably staining your shirt, but you didn’t care.

“Do you mind if I wash up a bit?” He asked after you had parted.

“No, of course,” you led him to the bathroom.

That was the last time you saw him. The news said he was dead. Some explosion. It broke your heart.

A few days after the news, you learned it wasn’t true. The experience in your living room when he showed up was heart stopping. You woke up around 11am after another late shift. You shuffled into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.

“Can I get some of that?” You heard the familiar, gravelly voice say behind you.

You gave him the what-for for scaring you out of your skin. But it ended in tears and gratefulness that he was alive. You had to admit, you had a feeling he was.  

He left the next day, saying he had to finish what he had started. You tried to convince him not to, but he was too stubborn.

About a week later, he came back. He told you he had to disappear, go underground. He had changed his name to Pete Castiglione and he said he couldn’t see you anymore since he was technically dead. It stung. It hurt him too, you could see it in his eyes. There was something about his eyes that always had you captivated.

“Frank,” you said quickly as he stood up to leave, after telling you all of this.

He froze.

“What if I came with you?” You knew it sounded crazy, but you felt like Frank was someone you couldn’t live without. You’d known each other maybe a month, but it felt like years. You had a feeling he felt the same way.

He didn’t move, holding his hat with both hands in front of him. You stood up from the couch, turning to face him.

“Tell me you don’t feel like you’ve known me for years, like we were meant to meet.” You said, your face burning with embarrassment as you spoke. “Tell me you want to leave and never see me again. That you could just leave and never look back.” Your voice got caught in your throat.

“Y/N…” Frank whispered, taking a step forward.

“Cause if you tell me that, I’ll let you go. It’ll break my heart, but… I’ll let you go.” You bowed your head, closing your eyes, tears streaming silently down your cheeks. You felt a warm hand grasp your face, so gently. You looked up and was met with those eyes. They were glossy and sad.

“Frank,” You said so quietly.

“I can’t tell you those things, Y/N,” he replied. “I can’t lie to you.”

Your heart sped up as you looked up at him, his thumb grazing your cheek, wiping away fallen tears. You leaned forward, your head resting on his, both of you holding onto the moment with everything you had inside of you.

“I can’t let you go.” You whispered.

“You don’t deserve to live like a dead woman.”

“I’ll be with you.”

“What about your life? Your friends and family?”

“I don’t have any of that.” You told him that your parents were both dead and you didn’t have any other family. And friends were never your strong suit.

“But I—“ Frank continued. “I can’t put you in danger and you deserve so much better than—“

“You deserve to be happy, Frank.” You interrupted. “I know you don’t think you do, but you do.”

He was quiet. Standing there, you in front of him, your hands now intertwined in between you, he was in awe of you. He never thought he would feel like this again about someone. To him, you were perfect in every sense of the word.

“Please, Frank,” You stood on your toes and place a kiss on his cheek. Your lips felt the tear that had run down his lightly bruised face.

“You’re gonna have to start calling me, Pete,” he said, and both of you broke into the biggest smiles.

You jumped up into his arms in the tightest hug. Then you pulled away, looking at his sweet face. You both dove in at the same time with a deep kiss. It was full of so much love you both felt like you could burst into a million pieces.

“You are everything, Frank Castle.”

A few weeks passed and you both decided to get married. It was scary and something that was difficult for Frank, you could tell, and you didn’t blame him. But he loved you, simply and hard, so he knew it was right.

You changed your last name and quit your job and began to live a different life. A life away from the internet and the outside world. It was difficult to have to forget about your old life. More difficult than you thought it was going to be. You moved into a much smaller apartment and left everything of yours behind. You were dead after all, and you can’t take your things with you when you die.

You had contacted Karen before everything. She was the only person Frank trusted and you wanted to make sure she knew that you were both okay. She was so happy for you both.

Now here you were, months later, that honestly felt like years. Frank had distanced himself from you and you had curled in on yourself too. Things were rough. The routine was the same and everything was stuck in a time loop.

 Frank had cleared his plate, now taking a shower. You turned on the clock radio for some music while you tackled the messy kitchen. Music was a safe place for you and it was nice to at least have the radio to keep you company. Then a love song came on that you adored. It was one of those songs that you can’t help but sway to. Frank came out of the bathroom soon after it started, but you hardly noticed as you were lost in the tune. You were standing over the sink, washing a plate, swaying to the slow beat. You did notice Frank enter the small, kitchen area, but you were caught off guard when he slowly wrapped his arms around your waist from behind. You were stiff for a moment, but quickly softened into his embrace. You laid your head back against his shoulder as you both swayed from side to side, lost in the lyrics.

“You’re my, my, my, my… Lover.”

You felt Frank’s warm breath against your neck. It was so comforting. His arms tightened around you and you dropped the plate in the dish water, moving your soapy hands to on top of Frank’s. This was everything.

The song ended, it wasn’t long enough. You turned to face Frank, looking into his eyes. His eyes. You hadn’t looked at them and gotten that feeling in so long.

“Frank,” you said with your breath, your hand grasping his bearded cheeks.

You felt his hands grasp your hips tightly, and you both leaned in, your lips pressing firmly against each other. Things got a little brighter as the night went on.

...

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Idiot | Tony Stark

Hey lovelies— I wrote some flangst even though I have a billion other things that needed to be written. I really woke up and said “comfort character? I think you mean: Tony Stark” and then wrote a fic with no plot. It’s just sappy and sad and cuddly and kinda’ elusive as to the relationship. Might expand on this or might let it sit in the void like I am :) Enjoy

Description: Literally like zero plot, this was literally written today this morning because I am a heartbroken mess and I fucking hate real life men right now and I hate the military and I hate guys who tell you that you’re special when they don’t fucking mean it and I really need a Best Friend/Maybe More!Tony Stark cuddle

Pairing: Best Friend / Maybe More!Tony Stark x Female!Reader

Warnings: Like nothing, kinda angsty

Word count: 2.7k

Tags: Fluff, Angst, breakups LOL

She wakes up screaming again. This is the ninth night in a row and she’s starting to think that the others are going to request to soundproof her room. She wouldn’t blame them. She would almost prefer they do that because at least then she won’t have to stop screaming when she wakes up. She can just keep going and finally run out of voice and then maybe— maybe— she won’t be able to say his name anymore.

She flips over, her hair plastered to the back of her neck, her stomach tossing like she’s on a roller coaster. She can’t tell if she wants to cry or throw up— she wants to scream at both choices. She wants to rip her hair out too but then she would be sad and bald and she can only do one of those things right now. She’s not deep enough in the spiral to chop it off yet— that’s a day twelve activity.

She settles on crying— like she even has a choice— and soon her room is filled with the sound of her heaving against a pillow that still smells too much like him. She tosses it— she whips it across the damn room and doesn’t flinch when she hears something shatter. It was nothing important, she knows that for a fact. She hopes it’s the picture of them.

She pulls her knees up, tucking them under her torso, praying the pressure will alleviate the bubbling in her stomach. It won’t— she’s only fooling herself. He’s not a cramp— it’s not food poisoning; it’s rage. It’s brain melting sadness. It’s every ‘Good morning beautiful’ and ‘I miss you’ and ‘I love—

No. Nope— not that one. She can’t think about that one. If she does then she might never stop— she might take a match to everything in this room, every piece of clothing in her closet, every mug in the kitchen that he ever touched. Where would she be then— stuff-less, clothes-less, and with every Avenger looking for a coffee mug pissed at her?

Yeah no— better to just not think about it. Better to just scream.

She squeezes her eyes closed— not like it matters, the room is pitch black anyway— and slams her fist against the mattress, letting the sting that rips up her arm ring louder than his name in her head. It only works for a moment before it’s back— louder and angrier than ever. Louder and angrier than her. His name in her head is a separate entity, haunting her skull like it’s a dilapidated mansion, trying to evict her from the endless halls of her own mind.

She bunches the blanket up, shoving it against her mouth and praying that it muffles the crazed roar that sheds from her lungs— like an animal being ripped apart, she can’t tell if she’s screaming for help or for something so much worse.

There’s a knock on the door and she freezes, her blood running ice cold. A few seconds tick by, her limbs and jaw glued into a tight position, tongue heavy and aching in her mouth. Her heart pounds hard in her chest— the entity knocking back to whoever’s at the door— there’s just no way.

“Would you open the door if I told you there are macaroons in my hand?” A collected, slightly sarcastic, familiar voice breaks through the wood barrier of her door.

Her shoulders drop, her throat closing slightly— it’s just Tony.

“I— erm—” she jumps off her bed quickly, stumbling in the dark until she finds the lamp on her desk, turning it on the the sight of her blasphemous pillow and the shattered remains of a purple mug— damn she overshot the pillow by an inch— “gimme’ a minute, ‘k?”

“You get five seconds — these walls are thick but Friday alerted me to the— and I quote— distressed wailing.”

Oh god of course she did— how could she forget about the damn AI? She presses her palms against her eyes, wicking away as much moisture as possible. She’s so tired— her bones feel like cement, her neck barely keeping her head screwed on let alone straight. She’s a mess and all she can do is chuck her pillow back on her bed and ignore the purple shards peeking out from behind her dresser. One thing at a time.

She pushes her lead bones to the door, trying not to wince as the light pours into her dim room. She blinks a few times, her eyelashes sticky and cheeks stiff, taking in the man in grey sweatpants and a worn MIT hoodie in front of her. She glances down and sure enough he has a mug of pistachio macaroons. A mug. How ironic.

She flicks her gaze to his face, blinking back another wave of tears when she sees the concern mingling with his coffee eyes. “Hey doll.”

She swallows, trying to clear her stinging throat. It doesn’t work, her voice still sounds like she’s been chain smoking since the ripe age of five years old. “Hey Tony.”

He raises a dark brow, eyes drawing down her front, and she shifts on her feet, wishing the hallway light would flicker out. She just knows her eyes are puffy and her hair a mess. Her t-shirt is definitely crumpled, hiding what she can only hope is shorts and not just a pair of panties, and she only has one sock on— she can feel it now, the hardwood like ice against her toes. Her face flushes with heat, fingers clasping awkwardly in front of her— she may as well have a sign flashing above her head. Heartbroken idiot.

For a moment they just stand there, eyes locked, daring the other to move or speak or do anything at all first. Finally Tony sighs, holding his arms out, shaking his head. “Are you waiting for an invitation? Get your butt over her— now.”

That’s all it takes for her to practically jump into his arms, throwing her weight against the man like a drowning woman would a life preserver. That’s kind of what he is. Her best friend— her life line. Any other time she would have been the one knocking on his door— kicking his door down is more like it— but he told her— he told her that he was no good and she didn’t listen. She wraps her arms around his neck, biting her lip hard enough to keep the tears from dripping down her face again. She missed him— she’s been missing him for months.

“He’s an idiot, doll.” Tony mumbles against her hair, arms circling her back and pressing her to him so tight that it feels like he’s trying to fuse their bodies together.

He smells like motor oil and coffee and her chest shakes from the contrast of the fire in her veins and the cool relief of finally going home. It feels like longer than months— it feels like years. She’s been walking on eggshells around him since she introduced her— now ex— boyfriend. They don’t fight— at least, they didn’t before. They’ve never had a reason to.

Not until him.

Warmth seeps from him, curling around her limbs. She presses her face into his shoulder, breathing in the scent ingrained in his hoodie. He’s been wearing it for a few days, she can tell. If things were normal she would be tugging at the pocket, slipping her hands in and tangling them with his, tracing his knuckles with her thumbs. She’ll settle for this though— she’ll take anything.

“I’m the idiot.” She mutters dejectedly, fingers tugging on his hood, trying desperately to distract herself from how much she wants to scream again. “I thought, Tony— I— god I’m so stupid.”

Tony stiffens, chest like marble and pressing against hers so hard she can feel his heart beating against her practically bare skin— deadly calm but beginning to pick up.

“Don’t you dare.” His voice is gravelly, grinding his words against her ear.

His hold on her loosens and she panics, her own heartbeat spiking rapidly in her chest— what is he doing? Is he leaving? No, no, no he can’t leave! She locks her arms around his shoulders as he bends down, shaking her head, the tears finally spilling over her cheeks, hot and angry and desperate. “No please— don’t go I’m sorry— I’m— please don’t leave me.”

She’s incoherent, not even sure that the words coming out of her mouth make any sense at all but she has to at least try. He can’t leave— not now. She can take a broken heart, she can take one stupid man, she can take having a sockless foot and a head that feels like its caving in— she can’t take her best friend walking away and leaving her in this obscenely bright hallway to fend the light off by herself. If she loses her home she’s done for. “Tony no you can’t— you can’t go.”

She’s sobbing, chest heaving, and she just barely registers the soft clink of the mug settling against the floor before one of his arms is slipping under her thighs, hauling her toes off the floor. His other arm remains anchored around her back, fingers digging into her side to keep her from falling. The sudden motion makes her gasp— a watery, broken noise— her legs pushing around his hips and clinging for dear life.

“Hey—” his jaw rubs against her temple, her cheek pressed against his shoulder, stubble scratchy enough to regain her attention— “I’m here, doll. Right here— you honestly might be an idiot if you think I’m leaving you.”

She chokes out a laugh. It sounds more like a whimper— like she’s scrounging for the last drops of happiness in her for his sake. Probably because she is. She tightens her legs around his waist, socked ankle crossing over bare ankle, sucking in a deep breath as his thumb rubs circles on her ribcage.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did.” She sighs and his hand stills. “You were right.”

“Trust me— I wish I wasn’t.” His fingers crawl up her back, curling around the back of her neck, pushing the hair from her clammy skin.

The warmth of his skin on hers is like heaven and she tries to ignore the fact that he’s touching her while she’s a complete wreck. “You should hate me.”

His hand clamps harder around her skin, the sharp inhale he takes making his chest rise and push against hers. His fingers slip into her hair and he tugs gently, coaxing her to lift her head from shoulder. When she does she meets his determined, narrowed stare and his minute frown. Her heart clenches when she takes in the rest of his face, her gaze landing on the off purple bruises under his eyes, the tell tale sign that her best friend hasn’t been sleeping. It’s her fault— she knows it is.

He shakes his head, his brown hair ruffling slightly. “God, baby, you really are an idiot, aren’t you?”

Her lip trembles, her stomach squeezing— baby. “Tony—”

His forehead drops, his damp skin meeting her own, nose bumping against hers, drawing up the bridge and then back down— she can’t breathe. “You’re an idiot if you think for a second that I could hate you. For anything let alone something so damn ridiculous.”

He laughs a breathy, frenzied sound, nose drawing along her cheekbone. She must be dreaming. That's the only explanation as to the sudden lack of oxygen in the hallway— the only explanation to the way her veins are thrumming like guitar strings being plucked. This can’t be real. She feels like she’s going to wake up any minute now, throat raw and chest aching twice as much.

She opens mouth— she has to say something— but he keeps going. “An idiot if you think I wouldn’t follow you to the other end of the earth. Of the galaxy. Here you are thinking I hate you because you dated a moron? Because, what, I told you not to? Big deal— you tell me not to do things all the time. That’s what we do, baby. We tell eachother not to do stupid things and then we don’t listen.”

He pulls back enough to take in her face, eyes drawing over the curve of her nose and the slope of her cheeks before landing back on hers. His stare is intense— demanding, like him— she wouldn’t be able to look away if she wanted to. That’s impossible though; she could stare at this man all day and not get bored. She thinks back to all those days in his workshop, watching him fiddle with his suits. What she wouldn’t give to be there now, legs curled under her and his MIT hoodie— the same one on him now— pulled over her, singing along to their playlist and passing him screwdrivers. Her chest squeezes at the thought— she can’t remember the last time she did that.

His hand in her hair tugs again and she forces herself to stay in the moment, watching his lips form the words first and then letting her ears catch up. “He was a tool and you’re too good for that, alright? That has nothing to do with us. Point blank, whatever, he has no effect on us. Okay?”

She nods, her nose bumping against his again, and for the first time all night— all week— it feels like she can breathe. “Okay.”

His chest sags under her, the tension in his shoulders releasing under her fingers. “Good. Don’t say stupid things. That’s my job.”

“You’re right.” She cracks a smile, one that feels too foreign but entirely familiar. “You can have it back.”

Tony’s brows push together, head pulling back, his own smile beginning to carve over his lips. “Have what back?”

“The title of world’s biggest idiot.”

Just like that she’s giggling, throwing her head back and letting the laughter pour out of her. It’s cathartic— it’s natural. Like a dam breaking, it’s fast and dangerous and exhilarating. Before she knows it he’s laughing too, his forehead pressing against her shoulder, chest shaking, and she’s digging her fingers into his hoodie to keep herself steady. They’re definitely waking up everyone else in the compound but she doesn’t care. She only throws herself closer to him, hugging him so tight that she’s practically falling over his back, legs locked high around his stomach.

He turns his face against her neck, mumbling his words into her skin. “Missed you, doll.”

Her fingers slip into his hair, toying with the soft strands and sighing. “Missed you more.”

Groaning, he straightens, re-securing his arm around her. He passes her another smile, this one softer, more in control. She pulls at his hair in return, earning a half-hearted eye roll and the reward of him sinking his head against her hands. She scratches at his scalp lightly, scrunching her nose and trying not to giggle again. Now that she’s started she can’t stop— that’s his real super power; leaving her in stitches.

“You think you’re ready to sleep again?”

She sobers at his question, shrugging. She already knows she’s not. The thought of going back to her room and having to sleep without a pillow again, alone, makes her blanche. She would rather not sleep at all then do that. She may as well go make a pot of coffee if that’s her option. The answer bubbles in her mouth— no.

No she is not ready— but she has to be. She has to be a big girl. Even if it means sleeping with the window open so that she can’t smell her sheets, even if it means freezing because the windows are open and she can’t use her blankets, even if she would rather be tucked under the covers of Tony’s bed like the old days when things were normal and she was happy.

But she can’t say that— can she?

“I guess— you gotta’ put me down though,” is what she finally settles on, trying to keep the disappointment from her words. It definitely doesn’t work but for the sake of her sanity she pretends it does.

He frowns— fully this time— blinking at her like she’s grown another head. “Uh no I don’t.”

He says it sarcastically— like she’s crazy for even suggesting such a thing— his face incredulous. It makes her heart spike, adrenaline pumping through her veins. She’s missing something.

“Tony, what are you talking—“

And then he turns, starting down the hall, starting towards his room, and she shuts her mouth. She’s not going to protest— she’s not risking her chance.

She’s not an idiot.

[helpinghanikan]

Sleeping arrangements

Avengers (and Matt Murdock x Reader)

Sum:  It's late and the bed is so nice. It's time to sleep and to bring your heroes along with you. (Fluffy little snippets of sleepy time with the Avengers)

Steve Rogers:

It’s the last train home and only one thing in this world is warm. The wall of Steve Rogers your head rested against was beating softly through the jacket and shirt he wore. Keeping your arms around his center to keep any of the heat from getting away. His own arm protects around your shoulders, keeping you in and gibing his hand something to do instead.

He could’ve driven, he should’ve driven, instead he wanted to take the train. He wanted to walk around like he did years and years before, but this time with your hands intertwined.

Although far away the train has started to shake the earth. Taking you out of the almost sleeping world and back into this cold one. The change in worlds brings out a yawn and lets the cold back in. It’s been a long day. With your eyes closed and clothes heavier than they could ever be Steve was the only thing keeping you up. His chin rests on your head after a while, thumb rubbing over your shoulder as the train finally pulled to a stop.

Inside it was the same story but in a seated position. Guided into his lap and landing with a groan as it was just so much work. The practically empty strain allowed your legs to stretched straight out over the seats.

Steve could stay awake longer than most, but he was tired. He was cold and annoyed and really wished he had driven instead of taking this stupid train. He took his frustration out on squeezing you tight, holding on as if you were liable to fall right out of the seat if he let go. At least it was warmer inside the train.

Tony Stark:

Someone staying up late, not getting enough sleep, and making exhaustion their personality trait is funny for maybe week. But After days of trying to coax him to come to bed, to try something other than just giving up on sleep or even talking to a doctor it gets concerning. After weeks of these same issues, it becomes frustrating.

Everyone, from Pepper to Peter have done their fair share of lecturing. Happy has gone out of his way in helping you get the dumbass to appointments. All of which he has walked right out because, unfortunately, he was still an adult who could make his own decisions.

It’s only after using the nuclear word that he pays attention.

“Anthony,” You say just before he leaves the room.

Although speaking to his back he does stop. His shoulders have tensed under the t-shirt and he’s listening in.

There’s an audio book’s worth of things you could say about this issue. But it would all be a repeat that he’s heard before, from many different mouths. Instead, you kept it simple, not even bothering to turn on the light.

“You didn’t even try.” It comes out from a tired partner just wanting the best for him. Yet Tony walks away from the advice, again.

