#at least i hope he wasn't since evidently you can take the place of someone else in an agni kai like ozai did for high general bujing

[evilkitten3]

so... yes and no? see it's an awful thing to do to children in any circumstance, but given the nature of the show... literally every single adult is doing that. the whole world runs on it. i think of this as the "kids' show exception"– the world operates in a way that would irl be horrific bc the main characters have to be kids bc the show is geared towards kids. kids want to see kids being awesome. hence, every episode of atla isn't facing the conflict of "responsible authority figre tries to stop aang from doing the Right Thing bc that's a literal twelve-year-old holy shit".

i haven't read the novelization (my view of atla canon is mostly based off the show, but i occasionally take bits of non-show stuff to supplement characters who didn't get much screentime), but i would say the precedent is that when zuko spoke out of turn, he got a face full of fire, and azula already feels like she's being treated like zuko bc ozai isn't bringing her with him, so of course she would make that connection.

the thing is, i don't think the main intent behind the burning was ozai just feeling like maiming his son (it was still absolutely physical abuse), but rather psychological. ozai wants to put zuko in his place; to teach him "respect" (kinda why a lot of irl parents smack their kids, only worse bc ozai can throw fireballs). don't get me wrong, it's very possible that ozai did beat his kids, the agni kai by itself is more than enough potential for routine physical abuse, but that's just not how i see it.

to be clear, i'm not trying to say that ozai didn't hit his kids bc he secretly loved them or knew it was wrong or whatever, it just makes more sense to me if he didn't.

was fucking around on google images and i ended up stumbling on a reddit post from three yrs ago with a picture of iroh grabbing azula during a fight scene...

this is the only time i can think of when azula seems completely terrified.

he grabs her and she's scared shitless

but he just redirects her lightning and she's just bewildered.

i wonder what she was thinking there

[moonchildstyles]

épanouissement

élan final part: there was no place like home, even if the people there tried to wreck it

wordcount: 22k+

—————

"You think this is going to make it stop?" 

Harry slammed the boot of the car closed, their bags packed away with the sun low on the horizon. He didn't seem particularly optimistic when he gave (Y/N) a curt nod, but she couldn't blame him.

"'S the best I can think of right now," he murmured, "They at least won't know where you are or where to send anything. We jus' need to get through until we can make it back to New York, then we'll have more options." 

She could tell Harry was still frustrated with the fact they couldn't fly back home at the moment, her father being the very obvious roadblock. That had been his first iteration of this plan; that they leave Paris behind and get back to the high-rises where she had the rest of her letters stowed away. Harry wanted to file something, go public with this kind of information and make it known that she wasn't safe—do anything to get this person off of her back if there was nothing that could be legally done with only the letters as evidence. But, to get back would require either her father's jet, or her very public return—two things that would rattle his cage and cause something she wasn't willing to deal with on top of everything else. 

That was how they made it here: bags packed, and car heading out of Paris for the time being. 

This had been Plan C (right behind A, that consisted of Harry hunting down this person and ending this mess in a rage, and B, heading home and gaining proper protection from authorities or otherwise). Searching through vacation listings in rural villages bordering Paris, Harry had found something far enough away he could buy her privacy while waiting for the chance to make it back to New York. It had been decided he would rent the cottage under his much less recognizable name and they would hide amongst the fields before an opportunity for something more concrete presented itself. 

(Y/N) had never lived in a small town before, the mansion upstate with her parents having been the least populated area she'd resided in, but that had nothing on the tiny village Harry had pinpointed. His reasoning came from the fact that it would be incredibly hard to blend in while out there, no crowds around to slip into and no real reason anyone should be carrying around a professional camera. At the very least, it would provide a challenge for someone who was so used to herding (Y/N) into crowds and peeping through windows to get a glimpse.

It didn't take much convincing for her to go along with the getaway plan, Harry having urgently pitched it to her with his own duffle bag already half packed by the time he shared the details. She had enough time to pack her essentials (and maybe some non-essentials that came in the form of the bouquet of roses Harry brought her, now dried and preserved carefully in her bag), sleep on the idea, then they were off. Though she knew the purpose and was actually kind of excited to actually get away for the first time in her life, it was an odd feeling to see the structures and people of Paris pass outside of the window, growing smaller in the rearview the further Harry drove them out. 

Her only hope was that no one was following them, thwarting their plan before it had even sprung into motion. This person was no stranger to camping around her home and spotting her as soon as she appeared. (Y/N) just had to trust Harry; he wouldn't have suggested this upheaval if he didn't believe the outcome would be the one he wanted, ending with her safe and happy as he had told her time and time again that was all he wanted.

Looking at him from the corner of her eye, the shine of Paris passing by the window in whizzing blurs behind him, she saw him with that new filter that had lingered since the night they kissed. Everything was just a little bit softer, a little hazier. Even with the sharp set in his jaw and the thinned line of his lips, she knew if she plucked just a hair closer she would see the ridges of his mouth that had been pressed against hers, the tip of his nose that brushes against her cheek, the sun-dappled stubble that had grazed her chin and was soft under her hands when he deepened the seal of their lips. She no longer only knew what he looked like, she knew what he felt like. 

Though, they hadn't kissed since, instead leaving a blurred line between them. Harry no longer seemed to hold many reservations about that professional line that had developed, those grazes of his hand over hers or the way he hovered around her in the kitchen were no longer reserved for only the times that he was leading her through packed situations or acting as the security he was hired on as. He no longer shied away from her the same way he had before, the buffer of space having dissipated. He had even stolen a bite of her dinner right off her fork the night before, sharing a glass of wine where he pressed his lips into the same space she had supped from just before. 

There was a level of intimacy they now shared, even if they hadn't touched the limits of the barrier since. 

Even now, (Y/N) knew that if she peeled his hand away from the steering wheel, pressed her palm against his and laced their fingers together, Harry wouldn't hesitate to reciprocate that hold.

But, she wasn't sure how to do it. 

She'd never been shy around a man before, not since she was a teenager. No attraction was ever serious enough for her to feel as if she were silly for acting the way she did or looking the way she did. She didn't lack confidence when it came to those she wanted, but Harry was different. He made her flustered and shy, sheepish and fluttering under the skin and she didn't know how to feel about that. 

He made her feel like she needed to journal about him, add the night in the kitchen to her diary so she would never forget about the way his voice wrapped around the words sweet girl and how he promised he cared for her. 

Even spying him now, the lines of his profile being haloed with the buttery light of the fringes of the city, (Y/N) felt her heart skip in her chest. 

It was worth it to be flustered by him.

—————

After over an hour of golden fields and rose tinted air, the paved road making way for a gravel trail, the cottage of Harry's choice came into view. 

Along the way, (Y/N) had been enamored with the scenery outside, spotting farms with grazing animals, swaying stalks of lavender, and the neighbourhoods growing smaller and smaller, actual neighbours getting few and far between. If Paris smelled like butter and wine, this rural area smelled of lavender and fresh linen. (Y/N) wanted to bask in the sunlight pouring over the land. 

While Paris was one of her great loves, a place she was happy she could show Harry, this was exciting to her. The idea of experiencing this place for the first time with him at her side was enough to have her tummy fluttering into delicately ribboned knots. A new first together, she thought. 

Just like the photos online showed, the cottage was small, showcasing just enough space for what the listing entailed. The frame was built with tan cobblestones, sandy shades emulating the wheat fields they passed on the way, warm and sunny. A small chimney was stationed on the side of the house, white trim outlining the windows and coloring the door. From where they were pulling in, she could see just the corner of the back porch. Bushes of deep greens and wine red roses were blooming against the buttery backdrop, standing low next to the croppings of lavender. Up the small chimney, ivy vines traced the brickwork, tiny white blooms fluttering in the wind. It was like a storybook, (Y/N) thought. 

"This is beautiful, Harry," she whispered in awe, eyes the size of her heart as she took in the whole place. 

"I saw the roses and figured this would be the place for us," he told her, his voice low though she could still hear the tinge of pride. 

There was that fluster in her chest, the sheepish feeling that had her skin warming. For us, he said. 

Pulling her gaze from the home, (Y/N) watched from the passenger seat as Harry pulled them into the tiny gravel drive. Her lips curled into a soft smile. 

"I love it." 

As soon as Harry had them parked in the drive safely, (Y/N)'s jittery excitement couldn't be contained. She was excited to check out their designated safe house, skipping out of the car and heading towards the storybook porch, saddled by bushels of lavender and roses. Harry hung back, grabbing their bags from the boot. 

"(Y/N)," he called, his voice carrying over the lavender-scented breeze, "Before y'go in, there's only one bedroom." 

Stopping in her tracks, (Y/N) turned on her heel. For a split second she thought about what it would be like to share a bed with him, to feel his arms wrapped around her waist and head nestled in her shoulder the way he always did when he held her. She saw that in the morning often, but she wondered if it would be different to wake up next to him, to see the mess of curls on his head and the bleary blinks of his eyes. She didn't hate the idea at all. 

Staying put, she canted her head as she looked at him, hoping she was playing it cool. "Oh?"

He nodded his head, pushing the trunk closed with a fist full of two duffle bags (both hers). "I was planning on sleeping on the couch, but I want to tell y'before y'saw." 

Harry caught up with her as she stood in her spot, shifting her weight with her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. "Are you sure?" 

Meeting her eyes, the flecks of gold in his irises shimmering like stars in this light, he remained resolute. "'M sure. I jus' want you to be comfortable." 

There's a part of her that wanted to argue that she would be more than comfortable with sharing the single bed with him, sleeping with the window open and sharing body heat under the linen. Though, that part of her didn't have a chance before Harry was forging ahead and unlocking the front door.

He went inside first, leaving (Y/N) to follow after with a view of his broad shoulders. He dropped the bags quietly in the tiny tiled space in front of the door, already peering around the cottage. 

"Wait here for me," he murmured, getting that set in his gaze she remembered from the first time he had toured her apartment. 

Kicking off her shoes, she stayed put while he cased the space, checking for any and everything. From where she was, no cameras could be found, or any open windows or cracked doors. Nonetheless, those closed windows were now locked, the closed doors were blown open, and every corner was double checked for any kind of camera that could be hiding in plain sight. 

"Is everything okay?" she asked after Harry disappeared into the main bedroom. 

Wandering out a moment later, he gave her an absent nod, his gaze stuck to the ceiling as if one of the dust motes in the air would suddenly start recording their conversation. "I think 's alright, jus' let me know if y'notice anything weird, please." 

"Got it! Thank you," she beamed, feeling a bit too excited to start traipsing around the place. She hadn't felt like this since Francesca offered her a spot on her family's annual Switzerland trip and she saw the levels of the cabin they owned. 

Taking in the small common area that would double as Harry's bedroom, she was endeared by the small television propped on the vintage wooden stand pressed against the wall. She could imagine sitting with Harry before bed, trying to watch an episode of Julia Childs and figuring out what exactly it was that she said before dropping the duck into the pan. It was cozy and small, complete with an overstuffed couch, a crocheted doily across the back and an uneven coffee table. There was a small space designated as the dining area just behind the couch, looking into the kitchen that was tucked away from the serenity of the living room. A huge pantry was the back wall of the kitchen, space left for any and everything (Y/N) could imagine. 

There was another small hallway past the kitchen that led to the bathroom as well as what would be (Y/N)'s bedroom. A large window had been molded into the wall of the bedroom, giving a view into the back garden, complete with the small porch on the backside of the house. On the bed was a fresh pile of linen to be stretched across the mattress, fluffy pillows at the head. Inside the bathroom hung an ornate mirror, complete with a golden frame and a clawfoot bathtub. An even smaller short has been tucked into the corner, the tile matching the sunny, buttery tones throughout the cottage. 

Everywhere she went smelled like powdery fresh linen, rosewater and lulling lavender. She'd never been so far away from a bustling city to experience something like this. The space was cozy and secluded, warm and inviting. She felt like she was sitting in a fairytale—this home fit for Beauty And The Beast. Bread should be baking somewhere, a pristine rose encased in glass. 

She had thought Paris was the best place to be exiled, but even the city couldn't compare to this. Though she didn't have much to compare it to (thankfully) she figured this had to be the best of the best when it came to safe houses. 

The best part? Checking her phone, she found she had limited service when not connected to Wi-Fi. Though it was small, that detail made it that much harder for someone to get into contact with her. 

"Like it?" she heard Harry ask from where he sauntered through the doorway, his expression easy and warm as he gazed at her. 

"I love it," she answered through a beaming smile, grazing her hand over the fresh linens waiting on her bed, "Thank you." Watching the spring back of the sheets against her hand, the fluff of the pillows waiting to cushion her head, she tried again, "Are you sure about the couch? Really sure?" 

The bed was big enough for the both of them, she wanted to tell him. She wouldn't mind. 

It was the half of a heartbeat's worth of lag before he answered her that had (Y/N) looking up to intently watch him. But, he was a master of a stoic face, giving nothing away as per usual. "'M sure, really," he cemented, "It'll make it easier for me to be right there in case anything happens, anyway. This looks like the kind of best y'could get lost in if you're not careful." 

(Y/N) made a point not to think too hard about his words before she was relenting with a soft okay. Glancing out the window that made up a third of the wall, she fixed her eyes to the blossoming roses. 

"Should we go check out the garden? Maybe there's vegetables we can use to make something." 

The roses couldn't hold a candle to the way Harry's lips bloomed into a smile, complete with dimples and bright eyes the color of healthy, thornless stems. He held a hand towards her, "Yeah, c'mon." 

This place was perfect, she decided, slipping her hand in his and allowing Harry to parade her through their temporary home. Just the flowers and Harry. 

—————

Sitting on the overstuffed couch that doubled as Harry's bed, (Y/N) had her legs curled up underneath her and the T.V. in front of her showing an animated movie in French. Harry was at her side, legs spread with his arm laid across the back of the furniture, eyes squinted as he tried to decipher what exactly was playing on screen. 

"What did they jus' say?" he asked, his question muttered as he craned his neck forward as if that would make him understand any better. 

(Y/N) let out a soft breath of laughter, her eyes on the movie with a small rat skittering through the sewers, cookbook in tow. "We just finished watching this in English, you know what they said." 

"I don't know what"—he added a jumble of letters accented in French, essentially speaking gibberish to prove his point—"means," he pointed out, shaking his head. 

A peal of boisterous laughter left her lips over his half-hearted attempt, rolling into his chest with her eyes squeezing closed. 

"You're not even trying anymore," she laughed, settling into Harry's side as he curled around her. 

She fit against him like a puzzle piece, her head on his shoulder and his arm falling from around the couch to cocoon around her. Despite no more than a single kiss being shared between them, this intimacy, the comfortable touching and casual affection, had been the level they had reached, the outcome of that night in the kitchen. 

"Do you really want to know what they're saying?" she asked, a touch breathless once her laughing settled down. 

"I do, yeah," he murmured, his nose grazing the top of her head as he dropped his chin. He spoke to her like he was sharing a secret, something only for her to hear, and not a quiet request for translation. 

(Y/N) translated for him, sharing the English version of whatever string of gibberish he had let out. Her voice was low, matching the volume of his own. 

"How do you say it the right way—in French?" he asked after a beat, his tone lulled into something softer. 

A small smile curled her lips. She loved it when he asked her to do something like this, to share the language with him. Bubbling it off, she shared the flourish of the sentence that he had already heard on screen just moments before. 

A beat passed, Harry's arm around her tucking her into the cove his body was making around hers. "What did they say now?" 

And the game began. 

Despite the way he was asking about the movie, looking for translations and the French flourish to be slowed down for him in her voice, it wasn't about the script or the plot anymore. This was one of his favorite games to play with her, and (Y/N) indulged him every time. She liked reciting the lines for him, having him repeat them back at times if he wasn't too eager to fire off another excuse for her to speak French to him. More than once, he pulled away from her just enough to watch her speak, see the way her mouth formed around the words and the accent trolling off of her tongue. 

"Have you learned how to say anything since I started helping you?" (Y/N) teased, her smile easy as she gazed up at him with her head resting on his shoulder. 

His gaze lingered over her features, the tip of his tongue peaking out to wet his lips. "I know a few things," he said, decidedly more serious than her own tone. 

"Like what?" she pressed through her soft-lipped smile. 

Harry started off easy, reciting off words that he'd garnered from his time in the kitchen with her. "Tomate, carotte, ail, soupe, poireau," he listed off, counting on his fingers with each one, even as (Y/N)'s laughter rose. 

Of course he would remember all of the food related words she'd taught him—he always paid a lot more attention when she was making him dinner. 

Twisting on the cushions, (Y/N) turned to face him, her side now pressed against the back of the couch with Harry's arm around her with his hand settling on her hip. He watched on as she bubbled with laughter, her features bright and laugh filling the small cottage. 

"That's all you know?" she giggled. 

"I know a little more," Harry promised, looking a little smug before his gaze started tracing over the planes of her face. As her laughter died down, she wished she knew what he was thinking as he looked at her. She wondered what he saw in moments like these. "I know rose," he started, his words drawling and lingering a little more this time, "Pétale. Magnifique." 

He went on to describe another color when he locked eyes with her, his gaze shifting over her skin and hair, more descriptors following after. Everything was said with a lingering flourish, as if they were more than just colors and little words he'd picked up, but more like a poem he was reciting. She watched as his raspberry lips wrapped around every word, even if he fumbled the pronunciation just a hair. More and more gentle, tender expressions left his lips, his eyes warming and deep as he looked at her the whole time. 

"Douce," he finished with, his eyes lingering on the shape of her mouth. The room suddenly felt charged the longer he gazed at her, (Y/N) warming under his eyes. 

"I never taught you those," she murmured, smiling with a cant to her head, trying her best to keep her head straight. 

"I know," he answered on a soft exhale, his attention obviously taken elsewhere. 

"Where'd you learn it then?" 

"Myself." 

"Yeah?" she asked, the corners of her lips lifting that much more, "When did you do that?" 

She could only ever recall him reciting things she had taught him, never anything like this. Though it wasn't that complicated, some of the words he'd shown off with, it was more than he'd come to the country with and she was proud of him for learning any at all when he easily could have relied on her for translation the whole time.

Harry shrugged casually, though the silence suggested anything but. The audio of the movie had become nothing more than white noise, a vague French song in the background of this scene. 

"I—Um—I wanted..." he started, words fumbling and distracted. The full of his bottom lip became trapped between his teeth, a slight pause before he regained himself with a clearing grumble of his throat. Harry looked at her through his lashes, "I want to know how to describe you if I ever needed help to find you." 

"So you learned sweet and gorgeous?" 

(Y/N) wanted to tease him, give him an easy smile and laugh with him, but her voice stuck in her throat. There wasn't anything to tease him about, anything that could cut through the breathless tension. He was admitting to thinking she was pretty, and that was enough to stutter her lungs. 

"Isn't that you?" he deadpanned, with genuine intensity sitting in his eyes. 

The heart shape of his lips fell into a soft gape as he gazed at her. The hold he had on her hip tightened that much more. If not for the fact that she was hyper-aware of everything him, she doubted she wouldn't have noticed the minute way his breathing hitched, his throat slightly bobbing. 

Maybe she needed to give it a second thought, allow a moment of pause, but (Y/N) didn't hesitate before she was reaching across and pressing her lips to Harry's. Only a beat of lag came from him; his neck stiffened under her hands she had looped around to connect at his nape, the fingers on her hip flexing. It didn't take long for him to lose himself in the kiss, melting against her and tipping his head to reciprocate. 

Slotting his lips against hers, he cradled her top lip between his two and kissed her with everything that had been waiting since the last time they had a moment like this. He was able to curl himself around her, cupping her hip and using the bar of his arm to tuck her against his chest. (Y/N) kept her hands locked around his neck, fingers twiddling with the baby hairs fringing his hairline. 

Deepening the kiss, she tipped her head, the tip of his nose brushing the apple of her cheek. His chest pressing against hers as he pulled in a deep breath, the warm fanning across her skin when they broke away for a heartbeat. Harry followed her, sealing his lips against hers once more, shifting that much closer to her on the couch. His hand on her hip skated up her side, creasing and bunching her shirt up her side as he came to rest his palm on the ladder of her ribs. His grip strengthened there, matching the intensity of his kiss as he slid the tip of his tongue across the seam of her lips, hugging her to his chest with her arms bundled between. She clung to his shirt, fisting the fabric as if he could slip away if she wasn't careful. 

"Harry," she whispered, pulling away. She just wanted him to open his eyes; she wanted to see him again, remember that this was the man she was kissing, the same one she met in her father's office. 

Drawing away just enough to match her gaze, she watched intently as he opened his eyes with a flutter of his lashes. His pupils were dilated, his eyes increasingly dark compared to the mossy jade that typically made up his iris. His lips were kiss-swollen and cheeks rosy with a heated flush. 

She had done this to him, the quiet rise and fall of his chest, the way he couldn't seem to look away from her for even a split second. 

The thought had her throwing herself back into the kiss, her hands around the back of his neck shifting until she was cradling his jawline in her palms. The stubble covering the skin prickled against her palms, the soft skin of his cheeks moving with every heavy kiss he planted upon her lips. Harry's free hand that had been carefully resting on his thigh abandoned post, coming up to cup the side of her throat, his thumb circling the hinge of her jaw. He held her steady as he pushed against her, giving and giving and giving while her soft mouth cushioned the full of his kissing.

"C'mere," he murmured against her lips, his voice a heated breath fanning across. 

With that, he used his arm he had wrapped around her, holding her hip, to pull her to his lap. He helped position her atop him, her thighs splitting to fit his hips between, her feet folding underneath to hook under his thighs. His own legs were still spread, with sifting heavy and hard bulging in his lap. Both of his hands came to cup her bottom, keeping her steady on his lap with his fingertips digging into the plush skin there. 

(Y/N)'s fingertips curled in the baby hairs bordering his hairline, her brows coming to a furrow as she rested heavily on his hard cock. His hands on her ass held her flush against him, until he seemed to grow restless and started using his leverage to roll her hips against his in slow grinds. 

There wasn't anything urgent in the way he moved her, gripping her and lifting her until she slid down the bulge in a lingering stroke. It was indulgent. It matched the lingering kisses, the heavy breaths in the air, the way (Y/N) couldn't seem to have him close enough and Harry couldn't taste her enough. 

While their first kiss had been entirely romantic and revealing, backlit by the Eiffel Tower and scented with confessions of adoration, this was different. She had been missing him before she had even kissed him. Now, combined with every moment she had wished she had him after that night in her kitchen, it was all coming together and fueling this moment.

She couldn't help the small, breathy moan she let out against his mouth, Harry's fingers flexing against the plushness of her bottom. He pulled away then, though his lips never left her skin. He turned to messy, streaking kisses splayed over her cheek, down her jaw, and over the column of her throat. 

"Feel good?" he asked, his voice a smear against her skin.

(Y/N) threw her head back, feeling his cock twitch between her legs. God, she had never been more grateful for the thin fabric of her sleep-shorts and the fact it seemed Harry didn't like to wear any boxers under his sweats. 

"Uh-huh," she breathed, her neck stretching under his lips with more space for him to make his mark.

Harry did just that, his teeth scraping against her skin with a sharp nip, her body tensing against his. (Y/N) was melting, melting, melt—

Until something outside seemingly crashed on the ground, a clattering noise ringing across the patio out back. 

(Y/N) startled in her skin, clinging to Harry in a different way with her chest rapidly rising and falling against his. Her eyes were wide, the vignette that clouded her vision and sunk her deeper into this moment with him dissipated in an instant. Harry held her for a moment, seemingly startled himself, until he sprung into action.

"Wait here," he murmured, twisting her off his lap and settling her into the couch cushion. 

He didn't look back when her hands dropped from him, her body curling in on itself as he disappeared. She knew he had gone through the kitchen, reaching for something in a cabinet before the backdoor was thrown open and Harry stomped outside. 

She wished she could get a glance of him somehow, shakily rising to her knees. She looked over the back of the couch, hoping to spot him through the small trio of windows that lined the back wall of the dining area. 

They both had the same suspect in mind, she was sure of that. And, by the direction the last photos she had looked at began taking, her admirer—stalker, she reminded herself—was starting to turn on Harry. She didn't want him getting hurt. 

There was no telling how long he'd been outside with the way time seemed to stand still then. (Y/N) knelt there, waiting, watching, worrying her lip between her teeth and finding anything to worry her hands with. 

It could have been hours by the time the back door opened once more, Harry stomping through and reappearing. This time, she saw him with a gun in his hand, something she'd never seen him with but figured he would have had given the nature of his job. He took a moment to leave it on the dining table, the barrel facing away from her before he turned to face (Y/N).

His eyes were wild, hair a mess. 

"What was it?" (Y/N) asked, even her whisper feeling too loud for this moment. 

Harry shook his head, seemingly decompressing when she shuttered his eyes and took in a deep breath. The sharp set to his shoulders didn't deplete, but the lines beside his eyes finally relaxed. He ambled towards her on slow feet, his demeanor defeated despite being her saving grace in that moment. 

"Some animals got into a fight in the garden," he told her. He stopped to stand in front of her, placing his hands on either side of her where she still knelt with her own fingers digging into the backing cushion of the couch. He looked down at her with hooded eyes, coming down from the skyrocketing adrenaline that had pumped through both of them. "'M sorry." 

"For what?" she pressed, dumbfounding that he would be apologizing then. It wasn't as if he made the noise that spooked the life out of her. 

He rolled his neck, his eyes dropping down to the curve of her throat. "I didn't mean to interrupt," he explained, his choice of words careful as they fell from his mouth, "I jus'..."

"No, don't be sorry," she insisted, a furrow to her brow as she laid her hand atop his. Though she felt a bit shy thinking about what exactly had been interrupted, she didn't want him to hold any guilt for something that was far from his fault. "I don't blame you, or anything. We're hiding for a reason, even if it's been really easy to forget these last couple of weeks. You still technically have a job to do instead of just watching movies with me and doing the dishes while I nap." 

She was trying her hand at being light-hearted, hoping to alleviate the fatigue that had entered his system. She wanted him to smile again.

Unfortunately, all he did was shake his head again. The man she had been snuggling and kissing on the couch was out of commission for the time being it seemed. 

"I need to be paying more attention," he told her, his tone resolute as if he had failed her. He stepped away then. "'M going to see if I can find any temporary security cameras I can put up outside." 

