#none of them are normal enough for domestic bliss.

[spectral-honey]

So I've seen lots of people having shadow live with agent stone after sonic 3 and I have this image in my head of eggman returning in Sonic 4 ready for a soap opera-esque dramatic reunion with his favorite sycofriend and shadows sitting at stones counter like "what are your intentions with my father."

[akumicchi]

It takes two to love

[Tamaki x fem reader] tw: food.

Just fluff and domesticity

— Do you think we have it all already?— Tamaki had asked, checking the red plastic basket full of groceries — We have the tapioca starch, fruits, milk...

— Yup, but guess what? —she turned to him with a playful twist of her head— You just won a coupon for a free meal cooked by yours truly. And I need some ingredients. The other day you said you were craving some pasta, right?

He swayed his head from side to side, barely containing a smile. Tamaki let himself be pulled further into the supermarket by their intertwined pinkies.

It was late in the afternoon when the weekly errands were finished and they settled back home for the night. It was an odd pretty thing, this routine both had built for their matching days off, whenever it was. It wasn't normally disrupted by a trip to the supermarket, but in Tamaki's book, quality time doesn't need a specific place to occur. The bought goods sat on the counter, while he rearranged them on their rightful places in the cabinet or the fridge. He had taken a pair of tomatoes from the bag, when she shamelessly stole them from his hands.

— Thanks, Tama, you're always such a gentleman —she teased and kissed his cheek before turning to the chopping board, light on her feet.

It wasn't out of the ordinary, but it was peculiar and funny to see her all...bubbly, like clear water from a stream. He laughed at her.

— You really are excited about making that pasta, wonder were that's coming from? —he got close to the sink, rolling up his sleeves.

— Nope, you're not working on this today, Hun —her hand went to his arm, stopping him from filling the pot with water.— This is my way to say thank you for all your hard work, it won't make sense if you're cooking too! This is your coupon, remember?

Tamaki could feel the heat on his face and the pickup of his heart rate.

— I-um... Okay. But at least let me prepare the boba tea. I want to thank you for your hard work too and —he spoke softly in a classic Tamaki fashion, looking at her right in her round eyes. He had become good at holding eye contact with other people. He thought it may have been due to her influence —, for putting up with me all this time.

She sat the knife on the chopping board, and her arms went to hang loosely around his neck— You know I'm not putting up with you, right? I'm here with you because I love you. I wouldn't be who I am now if it weren't for you, and believe me, I like who I am right now. Do you want me to remind you? —her voice was softer, lower like a whispered secret, as her fingertips rubbed his nape.

Tamaki shuddered under her touch and gaze. His nod was short, almost imperceptible under the weight of his shame. She hugged him tight, scratching his scalp and rubbing his nape. He felt himself go warmer after getting a few kisses on his cheek, heart pounding even faster when she whispered:

— You know I've never really had a favorite hero when I was a kid, right? None of them actually made me feel that sense of... admiration, so to speak. But after my time in UA, the internships and all that, I changed my mind. You are my favorite hero, Tamaki. You are my hero.

Tamaki sighed, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He felt petty, needing to be reassured of something he already knew.

They stood there for a few minutes, holding each other tight, swaying slowly from side to side. Then the urgency to eat came over, and both returned to their tasks: Tamaki prepared the boba tea, she cooked the pasta. The mood picked up fast, with her bumping his hips and vice versa. She hand fed him some sauce and he hummed in satisfaction. Soon enough the food was plated and they sat next to each other at the table.

— Hmm! This is good! —Tamaki said, eyes closed in bliss as he chewed his portion.

— Right? Just the best for my baby.

— What? —he laughed— How come I'm your baby when I'm older than you?

— Shush it, silly, you are my baby.

He just laughed at her goofiness again. Then he waited, relying on his hero instincts, calculating the best time for a swift attack, and stole a spoonful of her own pasta, and stuffed it right into his mouth.

— Hey, that was mine!

He snorted.

•••

The dishes were washed and she sat at a small table on the balcony. She was surrounded by plants and had a clear view of the city lights. It was as peaceful as the busy metropolis could be. In moments like this, she wished the days off were everlasting.

Tamaki arrived shortly, holding two glass cups of the boba tea he had made earlier. He hadn't even fully entered the balcony when a fit of giggles bubbled out of his mouth.

— What is it? —she raised a brow.

Her boyfriend didn't answer. Instead, he put both glasses on the table and left the room, only to return with a napkin, which he used to wipe away some remnants of sauce from her lips.

— There, all better. —he found it very endearing, how her cheeks lit up with color and her eyes averted his gaze, visibly embarrassed. Even the way she tried to play it off was adorable, his silly girl.

— Oh, clumsy me... Haha...

— Even if you're clumsy, I'll always be by your side to clean up your little messes —Tamaki smiled softly, crouched in front of her—. It's the least I can do for you.

She hid her face behind her hands, voice tight in a whine— But I don't want you cleaning my messes though? I'm not a kid!

She had always had an ability to fluster him with sincere compliments and cheesy remarks. One of her favorite things to say was that her job was to show him how loved he was, and if it had to be done by flustering him, then the better. His job, on the other hand, on his own words, was to make her feel safe, so safe that not even her own demons could do her any harm. But it was nice to turn the tables from time to time.

Tamaki pryed her hands out, placing them on her chest— This is where I want your hands to be. It's just me here, so don't hide. Besides —he smiled—, you may not be a kid, but you're still my baby.

— Tamaki! That's my line!

He laughed.

[includedisco]

Title: The Man Behind the Yapping

Characters: Fadel, Style

Pairing: FadelStyle

Fandom: The Heart Killers

Tags:  Fluff and Humor, Protective Fadel, Misunderstood Style, Domestic Bliss, Secretly Brilliant Style, Light Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, post canon

warnings: none

Word Count: 1,733

Summary: When a market vendor criticizes Style, Fadel is quick to defend his boyfriend, realizing just how much Style’s strength, kindness, and quiet brilliance mean to him;)

A/N: A/N: Hello everyone:) This little story is a canon divergence fluffy and mildly angsty story where I show that Style is more than meets the eye. oh and since the author is me, Style might be ovulating;)

-

Fadel approaches his favorite fresh meat stand at the market, and the saleslady greets him enthusiastically, as always. He offers her a polite smile and proceeds to make his selections. While she is packing his purchases, she looks up and says, “You remember Style, right?” Before Fadel can reply, she continues, “The loud-mouthed kid who kept chasing after you all over the market.”

Fadel nods and gives her a look that silently asks her to elaborate. She recognizes the cue and shares her thoughts with Fadel, “You seem like such a nice young man—well put together, decent, respectful, and polite. I could set you up with a nice boy like yourself. Style is all over the place, loud and rowdy. He doesn’t suit you at all. I’m telling you this because you’re one of my best, loyal customers.”

Fadel just stares at her as her words sink in, and when they do, he bristles, taking offense, because;

‘What the fuck did this random lady just say about his boyfriend?’ Sure, he is her loyal customer and likes the quality of her products and service, but beyond that, she is a random stranger.

Fadel’s eyebrows knit together, “You’re overstepping.” He retorts, “Also, it’s unbecoming for a lady to badmouth someone young enough to be her own son. It’s better to guide than to go behind their back and criticize them.”

With that, Fadel brings his hands together and offers the outraged lady a polite bow before walking away.

He proceeds to buy what he needs from a different stand today.

*****

Fadel finds Style outside the heart burger, pacing slowly. When he approaches, Style sees him and smiles. Style comes over and takes one grocery bag from Fadel, as Fadel asks, “What are you doing here?”

“The normal reaction is for you to softly say good morning then kiss me on the lips like this.” Style goes on to demonstrate by kissing Fadel on the lips

Fadel chuckles softly, “I just didn’t expect to find you here.” He explains and gives Style one more kiss then steps back. They stare tenderly at each other for a moment, smiling, then Fadel glances at the plastic bag in Style’s hand. “What’s that?”

“Breakfast. I brought food for us to share”

“You brought food for a chef with a kitchen?”

Style sighs and shakes his head, “Of course the intention is lost upon an unromantic man like you.”

Fadel is kind of used to Style’s insults by now so they don’t faze him. He just blinks at Style, waiting for him to explain.

Style does explain, “I know you’re a chef that’s perfectly capable of making delicious food, but for today I want to spoil you by buying you food so you don’t cook it. You already spend all day cooking for our customers.”

“I don’t mind cooking. I love it.”

Style blinks a few times, giving Fadel a deadpan look “So anyway, it’s romantic that I brought you food. You won’t ruin this for me just because you’re romantically obtuse.” He giggles

Fadel doesn’t get it at all but he trusts Style and so he’ll trust him on this one. “Thank you for breakfast.” He kisses Style on the cheek.

Style smiles. Fadel’s reaction could be better but Style is counting his little victories.  

Fadel unlocks the restaurant door and holds it open for Style. Once they are both inside, he takes Style’s hand and they fall into step together towards the kitchen.

As they put the groceries away, Fade recalls the conversation he had at the market with that nosy lady at the fresh meat stand. He halts and just stares at Style who is tactfully arranging Fadel’s kitchen tools in a way that not even Fadel does himself.

Style brought him food and is helping him start the work day. He wishes that nosy lady could see the man Style really is; that he’s so much more than just a yapper. He makes an honest living as a mechanic and does it damn well. Style is an admirable son to his father, a commendable mechanic and there is a very big heart lying under the layers of nonsense. Fadel couldn’t be prouder that Style is his.

Fadel wishes people could see Style’s strength—the unwavering support that held him up when he couldn’t stand on his own, especially during their toughest moments.