Thor:

Power doesn’t stop for sleep. It’s still in the air when he’s laying sideways towards the window. Because of the whole nighttime thing it’s hard to tell if clouds are actually coming in or darkening. Maybe you’re just insane but Mr. Weatherman didn’t say anything about rain tonight, right?

It was a jolt that really woke you up. Looking over your shoulder at the expanse of muscular back. Thor movements were always a bit too…loud for this world. Whether running through a fight or moving in his sleep it calls attention to everyone. He doesn’t mean to, but it does wake you up enough to see your glass is dryer as a bone.

As if reading your mind, the rain has come down. It could almost be described as torrential how hard it was all coming down. Matching the dramatics of rain, a lightning strike coming straight down into some poor tree.

This wasn’t the first time Thor had a nightmare. Asgardians just seemed to be humans 2.0, making Thor just as a victim to horror as we humans are. At the same time, he was still another worldly being, translating to giving him a few feet when waking him up.

Another strike of lightening and another tree is taken out of this world. Without the lights on that blast was your only moment of lightening. The rest of the journey made to Thor’s side of the bed was done in darkness and pounding rain. Following the outlined Asgardian until reaching his shoulder. A gentle hand on his should does nothing. A little shake and a whispered “Thor,” finally does the trick.

The two strikes of lightening outside somehow reached his eyes. For the briefest of seconds blue, cracking energy is directed right at you. Stopping just as quickly as they appeared, replaced with Thor’s regular blue eyes that blink a few times.

“What is it?” he asks.

There’s no point in telling him the truth about his nightmares and their effect. Then again, there’s no point in lying either. Instead, it’s better to distract. “It’s still super early. Back to bed.” You say instead, kissing with until he takes the hit and holds you.

Bucky Barnes:

Sleep is a luxury that isn’t worth chasing. With the pillows and sheets there were nightmares and enemies that could sense his weakness. Trying to get at least six hours and all that guarantees is waking up sweaty and a call to doc, making sure to get everything back in order before you could ever notice.

Instead, he takes walks. Maps out the city at night, the changes and differences that happened without him. He recognizes the buildings, the structures and bricks that were too strong to be a victim to time.

Most of the time he does this alone. Watching a show about nothing until you were asleep before starting his walk. But there were times you catch him, calling out to him like the neighborhood cat trying to get away. Getting on your own shoes and jacket quickly. Then enforcing the handholding during the little adventure.

It’s only when passing by something important that words are shared. “One of my buddies worked here when this place was a mechanic. Broke his leg just before the draft, I still think it was on purpose.” He’d say then never bring it up again.

These walks are always shorter than most. After two times Bucky learned when to make the loop back home with you. When your building comes back into view the handholding has gotten sweaty. The walking had slowed to a crawl and you were dragging him down by the arm. Even less talking was done after getting through the door; just landing face down onto the bed without bothering about the shoes.

These kind of walks were Bucky’ favorite.

Natasha Romanoff:

The bed was used almost exclusively for sleeping. As the couch was both comfy and expensive. And, as Nat puts it, “Should we do it with the lights off too? Under the covers like grandparents?” Although it was probably another reason to use the overpriced couch more often.

Like any good, and overworked, soldier Nat could sleep anywhere. When a mission is done, and there’s nothing to worry about, a shower and a nap is the best in the world.

“I smell nice,” She says walking into the living after the shower. Steam still behind her, hair wrapped up and a sweater purposefully bought to be several sizes too big.

She stretches and lays over you like a cat. Resting as close as possible so you, too, can smell the expensive shampoo she uses. Making sure that the body wash isn’t ignored either as that, too, was expensive.

“Might as well spend this pay on something,” She says when asked about the prices.

Although she asks what you’re up to she won’t be awake for the answer. Already teetering into sleep land when you answer.

Natasha was as athletic as she was heavy. Only sometimes managing to carry her bridal style and most of the time having to walk/guide her into the bedroom. Either letting her drop onto the bed with the same weight you had carried in, or she holds fast and takes you down with her.

Just like a cat, Natasha gets to decide cuddle time.

T’challa:

Although the mattress was new, the bed’s size was traditional, and passed on through generations of rulers. Forget California king bed, A Wakanda king bed was that and a half. Ten feet length, twelve feet tall. Combined with blankets, pillows and more it was easy to disappear into the thing. But it was also easy to get lost in it all.

In the middle of the night, in the very center of this ocean of bed, you can reach out forever. Finding pillows (both the decorative and the usable kind), smaller blankets or stuffed animals that have managed to be added. But it’s a tiresome journey, one that doesn’t seem to have an end even as you stretched to pointed toes and fingers.

It’s only after touching body heat that you can relax. Finally finding your king that turns to your touch. Making his own journey through sheets and bedding. Using you as the trail into his love. Neither of you thinking about the absolute nightmare it will be to make this bed tomorrow.

Pietro Maximoff:

For most of his life Pietro is moving. Be it running or just running his mouth, he’s not the kind of guy to sit still. Unfortunately, this also applies to sleeping.

“He’s been sleep walking since we were children,” Wanda once said. “Our father once found him crying in a puddle. He had slipped and woken up in the street. He’ll deny crying, though.”

As an adult Pietro doesn’t actively get up and walk around anymore. The man made up of strong and lean muscle still moves quite a bit. Waking up from freezing feet finding yours or because he’s sat upright in bed again. Using soft, but firm, pressure to get him to lay back down or to guide him back to his side of the bed. If you weren’t careful his arms would find you, almost dragging you back to his side of the bed.

He'd deny it in the morning. Smiling with barely open eyes as you’re still pressed against him. No matter how much you’re going to insist this was his fault he’d still mock you. Nuzzling in since you insist on cuddling so much.

Peter Parker:

There’s a time limit next when sitting next to Peter. You have ten minutes before his head finds your shoulder. If you don’t shrug or lean away he’ll stay there, slowly leaning in until he’s all settled.

Although not completely asleep he does rest. If your hands are held in those moments you could probably feel his pulse slow down as his breathing slows. Maybe his eyes manage to stay open, but his eyes do get heavy. Someone could say his name, and he’d respond, but it be from his throat. An annoyed groan directed to whoever was ruining this moment. Even if it was usually a teacher or adult.

It’s only when traveling, and you’re sitting for a while, that he completely falls asleep. Progressing past just leaning his head and adding his arms. If you allow him, putting an arm around your back and the other over your center. With your own arm over his back, he sleeps in a position that, although sweet, always left a pain in his neck. Something he’d complain about until you ask if he want’s you to rub his shoulders.

Stephen Strange:

During aura projection Stephen’s body is dead weight. No muscles or bone working with the individual trying to help them. It’s just taken over by gravity and his entire weight wants to be on the floor. Sleep does the same thing.

Short of a bucket of water to his face he won’t wake up. Part of his experience in med school was taking every bit of use sleep could give him. Which leads to sleeping fast, and sleeping hard, usually opened mouth. No snoring yet, but the moment he does there’s an open target for shutting him up.

Matt Murdock:

It’s a mixture of meditation and caffeine that he is still functioning. Too busy, much too busy, as a lawyer for the two of you to share a bed most of the time. Making any comments you have about his sleep schedule mute.

Watching him doesn’t change give any information either. Coffee in the morning, some deep breathing and self-centering in the between moments at work, and sleep ins on days off were all you could gather. Between that it’s easier to just assume he’s fine.

Just laugh at his “not like I need to rest my eyes,” jokes and move on.

Carol Danvers:

After going through every time change known to man, alien and beyond Carol has developed a very specific still. Carol Danvers, woman with the power of a star and to sleep literally anywhere at any time. Be it a cleared-out corner of some ship, an open floor that keeps her hidden from passersby or on your lap. The latter being her personal favorite.

Like a massive golden retriever, she wants to be in the middle of your lap. Close as possible with a arm holding around your shoulder and the other on her toy, or phone.  A being of wiry muscle and heat keeping you pinned to the couch. Most of the time she’s out ten minutes into the movie, most of the time the remotes’ out of reach, and most of the time you gotta go pee.

[malachi-walker]

Happy birthday, Mal! I love your fics, they evoke so much emotion in me and have made me cry many a time. I don't often reread fics, but i've reread multiple chapters of Rhythm and Blues because they're stuck with me so much. You capture the emotional pain of their trauma and the catharsis that comes with their growth so beautifully. You also write some brilliant meta and just consistently post some fantastic thoughts. Also your love for swords is very appreciated. <3 have a lovely day!

First of all, my apologies for not replying sooner. I was making my mind up about something that would definitely require the use of a read more and thus necessitate dragging myself to desktop (which I hate because my laptop predates the dinosaurs.)

But seriously. Thank you so much. This is honestly one of the sweetest comments I've ever gotten and definitely made my already pretty sweet bday even better.

So about that read more. In honor of you, @metalesbo, my friends @n7punk and @jem-jarrett and everyone else who sent me well wishes or just really loves my work... Here's the opening section of the next chapter of R&B. Enjoy. It's a long one.

Adora Eternia is about two months shy of her fourteenth birthday when she first realizes she's in love with her best friend.

Though--if asked--she would hasten to explain that it wasn't when she fell in love. But trying to pinpoint the exact moment is an exercise in catching mist: the more she tries to grasp it in her hands the more it spreads out and covers everything. It just is: pure and simple and very, very complicated.

It's the beginning of December and the whole town is covered in a thick blanket of snow. Winterfest will be here in a few weeks, so to help out the kids who want to get gifts for their friends the Right Zone administration has shuffled around the groups that usually take their monthly trips on the third and fourth Sundays of the month to double up with the other two. As part of group three, she and Catra got the first week (the other three members of their crew are week two folks anyway and thus outside the reorganization.)

It's still kinda weird to think that: their crew. For so long, it was just Catra and Adora. Adora and Catra. One unit bound together, just them against the world. But there's also something nice about being part of a small cluster, their "scrappy little lone wolf pack" as Catra had once put it with a wry grin before Lonnie shoved her over with an, "Excuse you, I'm a great people person when I'm not busy making sure you idiots haven't set yourselves on fire!"

They all got a good laugh out of that one.

But regardless, the holidays are coming up and this is the first year that any of their group has felt like actually doing anything for it, aside from wrangling together a sleepover and seeing if they can convince the kitchen staff to slip them some leftover eggnog.

They made each other promise not to go too extravagant and keep each person's gift to ten dollars or lower. Even though their quarterly stipend has increased from three hundred to four hundred to match with inflation over the past eight years, it still isn't a whole lot for three month's worth of expenses, especially when they also have to budget regularly for clothes to keep up with the seemingly endless growth spurts.

There's also the usual budgetary concern of keeping her and Catra's first aid kit well supplied...

Adora shakes her head to dislodge the intrusive thought and continues marching onward through the snow. This trip is a good thing. She won't let all the awful realities of their life taint it.

With so many kids running around and wanting to shop on their own to surprise their giftees, Right Zone had to negotiate with both the local police and whatever other civic authorities they could get ahold of to come out en masse and keep an eye on them all. The kids had still come with their usual teachers, of course, but doubling the load and also splitting up was a logistical nightmare. Which is just a convoluted way to say the town is positively crawling with uniformed officers, off duty members of the fire brigade, emergency personnel, and other such authority figures quietly keeping watch and making sure no one tries anything.

Adora knows that somewhere in the press of bodies, Grizzlor's busy wrangling two new "brats" (seven and nine, respectively, and definitely not friends.) Somewhere, a certain Magicat is probably grumbling over the indignity of being forced to wear shoes and kicking every snowpile she can, like she can send a direct message to whatever cosmic force is responsible for her current frustration.

On an ordinary month she and Catra--being old enough to be allowed a bit more freedom to do what they want--would buddy up to watch each other's backs while they did their shopping. But this isn't an ordinary month, so once they'd each gotten gifts for the other three they'd split up on opposite ends of Main Street with an agreement to move clockwise to avoid running into each other. Afterwards, the entire group would rendezvous at the small clock tower in the park a block over before heading back to Right Zone.

Ten dollars wasn't a lot to work with, but Adora had done her best: a new stress ball for Kyle, some moisturizing oil for Rogelio since the early winter shed had wiped out his supply and he'd been too busy to pick up some more, a twelve pound kettle weight for Lonnie now that their shared exercise routine was getting a bit too easy for her... Utilitarian choices, to be sure, but she's been paying attention and that has to count for something.

Catra's the difficult one, of course. Partly because Adora doesn't want to just get her something practical, but also because they share nearly everything between them already. About the only thing that is definitively off limits is Catra's guitar, and she's told Adora enough about her time with Tao over the years that Adora wouldn't even ask. Beyond that... Well, there's a reason why most of Adora's day off hoodies have small strands of orange fur stuck to them.

Still. I want to get her something that's hers. Something she'll like. Something she doesn't have to share with anyone, not even me.

In the end, she nearly walks past it. In one of the artisanal shops that dot small towns like liver spots, she finds a display of hand stamped necklace pendants, with a design sheet beside it. There are a lot of the usual nature designs and such, but the one that catches her eye is a treble clef with the five staff lines bleeding out from it. They ring the edge of the pendant in a half circle, and scattered haphazardly along the lines are the other music notes.

The lack of proper order would drive Adora insane. She understands that it's just meant to look pretty, not be an accurate representation of musical notation, but still... She knows her own (broken) brain well enough to know that.

It suits Catra, though.

"Hey," Mismatched eyes looked down at Adora as her head draped backwards over the back of their desk chair, the throbbing behind her left eye threatening to escalate into a migraine. "Guess I don't have to ask how the composing's going."

"It sucks," Adora groused back, sitting up and gesturing Catra over. She jabbed at two particular spots with the half chewed off eraser end of her pencil, two hard jabs each, like she was filing a complaint. "Most of it is just what I'm going for, but these two places here... They aren't sounding right. I've been going back and forth over structure all afternoon, but nothing I do helps."

"Hmmm..." Catra stroked her chin and nudged Adora over so she could sit on the arm of the chair (they'd never gotten around to requesting a second, mostly because Adora didn't want to risk Shadow Weaver suspecting they were getting too chummy.) "Got any scratch paper?"

Adora pointed to the pile of half crumpled notebook paper she used when making adjustments and Catra snorted. "Ok, dumb question. Just let me see here..."

Grabbing a pen, she quickly inked a fresh set of staff lines and copied the notes Adora had already put down, making sure to leave space to work. Glancing between the two, she drummed her fingers on the desk, playing along in her head.

"Hmm..." Catra murmured, worrying at her lower lip with a fang in a manner that was... Oddly distracting. "Ok, how 'bout this?"

Adora jolted, tearing her gaze from Catra's face to look at the sequence of notes scribbled onto the scratch paper. She paused, brow furrowing as she played them over in her mind's eye. It was a little unorthodox, veering away from the path she had carefully laid out... But also blending well with the next part. Almost like the notes took a quick detour and then lead the listener back to where she wanted them.

"Yeah..." Adora replied thoughtfully, the tension all over her body starting to smooth out. "Yeah, that could work."

"Awesome. Let's take a look at the next part."

They ultimately ended up spending several hours going over the entire piece, sussing out every place where Adora was having even the slightest niggle of unease. She didn't accept all of Catra's changes and Catra didn't push the matter, but the ones she did...

They felt right. More right than they had ever felt when it was just Adora running circles around herself.

When they finally finished up she looked over at Catra, tail waving sedately in that way it got when she was simultaneously engaged but relaxed, and asked, "Umm... Do you want to learn with me? I like doing this."

'I like making music with you.'

Catra paused, looking over at Adora searchingly, almost like she couldn't believe the question had come up. No matter how many years had passed between them, that look never really went away, and every time she saw it Adora's chest ached in a way that was hard for her to process.

"I'd like that."

Catra's composing style is very different from Adora's. More wild, more willing to bend and break the rules if it means maintaining audience engagement, but there's always an underlying order to the chaos. To her surprise and pleasure, Adora found herself learning just as much from Catra as Catra was learning from her. Their styles brought out the best in each other.

The jingle of a bell kicks her out of the memory. Mind made up even though it's nearly double her budget, Adora scans the stand of necklaces for the one with the treble clef pattern.

It isn't there. Adora swallows down the disappointment, though she can't help the sigh. Of course. The town was well aware of the large population of music students a short drive away and catered to them accordingly. But there are also dozens of kids out on the street tonight. It isn't that big of a surprise that the design sold out.

Not surprising, but disheartening nonetheless.

She's just begun to turn away when a voice calls from the back. "Hang on a sec there, little miss."

Adora jumps, but remains where she is as a large Taurian man with a massive snow white beard trundles out from a door behind the counter, wiping his hands on his apron. "Was there a particular design you were interested in?"

Adora points at the treble clef, hope rising. "This one. But it looks like it's already sold out."

"Hmm..." The man scratchs at his chin. "Well with Winterfest coming up, I'm out of blank pendants-"

Adora's shoulders slump.

"-But," The man continues with a smile. "I can double stamp it onto the back of another. Ordinarily I'd charge extra for that, but it's my fault for not ordering enough blanks. Rookie move. Besides, it's the holidays. Now would that be all right by you?"

Nodding frantically in case he changes his mind, Adora scans the other designs, quickly alighting on one in particular. "That one!"

"The claw marks? Bit of an odd combination, but the customer is always right," The old man winked as he reached out to take the necklace from her. "My jig and press is in the corner over here if you wanna watch."

Adora was glad he specified, because as nice as the man seemed there was no way in hell she was going into a back room with a stranger. But she stood next to the window beside a display of miscellaneous knick knacks and puzzles, watching him carefully place the pendant in a cushioned stand to avoid damaging the already printed side and tighten it into place before moving beside the machine.

"You're gonna want to cover your ears," He tells her, patting the machine with one massive hand. "Had to switch to a steam press when the arthritis caught up to me. Used to do it all by hammer. This boy's okay, but he gets loud."

Adora nods, glad for the warning when he bellows "Clear!" and the machine's hammer comes down once, twice, three times with a sound like the ringing of an enormous bell. Once the machine is stopped and carefully turned off, the old man removes the pendant from the press and hands it over to Adora for inspection. "What do you think? Does it pass muster?"

Adora runs her fingertips over the impressions in the metal, memorizing the feel of it, the leftover warmth of the impact. "Perfect."

"Good. Now let's get you rung up."

Counting the five dollars she attempted to surreptitiously slip into the tip jar (the old man winked as he turned back around, so stealth fail) Adora went very over budget, but the others would have to put a gun to her head for her to admit it.

Besides, it's Catra. They already know she's the sole exception to all of Adora's carefully maintained rules.

With everything finished, she continues trudging through the snow toward the park, breathing a sign of relief as she moves away from the shopping district and the people thin out; no one wanting to go to the park in the middle of such bleak weather. Angling around a clustered group of bare trees, she spots the small clock tower in the distance, as well as the figure already standing beside it. Grinning, Adora picks up the pace a bit until she can see Catra clearly and--

Her breath catches.

Since her only experience with this kind of thing has been through books, Adora always expected this moment would be more dramatic. Like back to back in the middle of a fight, or eyes locking from up on stage. Something spectacular, like fireworks, lime explosions, like the feeling of playing a song without a single mistake for the first time. It's always seemed like such a big deal in the stories, and in a way, it is.

Because there's Catra, lost in her own world as she gazes up at the streetlight that's just come on, her left hand extended to let the snowflakes fall into her palm and the light catches the orange of her fur just right to make a blaze of color against the black of her coat. She looks so small, standing in that space all alone on a cold winter's night, but Adora knows deep down that she could never be that small, not when she's Catra, not when she means so much...

Pretty much everything about the past hour--about her entire life since they met if she's being honest--snaps into crystal clear focus.

Oh. I get it now. I'm in love with you.

It's a bad idea. Adora knows that. Shadow Weaver is enough of a menace while believing Catra is simply her roommate, her sometime tool--and Catra had ended up being all too right about the torture not stopping, even after years of Adora trying to direct Weaver's attentions away from her. If the evil old bitch figures out Adora's feelings run deeper, so much deeper...

Her heart beats double time. This whole thing is an unmitigated disaster.

But it's still the best worst thing that's ever happened to her.

She must make a noise, because Catra's ear twitches in her direction, snapping her out of that distant contemplation. She turns her head and looks at Adora, lips curling in a lopsided grin. "Hey, Adora. Wow, you look like you've seen a ghost."

Adora blinks, coming back to herself and mumbling the first excuse that springs to mind. "... Just cold."

"Well no shit. C'mere."

When she closes the distance Catra glances around warily, making sure they're the only ones around, before reaching up and retying the scarf around Adora's neck, patting it once when she's done. "There. I know I make it look good, but you don't have the advantage of fur like me."

Adora looks down at the thin AC/DC t-shirt that Catra's wearing beneath her half open coat, the line of her collarbones and neck, and makes a snap decision. "Is it okay if I give you your present now?"

Catra blinks, a little thrown by the non sequitur. "I mean... Sure? Do you want me to give you yours?"

"I'm good with either," Adora shrugs, trying to ignore how fast her heart is beating, how much she wants to do this before this moment slips away. "I just want to."

