#my everything hurts and I’ve been fighting tears for over half an hour now and didn’t even get a warm meal out of it

[eureka-its-zico]

Commitment Part 2

Summary: After finding out the truth about who Jungkook really is, your world - and everything you thought you knew - comes crashing down. Do you begin to give in to your new captive situation, or do you continue to fight? The choices no longer seem so easy when you feel betrayed by the one you love…

A/N: Let’s be real: I bet a lot of you never thought there would be a second part to this (its a far assumption). But I’ve decide to make this a small series, maybe two or three more parts. I hope that this chapter feels worth the wait, and I hope it makes you excited for things to come. As always, thank you for stopping by, for reading, and hopefully, enjoying my work. Much love, Jenn.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 7k

Genre: Mafia!Jungkook, Detective Reader, enemies to lovers, lovers to enemies, mutual pining

Warnings: mentions of violence, sexual content (its smut, y’all), graphic violence, slight dom behavior, fingering, cunnalingus, almost p in v.

Previous

If it wasn’t for the searing pain that exploded behind your eyes you could’ve sworn - for a brief moment - that you were home. Safe at home in bed beside Jungkook, who was currently running his fingers softly through your hair. If he wasn’t peppering your jawline with kisses to wake you he was most definitely running his fingers through your hair. 

You’d come to expect it. Your body responded in kind by nuzzling up beside him and claiming his lips with your own. 

Morning breath be damned. 

Unfortunately, it didn’t take your body long to remind you that the bed you were lying in didn’t belong to you. The pain pulsating inside your skull wasn’t just a killer migraine. God - you wanted to believe it was a bad dream and that you’d open your eyes and find yourself nestled against Jungkook’s chest with fresh coffee waiting for you on your nightstand. 

The dried blood crusted somewhere in your hair and swollen lip reminded you that you weren’t that lucky. The only real thing you knew for sure was that Jungkook was in the room with you.

How did you know this? While you weren’t in your shared bed, sunlight drifting through the curtains to remind you it was time to start the day, you could feel fingers playing carefully through your hair. The pattern his fingers took, the way he gently moved through each strand to make sure his fingers didn’t catch it - pull it out of place - was something specifically Jungkook. 

Now, Jungkook was taking even more care not to hurt you. His fingers moved achingly, slowly, through your hair making sure to avoid the throbbing wound. 

You wanted to pull away from him. To open your eyes and scream at him while smashing your fists into his chests. You wanted answers - needed them to clear your conscience that what happened back at the station wasn’t your fault. 

You wanted to hear him say he wasn’t the devil and you weren’t the fool. 

But you couldn’t face him. Sure. You were filled with rage from being deceived, but had he really deceived you? Or had you simply deceived yourself? 

All the red flags were there that his story didn’t make sense. The odd hours. The mysterious phone calls that sent him racing for the door half-dressed with promises to return. When he did come back, he wouldn’t let you touch him - come close to him - until after he showered. He’d ask simple questions over morning coffee about cases that you weren’t sure you’d ever talked to him about. 

All the red flags were flown in your face, and you chose to overlook every single one for a handsome face and great dick. It wasn’t just that, was it? No. Somewhere along the line you both became too entangled; tethered to the same cord that strangled you both. 

Maybe that’s why when he cupped your cheek your body instantly turned into him. You hated him - loved him - were hopelessly devoted to him all at the same time. All those emotions would tear you to pieces as surely as your rage would. 

“Kitten - I know you’ve been awake for the last five minutes. Look at me.” 

“Oh, I’ll look at you, alright,” you snarled. 

You allowed all that anger - your brimming hatred - to burn in your gut. It gave you enough courage to do something either incredibly brave or plain stupid. You opened your eyes just enough to meet his gaze before your teeth sunk down into the soft flesh of his palm. 

In a split second, the love that blossomed in his eyes as you looked at him wilted and replaced itself with a lightening of rage. Jungkook tried to shake his hand loose from between your teeth but it caused you to bite down harder. Never once did he yell or sound out his pain. It should’ve warned you that this flame would burn you. 

You never were one to listen. 

Jungkook tried one last time to violently shake his hand free, and when it failed his hand smacked down across your face. The ringing in your ears was deafening and caused your vision to blur. Your jaw loosened enough for him to slip his hand free, and the taste of copper flowed like a river across your tongue. 

“Don’t ever call me ‘Kitten’ again,” you snapped, spitting blood onto the cold concrete floor.

“Anything else - Kitten.” 

The bastard was smirking. Gone was the unholy look of rage that could destroy whole cities and back was the coy softness you’d grown to expect from him. 

 “Yeah. Don’t fucking touch me either.” 

You expected him to snap. To bare teeth and tell you who you belonged to. Instead, all you got in return was that infamous smirk that spoke louder than words: he thought you were all talk. All venom that dripped from the pain of knowing you did belong to him. Even now with your body radiating with the urge to strike him you knew all it would take was one touch of his lips against yours and your fight would end. 

“We both know you don’t mean it.”

“Don’t I? You’re a liar, Jungkook. A fucking psychopath.”

A sigh left him as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. The smirk now gone as he regarded you with raised brows and a look of indifference. His reaction telling you plainly that you were overreacting. 

“It’s a little late to try and act like a forensic psychologist, don’t you think?” 

“I’ve been to your crime scenes! I’ve seen the fucking carnage that you leave behind. Shit that would make Ed Gein look like a fucking Saint!” 

God. You wanted to keep it together and act as cold as he portrayed himself to be, but how could you? Jungkook had become eerily still. For the first time since you’d realized who he was you felt scared. 

“A psychopath you took to your bed. Who lived in your house, and cooked you dinners with the same hands that were held finger deep by your clenching pussy were also the same ones used to maim and murder. Tell me, Kitten, did it feel better being fucked by a psychopath than the straight and narrow pricks you allowed in your bed?”

You allowed the fear you felt to turn into stone cold dread as it dawned on you that they’d been watching you from the beginning. That he was mentioning your old partner, Christian, that you’d had a relationship with before it turned sour. Before he began to care more about having you sit at a desk job instead of being in the field chasing after bad guys. Bad guys like Jungkook. 

For all the dread that corroded your veins they were stoked to life with a rage so incredibly potent you could’ve sworn, for a moment, you went blind. 

“Get. Out.” When Jungkook showed no signs of moving you grabbed the only pillow off the cot bed and flung it as hard as you could. He dodged it easily. “Get the fuck out! I don’t want to see you ever again. You hear me? I hate you!” 

“No you don’t-“

“Don’t you tell me what I feel, Jungkook!”

“You wish you could hate me, Kitten, but you can’t.”

“Watch me. I’m going to get out of here and I’m putting your narcissistic, psychotic ass in prison for the rest of your unnatural fucking life. Afterwards, I’ll find someone to fuck to wash you completely out of my system! Marry them-”

When you first started your rant, Jungkook was smug. The cockiness of his belief that you couldn’t hate him - couldn’t move past him - kept his shoulders squared in confidence until his eyes met yours. Whatever he saw there - the raw determination - was enough to make that confident facade drop leaving only something much worse in its wake. Your bratty words meant to wound him only stoked a fire that threatened to burn entire cities.

He took a threatening step towards you as his hands dropped from inside his pockets. His fists clenching and unclenching in time with the ticking of his jaw. You wanted to put as much space between you two as possible, but you didn’t want to back down either. 

“I have never loved someone like I love you. Do you understand that? You are mine. And if you think I’m ever going to let you go, you got another thing coming, sweetheart. I am not letting you go.” Jungkook was standing in front of you now. His body dropped down just enough to meet you at eye level as he breathed one final promise across your lips, “Ever. I will burn down a thousand fucking cities looking for you, if I have too.” 

You braced yourself for a kiss that never came. Your pulse felt like at any moment it would burst from your neck. Jungkook noticed. He always did and that seemed to be enough for him, because he didn’t kiss you. He simply pushed back on his feet and turned towards the cell door. He called out and a man dressed in all black with an m16 strapped across his chest appeared. Jungkook shot you one last look as the guard opened the door, and allowed him to pass through just before he began to lock it again. 

Jungkook was still looking at you when he spoke to the henchman. “Don’t you fucking go in there with her. Don’t you let anyone in there unless it’s been cleared with me first.” 

“Sir, what about Namjoon-“

“I said cleared with me first. Got it?”

The man nodded his head too many times. Enough to make you wonder if he’d given himself whiplash before Jungkook spared you one last glance before disappearing back inside the depths of whatever fresh hell you’d put yourself in. 

When you continued to wake up still breathing on the cot, you were surprised. Okay. You were a whole lot of surprised. You half expected to be a lifeless corpse rising from a trash heap than to be found tucked inside bedsheets. It didn’t take you long to know why you weren’t dead yet nor was it a surprise 

It felt like you’d been awake for hours. Your eyes helplessly combed over every painted brick of the walls for any sign of weakness. Without an actual clock inside your makeshift prison there was plenty of room for error when it came to time frames. It could've simply been hours since you’d been in the cell. But because of the trauma you’d sustained to your head - the possible unseen damage - it could’ve been days. The thought alone causes your stomach to somersault violently into your throat. 

Since you woke up that first time and had your spat with Jungkook, he hadn’t returned to visit you. The guards at your cell, however, still followed his orders. Most of them wouldn’t even look at you. 

The headache you’d been nursing with the palm of your hand since you woke up continued to be a nagging friend. It’s persistent poking and prodding against your temple caused your vision to shift into doubles at the worst times. Mostly, those worst times accumulated down to when you were pacing in your cell. The game plan you’d come up with kept constantly changing -forming- and retaking shape. 

When you first awoke in the dank cell, you were quick to notice you were lying on a cot. It’s placement in one of the corners of the room's brick walls made it easy for you to determine the only thing inside it was you and the cot. The exposed lightbulb above the room swaying at odd times. As if the ground above shook with the same rage you felt building in your chest. 

There weren’t any windows, and instead of metal bars there was just a door. It’s rusted exterior letting you know wherever you’d been taken too was very old. No windows and no open metal framework told you simply that yelling for help was out of the question. You weren’t surprised: you’d been reading their files for years. If they didn’t keep you closed off from the rest of civilization, you’d have questioned the whole thing. 

You started feeling the grooves in between the bricks. Every single one painted over in gunmetal grey to make the cell appear darker. Whatever light the flickering bulb above gave off was consumed and tinted by lighted shadow. 

It took everything you had to concentrate on feeling out the grooves for possible signs that the bricks were possibly lose. Or maybe even catch the slightest breeze - making its way through a large crack. You allowed yourself to hope. 

How stupid of you. 

With every inch and glide of your palms against the cool surface, you felt your heart beginning to sink. You were never getting out. The chances of you making it out on your own two legs and not a body bag was dwindling and your hysteria. Well, that was definitely beginning to spring to the surface. 

You’d just taken rapid steps back away from your latest attempt, the panic swelling up your chest was threatening to turn you feral. The only course of action you could think to do was to cause yourself pain. So, your hands flew up to grab at your head. The minute your finger scratched at the dull cut your vision exploded in pain - hissing past your lips with your eyes flinching at the thundering ache. The dried blood flaked down to your jacket, and you stared at the few flakes resting on your shoulder. 

The pain was bringing you out of your breakdown, but barely. You were running out of ideas - of options - when you heard the sound of a large deadbolt coming loose and right after a few larger bolts slid out of place. Your anxiety attack had placed you dead center in the middle of the room. 

The lightbulb’s glow painted you in a spotlight of sunburnt yellows - the blood on your hair and face made you feel like a wounded animal. Every click of a lock coming undone a time bomb to the Hunter coming in to finish the job. 

Your heart was back in your throat as you glanced around hopelessly for an object, anything to defend yourself, and came up short. With the last lock coming undone you decided you would wait for them to enter. Your muscles tensing up in your thighs as you prepared yourself to run at whoever it was. 

You prepared yourself as much as you could but when the door squeakily opened and Jungkook stepped through all your resolve faded. He was just standing there - like nothing happened - looking handsome as ever with a tray held with one hand. The entire night flashed before you. The deceit. The lies. The last conversation you had before he’d left the room. To see him standing there with that smug look on his face - the same one he gave you when he proved he was better at cooking, games, or sex irritated the shit out of you. 

All the dinners you cooked together in your shared kitchen. The trips you’d taken and the little notes you found inside your coat pockets or on the fridge and bathroom mirror. Was it all a lie? Was his smugness due to him winning the biggest game of all? 

The scream that you bottled up broke free as you charged towards him. You hated how unfazed he seemed - how amused. Jungkook wasn’t apologetic for tearing your world apart: for making you love him. If anything, he stood like a god before you. Gluttonous in his pride knowing you couldn’t do anything to him. 

You swung at him, realizing too late it was a wide swing. His hand came up in seconds to grab your swinging arm in mid-air. You were still moving forward with your momentum, unable to come to a stop, and Jungkook used it to twist your arm in his grip and bring you colliding into his chest. 

The tray of food and whatever else he’d carried was an afterthought as its content scattered all over the floor. You tried to wriggle out of his strong grip, but that only succeeded in making him hold on to you tighter. You could practically feel his muscles as they flexed under the shirt. 

“I told you, I didn’t want to see you again,” you seethed. 

“And I told you, Kitten, that I wasn’t going anywhere.”

“Let me go, Jungkook. Let. Me. Go!” 

If you could’ve pounded on his big stupidity attractive chest you would have. Since you couldn’t, you settled for screaming in his face. You tried to take a step back, to try and gain some kind of leverage, when his free hand came up to grip the back of your head. He used that leverage to bring your face dangerously close to his. The wild look in his eyes made you grow incredibly still.

“I need you to get it through that thick skull of yours,” he used your name. Jungkook rarely ever used your name. “If you think for one second I am spending one second of my life without you, you are sadly mistaken.”

“You’re an idiot,” you gasped. You were not going to fucking cry right now. “Why would you want someone who doesn’t want you - who can’t stand the sight of you?” 

Jungkook dipped down and brushed the tip of his nose over yours. The gentle touch shocked you enough that you stopped moving; forgot to breathe.  

“When are you going to stop lying to yourself, Kitten? We were made for each other.”

You wanted to deny his statement. To remind him that he was not only a psychopath, but a delusional one at that, but was he the only delusional one in the room? Or was it you? 

You didn’t get a chance to dispute his claim. Using the hold he had on the back of your neck, Jungkook brought you the last couple inches closer and sealed his lips down on yours. 

The worst part about Jungkook kissing you was how your resistance completely crumbled. You knew he must have noticed it too - the way the fight slowly seeped out of your muscles. How easy it was for his tongue to spread your lips open to dive inside. The grip he’d held on your arm released, but Jungkook made sure he kept you secured to him. His hand on your neck pressing you painfully closer as the hand he’d removed from your wrist now dug its fingers into the soft flesh of your hips. 

You didn’t want him thinking that it was over for you; that he’d won. Your lust may have clouded your mind, but somewhere behind the cloud your common sense was screaming. Unfortunately, common sense was losing when his hand trailed up beneath your shirt to the swell of your breasts. Nimble fingers pulled down the cotton fabric of your bra to expose your nipples to him. 

Jungkook made quick work to take the bud between his thumb and index finger and applied the right amount of pressure. Just enough to make a moan gasp against his mouth right before he moved in to swallow the sound with another heated kiss. 

He pinched your nipple one last time sending a delicious shiver to shoot down your spine. Instantly, your pussy reacted to his touch. You knew if - when - he pulled down your pants Jungkook would find your underwear soaked. 

You weren’t sure what made you do it. Maybe you were annoyed by how easily he made you crumble at his touch. He was a monster. A killer. 

But he’s your monster. 

The thought made your blood run cold. The desire Jungkook had stoked inside you quickly disappeared as that thought haunted you. When you tried to pull away from his kiss, Jungkook’s grip on your neck refused to let you go. So, you did the only thing you could think of. 

You waited until his bottom lip pressed down into a pout to grab it with your teeth. You bit down hard enough for your tongue to be greeted with the taste of blood. A growl rumbled deep in chest; a sound he pressed with violent force against your lips. 

The kiss felt bruising as his hands dropped down to the back of your thighs. You were able to pull away from him enough to let out a small yelp of surprise when Jungkook’s hands grabbed your thighs and hoisted you up. Instantly, you wrapped your legs around his waist. 

His feet carried you over to the corner of the room. You expected to be thrown down on the cot. Your body tensed up as it waited for the coming drop, but it never came. Instead, Jungkook pushed you up against the cold stone of the wall with enough force it pushed a rush of air from your lungs. 

You were about to call out - the jolt of brief pain ready to escape from your mouth - when Jungkook crashed his lips back into yours. His hips rutted up into you. His cock hard and pressed into the fabric of his jeans. 

He controlled the movement with his hands on your hips. Half of your weight supported by the wall and his hips that he moved over your clothed sex. The friction of his clothed cock rubbed against your clit made you moan into the kiss. 

“You want to play rough, kitten,” he huffed against your lips. “I can play rough. I’ll be as rough as you want me to be.”

To prove his point, Jungkook traced his lips down to your neck. His tongue grazed from the hollow of your throat down towards your collarbone. When he reached your shoulder he sank his teeth down into the skin. You let out a small scream, your hands fisting into his hair, as you tried to tug him loose. 

Jungkook kept the pressure of his teeth firmly in their place and, using his hands on his hips, ground up into you. The jolt of pleasure that collided with the pain sent another moan spilling free from your lips. You were close to begging him to stop teasing - to give you what you wanted - but Jungkook seemed to know from the soft pleas that you hummed against his ear. 

Without warning, he peeled you from the wall and flung you both on top of the cot. Jungkook caught himself with his hands at the last second making sure he didn’t crush you against the mattress. You wouldn’t have cared. You couldn’t find time to care as he helped strip you of your jacket and shirt. Your own hands desperately trying to pull his shirt over his head so you could feel him bare and pressed against you. 

When your bra was removed and flung off your arms, Jungkook didn’t hesitate to take each breast in his hands. He dropped down and wrapped his mouth around a nipple. The feeling of his tongue flicking and swirling caused your body to arch into him. Your hands flew wildly to grab ahold of the strands of his hair - fingers curling and pulling as he took a nipple between his teeth. Jungkook made sure he took his time taking each nipple in his mouth; tongue swirling around the stiff peaks. 

You could feel his hand drift down your middle to the edge of your jeans. You didn’t try and fight him as his nimble fingers worked at the button of your jeans, and further down between the fabric and the lace of your underwear. 

When Jungkook’s fingers first felt between your folds - his fingers finding you soaked - he exhaled heavily.  His mouth made a loud pop as he disconnected from your breast with eyes hollowed with hunger meeting your own. 

“Fuck. You’re always so wet for me, Kitten,” he huffed. 

You weren’t sure how to answer him or if you even should. You hated him - wanted to believe you hated him - and everything he stood for. There was no denying, however, that you wanted him. It went beyond reason, because you couldn’t understand it. The only thing you did understand was when he pushed three fingers knuckle deep inside your aching pussy, your body turned molten with a need so deep that only Jungkook could sate. 

The lewd wet sounds of his fingers thrusting in and out of you filled the room. The only other sound to try and cover that was your soft moans that only grew louder when Jungkook stripped your pants and underwear down over your thighs, and off your legs and buried his tongue between your folds. 

His tongue traced up from your entrance, and took his time licking his way up to swirl at your clit before giving a large stroke. This time you did scream as his tongue fucked you; stroked and sucked every inch of you until your legs quivered around him forcing your words to become incoherent. 

You couldn’t take it anymore. The need to be filled with him became overwhelming and, using his hair to pull him violently up, you asked, “Jungkook-“ you breathlessly pleaded, “Fuck me. Please.”

He looked up at you from between your legs. His pupils were blown out completely with lust. There was a moment where you wondered if he’d even heard you. There was no recognition in his face that he had heard you until a growl brushed past his lips, and he nipped at the inner corner of your thigh. You let out a sound of surprise as you tried to move back, but Jungkook kept you securely in place. 

“Is that what you want?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want you, Jungkook.”

You thought he was going to ask more stupid questions. Couldn’t he see you were a fool for him? Couldn’t he see how much you needed him? At that moment, you were willing to beg him. You were ready to start doing exactly that when Jungkook suddenly moved up with his hands at his belt. His fingers were rapidly unbuttoning his jeans when a loud knock came at the door. 

Jungkook’s response was instant and animalistic. A snarl cut through the room that seemed to suspend time completely. The person behind the door no doubt shitting themselves for making a boldly stupid decision. 

“Whoever it is, you better have a good fucking reason for interrupting me,” he snapped. 

Again. Silence. You were willing to bet they’d run for safety, except you were wrong. 

“I’m sorry, boss, but Namjoon sent me down to find you. He needs you to come back to the lounge, and he requested you bring the prisoner with you.”

Jungkook had gone eerily still above you. The sexually charged air began to change as the lust that had been in his eyes was replaced by something darker; more dangerous. Suddenly, you felt too exposed to the room. Your hands meekly moved to try and cover your nakedness from the room, while Jungkook remained on his knees above you. His buckle loose at his waist and upper body bare. 

He seemed to be deciding whether to do as he was asked or tell them to fuck off. You’d learned, however, that while Jungkook was no doubt the unhinged part of Namjoon’s crew, he was loyal. You didn’t think he would deny a request from his leader, even for you. 

He let out a heavy sigh as he removed himself from the cot, his legs bending down slightly so he could scoop up his shirt and put it back on. 

“Tell him we’ll be there in five minutes.”

 While he didn’t sound happy about it, Jungkook was still going to be a good boy and do as he was told. 

“Namjoon asked for you to hurry-“ 

“Fuck off!” Jungkook snapped. A booted foot slammed against the metal of the door making everything grow still with fear. “I said it’ll be five minutes. Now go.” 

The sound of retreating feet filled the hall outside before Jungkook had even finished telling him to leave. Smart man. You swung your legs over the side of the cot and moved to start picking up your clothes when hands on your waist pushed you back against the wall. 

You looked up just in time to watch Jungkook fall to his knees between your legs. His hands grasping your left thigh to raise it up onto his shoulder. The angle left him closer to the mound of your sex. 

“Jungkook, what are you doing? You told them we’d be there in five minutes.”

The devilish smirk you knew all too well tilted the corner of his lips. The lust that was stripped away seconds ago coming back as his tongue lazy stroked between your folds coaxing a gasp to leave you. 

“I only need a couple to make you come.” 

Jungkook always was a man of his word. 

You walked down the hallways beside Jungkook as he led you through the large building. Wherever it was The Devils’ called home, it was a renovated industrial building. Maybe once upon a time, it had housed machinery of some kind to build cars or maybe make some sort of sweet treat that eventually closed down. Whatever the building was used for originally, it had been refurbished to house evil.

The cold original metal and brick of the interior has been kept with only a few choices of artwork, drapes around the windows, and furniture giving it a sense of life. To you, no matter what anyone tried to place in the building, it would still feel uninviting. 

Jungkook instructed you to follow him as he turned left at the next four way intersection of the building. His hand on your arm gently pulled you along and kept you close to him all at the same time. 

“When we get in there don’t speak unless he instructs you to speak.”

“I’ll speak when I want too,” you snapped, hating the idea of being good for any of them. 

Jungkook sent you a glaring look of warning as came to a set of double doors. 

“Don’t be stupid, Kitten. The only reason you’re still alive is because of me.”

“And should I be grateful for that?” You wanted to pull your arm out of his grip, but it felt silly to do that when you’d just come all over his tongue. 

Jungkook appeared to be having the same thought. 

“Yes. You should.”

That was all the reply Jungkook bothered to give you as he pushed open the door and ushered you inside. This room, whatever it had been, was more updated than what you’d previously seen. The walls were painted a warm tone and carpet was put in. Off to the counter was a large bar that had an actual bartender stuck behind the empty counter with a slew of couches placed like a large C inside the middle. 

Inside that large C is where your eyes found Namjoon. His body positioned in the center of the C and sitting patiently. The second the two of you entered his eyes were on you. The judgment in them was heavy and something that he wasn’t afraid to show. 

Namjoon didn’t seem to like you very much. Well, the feeling was mutual. Jungkook stopped you in the middle and released the grip he’d held on your arm. He moved away from you to go and stand off to the left of Namjoon with Yoongi being at his right. 

You hated being left there like some kind of fucked up prize. It wasn’t just the three of them and a bartender. No, scattered around the back of the lounge stood more lackey’s, the unimportant ones that were used as fodder when shit got heavy were scattered all around. Most of them wear shit eating grins as if your presence in their bad guy lair was just the funniest damn thing. 

You’d see who’d have the last laugh. 

“Welcome, Detective,” Namjoon’s voice boomed inside the room. His arms swept over the area as he attempted to smile in what he must have thought was a greeting. It looked more like a grimace. “I do hope you’ve been enjoying your stay here.” 

You considered him coolly as you thought of how to reply. Jungkook had instructed you to speak when spoken too; to play nice. You always did have an issue with doing what you were told. 

“Actually, it’s been shit,” you started with a shrug. “I’m just waiting to get out of here.”

“And why is that?”

Namjoon seemed to know why. He didn’t need to truly ask you. He was only doing it because he wanted to see if you’d have the guts to say it out loud. 

“You aren’t dumb. None of you are, and I’m willing to bet you all know exactly what I’m going to do when I’m out of here.”

“Kitten.”

One word. Jungkook spoke your pet name as a warning. His face and body had grown stiff as he took a cautious step towards you. Namjoon held up a hand to stop him, waving him back to stand in his spot. Jungkook didn’t like it. It was made apparent by the ticking of his jaw as he continued to watch. 

“No, no Jungkook let her speak. You think you are going to put us away?”

“Oh, I know I can.” You retorted, allowing yourself your own sickly sweet smile. “I won’t stop until I place every single one of you where you deserve.” 

“That's a noble little quest you’ve given yourself, but you’ve got your ideas of who’s good and who's bad backwards, I’m afraid.”

A snort of laughter left you. The disbelief evident on your face as you regarded the men around you. These men who had slaughtered droves of people; families even. Men who had tried to come forward to atone for the crimes they had committed, their conscience finally taking hold, only for you to find the entire home missing or dead. Hospital staff who had been gunned down along with rival gang leaders who’d been inside. 

The terror these men had caused and all for the name of what? Infamy? Power? Money? All the things that didn’t mean shit when you were six feet under. The thing that disgusted you the most wasn’t these men and their atrocities, but your own. 

The very man who was responsible for so much of that carnage had just been buried nose deep between your legs, and you’d let him. All the fight you’d claimed to have - the moral standing - completely went away when he touched you. Where was your resolve then? Where was your belief in Justice for those victims when his hands were digging into your hips and his cock buried inside you? 

Nowhere. 

Looking at him now you knew a part of you hated Jungkook, but the person you really hated was yourself. 

With your eyes roaming back to face down Namjoon, you square your shoulders and make sure your resolve shown through as you speak your next words.  

“I’ve seen your handiwork, and I know what kind of men you are. I meant what I said. I’m going to find a way out of here and when I do, I promise you until my very last breath, I will hunt you down and put you fucking animals where you belong.” 

You hadn’t realized you were shaking - that you’d taken a step towards him until Jungkook and Yoongi took a step with you. Good. Let them know you meant every word. That they weren’t the only boogeymen meant to be feared. 

Namjoon sat forward, his arms resting on his thighs, as he regarded you with a calculating eye. No longer did he think you were trying to talk tough because of your situation. Now, you were positive, he knew you meant every word and that maybe he should proceed with caution. 

“You’d lock up Jungkook, as well?”

He was testing you. Maybe it was a test meant to show Jungkook he shouldn’t have grown soft for you. That you didn’t care for him the way he did you. 

You wished that was the truth but, unfortunately, it was far from it. Maybe that’s why when you turn to look in Jungkook’s direction you will yourself to look callous; completely disregarding what resembled hurt that was scrunching across his brow. 

“All of you deserve to be in cages. No exceptions.” 

“We’ll, I guess we better make sure to keep you locked inside one yourself.” 

You knew that voice. 

Your back went rigid as your mind raced at the recognition of that voice. A part of you didn’t want to turn - to see - the betrayal you felt coming towards you like a speeding train. Unfortunately, this was something you couldn’t run from. 

Turning your head to your right, you watched as your Chief came into view. A smug smile showing all of his pearly white teeth like the Cheshire Cat who’d stumped you at your own riddle. The shitty part about that was that he had. 

You’d always suspected that The Devils’ had some form of inside help. Most gangs were good, but no one rivaled The Devils’ when it came to the amount of intel they seemed to have. When witness protection magically lost informants, or informants were found out while undercover. Good seasoned Detectives who had been doing this for years miraculously were caught with their body parts being dumped in front of the police station with rats festering inside the bags. 

At first, you thought it had been you. That these men and women had paid with their lives all because of some costly fling. The endless guilt of racking your brain wondering what you’d left out; let slip while grocery shopping or relaxing with him on the couch. 

And all along it had been Chief Ebert. 

“You fuckin’ traitor!” You snarled. 

Seconds later, your closed fist collided with his nose and a spurt of blood erupted like a spout. A sharp cry of pain filled the room as you launched yourself at him, but found arms securing themselves at your waist and pulling away. The fast movement off to your left let you know it wasn’t Jungkook who had grabbed you, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to know he didn’t like it one bit. 

“Jungkook - stay where you’re at,” Namjoon ordered. “Hyujin, restrain her.”

“I’d like to see you fucking try!”

You felt murderous. Your heart pounded like war drums inside your chest. In a matter of a day, two days, the amount of betrayal you’d experienced left your world spinning. With an even bigger question of, “Who could be trusted?” raging inside of your head. 

“You fucking bitch!” Chief Ebert muttered out. His fingers sloppily trying to stop the blood from running out. “I always knew you were psychotic.”

“That’s rich coming from a treacherous weasel,” you snapped back. “How much did you sell your honor for, huh?”

“Oh, shut up,” he huffed. “Like you have any room to talk. When I requested for Jungkook to follow you to make sure he kept you off leads on investigations, I never would have thought it would’ve been that easy for him to fucking get to you.”

Another flash of red filtered over your vision. With a snarl you lashed out with your foot with your boot connecting with his chest shoving him down. 

“That is enough!” Namjoon’s voice boomed over the room. “Hyujin, take her back to her cell. Ebert get the hell up so we can get this over with.” 

You were still struggling as the lackey in question, Hyujin, walked you back down the long stretches of hallway Jungkook had just led you down. 

Did Ebert say he requested Jungkook to follow you? So, that night at the bar…Jungkook knew exactly who you were. He knew everything about you, because Ebert told Namjoon who had told him. 

Your mind tried to make sense of the carousel of deceit you kept finding yourself in. It struggled to find footing - on a course of action - but at the end of every idea the uncertainty of who could you trust came slamming home into your chest. Hyujin almost had you back to your cell when you finally made up your mind. While you weren’t sure who you could trust, you knew one thing - you could trust yourself. With your mind made up you took in a breath preparing for your next move. 

It was now or never. 

You let out a small scream as you slammed the heel of your foot down on top of the  guard's foot. When he bent down in predictable fashion, you brought your elbow up to crash against his face. It gave you just enough momentum to grab the m16 that was strapped around his neck, to grab at the strap, and move behind him, pulling it tight across his throat. 

It takes longer in real-life to choke someone into unconsciousness, even longer if you’re trying to kill them. Lucky for this guy you only meant to only do the first. When Hyujin finally stopped struggling, you removed the strap from around his throat, completely removing the gun from his body. You put the strap over your shoulder and went to work looking for keys. 

You found a walkie talkie and earbud and quickly put it on. While you didn’t plan on staying long enough to actually use it, it would come in handy as you tried to make your escape. 

After locating the keys, you plugged in the earbud and secured the radio to the back of your pants. With the gun held tightly in your hands, you started making your way back up the hallway in search of an exit. It was time to start your escape. 

Next

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated. Thank you for reading! XoXo

[pikawhooo]

Doom Upon The World

A/N: This is a series I’ve already started and posted here. Decided to bring it here as well, maybe it’ll break my writers block? Here to hoping! Eventually all chapters available there will be brought over here once re-edited. Would love to hear any thoughts, ideas, criticisms ya’ll have!

A/N: So we begin with our tether shenanigans! To make it a little easier to understand, when communicating through the tether: Aleksander / Alina. Anything not bold is just general thoughts of whichever characters’ pov we happen to be in.

Pairing: Aleksander x Alina

What if Baghra’s motives for separating Aleksander and Alina were far more… sinister?

I’d had plans for the Sun Summoner for hundreds of years. How to control her, to use her against our enemies, and yet… It all seemed to disappear when she finally came into my life. Alina Starkov. My Sun Summoner. My equal. My other half. I'd never truly understood the concept of soulmates until her. I hadn’t realized how much of myself was missing until she had been quiet literally dragged into my life.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter Chapter Index

Chapter 5: The Dream

This isn’t suppose to happen… I-I don’t understand…

I'd been staring at the girl in the mirror for what felt like hours, mind racing. The girl that stared back at me, looked like me, moved when I did, the same tears poured from her eyes. So why did she feel like a different person then? The last two days swirled in my mind rapidly. I have been fighting this war... alone for so long. You are not alone. Not many people surprise me, Miss Starkov. You look lovely, by the way. Are you sure? Child, Aleksander is the Black Heretic. I will always protect you, Alina. Do you wish to leave us? We have always been your family. You are Mine, Alina. And I am yours, Milaya. Forever.

I didn't know what to think. I couldn't trust anything he'd said to me before, but now? Now I could feel the truth through whatever bond was developing between us. He did want me, far more than he wanted to admit. He wanted to protect me, with a ferocity I could hardly fathom. I was beginning to suspect he was in love with me.

More than suspect really, but that was a rabbit hole I did not want to go down now. It doesn’t matter if he loves me. It didn't change the fact that he'd lied. HIs half truths were lies as far as I was concerned. It hurt. I trusted him and he'd lied. I thought I’d found someone who just wanted me, instead all I had found was someone who wanted to use me.

Naïve really to think anything else. Tears leaked down my cheeks again, and I muffled the oncoming sob with my hand. Bastard. Liar. How could he? Why did it hurt so much? Baghra had ruined everything between us with one fail swoop.

It had been going so well, I’d allowed myself to relax, allowed myself to get closer to him. All so he could use me. Would it hurt this much if I didn’t care about him? If he’d lied to me as a stranger, as The Black General, would it feel the same? Would I have gone with Baghra?

And under everything else, under my own pain and heartbreak, I could feel his guilt, his anger, his own despair. Could feel it like it was my own. Could feel him, knew he was still brooding alone, just as I was. Good. I bitterly hoped he felt how deeply he'd hurt me. The flash of guilt and sorrow that answered me assured me that he did. Good. I hope it hurts, just as he'd hurt me.

This new connection scared me. I didn't understand why I could suddenly feel him like he was a part of me. How I could feel so far away, and yet so close to him. But as the hours had passed, he'd felt closer and closer. More of his emotions passed to me as if they were my own. Anger. Hatred. Pain. Longing. Guilt. Despair. I shoved it to the back of my mind. He didn't deserve my attention right now.

A loud knock finally broke my trance. They'd been knocking quite awhile now that I thought about it. I sighed. I was not in the mood for guests, but perhaps it could take my mind off Aleksander. Unlikely.

"Come in." I called and closed my eyes.

"I'm sorry I know it's late. I just had to see with my own eyes that you were alright." Of course it was Genya. Sweet, beautiful Genya. Genya the liar. Had anyone in this place told me the truth?

"Come to check on me? Or come to spy on me?"

"Alina... I'm sorry.“ Still.... Genya had been so kind to me. Could I really blame her for following her Generals orders? What choice did Genya have? I sighed and meet her eyes in the mirror, then gasped, turning quickly toward her.

"Genya, you're covered in blood!" The beautiful redhead winced, blinking quickly

"Marie…" Oh Marie. Sweet lively Marie. Gone forever because of me. My fault. My fault. The tears returned full force, and Genya rushed over.

"I know darling, I know." It was all my fault.

"Should've been me, my fault..." I could hardly speak between sobs, but somehow Genya understood. She pulled me into a hug. I couldn’t help but bury my head in her shoulder and cry.

"Never say that Alina! We knew the risks, she wanted to protect you, we both did. Any of us would give our life to protect you." That only made it worse.

"I didn't ask you to, I don't want you to!” I never wanted anyone to get hurt for me. I wasn’t worth it.

"You do not understand how important you are to us, how long we've waited for you…" I really didn’t. I’d only been Grisha for a few months. But I didn’t know how to be the person they all wanted from me.

It took a few minutes, but eventually my tears finally ran dry, and I pulled away from her, wiping away remnants. I looked up into her concerned eyes and couldn’t help the question that popped out.

"You lied to me Genya, he lied to me, how am I suppose to believe anything any of you say again?" She sighed and looked down at me.

"Believe me Alina, this may have started as his way to keep an eye on you, but... you are a true friend. A truer friend than I had ever hoped to have… and I do believe he only wanted to keep you safe. I only wanted to keep you safe." My heart warmed at her words, but I still found it so difficult to believe her.

"It's alright."

"It's not. I'm sorry Alina. I promise you, no more lies." She seemed sincere, but so had she, when she was reporting on me to Aleksander.

"Ok." I wasn’t sure I believed her, but I was too tired to fight, to hold onto the resentment. I could trust at least one person right? I could allow myself one friend.

Genya insisted on staying with me until I fell asleep. It didn’t take long, with the stress of the Féte, Baghra, and Aleksander, and Genya’s soft humming beside me, to drift off.

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

The normal blackness of my nightmare was replaced with a blue sky. I blinked in confusion and glanced around, stopping dead at the scene in front of me.

Aleksander, with longer hair, more boyish, so much younger, stood a few feet away. Stood in front of an almost wall of soldiers, bows all trained on him. Fear raced down my spine, and I couldn’t help but back away. What the hell was this?

“There’s one of the witches now!” I felt their eyes draw to me, but I couldn’t move mine from Aleksander, who’d stiffened and turned toward me quickly. The horror, recognition, genuine fear in his eyes, chilled me to the bone.

“Alina…” no no no this isn’t right

“It’s time for this to end I think. Kill them both.”

No no no no no no no

Before I could open my mouth to speak, to ask what the hell was going on, my side exploded in pain. The scream I let out was cut off by the second arrow hitting my shoulder, toppling me over onto my back. My hands came up, quickly pulling the shaft out of my stomach. I moaned and moved my shaking hands to cover the blood now pouring from my stomach. Aleksander was suddenly in front of me, when had he moved?

I couldn’t speak, the pain stealing my breath away. Large warm hands covered mine, blood soaking through my fingers.

No no no not her no please no

I could feel myself slipping away from him, blackness closing in from the edges of my vision. I could feel my eyes closing, when a sharp grunt came from above me, forcing my eyes back open. Aleksander was bowed over me, his hands still trying to stop the blood pouring out, an arrow in his shoulder.

This isn’t suppose to happen… I-I don’t understand…

I couldn’t make myself answer him, couldn’t find the strength to do anything other then keep myself conscious. I knew, rationally, that this had to be some sort of dream, some nightmare. But it felt so real.

Another grunt from above me forced my eyes back open. There were more arrows sticking out of him, his face contorted in pain.

“Aleksander…” I found the strength to say his name, though it only came out in a pained whisper. He jolted at the sound of his name, his hands pressing tighter against mine, blood seeping through his fingers now too.

The last thing I saw before jolting awake was his dark eyes, filled with tears and so much pain.

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

The next thing I was aware of, was Genya shaking me, then steading my shoulders when I jerked up. I looked around widely, sure we’d be surrounded by the soldiers. My hands ran down to my stomach, feeling for the blood that was just there.

“Alina! Alina honey calm down. You were having a nightmare. You’re okay.” She shook me gently again, and my breathing slowed. I’d barely noticed that I was hyperventilating. Once my panic had receded, I finally looked up at her. I winced at the concern I saw there.

“I-I’m sorry. Was it bad?”

“You were screaming… and you were calling out for-”

A quick, loud knock interrupted us, and was all the warning I had before the door opened and Aleksander burst inside. He looked so relieved to see me there, unharmed, he hardly noticed Genya until she stepped out of his way. She looked quickly between the both of us, a shadow of something on her face, and I knew immediately who I had been calling out for.

“Thank you, Genya. I’m fine, you really should go get some sleep.” She stepped back toward me hesitantly, shooting Aleksander a quick glance.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind staying..” My heart warmed a bit at her care, but I shook my head.