He wishes they knew about Style’s kindness, the warmth of his heart that has comforted Fadel time and again, or his tenacity, the relentless drive that kept his dad’s garage alive and later reclaimed Fadel’s restaurant.

 Even Style’s endless chatter and boundless energy, the very things Fadel eagerly wakes up to each day, feel like treasures only he gets to cherish. Maybe, just maybe, Fadel is glad this intimate knowledge of Style belongs to him alone

“You know the lady I always buy my meat from at the market?” Fadel speaks before he can stop himself.

“The one in the corner near the citrus fruit merchant?”

Fadel nods, “We won’t buy anything from her anymore.”

“Why not?”

Fadel stares at Style’s expectant face for a moment, silently searching his brain for an explanation. When he comes up empty, he shrugs a shoulder and tears his gaze away to focus on putting his grocery bags away, “I found fresher meat and better discounts elsewhere.”

Style watches his boyfriend, waiting to see if he’s going to explain more. A few moments later, it becomes obvious that Fadel is done talking. So Style decides to add his two scents to the topic, “Really? It’s not because she was bad-mouthing me again?”

Fadel’s head snaps up, his eyes slightly wider in shock, “You know?”

Style wiggles his eyebrows, “Why did you lie?”

Fadel sighs, “I didn’t want you to feel bad or to encounter someone so mean.”

Style’s heart does a little dance in his chest at the thought of Fadel trying to protect him like that.

Style comes up to Fadel and stands close beside him, leaning his butt against the edge of the kitchen island. “I know that she doesn’t like me and I also know that she’s mean. I talk her ear off on purpose because I know it annoys her. Also, she is the treasurer at her church and she secretly uses the church’s money to invest in her business and to sponsor her son’s gambling. She takes the proceeds back to the church in time and no one notices.” 

Fadel stares at Style, stunned. A lot of things Style does don’t seem intentional so it’s surprising that they in fact are.

Style smiles softly, recognizing the surprise in Fadel’s eyes. “People think I’m stupid and oblivious.”

“Why do you let them think that?”

“When you act dumb or oblivious, people let their guard down and show their true colors because they don’t consider you a threat. They tell me their secrets, gossip with me about each other, they express their thoughts about me, share things about their families, scowl and sneer at me when they think I’m not looking or listening.”

“How can you stand them treating you like a nonentity and saying anything they want about you?” Fadel asks because he genuinely can’t understand. He is miffed just having people treat his boyfriend so badly. Given he’s been there too, a time when he thought Style was a mere menace. Fadel has come to know Style since then and realized that he’s so much more than meets the eye.

“Why not confront them?” Fadel adds another question

 “Because this way I have the upper hand. I know everyone’s strengths and weaknesses. I yap but I don’t share anything personal. On the other hand, they share their dirty laundry with me. Imagine what I could do with that if an opportunity presented itself?” Style’s little smile turns into a smirk, with a mischievous look in his eye.

In this moment Fadel realizes that despite being the one who can look someone in the eye and kill them, Style is he more calculating and dangerous one of them both.

Fadel should be rattled probably but help him he thinks Style just got sexier to him in this moment.

Style is audacity, chaos and now danger all wrapped up in a pretty-faced, crop top-wearing man with a sweet waist and sweeter lips….and a strange penchant for wanting to get pregnant. There is no forgetting that last bit.

Fadel must have saved lives in the past, because how the fuck did he get this lucky?

“I didn’t go for my morning run today. We should put all my energy to good use after breakfast.”

Style’s smile slips a little, “Wait! You’re talking about sex, right? I need to be clear because that thing last time was very awkward when I thought you were talking about sex and it turned out you meant doing some general cleaning around the restaurant. Because if-”

“I’m talking about sex.”Fadel cuts Style off

“Oh good. I love how you think. It’s like you already know I’m ovulating today.” Fadel’s smile falters. “Huh?” His eyebrows knit together, his expression a mix of confusion and disbelief.

“Meaning we have a window—”

“You’re not ovulating,” Fadel cuts in firmly. Style blinks at him, momentarily speechless, then looks away as if pondering the statement.

“Really? I could’ve sworn I was.” His voice softens, turning thoughtful. “I’ve been irritable and horny. Oh, and I think my body temperature went up.” He presses the back of his hand to his neck, as if checking for proof.

Fadel stifles a laugh, sighing instead with practiced patience. “You’re not ovulating, and there’s no window. You can’t get pregnant, Style. It’s impossible. Do you understand? You need to let this go.”

Style stares at him, his expression part disappointment and part deep thought. Then, just as suddenly, his face brightens. “You’re right. Now’s not a good time to have a baby. We just reopened the restaurant, and we should focus our finances on that. Babies are expensive, after all.”

Fadel is at a loss for words. Style has completely missed the point—or has he? Fadel knows how clever Style can be. Maybe this isn’t a misunderstanding at all. Maybe it’s just another one of Style’s unpredictable, persistent ideas. And, if Fadel is being honest with himself, he might even admire that determination a little.

-END-

Thank you again for reading ❤️

If you liked this story, please visit my AO3 for more.

[virtueofsanityx]

damocles is a little too used to being someone's dirty secret. not that he thinks flynn considers him dirty, at least not in the more negative sense of the word, but the sentiment of it, of back alley meetups and quiet conversations across a room with only eyes. there's a certain allure to it, an appeal that dam can point to when he wonders just how happy he actually is with his lot in life. he dated a rich girl for a year before their secret got out, and then was immediately handed a check to disappear. before that, a high school football player was curious about his sexuality and dam was the only out bisexual in his school, leading to a lot of backseat car adventures before that football player got a scholarship and took off. he's nearly thirty now, and his last relationship was before he was even old enough to drink, deciding to toss everything he had into school, into learning, into becoming the head researcher on his lab team.

and now he's building lasers, so honestly, dating would have held him back then. now, well...

now he's sick of the hookups in bars, of taking random people home, and this thing he's got with flynn. sure, he can't call it love because things are so shaky, with everything being between them, he can't declare his heart for someone who can't declare their heart for him, it hurts too much, but he isn't going to pressure flynn to simply step out of the closet and declare him from the rooftops, either. he understands. or he tries to understand. and he soaks in the moments like this one, with a movie playing that he's barely paying attention to, with his head nestled comfortably against his shoulder, eyes glazed over and closing for longer and longer moments, sleep a foregone conclusion. he hadn't expcted a night of domestic bliss, had more expected a messy night with a quick fuck and maybe a pizza after.

he likes this. he hates that he likes it, but he likes it none the less.

flynn's voice pulls him out of the depths he's sinking into, and for a moment the words don't process. he hums, trying to catch up, as he sits up a little and blinks some of the sand from his eyes. "oh." he doesn't mean it to come out the way it does, a little flat, a little heartbroken, because the idea lights up something in him, something yearning that he doesn't like. "it's okay. i don't really celebrate christmas, anyway. normally someone has to be at the lab, clean up, make sure things are in order for the new year. my parents are gone, so i don't have family to run home to, so i volunteer."

open to — m or nb. muse: flynn lee, mid 20s, gay ( closeted ). singer / songwriter. plot: secret relationship, and it’s the holidays. could be mutually closeted, or your muse just understands his situation and doesn’t mind keeping it on the dl. either way, your muse probably isn’t mad about it — flynn’s just sappy and longing for a little bit of normal couple joy because they’re watching a cheesy christmas romcom.

there’s a lot to misunderstand about flynn lee, and that’s by design. being unknown is the truest way ( that he knows about, anyway ) to protect yourself, and flynn makes great efforts to mask his heart; even when he shouldn’t. after a while of sleeping together, of kind of dating, the guilt of just how much he hasn’t said about how much he cares about him is getting to him; maybe it’s the holidays, maybe it’s the cold. maybe it’s maybelline. what’s it matter? point is, he’s uncharacteristically quiet as they watch a hallmark movie, the dead silence of the night creeping in. flynn’s grip around their shoulder suddenly gets a little tighter as the movie comes to a quiet part. “ in another life, i’d take you home for christmas.” gaze flickers over to meet theirs, and flynn is almost smiling — but he can’t, quite. the reality of their situation makes him too sad. “… sorry. i just wanted you to know that.”

[finerllines]

love, harry [bestfriend!h au]

a/n: hello everyone i hope yall are still here and reading!! im so sorry it took so long i had a major slump for a couple of months but now im back and im so excited to wrap up charlie and harry's story. thank you for reading!! please give me feedback, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed <3

summary: harry needs his best friend back and he will do anything to get her to love him back

wc: 11k+

tw: none :-)

prev part

///

One of the main occupational hazards of being a touring musician is missing things. Eventually, people learn to stop sending invitations. Just as well, it gets harder and harder to find new ways to say ‘sorry, I’ve got work’. When most of the people you grew up with have moved out of your small town, onto bigger and better things, home just becomes wherever you manage to stay for more than a month.

And that’s fine. That’s all Harry can really remember. Life became a matter of watching everyone else’s from a distance. Everyone’s except one.

Charlie.

Instead of Instagram stories and posts, it was personal photos and little vlogs about her day sent straight to him, for his eyes only. He doesn’t know what he did to earn her trust and love, but he has never taken it for granted. Somehow, she was never deterred by his lack of attendance, congratulatory texts and video calls thankfully being enough. Or it was enough, until she got pregnant.

He had worked so hard to show her it’s okay to open up and let people in again, and he went and pissed it all away. But he is determined to not let her shut him out again. Which is why he’s back at her front door, on four hours of sleep, still exhausted from the show the night before.

Nothing brings you back down to earth like standing in front of a door after performing in front of five thousand people, hands filled with grovelling supplies, shaking as it raises to knock.