There's a long moment of silence as they each examine the other, equally searching. What Catra's looking for, Adora doesn't know. She isn't sure she wants to know.

"Okay."

Breathing deep, Adora reaches into her pocket and pulls out the necklace on its leather cord. Careful to keep the pendant hidden in her hand, she passes it over, fingertips sparking as it's taken. Catra brings it close to her face, running her fingers over the four parallel slashes on the side facing her.

"Why the claw marks?"

Adora laughs, nervous butterflies positively rioting in her stomach. "Because you're a badass. Duh."

"True," Catra smirks, flipping it over and squinting at the other side. "And this?"

"Badass, loves music with all your heart. Not mutually exclusive concepts," Adora says, trying not to give away how much she thinks about this, how much she wants to take that hand in hers. She settles for a playful shoulder bump instead. "Plus we all know you're secretly a big softie."

"Excuse you, I am all sharp edges," Catra giggles, lightly elbowing her before transitioning into a soft little smile. "... Just not with everyone."

Oh God oh God oh God. That smile will absolutely be the death of her.

Swallowing past her horrible awareness of that softness, Adora asks, "So you like it?"

"I love it. Good luck ever getting me to take it off," Catra laughs, then frowns, flexing her fingers. "Hands have gone a little numb, though. Help me put it on?"

Adora.exe promptly crashes to desktop. But she still somehow manages to move, helping Catra hold back her mane so she can slip the leather cord over her head and tuck it beneath her hair. If she hesitates a moment too long in letting go, at least Catra only shoots her an amused glance. "How's it look?"

"Great," Adora manages to croak out, trying to swallow past the sudden dryness in her throat. "You look great. Umm... Happy early Winterfest, I guess?"

"Well, I'm gonna hold onto yours a little longer," Catra laughs, playfully sticking out her tongue before reaching out. "C'mere, you big dork."

Adora shuffles closer, mind and heart both screaming as Catra draws her into a hug, nuzzling her head against the side of her neck. A little whisper. "Thank you."

Adora swallows again, even harder. "You're welcome."

Between them, the necklace rests, the music side pressed right up against Catra's heart.

----------

Fun fact: the shopkeep is based off a cool old dude selling machine pressed necklaces I ran into at a Scottish festival when I was 13, and he made such an impression I never forgot him. Anyway, happy Valentine's! Have a Big Gay Realization!

[collecting-stories]

Alright - JJ Maybank

Request: hey! can i request a jj maybank x reader? basically just a MASSIVE fluff dump?? like jj loves to protect his girl but he's a huge softie who wants to be held by her & wants to be good enough so one night at a party he gets drunk & he spills all that, saying how his dad makes him feel like he's not good enough for her, & so maybe the prompt is the next day, where he's just so emotionally exhausted & wants to be loved and called petnames & he's super clingy & maybe there's a couple tears but FLUFF

A/N: I think there are always songs that stick with you, for whatever reason, and when I was younger my mom used to listen to this Sara Groves song ‘It’s Gonna Be Alright’ and I was thinking about it when I wrote this.

Outer Banks Masterlist

The alarm that you had set at the beginning of summer, in hopes of not falling out of a routine and in hopes of actually waking up and doing yoga or something positive instead of hitting snooze, went off from the other side of the room. 

The soft sound of Ed Sheeran’s Kiss Me not registering in your more-than-tired state of mind. With eyes still closed and mind a little fogged you tried to place yourself. Were you home? Had you stayed at John B’s after the party or had you been sober enough to drive yourself home?  

You could feel a weight against your side and realized, with some help as you pulled yourself up in bed, that you were in your room and that JJ was there too. You sat up enough that you were propped on your pillows, reaching for your phone as Ed reached the chorus, hitting the button on the side to silence him for now, moments from the night before coming back to you.  

Pogue parties were legendary on the island and JJ was an infamous character among these parties. Was it even a party if he wasn’t there, spouting off some bullshit tall-tale and involving himself in antics that would be talked about for weeks afterward? You were only a supporting character in these nights, or at least, you usually were. It’d been a bad week at home though, when JJ was home, and you had argued with him not to even go to the party.

“Lets just stay at here, we can watch movies or something.” You had urged when he started riffling through the pile of his clothes that had been left on the desk chair in your room. He had been sleeping on your couch since Sunday.  

“I don’t wanna watch movies. I need a beer...or twelve.” He replied. He wasn’t ungrateful that your mom had taken him in during what he called a ‘rough patch’ at home but she didn’t allow alcohol in the house and the dependence he’d already developed was making him go a little stir crazy.  

“JJ...I just don’t think it’s a good idea to go out tonight.” You stressed.  

The last thing he needed right now was something to kill what little filter he had. He was agitated at everything and you knew it was only a matter of time before something worse than being dared into surfing naked at midnight happened.  

“Well mom, feel free to stay the fuck home.”  

Of course, you didn’t. You got dressed and went with JJ because the only thing worse than going to a party when he was that out of it was letting him go alone. You could remember going with him but you couldn’t remember being designated driver which meant that you definitely drank which explained the fuzziness you were having piecing all the events together in your head.  

JJ was still sleeping beside you, on his stomach facing the window. You sat up further and picked your phone up, awake enough to check texts and drink some water to get rid of your dry mouth but not awake enough for anything that required leaving the bed.  

The party was down at the boneyard; as if that was the only stretch of beach in the OBX worth drinking on. You tagged along and-

A long, muffled groan interrupted you as you texted with Kiara about a video she’d taken the night prior and drew your attention toward JJ, who was pushed himself up onto his elbows. His head hung for a moment before he picked it up and turned to look at you, hair falling into his eyes.  

“What are you doing?” The whining undertone in his voice betrayed his age for just a moment, making him sound like a kid. He sat the rest of the way up to his knees, pushing the blanket down passed his ankles.

“Texting Kiara.” You replied, holding your phone up for him to see. Technically you were waiting for her to text you back.

JJ frowned, a pout scrunching up his nose and pushing out his bottom lip as he processed the information. There wasn’t much he remembered from the night before aside from actually going to the party. After that was just blackout, which he knew you had been trying to avoid by convincing him to stay home but it hadn’t worked and now he could practically feel his head pounding.  

He reached for the phone, taking it from your hands and tossing it somewhere onto your carpeted floor. “JJ! What the hell?”  

The strangled groan was back as he rubbed as his eyes, “so loud.”

“You threw my phone across the room JJ, how am I supposed to not be loud about that?” You whispered harshly.  

JJ shifted to sit on his butt, scooting closer to you in bed and trying to pull you back into a position where you could lay down with him. “Stop being mean to me, I don’t feel good.” He muttered, “I just wanna cuddle.”

“You don’t feel good because you have a hangover babe.” You teased, leaning back against the pillows but keeping yourself propped up. JJ continued to shift in bed until he made himself comfortable, laying on his back with his head on your chest. You brought one leg up and he twisted his arm so he could run his hand over your knee.  

“I don’t feel good cause my girlfriend is being mean to me.” He replied, the smile that settled on his face as you combed through his hair with your fingers betrayed his words.  

“I’m sorry, you threw my phone though J, it could’ve broken.” You pointed out. It wouldn’t be the first time JJ had cracked your phone. He’d once stepped on it trying to lift you up and carry you to bed. Your phone had slipped out of your pocket and JJ’s heavy booted foot had come down right on the screen, crunching it beyond use. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing...I just wanna lay with you.” He tilted his head to the side so he could see you though he kept his eyes closed, a move you recognized as him wanting a kiss more than him trying to look at you.  

You kissed his forehead so that you wouldn’t have to change positions and continued to play with his hair, your other hand laying across his chest, holding the hand not rubbing your knee. It was a tangle of limbs and odd angles but it was a comfortable position for the most part, one that allowed you to hold him.  

“JJ-”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” JJ had been avoiding the topic of his dad since Sunday, pushing it all down and trying his hardest to lock it away so that he didn’t have to deal with what he was feeling. He hated that those bad feelings lingered, that they followed him to hangouts at the Chateau or The Wreck, that he couldn’t just leave them behind when the screen door on his porch slammed shut after him. He definitely didn’t want to talk about them with you. And not because he didn’t trust you or love you or think you were capable of understanding and empathizing but because he wanted you to see him happy and in control of himself.  

“Okay,” you squeezed his hand, trying to ease him into sleep again. You knew he was still tired from the night before and no doubt he was dealing with a massive headache. It was silent for a moment and you thought maybe he had fallen back to sleep that quickly when you felt him shift against you and the sound of sniffling. At first you didn’t say anything, unsure if he wanted you to acknowledge the fact that he was crying or just ignore it and pretend to be oblivious. It was hard to know with him.  

When you couldn’t block it out anymore without a knot of guilt twisting in your stomach you spoke, “JJ?”

He didn’t say anything and you almost thought he was holding his breath to get you to ignore him.  

“Babe?” You heard a sniffle and continued to brush his hair, twisting little pieces of it in your fingers. When he continued to cry again you shushed him quietly, “it’s gonna be okay, I’m right here. I love you so much Jay, you’re okay, we’re safe.”

JJ pulled your hand up to his mouth, kissing the back of it and you could feel his tears wetting your skin as he pressed his lips to your wrist. Whatever catalyst had brought about last night’s wild antics it had dissolved into this, a version of your boyfriend you didn’t see often, one who was something beyond vulnerable? Laid open perhaps, scars on display. You repeated your words over and over until they sounded like a mantra meant to put him to sleep.  

When he woke later on he’d stumble out of bed for some Advil and pretend like nothing ever happened and for now you would let him.  

-

taglist: @maplelattes22 @poguesrforlife  @freckled-and-daydreaming  @chasefreakinstokes @millie-753 @fangirlwithme @alex12948 @katherine097 @tangledinsparkles  @carbonated-beverage @mariofgreengables @damonsalvawhore27 @dopedoodes @dolanfivsosxox @belledutchess @poguelifeeee @faded-blue @parkerpetertingle @thebookwormlife @summer-clouds-and-long-days @jellyfishbeansontoast @minigranger  @hoewkeye @love-someone-special @tiredfeels  @strangerthanfanfiction713 @the-only-nana @tomzfrog @mozz-are-lla @vindictive-hearts @poguestyleskye @ssprayberrythings @jenahbell @beautyandthebleh@lavenderxraindrops @gothackedalready @teenwaywardasgardian @sarahcxmeron @haha-fuck-you-thot @stillbelieve398-5 @rewindlr @queenniccimicci @kissessforharryyy @thedarkqueenofavalon @alytavzla @bqmblebee @linniep @nerdypartytrashpsychic @xxchxrryxx @spencer-reid-is-a-cutie @mirjanak @danielladreaming @obx-saltlife @youngestxhearts @spnobsessedmemes @wowitswondergurl @celestialmaybank @mybnkjj @pineappleandcherries @mysterious-adventurer @justawilddreamerchild @rhyetaylor62 @calm-rejects @balletandyuzu @oh-annaa @aiifandomsunite @x-lulu @ceruleanjj  @wicked-laugh @obxwriterfan @allie-mcginn @pcterparxer @literarycharleton @khiaraaa-in-spacee @crushe-s @teamnick @daydreamlilys @collectiveuniverses @activist-af @mdgrdians @buckys-sunflower @vindictive-hearts @copper-boom @talksoprettyjjx @5am-cigarette @smiithys @jolomez @timotaychalabae @solllaris

[sabraeal]

Not Necessarily a Virtue

[Read on AO3]

Obiyuki AU Bingo 2021 Practical Magic AU

There hadn’t been a plan when Obi picked up the phone.

All it had taken was one rogue text-- another case assigned to his social worker, one that was enough of an emergency that it his behavioral issues seem tame in comparison. Her chair rattles when she stans, its plastic back hitting the filing cabinets with a metallic tang, but her hands tremble more.

“This will be just a minute,” she says, smile plastered tight to her face. And then she leaves him there alone, his file open on her desk, flaws left out for the world to see.

It doesn’t bothered him. There’s no point, not when he already knows: he’s trouble with a capital-T, each failed family drawing him closer and closer to being unplaceable. Some people have a face only a mother could love, but Obi-- Obi has that for his personality. Though considering how each of his six almost-moms signed him away with a sigh of relief, walking out the plate glass doors without even a glance back, maybe he has the sort of personality that makes people reconsider whether they could be a mother.

So here he is again, freshly abandoned, back in the sterile halls of social services for the seventh time without a place to call home. He’s not even twelve.

Not that these people aren’t trying to change that-- he’s not some cat left at the shelter, free to a good home. Unless Kerry or Janine or the girl at the desk he didn’t get to read the name tag of wanted to sleep on their couch, they have to find someone to take him for the night. And he knows from experience, there’s always a family that believes they can change him. A young couple who thought all problem children needed was just a little extra love. By the time Kerry came back, there’d be good news waiting, a miracle crafted by three people who didn’t want to miss the Masked Singer finale. They’d pack him into the back of a car and ship him off to a new place to fail. Because no matter how many homes they tried to make for him, it’d never change how he felt.

Obi had tried, at first. He was just a little kid, wanting to be loved, but every home he went to itched like hives in his head, a constant buzz that set his teeth on edge and made him do anything, try anything to leave. He belonged somewhere else, somewhere not here, and he knew it like he knew Kerry’s other case had overdosed on a bottle of sleeping pills in his foster mother’s cabinet-- with an inexplicable certainty.

He waits thirty seconds after she leaves before he slides off the the plastic seat she’d put him in. They love these things, oddly shaped and in primary colors that make the little kids giddy, but Obi hates them. He’s undersized, and putting him in these kiddie rooms always makes people treat him like he’s eight instead of eleven, asking him about Blue’s Clues.

But that’s not why he gets up, not entirely. There’s a buzzing in the back of his brain, a knowing, and it makes him stand, his hand straying to the glass door. He can’t see anything outside, at least not anything besides more kiddie chairs and offices, but he steps out nonetheless. He steps out and, unerringly, turns to face the girl waiting for him down the hall.

“It’s you.” Her tawny hair stresses the elastic she’s trapped it in, too thick. It’s not one of those hair ones either, but one of those thick rubber bands they use on the produce in grocery store. It hurts; he knows because it’s common sense, but also because he just...Knows. Their eyes meet, and even though he doesn’t her name, they’ve known each other forever.

His mouth is dry when he asks, “Do you know me?”

“I saw you in a dream.” She takes a step toward him, her sneakers scuffed and worn, just like his. “You’re Obi. I’m Torou.”

He doesn’t know this girl. There’s a hundred ways she could get his name; one of them is sitting on a desk behind him right now. But when she looks up at him with eyes he’s only ever seen in the mirror, he holds out his hand. “Come here.”

His heart pounds with each mincing squeak of her sneakers on the tile. She’s taking too long and she’s coming too fast; each terrible second convinces him he’s making a mistake at the same time he’s doing what he was always meant to do. By the time she slips her hand into his, he’s trembling, but it doesn’t matter because they both are and this--

This is right. And he knows exactly what to do.

It’s holding her hand that he picks up the phone. He fucks it up the first time-- he gets that gross digital buzz before he notices the sticker beneath the speaker, informing him 9 dials out-- but the second one his fingers guide him, releasing the number he has no reason to know. A number he has no reason to believe will work, that could have just come from the weird recesses of his mind but--

But he’s not surprised when a man picks up. “Who is this? Do you know what time--?”

“We’re here,” Obi says, and it shouldn’t be enough, but it is. “Come pick us up.”

A specter arrives on the front walk at noon.

Obi knows by the hush in the office. Or really the weight of it-- it’s been quiet like this since last night, since he and Torou sat down on the big bean bag couch in the waiting room, and Obi announced they wouldn’t be letting go. His case worker had crouched in front of them, that sweet smile plastered to her lips, and told him that they’d only have to be separated for a night. But he’d known-- the way he always did-- that every word was a lie. His fingers tightened in her grip, narrowing his eyes until the woman shivered, and that was that.

Kerry stayed with them, of course; she’d slept in her office, under a blanket it’s clear she’s never used and had only just discovered wasn’t comfortable no matter how many Sesame Street characters were on it. They’d been tucked under another by a younger girl with trembling hands, her eyes darting between them as she smoothed out its edges. He’d heard them through the walls this morning while the rest of the office filtered in-- government buildings like this were always cutting corners, leaving things like this paper thin, stuff that would go up like tissue in a fire.

Do you think they’re twins? one asked. Trembling hands, he guesses, since her voice does as well, like a chihuahua in a sweater. I’ve heard about this happening with twins. They look and just know.

Can’t be, we have their birth certificates, says another. Kerry, probably; she might be a liar, but she’s one of the only people in this place that has her head screwed on right, too. Two different sets of parents.

And the man they called last night? This one is stern; their manager maybe. He’s not really sure how this all works; he’s not even twelve, and he can only just know so much. Who is he?

There’s a heavy pause. I...I don’t know.

So when he arrives, dressed like an undertaker and holding an umbrella beneath the bright New Mexico sky, the whole place goes quiet. When he walks it’s stiff, like it took a hundred volts to get him up off the table and he’s only just gotten used to the idea. Obi casts a look down at Torou, at where her hand is white knuckled in his, and thinks about how he knows things, and wonders just what she might be able to do.

The man enters, umbrella folding in a single neat motion, before he says. “I am Lata Forenzo. I believe you have my...niblings.”

Niblings, Obi learns, is like siblings, only sideways.

“It was a simplification,” Lata says, his voice a deep, hesitant gravel. He casts a speculative look at the taxi driver, adjusting the gloves on his hands. “Niece and nephew is an unwieldy phrase, and time, after all, is of the essence.”

“Is it?” Torou’s eyes are wide, and for the first time since last night, her hand leaves his, gripping on to the cloth at Lata’s knee. “Is there something after us? Those bugs, they’re not--”

“No.” Obi’s known his uncle for barely more than a half hour, but he knows he isn’t a tactile person. Even still, Lata looks down at Torou, his not-gold eyes somehow softer, and puts two fingers over the bones at the back of her hand. “But it is time to bring you home.”

Home is an island. It takes the whole night to fly in, and when they land the sun is just barely scratching the sky. Even still, there’s no stopping; Lata bundles them straight into a cab, shushing them before they can make much more than a peep.

“We’ll be home soon,” he says, and the next time he wakes them, salt stings Obi’s nose, and he’s being carried over a threshold.

“Are we here?” he slurs. The house is weird-- angular, really, with a hall so narrow he could kick out a leg and stop them up like a cork. He nearly does, just to be cussed, but he catches Torou still wrapped up in her blanket, lolling on the couch, and says instead, “Can you let me down?”

Lata hesitates, fingers stiff where they wrap around his knees and shoulders, but he nods.

Obi’s feet-- just wearing socks now, somehow-- press on the floor, and he knows: he’s home.

“Oh,” he breathes, hands flying out to steady himself. “Oh.”

When he looks up, Torou’s eyes meet his, round and wide. “I felt that.”

Her own feet swing down-- bare-- and the moment she touches the wide old planks--

“Oh.” Lata braces himself against the wall, the sound bitter on his lips. “So it’s true. There will always be two.”

They aren’t his words, Obi knows, but they’re important. They’ve got that feel, the same as when Torou said she dreamed of him. The sort that are going to be life-changing, one way or another.

But Obi’s had enough of that today. Enough of it for a lifetime. He glances over at Torou, and she nods. “Can we go outside?”

Lata blinks, eyes pulling from the wallpaper to fix on him. After a long moment, he says, “You know where the door is.”

Obi does, somehow, and when he opens it--

It’s paradise.

Home has rules too, loads of them. It’s quiet time from nine to eight, though Lata doesn’t much care if they’re sleeping, so long as they’re in bed. Teeth have to be brushed twice a day-- he’d glowered when Obi said he had good teeth and only needed the once, standing over him for a week morning and night to see the rule stuck. There’s only one dessert after dinner; Obi balked at that one, until he’d learned that a limit on quantity wasn’t the same thing as size. He and Torou find three old sundae dishes in the cabinet and pile them high with ice cream and every topping they can find, and when they slap Lata’s down in front of him, cheeks bulging with their own towers of sweets, all he’d does is give them that small, reluctant twitch of a smile and dig in.

They have to make their beds and pick up after themselves-- this house has treated us well, Lata tells them, it’s only right we take care of it in return-- and they have to tell him if they plan to play in the yard; but in return their sheets are always clean, and dinner’s promptly at six. When they come back in, sweaty and exhausted from the summer heat, there’s always a bowl of fruit waiting for them and cold drinks.

He’d known, in the way he always does, that this couldn’t last. So when summer’s heat began to cool, he’s not surprised to see Lata waiting on for them on the veranda, mouth pulled into an even grimmer line.

“It’s time,” he says, “for a Family Meeting.”

“School,” Lata says with the sort of relish and derision only a professor like him can summon up, “is starting. Which means there are new rules.”