“No, it’s okay. Go. I’ll be fine. Really.”

I kept my eyes on the redhead until she was safely out the door, leaving us alone. His eyes were running over me quickly, searching for the same wounds I had looked for upon waking. His fists were balled at his side, though they relaxed when he was satisfied I wasn’t hurt. He took a hesitant step forward, waiting for me to flinch away, to tell him to leave, but I couldn’t make myself. I didn’t want him to leave, stupid as it was . When I didn’t make a move to stop him, he came closer, hesitantly sitting at the end of the bed.

“What was that Aleksander? I don’t understand what’s going on here. Why did that feel so-so real?”

“I don’t know what’s going on Alina. Some kind of bond has formed between us, that much is obvious. What you saw was a… a memory. Well more of a nightmare now I suppose. How or why you saw it… I don’t know.” You were not suppose to see that…

“Why not? Why wouldn’t you want me to see it? What happened?” He looked startled, before realizing I read his thoughts. They were coming through easily, even without his touch, and, seemingly, without his knowledge. He looked at me silently for a few moments, weighing what to tell me, before he sighed.

“That is the day I created the Fold…”

“Oh.”

“Yes. It is not a-a pleasant memory. Although this time it was different…”

“Why was it different?”

“I don’t know.” He sounded so exhausted, almost defeated. I wanted to reach for him, pull him close. But I couldn’t. Couldn’t let him off so easily. No matter how much I wanted him. I couldn’t trust him. I winced at the pang of guilt that came through the bond. He stood, looking away from me.

“I should go. You should try and get some sleep.” I nodded, even though every fiber of my being disagreed. Wanted him to stay. He stiffened, glancing back at me. I looked away, a blush covering my cheeks. The flopping of my emotions concerning him were beginning to give me whiplash. How could I want someone so much, and still not want to be anywhere near them? I sighed and looked back at him, now back at my door. He looked to be trying to decide whether to say something. I shook my head, enough had been said for tonight.

“Goodnight Aleksander.”

“Goodnight Alina.” And he was gone, disappearing out the door.

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

"Ahh…Mal is it? We have much to discuss Mr. Oretsev…”

“What do you want from me?”

“Your help boy. I’m afraid your friend Alina is in dire need of your help…”

[crazedlunatic]

I’m Ready

Trigger warning: mention of assault and rape.

“Matt… can I talk to you about something?”

Matt, who had just worked a 16 hour shift and was sitting on the couch half asleep, looked at him.

“Are you too tired?”

“No.” Matt yawned and then said, “That was for show.”

“I’m… uhm… It can wait.” Adrian took a deep breath.

Matt leaned over, taking both of his cell phones off of the coffee table and turning them on silent. He then turned the TV off.

“I actually don’t know if I can do this.” Adrian, who had been sitting next to Matt on the couch, sat on his hands as they began to shake.

“Adrian?” Matt put his hand on Adrian’s thigh.

“P-Please don’t hate me.” Adrian’s lip trembled. “And please let me finish before you say anything.”

“You’re really scaring me right now.” Matt looked at him. “Look, if something happened… If you did something… We’ll work it out. It’ll be okay.”

“So, I started modeling when I was fourteen or fifteen… mainly to save money for college and moving out.” Adrian took a deep breath. “And when I was sixteen, I met this other model. He was, like, twenty or twenty-one and he was super sweet and pretty much perfect.”

Matt put his hand on Adrian’s arm.

“And when I was barely seventeen, I convinced my parents to let me move in with him. They had met him several times and they really liked him. Loved him, actually… and the first six months it was great. I’d go to senior classes, go do modeling work after, and come home to him… And I was seventeen so I’m sitting here thinking I’ve found Prince Charming and I’m so happy and so in love.” Adrian wiped his eyes. “But after those six months we started getting into these really, really bad fights. First it was stupid, petty arguments. We’d go in separate rooms, calm down, whatever.”

Matt nodded.

“And as time went on, they would turn into these terrible fights… like really, really horrible. And each time it happened it would get more and more terrifying. He would tear me down with words and the next day do something sweet or buy me a gift, apologize, and say that he loved me and it would never happen again.”

Matt opened his mouth but closed it again, his eyes wide. He didn’t like where this was going. At all.

“And it was stereotypical, really. The fights would get worse and worse, the make ups sweeter and the stupid gifts better… but eventually the fights started to turn physical. Not all of them, but the more we fought the more often it would happen. And it was always on his end, not mine…  I never touched him. I never fought back. At first it was hitting but at points he would cut me w-with a knife.”

Matt’s eyes were teary.

“I missed the deadline for undergrad applications. I got hurt and ended up in the hospital for a couple of days after one of the arguments… so, that option of getting away was out. I couldn’t tell my parents because I’d begged them to let me do it and they loved him so much, I knew they wouldn’t believe me. And eventually there were too many cuts and bruises to cover so I lost my modeling contract obviously… so I was completely relying on him. But honestly my heart hadn’t been in it for a long time because of... everything. And my parents never caught on. They loved him so much and were so proud of me for having found this great guy.” Adrian sniffled and wiped his face, not even looking at Matt. “I mean, it was really bad and kept getting worse but that winter he would try to get me to do things sexually that I wasn’t really comfortable with… and sometimes I just did it but when I didn’t he’d get pissed. But once I said no a-and the fighting turned physical and then he r-rap.. you know.”

He looked at Matt, who had tears streaming down his face.

“He raped me.” Adrian took a deep breath. “And I went to the police the next day and they were sympathetic, you know? They opened an investigation and took me to the hospital and all of that for the exams and pictures… and I did all that horrible stuff and it was so degrading a-and horrible… but even after all of that… they couldn’t do anything. I honestly could barely walk for days because he had been so rough because he was so angry I told him no.”

He heard Matt sniffle and let out a shuddery breath.

“The police believed me but Chad said it was consensual, I got mad, and was trying to get back at him… and it had always technically been consensual before because I was too afraid to ever say no… so there was no definitive way to prove it…”

Matt nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. It happened with rape cases a lot between couples—it was hard to prove someone was honest when so many people would lie and try to have innocent people put into jail. He’d been to hospitals enough times with people. He’d took the reports, he’d taken them home after, he’d heard it all before. Many, many times.

“But, uhm… Chad was pretty pissed. I actually moved in w-with AJ. We’d been friends but had kind of grown apart but, uhm… I stayed with her while she finished out her school year and in the fall we got a place together and I started school.” Adrian wiped his eyes and let out a deep breath. “But he found out and would follow me around… he stalked me. He would leave gifts and letters on my car windshield. Every time I m-move he finds the address and he always comes. A month later, a year later... he always finds me and I just shut down. It’s why I always stick so close when we’re out—especially after dark. I never know w-when he’ll show up. And every time he does, the reaction gets worse. I’ve gone from a panic attack after he’s gone to a severe asthma attack just from seeing him. Even if I see him across the street, I will have a severe asthma attack and have to go to the hospital… that’s why I have an inhaler In my school bag.”

Matt touched his face slowly.

“That’s why I kept putting you off for our first date… I was just so scared.” Adrian finally made eye contact with him.

Matt slowly wiped away Adrian’s tears with a shaky hand, his own eyes still teary. He then let out a deep breath.

“And that’s why I kept messing with people for the first two months… Because I was so scared to feel this way for someone again and, uhm.. the last time I’d gotten into a relationship I c-crushed his heart and I feel so bad but I didn’t want him to have to deal with that… or to e-explain it.” Adrian took a deep breath. “The only other person that knows is AJ. S-She’s probably the only reason I m-made it this far.”

Matt nodded, making a mental note to give AJ the biggest hug the next time he saw her.

“I… I’m telling you now because I… I saw you looking at rings on your phone two months ago, Matt… and I was going to break up with you because I don’t want you to h-have to deal with it. I’m always just waiting for him to show up. No matter where I go. I just w-wait because I never know when it will happen… I really moved into AJ and Blaine’s house because my old roommates let him in to the old one… I got home and he was sitting on the couch. I can never really be happy because I’m always waiting for him to show up.”

“He will never touch you again.” Matt said, his voice low and not breaking eye contact. “He will never hurt you again.”

“He always finds me.” Adrian’s eyes filled with tears.

“I will die before he lays another hand on you.”  Matt cupped his cheek in his hand.

“That’s why I… everything. Putting stuff off, pulling away…”

“I know.” Matt nodded, eyes teary. “I get it now.”

“I love you so much, Matt.” Adrian began to cry.

“You’re safe.” Matt said, looking at him. “You are safe with me. I promise.”

Adrian nodded, burying his face in Matt’s chest. “P-Please don’t leave me.”

“Never. I’ll never leave you.” Matt promised, kissing the top of his head.

Adrian buried his face in Matt’s shoulder, beginning to sob harder than he ever had in his life.

“Shh.” Matt rocked him. “Shh. You’re safe. He won’t touch you again. As long as I’m here, he won’t touch you again. Okay?”

Adrian nodded. “W-Will you c-come to New York with me? I, uhm… Matt, I love you s-so much. I-If you don’t, I’ll stay here.”

“I’ll come.” Matt wiped his eyes.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Shh. No.” Matt shook his head. “No, sweetie. None of this is your fault… Is this… why you never go home?”

“Y-Yeah.” Adrian nodded. “I don’t even know where he lives but it’s t-too painful.”

Matt touched his cheek and kissed his forehead.

“T-Thank you for sharing your family with me.”

“They love you as much as I do.”  Matt sniffled, smiling. “Especially my mom and dad… most especially my dad—even after giving you a speeding ticket.”

“It’s just… hard with mine. They were devastated when we split up a-and I was too upset to tell anyone… but by the time I felt strong enough to, they would talk about how great he was and all of this stuff… so I had a hard time just… I don’t know.” Adrian said lamely. “And now I’ve pulled so far away that my dad and I just argue, and my mom is just sad. My younger sisters are mad and my twin sister has her own stuff going on… I really am only close to my younger brother…”

Matt stroked his cheek. “Well you’ve got mine and they really, really do love you… and Mom has hated every guy I have ever brought home.”

“I love them too.” Adrian sniffled, looking Matt in the eyes. “When you got shot, Matt… I just… I knew then. Because I knew I needed to break up with you and I t-tried to, like, three times.”

“I know.” Matt nodded. “I could tell.”

“I couldn’t do it.” Adrian didn’t look away.

“I wouldn’t have let you.” Matt gave him a sad smile. He then said, “You knew I was looking at rings?”

“When I got out of the shower, you had fallen asleep and were… like half off the couch.” Adrian laughed a bit, wiping his eyes. “And your phone was about to fall off so I got you back on the couch and when I went to move your phone I… I saw. That’s why I got so scared… I didn’t want to hurt you but I…”

“Are you still scared?”

“N-No.” Adrian let out a sob. “I’m scared of you n-not.”

“I love you so much.” Matt whispered. “Don’t you worry about that. When you’re ready, Adrian, I’m going to marry you.”

Adrian nodded, covering his mouth.

“Just let me know when you’re ready. Okay?” Matt stroked his cheek again. “We’ll take this as slow as you want… I haven’t bought it yet, so… so don’t rush. Okay?”

Adrian leaned forward, burying his head in Matt’s chest and beginning to cry loudly.

“Shh. It’s okay. We’ve got all the time in the world.” Matt said, starting to cry again himself. “Okay? All of it.”

Adrian sat up and kissed Matt. “I’m ready.”

“Okay.” Matt nodded, kissing him back. “But we’ll touch base in a few days, okay? I know everything is super emotional right now.”

Adrian nodded and kissed him again.

“He’ll never lay another hand on you.” Matt promised.

“I know.” Adrian cried, burying his face in the crook between Matt’s neck and shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for telling me.” Matt ran his fingers through Adrian’s hair.

“Thank you for understanding.”

[toomuchdickfort]

-

[harryforvogue]

7′s the Number*

welcome to the divorced!harry fic!! warnings: OC has OCD, mention of a death of a parent, sexual content.

just another clarification: lucía, aka the OC, is NOT harry’s ex wife. they did not get a divorce. harry’s ex wife is a different person

please donate to my ko-fi here! like...please. donating is sexy.

this is 28.8k words because i have no self restraint. i don’t even want to think about how much i’ve written this year <3 as always, happy reading! and tell me what you think!

special thanks to @themeerkatnate​ for helping me out with the spanish bits, to @harryhoney-bee​ for her great grandma, and to @havinaballinthisbitch​ for being a pain in my ass

***

LUCÍA

They say staying friends with your ex is a gamble because you’ll always have intimate feelings for them. They never do go away, I’ll agree with that, but I didn’t think about that when Harry and I broke up only because I couldn't imagine life without him after he’d been with me for so long. Meeting someone like Harry was a privilege and I’m not saying that just because we were once together. What Harry brought to our relationship is what he brought to our friendship before and after we were together. His excitement for life put a smile on my face when nothing else would, and it continues to do so.

People say watching your ex move on is heartbreaking, and I agree with this too, but somehow, I’ve managed. He’s dated for two years after me. It’s been the same girl. I avoided being alone with them, for my own sanity, but slowly the burning jealous monster inside of me began to cool soon enough. It wasn’t an overnight occurrence. It took weeks and months, but that smile on his face made it all better.

Nothing, however, would have prepared me for Harry’s wedding day, marrying someone else.

He’s always said that he only wants to get married once because it’ll be with the right person. I thought that person would be me, but there he was, looking beautiful in his suit, combed back hair, and excited smile. He was unable to stand still for the entirety of the ceremony.

I recall it clearly. He sent me a nervous look and then furrowed his brow when he read the expression on my face. I wouldn’t be able to hide my hurt. His eyes went soft and then his expression turned apologetic. I wanted to tell him that I was happy for him, but standing there in the front row next to his sister and mother, I felt anything but happy. I felt stupid in my dress and makeup. I felt angry at myself for not fighting for him harder two years ago. I felt like the love of my life was slipping away and this was my last chance.

Say something, a voice in my head screamed. Say it now!

I opened my mouth. Harry raised his eyebrows and his eyes widened. I think he leaned towards me. But then the music began to play and his bride stepped into the room. I tore my eyes from him before he could, unable to stomach the look he was about to give her. My mouth closed and the ceremony proceeded.

This was a year and a half ago. They say that 50 percent of marriages fail, and most fail in the first two years.

Nothing could have prepared me for Harry’s wedding, but nothing could have prepared me for Harry’s divorce either.

***

November 1

I’ve been in weird places with Harry at the weirdest hours, but this is a new one. We’re in the bathroom stall, Harry’s hand hovering over the toilet holding a valuable item that should not seem all that important to him now, but he’s hesitating at the last moment. It was my idea to come here after all, the bathroom of a bar at nearly 2 in the morning, but neither of us are drunk and everything has come down to this. All the arguments, all the late nights, all the tears. It ends now.

We’re cramped in this stall, barely standing a few inches apart. I have a clear view of Harry’s face and all the emotions passing over his features. He’s sad, but also determined. Confused, but his mind is set.

His shoulders drop. “It’s fucking engraved in her grandmother’s handwriting. Jesus Christ.”

I poke his bicep, hard. “Don’t go soft on me now, Styles. Her grandma won’t care.”

He gives me a pointed look. “And how do you know that?”

“Her granddaughter ruined your life. I’m pretty sure she’ll let this one slide, Harry.”

“She didn’t…” Harry trails off, knowing I’m right. I nod at him and raise my eyebrows to acknowledge the ring in his hand. It’s a fancy one, gold all around with a neat engraving inside. He reads it one last time and then takes a deep breath.

“Okay.” He holds the ring over the toilet. In a voice that suggests otherwise he says, “I’m ready.”

I get into position, holding my finger over the flush tab. “Let’s do this.”

“Let’s count to five.”

“Let’s do three.”

I hear his sharp intake of air. “Okay. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“One, two…three.”

It happens quickly. He drops it and I swiftly flush it down before he can have second thoughts and then we both stand side by side watching the ring get flushed away. Somewhere behind us, a light bulb goes out and it’s suddenly darker in the stall. When I glance at him, I can barely make out his features, but the hard line of his mouth is clear.

Harry turns and looks at me when the ring is gone. He suddenly steps forward and holds his arms out, wrapping them around me and squeezing until I'm struggling to breathe. His neck is exposed due to his hair being tied out of the way, and my nose presses into the column of his throat.

“This really sucks,” he whispers in my ear. I hold him firmly to my front, gently guiding his head to my shoulder.

“I know,” I say, though I really don’t. “We can get through this. I’m sure of it.”

I hold him until he releases me and asks to be taken home. Since neither of us are drunk, it’s no question that it’s time to head back. What we came to do has been done, a mission gone not-so-smoothly, but successful in the end nonetheless.

Harry climbs into my car and sits with his head against the window.

As I’m driving, I glance down at his naked fingers, a weird unsettling feeling in my stomach. He’s too silent for my liking, but I can practically hear the relentless thoughts in his head joining in with mine. For the first time that night, I regret making Harry flush his ring. After all, it was my idea, and now that I ponder over it, worrying if I’ve offended him, I realize how dangerous the ground we’re treading on is. If he doesn’t say something soon, crack a joke or make a passing comment about how it’s funny that we keep catching red lights, I may have to say something. The worst part is that I don’t know what I could even day to make him feel better.

“Hey,” he says a little while later, sitting up. Relief floods me immediately. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

He pause, still glancing out the window. “When I was getting married, standing up there, do you remember when I looked over at you?”

Discomfort pricks at my neck. “Of course.”

“I think about it a lot. Your face, I mean.” I see his clearly when I stop at yet another red light and he turns his head towards me. I can’t read his expression well enough though, something that frightens me because I was once able to read him with a single glance and now I don’t have the ability. I recall bragging about it for years, but now I’m debating just how well I know him. “I remember it so clearly. You weren’t crying, but there was so much pain on your face. It’s like I’d just...I don’t know. Like I’d done something horrible to you.”

I don’t reply, focused on the red light. I stare at it until my eyes water. When the light turns green, I jerk the car into motion. Harry has to grab onto his arm rest. 

“You didn’t say it was me,” he continues, “but it felt like it was me. I’d done something, right? And I never realized it. I was so stupid for inviting you to that wedding.”

I swallow, looking down at the cup holder for a bottle of water to relieve my aching throat. “You don’t think I should have been there? On your happiest day?”

“I'd never seen that expression on your face before. And I haven’t since then. But it was there on my wedding day, and I’ve been thinking about it so much. If I could go back and avoid it, I would.”

Harry’s normally slow speech is even slower now, carefully saying each word. “You looked betrayed,” he says quietly. “Hurt.”

I bring the car to a stop in front of his house. “I was hurt,” I admit, reaching for his trembling hand. There’s no cold metal to prevent my entire hand from touching his. “But you were happy. It was either going to be you or me.”

“But I’ve been thinking,” he insists, squeezing my hand back, “about how I’d feel at your wedding. And I’ve only realized now how ugly the feeling would be. We’d been together for so long. We were always planning a wedding.”

I remove my hand from his grip. “I’m not going to sit here and make you feel bad for being happy. Because you were happy for years. This divorce is making you think of things that could have been, but we can’t go back and fix it, so why bother? You were happy with her. That’s a fact. You married her and that’s a fact. You got divorce. That’s the fact we’re working on digesting. You have too much on your plate to be worrying about me.”

“Do you…” he begins suddenly, “do you ever feel like we…”

His eyes widen and he stops, looking away as if he can’t believe what he was about to say. His shoulders fall again. “I’m so tired. Goodnight, Luce. I’ll see you soon?”

Disappointment grows inside me when he doesn’t continue. “Yes,” I assure him softly. “I’ll see you.”

He disappears inside of his house. I drive away with an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. It’s returned more than once since Harry announced his divorce, and I still don’t know how to identify it though it’s been weeks. When I get home, the feeling has settled deep within me and doesn’t show any signs of leaving.

***

November 7

It honestly seems like time is going by too fast and I’m not grounded like I was before. The sense of isolation worries me, but it’s what I’ve done to myself.

As soon as this month ends, it’ll be the anniversary of two separate events that have turned my life upside down, though one of those was caused by my own decision. Four years since I ended my relationship with Harry. Four years since my father passed away.

To make matters worse, it's been almost two years since I visited my father’s grave. Maybe it’s the guilt that’s piling up on me, or maybe that I feel like I’ve abandoned the one person who was always there for me. My mom has repeatedly telling me to come down to Ecuador to visit his grave. On the occasions that I call her, she always says, “Te extrañamos, mija” which makes me want to call her less because by that, she means to say both she and my father miss me. Tired of sobbing my eyes out every time she calls, I’ve decided it’s best for my own sake that we don’t call often. That doesn’t stop her from trying to reach me though.

Thinking about him too much makes my skin feel as if it’s about to erupt in hives. His lingering presence is around here, around me, but the thoughts of his apparition following me around makes me nervous. What if he’s still stuck around here? I’m not particularly religious, but at these times, I wish I'd been able to follow a religion and believe in something at least.

I wonder if this is how Harry feels, because if so, if we are connected through this miserable, helpless feeling, I don’t think I could ever help him.

The picture of my father on my desk has been turned down. At first, I turned it around so I wouldn’t be able to see it while I worked at my desk, working through paperwork upon paperwork since the pandemic has made me rely on working from home, but I’d see his crinkly smile and bright eyes as I’d approach my desk. I’m not at the stage where I’d like to remove him from the wood altogether, but I can’t stand the feeling of his eyes on me, watching every dip of my pen, every line I make with my art tools, every breath I take. I already feel his eyes everywhere. I can’t stand this.

For weeks, I didn’t get any work done, but now that he’s no longer looking at me, I can work.

My laptop takes most of my attention on weekdays. Typing has become a little harder for me recently. If I make a typo, I must delete the entire sentence and rewrite it. It takes so long to write a single email. I must attach and delete the attachments repeatedly until I can slide over the attachment in a single go and not accidentally drop it from my cursor. I need to hear a good click before I can send the email. The “enter” button on my keyboard has been stuck recently and it’s been driving me insane.

It’s the same with writing. If I’m writing a quick note on a notepad, if the letters are unreadable, I’ve got to discard the post-it altogether and redo it. It’s incredibly time consuming. I’ve wasted so much paper these past few months.

I enjoy my job thoroughly, but it’s been feeling like a chore recently. I’ve rearranged my office twice in the past week. I’ve cleaned my desk multiple times so everything feels right. Something bad will happen if I don’t. I don’t know what it would be, but I’d rather take the precaution. It’s always been like this, the discomfort slowly becoming a background characteristic of me. It’s just been worse recently.

My therapist says to just stop. Stop giving into the temptation. Stop rewriting sentences. Stop flicking the light switch until it feels right. Stop refusing to put my phone down unless all five of my fingers wrap around the width of it. Stop refusing to sleep until I’ve checked that my alarm is on three times. Stop counting.

“I’m trying,” I’ve been telling her. “I really am.”

“Keep trying,” she says. “Eventually you’ll see that nothing bad happens.”

I’m not sure about that. I’ve been doing everything my brain has been telling me. I haven’t explored the idea of not doing something. I can’t do it. I can’t explain it, but I just can’t walk away from an intrusive thought like that.

I swivel back in my chair, laying my head back. My mind wanders back to Harry. I should invite him to stay over for a few days while his ex wife packs her stuff. He’s been so scared about running into her. I understand. But, I am also selfish and I don’t think I’d be able to stop myself from becoming intimate with Harry once more. And that’s the one thing he does not need.

I have to be his friend. I cannot be thinking of myself at a time like this when Harry could be, arguably, doing worse than I am. How did this happen? Just over three years ago, everything was falling into place. Our early twenties looked bright and the future was even more exciting to ponder over. What kind of adventures would we go on together? How much more money would we have to save in order to treat ourselves when necessary?

Well, life certainly works in mysterious ways because three years ago, I never would have thought I’d be in this type of predicament. I know life can be difficult and that people come and go, but I didn’t expect to be the type of person to stay hung up on important people I let get away. When Harry and I broke up, I told myself that it was for the best, for both of us. When my father died, I thought it was for the best that he’s in a better place. 

But now, four years later, I’m wondering if I’ve made a mistake thinking the people who have left were right to leave.

***

November 10 HARRY

It’s snowing. Not enough to stick, but enough for the roads to become slippery and the bridges to be encased with ice. When the temperature drops, I usually feel a lot better. I don’t like how hot it gets even in Boston. Though I’ve been in America for years, I’ll never fail to get excited at the sight of the snow. Winter is the best season, especially when it comes in strong. The hot days of summer blend into each other making me dehydrated and, oddly enough, feel lonely. But the winter makes it all melt away. 

I’m supposed to be working on quarterly budget reports for work, but there’s something else taking my attention. It’s the last bit of paperwork before the divorce is finalized. I was filling out the forms just a few moments ago, but since I’m left handed, looking at my bare fingers became too jarring and, frankly, a little bit depressing.

So now I’m just staring at the half filled forms and thinking how much trouble I’d be in if I packed up all my belongings tonight and decided to flee to England. I still have some family left there. I’m sure I could combine some savings and buy a flat. Rent, even. Get a dog so I’m not lonely.

Unfortunately, almost all my family is now in America, so parting from them will be difficult. Not to mention Lucía might kill me altogether.

Speaking of Lucía, I’ve got to ask her what’s been going on with her. Ever since I broke the news of the divorce to her, she’s been focusing so much on helping me move on, I've forgotten to ask how she’s doing. I’m grateful she’s my friend during these tough times, but recently, there’s been something dark in her eyes, something on the tip of her tongue that she’s held herself back from saying.

And it’s almost December. December is brutal to Lucía.

Given my position with the relationships in my life, I don’t think I should have a say in how she addresses hers. Not with my wife still harassing me about the forms I haven’t finished.

Wife. She’s made the word become so bitter in my mouth. As soon as she’s changed her name back and decided to move out, I imagine things will be a little easier, but for now, I’ll have to withstand the tight feeling in my stomach.

I’m 27 years old. I’ve been married for less than two years and here I am losing sleep over a divorce. There has to be something wrong with me. How have I made bad decision after bad decision? These thoughts torment me at night as I’m too busy with work and court dates in the morning and afternoons. My choices have taken a negative toll on everyone around me, and there’s nobody to blame but myself. I was in a sane state of mind while making these decisions, so how come the consequences are hitting harder than any other stupid thing I’ve done in my life? How did I decide that I was ready to settle down so early? How did I just agree to the divorce so easily without going to therapy or seeking a second, third, and fourth opinion? How did I let Lucía walk away from our relationship in a single night? Everything’s happening around me. This is my life, yet I am not in charge of it at all.

I push the forms back into their respective manilla folders and get up to brew some strong tea. Snow is still falling steadily, snowflakes dissolving as soon as they touch the ground. There’s puddles of water forming around the sewers on my street. All the lights are bright and some people have begun to put up Christmas lights already.

After tea, I go to the bathroom to brush my teeth. Then, I carefully wash my face and then look up into the mirror. Gliding my wet hands over my face, I check for any inconsistencies. My eyes look a bit swollen and perhaps a little jaded. My mouth looks the same with the small mole beside it. My cheeks look a little less full than usual and my collarbones seem to be sticking out just a bit more than I’d like. My dark circles are the worst of them all.

Then, I glance down at my hands. They look relatively the same as before, with the exception of the lack of gold band around my third finger. I wiggle my fingers a bit and then peer at my face again. Physically, I’m pretty much the same person. Just a bit weathered. That’s alright, I think to myself. People get divorced all the time. They make it out alive. You’re different now. You’re a divorced man. You’re no longer a married man.

Back in my room, I look at my king sized bed. I never had one before, even when I lived with Luce. We both fit comfortably on a queen size, and we didn’t spend a lot of time away from each other at night either. I always felt pleasantly suffocated on that bed with her, and I enjoyed every moment of it. This bed is much larger and I feel suffocated in a different way, as if I’m drowning. When I sit on it, I immediately sink in. Luce always claimed to have back issues so our mattress was more firm than this one. This mattress is comfortable, though very unsatisfactory.

I lay right in the middle, because I’m allowed to now. I feel small and then think of the person who can help me feel better. I’ve made it a mission not to bother her so often, but on days I feel terribly lonely, I become selfish and think only of myself. Sometimes, I wonder if that is the reason for her ending things with me.

***

LUCÍA

Tonight’s not a good night. I’m standing in the shower, focusing on my breathing instead of the temptation, but what if this is the time that the worst happens? The conditioner bottle in my hand nearly slips when I put it back down, taking a few seconds to brace for the worst. Nothing happens. Hot water sprays onto my face and burns my skin, but aside from the discomfort, the catastrophe that I expect doesn’t happen. My shoulders slowly begin to relax, breathing a little evenly. It’s okay. I can stop showering now.

Somewhere in the other room, I hear my phone ringing. My eyes open immediately and fear grips me as I glance down at the conditioner bottle, praying the ringing stops. 

Stop. Stop!

It’s not stopping!

As soon as I snatch the bottle up again and squirt more product into my palm, the ringing stops. Oh, God. Was I too late? No, I couldn’t have been. It was only ten seconds. Ten seconds, not three or seven. Ten is an awful number. Why did I wait so long?

So for the third time that night, I begin to condition my hair, rubbing the product through the ends of my curls. If I condition too much, they’ll become dry and brittle, but I can’t stop my hands. Three times isn’t so bad, I end up thinking to myself. At least it’s not seven times like two weeks ago. I cried so hard while detangling my hair in the morning.

When I’m out of the shower, I check my phone, only to be horrified because it was Harry who had called. And recently, I’ve been trying to save Harry from getting hurt. Is it finally this time?

Panicked, I call him back and begin pacing in my room. He picks up on the fourth bell and says, “Hey. Sorry, I thought you were busy. Then I realized it’s 10 at night.”

“Are you okay?” I press, holding the phone anxiously. My hair’s dripping water onto my floor and as I pace, I nearly slip. “Are you hurt?”

Harry was very confused when we first started dating. He didn’t understand the correlation between the state of my relationships and the obsession that came with numbers for me. I couldn’t explain how it had started or why, but that it was going to be a factor in this relationship. Over time, Harry’s become very accustomed to it.

So much that he laughs a bit. “Yeah, Luce. I’m good.”

“Stop laughing. It’s serious.”

He doesn’t sound serious at all. “I know. Thanks for worrying about me. What was it this time?”

“Fuck you. I had to condition my hair three times.”

“And why about me?”

“I don’t know. I just felt like if I didn’t do it, you’d blow up or something. And at first, I didn’t do it because--”

I hear his smile. “Because you don’t care about me.”

“No! Because my therapist says to try to break out of it and see that nothing happens when I don’t give into the temptation. And I tried that, but then you called. And I got scared.”

“Alright,” Harry replies softly, no longer finding it funny apparently. “I’m sorry. But, I’m fine. Thank you for worrying.”

“Shut up.” I can’t help but smile too, finally feeling a little better. “Are you good? It’s pretty late.”

Harry exhales deeply like he’s just settled into his couch. “Yeah, I’m good. I was going to ask if I could come by your job tomorrow. I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“That sounds very ominous. You know I don’t like that, Harry.”

“I promise it’s not bad. I’d just like to see your face when I ask you.”

This makes my heart beat a little faster in my chest. “Oh. Yeah, just come before my first meeting at 11, okay?”

“I don’t have to come if you’re busy.”

“I’m not busy.”

“Alright.” He takes a deep breath. “That’s all I had to say. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Okay. Bye, Harry.”

“Bye, Luce.”

There’s a pause right before we hang up. There’s always one. In my head, I tell Harry that I love him and I like to think that Harry’s doing the same. The pause lasts for three seconds before I hear him pull the phone away from his ear and end the call. I tuck my phone away under my sheets and then get ready for bed.

Thankfully, brushing my teeth doesn’t take too long and drying my hair too. And when I lay in bed, I find that sleep comes to me easily. Thank goodness, because I don’t think I could survive yet another sleepless night.

***

November 11

There’s a lot to do at work today. With the impending snow storm on the way, my department head believes the office will have to shut down for at least a day, if not more. The building itself is old so when there’s a big storm, there’s a high probability that the lights will go out and it takes hours of maintenance to revive the building.

I have a job interview in a few days. I want to be the new department head when the current one gets a promotion. I’ve been prepping meticulously for it and I have a team to help me get ready for the interview with corporate. Nearly every day, I meet with them at 11 o’clock to go over my key points over what I’d change as the new boss and how I’ll put my plans into action.

My phone goes off when I’m just getting into my key notes for today’s meeting.

“Harry Styles is here to see you. There’s no appointment in the book. Should I send him in or ask him to schedule an appointment?” the receptionist says.

“No, no, just send him up.”

Harry arrives at my office at 10:30 and sheepishly places a hazelnut latte gently in front of me. “I know. I’m pushing it with the time. I can tell you’re in a bad mood.”

I’m feeling a little nervous and trying to avoid caffeine, but I know how hard it must have been for him to get the coffee, especially with the weather outside. He still has some snow in his hair. I take the coffee and sip it, appearing disinterested.

“Did you get me a donut?”

“No,” Harry says, grinning, as he pulls out a bag and tosses it onto my desk. Two pumpkin donuts. 

“Hmm. Good enough. Sit down.”

Harry sits down, fixing his shirt as he does. He crosses his leg over the other comfortably and then rests his hands in his lap. Whenever I see Harry, I like to note the differences from the last time I’d seen him. His under eye circles are still very prominent.

His hair is still drying from his morning shower, face clean shaved. His clothes are neatly pressed, a spark in his eye. I feel proud just from looking at him. I hope he feels the same looking at me.

“I’m alright. Got a court meeting tomorrow about dividing our assets. It’s a bit annoying now.” He hesitates suddenly and then leans forward, placing his laced hands on my desk. “I actually wanted to talk to you about something I’ve been thinking about for a while. I know you don’t have a lot of time, but I’m occupied tomorrow so I’m just going to fit it in now.”

“Sure. Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, no, everything’s good.”

“Alright. What is it?”

Harry opens his mouth and inhales, but then stops. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip. I know Harry well enough to be able to tell when he’s stressed and his discomfort oddly eases my thoughts of not being able to read him anymore.

 “I wanted to ask you last time, but I guess we were a little busy,” he starts, glancing down at his bare fingers. “You can totally say no because I understand how weird this is and I don’t want you to feel pressured because I’m your friend, but I also want you to consider it, alright?”

I put the coffee down and reach for the donuts and take a big bite. “Sounds good.”

“Alright, well.” Now he looks uneasy. He cracks his knuckles. “I was wondering if it would be okay to stay with you for a little bit.”

I swallow the donut. It goes down the wrong pipe and I cough a bit. Harry looks concerned. With tears in my eyes, I croak, “Is the demon bitch kicking you out of your own apartment?”

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up and his mouth curves into a small smile. “What? No. It’s not that. She’s almost fully moved out actually. I haven’t seen her in a while. It’s just that, well, the apartment is meant for two or three people, you know? So now that she’s not there, it’s just big and empty. And I’m barely there except to sleep. I just… I don’t know. I don’t really want to be alone right now.”

There’s a pink blush over his cheeks, giving him a healthy glow on his otherwise pale skin. His summer freckles are long gone now, but the new color looks lovely on him. “I don’t mind,” I find myself saying, “if you stay at mine for a bit. But it’s a little cramped and it’s meant for one person.”

“I don’t mind that,” Harry says quickly, sitting up a bit straighter. “It’s not the space I’m worried about. I’ve never been there but I’m sure it’s a great space. I guess I’m more concerned about…”

“Staying with me,” I finish, putting the donut down. I wipe my hands on a napkin, but choose to do it under the desk because my fingers are trembling.

“Yeah,” he says sheepishly, scratching his neck. “I don’t want it to be weird. But I also don’t want to be alone and I’d rather be with someone I know than be alone.”

This is one of the many times that I realize I don’t fully know how Harry’s been handling the divorce, only because I’ve never been through one. I’ve been through break ups, the worst one being with the person sitting in front of me, but never a divorce. After all those years and vows and sacrifices. It’s beginning to dawn on me just how lonely a divorce must be. She’d rejected him and the last thing I want is for Harry to feel unloved.

He isn't. I’m the one who loves him.

And not only that, but I know Harry’s nature after being with him for so long. He’s emotional. He feels hurt deeply.

Harry assumes my silence is a sign of discomfort. Immediately, his eyes widen. “Like I said, you don’t have to agree. You can even take a day or two to think about it. I’m not...I’m not forcing you. And I know that this is really weird because you’re… you, Luce. We have history and I’m not trying to open any stitches or do anything to hurt you. And-and you can totally tell me if I’m disrespecting boundaries because I’ve done that in the past without realizing. I just want to be comfortable and I want you to be comfortable, so be completely honest with me. It won’t make me upset or angry or anything, yeah?”

Fuck, he’s freaking out. I can see the vein in his neck bulging from lack of air. He begins cracking his joints again. I crack my own. Two on one hand, two on the other.

“That’s not the problem, Harry,” I tell him sincerely. “I don’t mind you staying with me. I think my concerns are the same as yours, that we’ve lived together before and we’re not exactly dating anymore so what if it’s awkward?”

“I promise I will stay out of your way and not bug you when you’re working and leave you alone. Like I said, I’m barely at my own place, so I don’t think I’ll be at yours much anyways except to sleep.” He takes a deep, shaky breath. “I’ll pay for rent, Luce.”

I shake my head, offering him a smile. “I’m not worried about rent. You don’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, but if I’m using your apartment, it’s the least I can do.”

“You can buy the groceries.”

“Sure, I can totally--” He pauses, inhaling slowly. “Are you agreeing to this?”

Having Harry as a roommate again? I can do that. It’ll only be for a little bit. I can keep myself off of him. I’m agreeing to this, aren’t I? This is a bad idea, but he’s looking at me like that. Like the first time he considered we should move in together when we had been dating. Such hopefulness in his eyes. Such excitement and nervousness.

How could I say no to him when he’s looking at me like he’s completely dependent on me? I want him to be dependent on me, but it’s irresponsible of me when I’m struggling to take care of myself. Should I be selfish again and refuse him? Or should I give it a try?

In the end, the only selfishness that proves to be triumphant is when I think about Harry’s close proximity to me. And I love the idea of being physically close with him.

“Yes,” I answer, reaching for my donut again. “We can make this work.”

Instant relief breaks out onto his face. He smiles wide and runs a hand through his hair. “Thank you, Luce. I promise I won’t get in your way, okay?”

“I don’t mind,” I insist sincerely, wishing my heart would stop acting like it’s about to stop. “I hope your living habits have changed from before.”

Harry stands up and shakes his head. “They haven’t. At all. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Don’t come tonight though. I’ve gotta clean up.” And freak out privately. “How about the day after tomorrow?”

“That’s perfect,” he breathes, leaning over the desk to press a quick kiss to my cheek. He glances down at his watch at the same time my phone’s alarm begins to ring, signaling that I have to leave for the meeting soon. “Thank you. I’ll let you go to your meeting now, but seriously. I owe you a bunch. Bye!”

And with that, Harry’s out of my office and I’m taking a bite out of my donut once more. This is fine, I think to myself. Everything is going to go smoothly.

I feel the weight of his lips on my cheek throughout the hour-long meeting. I am a very selfish woman, indeed.

***

November 13 HARRY

I thought sleeping in the king sized bed was lonely, but nothing hits the bottom of my stomach like pulling out a duffel bag and beginning to pack. It dawns on me only an hour into packing that the bag was originally bought for the purpose of vacationing, but here I am, using it for the first time to get away from my wife. 

She’s not here tonight, which is ideal because running into her has been terribly awkward and in no way avoidable. Since there hasn’t been much communication between us in recent weeks, I’ve been on edge about when she’ll decide to pop up. I know she won’t be sleeping in the apartment, but I also don’t know if she’s here while I’m at work. I do know she’s here, however, by some miracle, we’ve run into each other only a handful of times. And those times have made me incredibly uncomfortable.

I decide to pack quickly. Whatever I end up forgetting will be borrowed from Lucía or bought new.

Speaking of which, I’ve packed for at least two weeks. It doesn’t seem like much, especially when I lift the duffel bag and realize how light it is.

I don’t know how long I intend on staying with Lucía or how that whole dynamic is going to work out. But I’ve been so uncomfortable these past few weeks that if the feeling is going to follow me everywhere, I might as well be uncomfortable with someone who lessens that feeling for me.

As I continue to pack, I think of how her house must look. Knowing her, she’s meticulously cleaned every crevice of it, though I’ve told her nobody probably notices. I’ll make a special effort to mention the clean apartment though.