With that, the conversation was seemingly over while he rifled through his duffle bag for his laptop. 

Reality was sinking in against once more, the rose petals falling around her. 

This wasn't a vacation, she had to remember, a lusty getaway with a dreamy man. There was a reason—a good and important reason—that they had to flee the way they did. 

—————

"Are you going to bed?" (Y/N) asked, meeting Harry's eyes from where he stood in the doorway of her bathroom. He had lent against the jamb, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched her through the mirror. 

"Yeah," he said after a beat, seemingly coming alive from where he was watching her twist her damp hair into a braid. "Jus' wanted to come say goodnight." 

Harry had been decidedly quiet after the clatter from outside, a distance having been put up between them despite the intimacy they shared just moments before it had been shattered. (Y/N) hadn't expected him to visit her after the sun went down, assuming she would have to wait until the morning to see him again and hope he was less in his head after a night's rest. 

The fact he came to see her at all, waited until she was out of the shower and readying herself for bed, brought a wide grin to her face. 

Turning on her heel, she met his eyes head-on, no longer having to go through the mirror. "Goodnight," she murmured through her smile, "I'll see you in the morning for breakfast?" 

Harry's eyes lingered over her. Her skin was especially soft and warm after her shower, scented with Miss Dior and the rose petals that seemed to follow every room in the cottage. The high points of her face were coated in a dewy shine from her moisturizer, her hair soft from her conditioner. A set of silky pajamas slid over her freshly exfoliated skin, softening Harry's phantom hold she pretended she hadn't been thinking about all afternoon.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, "I'll see you in the morning. Goodnight, (Y/N)." 

Expecting him to head out to the living room to sleep then, (Y/N) was surprised when he did the opposite. Harry reached out and settled a heavy hand on her waist, pulling her to him with a gentle tug. Dipping down, he pressed his lips to hers in a tender kiss. Everything was innocent, nothing heated or deepened. He kept his hand on her waist and lips sealed her hers for a breath before he fell away. The tip of his nose skimmed hers before he pulled back completely. 

He looked at her with flushed cheeks and wide eyes, as if he couldn't believe he'd done the same thing.

(Y/N) only looked up at him with a wide smile touching her lips, reaching her hand out to clasp his for a moment. That disbelief in his eyes melted then, knowing that she wanted that kiss as much as he did.

"I'll see you in the morning." 

Harry squeezed her hand in his before giving her a quiet nod, dimples in his cheeks. 

Her eyes were on him until he left her room, though he was on her mind for the rest of the night.

—————

"Yeah, I'm fine. We just decided to leave the city for a bit. I realized I'd never been anywhere but Paris, and Harry was able to find this cute little cottage available for a few weeks so we took it." 

(Y/N) prattled with the crocheted doily on the dining table, tugging at the edges and slipping her fingers through the knit, with her phone pressed to her ear. Francesca had called as soon as she read the text (Y/N) had sent, apologizing for the delay in getting back to her here weeks with her spotty service so far from the city. Fran had plenty of questions, too many for a text she decided. 

"How far from the city is it that you barely have service?" Francesca pressed, the mortification easily detectable in her voice. (Y/N) couldn't blame her, the lack of consistent bars on her phone was rough the first few days, but the WiFi was good enough to stream movies and that was all she could ask for. 

"Pretty far," (Y/N) mused, tiptoeing around the details for no other reason than she liked the level of anonymity she was gaining from this spur of the moment flee. Telling Fran seems like it would ruin the illusion. 

Looking up, (Y/N) saw Harry quietly smiling to himself as he stirred the roasted tomato soup he had going on the stove. She had watched him prep for a half an hour, carefully slicing and sautéing ingredients he plucked from the garden along with the few he picked from the Farmer's Market he went to earlier in the week. That was how he was landed with dinner duty for the night, Harry having claimed he picked out the perfect things for a grilled cheese and soup—and he wanted to show her. 

She smiled too, watching him stir, stir, stir just like she taught him was important. (While it may not have been as vital as she made it out to be when she had him as her sous chef, it was cute thinking he had clung onto that and used it for his own meals). 

"Everyone's been worried about you," Fran shared, her words coming out on a sigh, "There's even been blogs trying to claim you died or something, all because there hasn't been anything posted about you since that date with that guy. And, because you haven't posted anything since before the Gala." 

(Y/N)'s smile stretched at the new information. If there was nothing new for over three weeks to be shared about her, not even off-hand pap pictures or a blurry fan photo, there was no way anyone could know where she was. Her stalker wasn't the patient kind, if they'd found her already, there would be no way they'd keep it a secret to her or the press. 

"Well, I'm not," (Y/N) joked, "There's no reason to worry or anything, though, seriously. I'm really happy." 

From where Harry stood at the stove, that smile on his face widened, a deep dimple on his cheek.

"I'm sure you are with your bodyguard," Francesca laughed, her bright voice rising over the phone, "But, are you coming home soon? I miss you—New York is boring without you." 

"I don't know," (Y/N) answered, dropping her eyes to her twiddling hands, "I haven't really talked to my father or anything about coming back, so... But you'll be the first to know when I know." 

Honestly, (Y/N) didn't think she was ready to return to the city. While she knew this was temporary—the cottage, Harry's doting, everything so tranquil about this space—until they could make it back to the city and do something productive to end this stalker's obsession with her, she still couldn't help the way she was falling in love with it. Everything was easier here; lavender followed her like rose petals and even the sunshine seemed to have this clean smell. Even with the noise that rattled the cottage, that had been the one isolated incident that had put them on their twos, everything else solidly safe. 

All (Y/N) did all day was ease into herself and into Harry—into the person she was when she was with him. Even he had begun loosening up; his job was still incredibly serious to him (he really did end up going out and grabbing these small security cameras he could access through his phone, the gadgets set up outside of the cottage to catch anyone approaching), but the slow-pace of the countryside was getting to him, she could tell. 

Kisses were even shared freely between them now, less of a production of built up tension and more of a gift they could give—a reminder the other was there and was thinking of them. 

She didn't want that to change if they were to stray from this cottage. 

"Well, you need to come back soon," Fran started, the sounds of a pout in her voice, "Besides, I heard Dami—Oh, shit, I'm late for a nail appointment. I have to go!" 

(Y/N) couldn't help the laugh that bubbled to her lips at Francesca's sudden plans. She couldn't remember many times she was ever on time for any kind of appointment. 

"Okay, text me later, then," (Y/N) said.

"For sure, for sure" Francesca bubbled, "I'll talk to you soon, love you!" 

"Love you, too. Bye, Fran." 

Francesca barely said her own goodbyes before she hung up, leaving (Y/N) shaking her head as she pulled her phone from her face. Looking up, she saw Harry looking to her with a soft smile on his face, his features molded into soft curves. 

"Everything alright?" he asked, his eyes following her as she stood from the dining table and joined him in the kitchen. 

Peeking inside the pot, seeing all the herbs and spicing floating through the soup, (Y/N) took in a deep breath. "Needy," she joked, reveling in the small laugh Harry let out for her, though his stirring never ceased, "She just misses me, she said. People are starting to think I'm dead apparently, since I haven't posted anything and there haven't been any more pictures coming out of me." 

"Yeah?" he pressed, brows raised as he looked at her. Now he stopped stirring the wooden spoon, his direct attention on her. 

"Yeah," she smiled, excited to share the news, "I think we're doing good. I don't think anyone knows where we are; we're doing good." 

Pride found a home on Harry's features then. "We're doing good, yeah," he affirmed, smile growing on his lips. 

Everything felt good in that moment.

For the first time in a while—years, even—there wasn't the threat of eyes on her that (Y/N) had learned to live with. She didn't have the urge to look over her shoulder and catch someone in the act with a camera in her face. Here, she was able to indulge in the small moments with Harry: watching him cook a simple dinner, watching movies she hadn't seen in years, going over a week without wearing a single spot of makeup on her skin. 

Just as (Y/N) snatched a bit of cheese Harry had left over on his cutting board, a firm hand wrapped around her waist tugging her to a firm chest. Harry's familiar lips were pressed to hers in a breath, soft and giving. (Y/N) couldn't help the smile that formed against his mouth. 

Pulling away (Y/N) gave him that same smile he felt, letting him see it for real. She would never not see a model when she looked at him, feeling that much more lucky to be with him here, knowing he cared about her. 

"Ready for dinner?" he muttered, his voice dancing through his quiet, dimpled smile. 

A teasing edge entered her lips. "What are we having?" 

Her smile only widened when Harry answered her with gummy French words, nothing at all like she had taught him to say just a few hours prior. 

"Almost," she laughed, biting back her smile with her bottom lip between her teeth. 

"Yeah? You'll have to teach me again," Harry cemented just before he pressed another kiss to her lips.

—————

Harry looked at the grocery list in his hand with intensity, his brows in a furrow. 

"This is everything we need?" he asked looking at (Y/N) through his lashes. 

"Mhm," she hummed, running through what she had written down one more time in her head, "But, if you find anything that looks really good, just grab it and we'll make something with it. Please." 

"Okay," he sighed, sounding unsure despite the fact the trip to the farmer's market was his idea.

He got this way, mood shifting, every time he had to head out without her since coming to the cottage. It wasn't his favorite thing to leave her behind, numerous worst case scenarios floating around his head when he had to, but it was an even worse option to take her along. Having her seen out and about would defeat the whole purpose of running to the countryside. It wasn't something either of them were willing to sacrifice. 

Nonetheless, it didn't make it easier for him. 

"You'll be fast, H," she reminded him, reaching out to lay her palm on his forearm, "I'll be okay." 

"I know," he answered automatically, though (Y/N) could see the gears turning, his head spinning just under the surface of his stoic calm. 

Stretching to her tiptoes, she pressed a small kiss to his cheek, right where his dimple would dent if he were smiling. "Come home soon, okay?" 

This time, when his eyes met hers, she could still see the intensity though it was dulled by something soft and dazed. "Okay," he murmured, his answer simple. 

"Then go," (Y/N) prompted him with a small smile, standing back to usher him towards the door before he could change his mind, "The faster you leave, the faster you can come back to me." 

Harry didn't leave until he pressed a grazing kiss to the tip of her nose, then he was out the door with another promise to come home within the next hour. She sent him off from the front door, waving to him as he backed out of the drive and entered the main stretch of road towards the village center. 

She hoped he found some roses to bring home with him.

—————

Tucked into bed, bright moonlight shone through (Y/N)'s bedroom. Looking through the windows, she had never seen so many stars in the sky. How could so many of them exist and her never actually seeing more than a handful at a time? 

(Y/N)'s breath caught when she heard her door knob rattle, the sound aggressive compared to the tranquility of the night. Harry wouldn't do something like that, would he? 

She didn't have to question anymore who it could be when the door slammed open a moment later. A faceless man barged in, heading directly towards her bed with rough hands reaching out towards her. 

Though she wanted to scream, to feel her throat burn with the breadth of her voice, nothing came out. Her light linen bedding was too heavy for her to move, clinging to her body and tying her down. She could do nothing as the man approached, her being his only target. 

Where's Harry? That was all she could think about. Where was he? Was he okay? He never would have let anything like this happen to her if he could stop it. Horror wretched through her body at the thought of him giving himself to be gravely injured in an attempt to save her. Her eyes burned with tears. 

Where is he, where is he, where is he—

The man's rough hand closed around her throat.

Shooting awake, (Y/N) was drenched in sweat. Her breathing was heavy, her eyes burning from tears she had shed in her sleep. No moonlight snuck through her windows like in her dream, the only light coming from the small night light plugged into the wall. 

She sat with her head in her hands as she came down, willing the nightmare out of her mind. She was so tired, wanting nothing more than to return to sleep and wake up at a real hour, but she knew she couldn't do that yet. If she returned to dream land now, she would have to spend another terrifying time with the faceless man until she woke up like this again. 

Her mind was chugging along, running too fast for her slow sense-of-self to keep up. The only clear thought was the same one she had during her dream: 

Where's Harry?

That feeling she had as a little girl when she would wake up from a nightmare and just wanted someone—a nanny, her mother, anyone who might care—to coddle and coax her down returned in that moment. She wanted Harry. 

He could protect her, she knew that. He'd said he cared about her. He always told her to grab him if she needed him, no matter what it was that was setting her. He'd be there for her, he promised. 

It was on those juvenile instincts that (Y/N) climbed out of bed and padded towards the living room. She sniffled as she opened her creaky door, peering out to find Harry asleep with the television on, scrunched onto the couch. A loose blanket was draped over his form, a pillow tucked under his head as he slept on his side, his hair a mess of loose curls. 

There was a part of her that didn't want to wake him, that already felt a bit guilty over the idea of pulling him from his sleep when he didn't really have any responsibility to care for her when she was like this. That was why she hesitated for just a moment before crossing the room. She needed him, she thought, remembering the faceless man in her dream that had struck a fear in her that felt something close to primal. Harry always told her to get him if she needed him; he cared about her. He wanted her to be happy, not like she was now with teary eyes and a sniffly nose. 

"Harry?" she asked, standing awkwardly off to the side of the couch, still a tad nervous over waking him at such a rough hour. When he didn't stir, she tried again, raising her voice just a hair. 

At that, Harry startled awake, his eyes fluttering open in urgent blinks. When his gaze focused around the room, he took her in with her watery eyes and unsure stance before him.

"(Y/N)? What's wrong?" he grumbled, forcing himself awake through bleary eyes. 

At his question, (Y/N) felt a bit silly. He most likely imagined something serious, like a new letter, someone having found the cottage, anything of real danger, when in reality she just had a bad dream and didn't want to be alone. 

"Are you okay?" he pressed, urgent now that she wasn't answering him. He moved to get off the couch before she stopped him, panicking some. 

"Yes, yes, I'm okay, sorry," she rushed out, flustered, "I just... I had a bad dream and..." 

She didn't finish her thought, rolling her lips between her teeth instead. 

Though she wasn't sure he was entirely awake still, Harry didn't hesitate before he was settling back into the couch and scooting back as far as he could before opening up the blanket. "C'mere." 

(Y/N) stood still, eyes following the cave he'd made with the blanket draped over his arm to welcome her in. 

"'S okay, (Y/N)," Harry murmured, patting his free hand on the space beside him, "C'mere." 

Her heart jumped in her throat as she gave into his direction. While this had been what she had asked for—hoped for—she didn't really think about the reality of getting just that. 

With the way Harry had crammed himself against the back of the couch, there was just enough space for her to slip in beside him, her arms bundled between them. There was no part of them that wasn't touching, the warmth of shared body heating intensifying when Harry laid his arm around her waist, blanket fluttering down. He helped her settle into him, his ankle hooking around hers, hand flat on her back to keep her steady on the sliver of cushion, and his other arm laid out with his bicep as her pillow. He curled her into him, becoming that furled rose once more, the protector of his worried bumblebee. 

He placed a hand on the back of her head, tucking her under his chin with her forehead resting on his throat. (Y/N) breathed into the hold, melting against him and welcoming the cage of his arms. 

Now, nothing could get her. 

"What happened, sweet girl? Your dream really this bad?" he murmured, voice giving away the fact that he was clearly much closer to sleep than he was giving off. 

(Y/N) snuggled closer to him, enjoying the way she could feel his voice in his chest as much as she heard it with her ears. She nodded against him. "It scared me," she sniffled, "I don't want to go back to sleep in case it starts again."

His hand on her back moved in a soothing circuit, fingers spread out wide. "What happened?" 

The details of the dream were still too sharp for comfort, none of that fuzziness that usually followed after waking. "It was the stalker," she told him, aware of the way Harry's arms locked around her that much tighter, "I don't know how I knew it was them, but it was. He found the cottage while we were sleeping and he did something to you I think. Then he came into my room and I woke up when he started choking me." 

Harry nosed at the top of her head, a frown apparent on his lips. "(Y/N)," he crooned, "That's terrible. Were y'thinking about them a lot today?" 

"I don't think so," she answered, voice small. "I don't know why I had a dream like that." 

"'S alright," he soothed, voice fanning through her hair, "'M happy y'came and got me—I don't want you to deal with this stuff by yourself." 

(Y/N) allowed her eyes to flutter closed as she laid in his arms. It was nice knowing he wasn't upset with her after she scared him awake. 

"Y'don't want to fall asleep again?" he asked after a moment, scratching his nails gently over her back, her t-shirt softening his touch that much more. 

"Not yet," she shook her head. It was all still too fresh. If she fell asleep again, would she see that faceless man again? Would he chase her through the cottage this time? Force her to see whatever he'd done to get Harry out of the way. "Definitely, not yet," she repeated, her voice thick over the reminder of her fear. 

"Okay, okay," he crooned, "We won't go back to sleep, yet then. We'll stay up and talk a little, instead. Do you think that'll help?" 

"Yes, please." 

Petting his fingers through her hair, Harry sighed. "Good, good," he murmured, the sleep still thick in his voice. Nonetheless, that didn't keep him from saying, "I don't think you've ever told me how you met Francesca." 

The abrupt change in topic was perfect for what (Y/N) needed, pushing her mind in the complete opposite direction of what had transpired in her dreams. 

"I met her at private school, when I was, like, thirteen," she shared, fondly looking back on the days of her youth with her best friend. "We met on orientation day, moving into the same dorm." 

"Dorm?" 

"Yeah," (Y/N) confirmed, "It was also a kind of boarding school my father picked for me after he and my mom filed for divorce. But, anyway, we were in adjoined rooms, sharing a kitchen. I was definitely shyer than her, but after we found out we had almost the exact same classes, we started hanging out in the kitchen and doing our homework together all the time. She's been my best friend ever since.

"We did pretty much everything together when we were younger. I spent a lot of summers with her, and her mom invited me to go on trips during the holidays with them." She thought back to the amount of time she spent at Francesca's when her parents were dealing with their divorce, fighting over the prenuptial agreement and who got what assets. Those summer-long sleepovers were some of her favorite memories. "Did you know that she had a bodyguard when we were sixteen?" 

"She did?" Harry mused, his fingers still working through her hair. 

"Mhm," she hummed, "His name was Barry. During the school year, photographers started showing up at our school trying to get pictures when we were outside for gym class, or lunch, or whatever they could catch of us. I remember Fran telling her mom how much it scared her because they would yell at us or say whatever they could to get us to react. The school was able to get them off the property after a while, but when we were out for the summer, her mom hired Barry to look out for us so that didn't happen again." 

"You were sixteen when this started?" Harry pressed, his voice decidedly tender, carefully breaching the subject. 

"Yeah. But it only got really bad after I turned eighteen," she shared, thinking back to the way paparazzi changed when she became of age. Rules no longer seemed to apply when it came to how close they came to her or how rowdy they got in order to get a reaction. That didn't matter though, she reminded herself. It was too long ago to care about, anymore. "Barry was really nice, though. He didn't talk a lot when I was around, but Fran really liked him." 

She was sure Harry wasn't impressed with the backstory of her tabloid fame, resenting the age of which her entire life changed. She couldn't blame him. Nonetheless, he stayed composed with only a deep breath inflating his chest, his hold on her staying strong. 

"That's good, 'm happy he was good to you," he told her, his hand rubbing her back, "I didn't know that y'knew Francesca for so long. She's a good friend to you, isn't she?" 

"The best," (Y/N) answered, smiling against Harry's throat, "I love Emma, Toriana, and Kita, and all, but Fran's been there through everything. Her and Sully are the only reasons I haven't actually lost my mind the way everyone thinks I have." 

"Sully's good to you, too, isn't he?" Harry started, steering her to more happy thoughts, "You're close with his family aren't you?" 

"A little, yeah. I've met his wife a few times, and I give his daughter a lot of clothes and everything." 

"You gave her a prom dress, right?"

"I did, yeah." (Y/N) smiled. She still needed to get pictures from Sully of her in the Dior gown she passed on. "She's so sweet. She goes to a private school upstate, and Sully told me one time that she felt like she didn't fit in because all of the other girls had all these fancy clothes, so I started buying a bunch of stuff I hope she liked and then told him I was giving them away so she could have them if she wanted. From what I hear, she absolutely loves them." 

"You did that with her prom dress?" 

As much as (Y/N) tried to fight it, Harry's lulling questions were so soothing to her. The rumble of his chest and the soft way he handled her, petting her hair and rubbing her back, she was getting more and more sleepy as they went, her lips looser and stories more and more personal. 

It was easy to share with him like this. 

"No, her prom dress was one of my favorite Diors I had when I was sixteen. I only wore it for one night for a school event, then never again. I loved it, so I figured she would love it too." 

"That's very kind of you, (Y/N)," he told her after a beat, the praise being spoken against her hair with the tip of his nose skimming her scalp. "I'm sure she really appreciates it." 

"I hope so—it was vintage," (Y/N) laughed, feeling Harry smile against her hair. Her hands that were bundled between their chests twisted until she was fisting his shirt in her hands, the planes of his chest smooth under the fabric. "Who else do you want to know about?" 

"I'll listen to anything y'want to tell me," he crooned, unashamed over being caught in his pointed game of misdirection and distracted. "As long as you're not too tired, 'm here to listen." 

If she was being honest, (Y/N) knew she could go back to sleep and slip into a new dream no problem at this point. She barely remembered her nightmare, the only details she could recall being ones that she had shared out loud with Harry. Everything else was a fuzzy blur.

But, she didn't want to sleep yet. 

She was telling him things she hadn't really told anyone, for no other reason than there was no one there to listen. She couldn't really share to Sully and Fran the retelling of her favorite memories with them, or how much she loved them without crying. Harry was the first person to genuinely ask her these things and care about what she had to say. It was a comforting thought; that she wasn't alone. 

She wanted to tell him everything. She wanted him to know exactly who she was. 

Starting with the reason they even know each other in the first place, she decided. 

"That whole thing with Damien Moore didn't happen the way the magazines said," she started, unsure of where exactly she was starting this story, but knowing she wanted to share it. "He's the son of one of my father's investors, and even though he's a few years younger than me, our dads always wanted us to be together for some reason. I only really met him a couple of years ago, and he seemed way more okay with the idea of being set up than I was, but I couldn't reject him or anything because he'd tell my father.

"I started seeing him more earlier this year, but nothing ever happened, of course. But, with the pictures and all, his dad had made us reservations at this restaurant but I told Damien I wouldn't be able to stay long because I was meeting Fran later to go out in the Upper West Side." (Y/N) wanted to roll her eyes at the memory of Damien's reaction, not regretting a single thing about the way she handled him. "He got really upset then, saying I would embarrass him if I left and he started saying terrible things about Fran—like, how I shouldn't be friends with a slut like her, and she was tainting my reputation, and I shouldn't be friends with someone like her since I was better than that. Just stupid stuff. Obviously, I got mad and that was why I threw my drink on him." 

(Y/N) paused. "I'd do it again, too." 

A breathy laugh fanned across the top of (Y/N)'s head, Harry's smile apparent through the strands of hair he nosed at. 

"I don't blame you," he murmured, "I'd do the same thing." He held her closely then, mulling over the silence that filled the room, the only light coming from the flashing television with whatever French program he had tuned into. "You're a good person, (Y/N)," he crooned, pressing a hard kiss to the top of her head, ensuring she felt it even as she teetered closer to sleep, "'M happy I got a chance to know you." 

Snuggling closer to him, (Y/N) couldn't help her own quiet smile from plucking at her lips. She pressed a small kiss to the column of his throat, reveling in the warmth. 

"Thank you for wanting to know me." 

—————

Adjusting the clip in her hair, (Y/N) paused where she stood in the back garden of the cottage. The sun had been shining brightly since it broke over the horizon, only small puffs of clouds drifting through the blue sky. It had been her idea to prance through the space, taking advantage of the sunshine and celebrate the fact that they'd been able to evade prying eyes for so long. 

And, she wanted Harry to pick some vegetables to be used for dinner tonight. 

With him on his hands and knees, grabbing vegetables and tending to the garden as best he could, (Y/N) was free to play around and enjoy the space around the cottage. While she knew it was in her best interest, not being able to really leave the place at all in hopes of avoiding anyone catching sight of her or posting about her online had made her stir crazy. Any time she could spend outside with Harry was time she savored. 

Brushing baby hairs out of her face, she smiled as she took in the sprawling wild roses that sprung up around the backside of the cottage, growing past the bordering lavender. It reminded her of the small hedge maze at the country club back home, though the blooms were much freer and untamed. The toes of her white sneakers were now dirtied as she traipsed around the blooms, her skin warmed and sparkling with a sheen of sweat. 

A butterfly with gorgeous purple and orange designs spanning across her wings floated through the garden, (Y/N)'s attention stolen by the creature. She'd never seen anything like it back home. She didn't even know butterflies could be purple outside of nail art photos she found on Pinterest. 

Flapping its wings, it came close to landing around (Y/N), not even scaring when she reached a hand out as if she could coax it into settling on her finger. It was a bit silly, the way she had the urge to chase it, but she couldn't really find it in her to care about looking juvenile. 

When the butterfly finally did land on a thick green leaf, (Y/N) paused, slowing her steps before lunging out with her hands cupped into a makeshift net. She wasn't sure what she would do with it if she managed to catch it, but she at least wanted to touch it, pretend to be a princess for a moment with a little companion. 

It came as no surprise when the butterfly flapped away before she came too close, though (Y/N) was suddenly determined to make a new friend. She didn't stop with her lunge, instead giving into that urge to chase and following after the insect. She had her eyes in the sky, watching as the sun shimmered over the purple glazed wings, showing off the intricate patterns nature had given the butterfly. 

Reaching her hands up, (Y/N) thought she had bounded around the edge of the wild roses, but learned the hard way that she definitely hadn't. 

With only a small linen skirt covering the top half of her thighs, her bare legs were left to the punishment of the thorny rose bushes. The sting of the barbs only came after she had sunk a few steps deep into the bushes, the pain registering after a lag. She yelped at the feeling, her shoelaces even growing stuck amongst the spiny greenery. 

She froze in place, unsure of how to make it out of this mess without further injuring her legs.

In an instant, after most likely hearing the cry she gave out, Harry was rounding the side of the cottage, brows furrowed and jaw tensed. 

"(Y/N)," he sighed, deflating a bit when he realized what exactly she had gotten herself stuck in, "What happened, sweet girl?" 

He stepped towards her, his own arms sparkling with sweat and hands dirty from digging through the garden. Though he had a small hair clip fastened to the edge of his shirt, he left his curls to run wild, a few loose ones falling over his forehead. His skin looked especially tan under the sun, freckles dotting his skin with his tattoos deep and dark across his muscles. 