Despite the many women he’s dated, grovelling is new to him. He likes to think he’s a pretty good boyfriend - he’s attentive, patient, and thoughtful. But by the time they get to the point where he would need to grovel, he normally already has one foot out the door, so instead of trying to make amends he accepts their fate and ends things. Cruel? Sure. But it’s the truth. He’s never really loved or cared about anyone enough to want to make the extra effort.

Except Charlie. And Charlie has never been mad at him.

Until now. Justifiably so.

It’s not that Harry doesn’t want to have this conversation, it’s all he’s wanted to do since their call, he just doesn’t know where to start.

Should he bring up the pure rage he felt when he saw the pictures of them and Richard? Or is that something he should save for later, after he has figured all of that out himself? He’s a jealous guy, everyone knows that, but he’s never felt jealousy so ugly and intense like that before, it felt so primitive and guttural; the near uncontrollable urge to remind Richard, and everyone, that Charlie does not belong to him. Problem is, Charlie doesn’t belong to him either. And neither does Rory. Less so now than ever.

He used to think he feels so strongly about her because she is a piece of his childhood, a piece of the Harry he used to be. Now, these feelings are undeniably romantic. None of her previous partners ever felt like a real threat because he was always confident that their history and the connection is stronger than anything these men would have to offer her. Then Richard made a baby with her. Talk about a connection.

Those weeks spent with Rory and Charlie were bliss. There hasn’t been a day spent without thinking about how they were doing since: whether Rory ate all her breakfast, or whether Charlie found the time to watch an episode of Taskmaster with a glass of wine. And when the domestic got too emotional for him, he would start to wonder what her skin would feel like if he ran his hand under her shirt, or what sounds she would make if he nuzzled his nose in the crook of her neck, peppering it with soft kisses and licks.

But none of that is as important as their friendship. So, until he figures out all of that out for himself, he needs to focus on apologising and begging for forgiveness.

Taking a deep breath, he wipes his palms on his thighs before knocking the door. While waiting, he talks himself through more deep breaths. It’s a good thing he did because when the door gets pulled open his breath hitches a little.

Finally seeing the person you’ve been missing and thinking about is almost life giving. Charlie is stunning, even in an old robe and a braid that looks like it was slept in.

“Harry, hi.”

He had been mentally bracing himself for iciness in her voice. Instead, all he hears is wariness, and half of her body remains hidden behind the door

Charlie is wary of him. Shit.

“Um, H?” she asks when he doesn’t respond.

“Hi,” he raises a hand as a greeting on instinct, forgetting that he’s holding a bouquet of flowers. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, of course.” She replies as if it’s ridiculous that he has to ask, but she can't see how guarded she looks right now.

A wave of déjà vu hits. The uncertainty and ball of emotion in his belly reminds Harry of the day he came to confront Charlie about having a baby.

She walks in front of him guiding him to the kitchen.

“Rory’s just eaten breakfast, I’m getting started on mine. You can join me if you’d like.”

In the kitchen playing with a hand towel is the most cheerful baby. The smile that emerges on his face is instinctive, and it’s fortunately shared by Rory. He’s not sure if it’s wishful thinking but he thinks he sees her eyes light up with recognition. He wants to pick her up and cuddle her close, for his own comfort more than anything, but he reminds himself of the agenda and redirects his attention to his best friend.

Standing in the middle of her kitchen, kind of stupidly, he thrusts his hands forward, like a young boy presenting a gift to his crush for the first time.

“For you.”

Her brows quirk up. “For me?”

He nods. “Who else?”

“I don’t know, thought you might be just making a pit stop.” She takes the bouquet first, taking the time to admire the assortment of flowers. “Thank you. These are beautiful.”

After getting it situated in an old jar from under the sink she takes the small gift bag. Setting it on the kitchen counter, she starts to pull things out.

“Is this …” she trails off as she studies the items on the counter.

“It’s the special knife spoon thing you talked about. The one that is designed to get all the peanut butter out the jar. And I got you another set of those small and long wooden spoons.”

She doesn't say anything for a moment and continues staring at his offerings.

While scratching the nape of his neck he says, “Sorry, it was hard to find an apology gift that is meaningful and yet wouldn’t make you mad because I spent a shitload of money on it. I’ll get you a proper gift soon but I didn’t have too much time because of, you know, the –“

“Harry,” she cuts him off firmly, “I love it, thank you. It means a lot, really.” Stepping forward, she wraps her arms around him, squeezing tightly, cheek pressed comfortably against his body.

His heart tightens in his chest. He’s missed this. He was afraid he might never experience this again.

“I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I feel like all I’ve done since coming back is apologise but I need you to forgive me one more time, please. I really am sorry. I didn’t mean anything I said. You know that, right? I … I was just irrationally jealous and hurt that I wanted to hurt you too. It’s fucked up, but it’s the truth. You’ll only get the truth from now on. I promise. Please believe me.”

How can she not believe him?

The extra precautions taken to keep her anonymity as much as possible while also making sure she could be as involved in his life as she wants. Years of texts, calls, and everything in between where they exposed their truest selves to each other without fear of judgement. Even the way he is holding her now, breath racing in and out, like he might break down if she doesn’t believe him.

“H, I believe you. The things you said … they were fucked. But I can’t stay mad at you, even if I tried.”

Shaking his head, he mumbles into her hair, “Thank you. Thank you. You’re too good for me. You shouldn’t make it so easy for a guy, you deserve grovelling. And I will, I’m not done making it up to you.”

They both hug each other tighter, gripping the fabric on each other’s backs.

“I don’t need grovelling; you’ve already done so much. Besides, you bought me my first bouquet of flowers in like four years and you got me presents that tell me you pay attention to me. I rambled to you about loving small spoons with long handles and how much I hate not being able to clean out the peanut butter jar ages ago, and somehow you were actually listening and remembered.”

“That wanker never got you flowers?”

She rolls her eyes. “No, too practical for that. And for small spoons too.” She coughs to clear her throat. “Also, you’re allowed to curse him you. You were right.”

“About what?” Harry asks.

She makes no effort to explain, simply shrugging her shoulders in faux nonchalance. There’s a brief silence once again, then, a chill shoots up his spine. He places his hands on her forearms and pushes her far back enough to be able to see her face.

“No. Fucking. Way.”

“Not now, please. Can we talk about it later? I missed you and I don’t want to think about him.”

Of course. He never wants to think about Richard more than necessary anyways.

“Okay, I don’t want him ruining our time together. I want to spend time with my best girls.”

-

Harry ended up staying the night.

He woke up with Charlie’s head tucked under his, and her knees curled into herself on his lap. Despite the kink in his neck and the knot between his shoulders, he can’t bring himself to separate from her. The heat emanating from her body warms him in a way that soothes him. Their bodies haven’t been this close in forever, not since they were children and had sleepovers in the backyard where they always somehow woke up curled into each other.  

Growing up together meant going through that awkward stage of being afraid to get too touchy with each other, and by the time they moved past that, they had both started developing real crushes and entering relationships with other people. Harry thought they were pretty affectionate for platonic friends anyways, but the way they’re intertwined now makes him realise that they can be so much closer, so, so much closer.

Charlie’s face is right there. He can see every crevice, bump, and wrinkle on her skin. His eyes can’t help but trace every feature - round her eyes, down the slope of her nose, and across her lips. He can’t pull his eyes away from her lips. They sit together so perfectly, in the perfect pout, begging to be pinched, bitten, and kissed. Begging to be pinched, bitten, and kissed by him specifically.

He doesn’t notice his face inching towards hers until their noses brush, causing her to tense in his arms. Harry freezes, watching tentatively as her lips purse and eyes squeeze tightly together.

“Uhhmm?” she groans.

Harry slowly moves his hand up and down Charlie’s back hoping to ground her as she slowly wakes up.

“It’s me, darling. Harry.”

“Hmm? H?”

She’s so precious. Harry feels like his heart might burst from how hard it’s beating.

“I’m right here. Good morning.”

With a big huff, her eyes blink open. Her forehead is pinched with confusion as she takes in her surroundings. Slowly pulling her arm from under his body, she reaches up and places her hand on Harry’s face, patting his cheek a couple of times as if trying to make sure he's really there.

With a little chuckle, he covers her hand with his, holding it in place on his cheek. Tilting his head slightly, he presses a small kiss to her palm. “Darling, I’m here. I came over yesterday and we fell asleep on the couch. Remember?”

Satisfied with his explanation, Charlie lets her body go lax against his.

Harry can’t help but smile at the way she trusts him, even half asleep.

Despite being forgiven almost immediately, there’s still a sense of uneasiness that he cannot shake. All of that is in his head though because Charlie has done nothing to make him feel uncertain. The looks, touches, and words they shared yesterday can only be described as tender, both of them obviously still emotionally fragile.

Richard’s fuck up is still unknown to Harry. He doesn’t care though. Not right now anyways. He got to kiss Rory’s cheeks until she erupted into excited giggles and watch as her gorgeous eyes slowly fluttered shut as she fell asleep in his rocking arms. Then, a tired but smiley Charlie tucked herself against him as they watched tv and talked about life with their heads pressed together.

But the feel good atmosphere of yesterday has dissipated, both of them forced to return to reality under the morning sunlight.

A strong vibration bursts their bubble.

When Charlie tries to peel herself from Harry, his arm quickly circles her waist to keep her close to him as he leans to grab his phone on the coffee table.

“Hello?” his voice is gruff from sleep. “I know … I’ll be there on time. I said I’ll be there … yes I know what I’m doing. Okay, bye.”

Talk about returning to reality.

“You need to go,” she says, not asks.

He nods. “I uh, didn’t get in my car to London this morning so they’re just wondering where I am. I have a show there tonight.”

Right. Harry just kicked off his new tour and suddenly appeared at her door after the first show.