Before I leave, I throw out products that will expire in two weeks time. I haven’t seen her use any of the dairy, but every time I open the fridge, there’s less there. Apparently she’s bought some new cartons of milk recently and when I pick them up, they’re completely full. I bring them to the sink and hold the fresh milk over the drain, ready to spill, simply out of spite.

Then, I hear my mother’s voice in my head telling me to let go of grudges. And I put the carton back in the fridge.

***

Lucía’s place is closer to my office, which will work out well for me. I plan on just dropping my bags and leaving so I can head to work this morning. I don’t see any reason why I have to go into work late. 

Lucía clearly thinks differently about this. Especially when she opens her door, still in her pajamas, hair unraveling out of her hair tie. And she wears the most irritated look on her tired face. Her expression is shadowed and the side of her cheek has a print of her pillow pressed into her skin. Compared to her, I’m dressed in a sweater and jeans, more suitable for the weather.

“You’re upset,” I carefully note. “What have I done this time?”

When Lucía’s extremely angry, she can’t bring herself to talk. It’s a weird thing about her and I’ve laughed at it before, but it does not seem like a laughing matter this time.

She grounds her teeth and hisses, “It’s 6 in the morning.”

“Yes,” I answer cheerfully. “Hey, can I come in? It’s really cold.”

She’s shivering already from the cold air I’ve brought inside the house. I push my way past her, dropping my bags. “Hey, this is a really nice place.”

“I’m going to strangle you.”

“Did you go to sleep late? Why do you still do that? Look, I got you donuts, alright? So don’t be mad at me, woman.”

Lucía looks at the donuts with distaste and then narrows her eyes and snatches them. “I am going to sleep for an hour more. Do not wake me.”

I’m not going to, wanting to keep all my body parts intact. Instead, I do the only acceptable thing since I have some time to spare. I make myself a cup of coffee and begin snooping.

To be fair, I’m not going into depth with my detective work, simply scoping the place and trying to see what’s different about the way Lucía sets up her apartment. When we lived together, she was never particular about how we decorated, leaving that completely up to me (with the exception of her office which she swore if I ever entered without her permission, she’d maim me, but I never blamed her because I hate people messing around with my work when I’m absent, too.). Since the interior decorating was mainly on me, I designed the apartment how I would design it if I were living alone and it worked quite well. Hence why I’m interested to see what she’s done differently. I begin with the kitchen.

It’s the basics, with her kitchen island in the middle and a few stools perched around it. There are four, but only one looks slightly worn down which suggests she doesn’t have many people over. As soon as I realize that, I look around for pictures on the walls of her friends or family. Surprisingly, as opposed to her desk at work, she doesn’t have any of those up, just a few paintings and wall decor that I could have picked out myself. In fact, I would lean towards these abstract works of art rather than scenic, so I think that perhaps I’ve had an influence on her taste.

Still, it’s peculiar that she doesn’t have any framed pictures, despite her having lived in this apartment for two years. The living room has a TV in the corner and a regular sized couch with a dark grey throw flung over the back cushions. I sit down and cross my legs. I would snoop in her room if that were allowed. But then I remember she’s most likely prepared a room for me, so with newfound excitement, I’m back on my feet to check out my new living space.

Remaining completely quiet as I pass the bedrooms, I realize she hasn’t exactly told me which bedroom is mine, so it’s a guessing game between these two adjacent rooms. Both of the doors are closed. I go for the one on the left.

Lucía’s fast asleep on the bed, burrowed in her blankets with her head and curly hair peeking out. My hand tightens on the door handle, but I can’t seem to move, either into the room or away from it. She’s got the same troubled expression on her face that’s always there when she sleeps, despite her having a good rest. She’s not having a bad dream, I know that much, but one look at her and I immediately want to press the crease away from her forehead like I used to years ago.

Not allowed, I firmly remind myself, swallowing. I take a step back and shut the door behind me. Well. It’s got to be the next door, doesn’t it?

It’s a decent sized room with clean white sheets spread over the bed, a window behind the head board, and a joint bathroom. There’s a twist in my stomach at the sight of the empty bed. I don’t feel like snooping anymore. I go to the kitchen to make myself breakfast. I can’t get the image of Lucía asleep out of my head. Definitely not while I’m painfully aware of the fact that she’s only a few steps away. 

***

When she’s finally awake and less likely to hurl something at my head, she walks to the kitchen, grabs her water bottle, and then plops down beside me in the living room.

Despite the fact that she’s dressed and has her makeup and jewelry on, her face still tells me of how tired she is, not only by the puffiness of her eyelids, but the dark circles under her eyes. She blinks sleepily at me and then takes a big gulp of her water.

“Must be nice,” she says, resting her head back against the couch, “to have all that hair to warm you up.”

I tuck a strand of my curls behind my ear, aware of her eyes following my hand. “I mean, I’m going to put it up anyways.” I also open my mouth to tell her she has longer hair than me, but it’s already in a bun as always.

“Why? Looks nice out like that.”

I shake my head and smile at her, leaning my head back as well. “It’s annoying sometimes. Easy to put up. I’m too attached to it to cut it.”

Lucía sighs deeply and sips at her water again. “I don’t want you to cut it.”

The decision of mine to not cut it only solidifies with her words, which causes me to pause and reassess the true weight of her words on me. I immediately made up my mind after the words came out of her mind. I turn my head to glance at her; she’s idly looking at the ceiling fan.

A crease forms between her eyebrows and she picks her head up. “Why is the fan on? It’s 15 degrees outside.”

“20. And you know how hot I get.”

“You’re so weird.”

“You’re living with it now. Can’t back out now.”

“Right.” She sits up and yawns. “We’ve got to get going.”

“You won’t eat anything?”

“Can’t eat in the morning. You know that.”

I do, but I was hoping that had changed. “Want me to buy you anything on the way there? We can stop somewhere.”

Lucía’s fixing her collar when I say this and she pauses, frowning again. “You’re driving me to work?”

“Well,” I say, standing up and grabbing my keys from the coffee table. “You’re on my way, so do you mind?”

Either Lucía’s mind works slowly in the mornings or she’s taking her time to consider the answer to this proposal. “Can you drive me everyday?” she says, to my surprise. I smile and nod. “Okay, then yes. You may buy me something on the way. Everyday.”

“You’re trying to make my pockets hurt againn.”

“Yes,” she says, completely serious. “I am.”

I gesture for her to walk in front of me and once we’re both outside in the cold, I sit in the already warmed car as Lucía locks the front door.

“Do you like your room?” she asks, buckling her seatbelt.

“Yes,” I answer, thinking back to how I’d opened the door to the wrong room. I think about her warmth under her sheets, the hairs on my arm rising. “I love it. Thank you.”

She makes a sound in the back of her throat that suggests she’s proud of herself. “Good.”

I tap my fingers along the steering wheel when we wait at a red light. Lucía has busied herself with figuring out what music we need to listen to for our first drive to work together. When the light turns green, I begin driving to Lucía’s favorite coffee shop. She picks her head up and glances at the building as it comes into view and I don’t need to be looking at her to know that she’s much more awake now. She sits up eagerly and is already unbuckling her seatbelt by the time I’m parked in front.

“Go on,” I tell her, putting the car in park. “Get me a coffee.”

She opens her door. “Same order?”

I pause at how nonchalantly she says it. As if remembering my order from 4 years ago is not a big deal. “Yes. Do you remember it?”

“Of course I do.”

Lucía hops out and adjusts her coat before placing a hand in her pocket. She’s checking if she has her wallet because she refuses to buy a bag for it. She carries it in her pocket, attached to her keys, which I distinctly remember scolding her about years ago because if she ever misplaced that small wallet, she’d be losing both necessary possessions. But, clearly, she has refused to listen to me. She pulls out her wallet and then disappears inside the shop.

She returns a few minutes later with a cup holder in one hand. “Here you go,” she says, passing me my coffee, tucking herself between her thighs to warm her up.

“Thank you.” I take a cautious sip. “You do remember my order.”

“Of course I do,” she repeats, thinking nothing of it. She takes a sip of her own coffee and then sighs, melting into her seat. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Your order is very easy to remember. Not to mention I always got you coffee when we were dating.” Her voice falters at the last word and she glances at me through the corner of her eyes to check if I’m alright with the mention of our history.

As soon as she reminds me that we once dated, I realize just how close we are in this car. And so alone.

“Right,” I finally say. “Don’t expect me to know your order though. It used to change frequently.”

I place the car in reverse and drape an arm behind her seat, carefully maneuvering the car out of the parking spot. 

“It changes almost every week. I no longer like hazelnut lattes.”

“I got lucky, then.”

“Yes. You did.”

Lucía finally finds a good song for the ride and continues to sip her coffee, letting out small “ah’s” whenever she swallows. Intrigued, I don’t say anything, but I’m thinking about how her habits haven’t changed over these years. I don’t know if the feeling in my stomach is discomfort, hope, or nostalgia, but whatever it is, it amplifies every time she swallows her drink and makes that noise.

Her lips must be incredibly warm after having them attached to the top of the cup during the entire ride. My hands absentmindedly tighten around the steering wheel.

“Luce.”

She turns to look at me. Her eyes are wider and less puffy. It’s a miracle what a cup of coffee does for her. “Yeah?”

“I have a court date on the 17th. Four days from now. We’ll talk about dividing our assets so once we decide on the apartment, I’ll let you know when I’ll go back home.”

Lucía is quiet for a while. She taps her nails against her cup. “You don’t have to rush. You just got here today.”

“Right.” And I’m losing my mind already. “But I don’t want to impose on you for too long. I’ll be out as soon as I can.”

“I really don’t mind, Harry. Would you like me to come to court with you?” When I glance at her with uncertainty, she clarifies, “For moral support.”

“Yeah,” I answer, shooting her a smile. “I’d like that.”

She nods and turns back to her coffee, taking a longer sip despite how hot the beverage must be. She lets out the small “ah” and I have to focus on all my face muscles to reduce my smile because it only continues to grow listening to that soft sigh.

Arriving at her building, I pull up to the front and watch her get out. “I’ll be out by 4, okay?” she tells me, leaning down to reach the window. “When do you think we’ll go home?”

“I’ll be here by 4:15. Same spot.”

“Okay. See you.” She gives me one more smile before turning away and entering the large building.

As I’m driving away, a shiver runs through my body despite the blasting heat in the car and the warm coffee settling in my stomach. When do you think we’ll go home?

***

As promised, I arrive to pick her up at 4:15. She’s walking outside with one of her coworkers, talking to him animatedly. No doubt she’s explaining something of importance to him so I wait for them to finish their conversation.

Something heavy lands a blow into my gut when Lucía laughs and rests a hand on his shoulder before stepping away and heading towards my car. By the time she’s at my door, I think I’ve concealed the expression on my face well, offering her a smile.

“Hi.”

“Hi. It’s very cold,” she whispers, holding her hands over the air. “I am so hungry. Let’s order take out because I can’t be bothered with cooking right now.”

“Sure, Luce.”

She peeks at me as I pull out of the parking spot. Wordlessly, she reaches over and takes the AUX cord, attaching it to her phone. “You okay?”

She’s allowed to like other people. I would be a prick to deny her of that right, especially since I found myself married not even two years after that December night.

“Of course. I’m pretty hungry too.” I was, but I don’t have an appetite anymore. I swallow, in hopes of drowning the ill feelings deep down. “Let’s get some food.”

We have dinner and the discomfort I feel is momentarily gone. I listen intently as Lucía talks about her day, carefully chewing her food in between her words. She drinks her water in intervals of 3. Her throat works to swallow the liquid and I’m constantly catching myself staring and end up forcefully tearing my eyes away from her.

As I sit across from her and listen, I can’t help but examine her face. She’s tired, not only physically, but it seems emotionally too as she takes long pauses between her words to gather her thoughts and continue. She describes in detail how she has been trying to get a promotion, however, she’s been so stressed about the outcome because while she likes her job, she believes she can do better in a higher position with more access to managing her software department. Her mascara has leaked down to her under eyes, causing them to appear darker than normal. Her lipstick is a bit smudged and the collar of her blouse open.

After I’m finished telling her that my day was “fine”, she gathers our plates and puts them in the sink.

“I’ll do the dishes,” I tell her, gently steering her away. My hands have automatically latched onto her shoulders, but I drop them quickly, in fear I’ve made her uncomfortable. They land on her waist instead, which is a hundred times worse, and then I pull my hands back to my side. “Ah. Sorry. Here, move over.”

“I can do it,” she argues, thankfully not thinking too much about my touch. If she is dwelling over it, I certainly can’t see from her face. “You’re my guest.”

“I’m taking over your house, Luce.”

“I’ll wash, you dry.”

“I’ll wash, you dry,” I counter, to which she agrees.

“Fine.” She stands on my other side and waits for the water to begin running. There are a few cups and plates from this morning. “How do you feel about the court date?”

Her eyes watch unashamedly as I roll up my sleeves. “I feel fine.”

“Yeah?” Then, she hesitates, focused on my tattoos on my forearms. “Do you cry?”

I raise my eyebrows. “At…at the court dates, you mean?”

“Mhm.”

“No. I haven’t shed a single tear over this divorce.” She glances at me warily and I laugh. “I have no reason to be sad about it. The only thing I do feel is sorry.”

“You feel sorry for yourself?”

“Incredibly.”

“But not about losing her?”

“Not a single bit. What? Don’t look at me like that.”

Lucía begins drying the plate I’ve passed to her. She goes over the surface many times and then the back. She puts the plate away for two seconds before picking it up and drying it again. “I just think you have to be emotional.”

“I have to be?”

“Yes,” she says, tucking the plate back. “It’s healthy.”

“But,” I argue, passing her the next plate, “I don’t feel bad.”

“But you must feel something if you’re here with me, Harry, instead of being at your own place.” She meticulously dries the next plate. “I mean, it’s a divorce. It’s a huge change. You can’t just be okay with it. I’m saying that it’s okay to not be okay.”

She quietly tucks the plate away and takes a cup from me. “Sorry if I’m overstepping. You’re my friend and I have no idea what you’re going through, but I think you need to be in touch with your emotions.”

“Luce, you know better than anyone how in touch with my emotions I am.”

She sighs and puts the cup down on the counter. “You need to cry.”

“Alright, step on my feet or something.”

“Harry, I’m serious.”

I rinse my hands and turn to her. A muscle in her jaw tenses. She has the same crease between her eyebrows that she does when she sleeps.

She says, “I want you to be happy.” And then she steps forward, slowly wrapping her arms around my torso, pressing her forehead to the hollow between my neck and collarbones. For a second, I’m frozen, my heart beating wildly in my ears. When she presses her cheek against my neck, I forcefully ground myself and relax, succumbing into her embrace. Though my hands are wet, she doesn’t mind how cold I make her skin through her thin blouse, gathering her closer to me.

“You’re right,” I say quietly, inwardly begging my heart to slow down. I lean against the counter, tugging her with me. Her knees brush against mine. “It is a very big change and I hate it. I wish it never happened, but I’m glad it did at the same time. I don’t want to be with a woman who isn’t faithful to me. I’m not asking for a lot, so don’t you think I deserve better?”

She pulls away and insists, “Of course you deserve better! But you’re still allowed to be angry at her or upset with yourself! I don’t want that, but it would be healthy.”

Her dark eyes have always been painfully hypnotic to me, and this intense look she’s giving me has the same effect. I smile and slowly tuck a few strands of hair behind her ear. “Listen,” I tell her softly. “I do feel a lot right now. I’m here with you because I couldn’t stand being alone in that house. Not because I miss her or I wish I could fix things, but because I feel lonely. I’m lonely, Luce.”

Her mouth curves down. “It’s okay to be lonely sometimes, as long as we know how to fix it.”

“That’s not fair. You don’t get to tell me that with how lonely you are. What have you done to fix it?” I ask gently.

Her eyebrows pull together, alerting me I’m in dangerous territory. “That’s different.”

I drop my hand and cross my arms over my chest instead. “How so?”

“Because it was my choice! I like to be alone. Don’t look at me like that. It’s true. You didn’t have a choice in the divorce.”

“I signed the papers first. I initiated.”

“No, I mean, there’s nothing you could have done aside from divorce.”

“There’s nothing I would have wanted to do either, Luce. Divorce isn’t something that just happens overnight. It was a bunch of things and her cheating on me was the final blow that made me walk away. This was also my decision. And I’m not upset about it, I’ve already told you.”

“But you’re lonely!” she repeats exasperatedly.

“I can’t be lonely if I’m here with you,” I reply, raising an eyebrow. “I have you.”

“And when you go back? You’ll be lonely, won’t you?”

“I don’t know what type of answer you want from me. Yes, I will be. Not because I miss her, but because I miss having someone around all the time. And I’ve accepted that. I’m okay.”

Something suddenly changes on her face, and she takes a step back. Her expression is completely unreadable, yet guarded. “Is that how it was after us? With you being lonely?”

I open my mouth to immediately reassure her, but she frowns, conveying she doesn’t want anything sugarcoated. My shoulders drop and I take a few seconds to search for the right words. “Yeah, Luce. I was really lonely. But the difference was that I missed you. I don’t miss her. And honestly? That breakup hurt a hundred times worse than this.” Oh, God, I need to stop talking. I need to shut my mouth right now. “So just think. If I made it out of that alive, don’t you think I’ll come out completely unhurt with this one?”

I’ve said the wrong thing. I can tell by her face that she’s not heard anything I’ve explained after mentioning our breakup. She swallows, taking another step back, now refusing to look at me, which I find incredibly frustrating. I’m itching to grab her and bring her back to me. “I’m sorry,” she quietly says, rolling her heel absently. “I didn’t know I hurt you so bad.”

This conversation has made my head hurt with confusion and now I can’t remember how we turned this on ourselves. No amount of reassurance will put the words I’ve already said back in my mouth. So instead of trying to ease her worries, I answer, “It was a long time ago, Luce.” I don’t try to tell her that I’m fine now, because I don’t think I could summon a lie like that and make it sound believable. “A lot has happened since then.”

Finally, she picks up her head and nods. “Yes. It was a long time ago. We’ve grown, I think.”

“We have.”

She returns to her position besides me and picks up the discarded wet cup, beginning the process of drying every single crevice. I take the hint and start washing the dishes again.

After a tense silence, I say, “So you’re not going to kick me out or anything, right?”

To which Lucía surprises me with a slight smile and a shake of her head. “Of course not.”

And after we’re finished, we part and she heads into her room while I’m left in mine. I sit on the spare bed. Unpacking my bags seems exhausting. So I leave them by the closet and get ready for bed. Despite my proximity to her, I feel even more distanced now, laying in a separate bed.

I turn to open the window behind me and remove my clothes, slipping into bed. My eyes remain focused on the wall separating us until I’ve fallen asleep.

***

November 17 LUCÍA

And I can't decide if I’m happy or sad that living with Harry has been easy. We’ve settled right into a routine that is suspiciously similar to what it was when we were together. Perhaps I’m happy now and dreading the moment he leaves. There’s just something about seeing him as soon as I wake up that makes me ready for the day. 

There’s also something about Harry smiling softly at me in the mornings with a murmur of “Good morning, Luce. Did you sleep well?” along with those gentle eyes, wet hair from his morning showers, and well pressed professional clothing. It’s different than seeing him later in the day when he’s less fresh (but still attractive). Seeing him in the afternoon and evenings makes my heart swell, but seeing him in the mornings, freshly shaved and still smelling like his aftershave does something else to me. Something I thought I repressed a long, long time ago.

But mornings aren’t the only time I feel that type of raw urge around him. It happens in other more inconvenient times as well, such as when he leans against the counter in the evenings when I’m finishing dinner and he wants to talk about his day, or when he’s driving and he glances at me with a soft smile, working on the steering wheel with one hand. When he comes to me at night to bid me goodnight, or when he’s tying his hair up and I can’t help but think of how his soft curls would feel between my legs.

I want to know how he kisses and if it’s still the same way as he would four years ago. I want to know that if he hugs me, will his arms still wrap around my waist and will he lean down to make up for the heigh difference? I want to know that if he ever undresses me again, will he start with my shirt because he still finds me irresistible in just my bra and jeans? And when we cuddle, would he still engulf me with his entire body and make it so I wake up, unable to breathe? Is his favorite way of relieving stress still what it used to be, with me in between his legs? 

But then, I think about only him. His old habits. Does he still make that face when he tries something sour, the face where his expression pinches and then he coughs? Does he still stand under the shower for a few minutes just to get warm before reaching for the shampoo? Does it still take him only 3 minutes to shave? Does he still dog ear his books instead of buying himself a new bookmark?

I want to know all of this. And it’s only been a few days.

Today, I’ve driven myself to work because I’m going to meet him at court after work. He’s been missing all morning, to my disappointment. But I’m also glad he wasn’t there to witness my panic over ironing my clothes exactly 3 and a half times on each sleeve, back and front, which resulted in tears. Given that start, my morning has not been fun at all, but draining.

Now, I’m excited to see him. I arrive at the city building right before his appointment at 3:30.

I’ve seen many versions of Harry. I’ve seen him glowing with a grin splitting his face, I’ve seen him cry until his body aches, I’ve seen him tremble with pleasure, and I’ve seen him scared with eyes as large as they can go, but I’ve never quite seen this Harry. 

He’s quite off today, but nobody can tell unless they look at him carefully, reading his body language. Physically, he’s looking really nice in a dark navy blue suit and white open collar shirt. His hair is tied neatly and securely out of his face. As promised, there he is, waiting for me, leaning against the pillar of the building. He’s on his phone typing away, and when I reach him, he tucks his phone into his pocket and says, “Mum’s wishing me luck. She says hello.”

Harry pushes his body off the pillar. “Hi.” I notice he’s checking what I’m wearing and I awkwardly pull my coat tighter around me.

“I didn’t know what to wear,” I admit, glancing down at my tapered pants. “I didn’t change after work. I’ve never been to court, so I hope it’s appropriate enough.”

“I’m sure it is. You won’t be in the room so it’s not too big of a deal,” he says, checking the time. He’s distracted. “Anyways. We should head in. I’ll walk you to the waiting area, yeah? I think she’s already here because I didn’t see her come in.” He finally looks at me. “I’ll try to be quick, okay? And then we can get something to eat.”

I nod and offer him a smile. He opens the door and heads in, leaving me to trail behind him. He’s holding a manila folder close to his side, drumming his thumb anxiously against it as he walks. He doesn’t look around for directions on where to go, clearly having been inside this building before. He navigates the halls easily and then stops at an elevator, leaning in to press the UP button.

The building seems deserted. My heels make a loud sound as we walk into the elevator and then the doors close around us. Harry hits the number 3.

I can’t help but peek at him, though the lighting in this elevator is subpar. His eyes are focused on the display showing the levels, arm clutching the manila folder tighter against his side. The scent of his aftershave has died down a little, but if I concentrate, I can still smell it.

“You okay?”

Harry’s eyes flicker to mine briefly and he sends me a faint nod. “I’m fine.”

“You sure you don’t want me inside the room with you?”

“No, Luce. It's fine.”

He’s not in the mood to talk, so I simply wait patiently beside him. When the doors reopen, he takes the lead once more and takes a right, leading me to a room that looks like a waiting room in a doctors office. He gestures to me to head inside and takes a deep breath.

“I’ll come get you in a bit.”

I nod, stepping into the room. “Alright. I’ll see you.”

Harry hesitates a bit, glancing down the hallway he’s about to walk down. It’s the first time I see a crack in his confidence. His throat jumps as he swallows and then he takes another deep breath.

“Okay. I’m off.”

Harry shows no sign of leaving. Instead, after a brief moment of hesitation, he reaches out and grabs my elbow with a large hand and brings me closer, ducking his head. He presses a kiss to my cheek and then tightly hugs me to his chest. He doesn’t say anything and I’m unable to either as he knocks the wind out of me with the grip around my body. I hear his thundering heartbeat under my ear, the warmth of his body rolling off and hitting me square in the chest.

“Thank you for being here.”

My own heart’s beating out of my chest already due to the close proximity, but I can’t let him go just yet. When he goes to move away, I refuse to depart from him. Instead, I yank the collar of his shirt so he’s closer and tell him firmly, “You’ve got this. I know you do.”

His eyes darken just the slightest bit when I release him and he takes a step back. The corner of his mouth twitches, he says, “Thank you,” and then he’s out the door. I see him fixing his collar as he walks down the hallway.

Falling into my seat and crossing my legs, I press my hands to my hot cheeks. It’s been a long time since he’s been that close to me, and everything feels the same despite all this time. Harry and I see each other on a regular basis, however, sometime during his relationship with his ex wife, he stopped embracing me or pressing those friendly greeting and departing kisses to my cheek. I understand why, but I never realized how much it upset me until now.

The last time he’d kissed me was the day I accepted his idea of moving in with me, and even then, I’d thought about the feel of his lips on my cheek for days after that. This is different.

Harry’s love language, I found out early on in our relationship years ago, is touch. At nearly every waking moment that we were together, I’d find some part of Harry touching me. I became used to his touch very quickly. His warm, heavy embrace calmed me whenever I had a burst of anxiety or stress.

How did I end up losing that touch? He touched me everyday and then he stopped altogether. I ended our relationship and he stopped touching me. I’d call it cruelty if I didn’t bring it upon myself. How have I survived this long without his touch? 

I lean forward and bury my head into my palms, resting my elbows on my knees. His strong grip has left a lasting feeling on my arm that I’m thoroughly enjoying. I can’t be thinking about Harry again. I’ve kept those feelings locked away since Harry announced his divorce months ago. He’s in no position to be subjected to my feelings for him right now. He can’t handle it. I can’t handle it! This should not be a matter of importance.

***

As promised, Harry returns just 20 minutes later and gestures for me to hop out of my seat. He looks a little disheveled, or rather, more than usual.

“I’m starving,” he mutters, holding the door open for me. “Let’s eat please. You pick the place.”

He steers us towards the elevator and jabs the button quickly. His foot taps impatiently as we wait for the doors to open and when they finally do, he places a hand on my back and all but shoves me in. Then he turns and slams the button to shut the doors.

I stare at him. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine. Just not too keen on sharing an elevator with my ex wife.” He hits the ground level button. “Officially my ex wife.”

“Are we running away from her?”

Harry presses his tongue to the corner of his mouth and I realize with a gasp that he’s hiding a smile. “She freaked out about the ring. And when I say freaked out, I mean she threw a tantrum. I swear if there was nobody there, she would have slashed me with her heel. She was talking to me about it as I was packing up so I’m sure she’s not too far behind us.”

“What? Oh, God. Is she going to chase after us?”

Harry’s grinning now, shrugging a shoulder. “Don’t know. If we have to run, I’ll get away from her, but you might not.”

We both look down at my shoes. I tap them nervously. “No, she won’t do anything.”

Harry stutters out a laugh. “I hope not.”

“You’re having a lot of fun, aren’t you?”

“I’m having a lot of fun,” he confirms when the doors open. When we step out, we hear her heels, fast and rough against the tiled floor.

“Harry--!”

Harry grabs my elbow and tugs me towards him, steering us towards the entrance. “Just keep your head down.”

Unfortunately, keeping our head down does nothing because his ex wife’s loud bellow of “Don’t you dare run from me, Harry!” echoes through the lobby. 

Harry tilts his head down towards my ear and quietly says, “Think you can run?”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. Come on. Here, wait. Take them off and give them to me.”

We stop, just briefly, and I bend down to quickly undo the buckles, all but tossing the shoes to him once they’re off. Harry holds them with two fingers and glances behind him.

His hand touches my back again and he gives me a startling push. His longer legs encourage me to break out into a run, his hand sliding off my back and wrapping around my wrist instead. “Come on.”

His ex wife catches up significantly, her face looking like it’s about to combust. I haven’t seen her in so long. There’s a fire in her blue eyes as she yells his name again. “I paid for that fucking ring! I gave you yours back, now you give me mine!”

“She doesn’t know you flushed it?” I whisper.

To my surprise, Harry’s still laughing. “Nope.”

“Oh, God.”

Harry leads us towards the parking lot and glances over his shoulder. “Damn, she runs fast. Let’s go to my car.”

He unlocks it quickly and we part to get to our respective sides. He throws my shoes in the back.

“Don’t run her over!” I hiss as Harry begins to pull out of the parking spot. I grab onto his sleeve. “Look both ways. I don’t want to catch a case.”

Harry shakes off my hand and grabs it instead, holding it between the console.

“I won’t,” he laughs, navigating us safely from his ex wife. “Holy hell. I married her? Why’d you let me do that?” 

“I didn’t tell you to!”

“Someone should have stopped me. As my best friend, I think that was your duty.”

“As if you would have listened!”

Harry smiles, pulling out of the building’s parking lot, taking a deep breath. “We’re in the clear.”

“My car is still there!”

“Hush. We’ll get it afterwards. I’m starving. Even more now.”

We’re still holding hands in the middle of the console. Harry flips the indicator and then brakes at a stop sign, tapping my knuckles with his thumb absently in perfect rhythm, waiting for a break in traffic. I don’t make any effort to stop him or remind him this isn’t what we should be doing. His hand feels fitting in mine, soft and cold from the winter air. With the summer sun no longer around to tan his skin, his hand looks pale, and significantly more so with mine under it.

Nothing happens for a long time, the afternoon traffic causing us to stay behind the stop sign for well over two minutes. Should I be the one pulling away? He doesn’t notice our hands clasped together. It’s his hand that's heavy on top of mine, holding my fingers towards my palm.

I peek at him. He looks much better than earlier with clearer eyes and a dimple in his cheek as he bites into the inside of his cheek. I momentarily admire his outfit, my eyes falling down to his thighs. My jaw clenches as a memory passes through my mind. It’s a memory of his hands tightly holding my waist hard enough to bruise my skin, guiding me over his bare thigh tattoo, our bodies slick with sweat, the sound of our groans and heavy breathing bouncing off the walls.

There’s a break in traffic. As he’s been struck, he suddenly sits up, more alert. The suddenly movement makes me sit up as well, broken out of my daydream. Harry slowly draws his hand away, putting both hands on the steering wheel, driving onto the main road.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I tell him, clasping my hands together in my lap. There’s a bit of awkward silence before I say, “Um, where should we get lunch?”

“Uh, I’m good with anywhere.”

“Okay.”

Harry’s phone goes off suddenly and he fishes the device out of his pocket. His ex wife’s name flashes over it.

He takes a deep breath and presses the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”

I can hear her yelling and Harry winces, pulling the phone away from his ear. “I don’t have it anymore. Jesus, could you lower your voice? I said I don’t have it anymore. No, I didn’t sell it. I… Okay. I got rid of it.”

When she screeches, Harry pulls his phone away from his ear again, throwing me a comical look. He’s still enjoying this!

“Right, well I can’t do anything about it now. You can have your ring back, if that helps. I’ve no reason to keep it. Yeah. I’ll leave it in the mailbox. No, I'm not living there at the moment.” He glances at me again. “With Lucía. Yes, that one.” His jaw tightens suddenly and his eyebrows push together. “You didn’t have to say that.” And then he hangs up, placing his phone in his pocket.

“Sorry.”

I shake my head. “Don't be.”

He hesitates, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Feels like I’ve dragged you into this.”

“We’re friends, Harry. I’m here for you.”

“Yeah,” Harry says quietly, pulling into the parking lot of one of my favorite restaurants, “We’re friends.”

***

November 20 LUCÍA

The clock is very loud tonight.

After every 5 ticks, I hold my breath until the 6th one is heard, but I’ve been doing it for so long that I feel lightheaded. It’s been half an hour of me laying here. I’ve tried to put in my earbuds and listen to some music, but my body is tired and now I have a headache even though I was only listening to some soft classical music. Turns out that that specific genre only helps me when I’m more awake. My body is sinking into the mattress with fatigue right now, but that stupid clock is somehow getting ridiculously louder and I’m losing my mind. I can’t fall asleep on the 5th tick. I’ll tolerate any other number, but not five.

After a few moments of misery, I force myself up and throw my legs over the bed until I reach my slippers. There are earplugs in the room Harry’s sleeping in. I can sneak in there, grab a handful and come back and sleep before my meeting. Or, I can suffer through this night and then sleep better tomorrow. Or I can take the clock apart.

The third option doesn’t seem that smart, especially since I sleep with my phone away on the dresser and I need to look at the time when I wake up. And I really need to focus for the meeting tomorrow, so option two isn’t the brightest either.

I stand up. We’re going to his room.

It’s 2 in the morning so he should be asleep, but regardless, I’m on my tiptoes as I approach his room. His door is slightly open as it always is and the cold gust of air immediately greets me when I slip in. He’s opened the windows! In this weather! The man’s going to get sick.

Luckily, he’s sleeping on his side with his back to the drawer I’m now crouched in front of. As I’m rummaging through the drawers, I realize that Harry’s clock is far less noisy than mine. It’s just as close as mine is, but less audible. I could steal it if I wanted to.

But I won’t do that. I redirect my attention back to the drawer and begin pulling things out, setting them aside as I continue to look for the earplugs. The more I check, the more upset I become because I can’t find them. I don’t have my phone to turn on the flashlight and look with a bright light either, and I’m really cold in my pajamas thanks to the stupid window. A few snowflakes have already hit my skin and made me shiver uncontrollably.

Irritated that I’m not going to sleep tonight, I push to close the drawer. Unfortunately, I end up underestimating my annoyance and end up slamming it shut, the loud noise reverberating off the walls.

“Shit!” I whisper, whipping my head to glance at Harry.

His curly head picks up off the pillow and he twists his body to glance into the darkness. He might not be able to see me, but I can see him as the moonlight reflects off his face perfectly. When he pushes himself up, the weighted blanket around him slips to display his bare shoulder and collarbones.

“Luce?” he whispers, pressing a palm to his eye.

Maybe if I pretend I’m not there and stay as still as a statue, he’ll put his head back down. 

“I can see you.”

Shit. I wrap my arms around myself, looking at him sheepishly. “Hi. Sorry. I was just looking for earplugs.”

At the sound of my voice, he picks his head up a bit more and then fully turns his body to face me.

“Why are you on the floor?” he asks quietly, clearly wanting to fall back asleep. “What’s...what’s the time?”

“It’s like 2. I was looking for earplugs,” I repeat. “My clock is being really annoying and I need to sleep before this meeting. But it’s alright, I’ll go back to my room and try again.” I balance my hands on his mattress and go to stand up.

“You don’t have any more?” he asks, watching me stand.

“No. I’ll get some tomorrow.” My attention is now divided. “Actually, can I steal your clock? You can have mine.”

Harry’s eyes finally fully open and he throws me a bewildered look. “My clock? What’s wrong with yours?”

“Nothing. You can have it.”

“Luce, either I’m still asleep or you’re not making any sense.”

“It’s too loud, okay?” I admit, sighing. “At this rate, I can get 6 hours of sleep and I need those 6 hours. I don’t know what to do.” I pick my head up and curiously look outside. “You think 7/11 is open during a storm?”

“Luce,” Harry says in an incredulous tone. “You’re shivering. I don’t think you could survive the walk.”

“Well, your window is open!”

“Right, but it’s always open. Come here. Sit on the bed at least. Jesus, woman.”

When he sits up some more, the blanket continues to slip down his torso to reveal his bare chest. I quickly look away.

“Sit,” Harry repeats more firmly.

“I can run to the shop.”

“I doubt anything would be open right now. It’s not supposed to stop snowing until 5 at least.” He stretches and yawns deeply. “Just sleep here then.”

I freeze, and for once it’s not from the cold. Harry’s rubbing his eye again with his palm, yawning again. I immediately feel guilty for waking him up. I know how deep of a sleeper Harry can be when he’s extremely tired.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” I quickly apologize. “I’ll let you sleep. You’ve got work too.”

“It’s fine,” Harry mumbles in his deep, sleep-filled voice. And then, to my surprise, he lifts the blanket and lays back down, holding it up as an invite. “Go on.”

I glance at the empty spot besides him and then the time and then the snow building up outside. “I don’t… I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“‘S your choice. I don’t mind. It’s your house anyways.” Harry’s eyes are already closing and I feel like a burden just sitting here unable to make a decision. He’s nearly drifting off and I’m taking up his space.

But the clock in his room is barely audible and yes, it’s cold, but I know how heated Harry’s body can be. That mixed with the heat from the weighted blanket will send me straight to sleep. If I decide not to, I’ll be awake all night. I could take the clock in my room down, but then I’ll have to sleep with my phone under my pillow because I don’t have a nightstand like Harry does. And I’ve read too many articles about radiation and how harmful it is for your skin cells.

I peek over Harry’s shoulder. His phone is faced down on the nightstand. Another pro. It seems like the most logical choice.

“I need an alarm on,” I quietly tell him. “For 7.”

“I have one for 6:30. I’ll wake you after thirty minutes.”

“Okay.”

I shut the window and lock it. My slippers easily glide off my feet and then I tuck my legs into the blanket, slowly sliding my body down. Harry hisses when my feet touch his shins and he quickly reaches out and grabs my calf, pushing it away.

“Christ. You’re so fucking cold.”

“Sorry!” I whisper. I look at him, unsure. “Can I have a pillow?”

Harry raises his head and slides me one as if it's the most natural thing. I tuck it under my head. “Thank you.”

“Mhm.”

“Let me know if I’m taking up too much space.”

“Go to sleep, Luce.”

“Okay,” I say, turning around, bringing my knees to my chest. Warmth invites me as I relax into the mattress. The sheets smell like Harry already. I feel his heat though he’s on the opposite side of the bed. His thigh is barely touching my heels.

And then, just for a brief moment, I’m freaking out. My palms are sweaty and I’m hyperaware of Harry’s body besides mine, somewhere it hasn’t been for years. Blood rushes in my ears and my throat’s as dry as it was in the car days ago. If I move in my sleep, I’ll accidentally touch him. He might be offended. I should get up and just leave.

I push back up into a sitting position and go to swing my legs over the side of the bed, but what stops me aren’t my own thoughts or the reminder that Harry’s clock is much softer than mine. No, it’s a sudden weight around my thigh, a familiar weight, and a man’s gentle whisper.

“Luce. Please sleep. We’ve slept in the same bed before. As friends too.”

His hand on my leg is arm and proven to be strong as he begins to tug me back to the mattress.

“I promise I’ll wake you,” he tries again faintly, as if he’s just a few moments away from sleep. “You need to sleep better. You’re like...like a zombie every morning.”

I can’t help but quietly laugh, rubbing my eye. “That’s so mean, Harry.”

“Lay down and sleep. I’ll stay on my side, alright? You’ve got to stop doing this to yourself.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re making it worse on yourself. Stop hurting your body. Just lay down before I make you.” His tone lightens towards the end of his threat, but when he raises his head again, he can barely open his eyes.

The thought of being the reason for Harry’s dark circles in the morning makes me finally slide back into bed. I couldn’t carry that guilt. Harry removes his hand from my leg and then sighs, tossing his head back down onto the pillow. He mumbles something along the lines of, “Stubborn woman.”

To my relief, it’s easier to fall asleep that I’d anticipated, now that the anxiety has worn off. Or perhaps I’m just too tired to care. 

Finally, I think to myself as I’m beginning to drift, drowsiness hitting me like bricks. I’m so warm. I’ll get up nice and refreshed, take a hot shower, get dressed, and do well for this presentation. I’ll come home after, make some good dinner, and then buy some earplugs and melatonin. Everything will be okay.

I’m nearly asleep when someone pushes the blanket further up my shoulder and tucks it under my chin. That’s better, I hazily think to myself. That’s so much better.

***

November 21

Harry’s arm is heavier than I recall, or maybe it’s just because I have blocked his weight and sleeping habits from my memories. Or perhaps that I’ve come to terms that I’ll never wake up to his situation again.

Regardless of how I’ve processed memories with Harry in the past, the pressing matter right now is that his arm is heavy on my stomach and I’m struggling to breathe.

I try to shove his arm lower, but then it’s pressing into my bladder, so I gently pick it up and move it back to his side.

The sun’s just barely out and no alarm has gone off. The clock tells me it’s 5:30. I’ve only been asleep for a little over 3 hours.

My first mistake is turning my head back to look at Harry. He sleeps with his hair up, something I never would have guessed about him. I swear he had it open last night. It’s a mistake because suddenly, I can't take my eyes off of him and my chest feels tight as if I can’t get enough air into my lungs. With his hair out of the way, I have a perfect view of his face. His eyebrows are relaxed, lashes resting beautifully against his cheeks, chest moving evenly with each breath. He’s simply mesmerizing. He’s on his side, the other hand shoved under the pillow we’re sharing, and the pillow part is the only thing that makes me realize that I’m on his side. He didn’t come to me, but rather I shifted towards him. Or maybe it was his doing, with his arm over my body.