"I was chasing her," she explained, feeling a bit silly now that she had to say it out loud as he pointed at the shimmering butterfly flying high in the sky.

"Yeah?" Harry laughed, his pink lips stretching into a smile, "And that got y'stuck in the roses?"

"I thought I could catch her," (Y/N) offered, looking down towards her legs, "But, now I think I'm bleeding." 

Just then, it seemed to register to Harry that the flowers she got herself wrapped up in her roses, complete with thorns. 

"Shit," he murmured, reaching a dirt smudged hand out to her, "I didn't even realize, (Y/N), 'm sorry. C'mere." 

Taking his hand, she braced herself for the feeling of more paper-cut like slices being made over her legs. She hissed as she tried to step out of the bush, Harry's grip on her hand steadying. 

"'M sorry, 'm sorry, 'm sorry," he recited as her face twisted at the feel of the thorns scratching at her legs, catching on her skirt and tennis shoes. 

"It's okay," she assured him, stepping both feet onto the solid grass with a rough kick of her foot to dislodge it from the thorns. 

Harry steadied her with his hands on her biceps, standing far enough away that he could assess the damage on her legs. Looking down, (Y/N) saw the tiny scratches littering her legs. Some were nothing more than a raised red line, the skin unbroken, while others were deep with blood running in small rivers down her skin. There were even small droplets that had marred the hem of her previously creamy white skirt. 

"Oh, (Y/N)," Harry crooned, his eyes rounding out as he looked at the mess she'd made, "Let's get y'cleaned up."

Leading her back inside the cottage, they passed the pile of vegetables Harry had to have abandoned in his effort to get to her as soon as possible. While she wanted to feel guilt over distracting him over something so trivial and completely her fault, when she saw the stretch of his shoulders in front of her, arms bare from his sleeveless top, she let those thoughts dissipate. His attention wasn't something she was going to regret catching.

"Is there any kind of band aids here?" Harry mused, taking her through the kitchen with his steps slowing.

"Maybe in my bathroom? I'm not sure—I never really looked." And, she wasn't currently looking either. She'd never seen the small palm tree inked on the back of his arm before. It was cute.

Diligent as ever, Harry led her through to her bedroom. He deposited her on the edge of her bed, mumbling for her to wait right there for him before he was heading towards the bathroom in search of anything to clean her up. With her hands in her lap, one of them with the phantom of Harry's touch warm against her palm, she heard him rifle through the cabinets. 

Soon enough, after hearing the sink run and all the cabinets dropping closed at least twice, he emerged with a small navy blue bag, the flap top opened with Harry's scrutinizing eyes going through the contents. "There isn't much," he mused, "but I can get you cleaned up and the worst ones wrapped up." 

"Thank you," (Y/N) smiled sheepishly, feeling every bit the child that gave into the urge to chase bugs around the garden, "Sorry." 

"Don't be," Harry countered immediately, "I would have chased her too if I hadn't been busy." Kneeling at her feet, he laid the kit at his side, with his now dirt-free fingers pushing through the supplies. He plucked out a roll of individual alcohol wipes, ripping open the first in the pack with a concentrated set in his features. "I didn't even know butterflies could be purple." 

"Me neither," (Y/N) chirped, goosebumps rising over her skin at the feel of the cold wipe gliding across. A slight burn lingered after he swiped over her cuts, the pad growing marred with drops of blood. "I thought I had gotten away from the roses before I started after her." 

"Jus' gotta be more careful, that's all," he told her, his voice a small mutter as he concentrated. He worked over her calves, getting the small droplets that had worked down her skin and cleaning the barely there grazes. His hands were gentle as he worked over her skin, holding her steady with glances of his skin over hers. Moving up her legs, he slowly parted them as he made his way up towards her thighs where snags now appeared in the fabric of her skirt with crimson spots marring the creamy white. 

Harry stopped at the inside of her knees. He looked up at her with hooded eyes, fluttering lashes framing the forest of his irises. (Y/N) was brought back to the day of the 132 Gala, Harry helping her into her shoes, but not before explicitly asking for permission. He handled her much like that day with lingering holds and soft hands, completely unhurried as he steadied her and appraised her like a diamond. 

She watched as he ran his tongue over his lips. "Is it alright if I go higher?" he murmured, gaze intense on hers. His hands were stopped on her knees, not going an inch higher. 

(Y/N) nodded. "It's okay." 

It wasn't until he helped her spread her legs, her skirt tightening across the plush skin, that she realized she might have given the wrong answer. Under her skirt was nothing more than a soft pair of panties, the fabric a shiny blush with a white rosette stitched to the waistband. With the way Harry was going to have to push and prod around the hem of her skirt, wiping at the highest cuts, there was no way he wouldn't notice. 

She must not have hidden her nerves well with the way Harry's hand placed just above her knee squeezed the plush of her thigh. He blinked up at her, brows raised. "Y'alright?" he asked, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, "Am I hurting you?" 

"No, no," she shook her head, her mind running for an excuse, "I just didn't realize I had some so high up." 

Harry frowned at her words, focusing his attention on the graze sliced across the top of her thigh. "I know, I'm sorry, sweet girl. I'll get y'cleaned up quick." 

True to his word, Harry resumed his work. Pushing up her skirt that much more, he cleaned the highest of her cuts while his other hand kept her spread legs steady. The pad of his thumb circled the inside of her knee, a distracting touch. That would be perfect, (Y/N) thought, if his touch wasn't the exact thing she needed a distraction from. 

"Last one," he murmured, pulling out a clean alcohol wipe as he tackled the biggest of the cuts on her thigh, a swipe of blood marring the soft skin on the inside. This sting was more noticeable than the rest, (Y/N) rolling her lips between her teeth to keep from pouting like a child at the stinging feeling. Once all cleaned, Harry leant forward, pressing a delicate kiss to the skin just below the graze. "There," he declared, "Jus' need to bandage the worst of them, then you're all done." 

(Y/N) wanted to be paying attention, truly. She was grateful to Harry tending to her superficial wounds and being so kind, but her brain was too busy running miles away into fantasy land. 

He'd kissed her thigh like it was nothing. He kissed her thigh like he didn't know it would get her squirming in her spot, goosebumps to pop over her skin, and her head to get a little foggy. She hadn't forgotten the second time he had kissed her, the way they clung to one another on the couch, her body in his lap and his cock hard under her core. He couldn't just touch her so sweetly, reaching up under her skirt and holding her thighs open without (Y/N) inching closer and closer to losing her mind. 

She couldn't remember the last time a man she actually liked had touched her like this, someone who had intentions of staying for longer than a night and who knew her for more than what the tabloids said. Maybe that was why she had to fist her hands in her lap to keep from reaching for him, tensing her thighs to keep from squirming, and averting her gaze from his to keep from pouncing on him. 

It only took a moment of rifling through the ill-equipped first aid bag before she felt his hands back on her skin. Tiny bandages had been pulled from the package, a single found pinched between Harry's fingers. 

"Gotta stay still for me, (Y/N)," he murmured, concentrating on a cut just above her knee. 

"Sorry," she rushed, trying her best to keep from clenching her thighs and squirming in her spot. With the warmth she felt between her legs, this was proving to be a harder task than she anticipated. 

When she still couldn't seem to stay still, Harry slipped his free hand underneath her thigh, his palm pressed to the back with his fingertips denting the plush skin. "I don't want to mess up, (Y/N)," he reminded her, voice a tad firm, "Stay still, then I promise I'll be fast." 

"I can't!" she blurted out, already regretting the outburst as soon as the air left her lungs. 

Harry stopped what he was doing, looking at her with raised brows and wide eyes. His grip on her loosened though his hand stayed right where it was, warmed underneath her thigh. 

"Why not?" he gently prodded, concern dripping from his tone. 

There was no articulate way to describe what was going through her mind. She wasn't even sure if she wanted to share with him what exactly had brought her to this state, but she wasn't sure if she was really going to have a choice against the unwavering eye contact he was giving her. It was the same way he looked at her when he told her he cared about her, just wanted her happy. How could she deny the truth to eyes like that?

"You," she decided on, zipping her lips as soon as the syllable was out. 

Pausing, Harry processed her answer. "Me? Y'can't stay still because of me, but you're also not hurting?" 

(Y/N) gave him a short nod. 

A pinch appeared between his brows. "I don't think I understand." 

How he couldn't understand his effect on her was beyond (Y/N)'s comprehension. He was sitting between her legs on his knees, with her skirt pushed precariously up her thighs and his hands gently caressing swaths of her skin, and he didn't understand? Would she have to pull her skirt up entirely and show off what exactly his touch did to her? 

Suddenly, his expression fell the longer (Y/N) stayed quiet. His hand under her thigh wiggled away, cutting contact with her skin. 

"(Y/N)," he started, his voice soft and apologetic, "I thought y'promised me you'd always tell me if something was making you uncomfortable." 

"No, no, no—that's not it!" she bubbled off, reaching out to take his hand and placing it back on her thigh. "You're not making me uncomfortable at all. I like how you're touching me." Her skin burned as she processed her own panicked words. "I think I like it too much considering you're only cleaning me up after I hurt myself." 

Realization seemed to dawn on him then. His gaze dropped to his hand on her thigh, practicing that touch she praised with a flex of his fingers against her skin. She gave way under his grip, soft dents appearing under his fingertips. With all of her scrapes freshened up, he was left with a view of clean skin before him, a canvas for him to paint his hands across. 

"Want me to keep touching you?" he asked, voice decidedly lower than she last heard.

She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. She couldn't remember the last time someone made her nervous the way Harry did. How did she say yes without saying yes? 

"O-Only if you want to." That was fine enough, she thought. 

Harry kept his eyes on his hand as it slowly slid up the expanse of her thigh. "I want to," he cemented, "I think I have an idea of how to make y'feel better. Y'jus' tell me if you change your mind." 

(Y/N)'s mouth ran dry at his words, drawing her hands from her lap to lay at her sides as he placed both his hands high up her thighs. With the way he spread her legs before, he was able to easily fit between them. His fingertips disappeared underneath the hem of her skirt, his eyes on her as if awaiting any kind of objection to his touch. When none came, he continued up until she felt him nudge the waistline of her panties. 

Her breath caught in her throat, hands fisting the bedding on either side of her. 

"This okay?" he murmured. 

"Uh-huh." 

Hooking his fingertips underneath the band of her underwear, he dragged down the small article over the length of her legs. There was a moment of lag as he tugged, the seat of her panties sticking to her folds. (Y/N) wanted to be mortified when she saw just how sodden the center was, full of her reaction to the most gentle of touches. But, that thought went out of her head when she saw the way Harry gazed at the moisture, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. 

He helped her shuck the underwear from her legs before he bunched her skirt at her waist, leaving nothing in the way of his view. The warmth of his palms pressed against the inside of her thighs, keeping her legs spread wide open for him. The broad of his shoulders were the perfect wedge he helped her drape her calves over, blinking his eyes up to match her own as if he awaited her objection. 

When none came, he pressed a delicate kiss to the inside of her knee. (Y/N)'s hands clenched in the bedding at her sides. The tip of his nose skimmed over her skin in a fleeting pass, following after his lips as he grazed up the inside of her thigh. She could feel her insides twisting at the feel of his breath fanned over her skin, enough to take her own breath away. He had her already and he'd barely touched her in more than a few light grazes and fleeting touches. 

Harry dragged his lips up the inside of her thigh, smearing kiss after kiss until he reached the very highest point before her pussy. (Y/N) could feel herself clench just at the fact he was so close. He lingered there, his eyes hooded with his spit-slicked lips parting just enough for his teeth to glance over the soft skin.

"Wh-Why'd you stop?" (Y/N) pressed, her thoughts coming out of her mouth before she had even made the decision to speak. 

She could feel him smiling against the sensitive spot, his teeth giving a sharp nip before he pulled away. He looked at her with hooded eyes, fanned lashes and dilated pupils. "Want me to keep going, sweet girl?" 

His voice was a rumble against her. Maybe she was imagining it, but she swore she could feel the depth of his voice fanning over her core, wetness dripping down. 

With her bottom lip worried between her teeth, she nodded her head. Baby hairs fluttered around her face, the messy updo she did with her clip not holding as well as she needed, though she didn't really find it in herself to care. As long as it didn't take away from her view in front of her, she didn't care about anything else. 

The smile he gave her was a lopsided curl she was so familiar with. "I'm gonna make you happy, love," he murmured, hooking his hands underneath her thighs until they fit just under the curve of her ass, "Don't worry." 

Dipping his head down, (Y/N) could feel the ghost of his touch settle over her core, his breath fanning over her silken skin. She couldn't take her eyes away, especially not when he placed a tentative kiss just above her slit. She shuddered at the touch, the graze not nearly enough but still eliciting a zip through her spine. 

Glancing up at her through his lashes, Harry was spurred on by whatever he saw on her face—whether that be the dazed eyes, the gaped lips, or the warm skin, she wasn't sure. He planted a harder kiss to the same spot, his chin pressed against her folds. He gauged her reaction, squeezing his hands underneath her thighs as he dipped lower over her core. 

The first graze of his lips over her clit was enough to have a small hitch hinder (Y/N)'s breath. He didn't do anything more than a quick peck over the bud, but it was enough to have her toes curling in her tennis shoes. 

Parting his lips, he took her clit between them, kissing and licking at the peak. She almost crumbled then, feeling her throat run dry while her core grew even wetter. She practically strangled the bedding in her hands, the linen stretching around the length of her nails. 

His hands around her thighs clenched, keeping them open as his fingertips dented the plush skin. He snaked his tongue out and laved a stripe up through her folds. (Y/N) fell into stunned silence, nothing leaving her mouth as her lungs were stunted, giving Harry his turn to moan against her folds. He spread her wetness around with his tongue, wet sounds filling the sunshine filled cottage. 

Harry no longer had his eyes flitting to her face, his lids fluttering to a close as he sunk himself into the moment with her. Instead, he focused solely on pushing his tongue through her folds, skimming her entrance, and ensuring his face was tucked tight against her center. She could feel the mush of his nose against her clit, his chin growing slick with every wag of his head against her. He kissed and licked and sucked on her pussy, taking everything there was to be offered. 

(Y/N)'s breathing came out in heavy pants, lingering and hot, as she could focus on nothing more than his touch and the way he explored her body. Every press of his nose against her clit or sucking kiss he gave to her folds was enough to have her head spinning, her balance shifting as if she were only a second away from falling back onto the mattress. But she couldn't do that, she had to pointedly remind herself, because she wanted to see him. She wanted to see Harry as he worked on her, hair in swirling curls with sunlight pouring through to highlight him in gold. She wanted to see the way his brows furrowed and cheeks hollowed when he sucked on her clit or gave a particularly heavy kiss to her hole. She wanted to see him enjoy her. 

His hair was a mess on the top of his head from tending to the garden, anyway, but the way he threw himself between her thighs was enough agitation to have those curls dropping over his forehead. He didn't pay them any mind, instead drawing away just enough to give her a handful of long licks through her folds. (Y/N)'s thighs clenched at the pressure of his heavy tongue over her cunt, heavy wet sounds being compounded by the absent moans Harry let out as he tasted her. 

Unraveling her hand from the sheets, (Y/N) racked her nails through his hair, keeping the strands out of his face and out of her view of him. She didn't want to miss a single detail; she didn't want to miss the flush that came to his nose with the tip sodden, the rosy glow that blushed his cheeks, the way he couldn't seem to get enough of her even when she could feel his panting breaths for more air. 

At the feel of her hand going through his curls, Harry fluttered his eyes open for the first time since sinking between her thighs. He saw her through dazed eyes. Whatever he gauged from her expression, he must have liked it if his lips curled into a smile, his tongue liking up her slit. 

Her feet dangling over his back pressed into his shoulder blades, keeping him close as he started kissing over her clit in harsh presses once more. He was much too proud of himself, she could see, but she couldn't blame him. He had barely started and she was already short of breath, whimpering, and scratching at his hair. Even the bouquet of roses on the bedside table seemed to want a closer look, petals falling from the buds down to the floor at his feet. 

"H-Harry," she cried, her grip in his hair tightening when his tongue dared to press against her entrance. 

"'M here, sweet girl, 'm here," he mumbled, his voice thick and heady. 

He barely had enough time to get his words out before he was prodding at her hole once more. He watched her reaction as he did so, hesitating for only a second when he saw her lashes flutter through her blink. As soon as he had her eyes on him once more, he pushed through, slipping his tongue inside. 

Pressing deep, she could feel the length of his tongue against her walls, slick and heavy as he tasted her like wine. His nose was smushed against her clit, nudging and circling with every shift and tilt of his head. 

Her brain was jumbled, (Y/N) throwing her head back on instinct. "Oh mon Dieu," she slurred, slipping into French as a reflex. 

Harry stuttered in his movements only to let out a loud moan against her, the sound vibrating through her core. He resumed his efforts tenfold when he recovered. 

This was enough, (Y/N) thought. The pressure against her clit, the tight hold on her thighs, the way his tongue wriggled inside her pressing and licking one her most sensitive spots. He was taking all of her, touching, worshipping, coveting every bit of her that he could get his hands on. 

Her heels dug into his back, thighs unable to close around his head through she did still try. She kept him close, her hole pulsing around his tongue in an effort to keep him near. 

"I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum," (Y/N) whimpered, feeling desperate as she teetered the edge. 

Harry blinked up at her, eyes dark and vignetted with thick lashes. He didn't ease up at her declaration, continuing to give her more and more. 

The final straw came in the form of him shaking his head, his tongue deep inside her with his nose nudging against her clit. (Y/N)'s eyes rolled to the back of her head, her hand in his hair tugging at the roots, and her feet digging into the plains of his back. 

Her eyes watered at the intense rush sinking through her form, unable to remember a time she could ever recall feeling this much with anyone. She fought to keep her eyes on him as she came, her stomach tight and unyielding and more wetness seeped around his tongue. Harry took it all in stride, luxuriating in the feel like a devout follower taking whatever their deity would give. 

(Y/N) came down in a mess of sparkling skin and rouge hairs, her bottom lashes clumping with the moisture from unshed tears. Her system was shot, fingers cramping as she uncurled them from his hair. 

Harry took his time to separate from her, dragging his tongue through her sodden folds with his own wet face glimmering in the light. (Y/N) jumped at the overstimulation that came from his absent lick, Harry huffing out a small laugh at her reaction. He backed away just enough, looking at the mess he made on her with her cum and his saliva having been spread over her lips and towards the inside of her thighs. His own breathing was heavy as he took her all in, eyes distant and dark. 

"Harry?" (Y/N) murmured, her voice small and shaky as she found her footing in the real world. 

Brought back to reality, he blinked up at her, that bleary film clearing from his gaze. He took her in wit his expression going smug. "Yeah? Y'alright?" 

She bit back a smile as she brought her hand back through his hair, only to push him away. "You're the worst," she laughed, not meaning a single word of what she said. "Come here." 

Using the hem of his shirt, Harry wiped his face as he stood to the full of his height. (Y/N)'s shaky legs stayed wide open for him, even as he adjusted her skirt to fall over her thighs. The open space allowed him to plant himself atop her as he pushed her to lay flat on her back with his hands on either side of her head, palms flat and pressing into the mattress. He hovered above her, his gaze clearing despite the fact she could feel his own arousal pressing against her hip. He was observing her again, taking in each of her features and the minute expression and twitches muscle gave. 

"Really, this time," he started, voice a quiet secret between the two of them, "Are y'alright? I made you happy?" 

Looping her arms around his neck, (Y/N) didn't try to hide the smile that crossed her features and squinted her eyes. "You did," she beamed, "Really happy." 

"Good," he settled, using one of his hands to cup her cheek before leaning down and pressing an affectionate kiss to her lips. 

He lingered there, resting his forehead against hers as he slipped his fingertips into the soft strands at her hairline. He basked in the afterglow with her, remaining until (Y/N) no longer heard the sound of her heartbeat in her ears. 

"'M gonna clean you up, okay?" he said, planting one more kiss on the bridge of her nose before he started backing away from her. 

"Wait," (Y/N) bubbled before he could make it too far away. 

Stopping where he stood, he looked to her with raised brows. (Y/N) felt his eyes on her as she reached for one of the short-stemmed roses that had been sitting on the bedside table, the bloom ripe and full. The greenery was clear of all thorns, making it perfect for the job she had in mind. 

With Harry just close enough, she was able to reach and place the rose behind his ear, nestling it amongst the curls. The petals caressed his temple, velveteen soft and deep red against his tanned skin. 

Harry gave her a soft-lipped smile. 

"That's what y'needed to stop me for?" he asked, bringing his hand up to brush his fingers over the petals. 

"I've always wanted to do that," she smiled, gazing affectionately up at him. 

Harry only shook his head with a fond smile on his lips, dimples and all. He kept the rose in his hair for the rest of the day.

—————

(Y/N) swore she could feel her blood running ice cold as she looked at the photo laying on the coffee table. 

She was still dressed in her pajamas, breakfast nothing more than prepped ingredients on the kitchen counter. The time hadn't even blinked passed nine-thirty. 

Harry was already sweeping through the space, his phone pressed to his ear as he argued with whoever was on the other line. (Y/N) thought it was her father, but she couldn't remember. Harry had said something about arranging a way to fly back to New York as soon as possible, but she hadn't heard a single syllable of the details. 

She couldn't think about anything other than the photo in front of her. 

Having been taken through a window, in perfect detail, was a photo of Harry laying atop (Y/N) with his lips sealed against hers. She was laid under him in her linen skirt, hair a mess, with her eyes closed in gentle bliss. Harry's sleeveless shirt showed all of his muscles, including the sheen of sweat that had collected over his skin. 

The photo had to have been taken days ago, right after Harry had been on his knees between her legs. The worst of her fear came from the fact that she couldn't rule out the possibility that whoever had taken this also had photos of what happened just before this kiss. 

Slashed across the top in stark red ink was a declaration labeling (Y/N) a BITCH. 

The whole thing was unhinged and terrifying. 

Neither of them noticed anyone outside, and there was no telling just how long they'd been found out. 

She wanted to cry the longer she looked at it. 

This person took a special moment from her, shrouded it in something evil and degrading. 

Harry paced about the cottage, her duffle bag in hand as he repacked everything in sight. His features were severe as he spoke in rushed commands, his voice having no give compared to the way he spoke to her. 

"I do not care," he muttered, "She's not staying here. We're coming back to the city now, and you're going to help us." 

With that, he hung up the call. He didn't slow down as he bundled each of her belongings into her bags, his own already stashed away. 

"Harry?" (Y/N) whispered, her voice just a note away from breaking. 

"Yes?" he asserted, zipping up her bag without looking at her. 

(Y/N) didn't know what to say, she just wanted him. She was scared, her lip quivering as tears pricked her eyes. She didn't want to look at the photo anymore, didn't want to analyze what someone could be thinking to the degree that made them think that this was okay. 

He finally slowed when she didn't answer him. He took in a deep breath before looking at her, eyes softening the second he took in her appearance. 

"(Y/N)," he sighed, crossing the room in large strides until he was lowering to one knee. "'S going to be alright, okay? I promise you." Harry took her hands in his, his grip tight and absolute. 

Her fingers were stiff as she reciprocated his hold, trying her best to keep from shaking. "Why would someone do this?" she cried to him, eyes burning with tears, "Th-That picture—We—" 

"I know, I know," he soothed her, his thumbs running circles over the backs of her hands. She could tell he was putting exponential amounts of effort into keeping his cool. "We're going home today, okay? Then we're going to do something about this. I don't know how, but we're going to make this stop, okay? No one's going to keep doing this to you." 

Tears fled down her cheeks then. She shook her head, her expression crumpling. "Th-They did it to you, too," (Y/N) sobbed, "They're taking stuff from you now, too." 

Harry didn't hesitate to bundle her against his chest, taking her form where she was sitting on the couch and into his arms. She cried into his neck, mourning the privacy she had curated with him and the fact that she couldn't protect him nearly as well as he could for her. It was scary enough to have someone taking terribly personal pictures of her, but it was now her fault that she had dragged Harry in, with no way out. 

If that person had photos of them in the middle of the act, Harry's life could be ruined. Her stalker was obviously angry enough at the both of them now to do something worse than just following her around and invading privacy. 

"Don't worry about me," he crooned to her, nosing at the top of her head, "'M going to be okay, 'm only worried about you." 

"B-But—" 

"Don't," he stopped her, his voice firm with his ever-soft hold, "'M going to be okay, (Y/N). You are the only person that can be hurt in this, and 'm not going to let that happen. But, we have to go, okay?" 

He pulled away just enough to look at her, cry-swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks. Her view of him was blurry and refracted. She clung to him even harder. 

"I don't want to be here anymore," she breathed, trying to clear her gaze against the mounting tears. 

Harry dipped his head down and pressed a harsh kiss to her cheek, nose skimming her skin. "I've got you, sweet girl," he promised, "'M going to take you home and we'll make you safe." 

(Y/N) clung to him, ignoring everything else in the room. She knew there was a photo degrading her, her father angry on the other side of the world, and a cottage that she really hoped she could still look on fondly after this.

"I've got you, (Y/N)." 

And, she believed him.

—————

The flight back to New York had been a tearful one, but since touching down on the tarmac, Harry hadn't left (Y/N)'s side for anything. He had taken up residence in her apartment, sleeping at her side when either of them managed to find the peace to do as much. He cooked with her, supported her, and calmed her in the night now that there was a real threat lingering around them. 

Harry had been shocked to see the amount of letters she had been hoarding, majority without the seal having been even picked at. There was only a thin amount of composure that kept him together when he leafed through the pages, glossy photos that even (Y/N) hadn't peeked at hinging his jaw tighter with each picture. The letters were the worst. Harry had to lock himself in the guest room as he read them, unwilling to share his reaction to the disgusting things this person dared to type out about her, only coming out when he had calmed and was able to think rationally. 

"We have to do something—there has to be something we can do with these. There's so many," he had told her after, his shoulders tightly set with his arms heavy across his chest. 

(Y/N) had sat across from him, hands pathetically limp in her lap. 

"I don't know if there's much we can do," she had murmured, her brows knitted into a worried stitch, "I looked into it once. Since I don't know who's sending them and they've never tried to hurt me, there's not a lot that anyone will do."