Fingers brush at Obi’s, and when he reaches out, Torou’s fingers knit in his. He knows what rules these will be-- his parents had them to, the only ones they’d ever made. His mother had gotten down on her knees the night before kindergarten, nails digging into his shoulders, and used a voice so dark, so unlike her, he’d dreamed of button eyes staring into his for a week. His father had tossed out their Coraline DVD after that.

“Forenzos,” Lata starts, already sounding weary, “look after each other. So you’ll walk together, both ways, and if one of you gets into trouble--” he fixes them both with a stern look-- “I expect both of you to run.”

Obi stares. “What?”

“You’ll come back right after school, unless we have previously discussed plans,” Lata continues. “You’re far too young for...cellular phones, so I expect that if you make plans with friends, you will discuss them with me the night previous, or you will come home first and ask permission. Not,” he murmurs, just barely audible, “that I expect you’ll have much trouble with that.”

“Is that...” Obi’s jaw works. “Is that all?”

“I expect you to keep up your grades.” Lata’s brow furrows, taking them in, as if he’d never once questioned whether or not they would be stellar students. As if most people don’t look at the both of them and see future high school flunk outs. “If they are slipping, I’m afraid I’ll have to limit your free time until we are able to bring them back to an acceptable level. Homework is to be done at the table, and once you are done, your time is yours until dinner.”

Torou’s hand squeezes his. “We?”

Lata blinks. “Excuse me?”

“You said ‘we.’“ She clear her throat, eyelashes fluttering with nerves. “If our grades are bad, you said we would, uh, fix them.”

“Of course.” His mouth pulls at the corners, annoyed. “How could I possibly ask you to rectify such a thing on your own? You’re already doing the best you can, if you still struggle, then it’s clearly something we both-- oh my,” he murmurs mildly, “she’s leaking.”

“Sorry,” she sobs, pink burning on her cheeks, the way it never did on his. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no.” Lata flails out, yanking a tissue from the box, shoving it into her hand. “I just...hope that you find this all fair. I was always quite good at school, but my sisters--” he glances at them, wary-- “varied. I hope I can only...encourage you to your best.”

“But what about...” Obi snaps his teeth around the words. If he doesn’t ask, then it won’t become a rule, and his uncle can’t be disappointed when he breaks it.

The pictures on the wall prove that they’re family, that Lata truly is his mom’s brother, even if they don’t share much more than a hair color. But Obi’s never seen it, the way he does in pictures of Torou’s mom, where there’s a flick of the hand or a cock of a hip that says they spent their childhood together, inextricably intertwined forever in ways they would never understand.

But Lata raises a brow now, and he sees it, that small thread that ties him to his mom, that says brother. “About...?”

“The other stuff,” Torou blurts out, coughing down a sniff. “He wants to know what we...”

Her words peter out too, like she can’t figure out what to do with them. He can’t stop knowing, and she can’t stop dreaming, and the thought of having to pretend they can is...tiring this time, in a way it never was in the system.

His mouth wraps around the words with a curious sort of wonder. “Other stuff?” 

“You know,” she mutters, so small. “The weird stuff.”

Lata jolts in his chair, spine as straight as a poker. His hands press flat against his knees, and when he looks at them, the gray in his eyes in thunderous.

“This is the most important rule,” he tells them, voice oddly resonant, “you must follow it. Promise me.”

Obi’s heart sinks into his stomach, but he nods, fingers squeezing Torou’s tighter.

Lata’s hand presses heavy on his shoulder, leather flexing over cotton. “Don’t ever hide yourselves. Not for anything. Not for anyone.” Obi dares to look up, and Lata’s gaze is waiting to catch him. “Being...normal is not necessarily a virtue. There is no shame in being who you are, none at all.”

Or what you are, he doesn’t say, but his eyes do, loud and clear. He doesn’t say what that is either, but--

Obi knows. Just like he always does.

And if he didn’t, well-- he would have found out soon enough.

It’s a small island; small enough that K-12 are all squeezed into one school, though Lata tells them that by the time they go to senior high, they might have built another. It’s still not small enough for Torou and him to be in the same class, so he drops her off at the door with promises to find her at lunch and moseys down to his own. It puts him a little behind schedule, the school bell ringing on his heels, and when he steps in--

The room goes silent. Twenty pairs of eyes stare at him, round and wide, not a single person daring to do much more than breathe.

“Forenzo,” the teacher says, faint. “You must be...the Forenzo boy.”

“Yeah.” He grips at his shoulder. “Obi.”

“You can take your seat...at the back,” she says, before hurrying to the board, eager to put her back to him.

“I thought my mom said all the Forenzos died,” a boy whispers as he passes. “Except the old man, of course.”

“No, they just left,” says the one next to them. “Chased out. Because they’re, you know...”

Obi does; he always had, even before he had a word for it.

“I don’t think a boy can be a witch,” a girl says, thoughtless and thoughtful at the same time. “They’re wizards, or something.”

“Warlocks,” scoffs another. “Don’t you know anything? And they do blood magic with little girls--”

Obi grits his teeth, eyes forward. There’s two empty chairs in the back, one in the corner by the window, and the other next to it, and he steers toward that one-- window seats always get him in trouble--

And the boy next to it scoots away, fear bright in his eyes. Obi looks back at the teacher, but she’s writing her name on the board real slow, like she’s hoping this might solve itself.

Fine, he can take a hint. He takes the window, sliding in behind the desk. The girl in front of him scoots forward too, making sure her chair doesn’t touch his desktop, and he sighs. At least they’re all getting this out of the way first.

A bag drops, right next to his seat.

“Ms Kino!” There’s a girl there, smaller than everyone else, though her voice makes her twice as tall. In the morning sun, her hair burns bright like the horizon. “Can I change my seat?”

“Shirayuki?” The teacher blinks back at them, and Obi could swear she breaks into a cold sweat. “Shirayuki, I’m not sure that’s--”

“I can’t see the board from over there,” she says, every syllable digging in its heels. “There’s glare. Because I’m so small.”

Ms Kino squints back at her, and really-- there’s no denying how small she is, at least a head below Obi and he’s nothing to write home about either. “If you’re sure...”

“Great.” She drops into her seat with a thump as loud as thunder, setting out her notebook and pencil with the sort of purposeful efficiency that says there’s no doubt she’s here to stay.

Obi slips his out of his backpack too, so quiet so the other kids will stop looking at him like he’s going to set the place on fire, but he hears, “You’re new, right?”

He looks down, and there’s the girl, smiling across the aisle. “Yeah. I’m--”

“Obi, I heard.” She leans toward him. “I’m--”

“Shirayuki.” His mouth twitches. “I also heard.”

Her smile stretches towards a grin. “You know, Ms Kino likes group projects.”

He blinks. “Does she?”

She nods. “Would you like a partner?”

“She hasn’t assigned one yet,” he says, a little lost.

“She will,” this Shirayuki says, confident. The way he is, when he knows.

He nods, slow. “All right, so for the next one.”

“To start.” She fixes him with a look he can’t get out from under. “Are you eating lunch with someone?”

“Ah, yeah.” He feels guilty about it now, for some reason. “My um. Cousin.”

She brightens. “Great. I’ll show you guys the best place to sit.”

He’s been adopted, he realizes, like the way the cats around the house aren’t. And this girl means to keep him.

For once in his very short life, Obi doesn’t mind knowing. Just like he always does.

[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter Twelve ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 3433

Warnings: None

**Read on Ao3 under the user “bonjour_rainycity if you prefer!**

A/n Sorry for the delay! Thanks for your patience and for reading :) Also, I’m so glad you liked the cuteness of the last chapter <3

I wake to an insistent pounding on my door.

I grumble against the noise and the sunlight, pulling the thick duvet over my head.

“Cosima,” a voice sings from behind the wood. “Rise and shine, it is well past lunchtime.”

I crack open an eye. The sun shimmers aggressively, forcing me into a state of awareness. Too early. But Rumil’s wake-up calls and knocking are insistent, so I haul myself out of bed and dress quickly, running a washcloth over my face and a brush over my teeth. When I’m decent, I swing open the door to fix Rumil with what I hope is a withering glare.

He grins brightly. “You look tired.”

“Wow, thank you,” I deadpan, opening the door wider to allow him in. He jaunts to the chaise lounge and reclines on the pillows, evidently in the mood to borrow the luxury of my guest room.

I offer him a glass of lemon water and pour one for myself, then sit on the couch opposite him.

He gives me a sly look. “You know, Haldir came into our room quite early this morning.”

I freeze mid-sip.

Rumil nods gleefully. “Woke me up—quite rude, if you ask me. Though I do have to wonder, what kept him out so late? Surely he was exhausted from his long day at the borders.”

I take a deep breath, trying to relax the tension that has shot its way into my shoulders. Rumil just likes to tease. You didn’t do anything wrong or scandalous — not even anything of interest.

He continues. “And then I come to visit my friend out of the goodness of my heart and find her sound asleep at two in the afternoon. She greets me at the door with such dark circles under her eyes — did she sleep at all? What was so interesting that kept both my brother and my good friend awake into the early hours of the morning?”

I roll my eyes, trying to seem nonchalant about it. After all, there’s no reason to feel cornered like Rumil is so obviously trying to achieve. “I couldn’t sleep. I was on my way to the gardens when I ran into Haldir and he ended up coming with me.”

“To the gardens?”

“Yes.”

“Late at night?”

“Yes.”

“Alone?”

“Yes, Rumil,” I huff.

He looks positively delighted. “And what did you do to pass all that time in the gardens late at night by yourselves?”

I squirm under his gaze then force myself to stop. It looks suspicious. “We talked a little. And then stargazed. At some point I fell asleep, he woke me up and walked me back to my room. The end.”

“The end,” Rumil echoes dubiously.

“Yes,” I insist, just about done with this conversation. It’s ridiculous — we did nothing to warrant this questioning. “If you don’t believe me, you can ask your brother.”

“I did.” My eyes blow wide in disbelief. Somehow, Rumil looks even more smug than he did a second ago. “He quite forcefully told me to leave him and you alone. Such a strong reaction over a little thing, wouldn’t you agree?”

I fight the urge to groan loudly and instead take a sip of my water. I cross one leg over the other. “Is there something you would like to say or are you just here to interrogate me?”

He shrugs, looking completely unapologetic. “No, I think I am done for now. I’ll let you know if that changes, though.”

“Please do,” I snark.

He stands, placing his glass on the table. “I did actually come here for a larger purpose. Orophin and Lavandil went riding and missed lunch, so we’re having an impromptu picnic in one of the towers. It has some lovely views. Would you join us?”

The emptiness in my stomach begs me to agree, but the word ‘tower’ gives me pause. Rumil guesses the direction of my thoughts and huffs. “The tower is encased in stone, it is perfectly safe. You would have to jump onto the barrier and lean over to be in danger of falling off.”

I consider his words. That doesn’t sound too bad, and I am hungry. “Alright,” I agree. “But I’m inviting Alex.”

Rumil makes a noise of general acceptance and gives me directions to the tower. Before leaving, he snatches one of the thicker quilts from a storage basket. “Cost of attendance is the blanket we use to sit on. See you there!” With a cheeky wink, he disappears, leaving me feeling whiplash from the quick turns in our conversation.

Before leaving to find Alex, I pull a few pillows from the seating area. They’ll make for some extra cushion on the hard stone. And, since Rumil annoyed me, he will not be getting one.

Ha.

At my knock, Alex throws his door open, greeting me with a wide smile. “Hello, Cosima.”

Well, that’s not what I was expecting. I blink and step into his room, careful not to tread on one of the many books and scrolls scattered around the floor. “Uh, you’re more chipper than I thought you would be after yesterday. How are you doing?”

He shrugs, throwing his hands into his pockets. “I mean, it didn’t feel great to find out that Elrond can’t help us, but I am holding out hope for Lady Galadriel. In the meantime, though, I’ve borrowed some materials from the library to see if there’s anything I can learn to help in getting us home. Most of them are in that Elvish language—Sindarin—so I’m having to learn the basics of the language first. Baranor offered to help — we’re meeting this evening after he’s done with his shift in the healing wards. Want to read the English ones with me and then come along? I’m sure he’d be fine with teaching you, too.”

“Um…” I trail off, feeling guilty. I’m attending a picnic with my friends while Alex is pouring over resources and learning the language of this land — he’s doing something helpful to try and get us home.

But if I’m being honest, I don’t want to do research right now. It’s not like there’s likely to be anything we could do, anyway. The best option is to just wait for Lothlórien and see what Lady Galadriel says. I clutch the bulky cushions tighter in my arms. “Can I take a rain check? A few of us are going to the tower to have a late lunch. That’s actually why I came here. Want to come?”

Alex looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “You don’t want to see if there’s something in these books to help us?”

I shift my weight uneasily. “Not now…I haven’t eaten yet, and I already said I would go to the picnic. And I mean, come on, how likely is it that there’s something in those books Elrond isn’t aware of? It’s his library.”

“It has forty-two thousand volumes.”

“He’s lived a long time,” I defend weakly.

Alex’s eyes tighten into a glare.

“Look,” I try, “I’m gonna go eat, but what if I joined you and Baranor this evening? It’s smart to learn the language. And then maybe later I can help you look through these books.”

He sighs and shrugs his shoulders, looking frustrated but resigned. “Yeah, that’s fine. We’re meeting at five-thirty on the second floor of the library.”

“Okay,” I exhale, relived to have avoided a larger argument “I’ll be there. You sure you don’t want to come eat?”

He shakes his head, crouching to the ground to pick up a particularly withered scroll. “No, I ate in the dining hall. See you tonight.”

“See you,” I mumble, backing out of the room. I feel bad for not helping him, but hopefully joining him and Baranor tonight will smooth things over.

Following Rumil’s directions are relatively easy and, before I know it, I’m navigating the hallways to one of the towers built into Elrond’s home.

“Cosima!”

I stop in my tracks and turn at Haldir’s call. He jogs to catch up to me, having just entered the long hallway, and greets me with a pleasant smile. As always, he looks perfectly rested and put together — not a strand of hair out of place. Today he wears a tunic of deep grey, his clear blue eyes standing out in stark contrast.  

“Hi!” I wait for him to fall into step beside me. Unbidden, Rumil’s gleeful teasing enters my mind, and I feel my face go hot. What? I clear my throat. “Are you going up, too?”

“Yes, it’s—here,” he pulls the four bulky pillows from my grasp into his. My arms drop limply at my sides, suddenly relieved from their task. To give them something to do, I tug on the sides of my dress, trying to smooth the wrinkles that have somehow already appeared.

Haldir continues. “Rumil insisted it would be fun and it’s such a nice day I figured, why not?”

We turn a corner and begin our ascent up a tall spiral staircase. I remember a snippet of our conversation from last night. “Has Glorfindel come around?”

The edge of Haldir’s mouth pulls into a frown. “No. I talked with Elrond anyway and he’s agreed to my plan. It has set Glorfindel and myself at odds though, since I went over his head.”

I purse my lips. Though Haldir doesn’t say it, he’s clearly bothered by this outcome — it’s obvious he hoped to resolve things peacefully with Glorfindel and gain Elrond’s support. I hurry to try and make him feel better. “You did the right thing. So what if you went over his head? If it keeps people safe, I doubt it really matters how the plan came to be. And as commander, isn’t it his job to recognize advantageous strategies regardless of where they come from? I wouldn’t worry too much about being at odds with Glorfindel — the two of you will reconcile soon enough. And in the meantime, it’s good that Elrond agreed with you. Now Imladris has more time to better prepare.”

Haldir pauses on the step above me, turning with his head tilted slightly to the side.

I freeze. “What?” Did I intrude? Did I offend him somehow?

“No, it’s—I…” He sighs, offering me a soft smile. “Thank you.”

Oh, good. I breathe out in relief, returning his smile. We resume our climb.

“Elrond gave the order to call up the entire force and rotate the soldiers — they should all be switched in about a week. He’s asked me to oversee their training, to teach the strategies I use with my own guard in Lothlórien.”

I snort. “You’re going to work while you’re on vacation? That’s the most you thing I’ve ever heard.”

He rolls his eyes, but the smile never leaves his face. “It’s important and something I enjoy, so I am happy to help. I haven’t forgotten my offer to you, though.”

I furrow my eyebrows. Huh?

“Do you still want to learn how to defend yourself?”

“Oh! Yeah, definitely, if you’ve got the time.”

He steps onto the landing, moving forward to make room for me. “Of course I’ve got the time.”

I step up next to him—

And immediately return to the staircase.

Haldir alternates between looking at me in confusion and scanning his eyes over our surroundings, wondering what would make me practically jump away from the landing.

He doesn’t have to wonder long.

“You said it was encased in stone,” I shout accusingly over Rumil’s wailing laughter.

“Did I say encased? I meant made of. Whoops, my mistake.”

“Rumil,” Haldir grumbles in annoyance, but that only seems to make his brother laugh harder.

The tower is not, as Rumil promised, encased in stone, but rather a circular platform with only a roof and four stone pillars to protect from falling. There is no guard wall or even a thin railing. And we are stories above the ground.

“Cosima, it’s alright,” Lavandil coos, though her encouraging words are damaged by her giggles. “Elves have wonderful balance, no one is going to let you fall. And look—we are set up right in the middle.”

“If it helps, I can shove Rumil off the tower to demonstrate elven reflexes,” Orophin offers through a chuckle.

This does make me feel slightly better, and I crack a small smile. On the step above me, Haldir waits patiently. Maybe I’m just being silly. I take a deep breath and step up to join Haldir on the landing.

And nearly sway in fear.

To my right and left are open sky — and too many feet below, the hard, deadly ground.

I suck in a sharp breath.

Rumil waves in joyful greeting. “Good to see you both. Now do sit down, Cosima, I worry you will faint and tumble over the edge.”

His words resonate with a very real fear and I scurry forward and practically throw myself onto the blanket. Haldir follows closely behind, offering a cushion to myself and Lavandil before using another to hit his youngest brother over the head. Even in my nervous state, I can’t help but join Orophin and Lavandil in their shocked laughter.

“Didn’t our parents teach you not to lie,” Haldir drawls, dropping the cushion to my left and sitting upon it. He tosses the other to Orophin, raising an eyebrow at Rumil as if asking him to challenge his choice.

Rumil grins, completely unaffected. “Then I apologize, dear Cosima, but your face was hilarious. And don’t you know we all like you too much to let you die?”

I huff, rolling my eyes and feeling better as long as I focus on the faces of my friends rather than the nearness of the edge. “Thanks.”

Lavandil wisely changes the subject. “No Alex?”

I shake my head. “He’s doing some research today. I’m supposed to meet him in the library at five-thirty — Baranor’s going to teach us Sindarin.”

A chorus of approval runs through the group.

“That’s a useful skill,” Rumil nods, taking a sip of what looks like orange juice.

“I’d be happy to practice conversation with you once you learn the basics,” Lavandil offers, and I accept readily. From the little I’ve spoken with her, I like Lavandil, and it would be nice to spend more time with her.

Tired of being the focus, I turn the conversation on my friends. I gesture between Lavandil and Orophin. “How did you two meet?”

Lavandil launches into an animated account of her relationship with Orophin from start to where they are now. Apparently, they met eight years prior when Haldir and Orophin were part of a company escorting Lady Galadriel to Imladris. Orophin was taken with her immediately, but it took Lavandil a little longer to come around.

“I always swore I would marry an architect—anyone but a solder,” she laments with comical exaggeration. “But eventually he persuaded me to give him a chance, and I haven’t looked back since.”

Orophin takes her hand in his and squeezes, staring at her like she’s the center of his world.

I don’t want to pry, but I do wonder how elven relationships differ from human ones. Just the time they’ve been courting—eight years—is much longer than I think is the standard for humans. I am lacking in memory, but surely with how short human lifespans are, they get married quicker? I make a note to ask Lavandil or Rumil about this later. Though, with all Rumil’s teasing of late, Lavandil is probably the safer option.

After I learn how Lavandil and Orophin got together, I have a lot of other questions about the lives these friends of mine lived before I knew them. As afternoon passes into evening, I discover that Rumil—unsurprisingly—has been the instigator of no less than four human bar fights, Lavandil once snuck from her childhood home to try and explore the mountains (and was promptly sent back to a furious mother), Orophin is apparently the life of the party after a bottle of Elvish wine, and, in his first few years of the guard, Haldir constantly challenged his superiors, to the point where they would send him off on solo trips just to be rid of the relentless suggestions. Before I know it, the first stretches of sunset streak through the sky and it’s nearing the time I set to meet Alex and Baranor.

I stand, sighing with no small amount of regret. I wish I could stay here with them all night. “I’ll see you tomorrow! I’ve got to get to the library for lessons.”

Rumil waves goodbye. “I’ll drop the blanket and cushions in your room. You know, as penance for tricking you.”

I roll my eyes, concentrating on his face rather than the open sky all too close to my feet. “That doesn’t even begin to cover it, but thank you.”

“Do you know the way?” Lavandil looks up at me with mild concern. I assure her that I’ve visited the library before and am mostly confident in my ability to not get lost.