The second mistake I make is turning my body around fully to face him because the movement causes his eyebrows to twitch and then he lifts his eyelids slightly, just enough to peer at me. I freeze, holding my breath, hoping he falls back asleep, but instead, he slides his arm back over my waist and gently tugs me closer.

“You’re cold?” he mutters, voice deep and groggy. He’s already closing his eyes again when he tucks me into his chest. “C’mere.”

My heart feels weak. I don’t want to move away, and perhaps it’s my third mistake that I settle into my new spot against his warm body. If I was cold before, I’m not anymore and there’s no chance I will be for the next hour and a half that I’ll get to sleep. He rests his head over mine, takes a deep breath, and then seems to have fallen asleep.

I don’t try to glance up at him, in fear that I’ll wake him again. Instead, I close my eyes and remind myself, strictly, that friends can cuddle with each other. Friends...who are also exes. This is normal. It has to be. It’s not like I can wiggle out of his grip now.

***

The next time I wake up is when Harry’s alarm goes off. It doesn’t feel like I’ve slept, but the sun outside is brighter, reflecting off the snow I presume. The warmth of Harry’s body slowly slips away when he goes to turn his alarm off, and then he sits up.

I hope I can sleep for half an hour more so I keep my eyes closed. Harry seems to be lounging in bed for a while, not jostling me too much. In fact, he moves to the other side and allows me to have my own pillow. I can feel his thigh against my head.

For a few moments, he’s completely still, and I think I have the opportunity to fall back asleep. However, he then puts his phone back on the side table and slides back into bed. I can feel him pulling the blanket back over his body.

When I open my eyes, he’s laying on his back, one arm resting over his eyes.

“What happened?” I ask quietly, clearing my throat. He lifts his arm and glances at me. And he’s a sight to behold. His eyes are puffy from sleep, his chest peeking out from under the blanket. He could be a painting. My heart isn't even fully awake, yet it's pounding painfully against my ribs at the mere glance at him. I look away, wanting to give him privacy and myself a momentary break from the emotions I've been feeling since last night.

“Office closed,” he says sleepily, rubbing his eye. “The storm hasn’t stopped yet.”

I push myself up, aware of his eyes on me, and check out the window behind the bed. Sure enough, the snow has piled up high enough to cover the benches outside and the wind is still blowing, now with a whistle to it. “It looks lovely.”

I reach for my own phone to check if I have any messages.

“My office is closed too!” The relief I feel is instant, I immediately slide back down into bed and bring my knees to my chest, my back to him. “We’re snowed in.”

Harry chuckles. When I glance back, his eyes are closed again and he looks as if he’s ready to fall back asleep. “We are. Now go back to sleep.”

He doesn’t need to tell me twice.

And I’m about to fall back asleep, toasty warm, when Harry says something again. He murmurs, “I’m sorry about that, by the way. I wasn’t able to keep my hands to myself. It’s a habit I haven’t been able to break since we�� sorry. Usually I have another pillow, but you happened to be on the pillow, so...”

So it was his doing, I think to myself, slightly proud for not being the one to give into the temptation of touching him. I remember the Harry I'd met 6 years ago who hated cuddling at night. I'd transformed him immediately with my constant need to be held by him while sleeping. I shake my head. “It’s okay,” I tell him honestly. “I really didn’t mind.”

I feel him move my pillow as he nods. There’s a beat of silence that follows it, but then the bed’s dip becomes more apparent, along with the closeness of his body when he slides further into bed. And then with a soft, hesitating touch, he places his arm back where it was before, draping it over my waist.

My eyes shoot open to glance down at his tattooed arm, but I don’t dare to say anything. I don't even dare to breathe.

Harry says softly, “Is that alright?” My stomach erupts with both anxiety and butterflies.

I was warm before, but now I’m comfortable again. I nod and slowly slide back to make the position mimic how it was when I woke up the first time. “Yes.”

“I don’t want to make this weird,” he quietly admits, voice laced with sleep. “I haven’t slept well in so long and like this… I just sleep a lot better.”

 “It’s okay, Harry.” I think I’m saying this. “We’re friends.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, pressing his forehead to the back of my head. “Thank you.”

Falling asleep like this feels addictive and I would be worried about this becoming a regular thing with an ex boyfriend if I weren’t so damn comfortable. And I agree with him. I sleep a lot better like this too. 

I feel his soft breath on my neck and the firmness of his chest against the back of my shoulders. It feels right. The tension in my stomach is long gone before I fall back asleep.

***

Struck with deja vu the next morning, I find myself awkward and unable to do the most simplest of tasks. Such as walking around Harry to get to the coffee pot or apologizing to him when our fingers brush against the handle or when I’m reaching for a plate and accidentally get two, not realizing it until Harry points it out.

I’d woken up in the bed alone and I got up to get ready for work before I saw Harry’s well pressed pants, shirt, and tie hanging outside his closet as he always sets up before heading to bed the night before. He’s always claimed that he has no time to pick out outfits the morning of. I suspect he just wants to be better organized because he’s always lounging around before work anyways. He’s incredibly punctual yet early at the same time, a skill that I don’t think I will ever master.

He’s been generous in letting me sleep in, something I rarely ever do. His side of the bed is still warm and his pillow is resting vertically against the headboard that suggests he sat beside me for a while before getting out of bed.

When I find him in the kitchen, freshly showered and dressed in his loose sweat pants and tighter long sleeve shirt, he sends me half a smile and says, “Good morning.”

I pause in the threshold of the kitchen, gripping the frame a bit too hard. He looks heartbreaking. I take him in as quickly as I can, alarmed by my shifting emotions. Just a month ago, I thought I was fully over Harry. How stupid was I?

I’m not sure how good of a morning it is. It’s a little awkward, and I’m trying my best not to step on his toes, but when I’m finally in the dining room with my coffee and scrambled eggs, I glance up at Harry, aware of his eyes already on me. He raises his eyebrows and wordlessly asks me what’s wrong.

My eyes then fall to his hands, his fingers tapping around the rim of his own mug, bare fingers pale and long. The clock behind my head is relentlessly loud and I suddenly consider taking it apart, as I’ve done to multiple other clocks in this house. All of it is so familiar, as if Harry and I have been in this time and space before, and when I look at him again, his eyes are softer.

“You’re freaking out,” he says, taking a slow sip from his coffee.

“Am I?” I reply, suddenly taken aback by how guarded I sound. “I am not. What would I be freaking out over?”

“Last night,” he easily supplies, placing his cup back down. “It’s alright. I wanted to apologize for it anyways. It was really unfair. Should have just given you my bed and let you sleep.”

“No. I should have just slept in my own bed. Especially after finding out that our offices were shut down.”

And as I’m saying this, I suddenly recall why this space between us feels so familiar. So awkward, yet manageable. It’s almost December, the month that my father died, and the month that I broke up with Harry almost four years ago.

He sees my expression shift. “Really, Luce,” he tries again, “it won’t happen again, so don’t freak out. Don’t kick me out, alright?”

I ignore that. “Do you remember the morning after we broke up?”

He pauses, eyes suddenly shaded and showing signs of concern. “Every second of it.”

“Do you remember how awkward it was?”

“Painfully so.”

I bring my cup to my lips, taking exactly three identical sips. “It was like this. How this morning has been. This is our morning after routine.”

He doesn’t say anything more, but I can tell my words have settled in his head when his frown eases and the hard lines of his mouth relax. He hasn’t shaved this morning, I think to myself, but he looks different for another reason. It’s the lack of dark circles under his eyes. He looks younger than he has in recent weeks. Well rested.

But finally, when he does speak, his tone is laced with humor. “It’s weird that it’s happened twice. But I think that if we’re able to get through the first awkward morning alive, we can get through this one too. After all,” he leans in with sparkling eyes, “we’ve been here before.”

“You know, most people would consider this super depressing.”

He leans back and pushes his sweater sleeves up his forearms. If he’s aware that my eyes are glued to his strong arms, he doesn’t say anything. His tattoos slowly reveal themselves one by one, and I sit there, simply and shamelessly drinking him in. “Well, let’s not spend our day off becoming depressed. How about we go out?”

“To shovel snow?”

“No no,” he smiles, crossing his legs. “Let’s go to the pond.”

The pond. It must be apparent how I feel about the place based on my expression. How much I resent that place, though I loved it once.

It’s where I broke up with him. I haven’t been there in 4 years despite it being one of my favorite places to visit. It’s walking distance, behind my house. Every time I walk or drive past it, it’s impossible to stop my stomach from falling as I recall all the good and bad memories I've made there. Harry has those same memories.

My eyes narrow and I tuck my shaky hands under my thighs. “Why the pond?”

Harry’s smiling even wider when he shrugs and raises his cup to his lips, raising an eyebrow at me from over the rim. “For old time’s sake?”

***

I don’t have anything to do today and with no excuse to present to Harry, I step out into the snow with my windbreaker, boots, scarf, and gloves. At first, it’s not that cold, but when a strong gust of wind blows after Harry’s locked the door behind him, I immediately regret not coming up with a good excuse.

Harry doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, he grabs my elbow and creates the first footprints in the snow and tells me to step into them. I wobble behind him and together, we wait for the snow plow truck to pass. I realize Harry’s still holding my arm tightly as we cross the street, making sure we both stay close to the curb on the road rather than the unshoveled sidewalks.

“We should have hot chocolate when we get back,” he says, finally dropping my arm. I shiver and wrap my arms around myself.

“I should take cold medicine when I get back.”

Harry grins at me. “You’re not getting sick. You’ve lived in Boston for 8 years and you’ve yet to fall sick in the winter.” He gives me a pointed look. “Now, your allergies are a different discussion. You’ll be fine.”

“The pond is going to be frozen,” I remind him, picturing the beautifully translucent ice. “There won’t be much to see.”

“I think there will be plenty to see.”

I peek up at Harry. The tip of his nose is already pink, his eyes watery from the wind. His pale skin looks beautiful, matching with snow piled up behind us. I look down at my gloved hands and then push my jacket up slightly to look at my own, tanner skin at my wrist. I push the sleeve back down when the wind blows, nearly knocking me over. Harry grabs my hoodie, pulling me back, laughing.

“Don’t laugh at me!” I hiss, smacking his hand away. 

He holds his hands up in surrender and looks back at the street.

The temperature reminds me of how warm Harry’s body was, the heat engulfing me so well throughout the night. Not once did I feel uncomfortable or cold last night. He’d bundled me up, pressed his front against my back. And I’d let him because there was nothing more I wanted in that moment.

We arrive at the pond just a few moments later, and as I assumed, the water is completely frozen. It’s a large field of undisturbed white snow and Harry makes fresh footprints for me to follow, my legs sinking into his steps. He doesn’t grab my arm, but he does hold onto my jacket tightly. I don’t ask how far he’s taking us, because I know he’s interested in seeing the ice formed over the water. As expected, he stops at the water and then sits down on the fluffy snow.

It's beautiful, like a winter wonderland. The willow trees surrounding the area are covered in snow, icicles hanging off their stems like a fairy's house. One time, I'd come here with Harry, and he'd stood under those icicles, teasingly telling me nothing would happen to him, but I recall being terrified about the sharp points and how he'd bruise if they fell on him.

“Sit,” he tells me, smiling up at me. His eyes squint. “It’s not that bad.”

“I won’t be able to feel my ass afterwards.”

“You’ll be fine, Miss Dramatics.”

Reluctantly, I find myself sitting beside him. The cold hasn’t pierced my jacket yet and made my ass freeze. He brings his knees up to his chest and I do the same.

“It’s been a while since I was here,” he says, looking out at the pond. The city municipal has turned the fountain off and rightfully so. “Years, I think.”

“It’s been four for me,” I tell him quietly, thinking about all the fish and turtles in the water. Where have they gone?

“You never came afterwards?”

“No. I didn’t want to.”

Harry makes a sound in the back of his throat and then gathers some snow into his hand, creating a packed ball. He throws it into the pond and watches how the snow breaks as soon as it hits the ice. “I came here once a few springs ago. I think it was two years ago.”

I can’t stop the words from coming out of my mouth. “With her?”

I suddenly can’t look up at him, afraid I’ll want to feel the warmth of his body again. There’s clearly a reason why his ex wife didn’t want us to embrace like normal friends. Perhaps she always knew how attracted I was to Harry years after our break up. I never thought it would be out of jealousy, but more out of possession. If Harry were still mine, I think I’d be the same way.

But Harry’s not mine. Why must I keep having to remind myself of the painfully obvious fact?

“Of course not,” Harry answers quietly, sounding hurt picking up more snow. “Why would I do that?”

I shrug. “It’s a public place and it’s pretty in the spring with all the flowers and the willow tree that--”

“It’s not a public place,” Harry suddenly interjects, tilting his head to look at me. “It was our place. We came here.”

I freeze, definitely not from the temperature this time. His eyes are cloudy despite how clear they should appear with the white background.

“Right,” I swallow tensely. “It was.”

He sighs and glances back at the pond. He doesn’t say anything else. Instead, a few seconds later, he wraps his arm around my shoulder, his hand resting on the side of my head, pulling me into his body. It’s as if he knew I was craving it. He removes his arm when my head touches his shoulder and then returns to his original position.

I don’t move. I don’t even breathe. I want to turn and press my cold nose against his throat, just to hear him groan.

 “Luce? Can I ask you something?”

Don’t ask why my heart’s beating so fast because I’m scared to admit the answer to myself, much less to you. “Hmm?” Real words will not happen today. He’s expecting too much if so.

Harry, goddamn him, doesn’t even waste a second. “Why did you break up with me?”

“Why did I break up with you?” It’s too early for this. I’m not prepared enough for this conversation.

“Yeah. I don’t think you ever told me why.”

“I didn’t?”

“No.” He sounds a little impatient now, as if angry that I don’t have the same memories as him despite us both being there. “I’ve thought about it often, but I never figured it out. I imagine it was something to do with your father’s death, but I couldn’t understand how it correlated with me. It’s not like I did something -- or said something insensitive -- that would make you upset enough to break up with me. And when you were doing it, I didn’t ask because, well, you looked really stressed about it. That, mixed with everything in your life at the moment, made me not ask.” He looks uneasily over my head. “I guess, I’m asking now. You never told me properly.”

He’s right. I’ve never told him. And he’s never asked.

“And,” he continues, taking advantage of the brief pause, “I realized after I started dating her that I missed my chance to ask what exactly happened between us.” He laughs a bit. I see his breath in the air. “I have been so confused for years.”

I’ve been unfair to him, thinking the reasons for the downfall of our relationship was clear. There’s no avoiding this conversation, not when he’s sitting there with nowhere to go, and not with my schedule completely clear for the rest of the day. It was coming. Had he planned this? Knowing him, he definitely had. He enjoys cornering people.

“Did you bring me here so I wouldn’t run away?”

Harry smiles wryly. “Yes. Now talk.”

“It wasn’t something you’d done. I don’t want you to think that.”

“Do you see how I could think that? For two years?” he says, leaning his head against mine. 

I swallow. “Yes. And I’m sorry about that.”

“Yeah.”

“I was very overwhelmed by everything happening and I suddenly didn’t want a relationship. It wasn’t ever about you or something you’d done. It was how I was reacting to everything going around me and, Harry, it was driving me insane. I was going to fly to Ecuador to see my family and help bury my father, but for a moment, I thought of leaving and never coming back.”

He speaks carefully. “And this wasn’t something you wanted to talk to me about?”

“No,” I answer immediately and he stills. “I couldn’t. I wanted to be alone.”

He glances down at his finger, rubbing the area where his ring once lay as if it were aching. “And how did that end up for you? Being alone.”

“I got to see you happy. Something you wouldn’t have been with me.”

He releases a slow breath. “Christ’s sake.”

“It sounds pathetic now. Given the whole--”

“Divorce.”

I feel flushed. “Right. But that was the whole thing. It wasn’t you.”

“It wasn’t you either.”

I shake my head. “No. I guess it was just the circumstances. I couldn’t control them and I knew it was going to have a strain on us so I wanted to prevent anything worse.”

“And you thought the best thing to do was break up with me.”

I want to pick my head up and look at him but his head on top of mine prevents that. “You’re upset with me.”

“No, Lucía. I’m angry at you.”

I wince. “Right.”

“I have a right to be, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely,” I answer immediately. “I don’t understand how you haven’t been angry for all these years.”

“I haven’t been angry until now. I just thought we were the type of couple to talk to each other about our problems. And the type of friends too. Why do I find out about things you go through myself? Why don’t you tell me? Your OCD has become worse, Lucía, and you try to hide it, but it’s not working. You need better help than your stupid therapist.”

“We broke up.” My voice is so small, I don’t recognize it as my own. “I couldn't tell you those things.”

And suddenly, as if Harry’s anger has dissipated, turns his body towards me and wraps his arms around my shoulders. “God, Luce. It doesn’t matter what we are now. It matters that I’ve always told you to talk to me.”

Although there’s snow on his jacket, he’s still unreasonably warm. He leans his head on mine again and kisses the top of my head so softly, I want to cry out loud. But I wait until my throat opens up again to speak.

“To be fair, you asshole, you’re totally being a hypocrite.”

Harry’s chest rumbles when he quietly chuckles. “Am I?” he whispers in my ear.

“You didn’t tell me about your marriage problems until your divorce was nearly finalized.” I pick my head up off his chest. “You hypocrite.”

“No, but I have a valid reason. Thought it would be weird if I talked to my ex girlfriend about my marriage problems.”

“Why? Did you think I’d jump with joy?”

Harry’s eyes widen and he throws his head back as he laughs. I’m so relieved to see not a single speck of anger in his eyes. “God, no! I just thought it would be shitty of me. Especially after the whole wedding thing.”

“But as it turns out, you lost all your friends in the divorce and now I’m your only friend.”

“Hey,” he says, semi offended, but the smile still on his face, “I chose to drop those friends. They were covering for her!”

“Right.”

“Plus,” he continues, still smiling softly, “after your father’s death, I knew you had a lot on your plate, so adding my problems on top of that would just be unfair, don’t you think?”

“Are you telling me that we didn’t talk about our problems with each other for the same reason, Styles?”

“Wow,” Harry sighs, raising his eyebrows. “I guess we’re not so different at all. You should be angry with me too, then.”

I shake my head, admiring the melting snowflake that’s fallen into his eyelashes. “Hypocrite. I was never angry.”

“You’re a better person than me, then.” He removes his beanie from his head and gently puts it on mine, tucking my curls underneath. Immediately, he shudders from the cold. “Fuck’s sake.”

His hair is tied so his exposed neck gets hit by the gust of wind directly. He winces and stops my hands from taking the beanie off. “No, it's yours.”

Harry removes his hair tie and shakes his head so his own curls fall loose, covering his neck more securely. “Thank goodness for long hair.”

“Why did you decide to grow it out?” I ask him curiously. 

Harry shrugs. “Dunno, but I’m too attached to it now. How are you feeling? Still freaking out?”

“No,” I answer truthfully.

Harry’s mouth curves up when he glances at me, nodding. He takes my face into his glove-covered hands, squeezes my head tightly until I whine, and then releases me. He stands up then, holding a hand out for me to grab onto. “Let’s go around the pond.”

Half an hour later, when we’re walking back, I see some people have put up Christmas decorations already. “Hey,” I suddenly realize. “It’s your birthday soon.”

“Mhm.” Harry’s more concerned about crossing the street safely. “Three days. Look, watch your step. That’s ice. Hold my arm.”

I hold him tightly. “I’ll bake you a cake.”

“Let’s worry about that later. Right now, I just don’t want you to slip.”

I slip twice by the time we get back home. Harry makes the hot chocolate, scolding me from the kitchen while I lay on the couch in the livingroom with a hot bottle under my ass.

***

November 24

HARRY

It’s impossible to drive far with another snow storm outside, our offices closed once more, so we chose to celebrate my birthday inside. Things have been different since the incident at the pond. Lucía has been sleeping in her own room again, but she’s also disarmed her clock and changed her curtains to make her room even darker.

Though I’d like for her to sleep in my bed, I don’t want to push her. I’ve come to terms with what I feel for her, and having her in my bed would only lead to things that I’m not sure we can recover from if she doesn’t feel the same way.

We’ve gone to the pond every day, and every day, I’ve held myself back from kissing her. It’s proven to be very difficult.

But today’s my birthday and I’m celebrating having a new start. With her. Lucía brings out my cake and places it in front of me in the living room.

“Will you sing to me?” I ask her, grinning. I pat the seat next to me and she falls into it. “It’s my first post-divorce birthday after all.”

“Absolutely not.”

“No?” I frown. “Fine. Let me make a wish then.”

I lean over and ponder for a moment before inhaling, ready to blow out the candles.

“Wait!” Lucía cries out, pushing my head away with a slam of her palm. “Not yet!”

I should have known my birthday would not go uneventful.

“Ow!” I hold my hand to my forehead. “What’s wrong with you?” I demand.

She’s leaning over the cake, carefully fixing the candles so they stand upright. As I watch her, incredulously I may add, I lean back on my palms. She’s made my favorite cake.

I ask her, “I’m turning 28 so why are there 29 candles on the cake?”

“It’s a better number,” she answers, sitting back when she’s finished. She’s burned herself a bit, pushing the injured finger into her mouth.

“But I’m not 29. I’m 28.” I reach over and cautiously pluck one candle up, blowing it out. “There.”

Lucía looks at the discarded candle I’ve laid on the table. Her disturbed expression gives it all away, but I lean onto my thighs and ask, “What is it?”

“I don’t like that.”

“I know. Why don’t you like it?”

“I just don’t.”

“Can we leave it as 28?”

Lucía shakes her head immediately. “No.”

“Why not? I’m 28, Luce.”

“It’s not right. We can say the extra one is for good luck.”

She’s worn her favorite sweater and jeans, her hair tied up like mine is. My cake says, “¡Feliz Cumpleaños, Harry!” She’s written it herself.

“What are you going to do when I turn 34?”

“Lose my mind.”

I can't help but smile a little at that. “Right. That’s a different concern of its own. What do you think is going to happen if I stick with only 28 candles?”

She glances up at me helplessly, twisting her sweater sleeves between her fingers. “Something bad. Can we just put the candle back on? The cake is melting.”

“I’m 28. Don’t make me older than necessary.”

“They’re just candles!” she exclaims, growing irritated now.

“Exactly,” I say gently. “Just candles. They aren’t tied to some great significance. They aren’t meant for anything but to blow out. I promise you that if I blow out 28 candles instead of 29, nothing is going to happen. Watch.”

Her eyes widen as I lean forward and inhale sharply before blowing out all 28 candles. “Harry, no!” I feel her tense up besides me. When I draw back, she looks angry.

“See,” I tell her quietly. “Nothing happened. The only bad thing that happened was that I turned 28 and I’m old.”

“You took a very big risk!” she says, hands formed into fists. “Don’t ever do that again! Not in front of me.”

I take a deep breath and rest my hand on her clenched one. “Lucía. They were just candles.”

“I know! I know they were just candles!” she growls, pressing her palms into her eyes when she pushes my hand away. “You don’t think I know that?”

I take a quick moment to assess the situation. “Luce, I didn’t mean to upset you,” I tell her earnestly, trying to keep my voice down. “I was just pointing out that you said it yourself. They’re just candles and they’re not going to cause any harm. To anyone. It’s been at least a minute since I blew them out, and look. Nothing’s happened. Because nothing is going to happen. Yes?”

“No.”

I sigh again, scooting closer to her, taking her hands away from her face. “We’ve got to try to break out of it. Even if it’s little things like this.”

“It was little to you.”

Her voice is hard and I suddenly fear that I’ve ruined her night. I tug on her wrists a bit, pulling her closer until I get my arms around her frame and pull her into my chest. After her head touches my collarbone, she relaxes a bit and lets me shift her escaped hair over her shoulder. Resting my chin on top of her head, I tighten my arms around her, closing my eyes. Her hair is freshly washed and smells as sweet as it always does, her curls soft and bouncy.

“Sorry,” I tell her sincerely, rubbing her back. “Can we go back to celebrating my birthday?”

“That’s what I wanted.” Her voice is still firm but it cracks at the last word. I open my eyes when she picks her head up and sends me daggers with her narrowed, dark eyes. Her eyelashes are so thick that I can barely see the whites of her eyes. “But you had other plans.”

I laugh, bringing my palms to her face and pressing her cheeks together. “I’m sorry, love.”

A blush spreads over her face and I feel her skin under my hands grow warmer. I release her face after that and let her put an appropriate distance between us. I’ve made her nervous, I think, placing my hands in my lap. But she doesn’t say anything about it, reaching for the knife and pressing it into my hand.

“Here.”

“Cut it with me.”

She shoots me a look. “That’s okay.”

“What? There’s a rule about that too? Have to cut it at a certain angle or else I’ll combust on the spot?”

“It’s not funny!” Lucía says, smiling. “Just cut it, will you?”

I hold the knife against the cake and then reach over, picking up her hand, laying it flat on mine. And then to make sure she doesn’t take her hand away, I sandwich it between my other one and then firmly press down on the knife. We cut another portion.

Lucía pulls her hand away and says, “I’ll plate it for you.”

“I’ve got it.”

“No. Let me.”

She seems insistent, so I pull away and let her take control. She expertly puts the cake into the plate beside her and then picks it up. However, instead of handing it to me, she picks some up with her hand and before I can fully register where that piece is going to end up, she comes closer and smears it over my cheek and neck.

The coldness of the cream makes a shudder run through my body and a groan, closing my eyes at the thick cream falling from my face and into my lap.

“Okay,” Lucía says, putting the plate back down calmly. “I feel a lot better now.”

I lick my fingers after wiping my face. “I bet you were waiting for that all day.”

She smiles at me. “Actually yes. You just happened to piss me off at the best time.”

“Right. Luckily for you, I have a heart and I won’t smash your face into the cake that I want to eat.” There’s cake in my eyelashes and every time I blink, pieces of it fall out onto my lap. Lucía just watches it happen for a while before handing me a napkin. My face is all sticky now. My fingers too. Cautiously, I plate a slice for myself.

Strawberry shortcakes are my favorite. I love the sourness of the strawberries. “This is really good! Your baking skills have gotten better since last time.”

“Hey!” she says, offended. “That cake for your 25th wasn’t that bad!”

The ganache was so thin, it was slipping off the cake as I tried to cut into it. And the cake was dry. “It was awful,” I tell her. “Maybe chocolate cakes aren’t your specialty.”

“You have no right to say that. You’ve never baked a cake.”

I swallow. “Ah, but I worked at a bakery.”

“You worked at the register!”

She takes a bite herself and nods, satisfied. “Yeah, that’s really good. Look, I’m eating your name.”

“Thank you,” I tell her sincerely. “I love this.”

By this, I mean both the cake and the little moment we’re having together, though she won’t be able to distinguish between both things. I watch her face as she bites into a strawberry.

“I wish I could have done more for you.”

“It’s alright, Luce. I’m happy. Though, I’ve got to go change my clothes now. Give me a second and I’ll be right back.”

She nods when I stand up, the cold cream still making me shiver. I head to my room and pull out my duffel bag that’s yet to be unpacked. I’ve run out of sweaters so I take my shirt off and put another one on. The room is dark; I’ve refrained from turning the lights on since the white snow mixed with the setting sun outside illuminates the room enough for me to not bump into furniture. I feel for more fabrics in my duffel bag, but none of them are the sweaters I want.

“Hey, Luce?” I call out to her, peeking my head out the door. “Do you have any extra sweaters that might fit me?”

Should I also change my pants? They’re not too dirty, but I feel as if the icing will harden where it fell. As I’m pondering this, the floorboards creak behind me and when I turn, Lucía is there, holding something in her hands.

“I have this hoodie from before,” she says, holding it out towards me. In the dark, the only thing I can make out is her wild hair and silhouette. “I never gave it back to you after we broke up.”

I take the hoodie from her and turn it in my hands. “I’ve been looking for this!” I laugh. I pull it over my head and sigh, undoing my hair. I shake my head to let it fall evenly. “Thanks. I’ll give it back later.”

“Oh. No, that’s okay. It’s yours anyways.”

“You've had it for four years. Pretty sure that means it’s yours now.” It smells like her. A mixture of her shampoo and body wash.

Lucía doesn’t move out of the way, making no effort to head back downstairs. I don’t know what she’s waiting for, so I stay there too, the silence between us right on the edge of discomfort. Should I say something? Is she upset that I’m not keeping the hoodie? I’m waiting for something, but when she doesn’t say anything, wrapping her arms around herself as if she’s cold, I step forward.

“You alright?” I ask her quietly, resting my hands on her shoulders. I think she looks up at me.

“Did I ruin your birthday?” she whispers so softly I barely hear her. “With the candle freak out thing?”

Under normal circumstances, I’d laugh, but she sounds so insecure and worried, I don’t dare to even smile. “No. You didn’t ruin anything. I thought I ruined it.”

“I’ve ruined a lot of things between us. I thought by making a cake for you, I’d apologize, but I only made things worse.”

For a moment, I’m too stunned to say anything. But then, she takes a step forward and carefully finds my hoodie and then the strings. She holds onto it tightly. “I’m sorry, Harry. I really am.”

Every ounce of my self restraint goes out the window. I don’t know what part of her I grab or how I find her mouth in the darkness, but I do know the relief I feel when my lips touch hers and her hand tightens around my hoodie, instantly drawing me closer. She tastes like the tart strawberries with a hint of the whipped cream, the opposing tastes making me hungrily want her even more. And as I kiss her, I wonder how the hell I was able to keep my distance from her for four fucking years.

***

LUCÍA

He’s familiar. I know how he tastes, I know how warm his mouth feels on mine, and I know what causes these desperate kisses he keeps leaving on my skin even though I’ve broken my lips from his.

We’re both breathing heavily, my own heart pounding in my ears. I’m relieved that the lights aren’t on because Harry would be very worried if he looked at my face now. He’s already worried, speaking to me in a gentle voice.

“Luce, you okay?” Harry murmurs, gently rubbing my back. I clutch his hoodie harder without realizing, and then release it when my knuckles start to hurt. “Hey. It’s alright. It was just a kiss.”

It wasn’t just a kiss. How could it ever be just a kiss? “It wasn’t,” I say quietly, stepping away. “It wasn’t just…”

“It’s okay. We can talk about it. We can talk right now. Come here. Let’s sit down--”

“I don’t want to sit down.”

I can imagine the hurt that passes over his face for a second before his eyes soften and go back to concern. “You want to talk here?”

My mind is spinning. I always thought I’d be the one who’d end up kissing him. Now that it’s him, it feels too temporary. It wasn’t just a kiss.

“It was years, Harry. What am I supposed to do about all those years?”

Harry pulls away and strides to the lamp, flickering it on. Then, he returns to me, his big hands resting on my back. He’s not as confused as I am for some reason. Instead, everything is clear on his face, his normally stormy eyes more soft and his mouth slightly open. His chest is still rising and falling quickly and I can’t be imagining the way his eyes keep flickering down to my own mouth and back to my eyes.

“Harry. No.”

“Yes, Luce.”

“I don’t want to be your rebound. I don’t want to be your second choice.” I’m speaking without registering the words, but I feel myself returning to consciousness when the smile slips from Harry’s face and his eyes widen.

He’s clearly disturbed, holding his breath, his shoulders tense. “What? What did you just say?”

“I never want to be your rebound. I want to be your...your person.” I can’t stop. “And I have been a good friend. I’ve been patient. I’ve watched you get married and I’ve watched all this shit happen in your life. I don’t want to be your second choice just because you’re hurt.”

“Lucía.”

“I want to be so much more to you!” I tell him, feeling the long restrained anger bubble inside of me. “I didn’t want you to get married. I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want to love you for so long. I don’t want this! You’re being unfair to me!”

“Stop. Lucía.” Harry’s warm hands slowly cup my jaw and he pulls me closer with a quick tug. “Hey. Listen.”

I feel all ten of Harry’s fingers on my face, splayed out evenly. That’s good. His hands fit perfectly. My mind can focus on that and not be irritated like it would have been if he’d only placed one hand on my face. It’s even.

“When I say it’s just a kiss, I’m not implying it's meaningless. I’m saying that it’s no reason to freak out. We’ve kissed before. It was just one kiss. Not something new between us.”

I’m shaking my head before he’s even finished though I know he’s right. No reason to freak out. We’re mature adults. We know how to have a conversation. He’s right that we’ve kissed before.

“As for the other thing,” Harry continues, his voice significantly softer. “Luce. I married my rebound. Don’t you see that? It was supposed to be you. You and I were supposed to get married, remember? And then I was the one who fucked up.”

“You didn’t fuck up,” I whisper quickly. “You loved her.”

“I think I did,” he says with a small smile. “But all the choices I made after you and I ended things were wrong and I’m dealing with the consequences now. Besides, I’m really not the good guy you’re making me out to seem. I married someone while I was in love with another. Is that fair to any of the three people involved in this? Was it fair to any of our families? Or friends? Luce, I made many mistakes.”

“No, you didn’t,” I insist, placing my hands over his. “You moved on and I was happy for you. You were with her and you were happy and I was happy.”

Harry tilts his head and releases a slow breath. “So what went wrong?”

“Nothing! That’s just what it is. And we can’t change that so I can’t be this person for you.”

“What kind of person, Luce? What do you think I want from you?” he whispers, shaking his head, leaning down a bit. “You assume you’re one thing for me and I’m standing here telling you it’s not true. You are not my rebound. You are not my second choice.”

He looks sincere, the corner of his mouth tilting up slightly. Both his thumbs push my jaw up slightly. “Luce. Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“I just don’t want you to settle. For me,” I push out despite the words not wanting to, looking away from him. “Because she was so good. And I’m…”

“Don’t do that. Don’t you dare do that.”

“It’s true. I’m not--”

Harry’s brows pull in. “I settled for her. Can you believe me? I was that stupid.”

“You’re not stupid.” I can’t bear the thought of him thinking that low of himself. “I was. For breaking up with you.”

He nods. “Yes, you were stupid for that one. Hey. Listen to me. I’m about to kiss you again.” I don’t have time to get another word in before he’s pressing his mouth to mine softly, dropping his hands to my waist. “You were stupid, but I understand why you needed it,” he whispers in between kisses. “But I hated it.”

“But you--” I can’t talk between the kisses since he’s the one controlling them so I step back. “Harry. I don’t want you to rush into things. It’s all so soon.”

“It’s not,” he says quietly. “I want to apologize. Will you let me?”

“You shouldn't! You were happy! You shouldn’t do something for me just because I want you.”

“You don’t think I want to be with you? Luce, can you let me be happy and let me make you happy?”

He waits as the words settle into my head. He’s not settling for me. He said it himself. And he wants me. Damnit, he wants me. I don’t want to marry him right now. Isn’t that what he wants? To settle down?

“I don’t want to marry you right now,” I blurt suddenly. “Maybe...maybe in a while, but not now.”

Harry’s face breaks out into a big smile when I wrap my arms around his torso. He feels like home, body pressed up against mine. “You think marriage is on my mind right now? Maybe you don’t know me at all.”

And then I say the next thing I'm most worried about. My face feels red from embarrassment, but the words come out before I can stop them. “It feels like me breaking up with you was the reason you got into a relationship right after and got married and then eventually divorced. It feels like I was the reason--”

Harry clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “I just told you not to do that. Don’t ever do that. Come here.” And then he kisses me again, front to front, warmth against warmth, his eyelashes fluttering against my skin, soft curls tickling the frame of my face. His kisses are so cautious but still exciting, and I push myself up onto my tiptoes, moving my arms to wrap around his neck. He smiles, just barely, and pulls away for a quick breath before kissing me again. I feel as if I’m about to burst, my legs weak, and my heart so full, I can’t stand it.

When he pulls away, he murmurs, “That was 7, by the way. 7 kisses.”

“I wasn’t even counting,” I breathe, pressing my face into his hoodie. “I’ve missed you.”

“You have no idea, Luce, how much I’ve missed you,” he says quietly, pressing a final kiss to the top of my head. “Are you alright now? No more freaking out?”

“No more freaking out,” I confirm quietly. “I’m good.” It may not be a complete lie.

“You sure? Won’t give yourself a nosebleed, will you?”

I have to kiss him again, so I do. I tangle my fingers into his hair and kiss him softly, tasting the remains of the strawberry shortcake on him. And when he kisses me back, matching my slightly desperate energy, I feel loved and cherished for. I know I feel happy at that moment.

And then I feel a different, more urgent emotion when Harry’s hand slides down to my waist and tugs me close, capturing my mouth with his once more, wet, soft, and delicious. His other hand slides up to cup the back of my head to silently tell me that if I have any plans to run away, think again. I don’t think I can’t tear myself away from him anyways, and I repeat the words to him when my hands hold his hoodie tightly between my fingers, drawing him impossibly closer. It’s similar to how I grabbed his collar at court. He seems to enjoy the motion, tilting his head and pressing his tongue past my lips.

Electricity zips through my body at his choice to deepen the kiss, but I push myself onto my tip toes and press back with the same amount of intensity. He breaks apart to steal a quick gulp of air, the sound he makes a cross between a moan and a whimper. I open my eyes briefly and watch him, but his eyes are still trained on my mouth. The hand pressed against my hair tugs me back so his lips fit against mine again.

“Come here,” he whispers, tilting his head again. “Come to me, Lucía.”

The sound of my name falling from his lips makes my knees weak and I’m instantly glad he has such a bruising hold on me, preventing me from falling to the floor. When his hand slips just slightly and rests above my ass, I take a deep breath and gently touch the drawstring of his hoodie and then the collar. His eyes open when I pull on it weakly.

“That’s what you want?” he breathes, drawing back just enough for me to be able to see his light eyes. He presses his tongue to the corner of his mouth and I’m instantly mesmerized by it.

“Yes,” I whisper, pressing kisses to his neck. I don’t like how far he is. “Would that be alright? I’ve been really patient.”

Harry’s frame shakes when he laughs quietly, cupping my jaw between his hands. “Yes, you have, haven’t you?”

I nod, pulling on his hoodie some more. “Would it be alright?” I repeat.

His smile remains wide as he bites his lower lip and nods, stepping away from me and pulling the hoodie off his body. He’s left in a thin black shirt, but I barely have any time to comprehend how attractive he looks when he draws me closer and begins to undo the button on my jeans. My breath hitches at the thought of what we’re about to do, and he glances at me, halting his movements.

“What is it?”

“I’m just so excited,” I whisper, reaching for his drawstrings at his joggers. “I want to go slow, but at the same time… at the same time I want to…”

Harry’s smile returns and he slowly drags the zipper of my jeans down. “I know what you mean,” he says quietly, pressing a quick kiss to the top of my head. “I’m not sure how to go about this either.”

I swallow. “Maybe we can go slow and just see how we feel about that. I don’t want to rush.”

“I don’t want to rush either, Luce. We’ll take our time, then.” He reaches for my sweater next, and I put my arms up to let the material pass easily over my head. He tosses the white sweater to the side and takes a step back, his tongue pressed to the corner of his mouth again. His eyes move darkly over my torso. “Fuck’s sake,” he says under his breath. “Lucía. You can’t do that to me. I’m not strong enough.”

My hands reach out for him, trembling a bit with excitement. “Your turn now.”

As he removes his shirt, he admits, “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“You get to see all of me now.”

He tosses his shirt away too and then tugs me back to him with his fingers around my belt loops. “Don’t be so far from me,” he quietly complains, kissing my mouth again. He walks forward until the back of my knees hit the mattress and then we tumble onto it. I softly laugh into the kiss, throwing my arms around him.

He doesn’t waste any time pulling me up to secure my body fully on the bed. “Now,” he whispers against my jaw, pressing a faint kiss there, “I’m going to do what I was made to do.” He hovers over me. “Worship your body.”

The first kiss pressed to my sternum causes a shiver, but the next few kisses cause giggles. I feel his lips pull into a smile when I tangle my fingers into his curls to keep them from falling over his face. He bites down on my stomach lightly as a thanks. He turns his head and presses a kiss to my wrist before returning his attention to the task at hand. He licks his lips and presses them softly to my stomach and ribs, glancing up at me between every few kisses. When my breath hitches, it’s when he’s biting down on my bra and pulling it away from my chest. He lets it snap back and then finally fingers the strap around my shoulders.