She remembered the way his hands had formed into fists under his arms, as she spoke, heavy and white-knuckled. His knee bounced as his unfocused eyes blinked off in the distance. 

"We can file something at least, right?" 

(Y/N) gave a small nod, remembering the limited options she had researched way back in the beginning. "A police report. It won't do much, but it stays on record in case something more... serious happens." 

His jaw seemingly hinged tighter at her quiet words. 

"Then that's what we're going to do," he decided. The gears in his head kept turning, an absent nod bobbing Harry's head. "Reports like that are public," he mused, a plan coming together as he spoke aloud, "Someone will pick up on it, some magazine or whoever will post about it—they love stuff like this. That might be enough to scare this person off, knowing you're doing something about it now." 

Rolling her lips between her teeth, (Y/N) found herself stuck on the word public. "Will the pictures be out there, too?" 

Flashing his gaze up to her, he matched her eyes intensely. He knew what photos she had in mind. 

"No. I'll make sure they're not." 

She didn't doubt that Harry would keep his word. When he was cemented in an idea, he was too stubborn to let up. 

"You think this will scare them?" 

"I can't be sure," he admitted, "But, I think it's something. Obviously, ignoring them isn't working, so maybe letting them know that you're not going to let it happen anymore will make them reconsider." 

While she felt more comfortable ignoring this person—this problem—, she knew he was right. Despite not feeding into whatever delusion they had, it wasn't enough to make them move on. There had to be some kind of pushback. 

Slowly nodding her head, (Y/N) let go of her lingering hesitations. "Okay," she breathed, "How do we do this?" 

Harry rolled his neck. "I think we need every bit of evidence we have, and we take it to someone who can help. From there, they'll tell us what we can do, 'm sure." 

"Okay," she repeated, "I have more letters at my father's house." 

"Yeah? Where?" 

(Y/N) shrugged. "Somewhere in my bedroom. We should probably get those too, right?" 

"Probably," Harry agreed, though she was sure he was just as hesitant as she about running into her father. 

Even though he was well aware of the fact she was back in the city considering the jet had been chartered to get her home, her father hadn't reached out to her at all. She didn't remember exactly what had been going on between he and Harry when they were on the phone together back at the cottage, only vaguely remembering the way Harry had shouted at him and hung up. He knew she was back here, knew that something severe enough happened that she had to flee Paris, but not even a text had been sent. 

He didn't even care enough to be angry at her. 

"But, we'll go together, okay?" Harry had murmured to her, taking her out of her head. (Y/N) remembered the way he leant across the dining table to reach out for her, cupping her cheek and running his thumb along the height of her cheekbone. "I'll be there. We won't even talk to him, if you don't want to." 

"I don't want to," (Y/N) answered immediately. 

Harry breathed out a laugh at her automatic response. 

"That's what we'll do." 

It was days later that they ended up at the front door of her father's mansion. Sully was going to be waiting in the drive, car running, promising that as soon as (Y/N) was ready to leave, there would be no lag on his end. Harry was at her side, his hand clasped in hers while she shakily input the door code to twist the locks. 

Her father was given no heads up to her visit, hoping he would be out for the afternoon anyway. She worried if he knew that she was coming to snoop for more letters that he would do something with them, or somehow convince her that going through with Harry's plan was the wrong thing to do. She didn't want to risk either outcome, instead barging through the mansion with her heels clacking over the marble floor up to her room. 

Harry was her silent pillar of support, following after her the whole way. He stood back and watched as she took them to her teenage bedroom, unearthing the hidden compartment under her bed that her friends used to use to hide alcohol. Instead of tiny bottles of liquor, under the floorboard were now letters addressed to her with no return label. These were the few she had ever read before she retired the act, their seals broken with photos (Y/N) remembered as if she had seen them only yesterday. 

There were only a handful that were here before they started showing at her apartment, whoever had been stalking her finally realizing that she didn't live with her father like they had assumed. 

"Okay," (Y/N) started, fishing out the last of the envelopes, "I think that's all of the—" 

"What are you doing?!" 

That was her father's voice that boomed through the room, causing (Y/N) to jump where she was kneeling on the floor. 

Turning to face him, her heart in her throat, she saw Harry had sprung into action, stepping between the two of them as her shield. 

"We were jus' about to leave," Harry said, voice resolute and unwavering, "Right, (Y/N)?" 

That was her cue to collect her things and scurry away before her father could get any more involved. 

"Right," she peeped, grabbing her purse and the letters before standing to her feet. 

She didn't dare look at her father as she came to stand at Harry's side, allowing him to take the lead and get her out of here before her father's next words had her panicking in her tracks. 

"Are those the letters?" 

She had hoped he hadn't seen them. 

"Ignore him," Harry whispered to her, tossing an arm over her shoulder as they brushed past him and out of her bedroom. 

"(Y/N)! Do not ignore me, are those the letters I told you to forget about?! Why are you taking them?!" Her father chased after them, his anger rising the longer he garnered no reaction. "What are you doing with them?! You can't take them from my house!" 

Despite it being his very own advice he was going against, Harry couldn't seem to stand by any longer when it came to the way her father treated her. Reaching the landing of the staircase, Harry turned to face her father head-on as he followed, going toe-to-toe with him. Her father stumbled back. 

"We're actually going to do something about it," Harry grumbled back, his words biting and sharp, "They're hers, and we're taking them. We'll make sure to mention that you insisted that she never share them either—maybe add you in for some kind of coverup if it comes to it."

Though she could see her father trying to stay hardened, keep from showing Harry that anything he said was getting to him, but she saw the signs. Color leached from his face, his lips thinning just enough. His fingers twitched. 

"You don't need to report this, (Y/N)," he called, switching tactics and speaking around Harry. "I don't know what he's been telling you, but you don't need to worry about this. You're going to regret overreacting like this." 

She could see Harry gearing up for a grating response, but she beat him to it. 

"No, I'm not," she cemented, her voice nowhere near as concrete as Harry's no matter how hard she tried, "Th-This isn't some fan, or admirer, or whatever you called it before. This person is stalking me, and taking private pictures of me, and saying terrible things. I want this to stop, I don't care if you don't like it.' 

Her father gritted his teeth where he stood behind the barricade that was Harry. A beat passed before he eyed both she and her bodyguard—a man on his payroll. "Come to my office." 

He turned swiftly, leaving them behind as he scaled the stairs. Harry turned to her with a neutral expression, thinly veiling the chattering anger the interaction had left in him. "We don't have to," he reminded her, "We can leave now." 

While the smartest part of her knew Harry was presenting her with the best choice, to take the letters and leave while he was stupid enough to turn his back on them, there was another part of her that was intrigued by his reaction. Her father was a calculating man when it came to everything but her. With his daughter, he was always reactionary before rational. The invitation to his office was something that her curiosity urged her not to ignore. 

There was no way he had any real part in this, right? Harry threatening to add him into the conspiracy was nothing more than a rage-fueled bluff, so why did he seem so rattled by the idea? 

"I-I think we need to see what he has to say," (Y/N) murmured.

"You're sure?" Harry pressed, face staying neutral. 

She swallowed. "No, but I feel like I have to know what he wants to say." 

Harry rolled his lips between his teeth before giving her a curt nod. "Okay," he told her, reaching his hand out for hers, "I trust you—if you think we need to hear this, then we'll go. But, if things change, 'm taking you out right away." 

(Y/N) didn't hesitate to agree to the conditions, taking his hand. There was a huge chance she was wrong about this, that this was nothing more than the little girl inside of her pining for her daddy's affection and hoped that doing what he asked would earn her just that. She needed Harry to be there to take the lead if things went south. 

The trail to his office seemed longer than ever. The door was left wide pen with her father already seated at his desk, hands clasped and eyes calculating and cold. She took a seat across from him while Harry stayed on his feet at her side. 

"What do I have to give you to leave those letters behind and do nothing with the others I know you have?" her father opened, his voice detached. 

"What?" she deadpanned in response, her grip tightening on the letters. 

"What do you want?" he pressed once more, enunciating every word as if that was the problem with this situation, "If you leave the letters here, and don't make any kind of report or talk to any press, I will give you whatever you want. Name your price." 

Silence filled the room like a heavy blanket, (Y/N) just barely able to keep her mouth from falling open in shock. 

"Are you kidding me? Are you actually joking right now, or are you seriously asking me this?" That complete detachment she had felt for years had thinned, allowing every bit of bubbling rage she had kept siphoned away to rise to the surface. 

"(Y/N)," he snapped, "Now is not the time for an attitude. I want to know what it will take to get you to stop obsessing ove—" 

"I'm obsessed? Me? You have to be fucking joking." She almost wanted to laugh. This was a terrible comedy, too dark for her liking. "I have someone following me around, taking pictures of me all the time—even when my boyfriend is going down on me. You can't think for a single second about anything other than yourself and how you look to your idiot country club friends and investors. But, I'm the one that's obsessed? Because I'm tired of being taken advantage of? Because I feel like I deserve privacy and the opportunity to think for myself?" 

It was satisfying watching the way he flinched at her words, most notably so when she spat out the fact that there were photos of her in a compromising position with Harry. At her side, Harry's hands were clenched into fists.

"You don't understand," he pushed once recovering, "Let it go, (Y/N)." 

"No!" she shouted, feeling her skin heat, "I'm not letting this go!" She was tired of him condescending her and thinking for her despite the fact she was a grown woman who never even depended on him as a child. 

Her father visibly began to boil over, his jaw clenching and nose flaring as he looked at her. "(Y/N)," he hissed, "You need to think. There are people who will be very upset if you keep pursuing this, a—" 

"That's really what this is all about?! You're protecting your image? Over me?! You're a fucking coward, I—" 

Her father slammed his fist into the top of his desk, the sound reverberating through the room before he shouted: "That's not what this is about, (Y/N)! I could lose a lot if you report Damien, an—" 

"Damien?" (Y/N) blanched. From the corner of her eye, she could see Harry's patience thinning. This conversation had flown south enough that he could pull her at any second. But, she couldn't leave now, not when her father brought up Damien Moore out of thin air. "What do you mean if I report Damien?" 

The outburst seemed to catch up with him then, his breathing going heavy with his eyes wide. "I misspoke," he tried to recover, suddenly backtracking, "I didn't mean to say his name—" 

"Yes, you did," While her father was an idiot, he was very calculating when it came to his thought process. He never did things by accident. "Why did you bring up Damien?" 

Everyone knew the answer to her question. She just wanted to hear him say it. 

"(Y/N)," he started, his eyes closing with his jaw rotating. 

"You knew it was him this whole time?" she pressed, her voice decidedly smaller than the shouting from before. "You've been covering for him. That's why you never wanted me to say anything." 

Her father didn't say a word, not even a blink in her direction. 

The longer (Y/N) looked at him the less and less he looked like the man that she used to follow around in hopes of catching his attention. He didn't look like the man she idolized when she was a child. She didn't recognize him anymore. 

"You left me scared for years all so you could keep his dad's money," she continued, the gravity of the situation sinking into her bones. Her eyes burned as she looked at him. "I hate you." 

That seemed to snap her father back into reality, his eyes sharp when he matched hers. "Watch your mouth," he spat, standing from behind his desk, "You do not get to disrespect me in my home, you litt—" 

Harry stepped in immediately. He effectively cut her father's view of her, his hand harshly landing on the older man's shoulder before pushing him to sit back down once more. 

"Sit," Harry commanded as if speaking to a dog. 

Her father flustered at the interference, taken aback that anyone would have the audacity to do anything to keep him from degrading her. 

"I don't know who you think you are, but sleeping with my daughter doesn't me—" 

"You don't get to talk to him," (Y/N) shot off, cutting off her father. 

More than anything, he couldn't seem to wrap his head around the fact that either of them were daring to talk back to him, to stop him in his tracks. 

"I could ruin you, you know," (Y/N) started, gaining the full of her father's attention, "I have more on you than anyone else—I could go to the press and you would be over." 

"No one would believe you." 

"Maybe not, but people love a story. The crazier the better, right? It would be everywhere." (Y/N) steeled her grip on the letters. "I could end you and Damien so fast. You would have nothing." 

She watched the way her father seemed to realize the fact that he truly held no power in any of this. (Y/N) had all the cards and he was going to bend to her will, whether he liked it or not. 

"What do you want, then? My offer still stands: leave the letters and keep your mouth shut, and whatever you want is yours." 

"I don't want anything from you. I just want this to stop, I want him to stop taking pictures of me—or hiring people to, or whatever it is that he does." 

"I can do that," was her father's swift response, "I'll make it all stop. You have to leave the letters and promise that you won't say a single word to anyone." 

"We're not promising anything," Harry piped up, taking the words out of his (Y/N)'s mouth. She wasn't in the mood to compromise for anything. 

Her father's anger peeked out once more then. "Why should I do anything for you, then?" 

"Because I said so." 

That had his steely gaze shifting to land on her, hard and unforgiving.

That was exactly the same thing that he used to tell (Y/N) when she would question him. She was the one giving orders now and there was no room left to argue. He would listen because she said so, and there was no other option she was going to accept. 

The standoff between them continued with unwavering eye contact until her father glanced at the letters in her hand. He crumbled then. She held everything this time. 

"Fine," he spat. "I trust that you're going to do the right thing, (Y/N). Just as I am." 

"Right," she settled, unwilling to give any more energy to this man. 

She stood from her seat, gently placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. His eyes were still blazing when they met hers.

"Let's go," she told him. 

That was all it took for Harry to disconnect himself from the interaction, taking his hand in hers and following her lead out of the office. 

No words were shared or glances cast backwards as they made their way out of the mansion (Y/N) used to live in. Outside, Sully waited just as he promised he would. 

Harry opened the backdoor for her, helping her slide in first before he followed closely behind. 

"Back to your apartment, Ms. (Y/N)?" Sully asked, already pulling out of the driveway. 

"Yes, please," Harry answered for her, helping her buckle into her seat before silence rained down in the cab.

Until (Y/N) started sobbing. 

One moment she was running on adrenaline and disbelief and anger, the next she was crumbling in her seat with tears pouring down her cheeks and her hands shaking. The letters fell into a mess on the floor, but she couldn't care at that moment. 

All she knew was that her father knew for years who was terrorizing her, and covered for him. Her father cared more about money and his reputation than he cared about her, his only child. 

She felt as if she was in mourning—for who, she wasn't sure, but something died back at that house that she was never going to get back. 

Harry silently wrapped his arm around her, tucking her against his chest as she sobbed in heartbreaking puffs. He nosed at her hair, offering nothing more than his presence. 

She cried until she fell asleep in the back seat. 

—————

"Y'should be proud of yourself, you know." 

Harry's murmured words blended in with the noise of the city happening stories below them. Laid under the duvet at her side, he shared her pillow with her as he ran his fingers over the curve of her side in a soothing motion. (Y/N)'s eyes were still swollen from the afternoon she spent off and on crying, takeout containers thrown away in the trash with hers barely touched. 

(Y/N) hiccuped, feeling her lip begin to quiver. "I know I didn't do anything wrong, but I still feel guilty." 

His observant gaze softened. "That's because you're a good person," he crooned, sincerity dripping from his words, "Even though you expected the worst from him, it's never easy learning something so terrible form someone you're supposed to trust." 

"M-Maybe I shouldn't have yelled at him, or—" 

"No, don't do that," Harry cut her off, his grip on her side pulsing, "Today happened the exact way it was supposed to. You needed to say those things to him to make him understand. You were never going to be in the wrong for anything that happened today, (Y/N). He did this to himself." 

"I just want to forget any of it happened," she whispered, wiggling closer before Harry pulled her into his chest. 

He held her, her head under his chin as a fresh wave of tears bubbled in her eyes. She was going to be okay, she knew that, but she never imagined cutting her father off and telling him the things that had been on her mind for years would affect her like this. 

"I know," Harry cooed, petting his hand down her hair with his chest rumbling a lullaby, "But 's going to be okay. I jus' want you to know 'm proud of you, and think the absolute world of how strong y'are. No one gives you enough credit." 

With every bit of armor shedded from her heart, Harry's words sunk deep. 

Once again, he was there for her when she needed him the most. He never shied from taking care of her, putting back her jagged pieces, and standing by to let her have her own choice. While she knew it was the bare minimum, Harry never made her feel crazy or stupid, or anything but completely herself. The second he learned the kind of person she was, he never looked back. 

She squeezed herself harder against him. Maybe today was the day for finally saying things that were on her mind. 

"I love you." 

Her words were smeared against his neck, but she was sure he still heard her with the way his soothing hand through her hair paused. 

"What did you say?" 

Swallowing, (Y/N) strengthened her resolve. She meant what she said, even if it was scary to admit. 

"I love you," she repeated, voice clearer. 

Harry pulled her away from his chest then, fitting a hand on the side ochre jaw to tip her head up to face him. His ever observant gaze traced over each of her features, softening until there was nothing left of his irises but melted jade pools. Even in the dark she could still see the freckles dusting the bridge of his nose. 

"(Y/N)," he sighed, his thumb running along the soft skin of her cheek. "You mean that?" 

She gave him a small nod, a light smile setting on her lips. "I'm all about telling the truth today, remember?" 

He didn't budge at her attempt to joke, staying ever serious. His lips parted, a soft puff of air fanning across her features. 

"I love you, too." 

Before she had a chance to respond, Harry was pushing his lips against hers in a searing kiss. It was messy and unorganized, but there was nothing urgent behind it. It was nothing more than an expression of devotion, filled with everything that simmered beyond what they could find the words for. 

"I love you, too," Harry repeated, pulling away just enough to smear the words across her mouth, "So much, sweet girl. Best thing that ever happened to me." 

(Y/N) couldn't contain the smile that took her features at his words. 

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, mon amour." 

He couldn't wait before he brought her in for another kiss.

—————

"I'm so happy you're home," Francesca said, squeezing (Y/N) tighter, "I'll see you soon, okay?" 

"Really soon," (Y/N) cemented, feeling just the same to be reunited with her best friend. While she wasn't able to catch her up on everything that she had learned since making it back to New York, (Y/N) didn't plan on keeping it a secret for very long—especially not since she and Harry already decided they were going to file a police report anyway. Her father's word be damned.

"Text me when you get home," Fran smiled, pulling away.

"I will," (Y/N) promised, inching towards the waiting SUV, "Love you." 

"Love you, too!" 

With that, the door to Sully's car was pushed open from the inside by a hand with a tattooed cross. (Y/N) gave a single wave back to Fran who made her way towards her own car. Her mother was taking her to another gallery opening, pitching that this was going to be the one to finally cause Francesca to realize her dreams. No wonder her friend was dragging her feet. 

Climbing into her own car, (Y/N) was greeted with the relieving sight of Harry waiting for her, his arm stretched across the top of the seat for her to fit right underneath. 

"Hi," she greeted, feeling lighter to be with him again. It was odd not having him follow her everywhere all the time, anymore. Though he was still her bodyguard in spirit, especially with the unfinished business that was Damien Moore and the potential retaliation that could come, they were learning to relax some of that paranoia. Francesca was a safe boundary to test that with. 

"Hi, love," he crooned, pulling her in next to him. 

As soon as (Y/N) was buckled in at his side, Sully started off in the opposite direction of the apartment. There was a farmer's market Harry had found outside of the city that he wanted to bring her to (not quite as rustic as the ones in Paris, but they should be alright, he promised). Sully eyed them from the rearview mirror. 

"Francesca's doing okay?" Harry asked, his hand on her shoulder squeezing the cuff. 

"Yeah," (Y/N) smiled, "She's happy we're home now. Her mom's taking her to a gallery opening tonight." 

"Not excited about that then," Harry laughed, remembering those details (Y/N) had shared about her friends all that time ago. 

"Definitely not," (Y/N) shook her head, "I almost told her I'd go with her, but I figured my plans were a little more important." 

"I'd hope so," he murmured, dropping his head to press a quick kiss to her cheek. 

(Y/N)'s easy laughter blinked through the car, Harry's smile extending. 

"Mr. Harry?" Sully called from the driver's seat, taking advantage of the lull in conversation. 

"Yes, sir?" 

Sully's blue eyes glimmered in the reflection of the mirror, the corners creasing that much more with a smile (Y/N) couldn't see. "I take it that you'll be staying with us longer than initially expected?" 

A memory sparked to the front of (Y/N)'s mind, months prior before she knew Harry and Harry knew her. Sully had asked how long Harry would be with them, shadowing (Y/N) and monitoring her movements. Harry had put an expiration date on the arrangement, citing the end would come when she could convince her father she was a grownup. 

This time, Harry gave an easy smile, full of dimples and white teeth. 

"Yes, sir. I'll be staying for a while." 

—————

épanouissement is an untranslatable French word that describes the flourishing and blooming of a person growing into a new and more beautiful stage of life

and thats the end of bodyguard h! I had a lot of fun w this one exploring a different kind of female character than im used to and getting to do the writing process a little differnt! thank u so much for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and if theres any ideas for anything thar you want to see next please sent them in!

[thrawns-babygirl]

Get You Home (Crosshair x GN!Reader)

Posting this fic on behalf of a good friend at their request. Crosshair/GN!Reader angst

No smut and no warnings outside of intense feels. Let me know what you think so I can pass it on to them.

Word Count: 2900+

Ironic, isn't it, how someone could be created by another just to destroy themselves?

It was the general theme of the various thoughts that swam fervently through your mind, plagued by a vain concept of low boiling anger that managed to settle into reluctant relief before it surfaced.

You didn't want Crosshair to see anything in you that was more than what he needed for this last leap of the journey, a cautious balance of crafted care and reservation of the truth, presented through a gentleness that was far too desperate and pleading as it lingered. Yet he didn't seem to give any indication he took notice of the way you spoke your words as if sending them to him on paper wings, how your touch stayed on his arm so to give him the warmth that you hoped he hadn't already forgotten; and if he did, he certainly didn't speak it. He didn't speak at all once the silence took over, actually.

There was a small exchange of words when you first appeared, clarifying your intentions to free the captive clone and speaking then only when needed to give orders for the escape- though as soon as you pushed the throttle that pulled the ship free of the barrage of lasers and pursuing forces an eerie silence quickly settled, taking place in the air where your shared frantic breaths had left open. Everything seemed to come to a complete halt when the rush of stars that stretched across your vision in such vivid streaks returned to simple dots scattered around the walls of the universe.

"We have to wait here a bit for the others, once they've made it out they'll send us coordinates," You had spoken in a sort of voice you would use on a wounded animal, delicate and fragile and willing to falter if it spared the smallest of harsh tones.

He didn't speak.

Not with words in the least, though there was a story desperate to spill into a sea of tears as his eyes scanned the environment around him. It wasn't one you imagined he knew, but it was evident he saw the symptoms of his brothers in every little out of order detail that scarred this ship, and you could see the moments that took him as he stood and put the refined senses of a sharpshooter to practice.

You saw the way he paused as he noticed a scuff of paint on the piece of durasteel that hung just low enough for someone of Wrecker's height to hit in a rush, leaving behind a streak of white from the drawn face plastered in pale paint on his helmet. You were pretty sure the mark was still there on the armor, would Crosshair look to see if the evidence aligned when he saw the brute again?

Then the clone turned and saw the control panel that was still open with half a scomp sticking out, not that there was any physical memento needed to remember how Echo got stuck when the ship's power faltered and something or another went wrong in just the right way that you had to cut him out. Never really got around to removing the blatant jam in what would be an otherwise useful port, much to your droid's adamant displeasure.

Stepping back now and moving his sights as the man noticed a thin black wire that stuck out from the panel snake up and around until it brought him to the other side of the ship where a signature Tech project had been sitting untouched for a few days. It was a small device that required your input as well as his understanding of the skills needed. At this point you weren't sure if it was work being done for the payoff or simply the time to spend with one another.

Then, finally, Crosshair turned and saw a sight he hadn't seen since they had still called their barracks "home": a board with clear holes and a sloppily drawn target that Hunter often used to hone his accuracy with throwing knives, or even just pass the time when days grew too slow. But this was different. On one side was his clear mastery with a concise series of streaks, and the other one with far more scattered results- even some marks on the walls of the ship- with very few holes decidedly on the target.

"Hunter's been trying to teach me, I'm not that good at it, he said you were the only one who would ever entertain a challenge with him until I came along," An attempt to ease into a conversation, seeing something flash behind Crosshair's eyes as he remained fixated on the board.

The Crosshair described to you was so, so far from the one that stood here now. This wasn't a fire that burned when touched, it was a frost that lost the will to bite. Not the man who would speak slyly with a slick insult as he crossed his arms and looked smug. Not the sniper who never missed a target else he would live down his reputation and have it reflected on the foundation of his purpose. Not the soldier who fought for a cause that he believed in for it was the inspiration for his creation so how could he not?

The way his brothers spoke of him was marred by the rift torn between them, but no matter how muddy the waters became there was still such a clear affection they had for the man that couldn't be drowned by their anger, for it was this reaction alone that lead you to understand that it wasn't just anger it was also hurt and it was quelled questions and it was a desperate plea to the universe for an answer that didn't sting so sharply as the image that it was Crosshair's choice and his alone.

It had been such a subject of debate, recurring and spiraling into a series of speculation until Hunter finally announced the end of it and set everyone to a task to keep the peace. You never understood it much, why they felt the need to ask one another when it was apparent none of them had the grounds to claim to know for sure, unsure if anyone other than the Kaminoans would have such knowledge to begin with. Was it because they wanted to understand the truth that they asked in this way, or because they were too scared of what it could be?

"What did they say about me?" Crosshair had managed a few words, and despite the way they were shaky and weak and falling before they could fly it still took you by surprise.

"Well… a lot of things," Trying to recount something that wouldn't come off as harsh as it had been spoken when one of the boys had let it out with a burning ire. You didn't doubt Crosshair would understand their hatred stemmed from their feelings of betrayal, but there was still no need for that to be spoken now. It wasn't what anyone needed. There would be time to talk, and that could be saved for when the wounds were treated and healed into scars that could withstand what hadn't been said without tearing the stitches.

And it was then you realized that it wasn't inherently what they had said about him that should be shared, but what they hadn't.

When Omega said something in her silly, naive little way that had a mutual feeling flash through the soldiers you could see the way their hearts still bled for their brother. How when they explained it to her it was as if they were rationalizing it for themselves as well. Taking the much softer perspective they created to give the child and finding comfort in it as well.