Haldir wraps an apple and some bread in cloth and passes me the bundle. In response to my raised eyebrow, he quirks a knowing smile. “Baranor is likely to keep you well past dinner. He loves his lectures.”

I chuckle, agreeing that Baranor probably will, and thank my friend. After a final round of goodbyes, I hurry as quickly and carefully as I can to the security of the stairwell and head in the direction of the library.

{***}

Sindarin is complicated. Baranor seems to have an endless reserve of patience — how? I have no clue.

Alex struggles just as much as I do, but it is clear that he is more dedicated than I and pushes to keep his attention into the late hours of the night. I’m grateful Haldir had the forethought to send me with food, as are Alex and Baranor, who share the dinner. By the time ten o’clock rolls around, I’m fighting back yawns. I think I’ve got the alphabet down, though that isn’t even technically Sindarin — it’s the writing system called Tengwar — so I don’t even have any conversational phrases to try with Lavandil.

At midnight, Baranor finally calls it, acknowledging that he will need some sleep if he is to put in a full day tomorrow of researching with Elrond and doing a shift in the healing wards. But he graciously commits to teaching us three evenings a week after dinner and maintains that, after practice and time, we will improve.

We say our goodbyes and I practically stumble out of the library. I can think of nothing more than my plush duvet and cool mattress. Alex, on the other hand, somehow almost vibrates with energy. He seems rejuvenated, renewed, and for the first time, I recognize him as the same man in my memories — no longer is he weighed down by malnutrition, injury, exhaustion, and defeat. But it’s more than that. He’s no longer angry — hope lights up his eyes. He smiles broadly and insists on walking me to my room.

“Worried you’re gonna fall over, Cosi,” he reasons, sending me a wink. Even in my tired state, I have to blanch. It’s like being with a whole new person. But at the same time, I know this person. I like this Alex. At the very least, I know what to expect from him — he’s the friend I remember.

Though I do worry…what will happen to him if this search for answers is a dead end? What if we can’t get home?

I don’t want to think about how he would feel, then.

I don’t want to think about how I would feel, then.

We climb the stairs and reach my door, pausing outside it momentarily. I turn to my friend, giving him a sleepy smile. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“Me too,” he agrees, leaning against the doorframe. “I just needed something to do. Now I don’t feel so helpless. And you’re okay? After yesterday’s setback?”

I sigh against the drowsiness. “Yeah, yeah I’m good. Don’t you worry about me.”

He nudges my shoe with his. “Good. Alright, I’ll leave you alone. Sleep tight, Cosi.”

I smile, waving as he walks down the hallway. “Night, Alex.”

Entering my room, I see that Rumil kept to his word and left the folded blanket on my couch with the four pillows stacked neatly on top. Still doesn’t atone for all his foolishness today. Crawling into my bed, I instantly fall asleep.

A/n Thanks for reading! Let me know if you would like a tag :) Comments, likes, and reblogs make my day! 

|next part|

|masterlist|

Tolkien tag list: @anangelwhodidntfall @eru-vande

Haldir tag list: @tolkien-apologist

Double Heart tag list: @lainphotography @themerriweathermage @thophil2941btw @kenobiguacamole @wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse @from-patroclus-with-love @boywivlove @ordinarymom1 @my-darling-haldir @sweet-bea-blossom @moony-artnstuff

[berrynarrybanana]

i want more berries

A/N: She’s a long one. I used that gif on purpose, as well. I hope you enjoy this smut and fluff filled chapter. Please let me know what you all think so far :)

Word count: 13.3k+

Warnings: Smut, alcohol, mentions of death and loss

P.S tell me if there’s something specific you’d like to see in the next few chapters!

Bea’s POV

I had a dream about Harry. 

I dreamt that after our steamy rooftop kiss, he swept me away to his beautiful home in Malibu. I dreamt that we kissed for hours, his hands sliding under the hem of my dress to grip at my bum as I pressed my palms against his face. He treated me so well in my dream, letting me roll my hips against his for a little while before he slipped a hand around to my front. In my dream, his fingers stretched me out, bringing me right to the brink of an earth shattering orgasm. 

And just as things were about to get good, my phone alarm pulled me from my dream; like a bucket of ice water being dumped over my head. It was the worst way to wake up, the sun blaring through the window as I tried to open my eyes. I hissed out, turning my face into the pillow below me before reaching for my phone. I let out a sigh of relief as I turned the intrusive noise off, closing my eyes 

I had plans to be punctual for. 

A hazy memory of coordinating a birthday brunch with Gemma Styles came to memory as I sat up in bed, brushing my hands through my hair to get it out of my face. We made plans for twelve-thirty at a cafe just a few miles from our rental home and Harry’s Malibu Mansion. I set my alarm for eight in the morning, hoping that my hangover wouldn’t be that bad so I could indulge in a solo walk.

It was something I picked up on after moving out of my parents house, a habit that helped keep my mind clear and my calves toned. California had so many beautiful parks that I wanted to branch out and see a few of them, without the group tagging along. As I turned back, grabbing the water bottle I set on my bedside table last night, my bedroom door opened. 

Tara poked her head in, a mess of brown curls piled on her head and a gentle smile on her face. I smiled back at her, reaching for my two pain killers to help ease the ache behind my forehead, as a gesture for her to come in. She shut the door quietly behind her, plopping down with her legs crossed at the end of my bed. I took my painkillers, resting my water bottle between my legs as she moved around a little, trying to find a comfortable position where the sun wasn’t shining in her eyes. 

“Good morning,” I chuckled, handing her my bottle. “How are you feeling?” 

“Good.” She nodded. “I stopped drinking at bar four.” 

“Smart move,” I laughed. “What are you doing up so early?” 

“I heard your alarm.” She shrugged. “I just wanted to see what you were up to so early in the morning.” 

“Gonna go for a walk at Solstice Canyon.” I said softly. “Why?” 

“I just...didn’t know if you had plans with Harry this morning.” She said slowly, avoiding my raised brows. “You two were pretty cozy last night.”

“Not that I know of.” I said slowly. “Just brunch with everyone later. Why?” 

“I just think you should be careful with him.” She said like the words were burning her throat, spitting them out quickly before she snapped her mouth shut. 

“Tara,” I said softly, confused by her warning. “Why do you think that?” 

“Because he’s Harry fucking Styles.” She whisper yelled, leaning forward. “You made out with him on a rooftop bar last night like you were high-school sweethearts! You looked like Matt and Chloe, making out like the rest of us didn’t exist. I’ve never seen you kiss someone like that.”

“That’s not true.” I groaned, rolling my head back as I tried to find the right words to say. “You’ve seen me kiss people before, T.” 

“Not like that.” She repeated. 

I didn’t blame her for warning me about Harry. 

I was a little skeptical of the entire thing myself.

But I really liked him. 

My whole life, I had been looking for that spark you hear about in movies and read about in books. And I hadn’t really dated that much, but I had never felt that spark with anyone else besides Harry. Something about the way he looked at me, like I was the only person there, made my insides turn to mush and my heart pound in my chest. I rolled my head forward, looking at Claire as she started peeling the label off of the water bottle in her hands. 

“I really like Harry.” I said softly. “And you know how hard that is for me, T. I know I should be skeptical because he’s Harry Fucking Styles, but I don’t want to be! I want to actually try this time, to get lost in someone just because I’m young and I can. I want to be myself around him without worrying or feeling judged. I feel like I can do that with him, Tara.” 

“I want that for you too.” She whispered. “But his track record puts me on edge, Beatrice.” 

“Because I’m not a model, like the other ones?” I asked. “Or a singer, or an actress, or a famous daughter...I’m just me, right? I can’t help that, Tara. And I’m insecure about that on my own, you don’t need to remind me.” 

“That’s not what I mean, Beatrice.” She groaned as I got out of bed, walking towards the ensuite bathroom. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.” 

“I don’t care if he ends up hurting me, Tara!” I exclaimed, walking over to the sink as she rested her hip against the door frame. “It’s too early for this conversation. I haven’t even had time to process it all myself and I just….I just need to go on my walk.” 

“Okay.” She said. “I love you to death, Bea. You’re an amazing friend and you always look out for us. I’m just looking out for you this time.” 

“Thank you.” I said softly. “It’s a nice gesture, but I’m a little hungover and extremely overwhelmed. Maybe we can talk after brunch?” 

“I’d like that.” She said. “Have a good walk. Text me your location so I know where you are, just in case someone decides to kidnap you.” 

“I will.” I let out a soft chuckle, watching as she retreated. 

As I turned the water on in the sink, I heard my phone ringing from the bedroom. 

I quickly rushed over, not wanting the sound to wake anyone else. One concerned friend was enough for me this morning. I answered the call without checking the i.d, holding it up to my ear. 

“Hello?” I said, walking back to the bathroom. 

“Good morning.” 

My heart stopped in my chest at the sound of Harry’s voice. 

It was a deep, gravelly tone coated in honey and I wondered if he was still curled up in his california king bed. I rolled my lips in, trying to hold back a squeal as I waited for him to speak again. 

“How are you, honey?” 

“I’m good.” I said softly, crossing my right arm over my chest as I glanced down at my cobalt blue painted toenails. I wiggled them, trying not to giggle like a schoolgirl. “Are you still in bed? 

“Are you not?” His voice rose in pitch and I heard the rustling of sheets from the other end of the line. I failed at holding back a giggle that time, looking up towards the ceiling as I heard him mumble a curse under his breath. “It’s bloody eight in the morning and I know for a fact you drank your weight in tequila last night.” 

“Don’t be a hypocrite.” I laughed, rolling my eyes at his offended huff. “You drank the same amount and you had yours straight. The only reason I feel even slightly hungover and queasy is because of the champagne we toasted with last night.” 

“Y’had at least five watermelon margaritas in the time we spent together and one glass of champagne has done you in?” He let out a squeaky laugh and I felt like I could collapse on the bathroom floor then and there. “You’re a strange one, Beatrice.”

“I don’t know what it is in champagne that fucks with me, but I don’t like it.” I scrunched up my nose as I thought of the bubbly liquid. I was actually surprised that I wasn’t crouched in front of the toilet right now. “How are you feeling this morning?” 

“A little tired. I couldn’t really sleep.” He sighed. “I kept dreaming about you last night.” 

“Is that so?” I nibbled at the inside of my cheek. “What was your dream about?” 

“We were cuddling.” He said. “We were on the beach, at sunset, snuggled up together on a blanket. I could smell your perfume and everything. I swore for a moment when I woke up that you were right here next to me. But instead, I woke up cuddling a pillow.” 

“That sounds like a bummer.” I chuckled. “I hate to admit it after hearing about that Nicholas Sparks worthy dream of yours, but I also had a dream.” 

“Oh?” He asked, a curious lilt to his voice. “What about?” 

“Far less romantic things.” I felt my cheeks grow hot, nerves bubbling up in my stomach as I awaited his response.

“Beatrice Noelle Murphy,” He was mocking Claire’s tone from last night when she found me, his voice going up a few octaves as he feigned shock. “You had a naughty dream about me?” 

“I knew I should have kept that to myself.” I groaned playfully, stomping my foot against the tile for good measure. “If it’s any consolation, darling, you were very good to me in my dream, until my alarm woke me up, that is.” 

“I expect to hear all about this dream later tonight.” He hummed out. “So, why are you up so early? Should I be worried about any other men knocking at your door?” 

“Not at all.” I snorted out a laugh. “I was actually getting ready to go out for a little walk. It’s something I do at home and before we came here, I found this place called Solstice Canyon that isn’t too far. I figured I would go and take a look.” 

“I know that place.” He said. “It’s gorgeous.” 

The conversation died for a moment, both of us waiting for the other to say it first.

“Harry?” I asked softly. 

“Yeah?”

“Would you like to go with me?” I mumbled. “We can go for a walk and maybe get coffee after? And while we’re walking, maybe we can talk about whatever...this is?”

“I would really like that.” His voice was soft, back to that honey-tone that made my insides melt and my heart thump. “I can come pick you up.” 

“Okay.” I said. “I’ll send you the address.” 

“I’ll see you soon, then.” I could hear the smile in his tone, as if he were standing right in front of me. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way.” 

“That’s perfect.” I took a deep breath. “Goodbye, Harry.” 

“Goodbye, honey.” 

He was making it so hard not to fall in love with him. 

Harry’s POV 

Beatrice Noelle Murphy was going to be the death of me. 

When I pulled into the driveway of her airbnb, she was already standing outside. Her phone was pressed to her ear, a reusable water bottle in her hand as she paced back and forth. My mouth went dry when I started to pay attention to her outfit. She was wearing black leggings, a tight black tank top, and a pair of black sneakers to tie it all together. The stretchy material of her leggings hugged her curves in a way that would put regular pants to shame. I adjusted in my seat, clearing my throat as she looked up at me with that gorgeous smile. 

“Fucks sake,” I groaned, feeling all of the blood in my body rushing down to my cock. “I really don’t need this to happen to me right now.” 

When I put the car in park, I took a deep breath as she finished her phone call. 

I unbuckled my seatbelt, opening my door as she walked over. 

“Hello,” I leaned down, kissing her cheek before pulling back. “You look amazing this morning.” 

“Oh, this old thing.” She teased, glancing down at her outfit before looking back up at me. “Look at you, H. You don’t even look like you have a hangover.” 

“The magic of under eye cream.” I chuckled. “Shall we head on?” 

“Yeah.”

I pressed my hand to the small of her back, guiding her to the passenger seat of my car. 

Like a true gentleman, I opened the door for her. 

Like a true guy, I stared at her ass while she climbed in. 

When I walked back around to the driver’s seat, I cursed at myself under my breath for being such an asshole. She was a sweet girl and she deserved better than me ogling her five seconds into our walking date...if that’s what this was. I pressed the start engine button as Beatrice buckled in, sitting her water bottle in the cup holder with a soft giggle. 

“What?” I glanced over at her before putting the car in reverse. 

“I’ve just…” She started, struggling to find the words. “I’ve always wanted to ride in a Tesla because they’re so cool. And they’re environmentally conscious too, which is so awesome.” 

“You’re adorable.” I chuckled, glancing at my rear-view camera to check for oncoming traffic. I pulled out on the street before turning my head towards her with an amused grin. “Maybe you can give it a test drive before you go home?”

“I would love that.” She nodded. “So, do you know where the park is?” 

“Yeah, I’ve been a few times before.” I nodded. “There’s a gorgeous waterfall at the top and everything.” 

“I saw that online.” She hummed out. “I figured I would go by myself this morning and then later on I’ll take everyone else so we can go for a dip. They’re all still passed out.”  

“Smart idea.” I laughed. “When I left the house this morning, Michael and Gemma were passed out on the couch.” 

“Ah, to live the life of luxury.” Beatrice sighed, giggling right after. “I’m really glad that we’re doing this.”

“Me too.” I glanced at her, offering her a soft smile before I held my hand out. She wasted no time lacing our fingers together, settling our hands on her thigh as I continued to drive. “As a guest in the Tesla, you have complete control over the radio. I have Spotify or apple music, use whatever you want. The code for my phone is 020194.” 

“Your birthday, how original.” She chuckled, taking my phone. 

“How did you know that was my birthday?” I smirked, glancing over at her. 

“Fuck.” Her cheeks turned pink again and she cleared her throat. “Shut up.” 

“Might as well put on One Direction and prove how big of a fan you are.” I mumbled, flipping my turn signal on as she groaned. “I mean it, I would love to see you lose your mind.” 

“Not today,” She mumbled. “I have songs in mind.” 

I spent the drive listening to her playlist with inquisitive ears. 

Music was important to Beatrice, a small fact she’d shared about herself the night before. If she was playing songs for me to hear, I wanted to take them all in. The playlist was a good mix between Indie and Pop, a playlist that she named Iced Coffee because it was what helped her wake up in the morning. I made a mental note for every thing she said as she spoke, wanting to treasure every moment we had together. At every stoplight, she squeezed my fingers gently and I would smile over at her, resisting the urge to kiss her. 

At the last stoplight, she kissed me. I didn’t stop smiling for the rest of the drive, not even when I parked and walked around to open her door for her again. She blushed, ducking her head down as I kissed her forehead softly. I wasn’t usually so affectionate in the beginning of a relationship, but Beatrice was different. The physical pull I felt towards her was almost impossible to ignore. 

“Okay,” I said as we approached the start of the path. “This way is like, two miles, I think. If we go that way, it’s about five or six miles with a lot of hills and stuff. Which way do you prefer?” 

“Two miles.” She said. “I don’t want to tire you out if you’ve got a show tonight.” 

“How thoughtful of you, honey. I like that.” When she laced our fingers together again, my heart skipped a beat in my chest. It was a small gesture, but it meant a lot to me. She wasn’t afraid to be seen with me like most girls were. “Let’s get our hike on, yeah?” 

There was nothing but the sound of our feet crunching against twigs and scattered gravel for a while. I took her water bottle from her hand, holding it in my own as we walked up the small path towards the woods. The birds were chirping and the morning air was a little chilly as the wind rustled the trees around us. There wasn’t anyone else on the path, just Beatrice and myself. 

“This place is gorgeous.” She said softly. “Do you go walking a lot?” 

“I do.” I nodded. “I usually go running with my friend Jeff, you met him last night.” 

“Kind of.” She giggled. “I think I met everyone, but I really only talked to you.” 

“If I remember correctly, that’s all my fault.” I laughed my cheeks heating up as she squeezed my fingers. “I wasn’t exactly keen on sharing you with anyone else last night.” 

“I didn’t mind it.” She bumped her shoulder against my bicep. “I don’t know if it was just me, but last night felt….magical.” 

“I felt it too.” I glanced over at her, licking over my bottom lip. “I’ve...I’ve dated people. Like, I’m hesitant to say a lot, but I’ve been told I had a ho phase in 2015.” 

“Oh, you did.” She teased, looking up at me. “I’ve seen the gifs, I know how you acted on stage, Styles.” 

I rolled my eyes, laughing softly as she bumped her shoulder into my bicep.

“The point I’m trying to make is that I’ve never felt that way about anyone before. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you the entire time we were together. It felt wrong not touching you in some way or another, even if it was just my hand on your leg or your arm pressed against me. It was like I needed you to breathe.” 

“I felt the same way.” She said. “And when I looked into your eyes, it was almost like I could hear exactly what you were thinking. You didn’t even have to say anything to me.”

“And that’s...that’s something, Beatrice.” I turned back to look at the path. “Does that scare you?” 

“Yes.” She admitted. “Because I’ve never been in love, Harry. I’ve dated maybe...two people, I think. And I always chicken out because I just never feel that spark that you hear about in movies or read about in books. Then last night I met you and that changed, I felt it for the first time and it shocked me.” 

“I’m scared, too.” I whispered. “Because I felt the same way and that means something big to me, you know? I’ve been all around the world and I’ve met thousands of people, but the moment I lay eyes on you it all changes? It’s just...monumental for me.” 

“Harry,” She whispered. “What does this mean for us?” 

“It means that I would gladly be your boyfriend right now if you asked.” I stopped in my tracks, looking at her in awe. Her cheeks were a soft pink, her freckles out as the California sun shone down on her like a spotlight. “It means that I want something with you, something serious.” 

“Just like that?” The corners of her lips twitched, but she didn’t smile. “You want me?” 

“I want you.” I nodded. “However I can have you.” 

“Then I’m yours.” She shuffled forward. “But you’re going to have to be patient with me, Harry. I’ve never done this before and I don’t know how to...be a girlfriend.” 

“It’s not very hard.” I hummed out, pursing my lips as I tilted my head to the side. “Feed me, water me three times a day, and tuck me in with a song at bedtime-” 

“Oh my goodness,” Beatrice tossed her head back, letting out a loud laugh. “You’re ridiculous.” 

“I’m just trying to give you instructions, honey.” I pulled her close to me by our connected hands as she tilted her head forward. “Gonna teach you how to be a proper girlfriend, yeah?”

“You’re so British.” Her giggle faded as I moved closer to her lips. 

When I finally pressed a kiss to her soft lips, everything changed. 

I let go of her hand, pressing my palm against her cheek as I moved my mouth against hers. I felt my insides catch fire as she licked over my bottom lip. Her hands gripped my hoodie, pulling herself closer to me as her water bottle fell from my hand. I wrapped myself around her and for a brief second, I was worried about being caught kissing her. But as my tongue slipped over hers, my fears faded. My thoughts revolved around the soft noises she made when we kissed and the way her hands slipped up my back. She tasted like mint and she smelled like roses. 

“Harry,” She pulled back, gasping softly as I kissed over her cheek and towards her jaw. “Hey, Harry. We’re in public, darling.” 

“I don’t care.” I mumbled, pressing a soft kiss to the skin just below her ear. “I can’t stop kissing you.” 

“The quicker we finish this hike, the quicker we get back to the car,” She said, clearing her throat. “That means we’ll get to make out in private, without a small, tourist family staring at us.” 