“Gonna pull this down,” he murmurs, kissing my shoulder and then earlobe. “How’s that sound?”

“Really good,” I whisper, still holding his hair. “I’d like that very much.”

Harry chuckles and then gently drops both straps and then I arch my back so he can get to the clasps behind my back. It feels natural to be undressed by Harry. Any nerves I’m feeling right now are out of pure excitement and impatience, not fright or unease. Before the material falls away from my body, I gasp at the cold air and say, “Wait! Can you grab the blanket?”

“‘Course.” He drapes the thick blanket over us and then finally pulls the bra away from my body, cheekily flicking it somewhere over his shoulder. I can’t help but giggle when his warm mouth continues to press kisses to the newly exposed area, creating a contrast to how the cold air feels. I’ve got goosebumps and around my breasts, but Harry gently kisses or massages them away with his palm. “Better?” he murmurs, picking his head up to grin at me.

“So much better,” I whisper, tucking his hair away again.

“Is my hair annoying you? I can tie it. I mean, I will have to when I fuck you or I’ll lose my mind. It tickles too much and it’ll get in your face.”

I open my mouth to answer, but the way he casually says “when I fuck you” renders me completely speechless. I know what I’ve gotten myself into, but hearing him say it and watching his mouth curve around the words excited me further and the impatience inside me grows intensely. That’s what I’ve been wanting from him, I realize, remembering the times where I dwelled on his hands on my body, his kiss on my cheek. I want that and more.

“No,” I manage. “Leave it out until you fuck me.”

My words seem to have the same effect on him. He breathes out a laugh and bends down to kiss my collarbones, his hands falling below to work on my jeans. They’re a little harder to get off, but Harry manages fine with a mix of his relentless tugging and my kicking, and soon my legs are bare and I’m left in my underwear.

“If I had thought,” I start with a gasp, watching him kiss the inside of my thighs, “that I’d be sleeping with my ex tonight, I would have worn cuter underwear.”

Harry hums, moving up to rest on his knees as he begins to pull his joggers down. He’s wearing the same tight black underwear he’s always worn, and he purses his lips. “Can’t relate. Yours are still cute. You have to remember: I’ve seen all your underwear, even the embarrassing ones.”

“But you haven’t seen the newer ones!”

“Knowing you, they can’t all be that bad.” He peeks down at my current one. “This one’s cute.”

“Wasn’t trying to go for cute, but thank you.”

He notices that my eyes are trained below his waist. Instead of making a comment about it, he takes my hand and gently presses it to his crotch, swallowing when I give him a squeeze.

“Good thing I know how to make you feel good,” I whisper, sitting up a bit to reach him better.

“It’s been a while,” he murmurs back, flexing his jaw when I slowly begin to palm over his length. “Do you even remember?”

“I do,” I tell him. “I think about it all the time.”

Surprise lands over his face. “Yeah? What do you think about?”

I push him down to the mattress, landing a thigh on either side of his hips. “I think about whether or not people have been able to please you like I used to.” He grabs onto my hips and pressing his fingers deeply, groaning softly and throwing his head back when I experimentally rock my hips against his. “Because for me, Harry, nobody’s been able to do it like you.”

“God,” he says weakly, lifting his head to watch my movement on him. “Warn a man before you say filthy things like that.”

His hair is now fanned out over the pillow and the setting sun colors his face dark orange and pink. The sunsets in the winter are always more colorful for some reason, and I thank the sun for the impeccable timing. I thought he looked like a painting while asleep, but he looks like a fucking masterpiece now. I can’t help but look around for any imperfections. Finding none, I lean down and brush a kiss to his jaw.

“Harry,” I whisper, smoothing my fingers over his strong brows. “I’ve missed you.”

“You have no idea,” he whispers back. I feel his throat move against my mouth as he swallows. “You have no fucking idea, Luce.”

“I want you to show me. And I’ll show you.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.” His fingers are still squeezing my waist. 

“You want to be on top?”

“Yeah,” he says, licking his lips. “Don’t get me wrong, I love this position. Love feeling you on top of me. But I want to see you under me.”

The words slice through me ruthlessly. He sits up and allows me to roll off, adjusting himself in his boxer briefs. He takes a deep breath and then glances at the side table. “Do you have any condoms?”

I’m mesmerized by all his tattoos. They’ve been hidden from me for years. It takes me a second to answer. “They’re in the bathroom.”

He groans and looks at the bathroom door across the room. “It’s so far!”

“It’s not!” I laugh, pressing kisses to his jaw, holding his face. “It’s a little cold, sure.”

“Why don’t you keep them in the drawer anymore?”

“What am I supposed to do with them?”

Harry turns his gaze on me. “Don’t tell me they’re expired, Luce.”

“Well, the only way to know is to get up and check.”

Harry groans again, more dramatically, but he pushes the sheets off his body anyways and shudders, walking over to the bathroom. I hear him shifting things around in the bathroom before he returns to me, waving a packet. “One. You have one left, Lucía.”

“The lone survivor.”

“How much sex were you having, woman?”

“I should be asking you that considering you were married.”

“Don’t,” he says, raising a hand gesturing to me to stop talking. “Don’t bring up my sex life with her.”

I embrace him to my chest when he slips back into bed. “It was that bad?”

“Now that I think of it, everything was bad. You know what? I have an idea. Let’s refrain from speaking about the demon bitch while we’re in bed together. How’s that sound?”

His mouth is warm against mine when I kiss him. “Sounds like an excellent idea.”

“That’s what I thought. Because if you keep talking about her, I’m going to go soft.”

He lifts his head for air and then gently parts my legs so he can rest between them. And then he grabs a pillow, pushing it under my hips for some elevation. Everything becomes serious and more quiet when his long fingers dip into the waistband of my underwear and gently tug the cotton down.

Harry slowly lowers himself, and despite the direction he’s going in, the first swipe of his tongue makes me jolt, and if it weren’t for Harry’s warm hands on my thighs, I would have injured him purely from surprise. I gasp, tightening my fingers in his hair immediately as I’d always done years ago, feeling his familiar tongue press against me, lapping, and his mouth gently kissing.

“Fuck,” I whisper, pushing the blanket down despite the cold so I can get a good look at him. His eyes are on me, eyelashes tickling my skin. “Harry.”

He still manages a confident smile even with his mouth on me. When he pulls away, he licks his lips and then presses a wet kiss to my thighs, biting down gently too.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “Just wanted to hear you.”

I swallow, tucking his hair back. “Don’t apologize for that.”

His dimples deepen when he drags the kisses back up my sternum and then neck. Everything about him feels the same, from his kisses to his scent to his almost overwhelming weight. He gently grabs my face and kisses my mouth.

“Let me fuck you?”

“You don’t have to ask me, Harry,” I groan, feeling his free hand trail back down between my legs. I wrap my legs around his waist. “You know what I want.”

He hums. “Promise I’ll spend more time with my face between your legs later. I’m trying to be patient, Luce, but I just--”

“I know. I know. I’m trying too, but it’s really hard. It’s been so long.” A slow sigh leaves me when he presses his middle finger inside me. I slowly release a long breath. “Tie your hair up,” I implore softly. “Please, just tie it.”

He doesn’t listen to me, instead pressing a second finger into me, marveling at my whines. “Don’t wanna hurt you. Need to make sure you’re ready.” Since he refuses to do as I say, I take the hair tie from around my own wrist and gather up all his hair before twisting and creating a bun, securing the hair on his head. It’s messy but it gets the job done. Harry chuckles, probably at my desperation.

“Harry,” I say, trying my best to sound firm. “I was ready yesterday.”

“Really?” he muses, smiling. “Should have jumped my bones then.”

“Harry, I’m serious.”

“Alright.” He gently pulls his fingers out and then pulls his own underwear down, watching my face as I watch the skin get revealed inch by inch. “The look on your face,” he breathes, reaching for the condom. “You really are ready, hmm?”

I wrap my trembling arms around his neck and pull him down, my heart beating wildly. He parts my legs once more and says, “Lucía, at least look at my face.”

My throat feels dry, but one look into Harry’s eyes and I feel much more relaxed. He presses my head back down into the pillow, and I hadn’t even realized I was sitting slightly up to watch him roll the condom on. “You alright?” I ask him, though I don’t need to, because he gives me a beautiful smile as an answer and then takes a hold of himself, gently pushing into me. 

He mutters a swear while I gasp, and he immediately takes my hands away from his neck and laces our fingers together, holding our joining hands above my head. He continues to move, monitoring my face, until he’s fully inside. The familiar pleasure warms my body, welcoming Harry back into the place he’s always belonged. The sun, now no longer pink but just a pale yellow, hits his hair and the side of his face that once more reminds me how breathtaking he is.

I have to tell him this. “You are so beautiful,” I whisper, closing my eyes briefly when he pulls away and then presses back in. My eyelids lift. “You are so perfect. You are everything I’ve ever wanted. You are so…”

“Lucía,” he murmurs, pushing my hair off my forehead with a quick sweep of his thumb. “You’re being unfair.”

“Am I?” I answer faintly, unable to take my eyes off his face. “I think you need to know.”

The corner of his mouth lifts up and his eyebrows raise when I moan softly at him pressing back a few more times. “I know, my love,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to my right eyebrow. “I can see it all over your face.”

“Good,” I reply, squeezing his hands. “You should know. I can’t believe I let you go.”

My eyes flutter shut again when he kisses my other eyebrow and then my cheekbone, all the way down to my jaw. And then he repeats on the other side. In that moment, I feel so loved. I realize that my loneliness was never going to be cured by just anyone. It would only be cured by Harry.

I open my eyes and push up, catching his lips as they descend their way down to my neck. He makes a startled noise of surprise, but melts into my kiss.

“You feel so good,” he says into my mouth. “There’s nobody like you. It was always you, Luce. I was so fucking stupid.”

“No! No, it wasn’t you. It was me. All me.”

Harry presses his face into my neck and releases my hands, instead pushing his arms under my body and holding me tight against his chest. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and hug him, burying my moans into his shoulder.

He moves effortlessly inside me, slowly, but meaningfully. At some point, Harry’s pace is so slow and his grip so tight, I can’t breathe, too overwhelmed by him taking up all my senses. I kiss whatever amount of skin I can reach, greedily. His own lower groans and grunts sound heavenly to me, and I close my eyes, content with his taste on my tongue, his sounds in my ear, and his weight on my body. At some point it’ll be difficult to breathe again, but I’m not too concerned about it. I’m happy. I’m so, so happy.

The only thing that breaks me out of this trance is a wet feeling on my shoulder and neck. My blood goes cold. For a moment, I just let Harry hold me tighter, but when his shoulders start trembling, I pass a hand over the back of his neck.

“Harry,” I whisper, pressing a kiss to his temple. “No. Please, mi ángel. Please don’t cry.”

He takes a deep, trembling breath.

“Harry, baby.”

It takes him some time to begin talking to me again, but his hips ever stop moving, never stop giving us both the pleasure we’ve denied ourselves of for years.

“Love you so much,” he finally says quietly, picking his head up. His eyes are watery, breaking my heart as soon as he makes eye contact with me. “I’ve missed you so much. You have no idea. Every day. It was torture every single fucking day.”

I’m so happy that his hair is out of the way as I can see him perfectly. When he blinks, some of the moisture on his lashes hits my face, but I don’t move to wipe it away from my skin. Instead, I use my palms to wipe his eyes, pushing up to kiss his mouth.

“Don’t do that,” I whisper, my own eyes beginning to water. “Please don’t cry, Harry. I can’t handle that. You know I can’t.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, stuttering on a laugh. “I can’t stop, Luce. I can’t. You’re all I fucking wanted and I didn’t have you for so long.” He glances down at where we’re connected, giving me a generous, deep thrust. I gasp, throwing my head back. He cups the back of my head immediately to soften the blow against my pillow though it wouldn’t have injured me anyways. “You are so beautiful. You have no right to call me beautiful when you look like that.” My eyes cut to his again. “I’ve missed you. Sometimes….sometimes I’d wake up in the middle of the night and I’d expect you to be next to me.” A fresh wave of tears form in his eyes. “But it was never you, Luce. And I wanted it to be you so bad. I wasn’t ever the good guy if I wanted that. I wasn’t a good husband.”

“Harry,” I manage through a groan. “Stop. Stop saying that about yourself. It doesn’t matter now.”

“It does,” he says quietly, cupping my jaw. “Look at me. Hey. It matters because you think you’re my second choice. Or my rebound. Lucía. Lucía, that’s not true. It was never true and it’s not ever going to be true. It was always you.” With the last word, he gives me a rougher thrust that has me closing my eyes and relishing the pleasure.

He continues, “I’m not even upset about this stupid divorce. I was more upset when we broke up. Do you see? It’s always been you.”

I drag him back down to me with weak arms, kissing his face over and over, tightening my legs around his waist. “Harry,” I whisper, burying my face in his neck. “Don’t blame yourself, please. It was my choice to break up with you after all. And you didn’t even know why until recently. I’m at fault mostly.”

Harry smooths a hand over my hair and then bunches it together, tilting my head back so he can kiss my neck. Although he’s no longer crying, I can feel the emotion behind those kisses, enough to make me want to cry as well.

“You did what you felt was right. I can’t be angry with you about that.”

“You were angry before.”

“I was,” he admits quietly, kissing my forehead. “But I love you too much to be mad at you for so long.” He moves so deliciously inside me, I nearly forget to breathe. “Let me do you right. Let me make you cum.”

“Now you’ve got my attention,” I tease. In response, he cups my jaw and kisses me deeply while increasing his pace. At some point, however, it becomes hard to keep up with his kisses due to how demanding they are. Too overwhelmed to kiss him back, I whimper into his mouth instead, struggling to keep my sounds to myself. Harry’s driving them out of me.

My legs tremble at the intensity and when Harry releases my face, he places his hands on my waist and begins manually moving me on him. I suspect he’s a little tired, so I raise my hips to help him despite the burn already forming in my legs. He flashes me an appreciative look.

“When was the last time you had an orgasm?” he asks, pressing his thumb against my clit, slowly circling. The movement makes me whine and grab the bed sheets. “Oh, you are so beautiful, my Lucie.”

“I think it’s been...it’s been a week. It’s been a little hard with you around, if I’m honest.”

“Really?” Harry asks breathily, interested. “Why?”

“Well.” I feel my face grow hot. All I can hear is our skin slapping and his low groans. “I’m so used to m-my own place with nobody around. It’ll be an adjustment to try to keep my...my noises to myself.”

Harry lets out a laugh and then tilts his head back, uttering a swear under his breath. “You know I wouldn’t mind.”

“I would,” I whisper, shutting my eyes tight. “Fuck, Harry. Harry.”

“Can feel it. Squeezing me so tight, love. Go ahead. I want to feel it all over me.”

The orgasms I’ve had without Harry don’t even begin to compare to how intense this one is. Harry holds me to his chest, working me through the orgasm, letting me bite down on his shoulder harshly. My wrists hurt from how tightly I’m holding his neck. Tears erupt in my eyes at how well cared for I feel. His fingers run through my hair and he quietly laughs when they get stuck in my curls. “Thank you,” I whisper, because I don’t know what else to say. “Thank you. I love you.”

Harry presses a kiss to my hair and then softens his hold on me, still not letting go. He thrusts only a few more times before burying his own head in my neck to muffle his groan, stilling inside of me. He whispers swear after swear, and then finally ends with murmur of: “Love you so much, Luce.”

I don’t want to let him go yet, no matter how badly my arms are aching. He pulls out of me, and lifts his head, cupping my jaw when kissing me softly.

“Two seconds,” he whispers. “Just give me two.”

I swallow and nod, reluctantly letting him go, wiping away my tears. His eyes soften at the sight of them, and as soon as the condom is discarded, he returns to me and gathers me into his arms. He’s on his back and I scrawl myself on top of him, letting his hands run over the curve of my waist and the back of my neck.

“Give me a few minutes and I’ll be ready to go again,” I whisper hoarsely.

Harry laughs, scratching down my back. “Oh really?”

“Yes. This was lovely reunion sex. Next, we gotta be rough.”

“Hmm. And this has to happen tonight?”

I pick my head up. “Are you tired, Styles?”

“A little bit, Luce. All that crying made me dehydrated.”

Suddenly, I feel the ghost of the tears he’d wept onto my shoulder. I sit up and cup his face. “You have no idea what happens to me when you cry, mi ángel. You’ve rarely ever cried in front of me.”

Harry laughs, his dimples as deep as they can go. “I wasn’t planning on crying mid fuck. If anything, I’m a little embarrassed now.”

I relieve his hair from the awful bun I’ve made and his curls fall effortlessly onto his pillow. “I cried too. It’s alright.”

We fall into a bit of comfortable silence, his hands on my back, and my fingers softly tracing his tattoos. I haven’t been this close to them in years. I lick my lips and begin kissing them, starting with the swallows and then moving down to the antennae of the butterfly. It looks smaller now that he’s gained more muscle. There’s a bit of sweat on his torso, but I don’t mind. I love all of it.

“I am going to spend hours learning your body again,” Harry murmurs, holding in a laugh when I kiss his butterfly properly. “Hey, did you know your mom called me the other day?”

I pause my kisses and sharply glance up at him. “My...mother?”

“Yes. You told her we’re living together again so I think she assumed we’re back together. Don’t look at me like that. I used to talk to your mom all the time.”

“When you had a reason to.” Anxiety spikes through me. “What did she say?”

“Well, she told me to keep an eye on you. Said you haven’t been calling home a lot. That you were being too quiet.” He gently encourages me to lay my head back down onto his chest. “Why haven’t you been calling your mom?”

“I do call her! I called her a few days ago!”

“She said she missed the call but when she tried to reach you again, you didn’t pick up.”

“Why’s she telling on me? And to you, out of all people!”

Harry kisses the top of my head. “Your mother loved me, Luce. As soon as I picked up she said, ‘Where have you been, yernito?’ And then I told her that her daughter had so brutally broken up with me and left me to pick up the remains of my heart by myself.”

“You’re funny.”

His fingers gently card through my hair, laughing softly when my tangles catch them before reaching the ends. “She’s worried about you.”

“She doesn’t need to be.”

His heartbeat has returned to normal. I close my eyes, enjoying the soft rhythm. “I’m worried about you too,” Harry says quietly. “I worry about you a lot.”

My heart falls as I pick my head up to glance at him again. “Why? I’m fine.”

He takes a deep breath. “We broke up a week after your dad passed away, Luce. I didn’t even get to properly help. I didn't even know why we broke up. I didn’t hear from you until the next year. Your OCD has gotten worse. There is so much that I didn’t do in the years we weren’t together. I’m worried that I don’t know how to help you anymore.”

“You did too much for me when we were together before anyways.”

“That’s not true at all.”

“It is. And mi ángel, you didn’t have an obligation to take care of me. We weren’t together.”

His jaw tenses and then relaxes, the harsh lines of his frowns disappearing. Instead, he says softly, “I’ve missed you calling me that. You used to call me that more than my own name.”

I press a long kiss to his mouth and then one to his cheek. “I love you. Things aren’t ideal between us, but the fact that there is an ‘us’ now makes me happy.” I kiss his other cheek to even it out. “If I learned anything about our past relationship, it’s that life sometimes sucks, but we’ve just gotta deal with it, no matter how much we don’t want to. I didn’t deal with it properly. And I’ve learned my lesson. So you’re not running away from me, got it?”

Harry smiles, fondly tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Got it. And I love you.” He softly kisses me. “Please call your mom.”

“I will,” I whisper against his mouth, kissing him again, pressing my body more firmly against his. To my delight, I feel him against my thigh, once more demanding my attention. I slide a hand down between his legs and gently stroke him. He groans softly into my mouth.

“I need to give you a better orgasm, Luce.”

My ears perk up at that. “My orgasm was amazing, though. And what happened to being tired?”

“That conversation woke me up. Fuck’s sake.” He lets out a shaky breath and kisses my temple. “I promised I’d spend time with my face between your legs.” He wraps his hand around mine and gently pulls it off of him. “Let me do that and then I’ll fuck you again. Sounds good?”

“Sounds amazing.” He reaches for his hair tie and I watch, completely captivated by the man hovering over me. He ties his hair quickly and then pushes a pillow underneath my hips. My legs wrap around his shoulders and his hands splay over my stomach.

“I love you,” he tells me softly, kissing my inner thighs before pressing his mouth between my legs.

“Oh,” I whisper, lacing my fingers with his and squeezing tightly. “Te amo.”

[radiant-reid]

Touched starved

It was no secret this case had been extra hard on Spencer. Even Y/n, the newest member of the team, knew some bad things happened when he was kidnapped by Tobias Hankel. Most of the details were covered up though.

Spencer didn’t talk about it much. Only a few words when he felt strong enough. With having only been at the BAU for two years Y/n knew the least of what happened. 

Then again, she was a profiler. She could tell this case was having a more-than-usual bad effect on Spencer. 

It was because of the parallels, she figured. This unsub had been kidnapping and torturing victims. Having to solve it and, more importantly, knowing there was someone out there just like him, was hard on Spencer. 

His brain almost didn’t work as it ran constant flashbacks of what Hankel did to him. Like a horror movie with no ending. 

Everyone noticed, not just Y/n.

She just didn’t understand why they wouldn’t help him. They were all far closer to him than Y/n was. Prentiss, Morgan and JJ didn’t seem to be doing anything to help him but Y/n just felt like she couldn’t let him suffer in silence. She knew Garcia had tried to ask him how he was on the phone but there was only so much she could do from so far away. It wasn’t any of the team's fault though, they knew how Spencer operated.

That was how she found herself outside his hotel room on the 3rd night of the case. After seeing his condition slowly deteriorate throughout the hours they’d been on the case, she couldn’t just sit by. So dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants, she knocked on his door. 

“Y/n... what are you doing here?” Spencer asked as he opened the door to see who it was. It was very obvious that in the 4 hours since Hotch had sent them to get some rest, Spencer had not slept a second. 

“I...” Y/n didn’t actually know how to answer his question. Instead, she just walked into his hotel room which caused him a lot of confusion. The puzzled look on his face didn’t stop. “I’m here for you, Spence.” She told him as she sat on his bed. 

“Obviously, you’re in my room but I don’t understand why.” He replied. His brows were furrowed and his arms crossed across his chest. At least he’d changed into a hoodie and pants. Y/n didn’t think she’d ever seen him in a hoodie. 

“Come here.” She instructed and he obliged, walking over to her so he was at the foot of the bed. “I’m here so you can have someone to talk to. Or not to talk to.” She explained. He still, very obviously, didn’t understand. “You haven’t stopped working on this case for almost 72 hours straight, that’s unhealthy. Now, you’re going to relax and just stop thinking about it.” 

Spencer huffed out a sigh. “I can’t just stop thinking about it.”

“Why?” 

“There’s someone out there who can’t stop thinking about it. He’s scared, terrified. And he’s just hoping that we can save him. But everything is telling him that there’s no one left. That they’re going to get there and be left with just his body.” Spencer hunched over as he talked, feeling as small as he looked. Tears were forming in his eyes and he was desperately fighting them. “I can’t stop working on this because we need to find out where he is. I can’t stop working on this because he can’t stop thinking about it. He’s living through the torture but he’s going to give up and want to give in to death.”

“What happened, Spencer?” Y/n softly asked as the tears started spilling down his cheeks. 

He just stood there blankly. “I can’t.” He sobbed out. 

Y/n knew about his aversion to hugs but she pulled him in for one, wrapping her arms around his slender waist. To her surprise, he leant into the embrace. 

They stayed like that for a while before she pulled back, picking up his hand. She moved back so she was sitting against the headboard and pulled Spencer over, patting her lap. He didn’t even give a second thought to lay his head on her lap. His brain could almost stop spinning as he laid there. 

Y/n moved her hand to his hair, threading it through her fingers. It was remarkably soft and fluffy. 

“What happened to you, Spence?” She asked him again. 

With tears still streaming out his eyes he could answer. “It hurt so much, Y/n. He wouldn’t stop it, no matter how much I begged. I was so helpless there.” He choked out, in a broken sentence due to his heavy breathing. 

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m right here.” Y/n comforted again. She tested out the boundaries by running her hand over his cheek and when he leant into her hand she continued to brush the tears off his cheek. “Let it all out.”

“I couldn’t do anything!” Spencer cried. It was the most painful sound she’d ever heard. Someone so composed and always perfect falling apart. He was broken. “I just sat there while he beat me. I can still feel it. When I close my eyes sometimes I see him. It’s so stupid because I know, scientifically, I’m experiencing PTSD but sometimes I feel all the walls coming down on me.”

Y/n’s heart broke for him. “Spencer, it’s not stupid.” He cried even harder at that. 

“I just need to crack the case and save him, Y/n. I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t.”

Y/n moved her hand to rub his back. “I know you feel that way.” She didn’t really know what to say to comfort him. He was so often the one helping everyone else out. 

“I feel so silly for still being scared too.” He mentioned. 

“Oh, Spence, it’s okay. Hankel is dead and you’re safe now.” She soothed him, still rubbing circles in his back.

He was still bawling his eyes out, feeling unbearable sadness. “I know that. But I still see him and I can still remember every second of it.”

“You didn’t deserve any of that.” She told him firmly. “He was sick, I know you know that. You went through the worst things imaginable and you’re so strong.”

He lightly nodded. “Will it get better?”

“Yes, if you keep talking about it. To anyone. JJ?” Y/n suggested. 

“I like talking to you.” He mentioned it, quieter than before. Y/n could finally smile at that. Despite everything, Spencer was still so kind. 

“Good.” She told him as she moved her hand back to his hair. “I could see it was getting to you. With all the similarities in him drugging and abusing his victims. I can’t imagine what you went through but I’m so proud of you.” She continued, meaning every word she told him. 

The tears had stopped coming so fast now. They were still constant but a weaker flow. “I just felt so helpless when I was there.”

Y/n almost chuckled at that. “Spencer, from what I’ve heard you were the one who told the team how to find you. I think you were so brave and I know they’re all so proud of you.” She told him. 

“Thank you.” He murmured as he moved his head in her lap. She continued to comb through his hair. 

They stayed in the exact position for a while. Until, eventually, the tears stopped. 

Spencer then sat up. His cheeks were flushed red as he made eye contact with Y/n. “I’m sorry I completely freaked out.” He nervously rambled out an apology. 

Y/n couldn’t have shaken her head faster. “Spencer Reid, you don’t have to be sorry for anything. Everyone needs someone to talk to.”

“I’ve got to save him, Y/n,” Spencer told her as he moved to get up off the bed, no doubt to go to his makeshift workspace. 

Instead, Y/n tugged on his arm, not letting him move. “I know you’ve got to, Spence. But you can’t do that if you haven’t slept or relaxed in days.” She informed him. He was smart enough, and he had read at least 300 articles on the importance of sleep, to not argue with her. 

“Okay, I’ll sleep. Thanks for coming to see me.” He told her, trying to get her out of the room. 

Y/n noticed. “I don’t think so. You’re stuck with me for the night, buddy.” She told him as she pattered her lap again. 

He looked like he was thinking about putting his head on it but he stopped. “Then you won’t sleep.” He realised.

“Okay then,” Y/n said as she pulled the covers of his bed up and got in. “I hope you’re okay with cuddling.” She was a little worried he wouldn’t be into it, just because of his germaphobic nature. But her worries subsided when he got in next to her and quickly put his head on her chest, 

Y/n moved so she was lying flat on her back with her head on a pillow. Spencer put his own head on her chest and wrapped his arms around her waist like a baby koala would its mother. 

She moved her arm so she could wrap it around Spencer’s torso and pull him closed but he stopped her. “Can you, uh... could you do it to my, um, hair?” He nervously asked. 

Happy to oblige, Y/n moved her hand to his hair and started to run her fingers through it. “If you just want to lie here it’s fine but we can talk too.” She offered him, still unsure of what he needed. Spencer was so used to closing up that he decided to go against what his brain was telling him. 

“My parents,’ He started, “When I was little we didn’t really do touching... no one’s ever hugged me like this.” The thought of a little kid Spencer not getting hugged broke Y/n’s heart again. 

“Is this okay?” She asked, cautious of where his boundaries might lie. 

“Yes.” He hurriedly answered, not wanting her to stop for a second. “I like it. I just didn’t get hugs as a kid from anyone. And as I grew up I learnt more about germs and figured that’s why my parents repealed me.” He spoke slowly and softly like he was half asleep. Maybe he was. “But I like this. It makes me feel better.” He figured. 

“That’s good.” Y/n hummed. “I’m always here for you if you want to talk or just cuddle.” She told him. 

The smile she could feel against her chest warmed her heart. “I’d like that and please don’t stop stroking my hair.” 

She smiled at that. “I won’t.” She meant it as she leant down to place a kiss on his forehead.

[missezramay]

The Portwell Confession we deserved 💖

EXT. The Campfire, after the show.

The sparklers are dying down, but the campers are still celebrating, blasting Disney songs and dancing around the fire log. Corbin and his team head off.

“Love Is Open Door” starts playing, catching Gina off guard. The other campers are still singing along and dancing, but she suddenly notices that EJ has disappeared.

Cut to INT. The Cabin Lounge

EJ is sitting where he was an hour ago, where he had called his father. Head in his hands, tears in his eyes. He quickly brushes them away as the door opens. It's Gina.

“EJ? Are you in here? Is everything okay?”

“Oh hey, Gina. Um, yeah I’m fine.”

“I can’t believe we’re trending in Brazil!” she exclaims. Noticing EJ is not himself, she suddenly goes quiet. “We… you did it.”

“Yeah, I guess so. Hey, you were all stars on that stage tonight.” He cracks a half-smile. “You should be out there celebrating. I just uh, felt like packing up early.”

He stands up to grab his things as she comes in closer, noticing the red in his eyes. “EJ, you’ve been… crying. What’s wrong?”

He meets her eyes, now full of concern. “Oh it’s just…my dad. He didn't show up so I called him. I actually felt confident enough to confront him and thought... anyway it doesn’t matter. He hung up on me.“

She takes his right hand. “Eej, that’s horrible. I’m so sorry. If he saw what you did tonight, I’m sure he—”

He breaks away, embarrassed. “You know, I’ve been thinking and he was right. This theatre thing, it’s not good enough. So it makes sense. I should go to St. Louis and learn how to be a better leader—“

She interrupts, placing both of her hands on his shoulders. “Hey, none of that is true. You're already a leader. Tonight's show was incredible. We did it our way because you made us a team, even when Channing...” she stops herself, realising the kind of summer that EJ had. Her heart breaks, full of regret over their last conversation.

Taking a seat, she continues. “If no one has told you yet, thank you. For all the work you did this summer. For the Wildcats. I mean, you basically ran the camp with Maddox and Val while I was just… oh Eej, I’m sorry that I didn’t reach out—“

“G, it’s okay. You have nothing to apologise for." He sits down next to her, letting out a sigh. “This is not the summer I wanted for us. I certainly didn’t expect this job… and then my dad sent me that letter. So, I panicked. But I never wanted to hurt you.”

They turn to face each other; clearly the love between them never left, it just momentarily turned to frustration.

He continues. “G, I want you know that I only told Val about the letter because I was scared that you would think we were over… but I planned to tell you. I looked for you all night but I guess that's when you found it. Then the “Real Campers of Shallow Lake” happened. I never thought our first fight would go down like that.”

Feeling remorseful, she takes his right hand. “Can we never talk about that day again? I don’t know what came over me. I hated fighting with you. I felt like you didn’t trust me… and I was so mad. I didn't think you were trying to protect me from something."

He squeezes her hand. “Well Team Wonderstudy always have the best intentions at first…”

They laugh in agreement and are warmed at the sight of the other smiling, like old times. A minute passes as the end of summer dawns on them. "Listen Eej, I’m so sorry about your dad. But maybe there’s a way you don’t have to go. You can go and stay with Ashlyn or—"

“Gina, my gap year was never about just staying in Salt Lake. It was about being close to you. And also because…” He looks down for a second, shy, and then up again, meeting her eyes.

“Because…?" She asks.

He takes a breath before continuing. “I’ve been scared for a long time. Scared of disappointing my dad and scared of taking risks. But tonight I realised... that I don’t care about my dad, or my future... as much as I care about you.”

He braces himself. “Gina, I’m in love... with you.”

Her heart races as she finds the words to say.

Relief washes over him; he finally had the courage to say the words he meant to say all summer. ”You don't have to say it back. I wanted you to know it, whether or not it makes a difference with where we are.”

She feels her eyes welling up as she takes both of his hands in hers. “EJ...I was wrong. At prom. I’m not a 'maybe' to you. I mean, yes, I expected a different kind of summer, but in a way I still got it. I got the lead..." — a tear falls down her cheek as she suddenly recalls that he had brought her flowers that day — "...and I’ve never felt more like I had a sisterhood behind me. Spending time with Kourt and Ash was an experience only Shallow Lake could've given me... and that it was you who brought me - well, all of us - here.”

She collects herself. "When you were asked to direct, it broke my heart because I dreamed that we'd be the leads together. But really I just wanted to be with you every day, and I think the reason I took it all so hard is because…”

She smiles, “…I’m in love with you too.”

He takes her face in his hands and kisses her. She kisses back. It feels different to their last one… still tender, but intense at the same time… better. Fireworks start going off outside, and they both look to the window, overcome with surprise and a sense of comfort. Everything feels right again. She wraps her arms around his neck and he embraces her whole body in his.

“So, Elton, would you like to know what I wished for at the beginning of camp?" She asks, with a cheeky smile.

He smiles back, relieved. Finally.

—END—

[butwhyduh]

Dead Clown 🤡

Jason todd x reader

Warning: smut, murder but it’s okay.

Jason pulled his helmet off and ignored the rain that poured down his face. He had to see this without a filter. He even considered taking off the domino mask but he was out in the open. The pouring freezing rain had him shivering but Jason was unaware. He literally couldn’t believe the sight before him.

The joker was laying in his back, the pasty skin on his forehead was marred by 2 small holes. The back of his stupid green hair looked almost black when mixed with blood. Blood and water mixed in a pink puddle around his head. Jason forced himself to check for a pulse before hitting his comms.

“Bats, you need to get down here,” he said in a shocked voice. “The joker is dead.”

“..... are you okay,” Bruce said in a measured voice.

“I’m fine. He was dead when I got here,” Jason added knowing he was number one suspect.

“On the way.”

Batman and Red Robin showed up shortly with Robin not far behind. It didn’t take long for the detectives to believe Jason’s innocence. The evidence didn’t match him.

Jason sat on a piece of concrete near the scene as they worked. He had hoped to see this for years now. But it wasn’t the same. Maybe it was because Jason didn’t get his revenge or because it looked too neat. Two quick shots to the brain. Probably didn’t even see it coming before he was lights out.

Bruce walked over to him as the other two took photos and bagged evidence. A little blood here. Some fabric fibers there. No fingerprints because of the heavy rain but a bullet casing.

“Did you see who shot him?”

“No B. I literally got here and he was already out. He was supposed to have a drug drop but I guess that didn’t happen,” Jason said with a shrug.

“You were going to fight him alone,”Bruce said with a raised brow.

“No. Just reconnaissance. I would have called it in,” Jason defended himself. Bruce gave him a side look before moving on to the case.

“Commissioner Gordon is on the way,” Tim said. He held bags of evidence carefully in his lanky fingers. “We’re finish collecting-“

“Can we go home, father? It’s freezing cold,” Damian interrupted. Bruce sighed before looking at him.

“Red Robin was talking but yes, you both should back to the cave to process everything. Red Hood, you too. The commissioner knows you have a history with the joker so it’s best you leave too. I’ll take care of this,” Bruce said carefully. Any wrong word might set Jason off with his trauma over the death of his murderer.

“Uh yeah, sure man,” Jason said clearly distracted. He would usually argue with everything Bruce said and this made Bruce even more worried for the young man. He sent a quick message to Dick before the commission met got there.

——————————

“We’re running the tests right now and there really isn’t much else to do. Robin already went to bed. Go home Hood and get some sleep,” Tim said by the computers. Jason hadn’t bothered to get out of his suit or shower.

“How long? How long until you get results?”

“Oh, uhhh maybe 12 hours? A while. Sorry DNA testing isn’t like in the movies. The meta or clone tests are even longer. It probably won’t be until tomorrow night that we know anything,” Tim said turning in his chair. “Get some sleep.”

Jason considered giving him a nasty comment but held it. He certainly felt dead on his feet and had a nice warm woman waiting at home for him.

“Call when you know anything,” he said with a growl.

“Yeesh, yeah. I will,” Tim said backing away. “Say it. Don’t spray it,” he muttered as Jason walked away.

———————————

Jason trudged into the apartment leaving wet clothing in his wake until he stumbled to bed in nothing but his boxer briefs. You were going to be mad at him for the mess in the morning but that could wait. He looked at you asleep on the bed. You looked so sweet and innocent. Like an angel compared to his dirty hands that practically dripped blood every night.

He slid under the blanket and pressed close to your warm form. You gasped awake before relaxing when you realized it was just Jason. Did you not realize he could kill you 84 different ways in your sleep? It didn’t really matter as you snuggled your head into the crook of his neck and slid your legs to entangle with his. Jason’s arms automatically wrapped around you and rubbed your back until your breathing was even in sleep. He stared at the ceiling until the hint of dusk could be seen outside.

Jason woke with a gasp followed by a moan as he felt perfect wet heat encompass his dick. He looked down to see the blankets move rhythmically as you slid your mouth along his dick. He blinked himself more awake to truly enjoy it.

It wasn’t the first time you had woken him as such but it was certainly a rare occurrence. Reserved for birthdays and Christmas, he couldn’t imagine what he did to deserve such a wonderful wake up.

“Fuck! Princess,” he groaned as you swirled before taking him deep. You hummed questionably.

“What did I, mmmm, do to deserve such a fuck! Perfect mouth. Perfect wake up,” he said pushing covers down to show you between his legs. You looked up at him with big innocent eyes as you licked long hot strips up his cock. You took him deep in your mouth before sliding off with a pop.

“I can’t spoil you?” You purred and he twitched. How did he get so lucky? “Do you want to finish in my mouth or can I ride you first?” You asked and he god honest choked on his spit.

“Baby, *cough* whatever you want, what. Ever. you want,” he said and you grinned before climbing up his body to straddle him. His hands ran along the side of your body before gripping your hips. You sunk down on him with a little mewl.

“Fuck Princess, you’re so wet. Do you like... do you like sucking my cock?” He asked breathlessly.

“Of course, Jaybird. Sometimes I touch myself when I blow you, like today,” you admitted with a sweet little giggle. He almost came right them. How could you say the dirtiest things while being the sweetest person he’d ever known?

Jason reached his thumb down to rub your clit as you moved. You whined before nodding at him. Your mouth fell open and your hips sped up. He knew that you weren’t going to last long. You really did get hot and bothered blowing him. You made little whined and whimpers before moaning his name loudly as you came. Your body clenching on him was enough and he thrust up into you as he came as well. You bent down and kissed him deeply. Jason was panting by the time you pulled back.

“Loved that for sure, but what the hell was that, Princess,” Jason asked breathlessly as you climbed off and threw on some clothing. You chuckled a little before tossing him his boxers.

“Just wanted to wake you up this morning. Do you want some pancakes, Jay,” you asked. He sat up and pulled them on.

“You certainly did. And I never say no to food. Especially my favorite food,” Jason said with a grin. “Is it secretly my birthday? Am I dying and you’re prepping me beforehand?”

You laughed. “You already did that, baby.”

Jason gasped a little before laughing.

“I just wanted to treat you like you deserve. Pick a movie. There’s a new slasher out that you can tear apart,” you said walking in the kitchen and grinned at Jason’s heart eye look he gave you.

He looked through the movies without paying them much mind. He’d seen the joker dead the day before and now his girlfriend was spoiling him. He didn’t know what to think about. He’d think about the joker finally being dead. He couldn’t hurt Jason or those near him any more. You’d been kidnapped 6 months earlier and it had almost ripped Jason apart when he found you bloody and beaten. Luckily alive though.

Then he thought about how sweet you were. A perfect angel who had nothing to do with that life. You couldn’t kill someone if you tried. He just wanted to keep you in an innocent bubble, especially after being kidnapped.

“Jay? Jason?” You said near him and he jumped. He had been so lost in thought that he didn’t notice you coming over to him with a plate of food. Heart shaped pancakes covered in whipped cream stared up at him and Jason had a little grin on his face.