That time you were on a roof scoping a location and Wrecker accidentally shouted up to you and called the name "Crosshair" out of habit, and how he tried to claim it was the shadow of a snipers pose that just had him caught in the moment and how it didn't matter at all and how you couldn't help but see such a strange emotion weep from his words as he defended his actions to nobody but himself.

Or the way Hunter's eyes found themselves stuck on a small jar of toothpicks when you went into a cantina to ask some questions to the tender, the confliction you could see as soon as he registered the objects and the way his focus kept flickering to what should have been just another something in the background.

The fact that any time one of them was given a task that used to be Crosshair's assigned job in the squad there was a complaint. Sometimes followed by usually Hunter barking about how that clearly couldn't be done by the original performer, sometimes it just fell silent as the memories played in their minds too. And even when it was your given task one of them would be sure to inform you that yes, it was Crosshair who usually climbed to the top of a perch and scouted ahead with the binocs, as if you had ever asked or had any doubts.

It was the way they snapped at you when you tried to move his weapons kit, the fact that you noticed them all visibly tense and grow shy when you first asked for the story of what happened, how when you asked about scope specifications it was as if everyone glanced around the room for him just to realize he wasn't there. That just like he noticed the signs of them in this ship you saw the signs of him in them.

But how did you share something like that?

When you turned to face the clone he was still standing with his eyes locked onto the targets littered with tears and holes. He was still but he was shaking but he didn't move but he was falling through the fabric of reality itself.

"They miss you. I guess that'd be a good summary of everything," Your voice took a risk, words extending hands and hoping that he'd reach out to take them.

Crosshair turned to you after his eyes fell and closed for a moment, a shaken breath having to fight itself to be regained before he looked and for what must be the first time it felt as if you were truly looking at one another face to face.

You could see through his gaze that he mirrored the sentiment, unable to speak it only from the words twisting and tripping and toiling with one another until they simply became stuck in his throat as nothing more than a weight he used to keep his guilt down. What used to be vivid and vivacious in his eyes had since been bled of their valiance and left nothing more than a ghost that haunted bittersweet memories. And the look that usually presented itself with a furrowed brow and a frown was too reduced to what remained when everything was stripped and bones were left bare.

Perhaps it was this unrelenting vulnerability that allowed the clone to venture into a territory he had always feared. He had already dug himself down to bedrock, what was the harm in seeing if there was anywhere else to go? It wasn't as if he could go any further south from here with the only tools at his disposal being his own worn hands.

"Even after it all?" A sincere request that was hesitant as it came to light, words drawled but not with intentional emphasis for dramatic effect more than a fear strong enough to slow them down but not strong enough to stop them.

And you couldn't help but smile and huff at that.

"You think that the brothers you were created with, raised with, trained with, and fought with would leave you behind like that?" You crossed your arms, still floating on a cloud of caution and care as you allowed your demeanor to shift just the slightest amount, "You think they didn't talk about how they would save you if they could? That they didn't tell Omega stories about all of you, as a team, and end it with a wish it could happen again one day? Do you really think they would have just… let you go if they had the option to bring you back with them?"

Your own voice wavered as you finished, finding a surprising amount of emotions starting to bubble up from beneath you, rising through your chest until they were at your eyes and you had to blink to keep them at bay. A task that became increasingly harder as you saw the way your words struck the other. Recoiling slightly as if you took a gun and pulled the trigger slow enough that it slowed time as well as the bullet struck him.

He looked at you in such a pleading way, asking a question neither of you knew but you knew it was there and that it needed to be answered, but how do you answer something that can't be asked with words that need to be spoken? And what little humor had taken hold of you drained from below your feet as you saw the first tear fall.

It was almost instinct that brought you closer, pulling the soldier into an embrace and holding him together before he fell apart in the absence of a strength he finally lost his grasp on. Slipping from the control he had placed himself under when he convinced himself of his loyalty and threw away what he was pretending wasn't what he had wanted, what he needed.

When he fell weak you brought him to the ground gently, pulling him to lean his weight onto you, sheltering him as you felt his breath on your neck and his hands trembling as they latched onto what was left for them to, finding solace in gripping your arms and using that hold to keep the distance from tearing you apart as if he was afraid of what would happen if he let go.

You hadn't thought much of it until this moment. Not his side of it, at least.

Countless nights of yours since joining up had been spent pondering this particular clone, but it had always been through the eyes of his brothers. From a thick lens of red that hazed everything through it to a velvet that could scream as it drowned, altering any other color to the same fate and sparing few alternatives. In this way it was more strategic in understanding, emotions running behind in close second but never pushing past to take the lead.

But what of him? What of the one who was left behind? The one that you heard of but never knew, only knowing him now that he was cracking and falling apart into pieces in your arms; not when he was a sheep in wolves clothing, or even the original side of him that had simply been the clone soldier with a bit of an edge. And what did all these mirrored versions of him reduce down to behind the smoke from the flames he used to burn them?

Through every strained breath from the man you could feel a quake in your own heart, the loneliness that he wore as a badge of pride and honor seeping through his touch and into yours and showing their true colors. Nothing more than a masquerade, a delusion he dressed up and decided was his fate because it was easier to say it was fate that chose your twisted path instead of your own two feet.

And again it became ironic, or maybe poetic if the word catches a peculiar fancy, how it was the disobedience he was known for prior that finally set him free now. Did he still believe that things were a certain way because he was created to fit into a place? Or has he remembered that even when he was supposed to submit himself to the aforementioned he never did, that he always broke the mold he wouldn't be cast into and finished the mission without following the orders.

And how, you can't help but think, will he unfold now that he has been free of all the shackles that have had him bound to what he believed to be loyalty?

What kind of man would he turn into when he patched up his relationship with his brothers, when he met Omega on equal ground and spoke her name, when he got the chance to exist as something more than a shadow of a soldier still fighting a war that had already ended?

Time would only tell as it was the teller of all tales, and as if summoned by thought the comm device strapped to your side beeped twice before a muffled voice gave the confirmation that you were to expect coordinates in the upcoming moments for your rendezvous.

"Hey," You whispered, holding the man just a bit tighter as you felt his breath hitch and hold itself, stilling for just long enough for you to say what he needed to be told, "Let's just get you home, yeah?"

@where-is-my-mind-tho @starborncyare @antishadow2021 @healingskywalker @crosshairlovebot

[obey-my-twisted-logic]

Soothing what Remains : after avoiding the Pomefiore Dormleader like the plague since you learned of him, you can avoid him no longer. Vil Schoenheit, the most beautiful man you'd met or seen in the entirety of your life, had you alone in a room in Ramshackle Dorm. Platonic!Vil Schoenheit x GN!Reader

Synopsis : He had you take him personally to his guest room during his stay while he leads the training camp for the SDC. As their manager, he needs a word with you. The Fairest of them All is very aware that you've been avoiding him.

Warnings : eating disorder mentioned briefly. There is self harm mentioned and discovery. A lot of hidden scars are revealed. Gentle platonic touching. Difficult confession and a softer side unknown to the reader. Mild cursing and self degradation. Comfort but not coddling. General spoilers of the game up to the beginning to the middle of Book 5 in the game Twisted Wonderland, but the focus is not on the game. Everyone involved is over 21 years of age. Anything in italics is from Vil's point of view.

Author's Note : Vil has a special place in my heart. While beauty and self confidence are extraordinarily important, he's not incessantly cruel or heartless. At least not in my head canons, and based on what I've read and understood from the game. Very personal piece to myself, as someone who has struggled desperately with self harm. Edit - this really got away and personal for me, I hope you enjoy it

---

You escort Vil to his room. His confiscation of the treats from his troupe of dancers fresh in your mind. There was sympathy but despite it all, he hadn't been overly cruel about it and wasn't exactly wrong about why he did so. Still it was a shame you couldn't share the treats Trey had sent. Thankfully he wasn't forcing this new "lifestyle" on you or Grim. Your struggle with food was dark enough, and dealing with Grim would have been infinitely worse.

"So this will be your room specifically-" your explanation cut off by the harsh shutting of the room's door. "What was that about?" You asked, trying to hide you annoyance, despite it being evident in your look.

He did bow his head apologetically. "I closed the door a touch harder than intended, however I do require a bit of a ... chat with you." He said as he took a seat on the bed, poised and legs crossed elegantly. "Tell me little potato, why do you avoid me so much?" His gaze caught your own, seeming to just see straight through you.

"If I was avoiding you I wouldn't allow you to stay in my home." You replied, however it was evident that you were avoiding his gaze.

"I may be pretty Sweet Potato, but that doesn't make me dumb." He cut your excuses off with a click of his tongue, smoothing his forehead as the annoyance crossed his delicate features once again.

"Of course I didn't notice in the beginning. You a trouble making first year, and magicless to boot, and I the Housewarden of Pomefoire. We were not two people who would join face to face often, or really at all." He paused, eyes tracing over your form, an unexplainable look on his face, like he was lost in your form and how you became a part of his life.

"With each 'incident' " Vil resumed, referring to the Overblots. "You became more interesting. Even began to hear professors sincerely sing your praises. Despite your lack of magic, you excelled elsewhere."

"I can't be lazy or lax, headmaster made it quite clear he'll be happy to kick me out." You interrupt. How long had he had an interest in you? Why did it not just fade away? You'd done your best to not stand out otherwise. How did he realize your were actually avoiding him?

"Rook." Vil replied, answering the question you dare not speak out loud. "His interest was different from my own, but he has a habit of... hunting those who catch his eye. And he would cheerfully admit defeat as you used your comrades as a smoke screen to avoid his intrigue." Vil laughed lightly. "Very brave to try and out maneuver Rook. That little trick was your downfall. That's when I knew, yes, the Prefect of Ramshackle Dorm was indeed avoiding me, without a doubt."