The air around them is still as the two friends try to make sense of all that’s happened.

“Of course, you’re an important man.”

“Not too important for you and Rory.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk, like properly, last night, but I promise I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“I’m glad you came, H, and Rory was thrilled to see you. She missed you, a lot. I’ve played your album so much she recognises your voice.”

Harry’s eyes pretty much glaze over at the thought. “Thank you for letting be in her life”

Charlie shakes her head and grabs his hands that have started to tremble. “You don’t need to thank me. I can't imagine you not being in her life. We’re Harry and Charlie, so I'm stuck with you.”

“You’re too good to me,” he whispers, “And we’re Harry, Charlie, and Rory.”

He has to bite his bottom lip to stop himself from saying everything he wants to say. With the last bit of self-control left in his body, he rests his forehead against hers as they lock eyes.

Then, a loud buzzing emanates from the coffee table again. With a frustrated huff, his eyes shut.

“Hey,” she squeezes his hand, “your fans need you.”

They emerge from their little cocoon on the sofa in silence, moving wordlessly in sync as Harry pays Rory one last visit, then leaves for London after a tight hug from his best friend.

As Charlie shuts the door behind her, she can’t help but feel that her living room now feels a little empty. All that’s left is the weight of everything left unsaid between them lingering in the air.

-

Better Homes and Gardens Exclusive: Harry Styles Shares the Meaning Behind His New Album, 'Harry's House'

Pop music’s most sought after man has a new album coming out and the world is excited. This new release comes from a relatively quiet quarantine period from Styles. He was set to kick off his world tour for his last album, Fine Line, when travel and group restrictions worldwide were announced, and his world went quiet all of a sudden.

His new album showcases an unexpected domestic side to his glistening life. Themes of family, belonging, and domestic bliss shine through so evidently that I can’t help but wonder if all of this is hypothetical or anecdotal.

I bite the bullet and ask. Before I get an answer, he lets out a small laugh, as if he has been expecting it.

“It’s definitely not an autobiography but all the songs come from a very real place in my life. The best thing about writing from real life is that as time passes my relationship with these songs change. Even from when I wrote them up to now, some of these songs listen completely different.”

I ask if that is good or bad. “Depends”, he says after ruminating to himself, “it depends on whether there are any fresh wounds.” Right now, he confesses, some wounds are pretty fresh. “Some are hard to listen to and I’m a little nervous to sing them if I’m honest.”

His earnestness is hard to miss – it shines through in his eyes and his voice. Tucked away in our little corner of the coffeeshop, I can’t help but feel like my high school crush has somehow decided to confide in me and unveil what’s beneath the good looks and charm. I feel almost privileged to be the chosen one, entrusted with his sincerity and vulnerability.

There is nothing manmade or artificial about this man – at least not when it comes to his music. He speaks about each song with so much passion, excitement, and on a couple of occasions, uncertainty. That took me by surprise. He has learnt to let go of needing to be well liked by every listener, he tells me proudly, but the need to impress those he loves will forever be there. Whether that is a strength or a weakness he has yet to figure out.

“That need is almost stronger now. Sometimes songs become a kind of coded message for those who know what I’m singing about. And it’s scary, waiting for a reaction or some approval,” he confesses.

“I spent so much time at home this past year, but I felt like my actual home is someplace else, somewhere that I couldn’t be at that moment in time.  Allowing myself to feel everything that I felt and reflect on why I’m feeling these things helped me make sense of all of that. Now I know where my home is, or at least I know where to go to find it.”

From the way he speaks I get the impression that he needs this album to be heard by some people. Not everyone, but a select few. Even though these songs weren’t necessarily written for me, I can’t help but feel excited to enter Harry’s House.

-

Charlie misses Harry. Like really misses Harry. Getting that little taste of him unlocked the door of longing deep within her and now it won’t shut. Like when you skip lunch then eat a cracker a couple hours later, unleashing a wave of insatiable hunger that can only be made quiet by eating until you cannot breathe anymore.

Basically, she needs so much of Harry until she cannot breathe. Until all she can think about is him.

Something changed. The moment she shut the door behind him that fateful morning, it was like a switch flipped and all she could do from then on is think about him. She’s missed him before, of course, but she’s never quite like this.

She can’t remember if anyone has ever looked at her so tenderly before. Harry’s definitely the most attentive man she’s ever met. Maybe it’s because she has the shitshow of a conversation with Richard to compare it to, but Harry said sorry, and for some reason that was more than enough for her.

Is she an idiot for choosing to believe a man’s words after just being lied to by another? Perhaps. Unfortunately, there is nothing she can do about it. Everything in her wants Harry.

The only contact she’s had with him since he left is a couple of texts. They’ve been casual, nothing too serious – he likes to have serious conversations in person – but enough to let her know that he’s still thinking about her.

“What do you think Rory? You’re a smart girl, right? You latched onto Harry but didn’t really want to play along with Richard, so what gave it away huh? Why didn’t you tell your mummy?”

The dangerous thing about getting too attached to Harry – that is, getting attached in a non-platonic way or in a father-figure to Rory kind of way – is that she’ll grow too dependent on him for assurance. Hearing him tell her that she is a good mother affected her more than she would like to admit. His words already hold too much weight, it would not be smart to give him more authority.

If the Richard catastrophe had to have a silver lining, it made Charlie realise that she needs to get her shit together and live up to the whole ‘strong, independent woman’ thing. She went from being satisfied in her own little world where all that mattered was her and her daughter, to feeling like Rory needed Richard’s love to be complete, as if her as a mother was not enough.

So, as much as her heart hates that Harry’s not here, her brain knows it’s for the best. She hasn’t had a moment like this in a while. Just her and her daughter having a quiet moment together. Sometimes she thinks it’s weird that she's a grown adult with a very adult job with very adult responsibilities, but she speaks to her year old daughter as if she’s a colleague, full sentences and everything.

“You like Harry, huh. What’d you think you’ll call him when you can speak? Uncle Harry? Or just Harry maybe. If you come up with some sort of cute nickname for him, he’ll love it.”

Rory looks up at her with a toy truck in her mouth, drool basically dripping off the toy.

Reaching for a tissue, Charlie sighs with amusement. “You’re just an angel aren’t you.”

-

It’s about two months later that Charlie and Harry reunite in person. He carved out a free couple of weeks and invited Charlie and Rory down to his flat in London for a ‘sleepover’, as he so put it.

Everything is sorted out for the both of you to stay over. The cot I ordered for Rory has already arrived so you can’t say no. xx

He greets them in the underground carpark. Charlie first sees him when the car he chartered pulls up in front of the lift lobby. With hands clasped behind his back, he has his eyes glued to the entrance, a smile breaking out on his face when he spots them.

After opening the door for them, his hands reconvene behind his back. She can tell they are tightly clenched from the way his forearms flex.

“Hi,” he says, voice a little tentative. He still doesn’t make a move to touch her.

“Hi,” she replies.

She can tell Harry is itching to do something - hug her or kiss her on the cheek - literally anything. His self-restraint is impressive, but she decides to put him out of his misery.

“Can you help bring Rory up please? I’ve got my hands full with the bags.”

He’s nodding instantly. The moment Charlie moves away from the door he’s swooping in to unbuckle the little girl gleefully.

“Hi my little monkey. C’mere.” His voice is soft and intimate.

Harry carries Rory on his front in the baby byon on the lift ride up. Charlie can’t pull her eyes away from their reflection in the mirror the entire time, and Harry can’t pull his eyes from Rory, who is taking in the new surroundings with curious eyes, swinging her chubby little legs back and forth.

Charlie wants to tattoo this image onto the inside of her brain.

It’s almost frightening how easily they slip back into their domestic routine. Apart from the slight tentativeness in their actions, they move around the space with complete familiarity. Before he puts Rory down, he makes sure to look at Charlie for approval first, and when she starts exploring his living room on wobbly steps, he makes sure to trail behind her, ready to grab her if she tries to walk into furniture.

He’s not sure if it’s all in his head, but Rory seems to have become a toddler in his short absence, which makes his heart ache a little. His desire to be there to witness Rory growing up probably crosses some sort of line, especially since Charlie made it clear that he is not a part of their family, however, out of all the inappropriate thoughts he has about Charlie, this one about watching Rory grow up is definitely the tamest.

“She’s basically a teenager now,” he jokes, successfully eliciting a giggle from Charlie.

With a prideful smile, she says, “She’s definitely a smart girl. There’s a song of yours she can recognise. When it plays it public she’ll give me a cheeky look and do a little dance.”

Harry’s head whips around to face her. “Really?”

She nods.

“What song? Do you have a video?”

Her face falters a little. “I don’t have any videos, sorry. It was mainly when we … you know.”

“Oh, right. It’s a new one then.” She nods again. “Thank you for letting me still be part of her life, even though we were –“

“- yeah.” They standing silence watching the exploring baby. “Like I said, I can’t hate you. And I would never make my daughter hate you too.”

He coughs to clear his throat. “What if … what if I want more?”

“More? Well, you’re her godfather, her only godfather, that hasn’t changed. And now that she … now that the father figure role is vacant again, you have her all to yourself.”

“Actually, I meant … um,” he scratches the back of his head, diverting his eyes. He chickens out. “Um, will you tell me about what happened with Richard?”

Charlie lets out a huff and rolls her eyes. She recounts what happened as briefly as possible, distilling Richard’s big villain monologue to only the salient bits, for her sake more than Richard’s.

“Huh,” he pinches his bottom lip, “wanker.”

“Yeah,” she replies, surprised that he doesn’t say more.

“I’m sorry though.”

“Why are you sorry? Richard’s shitty behaviour has nothing to do with you.”