“Sorry, thanks. This looks good,” he said and you grinned before sitting with your own. Jason turned on a movie and sat next to you to eat.

Jason’s phone rang.

He gave you an apologetic look before answering.

“Yeah,” he answered before quickly standing up to talk in another room. Definitely bat business, it sounded like. He came back in a few minutes putting on his suit. He bent and shoved most of a pancake in his mouth. Jason pulled you to your feet and swirled you around before holding you by the waist. You giggled.

“What’s gotten into you?”

“I’ve got to work. But when I get back, I’m making up for this morning, okay? Breakfast was amazing,” he said before pulling you into a dizzying kiss. You nodded before he left.

——————————

Jason arrived at the cave and realized something was instantly wrong. Tim, Dick, Damian, Bruce, and even Alfred were waiting for him around the computers. He slowly walked up. They didn’t think he did it, did they? Jason looked around in case of a fight.

“I have some bad news,” Dick said. Jason just stared at him. Dick sighed. “We know who killed the joker. You won’t like it. You- you might want to sit down.”

Jason frowned at his tone. It was the tone you used when telling a kid their parents died. He looked at the computer to see surveillance footage of the roof where he found the joker. He clenched his fist as the mad man walked in the screen.

“You know, this is the worst meeting place in the world,” joker said with a laugh. Jason’s eyebrows rose. He hasn’t expected audio. “So what do you have that I might want on the birds?”

A female voice off camera could be heard saying, “peace of mind.”

“Doubt you could give me that Princess,” he said in a mocking tone. His posture was casual even though the lower half of a woman’s body had walked into the screen and she held a gun in hand pointed at him. She froze at his words.

Jason couldn’t look away if he wanted to.

“Yeah, I know,” joker said. “I forget faces. Too many changing and quite a few people are a little two faced,” he said with a laugh. “But I never forget a voice. You sounded so much more sweet when you were crying tied to a chair. And the way you sobbed when I brought out the crowbar.... music to my ears. I bet it just reminded you of a certain bird that just didn’t quite make it the first time.”

“Shut up. I- I don’t care,” she said. Jason’s heart was in his throat. He knew exactly who that was before Tim’s DNA tests were complete. She moved around a little nervously.

“Honey, Princess,” he said drawn out in a mock of Jason’s voice. “Unless you plan on using that gun, put it down and we can play a game. You like games? You play one with the red bat all the time. Does he know? Does he know that you’ve been hunting me for.... geez, since you were kidnapped I’d bet.”

“Now drop that gun and I show you what pain really feels like,” he growled and she shot him in the forehead before he moved. He made a disconnected sound before falling to his knee, perfect height to be seen in the camera. She shot him again between the eyes and he fell back silently. His body splashed on the rainy roof before blood began to pool behind his head. The woman looked for a second, her body language painfully stiff, before running out the way she came.

The cave was silent as Jason realized what he just saw. He blinked a few times before clearing his throat. Has she- did she-??

“I assume the DNA matches?” He asked and Tim nodded before sliding him a paper copy. 98% match. Only chance it wasn’t you was an evil twin or clone but no, he noticed the clothing and mannerisms. It was you.

“Are you going to bring her in?” Bruce asked quietly and Jason gaped.

“I sure as shit ain’t. She killed the man who kidnapped her and abused her. That sounds like self defense to me,” he defended. Dick looked at him in pity and Jason quickly looked away.

“It was premeditated, Jason,” Bruce reminded him.

“I know. I’ll take care of it. She’s not going to prison. I’ll talk to her,” he said. Bruce gave him a hard look. “You come near her- I swear to god, Bruce. I’ll shoot you myself.”

Jason got up to leave. Dick moved out of his way. He wasn’t getting in this.

“Jason,” Bruce said but Jason was already gone.

——————————

Jason was a pretty smart guy but he was completely shocked at this moment. What possessed you to kill the joker? To seek him out? A man that tried to kill you and you were willing to meet him alone? Not even Jason wanted to do that. And that morning you were treating Jason special. He thought for a second that you killed the joker for him. It chilled him to the bone but he put that thought out of his head. No, you had your own reasons to do it.

Jason walked in the apartment cautiously. Who knows how you would be acting, the perfect girlfriend or finally breaking down when you realized you killed a man. He found you in the bedroom asleep. You didn’t look like you had just killed someone and for a second Jason had doubt but the video and DNA didn’t lie.

He crawled in bed with you. You pulled him close and laid your head on his chest and Jason’s heart hurt. You looked fine but killing people left scars and your first time killing someone was not something you forget.

You woke with a gasp and cry hours later. You trembled and grasped at Jason tightly. He woke up confused before pulling you closer.

“Hey, Princess, I’m right here. You’re okay,” he said rubbing your back and holding you close. “What’s going on?”

“I see him. When I sleep. Every time,” you breathed almost in tears. Jason kissed your cheek and he felt wetness on your skin. You had been crying. He didn’t want to ask but now was as good a time as any.

“Princess, what did you do last night?” Jason asked so quietly. You looked up at him quickly and it confirmed everything he needed to know.

“Nothing. I was here. All night. Wh-why?” You asked, lying terribly. Jason sighed. He closed his eyes before willing himself to speak.

“You know I’m a detective. I can tell that you’re lying,” Jason started gently.

“What does that mean,��� you said a little too quickly. Your breathing started to speed up again and Jason hated the look of fear on your face.

“I’m not mad. I won’t turn you in. Just tell me what happened,” he said softly, watching you intently. You wanted to shrink away a little.

“I can’t,” you whispered. Your eyes started to water and you blinked them away.

“Did you do it? Did you kill him? I can help you,” Jason said and you froze. “Talk to me.”

“I-I did,” you said looking at him in terror. Your eyes were red rimmed. “I did.”

“I’m sorry,” he said pulling you tight to his body. You broke down in little sobs and clung to him. “I’m so sorry that you thought you had to. I should have. I’m sorry.” He wrapped you up and made little shhh noises and you cried until you fell back asleep.

You woke up later with a pounding headache wrapped up tightly against Jason. He was on his phone but sat it down when he saw you were up.

“Hey,You don’t have to worry about it. I’ve taken care of everything,” he said ever so gently. You nodded.

“What does that mean?” You asked slowly.

“Red Hood took the wrap on it. No great loss with one less psycho in Gotham. Harley Quinn had an impromptu parade with hyenas and jugglers and everything. Nightwing made an appearance. Dick said Barbie slept through the night for the first time in months and she said she’d help you with anything you need,” Jason said trying to be positive. You gave him a dry smile.

“That’s nice. What about- what about Batman?” You asked.

“He’s Batman. But he’ll get over it. And the next time you kill a murderous clown, let me help. He could have killed you. And if anyone knows how to hide a body, it’s me,” Jason said giving you a squeezing hug. You smiled despite yourself.

“I’ll remember that. I’m a little sad I missed the hyena parade,” you admitted.

“Oh she’s having a parade every day this week. An anonymous donor gave her a ton of fireworks. Fairly certain it was Tim,” Jason said.

[princehrry-writings]

Legal Guardian

ugh this took way too long lol, but here it is!!! i forget exactly that sparked this but i thought it was a cute idea.

warnings: injuries (nothing major), hospitals, cursing, harry being a protective dad 🥺, talks about adoption and legal guardians, crying

wordcount: 2481

harry styles x reader, stepdad!harry x reader, stepdadharry x oc!stella

masterlist

Stella gets hurt and Harry is the only one there- but he has no legal jurisdiction…

.

.

.

It all happened really fast. Harry can’t even recall how it started, but he knew very well how it ended. A sobbing Stella strapped into her car seat as he raced to the emergency room, frantically calling Y/n who was in a different state on a work trip.

The 5 year old didn’t understand what was going on, she just knew she was hurting… really bad. And that she wanted her mommy and daddy.

The traffic seemed to be working against him, getting in his way at the most inconvenient times, all the while he was trying to console his weeping daughter, crying out “Daddy it hurts so bad!” effectively shattering his heart into a million little pieces.

Stella had been playing happily in the backyard at home, showing off her wonderful dance moves to Harry who watched with an adoring smile on his face, taking little videos to send to his fiance, when suddenly she was laying on the ground, clutching her ankle, and crying for him to come get her. He rushed into action, not having seen her take the fateful step into what must have been a hole in the ground or something.

Screeching into the hospital car park, he stops somewhere he obviously wasn’t supposed to but he couldn't care less. His mind was racing. What if she broke her ankle? Or tore a ligament? What if she has to get surgery? All of this is what he worries about as he flings the back door of his car open, trying his best to appear calm for his daughter (but it’s not really working), and scoops her carefully into his hold, bringing her inside and shouting for someone to please help him.

A few nurses rush to his side, asking him different questions and asking for someone to “Page Dr. Robbins, tell her we need a peds consult.”

Stella is whisked away from him and before he can start to follow after her, a hand is placed on his chest, stopping him in his place.

“Sir, we can’t have you in the room with her. You’re not on her file as a legal guardian!” A doctor tells him. In that moment, he sees nothing but red, steam pouring out of his ears.

“The hell I can’t, I’m her father! I’m not going to let her sit in there all alone while strangers poke and prod at her!” He all but yells at the man. Harry is not violent. He really isn't. But he’s not afraid to lay somebody on their ass when it comes to his girls. With kindness or course. And maybe a black eye.

From the room she was taken into he can hear her crying for him.

“Wan’ my daddy! Daddy!” Harry didn’t think his heart could break any further than it already had but he was proven wrong by the ache in his chest that only grew stronger the longer he was kept away from his lovebug.

“Doctor, respectfully- if you don’t move the hell out of my way, I will move you myself. That is my daughter, and my fiance is in a different state right now on a business trip so I am the only parent she has right now. If you try to keep me from my child I will take legal action against the hospital and sue for everything you’re worth. Now if you’ll excuse me.” Harry is seething, trying to move past the man in the white lab coat and light blue scrubs. Again, he is stopped.

“I will call security, sir!”

“DADDY!” Stella is now screeching, her little voice hoarse from all the yelling and crying.

“Don’t you fucking hear that? She needs me, and you’re telling me I can’t go be with her! What the hell kind of doctor are you?” Harry is in the man's face, pointing at him vehemently. He doesn’t care that people are starting to watch the scene. Doesn’t care that some people have recognized him and are recording the ordeal. Let the people see him fighting for his family. He doesn’t give a rat's ass if his “image” takes a hit. His daughter is on the line and he won’t back down.

“She’ll be fine-”

“No she won’t! Go ahead and call security. My daughter needs me and you’re not going to stop me from being in that room with her.” With that he pushes past the doctor (who must be an intern or something with how he’s handling this situation) and rushes into the room where his baby is screaming for him. He’s at her side in a matter of seconds, wiping the tears from her face, peppering kisses onto her head, petting her wild hair back from her face, just consoling her in any way that he can.

How fucking dare they try to keep him from her, especially when she’s in a state like this.

“It’s ok baby girl, daddy’s here now. I’ve got you. You’re ok, you’re ok!” He mumbles into her hair, doing his best to stay out of the way of the people examining her but still close enough so she knows he’s right there with her.

Little tears still streamed down her face but she was much calmer now, her breathing more even and body less tense.

“Mr. Styles we’re bringing in the portable x-ray to take a look at her ankle, so you’re going to need to wear this.” He nods and takes the vest given to him, putting it over his shoulders like he sees the others do. A similar article is placed over Stella, who is clinging to Harry’s hand, fearing that she’s going to have to be without him again. But he promises he isn’t going anywhere.

As they’re taking the x-ray his phone starts ringing in his pocket and he checks to see that it’s Y/n calling him back.

“H, what’s wrong, is she ok?” Her panicked voice rushes out as soon as the call connects.

“We’re in the ER right now and she’s getting an x-ray to see what’s going on with her ankle-”

“You’re in the room with her right? She’s not alone?”

The little shards of his heart keep breaking into smaller and smaller pieces as her voice breaks.

“Yeah, I’m right next to her. Don’t worry m’love, she’s not alone!” He glared at the doctor that tried to keep him out as he said that, letting him know he hadn’t forgotten.

“I’m gonna facetime you so I can see her.” She said and he nodded, waiting for it to come through. When it did he quickly accepted it, seeing the love of his life’s face on the screen, with her puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks as she wiped away the remaining tears so she didn’t freak out her baby.

“Stell, mumma’s on the phone, she wants to talk to you.”

“Hi baby girl!” Y/n said as soon as Harry held the phone so Stella could see her mom. The little girl's tear stained cheeks looked exactly like her moms, and her heart broke for her baby.

“Hi mumma,” Stella pouted into the camera, clutching onto her daddy as tight as her little hand could. Harry was a little uncomfortable but he would take this over not being in here at all.

“How do you feel, baby? You ok?” She asked.

“My foot hurts and they wouldn’t let daddy in here and I was scared, but he’s here now so I’m ok.” The little girl rambled off. Y/n almost missed how she said they wouldn’t let Harry in the room but when it finally registered, she was fuming. Absolutely, royally pissed.

“What do you mean they wouldn’t daddy in there?” Stella shrugged and looked up at Harry for an answer. He brought the phone back so he could see her after looking around at the doctors in the room, all doing their job and pretending they weren’t listening to this conversation, but a few of them winced when Y/n asked her question.

“Some bloke tried to keep me out of the room while Stella was being examined but she was on the verge of a whole breakdown. It was like Disneyland in Paris all over again.” He said, referencing the time Harry took his girls to Disneyland while they were in Paris and Stella got separated from her mom and dad. She had never not been able to see at least 1 of her parents before. Needless to say… she didn’t handle it very well. Screaming, crying, and hyperventilating (which freaked her out even more- causing her to scream louder and cry harder) ensued very shortly, disturbing every person around her. But it made it easy for them to find her and she spent a very very long time clutching her tiny arms around her daddy’s neck, not letting him set her down for anything. That was an interesting trip to the bathroom …

“Why would they try to keep you out of the room? You’re her father!” Y/n was on the verge of popping a blood vessel. Of course the one time her baby really needs her, she’s hours away.

“Uh, Mr. Styles, I’m so sorry to interrupt! But the x-ray is complete. There’s no break, it looks like a sprain at worst. Also, about why my intern was saying you weren’t allowed in the room, not that I was listening to your conversation, with ped’s cases we typically only allow legal parents or guardians in the room and your name isn’t anywhere on her file or on her records so he was just trying to follow safety protocols. He didn’t go about the situation as well as he should have because we always want to make sure our patient has what they need and that was obviously you- but that is the reason why you initially weren’t let into the room. You’re not a legal parent or guardian. Based on your situation- you’re legally considered a step-parent and that title doesn’t come along with any legal jurisdiction.” Dr. Robins explained, in quite a few words Harry thinks, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Just sits and realizes that while for the better part of a year and a half, he’s been calling himself Stella’s dad but the whole he’s not been anything… not legally anyway.

Y/n realizes this too and makes a mental note to call their lawyers to do something about that.

“That makes sense… Thank you, Dr. Robbins! I have her mum on the phone, but you knew that, so if there’s anything else I legally can’t do, she’ll have to take care of it like thi-”

“Mr. Styles, we won’t tell if you don’t! Anything else that needs to be signed, we’ll just go ahead and have you do it. Save the hassle for everyone.” Dr. Robbins interrupts him and he smiles, silently thanking her.

“Daddy, what's a legal guardian?” Stella asks after a quiet moment.

“A legal guardian is someone who takes care of you because the law says they can. So because I didn’t help mumma make you and I came into your life a little later, I’m not a legal guardian of you. Not yet anyway.” He mumbles the last part but Y/n catches it.

“Does everyone have a legal guardian?” She hiccuped, rubbing at her eyes with the hand that wasn’t clutching Harry’s.

“At one point yeah, but once you get older you don’t need one anymore because you can take care of yourself.”

The girl pauses, thinking about her daddy’s words before muttering “Don’t wanna take care of myself. Wanna stay with you and mumma forever.”

All the little shards of his heart slowly start to piece back together.

“I want you to stay with me and mumma forever too lovebug.” He cooes. Y/n’s eyes light up, her gaze filled with adoration for her little family.

. * .

*

“The documents are all drawn up Mrs. Styles, everything is ready for your husband to sign.”

“Thank you so much Ben!”

. * .

*

“Baby, c’mere. Wanna talk to you about something.”

“Yeah mommy?”

Y/n took a deep breath, trying to quell the tears she could already feel threatening to fall. Her newly wed husband sat beside her on the couch, running his hand along her back and squeezing her shoulder and letting her know he was there if she needed him.

“Do you remember when you and Daddy had that conversation about legal guardians?” The woman asked, pulling her baby into her lap, brushing her hand over the girl's hair affectionately.

“Uhhh, kinda.” She murmured, curling into her mom.

“Do you remember what a legal guardian is?” Y/n rephrased, hoping to jog the girl's memory. Stella nodded and when prompted by her mother explained that “It’s someone who takes care of you until you're old enough to take care of yourself.”

“That’s right baby, very good!”

“And do you remember when we were at the hospital and that doctor was being mean, not letting Daddy into the room with you?” Harry chimes in, scooting closer to his girls. She nodded with a roll of her eyes and a huff of breath, causing a little giggle to erupt from her parents. She really is her mothers daughter.

“Didn’t like him.” She mumbles.

“Do you remember why they didn’t let him into the room?” Y/n asks, knowing she should probably get to the point before her little one checks out and gets bored.

“Cause daddy’s not my legal guardian.” Stella huffs again, rubbing her eyes and nuzzling further into her mom.

“Do you want him to be?”

Stella’s quiet for a moment, tapping her little finger on her chin like she’s thinking hard. “Yeah.”

“Yeah? You want that baby?” Harry asks, pulling her into his lap. The girl wraps her arms around his neck and lays her head on his shoulder, nodding.

“Yeah, Daddy. Want you to be able to come to the doctors with me.” She mumbles sleepily.

The tears Y/n had been fighting off finally broke through, despite her efforts. It’s official. Harry is going to adopt Stella and they would be a family in every sense of the word. No one would be able to take Harry's little girl away from him. All he had to do was sign the paper. Harry felt tears spring to his eyes as well, smoothing his hand along his baby’s back.

“You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear that…” He says, squeezing her a little tighter. Y/n snaps a quick picture before she snuggles into them.

“Love you Mommy, love you Daddy.” She murmurs before falling asleep in Harry's arms. Something that isn’t new, but feels different now for some reason. Things felt a little more official and he hadn’t even signed the papers yet.

[imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul]

I Want You, You, You - Robb Stark

Prompt: anonymous asked, hello! can i ask a imagine with robb stark where they're both in love with each other and both they're parents plan on getting them married but they misunderstood it and thought they'd be split up? like really angst at first but then all fluff? thank you!

Pairing: Robb Stark x Reader Word Count: 1,540 Synopsis: what the prompt says 

Your chest was heaving when you fell back on Robb's fur lined bed. He chuckled at your face, his own red and coated in sweat, too, before laying down next to you.

"I love you," he said with a laugh, leaning over to kiss your forehead. You smiled at him and crawled into his arms, your naked bodies curling into each other.

"I love you," you said with a sigh. You laid your head on his chest, and for a little while, you stayed like that, peacefully wrapped together. Robb ran his fingers through your hair, focusing on the fire warming the room. But when he felt something wet on his chest, he lifted his head.

"Y/N? What's wrong?" he asked. You sniffed and sat up. You turned your head away from him as you wiped your nose. "Love, what is it?" he asked as you got out of bed, shaking your head.

"It's nothing, I should go," you said, wrapping a robe around your naked body. Robb crawled out of bed, tugging his pants on as he followed you to the door. He managed to stop in front of it before you could reach for the handle.

"Y/N," he said, his voice soft, but low. He lifted your chin with his finger until your wet eyes were looking into his. "What is it? Did I hurt you?"

“No, no, of course not,” you said weakly, the tears still forming in your eyes.

“Then what is it?”

“I-- I heard something,” you said, shaking your head. “My parents talking.” Robb put his hands on your arms, rubbing them softly.

“What did they say?”

“They want to set up a marriage for me,” you said. “And not to you.”

“Who?” Robb asked, his voice gravely low. 

“I don’t know.”

“We can fight it,” he said. “What we have . . . it’s real.”

“I know,” you said, your eyes finding his. You touched his cheek softly and frowned. “I love you, Robb.”

“And I love you,” he said, kissing your palm. “This isn’t the end. I promise. We’ll fight it any way we can.” You could only nod your head in response. “Please, stay with me tonight.”

“I will.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Robb strolled into breakfast that morning, his head held high. He knew that he was from a notable family, and that if he just pleaded his case to his parents, they would agree to the marriage, and could suggest a new proposal to your family. 

When he walked in, he smiled widely at his mother and placed a kiss to her cheek. He turned to his father and gave him a curt nod, befitting any lord.

“Morning, Robb,” Ned said. 

“You seem especially chipper this morning,” Cat said.

“I am,” Robb said. “There’s something I want to discuss with you both.” He watched his parents exchange a glance, but he held his ground. He would remain confident for this. There was no other way to convince them.

“Go on,” Ned said. 

“I am growing older, and I think it is time to become more responsible. Become a man.” Again, his parents exchanged a glance.

“What did you have in mind?” his mother asked.

“I think it’s time I married. Or, at least have an engagement set up.” He watched them both, the way Ned’s eyes narrowed at him, the way Cat’s eyes turned to her husband. “Well? What do you think?”

“Robb, we already have a marriage arranged for you,” Ned said simply.

“Since when?”

“For months now.”

“You knew about this,” Catelyn said, reaching for his hand. He pulled back, shaking his head. “We thought you would be pleased.”

“Pleased?” Robb asked, his voice cracking. He shook his head harder, forcing away tears.

“It’s been decided, Robb,” Ned said. “You’re right. It is time for you to become a man.” The way he emphasized man signified that his father was done having this conversation. It was decided.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Robb said, standing up from the table before either his mother or father could stop him.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

You searched all of Winterfell for Robb, checking all the usual places he liked to go, the training grounds, his bedroom, the dining hall, but you couldn’t find him anywhere. Finally, you ran into Arya, who told you Robb had rode out into the woods.

You mounted your own horse and made your way onto the forest trail. You rode for half an hour before you found him. And you heard him well before you saw him. His sword must have gone dull by now, by how many times he had bashed it into a nearby tree. 

“Robb,” you called gently. He turned to you, eyes wide with tears. You dismounted quickly and ran to him, wrapping him in your arms. “Tell me what happened.”

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t convince them,” he said. You nodded your head, and then shook it a moment later. A wave of confusion washing over your face.

“Why?”

“Because they already have an arranged marriage for me,” he said. You let out a string of curses that made Robb finally smile. “So what are we going to do?” he asked.

“We could run away,” you said gently. “Make our own decisions.”

“You would leave our families?”

“You’re the only family I want,” you said, reaching up to touch his cheek. But even as you said it, you knew it would be nearly impossible to abandon everyone and everything you had known. “I don’t want to lose you,” you said.

“I don’t want to lose you either,” he said, putting a firm hand on your cheek. “I’ve never felt so powerless.”

“Neither have I,” you said, falling into his chest. He wrapped you in his arms, and you stood together for a long time, knowing that it would be one of your last times.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

On your last day in Winterfell, you prepared for the feast the Starks were throwing. Your family would be returning to their lands tomorrow, and you knew this would probably be the last time you would see Winterfell, or Robb, again. 

You walked into the feast hall, and instantly your eyes found Robb’s. You could see they were bloodshot, most likely from crying.

“Why are you so solemn?” your mother asked, pulling you to her side. You only shook your head in response. “Well, I know something that’ll cheer you up.”

She led you into the room and you took a seat at the table, across from the Stark family. Your mother cleared her throat as Eddard Stark stood, indicating this is what she thought would cheer you up.

“I would like to thank our guests, our friends, for once again joining us in Winterfell this summer. It is going to weigh heavy in our hearts when we bid you all farewell, but there is something that will bring joy to both our families.

“It is with a prideful and welcoming heart, that I announce the engagement of my eldest son, Robb.”

“Mom,” you whispered, trying to stand. “I don’t want to hear this.”

“Hush,” she said, smiling up at Lord Stark. Your eyes looked across the table and found Robb’s. He looked as distraught as you felt, but there was nothing you could do, except watch as both your hearts are broken.

“It is my honor,” Ned continued, “To announce the engagement of my son Robb, to Y/N Y/L/N.”

“What?” Robb asked, standing quickly. Ned looked confused, and glanced between the two of you. 

“Mom?” you asked.

“Why do you look so upset?”

“I-- I just thought . . .”

“Thought we couldn’t see?” your mother asked, shaking her head. “Of course we wanted you two together.” You looked to Robb, still speechless, and smiled hesitantly at him.

“This is happening?” Robb asked. Ned nodded his head, and before you knew it, Robb had crossed the room and lifted you up in his arms. He spun you around once before kissing you. He pulled away with a laugh and the tears that now filled his eyes were happy ones.

“I love you,” he said, beaming.

“I love you, too,” you said, grabbing his face before pulling him in for another kiss. 

[thebluewritingbench]

For dialogue prompts- surprise #10 and maybe some supercorp ?

surprise #10 from this prompt list:

“Christ! What happened to your eye?”

It’s the first thing Alex says to her when she makes it back to the DEO, which definitely means her eye looks worse than she thought, given the fact that she’s also limping and cradling a broken arm.

Kara leans against the wall, and presses her fingers gingerly to her cheekbone, wincing at the sharp stab of pain it sends directly up her eye socket and into her skull. There’s a good chance that her cheekbone is broken, and her eye is already swollen tightly enough that she can barely see out of it.

“Took on a bunch of superpowered aliens,” she says, swiping under her nose and looking at the blood that comes away on her knuckles. “Then I got punched in the face.”

“By what, a house?” Alex asks, incredulous. Her eyes widen in concern when Kara tries to take a step towards her and stumbles, and she hurries forward to grab Kara’s uninjured arm and steady her. “Okay, let’s get you to a solar lamp before you pass out.”

Alex sets her arm in silence, and then probes her ankle and declares it only sprained. She’s gently examining Kara’s swollen eye when she starts to speak again, and it’s only the slight tremor in her voice that tells Kara how angry she is.

“I didn’t find out you’d even gone anywhere until I heard you were injured. Kara, you always let me know when you’re going to do something dangerous. We’ve agreed on that before. I didn’t even hear from you over the comms.”

“I know, I know,” says Kara, closing her working eye. “I’m sorry, Alex, I didn’t mean to worry you, it was just…”

“Just?”

“Lena.”

“Lena?” Alex’s fingers freeze against her cheek. “What about Lena? What happened?”

The corner of Kara’s mouth quirks up. It sends another wave of pain through her eye. “Oh, you know. The regular quarterly kidnapping-slash-assassination attempt. It was about Lex this time, I think. They were trying to use her as bait, though they clearly don’t know Lex if they think he’d risk anything for Lena’s life.”

Alex hums. “But you would,” she says softly.

Kara groans. “Rao, I shouldn’t have—I just got so angry. I know I should have called you, but I wasn’t thinking straight. You should have seen what they…I wanted to burn the whole place down. If J’onn hadn’t showed up when he did…”

“Shh, okay, it’s okay,” says Alex. “I know. Did you get Lena out?”

“Yes, I think so, I—” She swallows. “I think J’onn got her, could you go…?”

“I’ll go check,” Alex confirms. She brushes Kara’s hair back, lays a careful kiss on her forehead. “You try and sleep for a minute, okay? I’ll come back if anything important happens.”

“Okay,” Kara whispers.

She doesn’t actually intend to fall asleep, but apparently the exhaustion of the fight sits heavier on her than she thought, because the next thing she knows she’s being jolted awake by a whole lot of yelling. She tries to blink her still-swollen eye open, but it still feels like her eyelids are fused together, despite the improvement she can already feel from the sunlamps. There’s a crescendo in the yelling outside the door, and Kara makes out Lena’s voice in the chaos. She’s struggling to sit up before she can stop and think about it.

“I don’t care, I need to see her,” Lena is yelling as Kara limps to the door, and another low voice responds in a placating tone.

“No!” Lena shouts. “You don’t understand, it’s my fault she’s like this, I have to—”

“Lena?”

The conversation stops when Kara peeks her head around the door. Lena swallows, her eyes roaming Kara’s bruised face, the sling on her arm. Her face is pale, old mascara smudged into the circles under her eyes, her hair half pulled out of its updo, dried blood on her temple. She’s still wearing the same outfit she was kidnapped in, and there’s blood soaked into the sleeve of her shirt.

“You’re awake,” Lena whispers. “You’re—oh god, your eye.”

“It’s fine,” Kara says, wondering why everyone is so bothered by it. She nods at the DEO agent who Lena was fighting with, and he seems to accept this as a dismissal. “Nothing I haven’t had before. I’ll be fine by tomorrow, really.”

Alarmingly, Lena’s eyes fill with tears.

“Oh no,” Kara says, reaching for her arm. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt? I’m so sorry I didn’t get you out of there myself, I saw that J’onn had you and then I was just really angry and I wanted to give them a taste of their own medicine but I really shouldn’t have—”

“Kara,” says Lena. “I’m okay, really. Just a little shaken up, but I’ve had worse, I was just… god, I was just so worried about you.” Then she notices the way Kara shifts her weight to avoid aggravating her ankle (which is mostly better now, really), and immediately starts guiding her back to the bed. “No, you’re hurt, this is all my fault,” she says at Kara’s protest.

She refuses to continue the conversation until Kara’s set up under the sunlamp again. Lena sits in the chair beside her and brushes the hair from her face, running her thumb over the ridges of Kara’s knuckles. Kara lets her touch gently around the damaged eye, and then smooth her fingers over the rest of Kara’s face as though Kara will disappear if she stops.

“Don’t you usually get better faster than this?" Lena asks. "It’s just… your eye. I’ve never seen you like—you’re supposed to invulnerable,” she finishes in a whisper.

“It’s just a little swelling,” Kara says. “It barely hurts, Lena, really, I’m fine.”

“This is because of me. If you hadn’t been trying to save me, you wouldn’t be hurt.”

“If I hadn’t been trying to save you, you might be dead. This isn’t your fault.”

Lena buries her face in her hands. “When J’onn was carrying me out I saw—I saw when he hit you. With that entire support beam. I saw you go through the wall. I couldn’t stop screaming, they had to sedate me, I thought, I thought…”

“Hey, hey,” Kara says. “Invincible, remember? I’m just a tiny bit banged up, I’ve had way worse. I was more worried about you.”

“Me? I’m fine, I’m nothing, they just knocked me out and tied me to a chair for a couple hours, I didn’t get hit in the face by a metal post that probably weighed a metric ton.”

Kara feels the dying embers of her anger spark back up in her at those words, and for a moment she wants another chance at those aliens, wants to return fully charged and blast them into the stratosphere for causing Lena distress. But Lena still has her face hidden in her hands, and her shoulders are shivering a bit, and the instinct to hurt is quickly overridden by the instinct to soothe.

“Hey," says Kara. "You know how you can make it better?”

“How?” Lena lifts her face from her palms. Her eyes are slightly reddened, her makeup smudged, her face wearied. She’s breathtaking.

“Kiss it better. Works like magic. It’ll be better than the yellow sunlamps.”

The corners of Lena’s mouth upturn in a tiny smile. “Very cute.”

“Kiss me,” Kara whispers. “And I promise everything will be better in the morning.”

Lena leans in with a soft smile, her palm warm against the uninjured side of Kara’s face, and nudges their noses together. Her lips brush against Kara’s. “Okay,” she whispers.

[peterparkers-bad-youtube-apology]

Hi wifey 💘 hope u are fine! I have a request- can u maybe write something where Tom and the reader have a fight and Tom says something that really hurts the reader🥺 just angst with fluff at the end

I'm sorry it took me so long to answer this wifey! I hope you're happy with it though! I love me some gut wrenching angst, love you xx

Long Distance

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings: angst, fighting

Summary: You’ve got some things to talk about when Tom gets home

Masterlist

Taglist

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

“You’re home late,” (y/n) hummed, watching as Tessa ran to greet Tom at the door.

“I told you, we stopped for dinner on the way home,” he smiled, scratching the dog's head affectionately.

“I didn’t realize you’d be out so late, I could have met up with you guys.”

“Oh no need for that love,” he dropped his bag on the floor before moving to greet her with a quick kiss, “I’d love to hop into bed with you right away darling but I’m in dire need of a shower so I will be right back.”

“Alright,” she pursed her lips for just a moment, “I’ll be here.”

“You can join me if you want,” he offered with a smirk.

She rolled her eyes, “You just said you're in dire need of a shower.”

“Oh shush, if I was that gross you would have noticed already,” he stuck his tongue out before disappearing behind the bathroom door, leaving her alone with Tessa again.

She sighed, settling back into bed while she waited for Tom to clean up. Of course she didn’t want to get mad at Tom on his first day home, but the annoyance had been slowly building over his whole trip. It had been constant missed calls and texts, half assed replies only coming hours later. He never reached out to her unprompted, he seemed distracted on call, and then, to top it all off, he’d showed up hours later than he was supposed to, only telling her that he was grabbing food.

Tom left the bathroom, a towel hanging off his hips as he pulled one of the dresser drawers open, “Where are your jammies?” he frowned.

“Oh I rearranged the clothes, yours are in the top two and mine are in the bottom.

“Oh…” he pulled out some sweats and began changing, “I liked having them all together, then my clothes smell like you and yours smell like me, it’s nice for when I go away, reminds me of you,” he flashed her a smile, but it fell when he looked back at her, “What?”

“Doesn’t seem like it's a very good reminder.”

“What? Darling of course it is, it makes me feel at home, and that little piece of you is really comforting to me,” he sat at her feet, “You’re upset with me.”

She nodded, “Yeah, but I know you’re tired, we can talk about it tomorrow.”

“No, no, we can talk about it now, I figured we’d stay up for a bit anyway. Besides, it’s not good to go to bed angry,” he kissed her hand before crossing his legs, “Tell me what’s on your mind love.”

“Okay,” she took a deep breath, “I just felt like we hardly talked while you were gone and that really bugged me. I mean I understand that you were busy doing press and everything, but I felt like I was really on the back burner.”

“Love I called you every opportunity I had, and I warned you I wouldn’t have much free time, this is a big film, there’s lots to be done.”

“I understand that Tom, but I know you didn’t call me every chance you got because you never called me unprompted. I mean the whole time you were gone I only heard from you after I reached out, and I was lucky if I got a reply on the same day. Then you come home hours late, you don’t tell me where you are, you don’t invite me out with you, I mean I’m your girlfriend Tom.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way darling but I put my best effort in here, I don’t know what you want me to say, I was just busy. And I’m sorry I was late getting home but we’d been flying all day, we were hungry, we stopped for dinner, it wasn’t like I was avoiding coming home or something.”

“No but you didn’t invite me, and I’m not saying we need to do everything together, but when you're gone for a whole month I wanna feel like you're excited to see me when you come home.”

“I am excited to see you!” he laughed, cupping her face in his hands, “You can ask anyone darling, I was buzzing the whole way home, they couldn’t get me to shut up about you.”

“It doesn’t matter what you say to other people Tom,” she groaned, pushing his hands away, “I know I’m being petty here but you didn’t even want me at the airport, in fact you told me not to come because the traffic would be annoying and you’d be home at 8 anyway, and then you weren’t. Don’t you understand why that makes me feel unwanted?”

“Airports irritate you, I just wanted to save you the trip,” he defended, “I really am sorry it’s been such a rough month darling, but you could have let me know a lot sooner too. You know you can always come visit when I’m away, and if you really wanted me home right away all you had to do was tell me.”

“It’s not that simple Tom, I have my own things going on, I can’t just fly across the world because you’re too busy to take two seconds to text me back. And the point is that I want you to want to come home to me. I don’t want to have to tell you I want you to come home, I want you to do it because you want to see me as much as I want to see you.”

“Darling I know it’s not that easy but you knew what you were getting into with this relationship.”

“I knew that I was getting into long distance, but that doesn’t mean we don’t talk.”

“I wasn’t ignoring you, it’s hard for you to understand what it’s like but I was busy all day, everyday. Whenever I wasn’t working I was sleeping, I got back to you whenever I could, and I’m sorry that that wasn’t as frequent as you would have liked, but you weren’t the only thing on my mind.”

“I wasn’t on your mind at all, evidently.”

Tom sucked in a sharp breath, rising from his seat to cross his arms, “Is that what you think?”

“That’s what you made clear with your actions,” she retorted.

His jaw was locked, his cheeks flushed red with anger, “I can’t spend less time away (y/n), and I can’t always put you at the top of my priority list. It just comes with the job and if you can’t handle that you’re welcome to leave.”

“Leave?” she repeated, in shock that the words had actually left his mouth.

He nodded, confirmed she’d heard correctly, “If you’re not happy you can leave.”

She pushed herself off the bed, shaking her head in disbelief as she approached the dresser, “Fine.”

He stayed quiet for a moment, watching as she began tossing clothes onto the bed. The anger seemed to flood away in an instant, “What are you doing?”

“Leaving.”

“Darling wait,” he sighed, “Don’t do that. Let’s sit down again.”

“You told me to leave, so I’m leaving,” she snapped back.

“I didn’t say that,” he groaned, grabbing her hands as he moved in between her and the dresser, “Please stay.”

“I’m telling you that I miss you!” she snapped suddenly, tears starting to prick at the corners of her eyes, “That I need you! A-And I need you to know that you love me when you’re gone, not just when you’re here. Why is that too much?”

He froze, a wave of guilt washing over him in an instant, “It’s not darling, not at all. I got defensive, I’m sorry.”

She sat back down on the edge of the bed with a sigh, “You didn’t just get defensive, you told me to leave.”

“I didn’t mean it like I wanted you to leave,” he tried to explain, “But if you aren’t happy with me then you should leave, as much as that would absolutely kill me.”

“I am happy with you Tom, the happiest I’ve ever been,” she squeezed his hand.

“I’m my happiest with you too,” he pursed his lips, “I’m sorry sweetheart, I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. It just hurt to come home and immediately get told I’ve been being such a shitty boyfriend.”

“You haven’t been, that’s not what I was trying to imply either. I just need you to put in a little more effort next time you're away. I know it’s hard and you're busy, but I’m not asking you to sit by your phone every second of the day. I just need to know that you miss me too.”

“I do miss you, just…” he trailed off, sighing as he tried to put his words together more calmly, “It’s not easy being away. I mean I do all these press events all day and I get back totally wiped and I’ve got to stay in another hotel all alone. It used to be a lot easier to do that when I didn’t have you to come home too. I never felt like I was missing out on anything before, and now I feel like I’m missing all these moments with you. I try really hard to bury those emotions so I can be happy and do all the interviews and what not.”

“Why couldn’t you just talk to me about it?”

“I would have been a mess if I spent all day dragging on and on about how much I missed you, I had work to do, it was easier to bury it,” he sighed again, “I don’t know darling, I didn’t realize I was hurting you, I was just trying to get it all done so I could come home and be happy again.”

“Okay…” she set her head on his shoulder, “I know maybe it makes it harder for you, but just promise you won’t do that to me next time.”

“Of course not love, I’d never do anything I knew would hurt you,” he kissed her head before nuzzling his nose against her hair, “There won’t be a next time, I won’t go away again.”

“Tom that is not what I want, it’s your job, it’s okay that you have to leave sometimes.”

He shook his head, “It’s not okay if it hurts us, that’s a risk I won’t take. So I won’t go away again unless we’re going together, at least not until I’m sure you know exactly how much I love and appreciate you.”

She peaked up at him before pressing a kiss to his cheek, “Thank you Tom.”

“You’re welcome,” he squeezed her tight against his chest again, “I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier. I’d be fucking devistated if you ever left darling.”

“I would never leave,” she assured, “Ever.”

“Me neither,” he hummed, “You and me is the only thing I’ll ever want.”

“Me too,” she closed her eyes, snuggling into his side like she’d been dreaming of doing for a whole month, “You wanna go to bed now?”

He nodded, “There’s nothing I’d like more.”

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Taglist: @spideyssunshine @niallberry @namoreno @paulaabellag @roseke @outshineallthestars @tomsirishgirlx @emistrash @andreagf956 

[crazedlunatic]

I’m Ready

Trigger warning: mention of assault and rape.

“Matt… can I talk to you about something?”

Matt, who had just worked a 16-hour shift and was sitting on the couch half asleep, looked at him.