"My only question is why?" The Fairest of them All firmly kept your gaze as he questioned your reasoning.

~~~

You look so very uncomfortable with his gaze. Vil couldn't fathom why, he had never done a thing to hurt you, never approached you. You weren't on bad terms with anyone in his dorm. Why did you tremble like a leaf when he his eyes rested on you?

"Your very being terrifies me. You're beautiful, confident, and you take matters into your own hands." You begin, actually trembling. "You've never hurt me, you've never bullied me, but I've been burnt before and you were too beautiful to trust."

Vil absorbs this in and lets you talk. He's not mad, still confused, but you did have real fear, that much he could tell. His eyes widened when you took off your jacket, revealing a dark secret that most wouldn't notice. "Wait-" he began, reaching a hand out and retracting it when you flinched.

Before him you were exposing something deeply personal and dark. To most, it wouldn't stand out much. To a man with a morning, noon and night skin routine, he could see all the faded scars.

"I'm broken and tired, and that was long before I got here." You began, soft voice still trembling slightly, hands running up and down your arms gently, as if reminding yourself of each self inflicted mark, the history of each one and the ragged reminders that marred your pale skin.

"I knew you'd be able to tell right away. Someone as strict as you with appearances? There's no way you wouldn't be able to tell that these were self inflicted." You laughed bitterly. "And this is just what is visible to the polite eye. The thought of anyone but myself knowing terrified me." Fat tears slowly began to slip and your lip trembled as you continued. "The judgment from someone as put together and confident as you would send me back to that dark space, and I'm all ready desperately trying to survive as is." You smiled sadly.

"So yes, thankfully for me, I noticed Rook's strange interest," you laughed quietly. "Call it experience of being hunted back home. Only this time I had friends. I could blend in with my Heartlabyul boys and Grimm. Azul was easy to use as an excuse, working for the lounge, so I always had 3 or more pairs of eyes, especially when I told the Tweels how uncomfortable Rook made me." You paused with a soft smile. "Floyd especially did not take that well, offering to 'squeeze' him. Of course I declined, Rook wasn't cruel or mean, I was just scared."

"Then there was of course Leona. As lazy as he appears, he takes my comfort very seriously, making sure to be around me whenever I needed 'alone time', using it as an excuse to nap either with or near me. So when Rook did show up, he'd be distracted by the sleepy lion, and Ruggie would help me slip away." You were proud to have found such comforting and genuine friends.

"And despite it all, you're here. I couldn't refuse you or Rook. Everyone is so excited about the SDC, how could I ruin that for them when they've done so much for me?" You used both hands and rubbed always the tears trying to regain control of your own emotions.

"Please Vil, please just leave me alone and I'll do my very best for your comfort and for the SDC. Even beyond the SDC, I'll run myself ragged for you. Please I'm begging you, please just leave me alone." You begged, starting to pull the jacket back on.

"Fuck." Was all that escaped Vil's pursed lips as he pulled you into an embrace, gently rubbing circles on your back with his left palm. "No. I refuse. I won't let you keep carrying your burden alone. I won't STOP bothering you until you see how strong and beautiful you are." He felt your flinch, but what he felt more were your tears as you pressed your face against his chest gently sobbing.

"You won't be alone with your thoughts anymore. I cannot share or bare your burden, but I can ease the affect it has on you. I can be here, I can pamper you, I can listen," he listed off everything he could think of, wanting to assure your comfort. "Sweet Potato, you're more beautiful then you know." He gently ran his hand over a still exposed scar, near invisible with time, but he knew skin better than most. "Each one is a sad story, with a beautiful ending. You survived Sweet Potato. Each is a badge of survival, and you deserved to survive." He assure you as he brushed away tears that he could.

"But you'll never need to hurt yourself again. I will make sure of it." He finished, closing his eyes and resting his cheek on the top of your head, gently humming a gentle soft sound as you both stood there embracing, letting this new feeling and friendship sink in.

[wesawbears]

Cross posting here as well on A03, but here is my @aftg-mixtape gift for @foxywrites! I hope you enjoy!

Song was "Someone to You" by Banners, go listen!

--

It's a Tuesday when Neil gets the letter.

By all accounts, it’s a totally unremarkable Tuesday. He comes in from his morning run, hoodie pulled over his hair as the rain pounds the pavement with the same cadence as his feet. Neil wasn't personally so precious about his hair, but he could hear Andrew's voice in his head, telling him he was as bad as a dog, shaking water out all over the apartment. 

He smirks to himself as he snatches the mail out of the box, trying to shield the paper from the elements and failing miserably. He closes the door with his foot as soon as he's inside, throwing his hood down to get the wet garment off as soon as possible.

“Don't-”

“Shake my hair.” Neil flashes a grin. “I know.”

Andrew throws him an unimpressed look from where he’s curled on the couch in his pajamas. “Hmm.”

“You're just mad because the rain woke you up.”

“What was in the mail?”

Neil snorts at Andrew's obvious deflection and shrugs, tearing the envelope open with his teeth. “Dunno.”

He scans over the page quickly, not used to getting a lot of mail. Most of his information is sent to him directly by his publicist, who had been warned by Wymack that Neil couldn't be trusted to check his email. She's one of the four people whose calls he knows he has to take when he sees their names come up on his phone. Everything else still takes at least two days for him to remember to respond to. 

To anyone else, it would be a form letter, a quick piece of mail destined for the recycle bin. But Neil just stares at it.

“What,” Andrew repeats, more a demand than a question. He's sat up, face neutral but the line of tension in his shoulders makes it clear that he's curious of what Neil will do next, ready to pull him back from the edge if need be.

“It's a letter to renew my license,” Neil says simply.

Presumably, Andrew does the same math Neil just did. “Five years since you became a real boy.”

“Five years,” Neil echoes, still staring down at the paper. It's been long enough that his hand doesn't freeze on the page when he signs his name, that answering to it feels more like an automatic response than playing a part, but something about seeing it on such a boring piece of paper makes his breath catch.

You are going to be Neil from now until death.

He was Neil, and no one could take that away from him. When he first signed the piece of paper affirming that the jumble of letters on the page made up who he was, it had felt surreal, another dream that was held out to him but just out of reach. But now, it was the name on his lease, the name that displayed every time he took to the field. The name on the envelopes sent via mail forwarding to Andrew’s apartment every off season. It was his.

“Your reaction is what DMV employees dream about,” Andrew deadpans. “You should ask about a sponsorship.”

“Five years ago I wasn’t sure if I would be alive long enough to need to worry about things like this,” Neil answers. “I didn’t know if Ichirou would find me worth keeping around.”

Andrew’s jaw clenches at the mention of Neil’s deal, but he evidently decides against jabbing that wound for the time being. “Neil,” he says simply, letting it curl through the air. It’s matter of fact, but Neil loves the way his name sounds when Andrew says it, like it’s a fact as simple as gravity or the sunrise.

“Andrew,” he says back. He places the letter on the kitchen table, electing to join Andrew where he lounges on the couch. As he sits, he lets their legs press together, taking as much warmth as he can from Andrew while he’s still sleep warm.

“You need to shower,” Andrew says, but makes no move to push Neil away.

“In a minute.” Right now, he’s content to look his fill. Morning Andrew is a rare joy that only Neil really gets to appreciate.

He drifts off on Andrew’s shoulder, and neither of them move until the afternoon.

–

It takes a few weeks for Neil’s new license to come, after the annoying visit to the DMV to get the photo taken and fill out paperwork. When it does, Neil stares at it for a little too long, cataloging all the little changes that have happened in the last five years. It’s still him, just with a few more freckles, a little less glow. All around him, people are terrified of aging, but Neil relishes it. Wrinkles, the random gray hair from time to time, they all add up to something Neil never thought could be his. In its place is a different fear, the fear that comes from being a dead man walking for so long that he never imagined what the future could look like. Its a feeling he knows Andrew shares, the terrifying thrill of building something from scratch what had only been black and haze before.

The exy offseason isn’t long as a mostly year-round sport, but the summers are filled with him and Andrew and the road, getting in the Mas, picking a direction and driving until the sun is high in the sky. Driving with Andrew is as close to an answer to his questions that Neil feels he can get. There’s something about it that lets him live outside of time, where all that’s real is the next ten miles.

It’s one of those days that they stop at a diner in Kentucky, and Neil watches Andrew as he scrapes the toppings off a burger and mashes it together into some kind of burger salad, pouring hot sauce over it to top it off. 

“What do you think about your name?”

The question rolls off of his tongue, and Andrew just tilts his head, staring at the jumble of ingredients like they’re a magic eight ball.

“It is my name.”

“Yeah, but do you like it?”

Andrew looks up at that. “I did not pick it out. It is a collection of syllables.”

“You know it’s more than that,” Neil says. “You told me once I didn’t look like my father’s name.”

“You didn’t,” Andrew says. “You look like Neil.”

It’s not that Neil wants him to change his name. Andrew suits him. But Neil knows the weight that comes with carrying the legacy of a family you didn’t choose, one that didn’t know you the way they were supposed to. For him to carry the last name of someone he barely knew- someone he was responsible for the death of- seemed like a lot of baggage to carry.

“Why did you keep your last name?”

With anyone else it would be a rude question, but Andrew has never balked at bluntness. He does, however, dodge questions he doesn’t want to answer, and he half expects another non-answer. Andrew doesn’t lie about things that matter, but Andrew’s definition of truth is absolute. He had to pick his questions carefully.

“Too much paperwork.”

“Andrew,” he says. Like with the keys, Neil knows Andrew well enough by now to know that he’s avoiding a truth that hurts. Neil won’t rub salt in the wound, but he knows how badly Andrew had wanted to be a Spear, and what it had cost for him to give that up. Names meant you were someone, but they could also mean you belonged to someone. And the idea of any part of Andrew belonging to some unnamed person who left his mother, or to Tilda even in the grave, burned Neil more than he dared to say.

“It is not as though there is anyone left but me and Aaron.” He moves his fork around, stirring intently. “I didn’t care about my name. Before I learned I had a brother.” 

“And now?” Neil asks.

Andrew shrugs. “You hate your old name because you hated your father. I feel nothing toward Tilda. She was nothing to me.”

Neil cups his own cheek in his hand as he thinks. “For so long, I thought a name was a collar. But- it doesn’t have to be. You can belong with someone without belonging to them.”

“This is sounding more and more like a marriage proposal,” Andrew says, though his voice sounds curious rather than biting.

Neil shakes his head. “A marriage is just another deal.”

Andrew hums. “And taking someone’s name is known for being a strings-free attachment.”

“I didn’t say I wanted you to take my name. Just maybe that our names might go together.”

Andrew leans back. “You just renewed your license. Do you have some kind of paperwork fetish you never told me about?”

“I’m a math major, of course I do.”

Andrew huffs what Neil knows by now is a laugh. “There will always be more papers for you to sign your shiny name on then, junkie.”

Everyone called Andrew the possessive one, but Neil didn’t know what to call this itch below his skin, the desire not to keep Andrew for himself but for everyone to see that they fit and that Andrew was as permanent as Neil Josten. For Andrew to feel the same thing Neil did every time he put his name on paper.

To know that just as Neil had chosen himself, he had chosen Andrew too.

Andrew nudges his hand toward Neil’s, wrapping their pinkies together across the dingy table. “Names aren’t the only way to belong. I chose you and you chose me. Neither of us are going anywhere.”

It’s the certainty in his voice that calms Neil’s jackrabbit heart. There’s a part of him that leaps toward permanency, but Andrew is solid enough to remind him that he already has enough to hang on to. 

Neil smiles, and they enjoy the silence until the plates are cleared and the sun is Neil’s favorite shade of orange. As they leave, he lets a smirk take over his face. 

“How long do you think Kevin would yell at us for if we got tattoos?”

Andrew hums as he turns the ignition. “Might be interesting to find out.”

Three months later, Neil hangs up on Kevin at minute eleven. 

[tassodelmiele]

Noisy little mess

Hi sweetie⁓

This week i've doubled the usual post, just 'cause i feel the urge to catch up with the chapters on AO3.

I've liked writing this part, jumping between feelings, digging a little into this kink i find interesting. I would like to explore it just a little futher, but i need to...contextualize it (at least from Ghost's point of view. I don't think he's a "kink" kinda guy. I'll convince him somehow).

I can see how my english writing style is still a bit rough compared to how i write in italian (wow, i'm goddamn Captain Obvious). I would like to improve, to let it be more fluent, more descriptive, more...melodious? Does it make sense?

So I'll keep on.

Like, forever. I hope.

It's a curse. I'm cursing all of you to read my work for the eternity.

Sowwy

DISCLAIMER (Does someone read them?): how Dom/Sub relationship work (not an expert, but a fan); unrealistic military life (i don't know what i'm doing, but i'm doing it); bad jokes; yelling (again); leather collar (fastest apparition ever); unsubordination, but make it somehow tolerable; Soap and Gaz doing a great job being normal in this chaos; now you've got a roommate; Ghost tries to be nice (we've got you gorgeous, we know you're doing your best).

................................

Fifth part here:

................................

The morning after, Soap runs at you with breakfast already made (he learned how to make your chocolate oatmeal) and an official communication with your name on it.

«…what in the actual-?»

«No comment» the Sergeant swallows chocolate and coffee together, thrilled and suspicious at the same time while you're going to faint in front of what seems to be a threat of imminent death.

You turn and fold the communication letter in every angle, almost expecting to find a tiny "that was a joke, lol" written somewhere. But you don't.

«Waitwaitwait»

Gaz spawns behind you, sipping his morning tea; he looks at the sheet with a critical sight. «You must have fucked up so bad this time, little one»

«I've done nothing wrong!» you burst, watering the table with the hair you thought you would have time to dry.

«But here we are:» Soap points at the sheet as if he's Sherlock Holmes in front of evidence «You've been  officially included in the special operation team's selection…will take place under the supervision… blah blah blah… of Task Force 141 . It's written right here» he signs at the exact line. 

«No»

You waste no time denying the obviousness. The communication is sent away from you on the table.

«No» you repeat, convincing yourself. «I can't. I'm just…i can't»

«'S not a matter of will. Ye've been called, laddie» 

«Cooper and Allan will be there too…» Gaz reads on the list: five names are written, five promising soldiers who are gonna be tested on the field, and maybe will end up being a new special task force. Five reliable people.

You don't understand why the hell someone put you in there.

You fit a big spoonful of oatmeal in your mouth, chewing hopelessly. 

«Why? I don't want to, I'm good being a rookie, I'm too green for this…»

«Maybe» Soap gives you his most sarcastic smile «'S 'cause  someone threw herself in that risky mission in the middle of weapons traffic…if ye know what i mean»

You sigh. Your wet hair dances on the table as you almost slam your forehead next to the oatmeal mug, hoping to accidentally give your stupid brain some damage.

«Is like someone's trying badly to keep an eye on you»

Gaz's speech awakens you. 

«…whaddya mean?»

«Special training's normal shit that happens from time to time. But this wasn't expected, we'd been told 'bout it this morning, just like you. I bet he rushed up everything, and put your name on it»

« He who??» your hand grip the table. «Gaz don't be an ass, just spit the name out!»

«You know who I'm talking 'bout». And he smiles: he smiles like a dick since he knows well you're not gonna like the news, but he just enjoys your red face so much that he tastes every second before spelling with heart-shaped lips:

«Ghost»

You're screaming internally till the morning.

And he,  he , is standing there, in front of you,  he  who's just managed to turn your quiet soldier's life into a little training nightmare.

You want to slap your own face so badly for having thought about doing the heroine for one goddamn mission.  One . You didn't even think it was so hard as a mission, you've done it by guts, and now you're stuck in that training, and you know it's because of  him .

'Cause Gaz told you, after half an hour of interrogation, that  he  is, in fact, one of whom decides which recruit submits for the training.

You're dying, sitting next to a guy you've barely talked to since you're at the base, and who's looking at you…oddly.

Like he's studying you. Like he's waiting for you to…confess something.

With just a slap of his hands, Ghost manages to have everyone's full attention, and the meeting starts.

It goes on for a whole hour and a half: one hour and a half of specific technical terms, workout powerpoints, tactical expectations and probable missions to be done (if the recruit's team will show itself reliable). 

Your brain's 68% melted, 30% asleep and 2% trying to concentrate an hate-beam on the Lt. thick ass.

«Hey, uhm…»

You're about to run away from the meeting room as soon as possible when your brand new desk-mate approaches you with a grin you don't really appreciate. He seems almost amused for whatever reasons, but you don't have time to waste and just glare at him with the most annoyed: «Aha?» a human has ever said.

«He made you a big surprise, didn't he?»

You frown. 

«Who?»

«Lt. I heard a fight in his office recently…it was you, right? You two don't really get along well, are you?»

And that's the exact moment you become suspicious. Your eyes sharpen under the pressure of the distinct feeling he's going to get at a point you don't want to go with him to. 

«Eavesdrop is not polite» you mutter, containing your will to punch him in that stupid grin he's stretching his mouth with.

«I was passing by…ya know-»

«No. I don't»

You move beyond him, focusing on the door. It's already been a terrible day, and all you want is your bed. Not even the dinner, not even Bernadette's joke about her sister's future husband. A  bed .

And it leaves you quite nervous seeing your roommate standing in front of your door as you approach the way to your personal, hoped-for night heaven.

Bernie and her glorious gel-greased red ponytail are waiting for you, tapping her toes on the ground. Female's base section is tiny, and you're glad some God has found you a room with a normal human being with a goddamn deep sleep schedule.

«Oi» you wave at her. She doesn't seem amused. «Don't tell me there's something wrong with the bed sheets again, please»

«Bed sheets are good enough» she murmurs, patting you on the head (she's a tall girl). «Is something…different»

«Whaddya mean?»

She escorts you into the room, closing the door behind you as she's about to tell you some incredible secret about how the aliens are among us.

But she doesn't. She shows you something else.

And your blood freezes.

Next meeting is the morning after, just right before the first training session under Task Force 141 supervision.

There are twenty minutes left before the start, and you're already rushing through the base with your pocket stuffed with something metaphorically heavy. 

You slam the door open with enough force to dismantle the hinges, and your eyes search for one of the three men around the desk crowded with documents.

Johnny's about to wave at you, but his hands stop in the middle as he sees you walking like a rampage toward Ghost.

You aim at him with eyes so cold he could hibernate. 

«I want you to stop » you speak crystal clear under the rage and the exasperation « now, whatever game you're playin' with me»

Soap and Gaz are freezed at the other side of the table, considering themselves lucky to have a solid desk between them and your rusty, piercing voice. Ghost, though…

He falls of a tree.

He can't even manage to keep a stern voice as he says: «…what?» looking at you rummaging in your pocket just to throw something in his hands.

And he finds himself holding a goddamn leather collar, complete with metal chain.

In any other scenario of your life you'd rather jump from a window to check if it was possible to glide on the grass instead of putting together that show. But, oh well, you're neither a flying squirrel, nor a fortune-teller.

And there you are, stone solid against Ghost, who's lost the speaking skills and seems to be in the middle of a math problem resolution with his inner demon.

His eyelids glitch at you a couple of times, but you don't give him time to reply, not this time. 

«Do me a big favor -would ya?- and  go to hell . Thank you so much»

You don't even care if tomorrow someone will send you to fuck yourself away from the base, since you've yelled to a goddamn Lieutenant as if he is your cat-lady neighbor who complain about noises at four pm. 

This is the end of your patience, the end of you being nice, calm and collected; the end of you trying to not be so direct about what it's happening between the two of you.

'Cause it sounds so clear in your head that it was  him who left that stupid joke of a collar in front of your room, that you didn't even think about other possible suspects.

And so, the meeting starts with him being completely silent, sat and still as a statue, while Soap and Gaz don't even know what they're speaking about since they should have done just the training part of the day.

Ghost's looking at the recruits, so intensively, so vividly you can feel his eyes scanning all of you, and you don't give a damn about it.

He can just go where you've sent him, and rest in peace.

The walk toward your room is a forced march on disassembled legs. Task force did its best to organize a training to destroy every inch of flesh and bones, but it was so  good  to unload the stress with physical pain that you can't even complain.

You're about to go for the door knob, ready to disappear in bed, when a known voice reaches you with an embarrassed: 

«Hey»

You turn: and the goddamn eavesdropper from the training is behind you, and you're already preparing to yell the hell out of him but…he's evidently uncomfortable. He doesn't even look at you as he almost bows his head saying:

«…I-i came just to…apologize. I'm sorry for having bothered you. It was just a joke, i didn't mean…» He kinda starts to justify something, making a step forward that immediately dies. «Sorry, i…i-i just wanted to have some fun, it was a joke. Sorry» he ends up muttering, mumbling with eyes buried in the ground.

Your jaw drops. You're about to grab him by the neck and give his skim a peeling session on the wall, but you spit an hard and sharp:

«The collar. It was… you ?»

And he left you like this, with no more words, nearly running away from your sight, so embarrassed he could have dug by himself a hole to hide in the pavement.

Next day, he isn't even at the meeting with the Task force.

You can't deny you were about to skipp the daily training too. 

You feel slightly, almost imperceptibly, just a tiny bit  bad . But it's the "tiny bit" that makes you pretend to be part of the seat in the meeting room, just an innocent piece of plastic, so well hidden in the chair.

The specific, vivid memory of you rushing to your superior, slapping that damn collar in his hands as if the joke was his responsibility, is kinda cursing your mind in a black, noisy cloud of embarrassment. Oh, and that smart little brain of yours is also reminding you how proud you were to send him to hell.

You decide to become a turtle, digging the neck into the shirt collar.

FUCK , it's the only, big, huge sign you're throwing at yourself, so focused on melting on the chair that you don't even feel his presence next to you.

«'Ve told ya we've got a dignity in here»

You jump, raise your eyes and suddenly bury them again on the floor. Ghost is standing on your left, not even looking at you, and you silently thank him for his sensitivity (if that's even a matter of sensitivity). 

You're collecting some sensible excuses, trying to look like an adult, a responsible one, but he surprises you with a sudden:

«I'm sorry»

He's the second one in half a day who gives you an apology, but if the first one was unexpected, this is almost incomprehensible; and without getting aware, you're looking at him in surprise.

«Taking into consideration a shithead like that for a new task force project… I wasn't that forward-looking. Should have identified a scumbag from the start»   

He speaks so sternly but so…easily, as if he's telling you about how many peanuts he'd eaten at breakfast. Then he sighs, about to go away; and you don't know  how , but you find the boldness to shout out a rushed:

«I'm…I apologize. I  need to… I'm sorry» you murmur, feeling like a stupid child excusing a broken vase. 

«'S ok»

You can hear your heart skipping a couple beats. Your eyes widen as you sense the slightest amount of what you classify as  warmness in his words. 

It doesn't last that long, as he adds: «But we're not done with this»

«…no, I-I can understand sir-»

«We need to talk». The "need" part is silently underlined, but the "we" is just a replacement for a more impellent "I", since it is  him who's burning his neurons, crashing them together to let them cooperate like in the good old days, when he succeeded in avoiding unnecessary emotions from the sunrise to the dawn. And he really thought he would be able to spend his whole life with the "I care for you" part of his brain on strike, as he really used to.

You're ruining his plans. And he can't allow himself to grow softer.

That is what boils in his guts for the whole morning, making him so absent-minded he almost shot Gaz on the training field.

"War's not a place for sentimentalism. There's no place for enjoying love here, we can't get compromised"

He repeats it as a mantra, waiting for you in Price's spare office (since his has got the door to be repaired. It may be that he made a hole in it out of anger).

He doesn't even know  why they give him an office. He's not a bloody secretary.

«Sir?»

He jerks at the door, relaxing a bit when he sees it's just you: you, who're avoiding his direct sight; you who're still sweaty and panting from the training; you, with the t-shirt that exposes the bandage on your arm, reminding that stupid infiltration mission you shouldn't even get involved in the first place.

You, who call him  sir just when feeling uneasy. 

«Come in. Sit»

His voice does his best to modulate a softer tone, failing miserably, with the result of making him more nervous. He goes searching in a drawer, and when he hands you that damn collar, you sigh. 

«I-I don't think i want it back, sir»

«Cut out that "sir" thing. It doesn't suit you»

Your cheeks are on fire. You grab the leather things, holding it tight in your fists.

And you feel upset, really upset , as a crescendo of excitement grabs your nerves, making you feel oddly, suspiciously  good . 

He makes you come back to reality: «Seems like we have to speak more quietly»

You sigh. And he keeps on: «Eavesdropping's a dick move, especially if ya do it outside a superior's office. He's gonna clean the shit out of our toilets for the rest of his stay»

Said so, one topic of the day is considered closed. 

He takes a long breath before starting the more important matter:

«Are ya used to this?»

Apparently, half measures are for the weak. He points his sight at the collar you're holding with both hands, almost like you're waiting for someone to take it and put it on you. 

You can't help it: it's an old habit.

«I…was» you murmur. 

«What 'bout now?»

«Does it matter?»

«Yes»

«Why?»

«It matters to  me »

Fists clench around the leather.

«Is an old story, i've drop it»

«Doesn't seem so»

Then, silence. 

Dense silence, pudding-consistency silence, and if Ghost had got a spoon he could have eaten the room's atmosphere to get to you. He realizes his self-confidence has been thrown out of the window as he catches his fingers scratching the nose tip through the mask. Digits are immediately moved away and stuck in pockets. 

«'M not asking to make fun of you. Neither out of personal curiosity» and almost every synapsis screams " liar " at him. 

«You're a…reliable soldier, little one». It costs him a little bit of pride to say it. «We don't wanna waste good soldiers for stupid reasons. I don't want this» his sight spot the collar «to compromise you»

«You can stop worrying about it»

You're a knot curled on yourself on the chair, feeling as if there's a martial court in front of you who's laying you bare, exposing your guts, releasing the skeletons collection hidden in your closet.

That's when he takes the collar from your hand, so gently, pulling it away from you as if he's releasing you from a burning stone that was consuming your hands. 

You're impressed. And your sight rises again, and he's ready to catch it.

«Were you forced to do it?»

You're about to ask "what", but as always, you already know what he's referring to. You shake your head.

«No. I've…enjoyed it. I was lucky at first»

«Why?»

«I…» remembering it brings you a little smile «…I found someone I could trust with this…game»

«A friend?»

«No. No, he wasn't a friend. He…»

Voice remains hanging for a moment, as he makes a step back to give you space. He's waiting; he could wait the whole day if it's necessary, and you're so not used to him treating you softly.

Maybe it's just a trick to make you speak. 

And it works so perfectly.

«Sub-Dom relationships are not easy. Well, you could build one in no time if you force it, but a  real one is based on trust. And it is the most difficult thing to achieve. Is not just a matter of obedience and…and sex play» you blush at the statement. «I trusted my Dom with all my whole heart. That's why I enjoyed the experience»

He mutters a low monosyllabic sound, as a confirmation that he's following your speech. When you get silent again, he makes a step forward:

«Then why did that collar affect you so much?»

And he hits a spot. Of fucking course he does. 

«'Cause most of the time, someone who calls himself a "Dom" just wants a body to humiliate»

Your cheeks are burning again, your tongue is trapped between the hold of your teeth. You finish with a whispered: «That's why I went out of that business»

«But you react at the memory of it» 

Your head disappears into the collar shirt as you nod, almost imperceptibly.

«Do you feel the urge to be under someone's orders?»

A «No» is rushed out so quickly it surprises him. «I've told you: it's a matter of trust». 

And you suddenly fall from your tree, feeling like the "soft-spoken" part of the meeting is totally gone. You freeze on the chair, almost replying as sharply as you can: «I've not chosen to be a soldier 'cause I like being ordered, if that's what you're implying»

«I'm not implying anything.»

«Then why ask?»

«Just wanna make sure your not gonna fall for the first big man who waves a riding crop at you»    

He steps on horse shit, and he realizes as fast as the word "riding crop" slips through his own mouth. He can swear to god he was trying his best not to be rude, but somehow that part of him (that he was trying so desperately not to bury under a cozy warm blanket of emotions) had decided to show itself just at the wrong moment.

How lucky he is.

He suddenly jerks the sight at you with the haste of someone worried about having run over an innocent cat on the street, and he really hopes you've not heard his last sentence.

But you have. 

And your eyes are tilted toward him, cheeks are red and fists are clenched so hard that knuckles are going to come out. 

«Can I ask you» you rush out, in the most professional way, forgetting again you're speaking with a Lieutenant «Why do you always end up being a dick?»

................................

[quanticowrites]

Conflict of Interest (Jessica Knight x Reader)

•• Hello! This if for an Anon from January 2023. Sorry for it being over a year before I got to this, also that it's not very long! I hope you enjoy! 🩷••

“Hey!” You jumped at Jess’s hand on your shoulder. “(Y/n)!” You laughed and turned towards her where you were waiting at the coffee cart in the Navy yard.

“Jesus, Jess!” She laughed.

“I gotcha good, huh?”

“Yeah. We got a case?” She nodded.

“Yep, better get that coffee to go.” She headed back towards the entrance that led to the squad room.

“God, I hope I wasn’t blushing…” The way Jess was with people, she would see right through you if you showed any indication of liking her. Wasn’t dating a coworker against Gibbs’s rules? You saw how well it had turned out for Tony and Ziva. Well, you couldn’t say that now. Things did work out for them in the end. But when they were here, god, it was so awkward since neither one wanted to admit to the other. Especially not in front of the rest of the team. As soon as the cup of coffee hit your hands you took off to the squad room to grab your gear and ran out to the van out front. Nick reached over Alden to honk the horn as soon as he saw you running.

“Come on, slow poke!” You whipped him the bird with your other hand as you climbed into the back of the van and buckled yourself in.

"Finally! We've been waiting forever!"

"Shut up." You chided back as you buckled in. "All good, Alden."

"Alright, children. Play nice back there."

"Haha."

"Hey, (y/n)."

"Yeah?" Jessica smirked.

"What were you thinking about back at the coffee cart?"

"Nothing. Just zoning out." You hoped she would buy that.

"Hmm. Not buying it." Fuck. "You seemed too deep in thought to be zoned out."

"Your favorite football team lost this weekend?" Nick suggested and you laughed.

"No, I wasn't thinking about that." You leaned back. "Thanks for reminding me about that though."

"You're welcome."

"No, I was thinking more...personal." You locked eyes with Jessica. "Do you have a boyfriend, (y/n)?" You chuckled.

"No, definitely not."

"Girlfriend, then?"

"Not at the moment."

"Ah~." She perked up. “So that's what's happening.”

“I'm lost,” Tim stated. “What's happening?”

“(Y/n) has a crush.” You scoffed.

“No, I don't!” Jess laughed.

“Your body language says differently! I just have to figure out who.”

“But I don't-”

“We're here!” Alden said, putting the van in park. “Thank god.”

The team split up with Alden and you talking to witnesses of the assault while Nick and Jessica collected physical evidence. Tim was combing through the victim's social media on their laptop. Allegedly, the assault came from someone they'd been chatting with online about selling some old coins that originated in Europe. At least the meet-up had been in a public place. You didn't want to imagine how this would have gone down if they'd agreed to meet up at the Lieutenant's house, or vice versa.

“So, is it someone at NCIS?” You looked up from your notepad. Making your notes based on what the witnesses had told you.

“What?”

“Whoever…you're into.”

“No.” He smirked. “That wasn't very convincing was it?”

“No.” He sighed. “You know, I don't have quote-on-quote rules like Gibbs. I don't care if-”

“I don't have a crush on Jess!” Your voice rose. Your hands slightly crumble the sides of your notepad. “Shit. That was loud, wasn't it?”

“It's a good thing Jess is way over there.” He pointed and you looked. She was taking pictures of blood stains on the ground. “Because, yeah, that was loud.”

“You-” You pointed at him. “You can't tell her!” He put his hands up, smiling.

“I won't! But you know now that she's on the hunt it won't take her long to find out you like her.”

“I know!” You groaned. “I feel like I'm back in junior high with Missy Douglas.” He laughed.

“Missy Douglas?”

“She was head of the cheerleading squad.” You shook your head. “But my point is…I don't know what to do.”

“Talking usually helps. The worst she can say is no.”

“Exactly!” He nodded before putting a hand on your shoulder.