My blood ran cold as I realized what she was saying. 

I pulled back, looking to my left as the family watched us. 

“Sorry.” I cleared my throat, leaning down to grab the bottle I dropped. “Let’s go.” 

Beatrice burst into loud laughter as we passed the family, leaning against me as we stumbled along the path. My face grew hot as she patted my stomach softly, cooing up at me. 

“It was nice for a minute, wasn’t it?” She said softly. “Thank you for kissing the breath right out of my lungs. It was a nice moment.” 

“You’re welcome,” I turned my head, pecking her lips. “Let’s finish this hike, girlfriend. I’m in need of more kisses and I’m not wasting anymore time.”

Beatrice’s POV 

When Harry and I made it to the top of the path, the view was stunning. 

We sat at the edge of the pool, our feet in the water as we continued our talk from earlier. My friends were most definitely going to kill me for acquiring a boyfriend before noon, but I didn’t care. I was riding cloud nine as Harry kept me tucked under his arm. I learned about his family back at home in England as we sat, his voice full of excitement as he told me about his school friends and his Mum. He told me that he had a flight leaving on Tuesday to Heathrow and that he was planning to spend two weeks with his Mum in Manchester. I was excited that he was going to have time to spend with her after such a long tour, but part of me was sad that we would have to part at some point. I didn’t say anything, smiling as he talked about the intense games that he would play with his Mum and Gemma at home. 

“What about your family?” He asked, brushing his hand over my arm. “Do they all still live in Virginia?” 

“Yeah.” I said slowly, clearing my throat. “We don’t have...the best relationship. It’s not awful, but it’s not exactly normal.” 

“Do you have any siblings?” He sounded completely unfazed by my statement.

“Yeah, brothers.” I mumbled, my finger dragging over the spot on my arm where my honeybee was tattooed. “If I tell you something, promise you won’t apologize or freak out.” 

“Beatrice, you can tell me anything.” His brows pulled together as I looked up at him, giving him a soft smile.

“The honeybee that I have on my arm,” I started. “That’s in honor of my brother, kind of. He used to call me honeybee all the time because of my name, you know? My mom would call me honey and he picked up on that, but then he started adding the bee on later. Beatrice is kind of hard for a five year old to say.” 

“I can imagine.” Harry chuckled. “Why shouldn’t I apologize?” 

“Because he’s dead.” I cleared my throat, looking back to the waterfall as I took a deep breath. I wasn’t sad or upset as I spoke. I had told the story so many times, it was almost like it belonged to someone else. “We don’t have to go into the details if it makes you uncomfortable. I know not everyone is as cavalier about death and loss as I am.” 

“I want to know what happened.” He said softly. “If you want to share, I’m here to listen.” 

“We knew that he was going to die because he was diagnosed with Muscular Dystrophy when he was about five or six. Most kids don’t live that long with the disease, so we always knew. The way that I used to explain it as a kid was ‘it’s a disease that melts your muscles’ and while that’s not far off, it’s not exactly accurate. It’s a disease that deteriorates your muscles and it started at his feet and then worked its way up. And your heart is a muscle, so naturally, that was the last thing to go.” I turned back to look at Harry, his mouth shut and his brows knitted together in the center. “How are you hanging over there?” 

“I’m...taking it all in.” He said slowly. “I’m also trying really hard not to apologize to you right now.” 

“It’s a reflex for some people.” I chuckled, squeezing his fingers. “I know that hearing that is a lot to deal with for a first date, but it’s better that you know now.” 

“I call you honeybee.” He said softly. “Does that bother you?” 

“Not at all.” I shook my head. “You just...naturally started calling me that. I used to hate when my Mom or family would try to call me that because it was his name for me, but I like hearing it from you. It almost felt like a sign in some way, like...he was approving of it somehow. I know that sounds insane, but I have a gut feeling that you two would get along swimmingly.” 

“It doesn’t sound insane.” He pulled me tighter against his side. “And you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” I nodded. “I’ve been telling that story to people for twelve years and if I’m being honest, it’s kind of just...an extremely distant memory. It’s sad and you probably think I’m heartless for being so casual about it, but I spent a lot of time blocking out memories with him as a coping mechanism and now I’m just...well, whatever this is.” 

“That is sad.” He whispered. “If you ever want to talk to me about him or anything, I’m here for you.” 

“Thank you.” I let out a heavy sigh. “So, now that we’ve had that talk, I have another brother named Jack. He’s younger than me and quite possibly the funniest human being I’ve ever met. He’s my first drunk call when I’m out because he’s the first person I want to share things with after they happen.” 

“Is that who you were on the phone with earlier?” He asked. “When I pulled up?” 

“Yes.” I nodded. “He was bugging me about being in California. He’s never been and he’s always wanted to see Los Angeles.” 

“Well, next time you want to visit, let me know.” He said. “You can stay with me instead of renting out an airbnb.” 

“If I let Jack anywhere near you, he’s going to want to talk music.” I snorted out a laugh. “He has FL Studio and he’s really into making beats which is something I don’t understand, but he loves to death. He’s really into producing and stuff.” 

“I wouldn’t mind talking music with him.” Harry chuckled. “I would love to meet him someday.” 

We decided to make our way back after talking a little more about my dysfunctional family. We were nearly to the car when I remembered that tonight was Harry’s last show on his first solo tour. When I looked over at him, he was deep in thought. His brows were knitted together and he was staring at the ground as we walked. 

“So, are you excited for tonight?” I asked. 

“Hmm?” He asked. 

“Tonight,” I said softly. “I was just asking if you were excited?” 

“I am.” He gave me a half smile. “Lots of people are coming though. I know Hannah, the girl from last night will be there. Kendall will probably be there, Niall is definitely coming, Louis and Liam are still a little on the fence about it so I don’t know if they’ll be there.” 

“Holy shit,” I breathed out. “Niall Horan.” 

“Oi,” He pouted, stopping in his tracks. “I’ll be the one on stage, honey.” 

“I know.” I laughed at his childish pout. “It’s just...Niall was kind of my favorite member of the band, darling.” 

“What?” He screeched out, his eyebrows shooting up. “Bloody Niall?” 

“He was cute!” I exclaimed, trying not to laugh at his distress. “You can’t deny the Irish charm, Harry!” 

“I can, Beatrice!” He groaned. “I’m British.” 

“Oh, I’ve noticed.” I let out a laugh as Harry pulled me closer to him. “Don’t be so pouty about it, darling.” 

“I’m jealous.” He said softly, squeezing my fingers.

“Is that so?” I asked, my breath catching in my throat as he rubbed the tip of his nose over mine gently. “What are you going to do about that?” 

“There’s my naughty girl.” He hummed out. “When we get to the car, maybe you’ll find out.” 

My feet moved faster than they ever had before. 

When we made it to the car, Harry opened the door, ushering me inside the back seat with gentle hands. He climbed in after me, shutting the door before locking it behind us. I wasted no time straddling his lap, pressing my lips to his in a heated kiss. Something in me took over my actions, any prior fears about being sexual with someone else long gone. I hadn’t done much in lieu of sexual encounters with other people, but I had done a few things. Getting fingered outside of a bar after Valentine’s day before delivering a stellar blowjob was one of those things, but I really had the alcohol to thank for diminishing my fears that night. 

Harry’s hands landed on my bum, his fingers digging into the flesh there as I dug my fingers into the soft strands of hair at the back of his head. I tugged softly, moaning as my hips rolled forward against Harry’s. This was new for me and though it was a little nerve wracking, I wasn’t worried. My body knew what it was doing, moving against Harry with soft little rolls of my hips. He seemed to be enjoying it, if the bulge in his pants had anything to say about it. I whimpered when he pulled back, gently tugging at my lower lip with his teeth when he did. His lips weren’t gone for long, his tongue joining in on the fun when he pressed them back to mine. My toes felt numb and my body felt like it was on fire from just his kiss. 

“Harry?” I asked, tilting my head back as I tried to catch my breath. He kissed down the column of my throat greedily, suckling at the sensitive parts as I grinded harder against him. “I need more.” 

“What do you need from me?” He whispered in my ear, his voice husky and raspy. “Tell me what you want.” 

“Fingers.” I moaned when he pushed my jacket off of my shoulders, leaning into kiss at my collarbones. “I need your fingers.” 

“Dirty girl.” He cooed, sliding his palm from my side to my front. I clenched my eyes shut when he started to rub his fingers over my core through my leggings. “You need them like this?” 

“No.” I cried out. “I want them in me.” 

“Fuck,” He gasped, lifting his hand to squeeze gently at my breast as the other hand tilted my chin down. He kissed me fervently, pulling back as he rested his forehead against mine. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes.” I nodded. “I’m so sure.” 

“Have you…” He stopped. “Is this something you’ve done before?” 

“Are you asking me if I’ve been fingered?” I tried to fight off my smirk, rolling my lips in as he nodded. “I have, actually. It wasn’t the best experience of my life and I didn’t cum, but I have a feeling that you know what to do with your hands.” 

“Fuck me.” He groaned, “just...tell me exactly what you need and I’ll make it happen for you. I’m gonna make sure you cum on my fingers, honey.” 

I nodded, licking over my bottom lip as he awaited instruction. 

“You can put your hand down my pants.” I said softly. “If you want to, that is.” 

“I really, really want to.” 

He glanced between us as he trailed his fingertips down my stomach to the band of my leggings. He gripped the fabric between his fingers, letting it pop back against my skin as I groaned out. He chuckled softly, kissing my chin before he dipped his fingers past the waist. I held my breath, waiting for him to touch my clit, but he didn’t. Instead, his fingers dipped past my clit, rubbing over my lips slowly as he used his free hand to guide my eyes to his. His eyes were a darker shade of green, one that matched the shade that I saw last night after I was knocked over. 

“You’re fucking soaked, Beatrice.” He let out a shaky breath. “Who did this to you?” 

“Maybe it was Niall.” 

Harry looked up at me, his stare going blank as he stopped the movement of his fingers. 

I tried not to break composure, watching him unravel before my very eyes. I’d heard Woman before, I knew how jealous he could get and what it did to him. I wanted that Harry right now. 

“What did you just say to me?” He asked softly, tilting his head to the side.

“I said, maybe it was Niall.” I hummed out, moving my hips. He stopped them, gripping my side tight with his free hand. “We were talking about him earlier, weren’t we? Maybe that’s why I’m so wet.” 

“Beatrice.” His voice nearly came out in a growl, his nails digging into my plush sides. “You’re playing a dangerous game, angel.” 

“What game is that?” I inquired, a smug smirk painting over my lips. 

In a flurry of movements, I ended up on my back beneath Harry.

He pulled my leggings over my thighs, pressing his fingers flat against my entrance as he knelt to the ground beside the car seat. Tesla’s had a lot of legroom to offer and I was suddenly a major fan of that. Harry pressed a quick kiss to my lips as he dipped his pointer finger into me. I let out a shaky breath when he curled up, massaging that spot inside of me gently. 

“Are you okay with this?” Soft Harry was back, but I assured him with a quick nod. “Tell me if it’s too much, okay?” 

“I will.” I mumbled. “I quite liked ‘Angry Harry’ from before.” 

“Oh, he hasn’t gone anywhere.” He let out a dark chuckle, pulling his pointer finger out before sliding it back in. This time, it was accompanied by his middle finger. His thumb ghosted over my clit and I let out a soft string of curses as he grinned. “Not so smug now, are you?” 

“That feels really good.” I whimpered, lifting my hips up. “Harry-” 

“So now it’s me that’s made you this way, eh?” He brushed his nose over mine, his breath washing over my face as he started to move his fingers faster. “I thought Niall made you this wet, angel?” 

“You.” I whined, shaking my head. “Just you, Harry.” 

“That’s my girl.” He cooed, pressing the pad of his thumb to my clit. He moved it in soft circles as his fingers worked in and out of me. “S’that good?” 

“Move your thumb the other way.” I let my eyes slip shut, a small ball of pleasure accumulating in my lower belly, tightening with each stroke of his thumb and thrust of his fingers. “Just like that, H. Fuck.” 

“You’re so tight.” He let his lips brush over mine. “So tight and wet, just for me.” 

“Yes.” I whispered. “Just for you.” 

“You’re so beautiful like this.” He mumbled. “The little wrinkle between your brow as you clench down on my fingers. You’re so desperate to cum, aren’t you?” 

“Yes.” I repeated. “Yes, please.” 

“Are you close?” He hummed out. “Are you going to cum on my fingers for me, angel?” 

I nodded again, a low whine in my throat as my hips and thighs tensed up. 

I was right there on the edge, ready to explode underneath him. 

“Cum for me.” He stamped a quick kiss to my lips. “Cum on my fingers, Beatrice.” 

I bit my lower lip, reaching out with my left hand to grip Harry’s hoodie as he worked me through my orgasm. My whole body tensed up before falling lax against his back seat. That little whine that was caught in my throat escaped, a few moans following after as Harry really worked me though with his fingers. I opened my eyes slowly when he pulled them out, lifting them up to his lip before he rested them on his tongue. I cursed as he licked my arousal from his digits, grinning when he was finally done savoring my taste. 

“Taste like berries.” He leaned down, pressing his lips to mine. “Do you taste it?” 

I whimpered, nodding as he lifted his head up. 

“That was amazing.” I said softly, sitting up before I adjusted the waistband of my leggings over my stomach.  “You are amazing.” 

“Hm, I told you I was the jealous kind.” He giggled, kissing me softly as I brushed my fingers through his hair. 

“I’m glad that added to the moment.” I said, my cheeks hot under his gaze. “It was a shot in the dark, but fuck are you hot when you’re jealous.” 

“Normally, it would bother me,” He said. “But something about you doing made it feel fun and exciting.”

“Good.” I kissed his forehead. “Trade spots with me.” 

“You don’t have to-” 

“Plant your ass on the seat, Styles.” I patted the empty space next to me, watching as he hesitantly climbed up. “Are you okay with this?” 

“Yes.” He nodded. “Only if you are.” 

“I’m going to warn you,” I placed my palms on his thighs. “I’ve only given one blowjob and I was drunk. So I’m going to need a lot of feedback here.” 

“Noted.” He nodded, glancing down at my hands as they slid up to the waistband of his athletic shorts. “This is a good start.” 

“Thanks.” I giggled, rolling my eyes at him. He lifted his hips as I pulled his shorts past his bum and down to his thighs. I left them just above his knees, my eyes immediately zeroing in on his cock. “Fucking hell, it’s beautiful.” 

“Beatrice.” Harry whispered, a pained lilt to his tone. “You’re killing me.” 

“I’m admiring it.” I mumbled, brushing my fingers over the veiny shaft. I took a deep breath before I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “So beautiful.” 

I brushed my thumb under the head, a small stream of pre-cum drizzling out from the slit. I had heard on the internet that the head of a man’s cock often matched the color of his lips. Whoever made that observation was a genius. The tip of Harry’s cock was raspberry red, coated in a light glaze of pre-cum. 

I had never wanted to suck a man off so badly before, my tongue practically aching at the phantom weight. I leaned down, taking a deep breath as I guided his cock up. The tip pointed towards his stomach as I leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to the underside of its head. Harry hissed in a sharp breath, shifting beneath me as I looked up at him. 

“I’m not going to last long.” He whimpered. “I don’t think I can do it.” 

“S’alright.” I whispered. “Just tell me when you’re close and I’ll swallow.” 

“Fuck.” 

I pressed a few kisses against the veiny skin, my lips closed as I pecked over it gently. When I had made my way all the way up to the top, I started back down again. This time, I incorporated open mouth kisses, trailing my tongue over the veins every few seconds or so to keep him on his toes. When I made it to the base, I pushed his hoodie up, trailing my lips up to his ferns as I felt his hands fall on my shoulders.

After I felt his fingers digging into my shoulder blades, I lifted my hand, pulling at my hair elastic. My hair fell around my shoulder and face like a curtain. Harry didn’t waste a lot of time, threading the fingers of his left hand through the strands at the nape of my neck while his right fingers brushed my hair back from my face. 

“You’re stunning.” He whimpered, causing me to glance up at him as I flattened my tongue. I slowly licked up the underside of his shaft from the base to the tip. I pressed a kiss to the tip, glancing up at him. “Just like that, angel. You’re doing so well.” 

It was hard trying not to smile as I wrapped my lips around the head of his cock. 

I brushed my tongue over the spongy head before suckling softly and pulling off. I pressed a quick kiss to the top before I repeated the previous move. It wasn’t long before I was lowering my mouth, pulling back up as I tried to master sucking without teeth. Harry didn’t seem to mind that I wasn’t looking at him while I tried to take care of him. I could tell that he felt good by the string of curses falling from his mouth every time I took my mouth off of him.

It was kind of hot, feeling his fingers slowly guiding me back towards his cock as he tried to refrain from bucking his hips up. My fingers found purchase in his thighs, trying to steady myself as I pushed farther than I had before. Harry was big in my mouth, his cock heavy on my tongue and his tip poking against the back of my tongue. Now, he was pressing against the back of my throat. 

“I’m gonna cum.” His voice was higher in pitch, a desperate whine pulling from his throat as I pulled back up and suckled on the head of his cock. I took a few deep breaths, glancing up to see his eyes glued to my face. He was watching my every move. “I’m so close, Beatrice.”

“What do you need me to do?” I asked, replacing my mouth with soft strokes of my hand while I looked up at him. “Tell me what to do, darling.” 

“Don’t have to take me all the way again, that was…” He let out a breathy chuckle, brushing his thumb over the apple of my cheek. “Just put your lips around the head like you were doing. Suck on me while you’re looking up at me.” 

“Okay.” I smiled softly, lowering my mouth to his cock again.

I wrapped my lips around the bulbous and leaking head of his cock, sucking softly like I had done moments before. I kept stroking his shaft with my hand, keeping my eyes on his as I did so. He took in a few shallow breaths, his brows knitting together and his lips parting. His eyes started to flutter as he tightened his fingers in my hair. When his hips lifted just a little off the seat, I knew that was it for him. Seconds later, I felt a few spurts of warm cum coating my tongue. I didn’t think too hard on it, swallowing it down as I stroked him through his orgasm. 

“Beatrice,” He whimpered, dropping his hands to my arms with a grabby motion as I shifted. “Come up.” 

I obliged, climbing into his lap as our lips collided. 

He wrapped me in his arms, slipping his tongue over mine as I whimpered. 

When he pulled back from me, he had a blissed out smile on his lips and wide eyes. 

“You’ve...you’ve only given one other blow job besides that?” He asked, his chest heaving just a little as I nodded. “Your mouth is a daydream.” 

“Harry.” I groaned, swatting his shoulder. 

“I mean it.” He leaned forward for a quick peck, brushing my hair over my shoulders. “That was amazing, Beatrice. I really loved it.” 

“I’m glad.” I brushed my nose over his. 

“Can I ask you something?” He said softly, reaching up to scratch the side of his nose. “I don’t want to sound like a dick for asking, but I kind of have a feeling and I just...it doesn’t matter one way or the other, I just want to know.” 

“Ask away.” I said. “You can always talk to me too, you know? It’s a two-way street.” 

“I appreciate that more than you know.” He hummed out. “But I’m just curious about...are you a virgin?” 

“Yeah.” I nodded without hesitation. “It’s not something I try to hide from people, so I don’t mind sharing that with you.” 

“Is that just a personal choice you’ve made for yourself?” He asked. “Because I don’t want to push you or make you feel like you have to do things like that with me if you’re not ready. I can wait.” 

“If I’m going to be honest with you,” I said softly. “I’ve not had sex yet because there’s no one that’s really tried to have sex with me. I haven’t been holding out for any one reason.”

“No one has ever tried to have sex with you?” He asked, his brows shooting up to his hairline. “I find that so hard to believe.” 

“Harry,” I laughed, tossing my head back. “Stop it.” 

“I mean it.” He exclaimed, pressing his hands to my hips. “When I pulled into the driveway this morning and saw you standing there, I got hard just like that.” 

“No!” I exclaimed, pressing my hands to his chest with a breathless laugh. “You didn’t?” 

“I did.” He nodded. “I was very upset with myself for it, honestly. Felt like a proper dick.” 

“I’m going to take a shot every time you say the word proper.” I reached up, tapping the pad of my finger against his nose. “And I really love this moment we’re having, but I desperately need coffee or a nap….or both.” 

“You can have both?” He asked. “You can have a coffee and then go to bed?” 

“Yeah.” I shrugged. “I drink a lot of coffee in a day, the first cup is like a small kick starter, but cups three through five are what really rev me up.” 

“Oh my,” Harry shook his head. “I’m going to have to keep an eye on you.” 

“Absolutely.” I nodded. 

Harry’s POV 

Beatrice and I stopped at Starbucks on the way back to her airbnb. 