Is this the right time to tell her that Richard’s ego competition with him was not just all in his head? That whenever Richard’s around Harry makes sure to be a bit more attentive and a bit more of a gentleman? That he gets all smug inside when Charlie’s friends tell him what a good boyfriend he’d be? And that he definitely makes sure to shoot Richard a small smirk whenever their eyes meet at parties?

Probably not.

In his defence, Harry owns up to his petty jealousy.

“Because he wouldn’t have come back to mess with you if those photos never got posted. And being slightly less of a dick than him doesn’t say much. The both of you mean so much to me, I panicked and got insecure, so I lashed out and said those fucked up things.”

“Insecure? Because of Richard?”

His nose scrunches, embarrassed. “He was never my biggest fan, and I just knew that once he got the chance, he would find a way to keep Rory away from me, keep you away from me. That’s like my worst nightmare. And being the main man in Rory’s life, Richard doesn’t deserve that. It’s entitled, selfish, and very wrong, but I can’t help it.”

Charlie goes silent at his little confession. “You’d only spent like, two weeks with Rory. I didn’t realise you’d care so much so quickly.”

“I fell in love with her the moment I heard about her. I felt betrayed and angry, but also enamoured, instantly. I didn’t even need to see her. I missed her before I met her.”

To say that Charlie loves Harry would not only be an understatement, but a mistranslation of something so intense and all consuming. Where had this man come from and why hadn’t she noticed sooner.

“Harry, I –“

“- even if I never got to see her again, I would still think about her, all the time. Just like how I’m always thinking about you.”

Their eyes lock in an intense stare, neither knowing what to do next.

Blinking away some rogue tears, Charlie closes her mouth that involuntarily fell slightly agape and crosses the short distance to make her way to Harry. With trembling hands, she interlaces her fingers with his and squeezes.

“I’m afraid that if I say everything I want to tell you, you’ll get scared and run away.” His voice is hushed. If they weren’t standing so close, she would not have heard him.

“I want to hear them.”

“Okay,” he replies. He’s smiling shyly now.

They both linger in the silence as if instinctively knowing that the rest of this conversation has to happen later. That neither of them are brave enough to have this conversation yet.

That night, he brings his girls out for ramen at his favourite spot. They sit facing each other in a booth at the back of the restaurant with Rory at the head of the table in a baby chair. He asks for the baby chair and a set of smaller utensils without any prompting, in fact, Charlie didn't get the chance to bring it up. He gets his favourite tonkatsu ramen and she gets the shio. When the two steaming bowls get placed in front of them, he reaches for Rory’s bowl, again unprompted, and puts in a couple strands of ramen and some soup, making sure to cut up the noodles with a fork and blow on it until it seems cool enough. In between bites of his own food, he checks to make sure Rory is eating her dinner okay, peeking into her little plastic bowl to make sure she’s not running low on food, as if he’s done this a thousand times before.

Conversation at the table is minimal. Apart from some comments about the food and the restaurant, the main thing that can be heard from their table is baby babble and slurping.

Charlie likes it this way, she thinks, being able to soak in this moment without any urgency to clear the air or lay everything out on the table. Her heart's aflutter the entire time. To anyone in the restaurant, they just look like a regular family having dinner together and this normalcy is quite frankly making her freak out inside.

Dinner ends relatively early – they need to get back in time for bedtime. The guest bedroom now has a cot in it, the exact one Charlie has back home. He’s a little nervous when Charlie starts examining the stuff he bought. He’s not nervous that he bought the wrong stuff, he’s nervous that she’ll think it’s strange that he knew exactly what to get, that he memorised Rory’s bedtime routine all the way down to the temperature of the room.

She doesn’t comment on anything, of course, she just looks at him with stars in her eyes.

-

This trip to London is supposed to be a holiday for Charlie, or at least that is what Harry intended. Fine, a city she’s been to dozens of times is not much of a holiday, but Rory has never been out of Manchester, and he stays in a luxury apartment complex complete with a pool and spa.

In his head, he would kiss Charlie goodbye (just on the forehead for now) and head to rehearsals with Rory on his hip, giving her the whole day to enjoy some time to herself. In reality, the uncertainty when he proposes his idea might as well have been written across her face.

“That sounds nice H, but … this is her first time away from home and I don’t really feel okay with not having here with me.” Charlie’s voice suddenly gets louder when she realises what she is implying. “Not to say that I don’t trust you or anything, you’re her godfather of course, but it’s been –“

“Hey, I get it. Don’t worry about it, I’m not offended. I just want you to have some actual time off. You’ve been through quite a lot these past months.”

“I appreciate it, I really do. No one’s quite as thoughtful as you, H.”

Harry turns away to put away their dishes from dinner in the sink, making sure to tuck his face into his chest as best he can to try and to hide the flush blooming on his cheek.

“Well, I’ve got rehearsals tomorrow but my whole evening is free and there’s a Korean restaurant that’s really good. Let me take you, yeah.”

With her back still turned to him, she teases, “Are you asking me out, Styles?”

“Um, we eat together all the time and I would never –“

“Oh, you would never,” she interrupts in mock offence, “I got the picture.”

“That’s not what I meant. The whole Richard thing was so recent I would never try to do anything.”

“H,” she turns to put her hands on his now tense shoulders, “I was just teasing. Korean sounds good. Thanks, H.”

“I’m happy to,” he says, tilting his head back to bump Charlie’s head.

And he means it.

-

“Hi,” Charlie calls out as she knocks on the door, “sorry we’re early but one of us got a little grumpy. Hope we’re not interrupting.”

Every head in the soundproof room whips around at the new voice. But the person she came in looking for was not one of them.

“Charlie!” Sarah exclaims excitedly, “Hey, not at all we’re almost done. Come in. We haven’t seen you in forever.”

At the mention of her name, everyone else’s face seems to light up with recognition, all joining in with an enthusiastic greeting.

Rory, who was hiding her pouty little face in her mother’s neck, now perks up a tiny bit at the attention.

“And who is this adorable little girl,” Sarah coos, waving a few fingers to try and catch Rory’s attention.

“This is Rory. She might be a little shy because she’s never been around so many people like this before. You wanna say ‘hi’, lovie.” She angles her daughter on her hip to better face Harry’s band and crew.

Despite being in a bad mood the whole day, she refused to take a nap even though she was very patiently rocked for about an hour, Rory is now smiling cheekily, showing off her growing teeth to everyone.

“Can you say ‘hi’?” Charlie prompts again.

Rory drops her head abruptly onto her mother’s cheek. Then, she lets out a noise that vaguely sounds like she’s saying ‘hi’. As if on cue, everyone melts into a puddle of ‘awws’.

“Don’t be fooled she’s not normally this shy. She loves the attention, a little performer.”

With a small smile, Mitch says, “She’s adorable. I see why Harry doesn’t shut up about her. She’s probably his little protégé huh. Maybe our kids can have a little playdate sometime, they’re around the same age.”

“Oh,” Charlie’s caught a little off guard by his revelation, “sure, that sounds nice. She doesn’t get the chance to play with other children too often, I’m worried she won’t learn how to share with how much attention she gets at home.”

“I bet, especially with how much Harry spoils her, huh.”

She can’t stop her cheeks from heating up.

Before she can fruitlessly deny being the object of Harry’s attention, a familiar voice is heard from behind them. “Hey, what’s going on? What are y’all – oh, you guys are early.”

Charlie spins around. “Hi, I hope it’s okay. We didn’t mean to distract everyone.”

“It’s no problem! Monkey is too adorable, how can they not be distracted.” As Harry beelines towards them, his band instinctively makes room for him. “Hi love. Hi monkey.” He gives both Charlie and Rory a kiss on the cheek which causes the little girl to turn her head to look at him. After a couple seconds, her eyes light up with recognition.

Out of the corner of her eye, Charlie sees the band exchange knowing glances.

No longer wanting to be the centre of attention, she insists that everyone get back to work, making her way to the sofa in the corner before anyone can object. (The only person who objects is Rory who tries to make silly faces at her audience for as long as she can.)

“Let’s finish rehearsing so that we can end on time. We don’t want monkey to get too hungry,” Harry instructs.

On the sofa, Charlie sits Rory down next to her. She digs in her handbag for the toys that she always carries with her to hopefully keep her daughter from interrupting the rehearsal. Before she can hand the car to Rory, a larger hand extends into her line of vision with a small pair of green headphones.

“Here, these are for monkey. They should fit her, I double checked to make sure they ordered the right size. I told the band to try and keep it a little quieter, we’ve only got a couple songs left, but just in case maybe she should wear it.”

“You got baby headphones for Rory?”

“Yeah, I want her to come see a show eventually, especially since you said she can recognise my voice, so I went ahead and got these.” The headphones exchange hands and his go behind his back immediately. “I’m not trying to pressure you by the way I was just …”

“H, you don’t need to walk around eggshells around me, or assume that I doubt your intentions.” She quickly scans the room. Satisfied that the other in the room are occupied, she assures softly, “I know you’re not Richard.”

The relief that takes over his body is hard to miss. “I just want to take care of her, and you. The last time I tried to do that I went too far. I don’t want to make that mistake again.”

It’s a surprise that Charlie can see anything because she’s sure she has hearts for eyes. Slow down, don’t get carried away. The reminder doesn’t work, none of the remaining rehearsal registers in her mind, the only time she manages to break out of her reverie is when her daughter starts squirming next to her and trying to take the headphones off. She somehow managed to understand that the music has stopped, so she’s allowed to take them off.

While she’s putting everything back into her purse, Harry thanks everyone for a good rehearsal and sends everyone off with applause. Rory, who has now crawled off the couch, joins in with the excitement by clapping her tiny hands together. Despite producing a negligible amount of noise, Harry manages to see her in his periphery.