“Take it from someone who's got a few years under his belt. Also, someone who's been married. Communication is the key to everything.” You hated that he was right, but Alden was right. You were an adult! You needed to talk your feelings out.

“You're right. But, was that also just a fancy way of saying you're old?” He snorted.

“Touché.”

As far as cases go, you don't normally have one wrap-up over the course of a day, but sometimes the universe gives you a gift. Like the suspect turning themself in because it turns out they're allergic to the material of the coins and they thought they were dying while breaking out in hives. They were just mildly allergic, but no one stopped them from telling their story.

“Well, it was a great day everyone. I'm off to Paw Patrol Live with the twins.” You smiled.

“Have fun, Tim! Be sure to buy Morgan and John everything they ask for!” He blushed before heading off. As a Dad, he just couldn't say no to those two little energy balls. Nick had already dipped, so that left you and Jess in the squad room.

“I think I figured it out.” She said and you laughed.

“You have, huh?” She nodded, walking from her desk to the front of yours.

“Yeah.” You stood up and took a chance.

“Jess, I-”

“(Y/n)-” She nodded. “Sorry, you first.”

“I like you.” You said, not adding any useless words and just getting right to the point. “I know being on the same team is kind of a conflict of interest but…I need to let you know how I feel.” Her shoulders relaxed and she let out a laugh. Not a condescending laugh, a bubbly laugh that sounded like she hadn't heard such good news in forever.

“If liking each other is a conflict of interest, I can't wait to see what happens next.” She was so quick, that you barely registered her leaning over and placing a kiss on your cheek.

“W-Wha…”

“Let's start with dinner.” She twirled her car keys in her hands. “I'll drive!”

Tag list:

@stanathanxoox , @nikkiwierden , @malindacath , @havlindzk , @countrygal17a , @memyselfandmaddox , @octobersmog , @mizzezm , @diaryofafan17 , @emmitheacefangirl l, @a-sad-excuse-of-everything , @marennnx

[yanderes-galore]

If you can, may I also request a hiccup oneshot? From the second movie of that is okay!

Sure! I talked with you about a plot so I decided to do what I can utilizing that and ideas I had :) Darling is Drago Bludvist's kid, unknown if it's by blood or... forced adoption.

Some parts take place during the movie, some parts after. Hiccup and Astrid are not a couple in this AU. This got... a bit darker than intended-

Possible Spoilers For HTTYD 2

Changes

Yandere! Hiccup Haddock (HTTYD 2) Short

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, HEAVY manipulation, Darling is trying to heal mentally and Hiccup is using it to his advantage, Poor home life on darling's end, Death, Shared mourning, Darling has an emotionally abusive father, Darling is experiencing transference, Fear of abandonment/attachment issues, Darling's head is not in the right place, Dubious relationship, Implied possessive behavior, Delusional behavior on both ends.

You never approved of your "father's" actions. He scared you, what scared you even more was he expected you to join in his tyrannical leadership. If he died, you were supposed to take over.

Dragons... had always scared you since you were young due to your father. Your father made you think you had to use your fear to control them. He made you think you had to fear them.

You had always felt horrible for the creatures even if you had been forced to fear them. You were always told they'd eat you if your father didn't control them. Yet, they just looked scared.

Scared like you.

Your father, Drago Bludvist, scared everyone.

You feared the idea of becoming like him. Any sort of softness you expressed was punished. You had to be ruthless, you had to be intimidating...

You had to be a monster.

In your eyes, there probably was no changing. Your fate was to follow your father's footsteps. Disobedience was met with punishment.

Like the dragons Drago controlled, he thought he could control you with intimidation. For the most part, you're ashamed to admit it, it works. Being scared is all you've ever known.

Even when the Dragon Riders tracks your father down, you don't have much hope for them. Your father has a Bewilderbeast. What will they do?

Your father has always made you pessimistic.

You didn't think change was possible until you met Hiccup. He's a skilled dragon rider with a Night Fury, one who wants to change the world's view on dragons. When you first saw him, you thought he was overly ambitious.

You never actually got to know him until the first battle between the Bewilderbeasts. You stayed away, not wishing to fight, even when your father urged you to. Such disobedience was punishable...

So he abandoned you to the Dragon Riders after he stole their dragons.

You felt horrible and betrayed. You felt pathetic at the fact you couldn't fight. You felt worthless in front of the riders, quivering in fear on your hands and knees.

You were technically their enemy. They could've killed you like your father was expecting. They could've made an example out of you because your father killed their Chief.

Yet they didn't.

All you felt was someone kneel near you, when you looked up you were met with Hiccup's eyes. He looked at you with pity. He was without his own father, while yours tossed you out like garbage.

Fear still coursed deep in your blood... now caused by the fear of what your father may do next.

Instead of being abandoned once again, Hiccup helped you up. Shock was evident on your face at his kindness. He didn't blame you, you weren't your father.

Even with his father dead an his dragon gone, Hiccup still kept going. You found that a respectful trait in him. You felt inspired by him...

Which may have been what encouraged you to follow him as if he was a leader.

Taking down your father wasn't easy, both physically and emotionally. Despite this you weaponized your growing hatred for him and helped the Dragon Riders defend Berk. You felt it was the least you could do for them sparing your life.

That didn't change the fact you felt so alone when your father went down with his beast.

Surely things were bound to get better now, right? Toothless is the new alpha, Hiccup is a Chief now, but there was one more thing to figure out. Something important to you.

Where would you go now?

Hiccup was quick with an answer. As you stood watching all this change, Hiccup approached you. He offered his hand...

He offered you a home.

You took the offer with a bow.

Soon, change became something you looked forward to. Fear no longer drove your actions, dragons became friends not tools. You felt like you could be... yourself.

You felt like you could heal.

Not without your own grief, however. While you didn't like your father, it felt strange to have him gone. You had lost your father for good, a trait you shared with the new Chief.

As a result, grieving together became a way you got closer. Once you both healed from that, there would be so much more that can change. Hiccup promised to show you how people really can make a change.

Hiccup made a change within you. He put you on a better path on Berk, a home to truly call your own. Meanwhile, you also made a change in Hiccup.

It may have been for the worse, unfortunately.

As Hiccup guided you through healing from your dark past, he ended up implanting himself into your life more than he should have. Instead of fully teaching you independence like he should've done, he made you rely on him too much at times. Be it on purpose or by accident... it had the same effect.

You felt indebted to Hiccup.

You followed him just like you did your father, but this time not out of fear.

It was because he was your savior.

Hiccup must've noticed your developing feelings. You weren't healing properly, you were starting to stick by him like you were scared of leaving. You were scared of him leaving.

Hiccup solved all your issues by pulling you closer. He promises you he'll never leave you. He promises to protect you as family.

Then he tells you he loves you...

Then he tells you he needs you... like you need him.

Those words change how you think. You accept his feelings like it's the best gift he could've given you. You hug him closely, you thank him for everything.

You have no idea that he's trapped you like your father caged you. Instead of trapping you with fear, Hiccup traps you with overwhelming love. You never notice.

All you care about is loving him and looking into his eyes. You can only see him through rose tinted glasses. All you know is that this is love!

Hiccup molds you into being his. He plays your savor, he plays your leader, and soon he plans to play the role of your spouse. You're so much better off here, aren't you?

You're too caught up in the feeling of his lips on you. All you know is what you're feeling has to be love, right? It's not... but you don't know that.

All you want to focus on is the fact someone loves you... Hiccup loves you.

Nothing else matters as long as you have Hiccup...

To Hiccup, nothing else matters as long as he has you and only you.

[lossie92]

As promised, here's a snippet from from the beginning of a new fic inspired by a recent conversation I had with the one and only @kooriicolada ❤️

The working title of the story is A Life Saved.

Hope you enjoy!

-

"What's that?"

Madara turned his head to give Hashirama a quizzical look. "What's what?" He asked, wondering what on earth his friend was talking about now.

The two of them had decided to visit an onsen to relax. The last couple of weeks had been stressful to say the least, what with the construction of Konoha finally completed and the village beginning to accept missions. It went without saying that they both deserved a break and so they snuck out to enjoy some much needed downtime. 

The onsen they picked wasn't located within the village, but a few miles away in a civilian town called Tanzaki-gai for that reason. 

It was unclear whether the beta woman manning the counter knew they were ninja and just didn't care or she hadn't caught on to that. Sometimes gaining entry to places like inns and bathhouses owned by civilians was made difficult, since ninja had a reputation for attracting trouble. Apparently they were in luck, because they were allowed inside and were currently washing off before entering the hot pools.

Just then Hashirama gestured vaguely to his back.

"That scar," he said. "It looks... It's quite fresh, isn't it? I didn't know you were injured recently…"

Madara knew immediately which scar Hashirama was referring to. 

"I wasn't," he answered as he focused back on tying up his freshly washed hair. "It looks this way, because the wound got infected. Takashi-oji had to cut it open and clean it. It's taking a while to heal properly after that."

"Was it poison or…?"

"That and poor treatment when I got it," he said, smiling a bit as he remembered that faithful mission. "I still have full mobility though and the scar… It doesn't really bother me."

"Can I ask why?"

For a moment Madara hesitated with an answer. 

On one hand it wasn't as if the reason behind his injury was much of a secret. At this point he was relatively sure everyone within the Uchiha clan knew the truth even if they didn't comment on it. At the same time he hadn't really considered telling Hashirama about it or how he would do it if the subject ever came up. For some unexplainable reason the idea never crossed his mind.

Evidently taking his silence as a dismissal or refusal to continue this conversation, Hashirama changed the subject.

As they finished washing and finally entered the pool he was in the midst of telling Madara about the last preparations for his upcoming marriage to Uzumaki Mito-san, when Madara spoke, interrupting him mid sentence.

"I got injured protecting someone I came to love very dearly," he said. "It doesn't bother me, because it's a reminder of that love and that if I was faced with a similar choice once more I would do the same thing again in a heartbeat."

To say Hashirama appeared to be speechless was an understatement. The man was openly gaping at him as if this was the last response he expected. Granted, Madara was aware he rarely ever spoke so candidly about his feelings and he could count on one hand the number of times it had happened in Hashirama's presence, but it wasn't as if it had never happened before either.

The dramatic reaction was truly unwarranted.

Madara frowned. "If I knew you would react this way—"

"No! It's, I'm… I'm sorry. That's not–" Hashirama paused to clear his throat. "It's just a bit… sudden? I mean, you never mentioned anyone before and your, um, reputation… I just—"

Madara couldn't help but laugh. 

"My reputation?" He asked. "Is this the moment where you shame me for the choices I made in my youth?"

"You know I wouldn't do that," Hashirama was quick to respond. "And I apologise for assuming. Truly. It's just…"

"It's just that you didn't expect me to settle down?" Madara finished for him, mirth colouring his voice. 

When Hashirama simply shrugged sheepishly, he added, "You know, you wouldn't be the first person to think that. I was a bit surprised too, to be honest… And I certainly didn't plan to fall in love." He smiled a bit ruefully. "Then again, can we ever plan for such a thing?"

As expected, Hashirama didn't answer him and they both fell into a companionable silence.

Madara let his thoughts drift back to Konoha and his lover, amused when he imagined how much of an earful he was going to get for disappearing without proper notice. Doubtlessly both Hashirama and him were going to be in a world of trouble later despite being perfectly safe and caught up on their work as much as possible. After all, his omega's temper ran hot. Thankfully though it wasn't difficult to cool it down or turn it into a heat of a different kind.

Smirking to himself as he imagined all the ways in which he could apologise, he leaned back against the stones, his eyes slipping closed.

"You must really love them."

He opened one eye to glance at Hashirama. "Hm?"

"I said you must really love them," Hashirama repeated. "I haven't heard you talk like that about anyone before… It's nice."

"Thank you?" Madara said as he straightened in his seat, not sure what else to say.

"Will you attend the wedding together?" Hashirama asked next. "I'm sure we can squeeze in one more–"

"That won't be necessary."

Hashirama's brows furrowed in obvious confusion. "Why? You don't want to bring them along?"

"That's not it," Madara said truthfully.

"Then why? It would be the perfect opportunity to introduce them to— Oh." Hashirama paused, his eyes widening. "It's someone I know, isn't it? Someone already in attendance?"

Whoever thought Hashirama was an airhead was dead wrong and this moment was proof of that. The man could be uncannily perceptive sometimes, to the point Madara honestly wondered whether his friend wasn't clairvoyant by any chance.

"Yes," he answered after a moment, "it's someone you know."

"Oh?"

Madara said nothing to that and after a few beats of silence Hashirama prompted, "Well? Who is it?"

"I can't tell you."

"Can't or won't?"

"Both," Madara said. "We're trying to keep things between the two of us for now. He doesn't even know—"

He knew he made a mistake right there and then. 

Hashirama's face lit up and he leaned in, his eyes bright and intent as he scrutinised Madara.

"So it's a he then? An omega, yes? And I know him? Is he from a clan? Has to be, right? Does he work in administration? Or intelligence maybe? A ninja for sure. I don't remember there being many male omegas in the–"

"It's Tobirama."

[aruthelocallibraryhermit]

The Bite Of 83 Was Not Caused By An Accidental Springlock Failure

I was reading the Fnaf wiki last night and I noticed something

The wiki seems to attribute the Crying Child's death to an accidental springlock failure caused by his tears loosening the mechanisms.

This is something that I've often seen used in theories and retellings of the bite, but this would not be feasibly possible.

This is due to one simple fact,

The springlock suits were in animatronic mode.

For a springlock failure to occur, the suits would need to be in suit mode, because, while in animatronic mode, all of the springlocks would be disengaged.

We know that the suits were in animatronic mode, because:

1. We have seen what a person wearing the Fredbear suit looks like, and the suit on stage is notably empty.

2. If someone was in the suit, you'd think they'd have the common sense to, at the very least, move away from the child being stuffed in their suit's mouth? Or stop the kids from doing it at all?

3. The bullies would probably have the basic knowledge to not try and pull a 'prank' right in front of an adult, and since we've established that you can see when someone is performing in Fredbear, the bullies probably wouldn't take that kind of risk.

4. We've seen what happens when springlocks fail with someone inside.

If there was somehow someone performing inside of Fredbear, the Crying Child's blood wouldn't be the only one that stained the suit.

With all this evidence, I believe I can safely say that the bite of 83 was not caused by an accidental springlock failure.

However there is still one more thing I'd like to discuss.

If the bite wasn't caused by an accidental springlock failure, how did the suit generate enough force to kill the Crying Child?

The way the springlocks work is that they push the various electronics aside, and lock them in place to make room for the wearer. The wearer is able to move around in the suit, despite all of the technology, meaning has to at least be light enough for your average adult the lift and move around in.

How does this relate?

If the suit is light enough to be worn, the weight of the upper head coming down would not be able to generate enough force to crush the Crying Child's skull like a potato chip.

It might hurt, or give him a concussion, but kiddo would not be cosplaying a pancake.

Therefore, in this scenario, there are only three feasible ways that the bite of 83 could have occurred:

A. William Afton and Henry Emily are idiots who decided it was a good idea to give their animatronics the bite force to crush skulls.

B. Someone tampered with the animatronic to give it the bite force to crush skulls.

Or C. Someone deliberately rewound the head springlocks (at the least) so it would have the bite force to crush skulls. (Though this is unlikely, as the suit probably wouldn't be able to perform in suit mode without a wearer)

While I am unsure of the motives to do so, (As the Fnaf timeline is a mess) I believe that the culprit was likely Afton, as he would have been one of the only ones at the time who knew how to work the springlock suits (Being one of the two designers).

I say Afton, because depending on where the events of Fnaf 4 take place, he could have multiple reasons.

He could have wanted to kill a child using it, or it could be a sort of test run for the funtimes, to see how effective murder via animatronic was.

The above is all speculation however, and is not based in facts. These are merely my musings and hold no merit to the theory. As of now, there is no substantial evidence to confirm or deny Afton's involvement in the bite.

Overall, the bite of 83 could not be caused by an accidental springlock failure, meaning either Afton and Emily were really stupid when designing the suits, or someone tampered with the Fredbear suit to make it deadly.

If I have missed any evidence, feel free to correct me!

Thank you for reading this theory, I hope you have a wonderful day.

[pinkthick]

For the request fic:

4. repositioning the mistletoe because it annoys them

5. repositioning the mistletoe because they need MORE kisses

With BBC Sherlock Holmes x Reader

[Ngl, the #4 one made me laugh my ass off cuz it reminded me of Sherlock 🤣. Like he would canonly do this fr💀]

Hi. 🙃

I am aware that Christmas has long since passed, but I've had such a writer's block because of this request, and even now I'm not happy with how the fanfiction ended, but I hope you'll forgive me. I do, however, hope you enjoy it.🫶🏻🫶🏻

Where are the mistletoes?

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Fem!Reader

Sherlock Holmes & Mrs. Hudson & John Watson & Reader

Summary: Although your relationship with Sherlock is still relatively new and he still has a lot to learn about how people interact with one another, the two of you are beginning to understand each other better, even if Sherlock did believe that he should attach mistletoes so that he could kiss you whenever he wanted.

John began decorating the apartment an hour ago, but he didn't get much done. He wasn't sure how long the detective would be entertained by just trying to assist you in purchasing gifts for the others and items from Mrs. Hudson's shopping list that weren't really necessary for Christmas. Sherlock would soon understand what everyone was attempting, it was pretty obvious. Get him out of here so they can at least decorate this apartment for the holiday.

He abruptly halted what he was doing when he suddenly heard someone climbing the stairs. Mrs. Hudson opened the door while holding a little box and John abruptly let out a breath after realizing he had been holding it just moments earlier, feeling relieved that it wasn’t Sherlock.

“Oh dear, perhaps you should take a break. It is obvious that you won’t finish decorating anytime soon.” the elderly woman smiled somehow sadly at him.

“Well, if I had help from others, it would have been finished by now.” John spoke aloud in a harsh manner.

“Don’t hold that against me. I am the one doing all the cooking.” As Mrs. Hudson eventually set the box down on the couch and made her way outside, she stated in an irritated voice.

As he went to check what was in the package, John sighed. It was disappointing to decorate an apartment alone when it was supposed to be something you would do with your friends and family. However, he didn't have the right to snap at the poor woman because she had already accepted so many things Sherlock and he had done. But was it really that simple when you shared a home with Sherlock Holmes? But when it came to the detective, nothing was, in fact simple.

He was a little shocked by what Mrs. Hudson had brought him. But not in a bad way. The box was filled with mistletoes. Even though he had no idea how she could have obtained this, he knew better than to question her. He could take one or two, they wouldn’t hurt anybody hopefully.

He grabbed one and walked up to Sherlock's armchair, but before he hopped on it, John placed a newspaper over it since he didn't want Sherlock to become upset that he climbed on it while wearing his shoes. Only the great detective could do that since it was his chiar. He could be such a drama queen sometimes, but that’s just how the young Holmes is.

He took the tape from the small table and the doctor lifted the mistletoe over his head and eased it up to stick it on the ceiling. As he climbed down and took the newspaper in his hands, he wrinkled it as he threw it in one of the small trash cans. Might as well get rid of the evidence, right?

Perhaps he could hang one more right at the door? Even though it was a bad idea, nobody could have stopped him. He managed to climb on a small chair, but attaching it to the ceiling was a little bit more difficult. He did lose his balance once, but it undoubtedly didn't seem to stop him.

Although he was pleased with himself, John felt as though he would never be able to finish decorating this apartment as he once more glanced out the window and noticed that the Christmas tree was still slightly blank. He went to begin decorating it once more after retrieving the box of decorations.

The grocery store isn’t a place you would normally consider crowded. It's rather easy to get in and out of aisles without having to weave through threads of people, but Christmas was coming up and everyone was buying food like there was no tomorrow. It didn’t matter that they would have throw out half of the food when the holidays are over.

Sherlock worked very hard to keep himself entertained since he didn't want to be a burden to you. He scrutinized everyone who passed him, looking for even the smallest detail that wasn't even really significant in order to infer something about their life. The seconds were flying by, and he was beginning to grow increasingly bored and everyone knew that Sherlock Holmes should never grow bored. He was perplexed as to why fewer crimes occurred over the holidays. It didn't matter whether anyone died during them. A crime was a crime, as if the killers would receive acclaim if they avoided killing around orthodox holidays. The way regular people thought was so bizarre to him.

He watched you as you read the list Mrs. Hudson provided you while growing increasingly impatient as he struggled mightily to come up with something he ought to do. He snatched it from you against his better judgment since he didn't want to be here anymore, eliciting a startled gasp from you.

“Sherlock!” You said as you turned to follow the detective.

"I feel that if I stay here any longer, my brain will rot. You can attempt to keep me outside the building all you want; I don't care. The sooner we leave, the better.” He gave an explanation as he started to select the items Mrs. Hudson had written.

“Was it really that obvious?” You asked in a defeated tone while attempting to match his pace.

He slowed down and nodded briefly as he gave you a faraway "yes" while turning his head away from you and looking ahead. You weren't surprised, but you were a little let down. Well, you did know who you were dating.

As he started to make is way straight to the baking aisle, you were a little held back by other people. It’s not that it was that hard to pinpoint where the detective exactly was, thanks to his height, but somehow you couldn’t see him. Just then someone slipped his hands into yours and you glanced up, seeing Sherlock.

“If we want to get home sooner, it would be beneficial if you didn’t get lost. It would take some time to find you.” He said as you felt his fingers thighten around your hand.

As you allowed yourself to be dragged by him, you grinned a little. Maybe you should text John to let him know you'll be home sooner than expected.

While listening to Christmas music and halfway through decorating the tree, the doctor was unaware that the door had been opened.

Even if you did send him a text, it wasn't very effective because he didn't see it. In addition to the music playing through the entire apartment, John left his phone in the kitchen and set it to mute. He couldn't really do much at this point, especially since both of you had returned.

You initially went to Mrs. Hudson and left her the grocery bags, saying you would return to assist her as soon as you had left the gifts upstairs. Maybe, just maybe, you were interested in Sherlock's reaction as well, hoping that he wouldn't act out as he did the year before.

For a short while, the detective remained silent, and you were staring directly at him while he examined the entire apartment. You weren’t sure if he had any issues with the decorations or not.

"Why is this parasite hanging over my chair?" he asked at that same moment.

Yup, there it was.

Swiftly approaching it, Sherlock snatched it off the ceiling and dropped it into the trash. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed how you and John were looking at him.

"You and Y/N were just standing under the mistletoe moments ago," John said as he observed the detective's devastation. How could he fail to notice something that was right in front of him?

Your boyfriend wasn't even concerned about what it truly meant as you walked over to him; instead, he was only pondering on how he hadn't been able to notice the mistletoe at the entrance the first time. He was startled out of his reverie when you rose to your tiptoes and gave him a swift kiss, noticing a hint of pink brightening your cheeks.

“What was that for?” He asked bewildered

“You are familiar with the tradition, right?” You looked at him while chuckling slightly as he didn’t know what to say.

Given that Sherlock Holmes believed his brain to be similar to a hard drive, it only made sense to store useful information there. He didn't think the customs of Christmas would be useful after all.

“John, see if you can make him help you, I’ll go aid Mrs. Hudson.” You said while also leaving the flat.

As John began to assemble some candy canes on the tree, the doctor did not even make an attempt to persuade him to assist him. It appeared as though he was actually looking at the Grinch. He didn't understand why Sherlock was so opposed to anything that was Christmas-related.

John continued to embellish it with globs and some lights but the detective suddenly disturbed the comfortable silence. “Where are the mistletoes?”

Sherlock would occasionally come across you throughout the day, lead you somewhere where there was mistletoe, like outside the kitchen or the hall, and give you a short kiss before leaving you so he could clean the apartment. Even though you didn't understand what was going on with him, you would just resume helping Mrs. Hudson since you didn't want to question him.

He occasionally had you go where there was mistletoe hanging from the ceiling even after the guests arrived and the party started. This was the first time that the presence of other people didn't matter. Sherlock never kissed you in front of others, so you knew something was off. So, you began to ask yourself even more questions, even if you did know that you couldn't find your answers yet.

You didn't even have the courage to ask him what had actually happened today while you were lying in bed with him. Yes, Sherlock would typically behave strangely, but not in that way. And that kept you up.

You have a routine of rising late at night to get a glass of water. Really nothing out of the ordinary for anyone, but because you were having trouble falling asleep, Sherlock realized that something wasn't right.

You were being held by the detective in a soft yet firm manner. Unaware that he wasn't even sleeping, you made an effort to escape his grasp. Just then Sherlock Holmes' anxious voice suddenly reverberates through the empty space. “Is there something wrong?”

“No, don't worry. Just want a glass of water.” The detective eventually let go of his hold on you. He just realized how big of an impact you had already had on his life as he saw you discreetly stand up and leave the room. Now that he was accustomed to your touch, being alone didn't feel right. It's strange to consider that he reacted negatively when you originally suggested cuddling.

He began to wonder what was keeping you up at night and somehow came to certain conclusions without knowing if they were true. As he lifted his head to look at you, Sherlock must have been too preoccupied with his thoughts to notice when you entered the room.

“Is everything all right?” As you once more get onto the bed and sit next to him, you inquire.

“You have a question, don’t you?” He states bluntly as he wraps his hands around you again. “So let’s have it.”

“What was up with you today?” You asked as you tilted your head slightly.

“I am— not quite following Y/N.” He says unsure as he changes his position, allowing you to get closer to him.

“The mistletoes?” You ask as Sherlock becomes more rigid “They were everywhere today.”

“I should have asked you if I could kiss you, right? I’m sorry. I thought that I could do it without asking for consent if I used the mistletoes.” He says quietly.

“What?” You chuckle a little, which only confuses the great detective further. Despite his brilliance, it was obvious that he still had a lot to learn about emotions and interpersonal relationships.

"I don't—"

"Sherlock, you don't have to ask me every time you want to kiss me. We are a couple. We didn't snuggle like this before, but we do now because it's pleasant for both of us. You don’t need my consent for some things and that includes kissing for me.” You explain as Sherlock brings you closer to him.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.” You informed him as he nodded and silently uttered ‘oh’

For a while, neither of you said anything, but then Sherlock probes once more: "But are you really sure that you are fine with it?"

You stayed quiet beside him and the detective raised a hand to your nose. Of course, now was when you fell asleep.

His eyes rolled under his eyelides as he rolled over. “Goodnight, Y/N” he murmured, aligning his arm over the curve of your side. “And Merry Christmas..”

Tagging list: @rhasima @fictional-hooman @so-this-is-a-thing-noww @bumblebee0609 @vynrichtermybeloved @xx-sonofabitch-xx @realityisadamnlie @friendlydemon @sleutherclaw @k1mikoz @spadequeen22 @justanotheromen @kh-aii @paola-carter @alahmorah @quesowakanda @jyessaminereads @harukaaaaa172993 @whiteboycarlgallagher @couldntbedamned @marebare21 @scar-lett-mess @lokiethar @chorraich

[thequietkid-moonie]

Sweet S/O gets a cruel punishment

[ ONE-SHOT ] [ Chiaki Nanami ] [ Danganronpa 2 Goodbye Despair ]

⚠️ This contain spoilers

This was requested by @sleepyone2three, thank you for requesting it!! The version of the other characters requested you can find it in the masterlist

The fifth trial it still hurt me a lot, is just... it was too much, but still I love it, Chiaki was so sweet and determinanted ❤️ and Monomi's last words really bring me hope ❤️

At the start of the trip Chiaki was more relaxed with everything and just enjoying everything on the misterious island with the rest of your classmates (specially excited to be able to enjoy it with you), but when Monokuma appeared and started the whole killing game she was really worried for everyone

Even when she were worried that doesn't really stop her from trying her best to enjoy the place and the company of her classmates, and since Twogami was the one who take the role of the leader she was glad to be able to rely in someone

Also, she were relying a lot in you too, Chiaki is easily distracted and sleepy, even being able to just fall sleep while being standing, so you just stay with her and make sure she is alright most of the time, something for what she is forever grateful

Chiaki truly loves your sweetness and gentleness not just towards her but everyone else, the killing game and Monokuma were stressing out everyone and even when not everyone were willing to cooperate or not so kind you never stoped being sweet and kind to them and that was inspiring her a lot too

It doesn't take much time before you were known between everyone as a really cute couple thanks to your sweetness and Chiaki's cuteness (and, of course, thanks to Ibuki too), and that gives a sense to normality to everyone, making them feel somehow a little more comfortable with the situation having just normal situations

Although Monokuma wasn't going to let the killing game end without even started and was just matter of time to finally start, things were slowly starting to be a chaos, distrusting each others, the insults and offences, the bewilderment and fear for what will happen and for not knowing if someone will really try to kill you, as well as the denial of one's own possibility

And despite everything you two continue trying to bring hope to the group, after what happened on the first trial Chiaki tried to quietly lead everyone to a better, while you were more direct, offering a hand with a smile to everyone, both of you were helping everyone to don't lose hope, and even if it was just a little it was bothering Monokuma and still he can't do much for a while since he doesn't attack the students just for no reason, he has clear rules that even he will follow, so he just awaits for the perfect oportunity to put a incentive on your way

The day finally come when he let out the despair disease, a disease that changes the personality of the affected, it was perfect because not just will affect you but other too and that will just make things more funny! (or at least for him)

That day you wake up feeling sick, your body hurts and it was like the day was way too hot, you were already mad for the pain but everything seemed to just annoy you more, your sweet smile with which you always greeted everyone was gone and replaced for a grimace and narrow eyes. Chiaki was one of the first to greet you, getting worried when you just passed by her, she followed you to the dining room and it was then when it become more evident the change on your behavior, getting mad at everyone and even insulting them when they tried to ask you what is wrong

Once Monokuma explained that this was strange and special disease was the next incentive Mikan doesn't waste time and take everyone to the hospital to be able to take care of them, the problem is that you manage to sneak from her and just go away taking advantage of the fact that the ones that weren't infected were trying to plan on what to do

Chiaki decided to follow you, she wanted to lead you to the hospital and make sure you were taken care of, you were always helping her so is the least she can do for you, she follow you quietly until she manage reach you, it could be that she surprised you or that you noticed her before, that doesn't matter because you reaction is still really bad, pushing her away and demanding to leave you alone

Chiaki tried to reason with you, telling you that you really need to be attended and even saying that you don't have to worry because she will accompany you to the hospital, just for you to call her an annoyance, complaining about her for meddling in what she shouldn't and even calling her a pest and a weirdo when she insisted on the topic. Your words hurt her, make her feel bad and even wonder if she is really just being annoying, and still it doesn't take her long to remember that all what are you saying is because the disease, it isn't really you