“Are you too tired?”

“No.” Matt yawned and then said, “That was for show.”

“I’m… uhm… It can wait.” Adrian took a deep breath.

Matt leaned over, taking both of his cell phones off of the coffee table and turning them on silent. He then turned the TV off.

“I actually don’t know if I can do this.” Adrian, who had been sitting next to Matt on the couch, sat on his hands as they began to shake.

“Adrian?” Matt put his hand on Adrian’s thigh.

“P-Please don’t hate me.” Adrian’s lip trembled. “And please let me finish before you say anything.”

“You’re really scaring me right now.” Matt looked at him. “Look, if something happened… If you did something… We’ll work it out. It’ll be okay.”

“So, I started modeling when I was fourteen or fifteen… mainly to save money for college and moving out.” Adrian took a deep breath. “And when I was sixteen, I met this other model. He was, like, twenty or twenty-one and he was super sweet and pretty much perfect.”

Matt put his hand on Adrian’s arm.

“And when I was barely seventeen, I convinced my parents to let me move in with him. They had met him several times and they really liked him. Loved him, actually… and the first six months it was great. I’d go to senior classes, go do modeling work after, and come home to him… And I was seventeen so I’m sitting here thinking I’ve found Prince Charming and I’m so happy and so in love.” Adrian wiped his eyes. “But after those six months we started getting into these really, really bad fights. First it was stupid, petty arguments. We’d go in separate rooms, calm down, whatever.”

Matt nodded.

“And as time went on, they would turn into these terrible fights… like really, really horrible. And each time it happened it would get more and more terrifying. He would tear me down with words and the next day do something sweet or buy me a gift, apologize, and say that he loved me and it would never happen again.”

Matt opened his mouth but closed it again, his eyes wide. He didn’t like where this was going. At all.

“And it was stereotypical, really. The fights would get worse and worse, the make ups sweeter and the stupid gifts better… but eventually the fights started to turn physical. Not all of them, but the more we fought the more often it would happen. And it was always on his end, not mine…  I never touched him. I never fought back. At first it was hitting but at points he would cut me w-with a knife.”

Matt’s eyes were teary.

“I missed the deadline for undergrad applications. I got hurt and ended up in the hospital for a couple of days after one of the arguments… so, that option of getting away was out. I couldn’t tell my parents because I’d begged them to let me do it and they loved him so much, I knew they wouldn’t believe me. And eventually there were too many cuts and bruises to cover so I lost my modeling contract obviously… so I was completely relying on him. But honestly my heart hadn’t been in it for a long time because of... everything. And my parents never caught on. They loved him so much and were so proud of me for having found this great guy.” Adrian sniffled and wiped his face, not even looking at Matt. “I mean, it was really bad and kept getting worse but that winter he would try to get me to do things sexually that I wasn’t really comfortable with… and sometimes I just did it but when I didn’t he’d get pissed. But once I said no a-and the fighting turned physical and then he r-rap.. you know.”

He looked at Matt, who had tears streaming down his face.

“He raped me.” Adrian took a deep breath. “And I went to the police the next day and they were sympathetic, you know? They opened an investigation and took me to the hospital and all of that for the exams and pictures… and I did all that horrible stuff and it was so degrading a-and horrible… but even after all of that… they couldn’t do anything. I honestly could barely walk for days because he had been so rough because he was so angry I told him no.”

He heard Matt sniffle and let out a shuddery breath.

“The police believed me but Chad said it was consensual, I got mad, and was trying to get back at him… and it had always technically been consensual before because I was too afraid to ever say no… so there was no definitive way to prove it…”

Matt nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. It happened with rape cases a lot between couples—it was hard to prove someone was honest when so many people would lie and try to have innocent people put into jail. He’d been to hospitals enough times with people. He’d took the reports, he’d taken them home after, he’d heard it all before. Many, many times.

“But, uhm… Chad was pretty pissed. I actually moved in w-with AJ. We’d been friends but had kind of grown apart but, uhm… I stayed with her while she finished out her school year and in the fall we got a place together and I started school.” Adrian wiped his eyes and let out a deep breath. “But he found out and would follow me around… he stalked me. He would leave gifts and letters on my car windshield. Every time I m-move he finds the address and he always comes. A month later, a year later... he always finds me and I just shut down. It’s why I always stick so close when we’re out—especially after dark. I never know w-when he’ll show up. And every time he does, the reaction gets worse. I’ve gone from a panic attack after he’s gone to a severe asthma attack just from seeing him. Even if I see him across the street, I will have a severe asthma attack and have to go to the hospital… that’s why I have an inhaler In my school bag.”

Matt touched his face slowly.

“That’s why I kept putting you off for our first date… I was just so scared.” Adrian finally made eye contact with him.

Matt slowly wiped away Adrian’s tears with a shaky hand, his own eyes still teary. He then let out a deep breath.

“And that’s why I kept messing with people for the first two months… Because I was so scared to feel this way for someone again and, uhm.. the last time I’d gotten into a relationship I c-crushed his heart and I feel so bad but I didn’t want him to have to deal with that… or to e-explain it.” Adrian took a deep breath. “The only other person that knows is AJ. S-She’s probably the only reason I m-made it this far.”

Matt nodded, making a mental note to give AJ the biggest hug the next time he saw her.

“I… I’m telling you now because I… I saw you looking at rings on your phone two months ago, Matt… and I was going to break up with you because I don’t want you to h-have to deal with it. I’m always just waiting for him to show up. No matter where I go. I just w-wait because I never know when it will happen… I really moved into AJ and Blaine’s house because my old roommates let him in to the old one… I got home and he was sitting on the couch. I can never really be happy because I’m always waiting for him to show up.”

“He will never touch you again.” Matt said, his voice low and not breaking eye contact. “He will never hurt you again.”

“He always finds me.” Adrian’s eyes filled with tears.

“I will die before he lays another hand on you.”  Matt cupped his cheek in his hand.

“That’s why I… everything. Putting stuff off, pulling away…”

“I know.” Matt nodded, eyes teary. “I get it now.”

“I love you so much, Matt.” Adrian began to cry.

“You’re safe.” Matt said, looking at him. “You are safe with me. I promise.”

Adrian nodded, burying his face in Matt’s chest. “P-Please don’t leave me.”

“Never. I’ll never leave you.” Matt promised, kissing the top of his head.

Adrian buried his face in Matt’s shoulder, beginning to sob harder than he ever had in his life.

“Shh.” Matt rocked him. “Shh. You’re safe. He won’t touch you again. As long as I’m here, he won’t touch you again. Okay?”

Adrian nodded. “W-Will you c-come to New York with me? I, uhm… Matt, I love you s-so much. I-If you don’t, I’ll stay here.”

“I’ll come.” Matt wiped his eyes.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Shh. No.” Matt shook his head. “No, sweetie. None of this is your fault… Is this… why you never go home?”

“Y-Yeah.” Adrian nodded. “I don’t even know where he lives but it’s t-too painful.”

Matt touched his cheek and kissed his forehead.

“T-Thank you for sharing your family with me.”

“They love you as much as I do.”  Matt sniffled, smiling. “Especially my mom and dad… most especially my dad—even after giving you a speeding ticket.”

“It’s just… hard with mine. They were devastated when we split up a-and I was too upset to tell anyone… but by the time I felt strong enough to, they would talk about how great he was and all of this stuff… so I had a hard time just… I don’t know.” Adrian said lamely. “And now I’ve pulled so far away that my dad and I just argue, and my mom is just sad. My younger sisters are mad and my twin sister has her own stuff going on… I really am only close to my younger brother…”

Matt stroked his cheek. “Well you’ve got mine and they really, really do love you… and Mom has hated every guy I have ever brought home.”

“I love them too.” Adrian sniffled, looking Matt in the eyes. “When you got shot, Matt… I just… I knew then. Because I knew I needed to break up with you and I t-tried to, like, three times.”

“I know.” Matt nodded. “I could tell.”

“I couldn’t do it.” Adrian didn’t look away.

“I wouldn’t have let you.” Matt gave him a sad smile. He then said, “You knew I was looking at rings?”

“When I got out of the shower, you had fallen asleep and were… like half off the couch.” Adrian laughed a bit, wiping his eyes. “And your phone was about to fall off so I got you back on the couch and when I went to move your phone I… I saw. That’s why I got so scared… I didn’t want to hurt you but I…”

“Are you still scared?”

“N-No.” Adrian let out a sob. “I’m scared of you n-not.”

“I love you so much.” Matt whispered. “Don’t you worry about that. When you’re ready, Adrian, I’m going to marry you.”

Adrian nodded, covering his mouth.

“Just let me know when you’re ready. Okay?” Matt stroked his cheek again. “We’ll take this as slow as you want… I haven’t bought it yet, so… so don’t rush. Okay?”

Adrian leaned forward, burying his head in Matt’s chest and beginning to cry loudly.

“Shh. It’s okay. We’ve got all the time in the world.” Matt said, starting to cry again himself. “Okay? All of it.”

Adrian sat up and kissed Matt. “I’m ready.”

“Okay.” Matt nodded, kissing him back. “But we’ll touch base in a few days, okay? I know everything is super emotional right now.”

Adrian nodded and kissed him again.

“He’ll never lay another hand on you.” Matt promised.

“I know.” Adrian cried, burying his face in the crook between Matt’s neck and shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for telling me.” Matt ran his fingers through Adrian’s hair.

“Thank you for understanding.”

[yesimwriting]

Would you write a Kaz Brekker request where the reader is a bookworm and a crow and basically Kaz asks the reader to read to him as his way of apologizing after a argument that was his fault?

 it ​​a/n i did something kinda similar in a 'promise of rain' blurb,, but this concept is so cute to me:)) love it sm i moved it up my request cue lol

also IM IN COLLEGE NOW!! WHAT?? AND IVE BEEN TO A PARTY! AND IM JOINING A SORORITY AND I DID DRAMA AUDITIONS AND AHH !! SO DIFFERENT! I MISS MY MOM AND SISTER AND DOG AND EVEN MY DAD BUT IM HAPPY HERE!! 

also im a little worried this might not portray kaz superrrrr accurately bc it's been awhile so just let me know,, feedback leads to improvement:)) also kinda set this up for a part 2 bc...well youll see 

--

They've always said a lot of things about him, and I've always heard them. But I've never quite believed them. Sure, I get why the dark things that have flourished in the poisoned soil that is Ketterdam consider Kaz Brekker the darkest thing of all. I understand the nickname 'Dirtyhands' for the gloved criminal who has fooled each crime boss at least once. I understand each terrible thing they've said about him.

But I've never agreed with them. I've never even considered agreeing with them. Until today.

The thought that maybe everything people say about him is correct in a simple context struck me worse than the silence after our argument. It made me feel like both a fool and hypocrite. Kaz and I have had our fair share of spats over the relatively short time we've known each other, but never like this. Never so badly he stormed out of the room before I could. I squeeze the book in my lap even harder, desperate to focus on the words on the pages.

You didn't hurt him. He walked away because he decided you weren't worth the cost of his expensive time. I repeat those thoughts in my mind over and over again, letting them bitter me further. It's a lot easier to be mad than hurt. A lot easier to fuel your pain than try to understand your mistakes. Besides, tiredness is already dredging around in my chest and if I don't calm down a little I won't be able to fall asleep.

I had escalated the fight more than I should have. Knowing Kaz is like performing in a tightrope act. One must always be aware of where they're going. Watching what's in front of them without ever thinking too much about what's beneath or behind them. Today though, when I needed my balance most I chose to fall. I chose to dive, and apparently there was no net.

"Oh, you're doing that thing."

I roll my eyes at Jesper's voice as I fight down a yawn. I wipe my face with the back of my palm before turning. The burning behind my eyes never resulted in full tears, but I feel better after doing so. "What thing?"

"That terribly noble thing where you find it in yourself to take full blame for every single conflict you and boss man fall into." The slight humor in his voice is enough for me to roll my eyes again. "Between you and me, I'm sure the reason he's so angry now is because you didn't do that for once."

I press my lips together as my chin angles itself upwards slightly. "I never do that." He raises an eyebrow. The slight sympathy that colors the look is more offensive than his accusation. "If I pick and choose my battles, it's for good reason."

"Clearly."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugs once before further entering my room. I say nothing when he sits at the foot of my bed. "Oh, you know," Jesper stretches back casually, resting his back against the wall and extending his legs, "You and Kaz--Kaz and you."

Has he been drinking? Perhaps he's not here because of my unusual absence from downstairs after my fight with Kaz but because he's already too tipsy to think right. "What?"

At my confused look he grins, flashing all of his teeth with an arrogance that outshines the whiteness of them. He taps the still open book in my lap. "Let me put it in terms you'll understand." Jesper sits up a little further, amusement clear in his features. "You two make a shameful Elizabeth and Darcy--"

"Oh, shut up," I groan, glaring at him, "This isn't Pride and Prejudice. And Kaz and I," Jesper's smugness returns when I can't quite think of what I want to say, "We're barely friends--we're barely anything, let alone what you're implying."

Jesper pulls his legs up and shoves me gently. "Dearest, y/n," he ignores my glare, "You should know better than anyone that 'barely friends, barely anything' with Kaz is more than it is with anyone else?"

"That doesn't mea--"

"You two say goodnight to each other." Once. Kaz and I said good night to each other in front of Jesper once. How dare he assume it happens regularly? He's right, but that doesn't mean I'm okay with it. "You play cards with him. Not for money, not for skill--"

"It's for practice." The look Jesper gives me is enough to tell me that my defense didn't land.

Damn him for ever finding Kaz and I on one of those strange nights. One of those nights in which he lurks at the stairwell...the one that divides my room and his attic. One of those nights in which it feels like he's a phantom and I'm the only one that can really see him. A night in which we both silently find each other.

I couldn't quite believe it the first time it happened. I'm not exactly a Crow--I don't feel enough a connection to the Dregs to join them without some kind of guarantee--but I was needed for some obscure job. but I was needed for some obscure job. The Crows needed an insider who could blend into high society, and I needed a place to stay away from my father.

It worked. I worked. And with each passing day I found myself enjoying the Crows more and more. That's why I stayed. That's why I started checking the stairwell practically every night, a set of playing cards in my hand.

The first time had been awkward. I couldn't sleep and my room felt too quiet, but the rambunctious club felt too loud and a little unsafe considering the hour. So I settled for the only space in between. When Kaz found me sitting on the steps and playing a solitary card game I had been so stunned by embarrassment I just offered to deal him in. I had been more shocked when he silently accepted my offer.

"Practice?" Jesper repeats. "You were laughing, I heard you."

"That was one time--how do you know we didn't just happen to play cards together the one time you saw it?"

"Because you laughed about a play you considered 'predictable'."

Sighing, I sit up a little straighter. "I'm not having this conversation. Occasionally saying 'goodnight' to someone who lives in the same space I live in and sometimes playing cards with said person because we both happen to be up at a certain time doesn't mean anything."

"And the way he looked at the contact that was flirting with you?"

Oh...this conversation again. "For the last time, the contact wasn't flirting with me. We had to dance to blend in and when he leaned towards me to whisper in my ear...it was to tell me the intel Kaz just had to have."

"And when he tucked that strand of hair behind your ear?"

"He just wanted to sell our cove--"

"Y/n, he kissed your cheek and I'm fairly certain he would have kissed you if Kaz and I hadn't made it to the corridor at that second."

Why is everyone so obsessed with what would have never happened? The contact had been attractive, tall with fair eyes and hair. But it's not like I feel anything for him, nor would I have been so foolish during a job. A fact that Kaz refuses to believe. I'm tired of this argument...I'm just tired. This job required me to start getting ready early in the morning and lasted long into the night.

"I wouldn't have kissed him and even if I had, the fact that Kaz is so mad about feels...sexist." A stupid argument, considering that Kaz couldn't care less if the person he's working with is female, male, or anything in between because the only thing he cares about is profit. "It's a stupid thing to be mad about, but you hit on anything with a pulse at any time and--"

"I resent that--"

"For the first two weeks I was here I thought you might've been a prostitute."

I can feel him holding in a laugh. "Did you at least think I was a good prostitute?" When I glare again, he finally actually laughs. "Not the point--got it."

"Then what is the point? You're bored and obsessed with gossip so now you're shaking me for information you don't need."

"The point is you're oblivious." Rude...I move my leg in a weak attempt to push him off my bed. Jesper catches my ankle easily, ignoring my attempt at a fight. "You thought the contact was only doing his job and you don't know the real reason that Kaz blew up at you for the first time the way he blows up at everyone."

"Okay, well since you know everything, tell me why he's mad."

He lets out a sigh like he can't believe I even needed to ask that. "It's not the best look that the first time you let him pick a fight with you happens to be about some guy."

...Maybe he is drunk? "Don't be so cryptic. I don't like you enough to put up with that."

Jesper half-sighs again before pushing himself off my bed. "I'm going to pretend I think you're smart enough to piece things together from that."

"Asshole," I mumble instinctually as he walks towards my door. "Are you not telling me because I tried to push you off the bed?"

He turns when he reaches my door in order to lean against my door frame. "It's not not because of that." I should throw my book at his head. "In all seriousness, think about it. If you don't you'll either kill each other or kill me."

Ugh...he's so confusing. This time, I let him go. He leaves he door open, which is beyond annoying. I stand up to close it, promising myself I will focus on my book the second it's in my hands again. As I walk back towards my bed, my eyes land on the deck of cards on my nightstand.

Does it send a signal I don't want to send if I don't go the stairwell tonight? Do I want to send a signal? I don't know...actually, the only thing I know is that I don't want to think about this a second longer. I don't ease as I read, but my eyelids become heavier with each word they cross. I feel the weight of them as my focus slips, farther and farther away until I can no longer focus. When my eyes fall shut I can't bring myself to think or force them open.

--

I notice my surprised before I register that I've just woken up. Falling asleep feels so far and yet the crick in my neck confirms the obvious. Rubbing the eyes with the back of my hand, I push my book from my lap and sit up. The only indication of how much time has passed is how much my bedside candle has melted.

How long have I been asleep? How did I manage to fall asleep? I thought I was too mad at Kaz to manage anything but pouting in my room. I hadn't even decided if I wanted to talk to him.

I stand even though I haven't decided anything. I should at least change if I want to go to bed. But is leaving this alone for even longer a bad idea? I think Jesper thought so...though my conversation with him is far from clear. It's not the best look that the first time you let him pick a fight with you happens to be about some guy. I'm going to pretend I think you're smart enough to piece things together from that. What does he want me to do with that?

Maybe he was partially intoxicated and felt the need to play the role of a good friend. Or maybe this is his idea of a joke.

Whatever--regardless of Jesper, I have a choice to make. A tiny part of me hopes it's insignificant, but I know Kaz enough to know that nothing is insignificant to him. He holds onto things the way he holds onto his kruge. Perhaps I'll seek out Inej, she seems to be the best at rationalizing. Though she might be asleep by now, or on a job or...I don't even know.

How late is it? Is it late enough to be one of the few hours Kaz claims to reserve for sleep? Maybe my bad luck is still around and he's already in bed for once. Does that mean his anger will extend to tomorrow?

I shouldn't care. It's not like I'm in the wrong. Did I escalate things? Maybe a little...but I won't apologize for defending myself. Even though that makes everything a little easier. I feel stuck, like in some kind of place of half sleep. A single knock at my door is enough to make me want to jump. I rub my eyes a little more firmly in hopes of waking up more before someone sees me.

I approach the door without worry. Maybe it's not as late as I assumed. Or maybe it's really early? I open the door while still fighting against my slight disorientation. I'm so focused on acting normal, I almost don’t register the person standing at my door. 

I don’t know who I expected, or what--maybe Jesper, much more tipsy than he was before, slumped against the doorframe, only knocking because he’s too tired to push the door open. Maybe even Inej, on her way here to deliver some kind of job or notice of dismissal. But it’s nothing I could expect. It’s...Kaz. 

The Dirtyhands stands at my door, expression as hard as ever yet something behind his eyes that burns the sleep away from me. “Uh--hi.” I bite my tongue to avoid cringing at that very awkward beginning. “Are you here to kick me out yourself?” The only response I get is the slightest shift of his gaze off of my face. “No? Well then I think I’m going to bed. It’s late.” 

My tone and words are clear. Get out of my doorway, I’m in no mood to go back to arguing.  When he still doesn’t say anything, I’m emboldened by my nerves. I push the door between us without breaking eye contact. 

Before the wood can meet the doorframe, he moves his cane, wedging it between us. “Y/n.” I don’t understand the way he says my name, but I’m certain he’s never said it like that. “I...” When he’s not prompted by the uncomfortableness of silence, I raise an eyebrow, my grip on the door tightening. “What I said shouldn’t have been said.” Wait--is he admitting fault? I’m so thrown I almost melt entirely. “Not to you.” 

The addition leaves him so lowly a part of me wonders if I’ve imagined it. I’m so thrown by it I don’t even think to reply until a long second has passed. “You seemed to believe the opposite a few hours ago.” 

His lips press together for a moment. “You didn’t ask me to play cards tonight.” He took that as intentional? At least that got me some kind of apology? I keep my mouth shut, greed making me want more information. I guess he must sense my silent tugging because he head inclines slightly. “Don’t push.” 

I fight down a grin. “Push what?” His only response to stiffen further. “I’m going to tell you something as a peace offering.” That seems to intrigue him in some way. I can’t tell if it’s a good kind of interested, but I note the slight raise of his eyebrows and his intentional silence. “I didn’t chose not to ask you to play cards.” He gives me no indication of anything, which is fair...considering my vagueness. “I was mad, obviously, and in the middle of deciding on a course of action...and then I fell asleep.” 

A long pause of silence. “You fell asleep?” 

I’m not sure if his incredulous tone should offend me or not. If I wanted to lie, I’d like to think he knows me well enough to know that I’d have thought of a better excuse than that. Or at least a less embarrassing one. “Yes, it’s not that difficult to believe. Today had been long and all I wanted to do was read, but then Jesper came in to say the oddest things and then leave me to...” 

Oh--oh. I guess there’s a reason people say to ‘sleep on’ something. Because now, actively remembering Jesper’s words for the first time since I fell asleep...I understand what Jesper was implying in the oddest way possible. He meant that Kaz and I...that perhaps there is a Kaz and I in a context that’s more than just grammatical. Wow. I really had to realize this with Kaz right in front of me. 

My face feels warmer than it did before, an irrational bout of anxiety forcing me to consider that me might be able to read impossible, embarrassing thoughts from my expression alone. 

“What did Jesper say?” I’m too lost in my own spiral of confusion and panic and some feeling I can’t recognize to register how Kaz asks his question. There’s an edge to it, an odd one, but that could easily just be Kaz. 

This is most definitely the last conversation we need to be having. I’m still mad at him for his earlier dramatics. So I just shake my head, feigning an exhaustion I could lose myself in. “Nothing and everything all at once.” I resist the urge to rub my eyes again. “I’m pretty sure he was drinking, and I wasn’t really listening. I was just trying to read.” 

Kaz’s expression hardens briefly as he takes in my words, and then he exhales, nodding once with the breath. “What were you reading?” 

My lips part instinctually, ready to spew off details about the latest novel that’s captured my attention. But before I can let myself take off, the reality of the situation strikes me directly in the chest. This is not Nina, or Inej, or even Jesper after what he considers a ‘good night’. This is Kaz Brekker, the man believed to not have a soul. I’ve spoken to him before about casual things, though most of the nights in which we end up playing cards or just sitting near each other are spent in silence. But he’s never prompted me before. Not in the one topic he knows is guaranteed to turn me into an overenthusiastic, gushing fountain of poor summaries and character analysis. 

I guess this is his peace offering. This shouldn’t warm the way it does. He was still unbelievably dramatic and treated me like I’m some kind of unreliable fool. “It’s late, and you know how I can be. I’d hate to keep you for nothing more than a poor summary and honestly, an embarrassing rant about plot or characters, because there’s just nothing as frustrating as when two people so clearly care about each other and both are too stubborn and oblivious to acknowledge it.” 

Kaz’s eyebrows draw together just enough for me to be able to make out a shift of expression in the poor light. Perhaps his lingering irritation is preparing to rear its ugly head. The corner of his mouth seems to threaten to tilt upwards as Kaz angles his head to the side slightly. “I can’t imagine that position.” 

No kidding. I bite my tongue to keep the sarcastic comment and awkward laugh that would sure follow it away. “Who can? That’s like half the point of reading.” 

How can interaction feel so over and just at its beginning all at once? I press my lips together to avoid filling the silence with things I’d no doubt instantly regret. It’s easy to be mad at Kaz in the moment. Too easy. But to stay mad at him when his temper has passed and he returns with some kind of begrudging and admittedly awkward and uncertain truce is another task entirely. 

“I’ve never understood your attachment to written words.” 

“It’s not about understanding, it’s about everything else.” 

“And you say I’m cryptic.” Is he...kinda almost joking? I straighten my spine, too tired to fight and too wounded to forgive. “There’s understanding in everything, nothing can survive on sentiment alone.” 

“If you read the way I did, you’d understand.” 

His lips press together as his expression remains unwavering in its hardness. “Read to me.” 

...Interacting with Kaz in any way often leaves me feeling like I’m wandering through unknown territory. But this, this is undeniably different. So different I can’t even think of a way to react. I watch his expression as cautiously as possible. He’s purely reserved, no distinction from the look he wears during business propositions. Except there’s a tightness I can’t quite understand.

Maybe it’s because I don’t want to fight anymore. Maybe it’s because exhaustion is leaving me partially delirious. Or maybe it’s the weird feeling in my chest that I can’t quite place. That I don’t want to place. “Okay.” I shift carefully. “If for no other reason then to prove you wrong.” 

Never did I think I’d end up in the position of sitting in my bed, book in hand, with Kaz Brekker sitting next to me. But here we are. I’m so tired, I almost let out a nervous laugh when he first walked in. So brooding and tall, gripping the head of his head cane as he sits at the foot of my bed, on my pastel quilt. 

I’m glad for the excuse to keep my gaze away from him and on the words in front of me. I read out loud, feeling more and more comfortable with each page I finish. But as my inhibitions slip away, so dos my hold on consciousness. My eyelids seem to grow heavier with each word that I read. 

“You’re falling asleep.” 

I straighten my spine on instinct. “Am not.” I’m not sure why I feel the need to deny something so simple. 

“You’re impossible.” 

From him, that statement is laugh worthy. “I’m impossible? Do you not remember earlier today?” 

From the way his jaw locks, I realize that he’s in no mood to be light about this topic. I don’t understand why. It’s not like I’m the one that wronged him. “I remember your lack of focus.” 

Keeping my hands at my side to avoid rubbing my eyes, I frown. “If you want to have this argument again, fine. Jesper is more ‘distracted’ than me half the time and you’re much more lenient on him. It’s not like I was flirting with someone or gambling or doing anything but having a two second conversation. One that I needed to have to get information that you wanted.” 

The last time we fought, I had more energy to restrain myself. This could be atomic. I hold my breath, waiting for Kaz’s retaliation. He exhales, eyes not meeting mine. “Arguing with you when you’re present is exhausting enough. It’s not worth it when you’re half asleep.” 

This angers me further. I hate that he’s right. “I’m not half asleep.” He leaves it at that. I glare even harder at him, slumping further into my bed. “But for the sake of argument, I’ll drop it. Something you’re incapable of doing.” 

At that, his eyes meet mine. I try to hold his gaze, but the harder I think about not seeming tired the more exhaustion slips in. A yawn escapes me before he looks away. Great. “I know when to lie in the grass in wait.” 

Rolling my eyes, I shift back slightly. He’s incapable of being less dramatic than this. Still, I can’t imagine the effort it’s taking on his part to not start an argument. Maybe this is why Jesper spent so long implying that there may be a Kaz and I in any capacity beyond a vague kind of friendship. “I’ll admit you’re tactful.”

“Resourceful people recognize that trait in other people.” 

Blinking twice, I lower my book slightly. Am I truly exhausted, or did he just compliment me in a way? “Careful, I may start to think you find me tolerable.” 

“Let’s not exaggerate.” Okay, now I know I’m exhausted because I think he might have just attempted a joke. Rolling my eyes, I decide not to acknowledge this lightness in fear that I’ll scare it away. “Y/n?” 

I press my lips together, worried about the destruction of our peace. “Yes?” 

“What did Jesper say to you? Earlier?” I pause, slightly unsure why we’re moving backwards. 

We’re in a decent place now, and I’d hate to ruin it. I’m too half asleep to lie eloquently. And it’s not like he’s an easily convinced man. “Oh, he said it so cryptically it took me longer than it should have to understand. And it didn’t help that it was something so...well, you might find it funny. As funny as you find anything, anyways.” Wow...I’ve spent such a long time talking. Rubbing the back of my eyes, I avoid his gaze. Exhaustion and awkwardness mix in my stomach oddly. “It seemed like he was trying to imply that you and I...me and you...” Why is this a difficult thing to say? It’s not like I was implying it and Jesper’s known for his oddness. “I think Jesper was implying that there was a you and I, or at least that there could be.” I’m too lost in a haze of almost sleep to watch his reaction. I let my head rest against my headboard even further. “Isn’t that odd?” 

He’s quiet for a long second, and then he finally speaks again. “Odd, even for Jesper.” The response doesn’t satiate me...what’s that about? I exhale, deciding that feeling is tomorrow’s problem. When I blink, I decide to let my eyes stay closed. Just for a moment. The sound of something shifting is what makes my eyes squint open. Kaz is standing, his expression unreadable as he straightens. “Goodnight, y/n.” 

At that, I sit up slightly, ignoring the exhaustion behind my eyes. “I haven’t finished the chapter.” 

“You’ve convinced me of enough.” A concession? How exhausted do I seem? My lips press together as I think of my next argument. Before I can get it out, Kaz leans forward. He grabs the quilt at the end of my bed and tosses it onto my legs casually. “Goodnight, y/n.” The meaning of his repetition is clear. His word is final. 

I find enough energy to manage a glare, but I pull the quilt over my legs anyways. “Goodnight, Kaz.”

[rebeccccccaaa]

ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ʀɪɢʜᴛ _____________________

ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀ’s!ʙᴇsᴛ!ғʀɪᴇɴᴅ!ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ ʙᴀʀɴᴇs ᴀᴜ

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You and Buck have always been close growing up but you two soon learn that the line that separates friendly and flirting is a lot thinner than you think.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: fluff, slight angst bc u got a shit bf, big bro vibes from bucky, smut duh [18+ minors dni (slight praise but also slight degradation, marking, belly bulge, squirting, fem!rec oral, unprotected sex, plz be safe irl, slight choking, pet names: darling&princess, i think that’s it lmk plz)]

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ’s ɴᴏᴛᴇs: hey assholes i'm back for the time being lol. I have a few ideas and fics I'm currently writing right now so do not fret.

______________________________________

You knew this was a horrible idea. 

It’s Saturday night and you and your boyfriend were back in another night club after being kicked out from one just hours before. Daniel had gotten too drunk, as he always does, causing you to kindly ask the bartender to cut him off. Daniel didn’t take that too lightly resulting in a gnarly swing at the poor guy just doing his job. 

Security threw you out and Daniel called an Uber to go where you thought was going to be your apartment but twenty minutes later you pulled up to another club practically on the other side of town. You yelled at Daniel but he pushed aside stumbling inside for yet even more drinks and mistakes waiting for him inside. 

You sat at the bar simply drinking some water and snacking on some peanuts keeping your eye on your garbage boyfriend. You're constantly checking the time on your phone, annoyed with every passing minute. It was 2 am and you just wanted to go home and sleep. You were even debating texting your brother Steve hoping you could just crash at his place not too far from where you were but it would be incredibly irresponsible to just leave Daniel in the state he’s in. 

So you waited and waited and waited. Your eyelids felt heavy and your energy was just completely drained. You were basically a zombie. It wasn’t until a guy approached your half asleep body that you felt a sense of alert. Daniel was shit-faced so you were practically defenseless. 

“Hey,” the guy shouted over the music.

“Sorry, I’m not interested. My boyfriend’s-” you quickly said, only to be cut off.

“Don’t worry. I’m not gonna hit on you. I’ve got a boyfriend of my own,” he chuckled, making you breathe out in relief. 

“Sorry,” you cringed at yourself. 

“It’s alright; but uh, I hate to be the one to tell you this. You might want to check with your boyfriend,” he said sympathetically. 

You pushed your way through the crowd scanning every face in search of Daniel. What did he do? Is he hurt? Did he get in trouble again? Is he getting arrested? Where is he-

“Daniel?” you said eyes tearing up a bit. 

His arms were wrapped around another girl’s waist as he kissed her the way he kissed you. She practically moaned as their tongues slobbered disgustingly with each other. Their hips grinding against each other proactively as if you weren’t even there. Sadness turned to anger, and anger turned to rage, gripping Daniel’s short hairs and pulling his head away from whoever this girl was. 

“What the fuck?” the girl complained, her eyes completely bloodshot. 

“Did he tell you that he was here with his girlfriend tonight?” you're sad with gritted teeth. Daniel stumbled around still unable to register what the hell was happening. 

“Oh my god, you forreal?” she said.

“Who fucking cares? She’s a prude anyway. I got more action with you than I did her in the past, what, six months?” Daniel slurred. 

“You know what, you’re a fucking prick, dude. She deserves so much better than you; I bet your dick is small anyway,” the girl said.

“Fuck you too bitch,” Daniel spit. 

“I can’t believe you,” you said. 

“Oh, whoop-dee-doo, big fucking surprise. Babe, you’re a prude. Can’t you see it? I don’t know why I’m wasting my time with you anymore,” he practically puked out the words without any second thought. 

“Fine, then I hope you enjoy the rest of your night, you fucking asshole,” you stormed away holding in the tears; he wasn’t worth it. 

Almost three am and you just dumped your cheating lowlife boyfriend on the other side of town. Steve wasn’t answering his phone and you even wanna be near the club anymore. Walking speedily staring at your screen desperate to call an Uber home, you bumped harshly into a hard chest falling to the ground on your bum. 

“Fucking hell, I’m so sorry, darling,” the man said helping you up by your elbows.

“It’s ok. I wasn’t looking- Bucky?” 

“Oh, hey kid. What are you doing? It’s like three in the morning and you don’t live anywhere near here,” Bucky said, crossing his arms. 

“Daniel got himself kicked from the one by our apartment and Ubered here instead.”

“So where’s Daniel?” Bucky scowled; he’s always hated that guy, so did Steve.

“Probably fucking some other chick in the bathroom,” your voice cracked. 

“What?”

“It’s nothing; I just want to go home,” you cried.

“Hey, it’s ok; it’s ok. Do you wanna crash at me and Steve’s? He’s gone for the weekend with Peggy; you can stay in his room at least for the night,” Bucky offered; so that’s why Steve’s not answering his phone. 

“I don’t wanna intrude on your night. I can just call an Uber, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. Steve’ll kill me if he found out I left his baby sis alone in the streets of New York at three in the morning. It’s not a problem, we were just bar hopping and I stopped drinking ages ago.”

“Are you sure, Buck?”

“Of course,” he smiled warmly at you. 

“Hey, Nat!”

“What’s up?” a beautiful redhead approached you both.

“Gonna head home ; don’t do anything stupid,” he chuckled. 

“You too,” she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, “Catch you Monday?” 

“You’re stupid. I’ll see ya,” Bucky laughed before grabbing your hand and headed towards his apartment. 

“Thanks again, Buck. For letting me stay here tonight,” you said once you entered his apartment. 

It had been a while since you hung out at your brother’s apartment but nothing’s changed. Typical men and their inability to change even a throw pillow. You set your small bag on the couch before Bucky led you to Steve’s room. There were pictures of you and him posing at Steve’s graduation; and later your own. Pictures of Steve and Bucky at a theme park, during a bar-be-que for Steve’s birthday. So many memories that Steve held onto in his room. 

“Time really flies doesn’t it?” Bucky said, slightly startling you.

“Sorry,” he chuckled.

“No, you’re fine. But you’re right. Feels all these pictures were taken yesterday,” you reminisced. 

“I got you some clothes if you need to change; I’ll give you privacy,” Bucky said, slipping from the room briskly. 

You sat on the bed frustrated with everything. Your body was so drained from being up so early in the night, to the fight with Daniel. The past couple months with him were so awful. He was just so mean to you all the time and you didn’t know what you did wrong. Where did it go wrong? When did things shift?

"Is everything ok, darling?" Bucky asked quietly, knocking on the door when you hadn't come out after a while.

"What did I do wrong? I thought he loved me," you choked out. 

Bucky sighed as he walked over to the bed sitting beside you before engulfing you in a warm hug. You cried into his shoulder and Bucky couldn't help the anger that bubbled inside him for your excuse of a boyfriend Daniel. He never got along with the guy and now he finally has a reason to knock his teeth in.

"You didn't do anything, I know it. That prick wouldn't know love if it hit him in the face. It's his loss. You deserve so much better than that asshole. Look at me, you're so beautiful and funny and fucking adorable; any guy who can't see how perfect you are, is a dense piece of shit." 

"James," you whispered. 

His words made your heart skip and your stomach flutter. But Bucky’s always had that effect on you. Even growing up. You weren’t going to sit there and pretend that hearing his words hadn't had a deeper effect than they would’ve coming from Daniel. Sometimes you wondered what being with Bucky would be like. You’re not the first to admit how handsome Bucky was and growing up you did have quite the crush on your brother’s best friend.  

You don't know what it was, whether it was the alcohol still swimming through your veins, or just feeling so vulnerable being in Bucky's arms but you wanted him badly. You needed him, needed to feel something again. And you knew he could give it to you. You pressed your lips to his and in an instant his hands dropped to your hips pulling you impossibly close against his body. Your hands went to the back of his head as you kissed him messily. Your noses bumped and teeth clashed but it was the best kiss you’ve ever had. 

“Fuck, your brother’s gonna kill me,” Bucky mumbled, almost to himself, as he slowly laid you down on your back.

Bucky’s hands trailed up your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh every now and then as he continued kissing you passionately. Your own hands couldn’t help but tug at his shirt desperately. When he did so, your breath was completely taken away. It had been years since you’d seen Bucky without a shirt. 

Not only had he been quite skinny just like your brother back then, but not long after leaving for college with Steve he was in a bike accident that left him with ghastly scars and burns along his left arm and shoulder. Since then, it’s fair to say Bucky never really ever took his shirt off. It had taken years just for him to remove the glove he’d always wear to cover the scars on his hand.

“You’ve gotten so strong, James,” you grinned, reaching out to brush the flexed muscles running down his front. 

He simply stared at you with an anticipating and anxious expression on his face, waiting for you to state the obvious. When you didn’t, when you pulled his head down to kiss him once again, he almost cried. Bucky hadn’t been with a woman in so long, afraid of this very moment. He knew at that moment, there was no one quite like you. 

Bucky fell in love. 

“Let me take care of you, darling. You’ve been so good to me,” Bucky whispered huskily in your ear as he trailed his hand under your own shirt brushing his fingertips along the underside of your breast.

His lips pressed softly against your hot skin along your neck before standing up between your legs at the end of the bed. He pulled your shirt off then played cheekily with the straps of your bra that you still had on. You smiled back at him with the same playful stare, reaching behind you to unclasp the material. 

You could see the way Bucky’s eyes darken and his pupils widened as he stared in awe at your naked chest. Your skin bursted into chills under his hungry gaze even though you felt like you were burning up. Bucky leaned forward kissing down the valley of your breasts, nipping once in a while playfully before laying you back down. He shimmied you out of your bottoms easily, kneeling on the ground leaving you completely bare before him. 

“You are absolutely stunning, princess,” Bucky whispered, running his hands up your thighs slowly. 

“Bucky, please. I need you,” you whimpered. 

“Don’t worry, darling. I promise I’m gonna take good care of you,” he smirked devilishly. 

He pushed your knees open, eyeing the arousal that glistened between your thighs. He brought his fingers up to you slowly rubbing your slick around before finally pushing a thick and long finger past your folds. Your body shuddered solely at the foreign but pleasurable feeling, already moaning softly. 

Bucky’s cock strained through pants upon hearing your beautiful moans; they were like music to his ears. He couldn’t help the way his hips would buck into the mattress in a desperate attempt to relieve some pain from his erection. Soon after he pulled his fingers from you slowly only to thrust them further in you, curling his fingers just right. 