“That’s right monkey. Say ‘yay’,” he says while slowly crouching down to meet her eyes. “Say ‘yay’, monkey.”

“Yay!” Rory chimes back.

Harry looks up to meet Charlie’s eyes as if wanting confirmation that that actually happened.

With a downward smile and raised eyebrows, she shoots him a tiny head nod as silent acknowledgement.

When they finally leave for dinner, Harry has Rory in one hand and Charlie’s purse hanging off the other, leaving Charlie to wave goodbye to everyone with a shy smile knowing exactly what this scene looks like.

-

Tonight doesn’t feel like any of the previous nights.  

For a start, Rory isn’t within arms reach of Charlie. And instead of wearing one of the many sensible outfits she brought with her she’s somehow in a dress worth more than her monthly pay.

Harry’s label is throwing a release party tonight, something he conveniently forgot to mention when convincing her to come down to London. An hour into the night, Charlie finds herself sipping on her second glass of champagne and people watching from the sofa at the edge of the room. The dim lights and loud music make her feel safe, like a protective blanket offering some level of anonymity. Not that the party is particularly unsafe. She’s been to enough of Harry’s work events to not feel completely like a fish out of water – smile politely when he introduces her, nurse a glass of whatever to give her hands something to do, and cling to Harry until all the attention becomes too overwhelming. She’s on step three right now, hence the sitting. 

Her palm is damp from the condensation from her glass, the champagne now edging on the side of too warm, but she’s too tired to be bothered, her vision having settled on a comfortable level of blurry.

“Long night?” a voice interrupts.

Her head snaps up to see an unfamiliar man looking down at her with a confident smile.

“Uh, yeah.”

The man moves to sit next to her, forcing her to angle her body to face him.

“I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you. I’m Wes.”

She plasters on her polite grin once again and covertly takes a deep breath. “Hi, I’m Charlie. Nice to meet you,” she introduces as she shakes his hand.

“So, why are you sitting all alone with a half drunk glass of bubbly? The night is still young.”

“The night might be but I’m not,” she plays along.

The volume of Wes’ laugh is disproportionate to how funny her joke is.

“Do you want a little pick me up? I’d love if I could have one dance with you.”

Her brows raise when her brain catches on to what is happening. “I don’t know if I have any more dancing left in me,” she says as if she has done any dancing tonight at all.

“That’s fair. Talking’s fine with me too.”

“Oh, you don’t have to sit here with me, I’m fine by myself. Go have fun, find someone else to dance with. The night’s still young after all.”

“Well, you happen to be the most interesting person in the room right now, so I don’t mind sitting here with you.”

Wes’ voice is buttery smooth and his confidence is alluring. Normally her face would flush under all the attention of a self-assured man, however she isn’t feeling it tonight.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. Actually, I –“

“There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you. Hey, you’re Waz right?”

“Wes, but yeah. Hey Harry, congratulations.”

“Sorry to interrupt, I need to borrow Charlie.”

Without giving Wes room to dispute, Harry tugs Charlie to her feet by the bicep, ditches her champagne flute after shooting the rest of the alcohol, and leads her to the baby room where Rory and Sarah’s baby is being cared for by a babysitter.

When the door shuts behind her, she asks, “You needed me?”

“Hmm?” Harry hums absentmindedly as he peeks into Rory’s stroller.

“You said you needed me?” she tries again.

“Right. I was bored and wanted your company.” He punctuates his words with a dismissive shrug.

“Harry!”

“What? I missed you.”

“Is that all? Really?”

He shrugs again. She rolls her eyes, yet she can’t stop smiling.

They sit on the floor, shoulder to shoulder, backs pressed against the wall in the silent room. Their only companions are the two babies who are sound asleep, and the babysitter who is sitting on a chair in the corner, trying her hardest to seem preoccupied with her phone.

There could be a hundred other people squeezed into this tiny room, but Charlie would still feel like they are the only two people present. Harry just has that effect on her. His talent for making her feel seen and wanted is astounding.

Sitting facing a plain white wall, Harry starts talking about anything and everything. In the middle of his extensive review of all the dessert options at the refreshments table, her hand finds his and interlocks their fingers tightly. She slouches down to rest her head on his bicep. He reciprocates without missing a beat, cheek resting on the top of her head. She can feel his every breath and she’s sure he can feel the same.

She doesn’t notice that her eyes have closed until a loud buzz emits from Harry’s pocket. He doesn’t move to address it, so she lets herself get comfortable again, only to be interrupted again by a stream of vibrations.

“H, your phone.”

“Sorry,” he mutters. His hand enters and exits his pocket quickly then reaches over to encourage her head to lay on his shoulder again.

“Go check it, it may be important.”

He shakes his head. “Nah.”

They return to their conversation with Harry rambling and Charlie humming in affirmation or disagreement. As her eyes flutter shut again, comforted by the low rumbling of his voice, she focuses on his thumb that is now drawing little circles on her palm to stay awake. It doesn’t work very well because she does fall asleep and is only woken up by harsh whispers.

“… this was done for you, so it would be nice if you could be present at your own party. Everyone has been coming up to me to ask about you. And why aren’t you reading my texts?”

“I am present. I’ve said ‘hi’ to everyone, thanked all the important people, and posed for all the photos.”

“But you’re now hiding here. Doing none of those things.”

“Shh, Charlie is asleep, and so are the babies. Don’t raise your voice.”

“Why are you in here playing babysitter when you are supposed to be mingling and making connections?”

“I’m Harry Styles. That trumps whatever connections I could make.”

Then, there’s a loud smacking sound. Her eyes are still shut but any idiot could guess that the Jeff just smacked his forehead in exasperation. She would too if Harry said something so stupid to her.

“At least say goodbye and thank everyone before you leave, okay? Can you do that one thing.”

“Yes dad.”

Charlie gives up her ruse when she hears the door shut. Peeking out of one eye, she whispers, “Is Jeff gone?”

“You cheeky fucker.” Harry cups her jaw and squishes her cheeks together. “You didn’t think to help me out? You just let me get scolded by Jeff?”

She sits up slowly while rubbing her eyes. “Please, you weren’t getting scolded. I’m Harry Styles. That trumps whatever connections I could make. Pfft.”

As she tries to stand, tattooed arms curl around her waist, trapping her to his side. “I don’t appreciate you making fun of me when I got us out of trouble.”

She squirms in his arms and tries to wriggle free with no success. The more she moves the tighter his arms get.

“Us? I am not the man of the hour. This party is not for me rockstar.”

He cups the back of her head with a hand to press her full body against him basically tucking her into his side. “Well unfortunately for you I’m not leaving your side for the rest of the night. So, if I have to go out and mingle, so do you.”

“You little bitch. You begged me to come here with you.”

“I’m a little bitch?” he whisper-shouts in mock offence.

They start play wrestling in their little corner of the room, completely forgetting that there is a stranger in there with them. Their exchange of tickles and pinches causes them to topple over so that they’re now lying on the ground, Charlie’s body pressing into Harry’s with his arms still circling her waist. When they eventually tire themselves out, they remain stacked on top of each other trying to catch their breath.

He starts playing with the ends of her hair, twirling strands around his fingers then releasing it, only to start twirling it again. Lying with the woman who occupies all of his heart, mucking about on the dirty floor, Harry doesn’t think he has felt this content in a long time.

“Thank you for being here with me, it wouldn’t feel right if we didn’t speak throughout this release.”

“Well, I had to be here, for continuity’s sake, I’ve been there since your shitty X Factor audition.” Charlie clears her throat dramatically, then starts to croon, “Isn’t she lovely, isn’t she –“

“Hey fuck you,” Harry says between giggles and starts to tickle her again.

The door suddenly whips open, Jeff’s stern expression in the doorway.

“Good, nap time is over. Now, go mingle with the guests, please.”

Like reluctant children, Charlie and Harry detangle themselves and straighten their clothes, then dart out the door without making eye contact with Jeff. The moment they are out of Jeff’s eyeline, Harry grabs her hand and tugs her towards him, then shoots her a mischievous grin, like a kid with a secret. His energy is infectious, so, she returns the smile and glues herself to his side gleefully, tucking the moment they shared into a safe space in her brain.

It’s well past three in the morning by the time they’re stumbling out of the car, shushing each other repeatedly to avoid waking Rory up. Neither of them are drunk, that would be irresponsible because Rory is with them, but they are certainly not sober either. Harry has Rory’s car seat hooked on his elbow and he digs into his pocket to produce the house keys for Charlie. They ditch their shoes by the door before heading off to get ready for bed. Harry beelines toward the guest room to get Rory settled and Charlie starts doing the nightly check around the house.

Charlie is applying moisturiser when she hears gentle knocks on the door.

Harry stands behind the door in his boxers.

“Miss me already?” she teases.

He nods. Without thinking, she pinches his bottom lip that is jutting out in a pout. “Can we have a sleepover?”

She lets out a small giggle. "Okay."

He peeks into Rory’s crib before crawling into bed. The length of the day is evident in his face and yet, she can’t help but think he looks adorable with nothing but his head peeking out from under the duvet.  

When they started secondary school, they had mutually agreed that they were now too old to have sleepovers. Their usual ‘boy-girl’ activities had to be minimised because they didn’t ‘like each other like that’. Despite being supportive of this decision, Harry remembers how much lonelier his life had become once they stopped spending as much time with each other. He missed getting hello and goodbye hugs, and the way they would lean against each other whenever they would watch tv. The next time they exchanged more than a brief side hug was before his audition. Charlie had grabbed his shaking hands, gave them a firm squeeze, then wrapped him in a hug so tight that he felt his breath catch. His eyes had shut on instinct from the suddenness of everything and the sudden rush of heat that zipped up his body when he felt her body press against his.