She was on the middle of trying to convice to go to the hospital when Monokuma appeared, laughing at the situation, pointing out how funny it is to see the cute couple of the Jabberwock island having their first fight since they arrived, Chiaki tried to just ignore him but in the state you were whatever he says just makes you more and more angry, you were so annoyed already that you didn't even care what he is saying you just don't like this teasing tone nor his laugh, now focusing on him instead of Chiaki

She tried to take this opportunity or at least catch your attention again because knowing Monokuma he doesn't have good intentions, but Chiaki isn't really stronge or with a loud voice so as much as she tried to make you pay attention to her you were too focused on the fact that Monokuma was laughing at you, and now even more for the failed attempts of her to help you

It reached a point were you were just so annoyed that you can't take it anymore and take it out on Monokuma, hitting him as hard as you can while screaming him to shut up, Chiaki get startled by the situation so she isn't able to react quickly, leaving Monokuma enough time to stand up and remind the two of you the rules with an angry tone, leaving you two with just enough time for her to understand the situation but before she could say something Monokuma attacked you, making you shut up before you could insult him once again

Chiaki was shocked for what she was seeing, is a horrendous view, she doesn't want to see you bleed and suffer the way you are doing it but she can't look away neither, even when your body fall on the floor and Monokuma laughs once again she still has troubles to react. Somehow Chiaki finds the strength to slowly approach to you, kneeling by your side and taking your hand, in this moment Chiaki is too shocked to say something, to cry, to even realice that you, with the last strength you have you still are just looking at her with annoyance and complaining about how you can't believe that that stupid bear had attacked you or how she isn't doing anything, and still when Chiaki manage to react is just in time to when you lose consciousness completely, Chiaki just smiles at you and promise to put an end to this, to save you

After what happened Chiaki still doesn't let herself get down, she still has to see for the rest of her classmates and, at the best of her habilities she tries to explain what happened as well to ask what is the plan to take care of the rest, she doesn't let anyone stop for what happened or try to ask her how she feels because it isn't until she is sure that the plan is underway and she can be completely alone when she finally let herself break, and she does break, Chiaki will spend a long time just crying, she just feel the need to be alone it isn't something that she want to share because it hurt her in a way that she can't explain to anyone, for the second time she lose the opportunity to be able too see you again, to be with you

She cries quietly and alone, and it isn't until she is done crying that she goes out of her room to see the others again, she accepts his words of encouragement and condolences but doesn't say much about it, it still hurt her and will still hurt for along time but she is determinante to continue with her mission, what motivate her to continue and to even smile again is that she is fighting for you and for her beloved classmates, she is fighting for you to have a bright future, even if is a future where she won't be able to be

[regallibellbright]

I MIGHT have found what you were talking about regarding Kiel. It wasn't a full-blown confession, but I JUST encountered something he'd never said before wherein he heavily implied and/or started to confess. HOWEVER, it was something along the lines of "I know you already have a lover, but I also… Oops, shouldn't say that!" The line was partially voiced (and not with generic voice clips) even! I was so shocked I talked to him again hoping he'd repeat it, but he instead switched to a generic dialogue about magic. And I sadly don't know if that one line was it or if he might have continued on another day, because this triggered on literally the last day of Dylas' marriage event for me, so I immediately married the next day. I doubt Kiel would confess even if he could when you're fully married to someone else.

Do you remember if you were dating someone else when Kiel confessed?

… Holy shit. Yeah, that sounds REALLY familiar and I was dating at least Dylas and Arthur (and I think also Leon?) when that happened. Kiel confessing was ultimately why I went “yeah, okay, I’ll date all the boys, I want to do Arc Three before I get married if I can anyway,” which is why it left such a firm impression on me as A Thing That Happened. (I also am pretty sure Doug had dialogue at least indicating a crush before I did anything - I semi-think I remember he confessed first as well, but it’s nowhere near as clear to me as Kiel’s since he was the last boy to be added what with the “can’t pass a certain point until Arc Two’s done,” so I’m not sure.)

I had also gotten Kiel’s mini-event(s?) before that point (the ones that don’t span multiple days) - those, at least, have some firm evidence of existing in that Houcha’s Youtube compilations of the different love interests’ events all include at least one mini event. More of them than not have two… but not Kiel or Doug, and I could swear I saw two for both of them. (I think Doug had one taking place in the store in addition to the one on the stairs? I can’t remember a second for Kiel in detail but I feel like there was one. I definitely got the color compatibility quiz, though, and it HAS been a decade. But if I checked Youtube more thoroughly at some time that’s not 4 AM I wouldn’t be shocked if I do find second mini-events for the others.)

Seriously, up until last year I assumed this was a totally normal part of gameplay that just didn’t happen to be on any of the Youtube compilations, and I’d ultimately restarted the game at least once pre-Special hoping to see what Arthur’s would be (since his whole complex about love made me figure a reverse confession would play our VERY differently than the usual.) I figured those mini-events were probably prerequisites (and that’d explain the rarity, since they’re not required for marriage, not formal Events and therefore not really talked about, but are still subject to the wonky event RNG, and by the time you activate them both and presumably get a love interest at high enough LP they’d want to confess to you, you’d probably confessed already. Pretty sure Kiel’s LP was at least a 9 or 10.) And then I never got this after my first playthrough despite getting mini-events, even if I didn’t get quite as far in on them, so when I brought it up and the universal reaction was “… do you not mean reverse proposals?” and bafflement at my belief this was a thing, I wondered if it wasn’t a glitch.

But I’d also wondered, once I realized just how rare this clearly had to be, if maybe they only happen once you’re dating at least one other person. I figured “more than one” seemed more likely, at that, since it’d be another thing that would seriously reduce the number of players who’d ever experience this and therefore make it more plausible no one else seemed to recognize it. (And if it already requires you to date one person, the devs probably assumed you’d be more receptive to the idea of dating another if they’re at least the third, rather than the second.) Maybe it really is necessary. At least for Kiel, and I’m way more certain it happened with him than Doug. Definitely something to test for now that I’m replaying.

Thank you for this information! Seriously I had all but convinced myself I’d imagined everything. (And if the line’s voiced, I should definitely try and record things going forward like I was originally playing.)

[cat-vase]

other thing similar to the bryce stuff that i think you may be interested in!

Owen was most likely interrogated by police about Liams disappearance since he was the last one to see Liam before he vanished (BOTH TIMES not counting bryce or the cashier+waiter in ep15), which means there’s the possibility of Owen being wrongly convicted… despite the fact that there may not be much evidence against him.

(same thing goes for Parker regarding Charlotte’s disappearance since he was AT HER HOUSE and had a reason to be mad at her, leading the police to believe he possibly murdered her over the money..?)

Someone pointed out to me once that it was likely Owen who REPORTED Liam missing in the first place! How else would the police know it was LIAM'S bike instead of... literally anyone else's? He probably got cleared of suspicion since there's likely outside security footage of Liam leaving the office alone (and Owen leaving alone, too!) Assumming this because... well. Everything has cameras everywhere nowadays.

But yeah!!! I'm sure he was questioned but since Liam literally disappeared into thin air, they couldn't find anything to convict him? Or anybody else, either? Or anything to use... to figure out where he was? Hence presuming him dead!!! Which sucks for Owen, especially if he finds out about the smokestack incident somehow (and that it happened BEFORE he saw Liam???), but what can you do!

But oh my god Parker. I have so many thoughts about Parker you have no idea. Not a lot of people talk about Charlotte I feel and even then, if they do they DON'T talk about Parker and that is a CRIME.

He saw her disappear in front of his eyes! Mid sentence! There was still dinner cooking in the kitchen and jazz playing on the TV! Wouldn't that send him into some sort of anxious spiral? Or psychotic break? Wouldn't he be unsure if she ever existed or not?

And his job is a brand associate! Wouldn't that make him in the public eye, at least somewhat? If he went crazy people would SEE and KNOW. He might be arrested on suspicion of murder? Or institutionalized? Or go off the grid? Maybe he starts to pay for her place and cover up her disappearance in order to try and investigate it! Maybe he searches every single forum he can online, stringing together other random disappearances of this nature whether or not they're actually connected! Maybe he takes something of hers to convince himself that yes, she WAS real! He can't tell anyone else in his friend group about this, of course. They'll think he did something to her, and he would never. He just wanted her to be okay. Is she okay, wherever she is? He hopes she's okay. He just wants her to come back. He's not mad about the money anymore. He's sorry he yelled. Please just come back. One day she has to, right? In the same manner she disappeared? He can't get rid of her place now, what if she came back and he wasn't there?

Maybe he posts incomprehensible ramblings on a website he makes in order to make sure he doesn't lose them, but also so he can stay anonymous. He goes on outings for days searching and never turns up any leads, of course. In the beginning his friends try to interact with him; they fear for his safety, he's so JUMPY, and he has an accident and falls in one of the caves they've been to a thousand times. He just gets more closed off after that. He becomes more and more like the person he's trying to find: No, he's FINE, he can find her on his OWN, he doesn't NEED help, he's perfectly fine and sane.

And maybe, if he's not locked up somewhere or done something to hurt himself, maybe he DOES see her come back someday. She's in a worse state than she left in.

But that's a whole different can of worms.

[chicaotaku-fanfics]

There's Three of You?! Pt. 15

Part 2 of this crossover-based arc. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: foul language, might be some medical inconsistencies.

CHAPTER 15

The worry hadn’t diminished at all since I heard the news on Herrmann, and apparently now Zanetti was involved in that mess too, so I took my distance, focusing instead on Jessica and her unprogressive stay at Med.

At some point, Ms. Goodwin came to the ED to talk to Ethan about Jessica, I had managed to not be called for it, until I saw Severide and Jay make an entrance to the hospital. Jay had a bag with him.

“How is she?” asked Jay, I walked over to my boss and the two newest guests in our territory.

“The same. It turns out she was on chemo.” said Ms. Goodwin.

“What do you guys know about her?” I asked, they all turned to me.

“Not a lot at this time.” said my brother, looking at Goodwin and then me.

“That's all that was salvaged from the scene.” said Severide, looking at the bag Jay had just raised a little so we could see.

“That's her personal belongings– a couple of books, receipts.” said Severide.

“We processed them, didn't find anything useful.” said Jay.

“Hey, Daniel, why don't you take a look at this?” Ms. Goodwin asked the psychiatrist.

“Never know what you might find.” said Dr. Charles while taking the bag and opening it. “A lot of receipts. Organized. Getting ready for tax season.” he added.

“Guys?” Erin said, calling everyone’s attention to her as she walked to us. “Forensics just came in. They only found her prints at the scene. There's no signs of foul play. All the evidence is pointing to suicide.” she added, I was confused.

Then Jay saw someone behind me and, after hugging me, excused himself. I turned to see who had called his attention, only to see Will standing there.

JAY’S P.O.V

“Hey.” I said to my older brother.

“What's up?” he asked, holding an iPad with, what I assume, is a patient file.

“Can I ask you a doctor question?” I asked him.

“Sure, come on.” he answered, nodding his head to the side and I followed him a little bit down the ED floor, away from anyone who could eavesdrop.

“Um, Herrmann.” I said, as a way to get on topic.

“Yeah.” Will said, as a way for me to know he was listening.

“If he'd come in on your watch, would you have waited so long before doing anything?” I asked, he looked to the side.

“That's a tough call.” He said, looking at someone or something behind me. “It's been a while since my surgical residency.” then he turned to look at me. “And, you know, I wasn't there for the exam, so it's hard to say.” he said.

“Yeah, just in general.” I said, trying to get something to tell Severide.

“In general?” he asked, then he nodded. “Yeah, I probably would have gone in.” just then, Natalie passed by us, and Will turned to her. “But, uh, again, I wasn't there.” he said, getting a bit tongue tied.

“Right. Thanks.” I decided to tease, just by smiling at him.

“Don't.” he said. I didn’t say anything else, but when I turned to go to Kelly, I saw Lilly looking at us, and then walked over to Will.

LILLY’S P.O.V

“What did you guys talk about?” I asked Will, practically sneaking up on him and making him jump.

“Jesus… nothing Lilly, boys stuff.” he said, looking back at Natalie, and then, as if he remembered, he lightly hit me with the iPad he was holding.

“The hell was that for?” I asked him, pretending it did hurt.

“For sneaking up on me. You nearly gave me a heart attack.” he said.

“At least you’d be in the right place.” I said, he lightly pushed my shoulder, snorting at my comment. I then walked to the back of the nurses station to use one of the computers to check on some files and see if my job application had gone through.

I really hope it did, I know I’m a junior resident, but my place is here at Med.

I was looking through Jessica’s file again, to see if we had managed to miss something, but I was reading the same information as the last three times I had read it. Before I knew it, Will was standing beside me, his pen in his mouth, a look of complete concentration on his face.

Suddenly, Dr. Charles started talking to Ms. Goodwin, and I couldn’t help but overhear their conversation.

“I'm not convinced.” said the chief of psychiatry.

“About what?” asked Goodwin.

“Jessica pope had a confirmation for a round-trip ticket from Paris six months from now, okay? Presumably when she's in remission. A person--a conservative, responsible person--with cancer? They don't do that unless they have high hopes. Right? So she's sick, but she thinks she's getting better. Why would she kill herself? Something's hinky.” he said, explaining to Ms. Goodwin his ideas about the reason why this woman ended up in the ED.

“«Hinky»? Did you just say «hinky»?” asked Ms. Goodwin.  

“Humor me. Women almost always leave suicide notes. Where's the note?” he asked, I couldn’t help but mentally agree with him.

“Well, maybe it was destroyed in the fire.” said the former nurse.

“Or maybe it wasn't a suicide.” said the older doctor.

“Have you been binging on «Mannix» again?” asked Ms. Goodwin.

“You don't like it, stop sending me box sets for Christmas.” said Dr. Charles.

“All right, okay. Next year, it'll be «Sanford and Son.»” said Ms. Goodwin before leaving the ED.

“Dr. Halstead?” Dr. Charles asked us, I looked up at him, Will didn’t even look away from his computer screen, I almost slapped him. 

At least he took the pen out of his mouth.

“Do you think that your policeman brother might do you a little favor?” he asked, Will turned to him, while I just looked at the older doctor. Then we both made eye contact, copper meeting hazel.

I decided to go to the lounge for some coffee, so I made my way there and then I texted Jay.

To: Jaybird 💙

Hey!

Do you mind coming back to the hospital?

I need to ask you something.

From: Jaybird 💙

Sure, I’ll be there in 30 (traffic).

To: Jaybird 💙

Ok, see you in a bit.

Love you. ❤️

From: Jaybird 💙

❤️

Once that was sorted out, I prepared my coffee, and as I was about to put down the coffee pot, Connor stormed in.

“You seem in a foul mood.” I said, he just sat down on the couch, so I decided to be a good friend and prepared him a coffee, using that as a method to make time while waiting on Jay.

I offered him the mug, he looked up, then looked at the table. I followed the unsaid order and left the mug on the coffee table. Just as I did that, my phone pinged.

From: Jaybird 💙

I’m here.

To: Jaybird 💙

Meet you at the nurses desk.

“See you around Connor. Hope you like the coffee, and please keep an eye on mine.” I said, as I walked out, leaving my cup next to his.

“Sorry to ask you this, but Dr. Charles, he's on a thing about that attempted suicide.” Will started to tell Jay.

“He's not buying it.” I added.

“What's not to buy? You heard the report. There's no signs of foul play.” said Jay, a bit incredulous.

“I know.” Will and I said at the same time.

“But could you just take one more look? Turn over a few rocks?” Will said, hitting his shoulder lightly.

“Ugh, come on.” he said, a bit irritated.

“Please Jay… for us?” I asked, two seconds away from using my puppy eyes on him.

“All right, how about a pound of smoked trout from Calumet?” asked Will, as a way to convince Jay.

“All right, two and you got a deal.” Jay answered, they both shook hands, and then my brunette brother turned to me and we do the same to seal the deal.

Of course, Will hit the nail in the head. It’s Jay’s favorite.

“My man.” Will said.

“Shut up.” said Jay while leaving.

“You're our hero.” I said before he left.

CONNOR’S P.O.V

Lilly had just left the lounge when Zanetti entered, she sat down on the coffee table, mindful of the two cups of coffee there.

“Your patient, Herrmann, he's stable?” she asked me.

“He's still on the vent, but, yeah.” I answered honestly.

“In the O.R. when I said what I did… You know that I'm only hard on the good surgeons, right?” she asked, I wanted to laugh at that.

“Is that right?” I asked, looking up at her from my hunched down position.

“Yeah, I'm not gonna change because we're sleeping together.” she said. “If you've got some male power thing where you can't get it up unless I constantly applaud your surgical prowess…” she added in an attempt to joke, I wasn’t having it.

“Did you say something to fire about me mishandling him?” I asked her point blank about it.

“What?” she answered with a question.

“You heard me.” I said softly.

“You think that I would do something like that?” she asked.

“Somebody did.” was my simple answer.

“If you think for one second that I would undermine a colleague, no matter how I felt about his choices…” she started.

As if you didn’t humiliate me in the O.R

“Maybe I need to reassess this.” she said, and she left as if I had wronged her.

I then turned to the coffee table, seeing the cup Lilly had made for me, I took a sip, and then left it right where it was before. I turned to the ED to see the three Halsteads talking.

Could it be…

I couldn’t help but think as I saw them, then they shook hands and Jay left, Will went one way and Lilly came back to the lounge, as soon as she entered she made eye contact with me.

“Hey there Dr. Grumpy Puss, was the coffee good?” she asked, making a small smile appear on my face.

She wouldn’t… but the other Halstead could.

LILLY’S P.O.V

It had been a while, and I had received word from Dr. Choi that, apparently April’s younger brother, Noah, had ordered a mass spectrometry on Jessica Pope. I was shocked, because I remembered Reese being the one talking about it. Just when I thought I could go and talk to her about it, Jay showed up. I turned and motioned Will to come to us.

“Turned over some rocks on the Jessica pope case like you asked me to.” said Jay as his greeting to us both.

“And?” I asked, praying for a miracle.

“Had the documents lab restore some papers from her place. And they found this.” Jay said, handing Will a paper, which he turned slightly so we both could check it out.

“Thank you.” we said to him at the same time.

“Dr. Charles.” I called the other doctor’s attention.

“Suicide note?” he asked while Will handed him the paper.

“Mm-hmm.” we hummed at the same time.

“But she didn't do it because she was sick.” said Will

“«... my fault because I trusted him. I'm a fool. I can't live with this betrayal.»" Dr. Charles read parts of the note.

“Maybe a lover?” asked Will.

“Is this the whole thing?” asked the chief of psychiatry.

“That's all they could restore.” I said.

Ethan walked by and stopped right next to me.

“What's going on?” he asked.

“Jessica pope. Suicide after all.” said Dr. Charles, to explain what we were talking about.

“Really? Because I just got some very weird test results.” he said, that got our attention. “They confirm she's dying from an overdose of chemo.” he added.

“What's weird about that?” Will asked.

“The results also show… she never had cancer.” he said. Dr. Charles, Will and I looked at each other.

What the hell is going on here?

I left to check on Herrmann, and another patient I had to monitor because of a sinus infection that had arrived shortly after learning of Jessica’s results. Not even an hour later, I heard Connor’s name being called by the mic system to the ED, I stood back, leaving him and Will to deal with that, but I heard something that made me stop and turn towards the treatment room.

“You by any chance share those opinions with your brother?” asked Connor, serious and even a bit angry at Will.

Wait, what?

“What, Herrmann?” Will asked, Connor nodded.

He wouldn’t…

“Look, Jay asked, so I told him.” was Will’s answer.

HE DID?!

I immediately made my way to the doctors lounge, and called my brother. He picked up at the second ring.

“Hey there LilyBloom! What’s up?” he asked as if nothing was wrong.

“Did you ask Will about Connor’s course of action regarding Herrmann?” I asked, point blank.

“Look. Kelly asked me to ask Will. He wanted to know if his condition could’ve been avoided.” answered Jay, I wanted to slap both of them… well, the three of them, if you add Severide to the mix.

“One, you had no right to do that, I bet Will told you in confidence. And two, you wanted answers, you asked the wrong sibling!” I exclaimed, I could hear Jay’s jaw drop.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, clearly confused.

“I’m saying that I was primary, along with Connor, when Herrmann was brought in, you absolute idiot!” I exclaimed, I could only hear silence on the other end of the line.

“Shit.” said Jay, I could see him dragging his hand through his face.

“Yes. Shit. And now, Will and Connor are arguing while treating a patient.” I said, actually furious.

“Wait, what? Are you for real?” Jay sounded surprised.

“Is it really that hard to believe? Connor thinks that Will doesn’t trust his judgment call. Plus, they’re both doctors, and you know how we doctors get when someone with ZERO MEDICAL EXPERIENCE dares to question our decisions, based on what another doctor thinks.” I said to him, I could pretty much hear Adam whisper a “damn, she’s mad” and someone -probably Kim-  shutting him up.

“Lilly… I swear I had no idea…” he started, I cut him up.

“Jay, save it. Really, save it. It’s not me you have to apologize to, it’s Connor. But next time, ask which Dr. Halstead treated a patient before making «hypothetical questions» about said patient.” I said, obviously pissed before hanging up.

JAY’S P.O.V

Lilly called me and I answered, I put the phone on speaker because I had my hands occupied with the report I was writing down, what I didn’t expect was to get another one ripped into me.

“Jay, save it. Really, save it. It’s not me you have to apologize to, it’s Connor. But next time, ask which Dr. Halstead treated a patient before making «hypothetical questions» about said patient.” and with that she hung up.

“You’re screwed” said Atwater.

“I think you mean dead.” said Ruzek, none of them helping.

“You’re not helping.” I said, leaving my phone on the table, and then letting my fall on the chair’s back. I ran  my hands through my hair and then down my face.

“Knowing her, she won’t kill you.” said Kim, trying to cheer me up.

“Oh she will.” said Erin, not helping my case.

“I don’t think so, she’s really sweet.” the brunette defended.

“You haven’t seen her angry.” Voight’s gruff voice said from where he was standing at his office’s door.

I let out a groan. “How much did you hear Sarge?” I asked the man.

“Everything. And she’s right. You need to apologize to Dr. Rhodes… maybe even to her and Will.” he said.

“My apology won’t be accepted until after she kills me.” I said.

“Maybe. But she’s your sister. You’ll sort it out.” he said.

“Hope you’re right Sarge… or else I’m a dead man.” I said, that got me a snort from everyone.

LILLY’S P.O.V

After that phone call, I went out and went to check on the pair of hotheaded doctors in the trauma room, when I heard the hard part for anyone.

“1 of epi.” ordered Connor, after a bit he gave another order. “Stop compressions.” he said, and then checked for a pulse.

I then heard the monitor be turned off.

“Time of death, 16:21.” he called. 

“No!” the woman, who I can only assume was the family of the patient, started sobbing uncontrollably, and it was heartbreaking.

Eventually I heard Natalie went to console the poor woman, but my concern for the moment was a pretty mad student doctor Sarah Reese, who just happened to barge into the break room. I followed her.

“What’s with the long face?” I asked her, she turned, surprised to see me.

“Dr.- I mean Lilly! Didn’t see you there.” she said, I looked at her, questioning look on my face. She caved two seconds later.

“Noah, April’s brother, took credit for a test I ordered.” she said, I looked shocked.

“I mean… can’t say it hasn’t happened to me, but ouch. You good?” I asked her, gently putting my hand on her shoulder to comfort her.

“Yeah… just pissed.” she said, I laughed a bit at that.

“And that’s understandable, tell you what, after shift, I’ll buy you a drink. Sounds good?” I asked her, she blushed.

“I… I don’t drink.” she said, I let out a soft Halstead Chuckle®, squeezing her shoulder in reassurance.

“Doesn’t have to be alcohol. We could have a coffee, tea, or even a soda if you want. The point is… let me take you out somewhere so you, a) aren’t alone tonight, and b) don’t kill Noah’s stupid ass when you see him next time.” I said to her with a smile.

Her blush became a bit more noticeable, going from a pale pink to a shade darker. “Oh… uhm… okay, sure.” she said, looking anywhere but me.

“Let me just say this, and I don’t mean this to sound as too direct, nor plan on offending you in any way, but… you’re cute when you blush Reese.” I said to her, winked at her and then left the room, going to find either Connor or Will to have a go at them for arguing while treating a patient.

Imagine my surprise when I found both my brothers in the waiting room.

Jackpot.

As I made my way to them, the idiots started arguing… as always.

“Did you tell Severide what I said to you in confidence?” asked Will to Jay.

“What?” Jay asked, I could see he was playing dumb.

“About Herrmann?” answered Will, I could see him losing his patience.

“You never said that was in confidence.” said Jay.

Sweet Jesus… I’m killing him.

“Great. In the future, do me a favor. Don't ask me any more hypothetical questions.” said Will, understandably mad.

“Fine. Then don't ask me to bring you any more sensitive materials from police investigations.” said Jay.

And just when he was about to leave, I stood in his way.

“How about next time, both of you pull your heads out of your asses and avoid making yourselves look like assholes?” I asked them, both of them looked surprised to see me standing there.

“Lilly…” started Jay, I raised my hand to cut him off.

“Save it, both of you, follow me.” I said, then pointed with my head to the side so we wouldn’t do anything stupid in public.

We made it to one of the empty conference rooms and there, all hell broke loose.

“What the actual living fuck did BOTH of you think you were doing earlier? Discussing patient care with each other. Especially one that wasn’t yours.” I asked them. Immediately both of them tried to defend themselves.

“He asked-” started Will.

“I just did what I was told-” Jay said louder.

“You know I’d never-” started Will again.

“You gotta understand-” Jay tried again to speak louder than Will, and honestly I had enough.

“ENOUGH!“ I exclaimed, making both my brothers shut up. “Sometimes it’s like I’m the eldest of the three, jeez.” I added, that made both of them look down in shame. “Look, you both screwed up. You by letting Severide getting you into all this.” I said pointing at Jay. “And you by answering the question he asked, without having the information to base your answer on.” I pointed at Will.

“I did point out several times that I wasn’t there when Herrmann was brought in.” Will said.

“That’s true.” Added Jay in Will’s defense.

“Look, that’s not the problem here. The problem is, Severide used you to get information he could’ve gotten from me if he had paid enough attention to what Herrmann said to me when I went to see him. And now Connor’s medical opinion is being questioned” I said.

“Sorry.” they both said at the same time.

“I’m not the one you should apologize to.” I said, they both looked at me. “Even if I do appreciate the apology… Connor’s the one you both need to apologize to.” I reminded them.

“As soon as I get the chance, I will.” said Jay, Will looked like he just swallowed a lemon.

“Will?” I asked.

“Fine. I’ll apologize to him.” he said.

“Still don’t get why you hate him.” I said.

“He’s just… he’s rich.” Will said, both Jay and I turned to him.

“Yeah, and?” Jay asked our older brother.

“You think he doesn’t understand the struggles you faced because he’s rich?” I asked.

“Yes! I mean, he has a trust fund, he had everything handed to him on a silver platter!” Will said, I wanted to slap him.

“Ok, I know we come from a blue-collar neighborhood, but Connor also struggled, in a different way than we did but-” Will cut me off.

“How can he know, his last name’s Rhodes!” he exclaimed.

“It’s because his last name’s Rhodes that he knows Will.” I said, the look I gave him must have been enough for him to understand he messed up. “As I said, you both apologize to him… and the sooner you do, the better.” and with that, I left the room.

I went to the nurses station to check on some records, when Dr. Charles approached me.

“Dr. Halstead.” he said, unfortunately I could see both my brothers looking at me through the window of the room I had just exited.

“Dr. Charles. How can I help you?” I asked.

“Dr. Manning’s patient…”

“Carol Shepperd? What about her?” I asked the psychiatrist.

“Your brother told me that, despite her best efforts, Dr. Manning hasn’t managed to get her to improve.” he said.

“Ok, if you want me to look over her file, I’ll need access to it. I don’t want this to look as if I’m trying to impose my way on her treatment.” I said to the man in front of me, he nodded.

“I’ll clear that with Dr. Manning when the time comes, right now, I need the best doctors to figure out what’s going on here.” he said.

“Thank you for the vote of confidence Dr. Charles. I also heard that you asked for the autopsy on Dr. Rhodes’s and my brother’s patient?” I asked him.

“Yeah, Dani Frank. We just want to make sure her case isn’t related to Dr. Choi’s patient.” he said I nodded.

“Ok, I’ll ask for some biomarkers and a mass spec on Mrs. Shepperd, just in case.” I said to the man, opening a new test order form on the computer screen.

“Thank you, Dr. Halstead. We’ll be in touch.” he said, I nodded.

Just hope this doesn’t come biting me in the ass later.

Introducing Connor's P.O.V!! Hope you liked it, I'm in process of writing next chapter, please have patience.

Love you all!

[dragonmasterhiccup]

Freya scoffed, still leaning her head on the tree as her hair kept some of her face hidden, "Oh, trust me. He definitely isn't taking me seriously."

She sighed, remembering the last time she briefly mentioned something about her father - although, it wasn't outrightly said. She just called herself the disappointment, rather than Hiccup. This time, she wasn't in a cave, and there really wasn't any way of avoiding it as he asked her the question she internally winced at. "I can't escape this one, can I..?" She mumbled, more to herself, as she tilted her head downward more, allowing her black tresses to fully cover the side of her face.

"He, uh, was always...strict, to put it in fewer words.." Freya pursed her lips in thought for a moment before continuing, "I always had this.. expectation placed on me when I was younger. I worked extra hard for his approval and.." She weakly hit the tree with her hand, making sure not to use her other one that was beginning to heal, "..it doesn't matter.."

She finally stood up properly, brushing away the small chips of wood that clung to her hair, "I already said I'm not good at this kind of stuff anyways, so you might be here a while if I really start talking." Freya forcefully pulled her dagger out from the tree, fidgeting with it as she took a few steps away to sit down on the grass. Blaze was quick to be beside her when she did so, laying down on her right side with a frown.

"I would ask you to forget all of this again, but I have a feeling that's not gonna happen.." She muttered, slowly turning the dagger in between her fingers as she kept her gaze everywhere but on Hiccup, "I just.. don't understand why my dad thinks I'm not capable of.. practically living on my own.. without being a failure at everything."

Freya stared at the blade in her hands, her vision suddenly becoming slightly blurred, and her eyes stung. She blinked, realizing those were tears forming.

Oh no. That was not what she wanted.

Quickly wiping away any evidence of..that, she cleared her throat and forced her voice not to tremble, "He thinks I'm supposed to be good at everything.. that's all." Freya shrugged, finding some comfort in Blaze as he rested his chin on her legs, staring up at her with concern, "Surprisingly, I'm not, though." She spoke in a sarcastic tone, hoping to somehow stir the topic off of her.

And yet, there was a part of her that silently cried out for someone to hear her, to hear all of the things she'd kept inside over the years; the part she called the 'not-so-brave' side of her. She was taught to always appear tough and strong on the outside, even if you didn't truly feel it on the inside. That was the way of a Viking - at least, from what she learned.

It was considered weak, by her father, to show any signs of failure or mistakes. He always said he wanted the best for her, but his actions spoke louder. She'd seen it in the way he looked at her whenever she couldn't accomplish something he wanted her to, the small shake of his head and the disappointed sigh that followed.

She hated that.

Staring out towards the water, he said, "I can tell. Bad move on his part," he gave a lopsided grin, trying to lighten the mood, "I know the consequences of not taking you seriously, and you won't find me on that road again."

As he waited for her to say more, he took his dagger back out, whittling the wood some more.

He stayed quiet, listening, keeping his eyes on the wood in his hands. Slowly but surely, it was forming the shape of a dragon.

He looked back over at her when she hit the tree, his eyes full of concern. Hiccup could understand a little of where she was coming from, since Stoick also had high hopes for him...that were dashed away at one point, only to rear up again after the Red Death.

His eyes followed her as she moved to sit in the grass, before his gaze fell on the ground in front of his feet.

After a few silent moments, he pushed himself off the tree, sitting down in the grass near her. Setting down what was in his hands, he finally looked at her.

"You know...no one is good at everything. There's nothing wrong with that, either. Now, I may be wrong, but it sounds like... well, like... your dad wants you to succeed where he failed in life."

"These expectations our dads give us, it's like a hanging apple that's just out of reach, no matter how high we climb." Giving a small shrug, he stretched his legs out, leaning back on his hands. "The problem isn't you. You're a skilled swordsmen, you throw your dagger with incredible accuracy, and you tamed a dragon at fifteen! You cook, look after your sister...those are all pretty great accomplishments, if you ask me."

Pausing for a moment, he added quietly, "I don't see how he could look at you as a failure, when you've accomplished so much..."