On the way there, it was decided that I was staying to take a nap with her. She texted Gemma from my phone, asking if she could bring an outfit to the airbnb with one of my cars so we could all fit in two vehicles on the way to brunch. When we made it back to her airbnb, everyone was still sleeping soundly. Claire was curled up on the couch with Chloe just below her. Matt was tucked into Chloe’s side and Jackson and Tara were nowhere to be seen. 

When we walked in, I wasn’t surprised that Beatrice had chosen this as the airbnb they stayed in. It was extremely cute, little vintage touches splashed in here and there. There was a small acoustic guitar tucked in the corner of the living room and a light blue record player with a record collection on a console table in front of the window by the front door. Beatrice guided me past the kitchen and down the hall towards her room in the house. She explained that she got the room with an ensuite bathroom that I could use it while she snuck off to Claire’s. 

Showering together was slightly different than sharing a steamy moment in the back of my car. There was nothing to hide behind and I could tell the thought of that made her uncomfortable. I gladly accepted her offer and over-sized band shirt and soft sweatpants before going into the restroom. There were a few products scattered around on the small sink that made me smile. We shared the same face wash, which was a good thing for my skin. During my shower, I started to get lost in my own head. Beatrice was at the forefront of my mind, her face plastered on the big screen as I replayed our moment by the waterfall. 

I could tell there was so much more to her family problems than just the loss of her brother, but I didn’t want to push. She had already shared so much with me today and I knew that we would have plenty of time to share more in the future if she wanted. I could tell that she was already back in the bedroom connected to her bathroom as I stepped out of the shower and I wasted no time slipping into the clothes she lent me. The sweatpants were a little short, but they fit me perfectly around the waist and legs. The shirt she lent me was soft and it smelled like her, her perfume permanently weaved through the fabric. 

“Man does it feel good to wash away a hangover.” I let out a heavy sigh as I walked out. 

It was slightly darker in the room, the curtains pulled shut and the door closed. Beatrice looked over her shoulder at me, smiling brightly as I walked forward. I placed my hands on her hips, giving them a soft squeeze before I stole a few kisses from her. 

“Have you picked a side?” I asked, nuzzling my nose against the shell of her ear. 

“No.” She said softly, resting her hands on my forearms. “Which side do you want?” 

“The right.” I said. “I like sleeping closest to the door.” 

“I like sleeping away from it. Look at us, like peanut butter and jelly.” She giggled. “It’s about nine forty-five and we aren’t leaving for brunch until twelve-thirty. Gemma and I made reservations for a small cafe and they’ve closed their back patio off for us.” 

“That was nice of them.” I squeezed Beatrice with a soft hum before I let go of her. I climbed over the foot of the bed, tucking my legs under the covers. She smiled at me before tucking herself in “Do you like to cuddle?” 

“I always sleep on my front with my leg and arm tossed over a pillow.” She chuckled. “I have a body pillow at home that I snuggle with, but I’ve never cuddled with an actual person....besides Claire, at least.”  

“Well, I love to cuddle.” I tapped my tummy with my palm, smiling as she shuffled closer to me. She rested her head on my shoulder, but that was all. “Don’t be shy, honey. I don’t bite...well not when I’m cuddling, at least.” 

“You have jokes, Styles.” She mumbled, hooking her leg over mine as she rested her arm against my stomach. I kissed the top of her head, smiling as she let out a happy sigh. “You smell good.” 

“I smell like you.” I tried not to laugh, afraid to jostle her. “I used all of your stuff.” 

“Good.” She said. “You’re saving the planet at least. I like no waste, vegan products that come in bottles made of recycled material.” 

“Look at you,” I hummed out, rubbing my palm over her back as she tucked her arm under my back. “Responsible and ethical. Gemma will love that.” 

“Harry?” She sounded far off, her voice fading with each word. “M’falling asleep.” 

“Go on then.” I whispered. “I’m right behind you.” 

I didn’t get a response, my heart fluttering in my chest. 

The warmth of her body had me slowly falling asleep, my eyes fluttering shut as she gripped onto my borrowed shirt with her fingers. 

Falling in love with Beatrice was the easiest thing to do. 

Claire’s POV 

When I woke up, I felt like death. 

My mouth was dry and my eyes felt glued together with the makeup left on. I refused to take it off last night, despite Bea and Tara’s arguments and attempts to wipe it off themselves. Chloe and I were definitely the lightweights out of the group, a few drinks knocked back and we were two sheets to the wind. I sat up, brushing my hand over my face as I groaned loudly. If I remembered correctly, Chloe was just beneath me on the floor, sleeping on a pallet of blankets and couch cushions. That girl could sleep anywhere if she wanted. 

I glanced down to see Matt with her, his head tucked under her chin and his body wrapped around her like a koala. I smiled even though it hurt to see them so happy together. Chloe and Matt were the classic definition of highschool sweethearts. They had been together through everything and I was often envious of the love they shared. There was one other couple in our friend group, but they were different.

I carefully stepped over Matt and Chloe, walking towards the master bedroom of our airbnb. Before I made it there, I stopped at the door next to mine. I wondered how my best friend was doing after last night. She, much like every other girl I knew, always had a crush on Harry Styles. Last night, she lived out the ultimate dream of every fangirl. I twisted the doorknob, carefully sliding in before I shut the door behind me.

 Before I even stepped into the room, I realized that she wasn’t alone. She was curled into Harry’s side, her head on his chest and his lips pressed into her forehead. My heart ached at the sight, the soft look on Bea’s face an expression I hadn’t seen on her in a while. As I was slowly retreating backwards, Harry spoke. 

“I see you over there.” His morning voice was deep and my eyes widened in shock. “I’m sorry I stole your best friend this morning.” 

“Don’t be.” I said softly. “I didn’t even notice.” 

“What time is it?” He lifted his head, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand. 

“Um, eleven, I think.” I rolled my lips in, glancing around the room as he nodded. I felt like I was invading an extremely private moment “You guys can sleep a little longer. I just thought I would pop in to check on her.” 

“I can make myself scarce if you want to take over?” Harry chuckled, glancing over at Beatrice and then back at me. “I can start up some coffee for everyone.” 

“No, don’t do that.” I shook my head. “Beatrice is horrible when she’s been woken up by someone else. She’ll bite your head off.” 

“I’m awake now.” She groaned, turning her head into Harry’s chest. “You’re so loud.”

“We’re not that loud.” I snorted out a laugh. “I’m going to shower and get ready for brunch.” 

“We’re leaving at twelve.” Beatrice sat up, a grumpy pout on her lips. “How do you feel?” 

“I’m okay.” Beatrice patted the end of her bed and I glanced back at Harry before slowly moving forward. I sat on the edge, the foot of the wrought iron bed-frame pressing into my back. 

“I made you a birthday hangover kit.” Bea said softly. “It’s on your bed.” 

“Thank you, Bea.” I said. “But I’m actually not feeling that bad.” 

“I think In N Out at three in the morning might have helped.” She giggled, leaning back into Harry as he rubbed his hand over her back. “Did you have fun, birthday girl.” 

“Loads.” I smiled. “But I’m excited for brunch today. Harry, your sister is so nice!” 

“I think you met the wrong sister,” He hummed out, shaking his head. “My sister is a pest.” 

“Your sister is a saint.” I gasped. “I’m excited for tonight, as well.” 

“You know?” Beatrice asked. “Did I tell you last night?” 

“No, but Harry asked if it was okay.” I shrugged. “I told him that I’ve been dying to see him live, so we’re going, per the birthday girl’s wishes.” 

Beatrice wouldn’t willingly go to a concert on my birthday weekend if I didn’t convince her that I wanted to go just as bad. She stared me down, trying to gauge whether or not I was telling the truth to her. I rolled my eyes, pushing her shoulder before I stood up from the foot of her bed. 

“It was nice talking to you losers, but I need to go take a very long shower to wash away the hangover that is still lingering.” I held up a peace sign. “I’ll see you at twelve.”

“You’ll see me before twelve, I need help picking what to wear.” Beatrice called out as I shut the door behind me. 

It made me happy to see her so comfortable with a man. 

As I walked into the master bedroom, I rolled my eyes at the sight of Tara and Jackson curled up on my bed. 

Friends.

Bea’s POV 

When Claire walked out, I turned back to smile at Harry. 

He’d slipped his hand up my shirt, brushing his fingers over my back while I talked to Claire. It was comforting, the feeling of him reassuring me when he knew I was in distress. I was worried that Claire would be mad at me for bringing Harry back. He had already taken over an entire day of our vacation. He must have felt the relieved sigh I let out when Claire told me she was excited for today’s activities. I wanted this vacation to be nothing short of perfect. 

“Did you have a good nap?” I asked, leaning back into his arms as he nodded. “Good, you deserved some sleep.” 

“You were very sweet to me in my sleep.” He pressed a few soft kiss against my temple. “No kicking or pushing, just sweet cuddles and a tiny bit of drool.” 

“I do not drool.” I turned my head, glaring at him. “Take that back.” 

“Oh, you do.” He giggled, shaking his head. “I won’t take back the truth.” 

“That’s awful.” I groaned, pressing my hands to my face. “We’re spooning from now on.” 

“I don’t mind that at all.” He hummed out, kissing at the skin of my neck now. “Being pressed against you while I sleep sounds like a great plan.” 

“Oh, yeah?” I giggled, turning my body around before I straddled him. “Well, you’re not the only one who’s awake, are you?” 

I glanced between our bodies, my cheeks growing warm as I felt Harry’s cock pressing into my core. I tried not to move, looking back up at him with a smug smile. He gulped, sliding both hands up my shirt as he leaned forward to press our lips together. I smiled into the kiss, pressing my hands to his shoulders as he bucked his hips up. A soft whine pulled from my throat as he did, a shockwave of pleasure shooting from head to toe. Harry broke the kiss, ducking his head down to continue his earlier path of kisses on my neck. 

“Harry.” I tilted my head back, letting out a soft sigh as he moved one hand around to my front. He let his fingers trail up, sliding over my breast before he pinched my nipple. “Oh.” 

“S’that good?” He breathed in my ear, tugging at the lobe as his finger continued to tug gently at my nipple. I nodded, feeling Harry smile against my neck. “Want it to feel better?” 

“Yes.” I nodded, gulping around the lump in my throat. I was so turned on by Harry, the tension in the room so thick I could feel it. “Please.” 

“Lift your arms up.” He whispered, removing his hands from my skin. I groaned at the loss of contact, but I did as I was told. “Good girl.” 

He pulled my shirt over my head, tossing it to the end of the bed. 

Harry’s eyes trailed over my skin, the look on his face almost unreadable. I felt nervous, being so exposed in front of Harry so early. But when he leaned forward to press a few scattered kisses over my collarbone, I didn’t feel so afraid. He kissed a trail down towards my right breast, kissing around my nipple as I rested my hands on his shoulders. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispered. “Can I?” 

His breath ghosted my nipple and I knew what he was asking. 

“Please.” I whispered. 

When his tongue licked over my nipple, I nearly lost it. Seconds later, his lip was wrapped around my nipple and my body was moving on its own. I rolled over his hard cock, whining as he suckled softly on the hardening bud of my nipple. 

“Hey, Bea,” The door to my room opened before I could process what was happening. “Can I borrow- holy fuck!” 

“Jackson!” I cried out, my whole body flushing cold as I realized what was happening. “Get out!” 

“Sorry!” He called back, bumping into the doorway as Harry lifted the blankets around my body. He let me bury my face into his neck as Jackson fumbled. “I didn’t see anything.” 

“Oh my god.” I groaned, gripping at Harry’s t-shirt. “That was mortifying.” 

“Don’t be upset.” He said softly. “He didn’t see anything.”

“I can’t believe he caught us doing that.” I lifted my head, pouting my lip out. “I can’t even imagine if we were doing more.” 

“It would be okay,” Harry smiled, reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair from my face. “It’s a natural thing.” 

“Why are you so cute?” I sighed out. “You’re fucking precious, Harry.” 

“I love when you call me that.” He said softly. “Everyone always calls me H because I ask them to, but I like when you call me Harry.” 

“I’ll keep doing it then.” I smiled. “Well, on that note, I’m not feeling so sexy anymore. I think I should get up and start getting ready.” 

“You are still very sexy.” He kissed my lips. “And I hope that you enjoyed what was happening before we were so rudely interrupted.”

“I definitely was.” I whispered. “I wouldn’t mind a repeat of that some other time.” 

“It’s a date.” Harry laughed, wrapping his arms around me. 

We climbed out of bed, making ourselves decent before we decided to go to the kitchen for coffee. I hoped that someone had started brewing the coffee that I prepped the day before. When I opened the bedroom door, Harry right behind me, I smelled it down the hall. Harry pressed his hand to my hip as we shuffled into the kitchen. Jackson’s face went red when he saw us and Tara watched Harry with a smirk as we walked towards the cupboard. 

“Good morning everyone.” I said, reaching for two mugs. 

“Where’s the coffee creamer?” Harry asked softly. 

“You drink your coffee black.” I said, my brows furrowing as I started to pour the coffee. 

“You don’t though.” He said. “Do you have some in the fridge?” 

“I can get it-” Harry cut me off with a peck to my lips. He walked towards the fridge, opening it up as I turned back to look at everyone. 

“Vanilla or White Chocolate Raspberry?”

“White Chocolate.” I said, narrowing my eyes at Tara and Jackson. “Don’t you two start.”

“We’re not doing anything!” Jackson exclaimed. 

“You’re looking at me like I have three heads.” I groaned, putting the coffee pot back as Harry poured creamer in one of the mugs for me. 

“No, I’m looking at you like I just saw you getting-” 

“Lalalala.” I said, holding my hands over my ears. “We’re not talking about it.” 

“I’m just glad you finally got laid, sister.” Jackson snorted out a laugh and I turned on my feet to glare at him. “It’s about damn time.”

“Jackson!” I exclaimed. 

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” He held a hand up. “I just wanted to make you do that thing with your face.” 

“It is a cute expression.” Harry hummed out. “Are you calm enough to hold your mug or do I need to keep it.” 

“I can take my mug.” I grumbled. “I don’t like the level of abuse in this house right now.” 

“It’s all out of love, Bea.” Jackson chuckled. “Now that you’re done fucking, can I borrow your shampoo?” 

“Jackson!” 

Harry’s POV 

The peanut gallery nearly had Beatrice permanently red. 

It was adorable the first few times, but after that, I was starting to get annoyed for her. I could tell that she was a little embarrassed by their constant teasing, her body sinking with every comment made. There was an art to teasing your friends, and I felt like they were beating a dead horse. I kept my hand on her thigh the entire drive, squeezing it softly as she looked out the window. Every now and again she would join in on the conversation, but her voice wasn’t as confident and bubbly as it normally was. I also noticed that she’d started nibbling at her nails, her knee bouncing up and down nervously as she mentally spiraled, lost in her own head. I let out a heavy sigh, reaching for her hand with my own to keep her from biting at her nails. We pulled up to a stoplight and I turned my head towards her with a soft smile. 

“Kiss?” I asked softly, puckering my lips out. 

She leaned over the console, giving me a quick peck and a soft smile. 

“Oh, god,” Tara groaned from the backseat. “They’re at it again.” 

“Okay, that’s enough teasing.” Claire spoke up, a stern edge to her voice masked behind a thin veil of politeness.  “The poor girl can only handle so much in a day, let’s not push it.” “We’re just having fun-” 

“Well, it’s not fun for me.” Beatrice grumbled, sinking further in her seat. 

“We’ll stop.” Jackson said. “I’d much rather tease Claire for trying to use a street lamp as a pole last night.” 

“That was iconic, Jackson.” Claire said. “You wish you had my skills.” 

Gemma and Michael were lucky enough to get an empty car, everyone piling into the Tesla when it was time to go. I secretly wished that I had given Gemma the Tesla so Bea and I could go off on our own. When we pulled into the restaurant, everyone piled out except for Beatrice, Claire, and I. I looked in the rearview mirror, catching Claire’s sympathetic look. 

“Bea.” She turned towards her friend. “Why are they bothering you?” 

“They’re not.” She mumbled, turning her head back towards Claire. “It’s just...I never tease them for stuff like this. And Tara might have come into my room this morning to talk with me about everything and it was just….she meant well, but it made me mad.” 

“What did she say?” I asked, squeezing her fingers. “Was it about me?” 

“It was about both of us.” She cleared her throat. “But this is brunch and we’re gonna have fun. It’s not that serious, I’m just a little nervous because we’re all stuck together and this will be my first time really talking to Gemma. I don’t want it to go bad.” 

“It won’t.” Claire said. “And I’ll take care of the Tara thing.” 

“Don’t, Claire-” 

She cut Beatrice off. 

“I’m taking care of the Tara thing.” She said sternly. “Everyone else does it all the time and you never get to let loose and have fun. So fuck ‘em, babe.” 

“Thanks, Claire.” She smiled at her friend, a genuine Beatrice smile. 

My heart felt a little lighter when Claire slipped out of the car to catch up with everyone. 

“I’m sorry.” Beatrice mumbled. “I didn’t know everyone would be so….annoying about this whole thing.”

“It’s not your fault.” I whispered. “I think they’re just excited about the whole thing. Just listen to Claire and ignore them. You’ve got blessings from the birthday girl.” ‘

“She’s amazing, isn’t she.” Beatrice chuckled. “I love her.” 

“I’m starting to as well.” I snorted out a laugh. “She’s most definitely my favorite.” 

“Good.” She smiled. “I’m ready to go in if you are.” 

“Let’s just take a few more minutes to ourselves.” I said. “I want to make sure we go in with positive attitudes.” 

I told Beatrice at least twenty jokes, her hand pressed to her stomach when I opened her car door for her. There weren’t too many people out and about today, but there were a few lingering gazes as we walked hand in hand to the cafe. She didn’t seem fazed by the staring, but I was a little worried that word would spread. The last thing I wanted was to involve Beatrice and her friends in a swarm of paparazzi and fans. When we made it to the back patio, Claire saved two seats next to her at the end of the table. We sat down right across from Gemma and Michael who were lost in their own little world. 

“Good morning, sister.” I nudged her foot under the table. “Michael.” 

“Good morning.” They both parroted back to us. 

“I see you snuck out quite early this morning, Harry.” Gemma noted, looking up at me with a smug smirk. “Where did you go?” 

“We went on a walk.” I bumped Bea’s shoulder with my own, winking at her when she looked up at me. A soft blush blossomed on her freckled cheeks “We just went to Solstice Canyon.” 

“Oh, that’s a lovely park.” Gemma nodded. “Did you enjoy it, Bea?” 

“Yeah, I did.” She nodded back at my sister. “I’m sorry I hijacked your brother from you this morning.” 

“You can keep him.” Gemma snorted out a laugh. “Beatrice, has Harry told you about the time he played church mouse in a Christmas Play? He was about five or six then.” 

“No, he hasn’t.” Beatrice looked up at me as my face went bright red. 

“He wee’d himself on stage he was nervous.” She giggled, looking over at me. “But he was a proper cute mouse. I have pictures if you’d like to see.” 

“Why do you still have pictures?” I groaned. 

“Because you were an adorable little rat.” She smiled up at me. “Still are.”

Bea’s POV 

Tara and Jackson had never acted so rude before. 

I was so annoyed by their constant teasing in the car about Harry and I that I couldn’t even stand to look at them during brunch. Instead, I kept my focus on Gemma, Michael, Harry, and Claire. They were the highlight of my day so far, joking around with good intentions as we waited for the waitress to come take our drink orders. Chloe and Matt were lost in their own world, whispering down at their end of the table without so much as a second glance at everyone else. I never understood their ‘attached at the hip’ deal until Harry. I would gladly sit in a corner and talk to only him while everyone else dicked around. But I had a sister to impress. 

“So hotel sales sounds interesting.” Gemma said, taking a sip of her water. “How did you get into that?” 

“I fell into it really.” I shrugged my shoulders. “My mom works in hotels and I started helping her out when she needed an extra hand. Eventually, I caught the attention of one of our sales managers and she took me under her wing.” 

“And what exactly do you do?” Gemma asked. 

“So I do more event planning than anything, but I essentially set and build rate plans with our accounting team and I make sure that groups and stuff have the right rate. I do a lot of networking with people to bring in revenue for our catering and front desk team.” 

“That’s really cool.” Gemma said. “I would love to plan parties.” 

“It’s fun, but it can definitely be challenging from time to time.” I laughed. 

“Hello, everyone!” Our waitress bound up to the table, standing right next to Claire with a notepad in hand. “Are you guys ready to order drinks?” 

“Yes.” Claire nodded. “Can we do two pitchers of the O.G Mimosa’s and then two pitchers of the blood orange mimosas?”

“Absolutely.” The waitress jotted down the order, but my stomach churned at the thought of champagne. “Anything else?” 

“Yes, actually,” Harry said. “Is there any other alternative to champagne? I read somewhere that people substitute it with hard sparkling cider.” 

“Oh, yeah!” She nodded. “That’s actually how I drink it. What I suggest is getting the ‘orange juice bar’ which is just a few different flavors of orange juice and then two cans of cider per person. You mix it up yourself in a champagne flute so you’re in control of the amount.” 