He brought his mouth down to you, wrapping his lips around your clit sucking harshly. You gasped and your back arched, overwhelmed with pleasure Bucky was giving you with just his mouth and fingers. All the times that you’d given yourself to your ex, he had never made you feel this good before, feel this full; let alone with his fingers. Bucky was taking his time with you solely for your own pleasure and it made your heart swoon. 

Your legs trapped Bucky’s head between your thighs, squeezing as he continued to eat you out like a starved man. Your hands went to his hair pulling on his dark locks causing Bucky to moan deeply against you. You were so close to a release; your legs shaking violently and your stomach tightening. 

“Come on, princess. Want you to come all over my face. Can you do that for me, darling?”

“Fuck!”

“Be a good girl and make a mess,” Bucky teased.

His fingers moved faster as he swirled his tongue around and over your clit just as quickly. You were becoming overwhelmed and that coil bursted in the pit of your stomach. You pushed Bucky’s face from you, shrieking with pure pleasure; Bucky’s kept the rapid pace with fingers as you fell over the edge.

“Fucking hell, that was so hot, princess,” Bucky said standing up; his fingers, arm, his chest was covered in your arousal. 

“Did I do that?” your voice trembled. 

“Because of me,” Bucky winked playfully.

“I didn’t know I could do that,” you let your head fall back on the bed as you briefly caught your breath.

Bucky grabbed his shirt that he discarded not long ago and quickly wiped his chest and arm before discarding his pants and boxers. He nearly moaned at the feeling when he finally freed his dick from the restraining garments. His hand instantly wrapped around the base before pumping himself a few times. 

You brought yourself onto your elbows momentarily ogling at the sight of Bucky completely bare before you. Your mouth practically watered at the sight. Bucky crawled over you kissing you deeply and messily; but perfectly. He pulled away and you both had goofy smiles on your faces before bursting into a fit of giggles, Bucky’s head burying into the crook of your neck.

“You’re so goddamn adorable, princess,” Bucky’s voice was muffled. 

“Bucky,” you whined. 

You couldn’t resist squirming underneath the burly man. Although, you’ve just had what was probably the best orgasm you’ve ever had, you wanted more. You needed more; you needed Bucky. 

“I got you, darling. I got you.” 

Bucky wanted to tease you more, make you beg, but he was just as desperate to feel you as you were. He propped himself up on his elbows kissing you one last time before reaching between your bodies and lining his dick with your entrance. Both you and Bucky moaned simultaneously as he stretched you out; curses spilling from his lips as incoherent moans fell from yours. 

“So fucking tight, princess. Squeezing my cock just right, aren’t ya?” he whispered.

“Fuck, I feel so full,” you whimpered.

Bucky began to slowly move his hips in and out of you deliciously. He quickly picked up the pace, jetting his hips rapidly making your moans louder. Bucky sat up on his knees and gripped your waist surely to leave bruises in your wake. This new angle surprised you and you couldn’t help the squeals and moans that left your mouth. You chanted Bucky's name like a prayer; as if it was the only word you knew. 

Bucky watched you carefully, your face contorting with pure euphoric pleasure. He couldn’t help notice the small bump in your lower belly and without a second thought, he grabbed your hands pressing them firmly over your tummy. 

“You feel how deep I am, darling? Fucking poking through,” Bucky grunted. 

“Shit! Oh, it feels so good,” you moaned. 

“That’s right, no one’s ever gonna fuck you this good again. This pussy’s mine now,” Bucky growled. 

He took one of his hands and wrapped it around your throat squeezing the sides gently but firm at the same time. Your eyes rolled back and you moaned even louder, confident that the neighbors were sure to complain in the morning. Feeling Bucky’s hand around your neck was so exhilarating; you and Daniel had never ever experimented with anything beyond a pair of handcuffs, and that particular night went horribly. 

You like being choked by Bucky. 

“Fucking slut; you like this, don’t ya?” he came down to whisper huskily against your lips. 

“Mh-hm,” you moaned with a devilish grin, your bottom lip resting between your teeth before your eyes rolled back again. 

“Such a fucking beauty you are.”

Bucky hips snapped in and out and he knew it wouldn’t be long until he needed to release.

“God, I’m close, princess,” he growled. 

His hand moved to rest on the back of your neck to pull you up so you straddled his thighs and your chest was flushed against his. Your sensitive and hardened nipples brushed against his slightly sweaty skin causing you to shudder in pleasure. Bucky’s lips attached themselves to your skin along your collar bones sucking harshly leaving purple marks all along.

Your legs shook once again as they did before and soon enough with an arched back and shout of Bucky’s name you came all over his cock. Overwhelmed with your sex, Bucky bit harshly on your shoulder in a poor attempt to muffled the loud groans and moans he elicited. Feeling your velvety walls squeeze tightly around him pushed him over the edge, coating your walls with hot ribbons on cum. 

He fell forward almost crushing you but you were too tired to complain. Bucky continued to pepper soft kisses all over your skin whispering how good you were to him, how beautiful you looked. Just absolutely showering with compliments. You felt him slowly getting off you, probably afraid he was crushing you, but you didn’t want him to leave just yet. 

“Don’t,” you whispered, wrapping your arms tightly around his body. 

“I don’t want to crush you, darling.”

“You’re not.”

Bucky chuckled before settling completely above you, careful not to make you uncomfortable. Hardly any time went by when he felt the even and soft puffs of air hitting his skin, sure that you had fallen asleep. He picked himself up and with major guilt for his best friend, picked you up from the bed and walked you to his own room. 

After he was sure you stayed sound asleep, Bucky grabbed a clean pair of boxers and hurried himself to Steve’s room again. He collected all the discarded clothes and the dirty sheets and tossed them in the washing machine to clean right away. 

He hadn’t meant to fuck his best friend’s little sister, let alone in his own room, on his own bed, but it all happened so fast. 

He went back to his room letting the clothes do it’s thing, and quickly grabbed his phone. He messaged Steve, telling him that when he got back for his weekend with Peggy, he really needed to talk to him. 

Tonight made Bucky realize how much he loved you. Growing up, you two had always been close. But he doesn’t know when he stopped being friendly and instead began flirting. Bucky wanted to be with you; he knew it now more than ever. 

Bucky watched your gorgeous sleeping form on his bed. He smiled to himself before opening the window; the sun already rising and those beautiful golden rays seeped through the glass window, making you look angelic. He crawled into bed cuddling flushed against your naked body. He chuckled softly when you realized he’d returned, wiggling even further into his arms. 

“I love you, Bucky,” you mumbled. 

“I love you, too, darling.”

And he really, and truly did love you. As did you love him. 

=======================

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[philliamwrites]

SWYAATL 02: Dear Emil

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x fem!Reader

Warnings: introduction to PTSD and trauma, mourning the loss of loved ones

Summary: But just like one loose thread could unravel everything, the past day has completely disintegrated the foundations of this future. Now that it crumbles between your bruised, shaking fingers, do you try to rebuilt it? Or do you forge something new from the broken pieces even though that means cutting your hands bloody on the remains?

Notes: 01 | 03 Masterlist ○ SWYAATL playlist ○

A/N: Thank you so much for the amazing feedback!! It’s been a time since I’ve had this much fun plotting and writing a story and I can’t wait for stuff to pick up with the next chapter when the Training Corps time begins! For now, I set myself the goal to upload every second Sunday at 10:30pm CET!

I recommend reading this using InteractiveFics! The values are [Name] [Last Name]. Enjoy!

For the research on how trauma affects mind and body I’m reading The Body Keeps the Score by Bessel van der Kolk. I highly recommend it!

And last quick notice, enlistment starts at 15!

Also would a taglist be good? If so, would someone mind explaining to me how that works and if anyone's interested, just DM me!

02: Dear Emil

The sun has set behind storm clouds, and the sky over the wall is livid purple, the colour of a fresh bruise when you reach Trost District. Refugees swamp it. Even though the Garrison Regiment of Wall Rose has been informed of Wall Maria’s fall within short hours after the appearance of what they would later name the Colossal and Armoured Titan, no one could prepare for the torrent of injured men, wailing children and pale-faced women in time.

Pushing and shoving, clamour, accusations. Because they couldn’t fight the Titans, Wall Maria’s residents fight each other—for food, for space, for their pride. They need to remind themselves they are still alive.

You let the crowd carry you away from the docks as refugees spill into the city, half of them setting out towards their new destination, the other half wandering aimlessly like sheltered chicken suddenly released into the wilds. You’re tired, hurt. Hungry. Alone and broken. Trost’s red-bricked houses with their dark roofs are unlike Shiganshina’s pale buildings—foreign. Everything appears so big, towering above you. You want to curl back into a ball. Emil’s ring has grown warm folded into your palm.

“[Name]!” Someone is calling your name. A woman’s voice. You spin around, mother waiting on your tongue so you can finally realise this all has been one long, horrible nightmare. One from which you’ll wake up any second to your mother’s lips gently kissing away your tears. From the crowd emerges a tall woman, her maroon dress billowing after her like sails in the wind. Ida Kirschstein catches up to you, drops to her knees and pulls you into a bone-crushing hug.

“Oh my sweet darling, my little angel.” She holds you tight as if she’s scared you might disappear any second. She smells of honey and lavender, which makes the embrace feel like being wrapped in a loaf of warm bread. Her warmth, her smell, so familiar forces a new wave of hot tears to your eyes.

When you open your mouth, only sobs escape—guttural and hurting deep in your chest as if someone is trying to pull them out with a hook.

“It’s okay, [Name], you’re okay,” Ida whispers into your hair. She presses a soft kiss to your temple, then holds your little face carefully in her hands, inspecting every scratch, every bruise, seemingly categorising them by priority so she can tend to them later. “You’re safe here, my darling, it’s over now.” Her voice shakes, but you want to believe her so bad. “Come on, we’ll get your pare—”

Ida realises it before the idea is a fleshed-out offer. She stares, mouth gaping, and as her eyes lock with yours, she swallows hard. Once, twice. Your small hand disappears inside hers as she takes hold of it and leads you through the mass.

“Let’s get you home,” she says, her voice tense like a pulled chord.

Home.

Titans have destroyed your home.

The Kirschstein’s house is a cute little thing jammed into the backyard of a seamstress’ shop. When Ida swings the door open, warm light spills onto the dimming streets. The familiar scent of apple spice fills the air, and suddenly you’re a little girl of six again, barrelling into Aunty Ida’s house to dig into her freshly baked apple pie before Jean could return from his boring, boyish adventures and talk your ears off about how he won another stupid competition that left him with scraped knees—an injury he’d wear as a badge of honour.

Ida pulls you into the warmth and safety of her house. She helps you out of your ripped jacket, contemplating to herself in quiet mumbles if it’s worth trying to flick it. Everything looks the same. An assortment of little trinkets is scattered across the drawer by the entrance. A half folded newspaper lies precariously close to the edge, dog ears folded into its corners; beside it your misshapen try at pottery from a few years back, a little dish formed after a star-shaped flower, for stray coins Ida would collect and hand out to Jean whenever he’d help with chores or run errands.

Your eyes wander over the hanging frames on the wall. Pictures of baby Jean crawling on the floor, sucking on a pacifier and years away from the scowl that’s started to wedge into his forehead; Ida and her husband, Felix, during their trip to the lake near Karanes District three years ago, a picnic spread before the idyllic scenery surrounded by towering, vibrant trees; and a picture of your mother and Ida as young women standing shoulder to shoulder, their round cheeks rosy as they present a similar pair of rings around their fingers to the painter.

A sound gets stuck in your throat, and when Ida turns and spots what you’re looking at—her dearest childhood friend now gone—she follows you suit and breaks down at the front door, clutching to your little body as sobs shake her like the lashes of a whip. You hold hands and weep aloud with rasping sobs, as if trying to force air into lungs crushed by grief.

God, you miss them. You miss them so much. Mom, Dad. Emil. It’s been barely a day. How do you live with this? How do you bear the days, the years after, trying to live a cleaved life and pretend you never knew it whole and don’t feel the space of those missing pieces that can never be repaired or replaced. How will you ever feel whole again?

Only after minutes pass and Ida’s shaking slowly subsides as she presses the warmth of her palm against your little back, reassuringly, protectively, you notice Jean lurking behind the open door frame leading outside to the inner courtyard. You almost shrink back at the look he bends on you: blazing, furious—the colour of liquid amber. You brought grief and sadness upon his mother, what other misfortune did you carry with you?

“It’s okay,” Ida repeats over and over again, more to herself than to anyone else. “We’ll take good care of you, [Name].”

She sits you on the wobbly chair in the kitchen, cleans the dirt off your cheeks, hands and knees with warm water and soothing movements, careful as if you are porcelain and the slightest wrong movement might shatter you into unrepairable pieces. By the end of it, you almost feel human again.

Ida offers an invigorating meal and the comfort of warm tea, but you shake your head to both. “I’m tired,” you mumble. Your body craves the blissful unconsciousness of sleep, for your mind to sink into silent darkness where you’ll hopefully be rewarded a break from your thoughts. From all the emotions clotting your throat.

“Of course, whatever you need, darling.” She stands and guides you to the bedrooms as if it’s your first visit. As if you might get lost the moment she lets you go. You don’t mind.

When you pass Jean, his scowl deepens, his bottom lip juts out and you’ve spend enough time with him throughout the years to notice the signs of him moments away from crying. He quickly stomps after you, grabs your wrist and shoves something into your fist, before quickly turning and disappearing into another corner of the house, one hand raised to his face in eager attempt to wipe away the tears before they fall.

“That boy,” Ida mumbles, gently tugging your hand to make you move along. “He was worried sick when we heard the news and now he can’t even open his mouth.”

When you uncurl your fist, Emil’s ring is still there, tugged away safely. Right next to it lies your favourite chocolate candy the Kirschsteins only come across when the vendor from Yalkell District comes down once every two or three months. It’s expensive. It’s your favourite, and Jean has held unto it all this time. Certainly, he isn’t the only one wishing he could have given it to you under different circumstances.

Ida tugs you into the bed of a small guest room, only furnished with the essentials. A bed, a small table pushed against the wall and a waist-high wardrobe.

“Tell me if you need anything,” she says, cupping your face gently as she scans it a last time, holding your gaze. Searching for your mother in your features.

You need your previous life back. You need to get back to the time before you knew this pain and fear, before you saw how easy it is to take a man’s life, to crush a human’s bones. When you didn’t know how ugly people become when their life is at stake. When you lived in ignorance of everything.

Instead, you press your lips into a thin line, and just nod.

A narrow slice of light dances across the threshold when she leaves the door ajar and returns downstairs. You curl up on your side, engulfed in foreign sheets and a different scent of laundry you’re used to. The ring hangs loosely around your finger, the crimson orb facing you as you stretch your hand. Quiet voices drift from another part of the house, but you ignore them—you want to block yourself off from the world, disappear from its surface rather than remain awake for another moment with this all-encompassing, overwhelming grief; this repressed anger boiling under your skin that feels too tight for your body.

This world is cruel. Why should you give it any more reason to hurt you, punish you for simply existing when in the end, it will take everything you love. Who could you hold accountable for all the pain, the sorrow that seeps from you like a bleeding wound?

Maybe it would be easier to simply … let it all go.

When you wake up the next morning from a fitful, restless sleep, sunlight peers through the white curtains, stitched with little birds taking flight. Your stare at them as the fabric sways gently in the early morning breeze stealing through the open window. Yesterday wasn’t a dream. The reality of that quickly vanquishes any remains of sleep when your battered and bruised body protests at the slightest turn in bed, demanding you don’t move at all. That’s fine with you. You don’t feel like getting up anyway. There’s no reason to.

Heavy stomping shakes the old, wooden stairs leading up to the second floor—terror at the rumbling of the footsteps that herald the monsters’ arrival.

Your heart. Your heart isn’t in your chest anymore. It’s beating in your throat, making it hard to breath. With shaking fingers clawing into the blanket, you throw it over your head, and curl up into a small ball. The Titans won’t find you if you hide, if you don’t make a noise, if you don’t breathe. Stay where you are, don’t move an inch—who told you that?

The bedroom door swings open, the doorknob smashes against the wall and bounces back. “Breakfast!” Jean calls into the room.

Jean. Of course, you aren’t hiding from Titans. You’re at the Kirschstein’s—that’s your home now—safe and alive. Because everyone else died.

“Leave,” you mumble into the sheets, a new wave of hot tears welling in your eyes. Because everyone else is dead. “Go away.”

“You know mom’s gonna get angry if it gets cold,” Jean continues, still standing in the door frame. “She made omelette.”

Throwing the covers off, you scream, “Leave me!” and grab for the first thing in range to chuck at him. The chocolate candy bounces against Jean’s shoulder and drops to the ground. He gapes at you. From below, Ida’s voice carries up, demanding he come back down at once and leave you.

He mumbles something unintelligible, draws the door shut and you’re finally alone again. You crawl back under the heavy covers. Close your eyes. Stay here. Shutting your eyes tight until stars explode in the darkness, you press Emil’s ring against your lips.

You’ll stay where you are until he comes back.

Hours pass, you drift into sleep and back, sometimes dreaming, sometimes just relishing in all surrounding darkness that leaves you numb. What a blissful state, this devouring coma that suppresses any thought, any feeling, until your consciousness creeps back with gravelly whispers and flashes of crooked smiles and glassy eyes like a dead fish’s, and you jolt awake, blinking up at the orange stripes of the setting sun stealing through the curtains.

Voices drift into the room from outside. The dressmakers from the shop leave their work for today, eager to return to their families. As a child, you always marvelled at their craft, at the beautiful dresses they were wearing, colourful and with cleverly complicated embroidery garnishing soft fabric. This has always been your dream: One day you would craft magnificent dresses, inspired by your favourite fairy tales, and noble women would wear them for social gatherings. Little girls would dream of wearing them; would relish in seeing themselves so, so beautiful when clad in one of your designs.

But just like one loose thread could unravel everything, the past day has completely disintegrated the foundations of this future. Now that it crumbles between your bruised, shaking fingers, do you try to rebuilt it? Or do you forge something new from the broken pieces even though that means cutting your hands bloody on the remains? If anything, you just want so badly to be years in the future when you do not feel like an open wound.

Wood creaks. When you glance at the door, Jean is standing there again, holding a fork. He’s not asking this time, but the demand burns in his eyes. You look back up at the ceiling, face grim, your hand, hiding the ring curled into a tight fist, lying on your stomach. Jean gives a twitch that vaguely resembles a shrug as he ducks back through the doorway. “Suit yourself.”

On day three, he doesn’t leave as fast. “You can’t just stay cooped up in here for the rest of your life,” Jean says, with the annoyance of a boy who suddenly got a new, unwanted family member, and who also wants said unwanted family member to join him for breakfast and finally crawl out of their shell of grief.

It stirs a buried part inside you, spurs one unchangeable law into action that has taken root inside you ever since you remember knowing him, and that rule demands that whenever Jean Kirschstein opens his mouth and says something annoying or stupid, you have to retaliate in equal fashion.

“Not until the rest of my life,” you say into the room, voice croaking from lack of use, eyes fixed on the wooden ceiling. Shadows begin to creep in from the corners. “Only until I’m old enough to join the military and learn how to fight so I can kill that Titan that broke through Wall Maria.”

A heavy moment of silence passes, and then Jean says, “Are you stupid?”

And this is just the thing about Jean Kirschstein. No matter what it is, but the things he says cut pretty deeply for some reason.

For the first time in two days, you find strength to sit up. Though your body is exhausted, your mind is determined to prove that, no matter how inconsequential the claim, Jean is wrong. “You think I won’t make it into the military?”

The challenge in your voice makes him pause scuffing his boot against the threshold. “I think you should try to get as far away from dealing with Titans as possible … after all that happened.” His voice trails off, he’s staring at an invisible spot behind your shoulder before his eyes snap back to yours. He crosses the room with few, long strides and plants himself right next to you on the bed. It bounces under his weight. “We could join the Military Police though.”

You put your knees up to your chest. Jean immediately fills in the room you make and stretches his arms to both sides. “But I want to fight Titans, not run away from them.” No, that’s not the point. You jerk, staring at his side profile. “Wait … you want to join the military too?”

His feet drag on the floor as he bumps his heels against the bed in an unsteady rhythm. “If something like this ever happens again, the next wall coming down will be Wall Rose. I want to have a comfortable life inside the capital, and once there’s enough money, I’ll make Mom and Dad move into an inner district as well.”

“But that’s just …” Just what? You can’t say it is wrong that he’s looking out for himself. Not after seeing first hand the harsh reality that there is no glory in trying to fight a hopeless battle.

“I don’t care if that makes me a coward,” Jean continues. “It’s not like we can kill all the Titans anyway, so I’m not even going to pretend to be some half-ass hero putting on a show.”

“It’s not about being a coward or not.” You stare down at Emil’s ring, twisting it around your finger with your thumb. “Without the Titans, there’s a whole wide world to see out there. Aren’t you curious what’s beyond the walls?”

“I mean yeah, sure, whatever, but—” Jean makes a disapproving noise in the back of his throat. “You’re not telling me you’re gonna join the Scouts, right?” He looks at you as if he’s seeing you for the very first time. “You—you survived Shiganshina only to throw your life away in a couple of years to join the suicide squad?”

The Survey Corps. Emil’s dream. To join the Wings of Freedom.

“But I don’t want to die in here, caged like a bird that doesn’t know what it’s like to fly.”

“I don’t know,” is your honest answer. You’ve always been honest with Jean. “I don’t think so…” It’s like someone hollowed out your chest. Stole the Emil-shaped conviction guiding you like a compass throughout your life and without it you don’t know how to get back home again. If there even is a home to return to. “I don’t know.”

“It’s not like you can do anything right now anyway.” Shifting in his seat, Jean shoves his hand into his pocket. Out comes the chocolate candy, now compressed from the last days inside his pocket, its wrapping crumbled enough to make the logo barely readable. Food. You need food to grow stronger.

You take it, unwrap the candy and place it on your tongue, simply tasting the sweetness exploding in your mouth for a second. Taste. It means that you are alive. It means there is a future waiting for you. And instead of grieving that your parents and Emil will never be able to taste anything again, you savour it for them. Enjoy it for them.

“You gonna come downstairs for dinner now?” Jean asks, even though he doesn’t need to. He probably knows your answer already as he wipes the snot from your runny nose with his sleeve. This time, the tears are liberating. “Mom made omelette. Our favourite.”

❀❀❀

It takes time for you to grow strong again. For your body to make up for days of neglect. It takes more time to find courage to venture outside again, and again, it takes time until you stop flinching at sudden shadows swallowing you, at loud noises from paralysing your entire body, from the sudden outbursts of crying or rage that make you look in the mirror and see a stranger standing before it.

The struggle to return to a life before continues and you wager it doesn’t stop for a while. At some point you realise, it is not possible. A life before doesn’t exist. Only the life after.

But the hardest part is that sometimes, when it’s really bad and you lash out at Jean or Ida or Felix, sudden anger flooding you at the smallest, inconsequential mistakes or accidents—a broken cup, the disappointment and shame after losing a race to one of Jean’s boisterous friends—or when your body is paralysed with irrational fear when all your neighbours gather outside of Trost to participate in the annual grape-stomping and the squashing sound under their feet gives you nausea, Jean looks at you … he just looks and you know he will never understand what this is like—this fear, this never ending battle against yourself, the overwhelming feeling of everything at once. He will never understand until the day he sees it for himself. He will never understand until one day, his head too is on fire but only he himself sees it. You pray this day doesn’t come for him.

But Time bows to no one and marches onward. Days pass, months pass. A year later, on the memorial day of Wall Maria’s Fall, you find yourself with Jean down by the canal, surrounded by citizens and soldiers alike. Mirroring the sparkling stars twinkling above you, hundreds of paper lanterns illuminate the dark river’s surface. It stretches before you, a sea of uncountable candles burning. They follow the river’s path through the abandoned area between Wall Rose and Wall Maria to Shiganshina where hopefully they carry the lost souls to a better place far away from the walls and Titans. To freedom.

You’re holding onto your lantern, crafted in the shape of an open flower, as you and Jean find a clear, open spot. You’ve lost Ida and Felix out of sight a while back when they went on ahead to release lanterns for your parents, and you promised to join them, but this moment is for you alone.

Jean watches in silence as you light the candle within, and from your pockets pull out a slightly crumbled letter, folded and unfolded so often the paper has grown thin and cracked at the corners. Knowing you’ll never really be satisfied with its contents, you keep it folded and place it inside the flower. It joins its brothers and sisters on the journey and within seconds becomes an indistinguishable speck of light illuminating the dark night.

You squeeze your ring once, twice for good luck and pray Emil feels you thinking of him. That he is still alive somewhere and his heartstrings strum as your soul yearns for him.

“We’re going to tell them tomorrow, okay?” Jean says when you two climb back up the stairs to the upper level. Many residents still remain by the riverbed, watching the last candles being released. “I think today would be too much.”

“It’s been ‘tomorrow’ since two months,” you say, jamming your hands into your pockets. A cool breeze picks up. “I don’t care about you, but I’ll definitely do it tomorrow.”

Waiting for the right opportunity made you realise that it would never come and Ida and Felix deserve better than looking forward to a future where you and Jean remain in Trost forever. Jean scratches the back of his head. His hair has grown a lot, curling slightly at his nape. “Yeah, yeah, okay. Tomorrow. Promise.”

For one whole year you both have carried that secret with you. Made sure that even after time passed, your dreams didn’t change. Every morning you wake up and think, One day closer. One day closer to fifteen, and if he’s alive… if he’ll enlist… if we’ll be able to meet again…

You wonder if the beautiful wildflowers on your green meadow back home still bloom.

❀❀❀

On the day enlistment for military service starts, your task mistress allows you to leave work two hours earlier than usual. Fingers numb from your current sewing assignment, a dark green robe for the Duchess of Matthews; back aching from sitting hunched over for hours, you almost knock the candle-stool sitting in the centre of the small shop over in your hurry to rush to the plaza. Ignoring your apology, Madame Blaire only shoos you away with an impatient wave of her hand, her eyes rigid and scrutinising. Usually, she wouldn’t have let you get away this easily, but today is a special day. Even your fellow seamstresses’ don’t quip or giggle at your clumsiness and hold their tongues.

Insufferable Mirabelle catches your eye on the way out, her mouth curling up into a mocking curve. Her words from two weeks ago still ring in your head, an annoying blare you can’t silence. A week is what it’ll take for them to see how useless you are and send you to a pigsty. I doubt you’ll hate it there, the smell of shite and animal sweat suits you.

You lift your chin and hold her gaze. Nothing will make you shrink back from this decision.

The last daffodils have died inside the window boxes and the trees lining the wide street to the plaza slowly turn yellow. Even though it is a bleak, grey day and the occasion nothing to celebrate for most of the conscripts, commerce once again finally booms under the visit from people living in the villages and settlements around Trost.

Colourful stalls greet you around every corner, standing at attention like vigilant soldiers. Citizens and tourists from other districts crowd the streets, lured in by the smell of fresh bread and cherry pastry, smoky meat and vegetables on skewers, and steaming potatoes in thin foil topped with curd and chives. Children tug at their parents’ clothes, pointing at scarcely distributed game stands where they can throw balls and fish for little wooden ducklings.

It is only the hollow shadow; the sad substitute of what would usually take place weeks before and last until enlistment began: the Oktoberfest. One of the biggest Volksfest everyone looked forward to every year, happy to forget their worries with ever-flowing, cool beer, head-spinning dances and joyful songs that lift the spirit to the skies. The last days of freedom new cadets enjoyed before offering their hearts for humanity and undergoing strict, hard military service.

This year as well, the Oktoberfest has been cancelled. Ever since the famine in 846 forced the Central Government to send a large number of refugees into battle under the pretext of recapturing Wall Maria, the food crisis has been alleviated a little but nowhere enough to organise huge festivities lasting for weeks. This sacrifice took 20 percent of mankind’s population. 250.000 people. Men, women. Fathers, mothers. Grandparents. Fewer than two hundred people survived. The rest, dead. Just like that.

Volksfests have turned into a luxury only for the Royal Capital inside Wall Sina. Everyone else has to settle for these rare, scarce events, and tug the joy and mirth away where they would give them warmth and strength during harsh days of never-ending work in the fields.

You swiftly dodge a boy running amok with his prize in hand, a little straw doll wearing the Scout’s military cape. His joy is contagious, you can’t help but grin as a young woman, probably his older sister, tries to keep up with him, exasperated but content. The streets are alive, buzzing. Maybe next year, Trost can hold its own little Oktoberfest again.

When you finally reach the main plaza, a wide, round area spread before the white bricked Garrison Regiment Office, dozens of aspiring cadets have already gathered, standing in line before a row of narrow tables set out in front of the main entrance. Heavy tapestries displaying the thorny roses of the Garrison crest sway in the late summer breeze, still warm enough to allow short-sleeved dresses but the promise of autumn lies in the cool evening wind.

You get in line behind two girls leaning their heads together as they point at someone at the front and scan the crowd. It doesn’t take long to pick out Jean, standing to the side with the Wagner boy and seemingly nonchalant about the whole ordeal. But from the tension in his shoulders you can see he’s nervous. You haven’t stopped twisting your ring around your finger as well.

The line moves agonizingly slow. Your eyes sweep over the crowd, gathering a first impression of what soon will be your brothers and sisters in arms. Most of them are young, around your age, but you spot the occasional adult waiting as well, their expression unreadable. No matter how hard you look, no silver shock of hair stands out, and with every step towards the tables your legs grow heavier, turning into lead.

Finally, it’s your turn.

The soldier sitting behind the table writing down names seems to be in his early twenties, his features sharp and elegant just like the black twirl of ink his hand leaves on the paper. When you approach, he doesn’t even look up.

“Name and district,” he demands.

This is it. Your last chance to turn around and leave. Doubt has never been a problem, but over the last days it’s crept upon you, a dark shadow latching onto your heart. Now that you’ve been helping out the dressmakers for almost two years, the routine and simplicity of it has brought structure and safety to your life.

Every morning you get up, knowing your tasks. The needle has become your weapon, your friend. The work will never end, you’re acceptable enough that Madame Blair won’t replace you for a younger girl in desperate need of work. Even Mirabelle’s cruel jibes and baseless hostility are easy to endure.

But your name won’t be remembered. Your insignificant life will easily be forgotten, written off as less than worthless.

Your legs tingle. Emil’s ring feels too tight around your finger.

“[Name] [Last Name],” you say. “From Outer Shiganshina.”

At that, the boy lifts his head, and meets your eyes with a little frown. They’re a kind, warm brown but his mouth is set into a grim line. “You’re the fourth from Shiganshina enlisting today. I didn’t think there was anyone left from there who still wants to join the military.”

Three. Three other residents from around Shiganshina. Hope flickers in your chest as you watch him write down your name. Your thumb finds your ring again and spins it around your finger. “Is there a chance,” you begin, staring down at his papers and scanning the words but unable to make out any names, “a boy named Emil Gruender is one of them?”

The soldier glances at you and decides you look pitiful or desperate enough that one little favour can’t hurt. “Hm… I think there was someone with an E…”

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth as his index finger passes line after line of names until it finally halts and your heart is about to burst out of your chest, thumping wildly like a small creature caught in a snare.

“Uh, sorry,” he says. “No Emil.”

The spell of hope is broken. You swallow the disappointment down where it doesn’t hurt and thank him anyway. He nods and hands you your proof of registration, a neatly folded piece of paper that marks you as an upcoming recruit of the 104th Cadet Corps. “Find yourself back here in two weeks. A cart will transport you to the military training compound and you’ll get your uniform there.” He knocks his fist against his chest, right above his heart. “Dedicate your heart for the sake of humanity! Dismissed, cadet!”

You answer with your own fist to your heart, feeling it trying to bruise your ribcage from the inside. “Yes, sir!”

Jean is waiting for you at the other end of the plaza. He’s got his hands on one skewer and two pieces of still warm flatbread, and with one curt nod he leads you to narrow stairs leading up to a back alley where it’s quieter and less crowded.

You barely sit when he’s pushing his fist under your nose, his thumb standing at attention.

“So,” Jean starts.

You hook your fingers around his, and tap his thumb with yours. “So.”

“We did it.” The thumb war begins. It only lasts seconds.

“We did it.” You win.

Jean begrudgingly surrenders the skewer to you and plants himself beside you, immediately tearing into his flatbread. Somehow … somehow you imagined you both would feel more glorious about your choice. Two weeks left until a new part of your life begins, and you’d hate to regret this decision not even an hour in.

You stare down at a patch of weed growing between the cobblestones. A dandelion might bloom here in a couple of years, bursting forth from its cold concrete coffin. “I asked if Emil enlisted,” you say, spinning your skewer left and right. “He didn’t.”

Jean shoos away a stray cat wandering toward you, its eyes fixed on your untouched skewer. “Might be in a different division,” he says. “Wagner heard a solider say lotsa conscripts gather at the eastern districts.”

“How would he even end up over there? I never heard him talk about relatives in other districts either.”

“Beats me. They did transfer a bunch of refugees from Wall Maria to help out farmers two years ago, so maybe he’s ploughing fields somewhere.”

“Maybe.”

“Or heck, maybe he got in a year earlier than us.” He tears off a strip of his flatbread, staring down at the still lingering cat as he eats it, like the eye contact might better convey how your food is very much not for it. “He better not have any crazy ideas like you did though. One of you maniac bastards is all I can handle.”

You slump sideways against the wall, unsure if you’re annoyed that he’s bringing that up again or that you’re letting it get to you. “I was twelve. I didn’t know what else to do in the future.” Killing the Armoured Titan. Now that you haven’t seen a Titan for the past three years, you aren’t eager to come across one ever again.

The smile Jean sends you is magnificent, shameless, and wasted, for you refuse to look at him. “No, you just got lucky I’m an awesome friend and talked some sense into you.”

You roll your eyes to the sky. “Doesn’t matter anyway. We’ll both stay inside the walls.”

“Damn right we do.”

You toss a piece of meat to the cat, who sniffs it carefully before turning its wide eyes to you as if to say, I’d prefer chicken. “Though I doubt I’ll get into top ten.”

Jean reaches over and slides the next piece of meat off your skewer. “Course you can. You’re pretty quick if you wanna be.”

“I don’t think being fast is enough to save me a spot.”

Jean shrugs, helping himself to another piece of meat. “How hard can it be. Just be better than the rest. You’re a competitive brat.”

“Says the most competitive person I know.” You pass him the rest of the skewer, then hold out your hand for the cat to lick your fingers. “I don’t care if you get into the Military Police and I don’t. We can still see each other on our days off.”

“I just wanna get through the next three years without a hitch.” He pauses, chewing. You think he might take another bite to buy himself more time, but then he says, “If I never have to face a Titan in my life, that’s a life well lived.”

You sit in silence for a while. A few more cats wander over and similarly turn their noses up at your offering, so you wipe your greasy fingers on Jean’s pants, ignoring his indignant protest, and bite into your flatbread.

Above you, only a narrow piece of blue sky stands between the tall rooftops, merely a slice that is swallowed by the walls around you. A cage. From down here, you can’t even see the birds dart from roof to roof, playing their whimsical game of tag.

How they mock you, reminding you that your Wings of Freedom are only an imitate, a desperate wish to achieve the unachievable. To continue dreaming without any chance to wake up and enjoy reality. Half a year ago, the Survey Corps passed through Trost District on their way back inside the walls from their 45th expedition. Only 47 returned home, 19 of them injured.

Out of 200 who had left.

Anger had flared inside your chest, a crimson bud blooming. Anger, but with far more shame attached. Anger as a means of defence, anger you know was completely misplaced. Because you know if Emil will join the Scouts one day, he will offer everything to the wings on that back. Offer his whole being. So that shameful part of you wishes he doesn’t join the military. Wishes he has truly died five years ago in Shiganshina so that his dream can continue forever. The Emil in your memory doesn’t need to grow up and face the harsh reality. If a bird never learned how to fly to begin with, how would it know to miss it? To know it is something vital to its existence?

If he stays like this in your memory of him, Emil will forever remain free.

Something warm nudges your leg. When you look down, a cat is trying to get your attention, headbutting your shin. Its black fur shines, soft against your hand when you stroke its lithe, warm body. Round, blue eyes look up at you as it nuzzles into your open palm, probably attracted by the still lingering smell of roasted meat.

“You know,” Jean starts slowly, which isn’t a good sign because he usually barges into conversations without any regard that he’s the match about to ignite a powder keg and start a full out war. “About Gruender. It’s also still likely that he died three years ago.”

You lean back. Watch the cat sitting before you watch you in return with curious eyes.

“There wasn’t a body,” you say quietly, because this answer is easier than trying to explain that your soul would know. It would know if Emil were dead. Anything else wouldn’t make sense; anything else would be a disgrace to the promise you gave him.

“Won’t be much of a body left if a Titan ate him,” Jean provides in that insufferable tone of his, in that deceptively mild tone that means he is annoyed you fail to understand something so obvious. His tall body stretches out as he leans against the stairs casually.

You bite back a sharp retort, knowing this doesn’t come from ignorance or animosity—it’s worse because it stems from honesty, Jean’s unfaltering honesty that knows no mercy because he means well.

“We’re done talking about this.” You give him a dark, wild look, your mouth curling downwards as you remember how you’d lashed out at him when he had proposed this possibility for the first time. You had not spoken to him for days. “We were done talking about this years ago.”

“It’s gonna get only harder from here on, [Name].” Jean stands and dusts dirt off his back. The sudden movement scatters the cats back into their alleys and nooks, even the black one that seemed to take an initial liking to you. “Sort out whatever you gotta feel before we start military training. Be angry, cry. If you have to mourn again, don’t do it alone. Mom knows better than me what you went through—” He pauses, scratches the back of his head. His sharp, long features, usually so familiar seem like a stranger’s to you. Jean holds your gaze, and you don’t look away as he goes on. “What you're going through. But don’t stand sill, or else you won’t be able to move forward at all.”

He turns, and offers a hand to help you stand. You allow him to push you to your feet, your smaller hand swallowed in his. Jean beside you now feels like an anchor, holding you fast to steady ground.

You bump into his shoulder as you two begin your walk back home. “You really suck at this whole consolation thing, you know.”

Jean bumps back into you, harder, which makes you stumble over your own feet. His smile slices white. “I have the good looks, the charisma. Can’t excel at everything, or else the other recruits will lose their courage and drop out thinking they'll never be as great as me.”

You execute an eye roll that gives you a spectacular view of the inside of your skull. “I hope the other recruits dunk your head inside the latrines.” And with that, you fling yourself into his side, and Jean loses his balance and topples to the ground like a lanky tin soldier.

“[Last Name]!” Jean barks, but you've already broken into a sprint, knowing he’ll rocket off after you and put you in a headlock if he catches you.

Running is exactly what you need right now. Running away from Jean’s previous words, from the possibility that he’s right.

Only when you run and close your eyes, feeling the the wind wipe your hair left and right, tearing at your clothes, you can pretend you’re a bird that’s soaring in the vast sky, untouched by anything.

Only like this, you can pretend to understand what Emil had dreamt of, and maybe carry it on for him.

❀❀❀

Dear Emil,

I know you might never read this, but I’d like to write anyway. Perhaps I’ll leave it in a tree or bury it next to the wildflowers blooming on our meadow, or tear it into pieces and let the wind scatter it to all the distant places behind the walls you dreamt of exploring. Was I always this whimsical? I feel as though I hardly remember myself as I was when you were here. How strange it is that there are version of myself you’ll never know—though there’s still so much I don’t know about you as well. I suppose it’s only fair.

I like to think you’d be proud of my decision to join the military and fight for something. Even though I am not brave, or strong, I’d like to find something to protect. You always dreamt bigger than I. Your place is with the sparrows and herons that have their home beyond these walls, that see this world we were born into. I instead will stay here and protect these walls. If the Garrison soldiers back then had been braver, stronger, would they have protected us? Would Mama and Papa still visit your parents and buy all your beautiful flowers? Would we still be together?

I still can’t believe that I might never meet you again.

There is still so much I want to tell you, but I am scared I can’t convey anything.

I remember when after that cold, long winter in 845 we went outside to look for snowdrops. They only bloomed for one week, and after they had wilted, you, who had looked so disappointed and said, “It’s so quick this year, too,” were so beautiful then. I wish I had told you.

I miss you.

I want to see you.

The ring, that is so very, very important to you, I will treasure it and always keep it safe with me. Until the day I find you, or you come back to me. However long it will take.

Because we promised.

Because I offer you my heart.

[Name]

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