Now that Harry has acknowledged that what he feels towards Charlie goes beyond the usual ‘boy-girl’ friendship, he wants to be close to her all the time. He flips onto his belly and rests an arm over her stomach. When that faces no resistance, he curls his fingers around her waist and wiggles closer until he can feel her body heat.

“You mean so much to me,” he mumbles into the pillow, “I need to tell you how much I love you.”

Her body goes rigid under his arm. Neither of them move, their breaths audible in the silence.

“You mean a lot to me too, H,” she whispers.

He sighs.

“Sleep,” he orders, “but stay close to me.”

“Okay, I’m right here.”

-

Harry wakes when a cold breeze creeps its way under the duvet. Just as he reaches for the edge of the duvet, his arm is mysteriously enrobed in warmth again. It takes a second for the action to register and when it does, he forces his eyes open. With half-shut eyes, he takes in the bed he’s on – familiar but not his own.

Charlie.

He’s still on his stomach, arm stretched out over where his companion was. The rustling from the duvet as he moves to sit up against the headboard alerts the room that he’s awake. As he rubs the sleep from his eyes, he spots Charlie who is standing by the crib holding Rory.

He smiles softly at the sight. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she returns his smile. “You can go back to sleep. Rory was just a little fussy in her crib.”

“Bring her here.”

She hesitates for a moment, then makes her way back to the bed. Once Rory is placed on the soft surface, she immediately tries to walk to the middle of the bed, but the plush duvet is too much for her little limbs and she ends up plopping onto her belly with a shocked expression.

Harry giggles at the sweet girl then reaches forward to pick her up by her underarms. “C’mere,” he whispers, then kisses her chubby cheek. “Good morning, monkey.”

“She’ll start whining for breakfast soon. I can take her to the living room if you want to sleep some more.”

He shakes his head with a pout. “I wanna snuggle until breakfast.”

Rory settles against Harry’s bare chest, gnawing on her fist and slobbering all over, completely unbothered by the fact that she’s skin-to-skin with a man for the first time. Charlie joins them under the covers, eyes never leaving her daughter, trying to take in the scene before her. The thought of lying in bed with her daughter and a man she loves had never crossed her mind. Not even before Richard left the first time. Her heart feels like it might beat out of her chest. Like there’s not enough space in her chest to accommodate the amount of love she feels in heart. Even though she woke up with her mind swirling from what Harry said to her before they fell asleep, right now, she can’t think of anything other than how nice this feels.

She leaves about an inch between herself and Harry which is obviously not close enough for him because he wiggles closer to her and rest his head on her shoulder. With the hand not resting on Rory’s back, Harry pats around until he finds hers and intertwines their fingers again.

Unable to help herself, Charlie comments, “You’ve been touchy recently.”

After a quiet minute, Harry asks, “Is that okay?”

“It’s okay,” she replies without thinking twice.

“Can I tell you how much I love you now?”

“Okay,” her whisper is weak.

He takes a deep breath.

“I love you. And I know I love you because no one has made me feel the way you do. I’ve only just accepted that it’s different with you. No one makes me as happy, no one makes me as mad, no one makes me as jealous – I just, I could not function when we weren’t speaking, I’d never felt scared like that before, and I never want to feel like that ever again, I never want to have to worry about never getting to be with you. And you love me too, you have to.”

“Harry.” Harry’s neck aches under the strain of looking up at her. His watches her throat work as she swallows, anxious for her to say more. When she does, it comes in a small whisper, “I love you.”

She doesn’t have to force it past a knot or squeeze it out of her throat. It simply floats out of her, like a sigh of relief.

“Yeah?” Harry’s voice is shaky.

“Yeah.” Charlie’s voice is certain.

Tilting her head down to meet his eyes, she just stares at him with a stupid, toothy grin. Her best friend. Her lover. 

They don’t get to say anything more because Rory knows how to pick her moments and she picks this one. She demands breakfast by wiping her slobbery hand on Harry’s chest, looking up at him expectantly.

By now they’ve spent many mornings like this – Rory sitting in her high chair while the adults move around the kitchen preparing breakfast together – and yet it’s somehow more special today. For a start, Harry and Charlie both wear small smiles the whole time, and whenever they bump into each other or cross paths their eyes dart away shyly, as if they didn’t declare their love to each other a minute ago.

Breakfast is apple cinnamon oatmeal topped with Charlie’s favourite peanut butter (that mysteriously appeared in Harry’s kitchen a couple days ago), with a side of coffee and shy glances over the top of coffee mugs.

He is the first to break the silence. “What are ya thinking about?”

“You.”

“Oh yeah,” he’s smirking now, “what about me?”

Charlie averts her gaze and shrugs coyly.

“Can I tell you what I’m thinking about?” She nods. “I’m thinking about you in that dress from last night. When I saw you in it, my first thought was: I should’ve wanked in the shower.”

“Harry!” she scolds, “My daughter is right here.”

“She doesn’t know what I’m saying.”

“Is this what being in a relationship with you is like? You being incredibly inappropriate?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

She groans and rolls her eyes, getting up to put the dishes in the sink.

Behind her, Harry calls out in a tone that’s only half joking, “For real though, would you like to know?”

She stays silent just to get on his nerves. It doesn’t take long for him to get out of his chair. An arm wraps around her as his body presses up against her.

He drops his voice and whispers in her ear, “Please say you would like to know.”

“I would like to know,” she admits finally. She drops her head back to rest on his shoulder and presses a kiss to the bottom of his jaw.

His face almost immediately turns scarlet. He can’t wait to get used to this.

They next have time alone when Rory has her afternoon nap. The magic of their initial declarations of love fades a little as they sit facing each other with cups of tea on the sofa. Charlie wants to wait for Harry to break the silence, but she knows he’s taking cues from her. She knows he’s careful to not push things too fast after already taking the first step this morning.

With a deep breath, she lays all her cards on the table.

She tells him that despite how assured she is of their feelings for each other, she can’t help but feel hesitant jumping into a new relationship right now. That even though she knows that he loves Rory wholeheartedly, if they were to start dating, he would need to take a step back from Rory’s life because she can’t risk her daughter getting attached to him, only for him to disappear if things go wrong between them. That she doesn’t know if she can handle having a ‘boyfriend’ rather than a ‘partner’, because she’s not looking for someone to mess around with but someone to share half her life with.

He tells her that it’s going to be a lot harder to keep their lives to themselves once everyone notices that they’re spending more time with each other, but he’ll do his best to keep them safe. That he’s willing to go as slow as she needs because he has been waiting for years already, so he can handle waiting some more. That he understands her fears and is willing to take a step back with Rory because he’s confident that she’s it for him. That he’ll bear half her burdens if she’ll bear half of his.

“You don’t have to be Rory’s dad, by the way. Being with me will be hard enough with you living away, I don’t expect you to take on that emotional burden too.”

“Hey,” Harry pinches her chin gently to tip her head up to look at him, “I know what I’m signing up for. I want to take care and provide for Rory in whatever capacity you’ll let me. She doesn’t need to call me dad, or daddy, or anything – she can decide what who I am to her when she’s old enough – but please let me be there for her, and you. The only part of my heart that is not occupied by you is occupied by her.”

“I love you.”

“Say it again, please.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too. Can I kiss you now, I’ve been waiting all day?”

She barely completes her nod before Harry’s lips are on hers. His hands cup the sides of her face and their foreheads press together with eagerness. There is no hesitation. Every move intentional.

The kiss is not innocent, but needy.

Charlie runs her hands through his hair then tugs on the hair at the top of his neck to cause him to draw back.

“Wha?” he mumbles.

“I needed to see your face to make sure this is real.”

Harry’s brows furrow as if he’s in pain. “I can’t believe it’s you. I’m so happy it’s you.”

She seals their mouths together again, tilting her head just right to get more of him. Needing to anchor herself, her hands move to his shoulders, clutching on to him as if she’s scared he’ll just disappear.

They kiss, and kiss, and kiss. They kiss until they run out of breath, then dive right back in after a few hurried puffs of air. It’s simultaneously too much and not enough.

Harry has to physically peel himself off of Charlie to get himself to stop. Not that he particularly wanted to stop, he was just getting a little too lightheaded. Both from the giddiness of finally getting to taste her and forgetting to breathe out of excitement. He looks drunk with his slow movements and half-lidded eyes. He feels a little high if he’s being honest.

Not wanting to be too far from her, he rests his forehead on her shoulder and starts giggling to himself.

He can’t believe his luck.

-

Harry’s been crawling into the guest bed every night since. Sleeping in the same bed is not exactly ‘taking it slow’ but when he couldn’t sleep alone anymore after experiencing what it’s like waking up with Charlie, especially when she’s just across the hall.

Lots of good chats have happened in this bed. They’ve discussed how their long distance relationship is going to look like, when they would tell Anne about their new relationship, and whether she’ll be less reluctant to receive his gifts now that they are more than friends.

It’s my love language. The more things you let me buy you, the more I know you love me. She rolled her eyes so hard.

“Are you ever going to tell me which songs on the album are about me?” she asks when they’re curled into each other one night.

“Lots of my songs are about you, or could be about you, but guess.”

“Matilda?”  

“Mmhm,” he affirms. “There’s another.”

She hesitates a little. “Boyfriends?” she asks softly.

“No,” he replies immediately, “if I were to write a song about Richard it would be so blatant and damning that he would be embarrassed to show his face in public again.”

“That’s a little dramatic even for you, rockstar.” After giving it another think, she admits defeat. “I don’t know the other. Tell me.”

“It’s Satellite.”

“Really? I like that one.”

“Yeah.” His voice grows soft. “I actually wrote it long ago, just never felt right on the other albums, but I um … I revisited it after that night. After meeting Rory for the first time.”