“The two of us will do that.” Harry gestured towards me with a soft smile. “And two orders of the waffle bar as an appetizer for the table.” 

“Perfect!” The waitress nodded. “I’ll be right back with all of that for you guys.” 

“Thank you.” We all said in unison. 

“Hard cider?” Claire asked Harry, a knowing smirk on her lips as she sipped at her water.

“Beatrice doesn’t like champagne.” Harry shrugged, squeezing my shoulder softly. He’d slung his arm around the back of my chair earlier and I was grateful that I could lean into his side as we all chatted. “Figured we’d save her the hassle of a nasty hangover.” 

“That’s really sweet, Harry.” Claire cooed. 

“It really is.” I squeezed his thigh, smiling up at him as a warm feeling flooded my chest. “I really appreciate that, Harry. Thank you.” 

“Of course.” He hummed out, leaning forward. He gave me a soft kiss on the lips before kissing my nose. “I know you’re excited about the waffle bar, too.” 

“Extremely.” I nodded. “I can’t wait to try the blueberry syrup and the chocolate waffle.” 

“That sounds perfect.” Claire groaned. 

“What should I get for food though?” He hummed softly. “I’m really torn between the avocado toast and the french toast.” 

“I had a feeling that you would be an avocado man.” I scrunched up my nose, glancing over at him as he rested his chin on my shoulder. “I think I’m going for the french toast. I can’t stop thinking about how good that triple berry trifle was and now I just want berries.” 

“Yeah?” He chuckled. “Maybe I’ll join you.” 

“Or you could get something different and we can split and share.” I suggested, glancing back at him. “That way, if you don’t like yours or I don’t like mine, we can swap.” 

“You’re so bloody brilliant, you know that?” Harry smirked, leaning forward to kiss me again. “I like the way you think.” 

Gemma fake gagged from across the table and I rolled my eyes playfully as Harry groaned at her response. He stuck his tongue out at her and she mimicked the action. I laughed at the two of them as they continued to bicker back and forth as if they were all still five years old. 

“Think I’m going to get the calamari, Gem. What do you think?” Michael asked. 

It was my turn to let out a fake gagging noise similar to the one Gemma made, scrunching up my nose.

“Is that what you consider brunch food, Michael?” She laughed before leaning over to kiss his cheek as he blushed. “Whatever makes you happy.” 

“Squid makes me happy.” 

“Gross,” I mumbled under my breath. “Squid?” 

“Not a fan of squid, I take it?” Harry squeezed my thigh and I shook my head in response. 

“Not a fan of seafood either, squid.” I glanced over at him, a small shiver of disgust racking down my spine. 

“And to think, I almost ordered the calamari.” He hummed, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Guess it’s a good thing that I didn’t.” 

“Yeah, it is.” I said playfully. “There would be no more kisses for you after that.” 

“Well, no more squid for me then.” He leaned over, pressing his lips to mine. “Wouldn’t want to miss out on any of these sweet kisses, would I?” 

“I suppose not.” I giggled when Harry kissed me again, only pulling away because the waitress returned to the table. 

Our cider and orange juices were sat down in front of us before the pitchers were brought to the table. Claire wasted no time pouring herself a glass while the waffle bar was brought out. I was so excited to try my new form of mimosa that I didn’t even worry about the waffles. Harry noticed my excitement, grabbing a can of the hard cider. I watched him pop the top with his nimble fingers, my eyes glued to every movement of his hand as he poured the cider into the glass. 

“Which do you want?” He asked me, putting the can down. “I didn’t even know there was more than one flavor of orange juice.” 

“Do the dark orange one there,” I suggested, pointing at the carafe. “It’s blood orange, just like the seltzer.” 

“That sounds delightful.” He hummed, wrapping his fingers around the carafe. My mouth watered as I watched his hands work again, pouting and shuffling things around effortlessly. “Something on your mind, Beatrice?” 

“Hmmm?” I asked, snapping my eyes up to his. 

He was smirking at me, the carafe of blood orange juice still in his hands. 

“You seem a little distracted.” He said softly. “Care to tell me what’s on your mind?” 

“I’d rather not while your sister is at the table.” I whispered. “Thank you so much for this, darling. I really appreciate it.” 

“Of course.” He held his glass up to mine. “Drink up.” 

[chaosciara]

where the arch meets

I have not read King of Scars so I do not know anything about the plot therefore some information about Nikolai could be outdated. This is also the first time I've ever written for this fandom so hopefully I did the characters justice. My friend and I watched S&B and were talking about ships and I said I wanted to see Kaz and Nikolai together which then prompted whatever the hell happened here, please enjoy!

CW: mentions of blood, mentions of gambling

There are no spoilers for the S&B show

masterlist; my links

[image has alt text]

Kaz stares out the window, a glum look on his usually stoic face. Ketterdam was alive, unusual joy spinning itself in the streets as the city busies itself for the arrival of the one and only King Nikolai Lantsov. The festivities of the "Peacekeeper" as he had been so lovingly named, had started three long days ago. Every day that Kaz wakes up to popping streamers, and the litany of ballads associated with the King's ever growing list accomplishments, is a day his stolen peace gets ripped from beneath him. He's not even sure why the King is so popular. He can't say he was anywhere near impressed enough at their brief meeting to warrant the five different ballads about those hazel eyes alone. Kaz looks down at the papers littering his desk, crow club books and bank statements for his various 'assets', communications between the various councils in Ravka and Ketterdam, and the most recent letter from Inej, smelling of the sea.

Their friendship is something of a mystery to the world but between them she is the rock that kept him steady. Even now, with her sailing the high seas content to her freedom, he can feel the unwavering quiet of her. Briefly, he wishes she were here. She would make him laugh, tell him to stop being so glum about the brown-eyed, blonde haired king if he insisted on doing nothing about it. He wouldn't let his amusement at her teasing show, but later in the safety of his room, this room, he'd let a rare smile show. He misses their quiet friendship most of all. But she is happy on her ship with her crew and he has shit to do. He always has shit to do.

The thought, stark and unwelcome, snaps him back to the present. A scowl replaces his faraway look as he shuts the window to the new round of baudy tunes drifting up and straight into the headache knocking at his skull. He sits back down harder than he intended, and winces at the pain that lances down his back and into his leg. He can hear Nina, chastising him for not putting on the salve, for not resting. But he doesn't have the time. He can't do something as normal as rest. He has a city to run. Or at least the underbelly of a city to run.

The statements stare at him but the numbers swirl like melting ice-cream in a bowl, and he wants to throw the pages in the fire in frustration. But he has never acted on emotion, and he will not start now. So he pushes away from his desk, cane already cool under his fingertips, and makes his way to the floors of the crow club.

The passage muffles the sounds of chips cluttering on a table, and glasses set down hard on the wood, and shouting when someone wins, loses, almost gets decked for supposed cheating. But as soon as he steps past the doors, nodding at the two guards he'd posted at this entrance, all of that chaos surrounds him. There is no hush as he steps into the room, no blanket of fear or anger or anything. They don't even know he is there. They won't until he makes himself known. Spending years with his Wraith had taught him some things, even with the click of his cane. He looks to the corner expecting to spot Jesper; his heart, as it had done every day since they had all parted ways, clenched upon seeing the empty space where his sharpshooter was supposed to be. The disappointment doesn't stop his eyes from travelling to the table closest to the kitchens— or as the Nina lovingly called it, the muck hut— where Wylan was usually hunched over notebooks or losing to just about everyone, except maybe Inej, in a game of cards.

He misses them. He'd never tell them, would never let it so much as flash across his face, but he couldn't stop his heart from the same onslaught. He felt it every day. Every time he looked to his window and Inej wasn't perched atop it. Every time he walked to the gambling tables and Jesper wasn't leaning over it, brown eyes shining with hope. Every time he wandered the corridors of the club hearing Wylan's flute. When he decides to put salve on it's because he hears Nina's voice, sees her frown, as she tries so hard to heal them. He even misses Matthias but that is a road he doesn't allow himself to go down. A failure he cannot yet acknowledge. His trip down memory lane ends abruptly when a man with a hood over his eyes, shadowing his face, steps up to him.

"You Kaz, Kaz Brekker?" The voice is rough, almost too rough, but the lilting accent is familiar. Before he can place it the man is talking again.

"I want to speak with you, about a deal."

Kaz tilts his head, resting gloved hands on his cane as he takes the figure in. "Liar."

The man sputters jerking back, and just briefly he catches a glimpse of golden skin and something shiny pinned to his coat. "It's urgent!" The man's voice is not so rough, and that accent, charming in a way, bleeds through more and more.

"I'm not available for deals." It is not true, but he wants to see how they'll react, what they're capable of if he says no.

"You'll like this one." The roughness has been replaced by arrogance. And the world opens wide for Kaz.

"Come," He turns, already limping towards the doors and his rooms beyond. "Don't say anything until we're behind closed doors"

It takes them exactly one minute and twelve seconds to get to his study. As soon as he hears the door click behind him, he lifts his cane and with brutal precision he rips through the clasp at the man's chest and watches the coat land in a heap on his wooden floor. Letting the crows head of his cane fall back into his hand he finally looks up. "What are you doing here King?" The question holds more exhaustion than he's willing to admit.

"What?" The King of Ravka grins, beautiful and bright and full of arrogance, "You aren't happy to see me?"

And Kaz wants to tell him no and piss off and leave me alone, but his heart is pounding and there is blood rushing between his ears and he doesn't really remember what breathing does, how it works. Because this is the first time he's ever seen Nikolai. When they met all those years ago he was Sturmhond, the privateer. Since then Kaz has only seen posters, and art. But none of them, not a single one, has ever done the king justice. He is........ he is magic.

"Oh come on," The blonde is laughing. It sounds like water. It sounds like peace. "You can't expect me to act like a stranger after all the letters we've sent." Yes, the letters. The updates King Nikolai had requested about Ketterdam, about the barrel, about the illegal smuggling of grisha to work as slaves. Those letters. "What?" The King looks at him speculatively, amusement sparking in his hazel eyes— they suit him so much better than the green of Sturmhond. "Volcra got your tongue?"

“Didn't know you would be in town," Kaz manages to grind out. He hopes it sounds like irritation and not infatuation.

"The six million posters and seven ballads about my adventures aboard the Kingfisher were not notice enough?" That grin is back. It is ruining him. "Oh dear, next time I'll be sure to add floating parades to the mix."

"That's tomorrow." He glowers. He doesn't think the blonde could get anymore insufferable. He is wrong.

"Do you have plans to attend then?"

He ignores the question, the tease. "What are you doing here Lantsov?"

"I'm here for the festival Mr, Brekker."

"I mean here." He motions to the room, to him. "What are you doing in the Barrel, in my club—" He wants to say 'in my room'. He catches himself.

"I came," Nikolai steps a little closer. There's still do much distance between them, practically an ocean, but Kaz can feel the tension wrapping around his lungs. He wants out. He wants closer. He wants, he wants, he wants....... "To visit a friend Mr Brekker. I don't exchange letters detailing my failed attempt at diving through the sky with just anyone." Oh saints he's going to die. He's never going to survive this. His face is a brick wall, a crack where his frown breaks through.

"You are a busy man King, busier even, than i am." He wants to applaud himself for the steadiness of his voice. "I doubt that you had time to just pop by. So what do you want, Nikolai?"

There is a flash of something in those beautiful eyes, and he wants to chase it to the ends of the earth. "Must we always have an ulterior motive?" The voice is quiet, but it is filled with curiosity and emotions Kaz doesn't have the ability to unpack. "Is it not good enough that I wanted to see you Kaz."

The Underboss of Ketterdam becomes a rain, becomes wind, and earth, and gold. He sits down on his desk, uninterested in the groan of the wood as it tries to carry his weight. Nikolai looks at him, soft and open, all that charm hidden- packed away for a moment far removed from this one. Somehow the distance has shrunk between them until there is only two steps, maybe three before their bodies can collide. He knows Nikolai would not come closer, but some part of him wants the king to try. Wants to see what would happen. He shoves that part so far down it got to hell before him.

"Say something," The blonde whispers.

"How long till they realize you've snuck off?" The bark of laughter that escapes the king is like jurda straight into his bloodstream.

"We have an hour tops."

"Let's go." He throws a new hood, midnight blue and embellished with golden thread, at him. It's his own. He doesn't have time to find another. Nikolai puts it on, fastening the small gold clasp at his front, and Kaz has to remind himself to breathe when he sees how beautiful those colours are against that golden skin. It looks a thousand times better on Nikolai than it ever had in him.

"Where are we off to then?" The blonde asks, his familiar charm steady through his features once more. "You're not intending to kidnap me and sell me to the highest bidder are you?" Before he can even start to ignore the question Nikolai is carrying on. "I have to tell you I won't make a very high bid. I seem to have botched myself a little when I turned into one of the Darkling's little pets. I think my di—"

"Shut up will you," He snaps, black eyes scanning the club as they walk through it.

"A little tense Mr Brekker," He can hear the grin. He doesn't know whether he wants to slap it or stare at it. He keeps walking.

They're outside and it's just started to drizzle and he has the brief thought that maybe he shouldn't be making the king of Ravka gallivant in the rain. But then he catches a glimpse of Nikolai's expression, full of wonder and glinting with excitement and he can't turn back even if he wants to.

"Kaz," Saints he loves the way the blonde says his name. "I really think it's better if I know where we're going, sake of safety and all that."

"We're going to the docks."

"You're not intending to drown me, are you?" There is no concern hidden behind the question, only delighted amusement.

"If I had intended to be rid of you Nikolai," Kaz turns his head, stares at the man, "I would have done it the second you walked into my club."

"Even though you didn't know it was me?"

It's his turn to smirk, and he revels in it. "I know everyone that comes into my club, King." The title reverberates in his throat. He catches the flash in the royal's eye.

"Why are you taking us to the docks?"

"I want to show you something, privateer." The strangled noise he hears in answer makes him force down the smile threatening to erupt.

The rain is at that awkward stage where it's more than a drizzle but less than a downpour. The kind that seeps into your clothes, makes your bones wet before you can even feel it on your skin. But they're almost there, he can see their destination clear in front of him. They are quiet, a rare thing for Nikolai he thinks, as they walk. Every now and then he glances to his companion who is always staring at the world in wonder. Like every corner produces a new kind of thrill. Like he'll be able to collect them all and bottle them for his journey home.

"Why are you staring at my pretty face?" The subject of his hidden amazement asks. "You've never been one to appreciate beauty Mr Brekker. If you did you'd have commented on my lovely violet wax seals at least once." He fights the urge to roll his eyes at that. The wax seals were the least interesting thing about the letters. He usually ripped them open like a mad man, clawing for the content inside and reading it as if it were going to disappear before he could get to the, 'fondly, Nikolai Lantsov' at the end.

"I have more interest in the contents inside."

At that the King does roll his eyes, "Oh yes, the ever so interesting reports about dock lookouts and safe grisha arrivals."

"It's my business."

"Mhm" Is all the blonde has to say.

They step onto the docks, and the tap of his cane, louder, more prominent on the wood, rings slightly in his ears. It's a comforting sound. One he has come to rely on to keep him steady. Especially when there's a king walking in stride with him, a king who kind of looks like the sun just before it disappears over the horizon. A king who scents his letters with lavender because he wants people to know calmness. A king who has never touched him but always stands close enough that he can feel the heat of him.

He recognizes the marker that tells him they're in the right place and then he motions for Nikolai to stay behind him. "Its small so we'll have to be close together." He says quietly.

"Are you okay with that?" The question is so gentle, so full of worry it almost buckles his knees.

"I'll manage."

"Kaz," He sounds hesitant, he sounds worried. "You don't have to force yourself to do something for me."

"I'm not, now come on before it disappears." And then they're stepping into an alcove only slightly bigger than a coffin and they're so close and there's so little air. But still Nikolai is not touching him and the leather of Kaz's gloves is warm against his skin. There is no part if him exposed to the elements, except his face. He takes one breath, takes two. The king is looking at him with concern, it is swimming in his features.

"Look up." Together they tilt their heads, and as the weak sunlight, bogged by rain, sinks to the floor the gems buried in the stones of the roof above them come ablaze. Crimson reds, and sapphire blues, and forest greens, and golden yellows. The light fractures and morphs and dances around them, like coloured stars.

He had discovered this wonder in a burning rage, trailing blood down the docks. He'd beaten up a man who betrayed their gang- dirty work for the boss- but half way down the docks he'd thought he was being followed and he slipped into this little alcove. He comes back every chance he gets.

"This is—" For once King Nikolai Lantsov is speechless. "How did you even find such a thing?" The hood had fallen off his head when he looked up so every angle of his face is on sharp display. The miserable lighting only made him more golden as if he was defying the weather simply by existing. And the gemstones reflected in his eyes, turning them every shade of rare rainbow. One of three Kaz had ever seen in Ketterdam.

He just raises a brow. "We should be getting back, I'm sure they've already sounded the alarm."

The blonde snorts, "They're used to it by now."

"Oh you sneak off to visit all your friends?" They step out carefully, making sure not to disturb the structure or get caught in the act.

"Feeling less special?"

"Wondering if maybe you should pay your guards more."

They bicker all the way back, about everything, trading wit and meaningless insults in equal measure. Kaz insists on dropping Nikolai off at his lodgings and Nikolai insists he doesn't have to despite leading them towards the building he's staying in. When they finally arrive, it is with a sense of longing for more that settles between them. More time, more laughter, more traded quips, just more.

"Goodbye Mr Brekker." The King bows his head.

"Nikolai." He nods.

"Come visit me in Ravka soon." It's the line he prints in every letter, no matter how far apart their replies are, or how many other things they have going on. Kaz never acknowledges it. He won't put that kind of hope into them. He must stay here. He must work.

But today, with happiness bubbling under his skin, he cant help but let loose a small smile and a dangerous promise. "I'll try."

And fading under the bustle of people is a small golden plaque on the floor of the alcove. "To those we love, and love unconditionally." A bigger promise, one that has lasted through time itself.

"That's all we can do Kaz," Nikolai smiles. "We try."

[welcomehero]

Door Eleven

Whatever he was lying on was soft, plush and satin. It was more comfortable than a bed, the sides of it were close on him, cradling him all around. It was warm, it was nice. It reminded him of the naps he took with his mother when he was small. She used to wrap him in his favorite blue blanket and carry him up to her room, lying on the bed with him. The afternoon sun used to drift through the blinds above his parent’s bed, and curled up in his mama’s arms he never felt more safe. There was no light behind his eyelids now though, and there was a chill in the air around him. He was lying flat on his back, not on his side with his legs pulled close to him like his usual sleeping position. 

Hero wanted to go back to sleep, but he couldn’t. He could hear a strange muffled noise coming from above him. That combined with the strangeness of the situation forced him to wake. He tried to stretch, keeping his eyes closed, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t move his arms to the sides, and when he tried to put them out in front of him, his palms met cool glass. 

Hero opened his eyes. Dirt met him. 

He gasped and tried to sit up, banging his head against the top of the coffin. He was forced to lie back down, only able to lie there and listen. He tried to breathe, but found he couldn’t bring a breath in or out. His chest didn’t move. He expected to feel the need for it, but it never came. 

He didn’t need to breathe. Living people needed to breathe.

Hero ignored the connotations and abandoned that train of thought. It didn’t matter. What mattered was getting out of this, then he could worry about breathing. The sounds were still there, and Hero listened as carefully as he could while doing his best to get some sort of leverage on the coffin. The sound above him was footsteps, and with footsteps came voices. He could barely hear, but the words came faint. 

“He...young.” “-o much going for him.” “He…-thing really special.” “-oesn’t make sense.” 

Hero pressed his hands flat against the coffin, pushing with all the pressure he could muster. His weak muscles were no match for six feet of dirt. He tried to speak, but he couldn’t. He brought his hands from the glass to his neck. The bones were broken, shifting under his fingertips, the skin broken and bruised. His voice came out in a barely there squeak, and the people above his grave continued to talk to one another. They talked about what a waste it was, what pain his parents were going through, how Kel was inconsolable. On and on and on as Hero tried in vain to escape, to send some sort of sign to the living above him. 

Then a voice he knew, a voice he would have known in his sleep. Mari. She sounded hurt, a deep seated pain that would never truly ease, a pain he knew well. He stopped completely, straining his ears to catch every single one of her words. He needed to know she would be okay. If he would never be able to get out, he at least needed her to be okay. 

Why would you leave me?

Why would you do this? 

Was I not enough to make you stay? 

Maybe I should join you. 

Hero pounded against the lid of the coffin, trying to get to her. She needed to know he was still alive. She had to know, how could she not know? The glass began to creak and crack under the weight of the dirt. He heard the people begin to move away, and he begged them to come back. Against his better judgement he kept pounding on the lid, animal instincts taking over. 

The last thing he heard was the glass shattering. 

Door Twelve