“Oh.”

“Turns out I’ve wanted to be with you for years. Knowing that you had a child with Richard made me so envious – he got to be a part of your life in a way that I thought I’d never get a chance to. I didn’t wanna just be in your orbit anymore, I wanna be with you.”

“You’re with me now. You’re here.”

“Yeah, I am.”

“I know Keep Driving is definitely not about me and frankly, I’m glad. You need to keep that shit to yourself from now on.”

“So … you don’t want me singing about how satisfied I make you?” he asks in jest.

“If you plan on making me listen to you sing about us having sex next to your mum and sister, we will never have sex .” When he starts to chuckle, she threatens again, “I’m being serious. I’ve gone over a year without having sex, and I can go longer.”

“That’s because you were having sex with small dick Richard. When I get to love on you the way I want to, you’ll want to let everyone know how good I make you feel.”

“You’re talking big game Mr. Watermelon Sugar.”

Harry pinches her chin to tip her head up. With his lips about an inch from hers, his says in a low voice, “And I plan on delivering.”

He seals his promise by slotting their lips together for what feels like the thousandth time that evening.

After Charlie falls asleep in his arms, Harry forces his eyes to stay open so that he can maximise his time with his best girls. When he can’t fight sleep any longer, his mutters one last ‘I love you’ and drifts off knowing that he’ll get to spend time with his favourite family again the next morning.

-

“Good evening Manchester!” Harry shouts into the microphone. The roar of the crowd widens the grin on his face. “Thank you for choosing to spend your evening with us. I promise that this is going to be a very, very special show.”

He slowly makes his way onto the runway.

“I always love playing shows here because this is basically a hometown show for me. And I don’t know if you guys feel it, but I feel like there is something in the air tonight. Something quite magical.”

The crowd erupts once again.

It’s probably not good practice to talk up one venue too much, that’s why most artists have a pretty standard spiel for every night, but he can’t help himself tonight. Even if he didn’t say it, everyone in the stadium could probably feel it. There is more pep in his step and the adrenaline rushing through his veins has never been this aggressive.

“Manchester, I have a special request for all of you.” He puts a finger to his lips as if he is a shushing the audience. “There are some important audience members amongst you today. So, I need all of you to go extra crazy and have an extra good time, because I’ve got some people to impress. Can you do that for me?

“This next song is for my best friend.”

Harry gets swallowed by screams as the intro to Late Night Talking starts to play.

-

liked by harryupdates, harryfan1, and 2,821 others

hstourupdates harry on stage in manchester tonight during late night talking

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harryfan1 wait who did he say that to?

harryfan2 i think he was talking to anne and gemma because he did that in their direction

↳ stylesontour there was another woman with a baby standing with them

↳ directioner1 it was his best friend charlie with them and harry was photographed with her daughter a while ago

↳ stylesfan1 wait what if he was pointing to charlie's baby because he kept looking at them and doing little waves 😩

harryfan3 to be harry's best friend 😭

taglist: @harrysfolklore @behindmygreyeyes @suspectedstyles @celestial-holland @xcaitlin101x @outofthisworl-d @haz-nn @zaynshoes @lissymarie22@duh-dobrik @harrysfinelines @rach2602 @percysaidnever @sunshinemoonsposts @sqrlgrl22

[bigenargy]

Bianca Barclay SFW alphabet

Warnings: Major Spoilers on Bianca's relationship with her family, not proofread but it eats anyway

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?) 

When this girl falls, she falls HARD. That said Bianca is extremely affectionate despite her whole 'never knowing when love is genuine' thing.  

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?) 

A true friendship with Bianca would start with you hating her, which would draw her to you more cause she's desperate for some true feelings. When you two become friends, she'd be the biggest hype-woman ever and would be super interested in everything you say and do. 

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?) 

I'd say she enjoys cuddles a normal amount, but she absolutely loves early-morning cuddles and late-night cuddles the most. 

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?) 

She would love to settle down with you and live in pure domestic bliss. She longs for normalcy (or as close as she can get while being a siren) and we know she gets none of that in her day-to-day life. 

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?) 

The only reason she'd ever break up with you is to protect you from one thing or another. She'd probably use her siren song to make it so that you hate or forget about her. 

F = Fiancé(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quickly would they want to get married?) 

She'd be EXTREMELY reluctant to take a step as big as marriage. Not because she wouldn't feel ready or love you enough, but because she'd fear just how much her powers affect you. 

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?) 

Bianca has two faces. The dominating queen bee no one can refuse and your gentle girlfriend that's always whispering praises to you and going out of her way to make you happy. 

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?) 

She only likes hugging you. She thinks your hugs feel the most genuine and will hug you often. I don't see her being big on PDA beyond holding your hand or an arm around your shoulder but when you two are alone she'll always be touching you in some way. 

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?) 

It takes her years to say it. You'll have to say it first and trust she loves you back because for the first few years of your relationship she isn't saying it. 

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?) 

She won't get jealous if someone flirts with you but if you flirt back, even playfully she'll go green. She wouldn't be mad at you but probably herself for not being enough and the person that flirted with you. 

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?) 

She loves kissing you on the lips. Not even full make-out sessions but quick-pecks. 

L = Little ones (How are they around children?) 

She's hopeless with children. She probably scares them. 

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?) 

BIG CUDDLER in the morning BIG 

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?) 

Big nighttime cuddler too 

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?) 

At first, she'd seem like an open book until you learn increasingly about her slowly throughout your relationship. 

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?) 

I don't think she's ever felt true anger. A lot of things may irritate her or get under her skin, but you'd probably only see her angry like once. 

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing or do they kind of forget everything?) 

She remembers everything down to the placement of each birthmark you have. 

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?) 

when she finally felt ready to say the L word to you. It was during a Late-night cuddle session that led to a lot of happy tears. 

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?) 

She isn't overly protective and would also like the same energy from you. She's an athletic baddie and a cult leader's stepdaughter. The last thing she needs is you worrying yourself sick about her. 

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?) 

Gifts would be super personalized, and anniversaries would never be forgotten and celebrated uniquely each year. Dates tend to range from elaborate to at-home movie nights. 

U = Ugly (What would be some unpleasant habits of theirs?) 

Her lack of complete trust in you for the first few years of your relationship. 

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?) 

She doesn't spend a lot of time on her appearance. She was just born looking as good as she is. 

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?) 

Like I said when this mf falls, she falls HARD. She'd put on a brave face, but she feels completely lost without you 

X = Xtra (A random head canon for them.) 

She cooks extremely well. 

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?) 

Her mom. 

Z = ZZ (What is a sleep habit of theirs?) 

Maybe it's a siren thing but she goes to sleep late and wakes up early looking flawless. 

[disturbedbydesign]

The Widow and the Wolf - Chapter 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x dark!exWidow!reader

Summary: After Natasha Romanoff took down the Red Room, the former Widows scattered to the wind. Raised to be a killing machine and released into the world with nothing and no one, you decided to use your newfound autonomy to take down the bad guys of your choosing. But now Natasha is riddled with guilt for leaving you on your own. She wants to recruit you, rehabilitate you, make you part of a team again. But the rest of the squad has reservations, and no one is more against you than Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: Graphic violence; Mentions of domestic violence, rape, pedophilia, human trafficking, child sex trafficking; eventual Dubcon (not Bucky); eventual smut; slow(ish) burn enemies-to-lovers. [More warnings will be added as necessary but these are the Big Bads.] 18+ only, no minors.

If you prefer to read on AO3, you can do so here.

Chapter Two

It’s almost midnight by the time Garcia is officially gator food, but you’re too wired for sleep. You head out, driving the hour and change to Miami, with a stop on the way to clean yourself up a bit in a gas station bathroom. You check in to the swanky South Beach hotel you’ve decided to treat yourself to, because you’ve earned it. The world is a better place without that man in it, the impressionable young girls of Miami are a bit safer tonight, and that’s enough for you. For the moment, it’s enough.

Your next target is a man you’ve been searching for for a long time, and he’s your own personal project, but tonight you aren’t going to think about him. Tonight you’re going to allow yourself a moment to breathe, to celebrate your victories—a party of one, as usual, but satisfying all the same. You don’t have that much time left before last call at the clubs so you get yourself together quickly and hit the spot closest to your hotel. Even at this time of night, there’s a line to get in, but one look at you and the bouncer is opening that velvet rope and beckoning you inside.

The place reeks of sweat and unchecked hormones as you make your way to the bar, the booming bass drowning out any and all thoughts you might have, which is exactly the way you want it tonight. You order a double vodka rocks and you wait to see what kind of man will approach you this evening: angel or devil. Of course, none of them are really angels, not in the club at this time of night, but some are far worse than others.

You have no problem with decent men. There’s nothing wrong with trying to get laid. It’s normal, it’s natural—you know that now. You’ve even learned to enjoy consensual sex with strangers. At first it was difficult for you—your body having belonged to others for your entire life. But it wasn’t long before you started to enjoy the power of choice, of having control over what your body did and who with.

A man approaches you—brown hair, blue eyes, muscular—and you hate that your first thought is of him but you can’t help it. The Winter Soldier had always been the stuff of nightmares—a ghost story to some, but the Widows knew better. He was terrifying, yes, but the few people who had seen the man’s face and lived to tell about it had always remarked on how handsome he was, even with that cold, dead-eyed stare. You’d seen pictures of him after he came out from under all that brainwashing, and they had proven the reports correct, but you’d never seen him in person until tonight. You couldn’t stand the sight of him in some ways, but in others…

You turn to the attractive stranger and smile, waiting to see what he’ll do.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he yells over the music. You raise your nearly full cocktail in his direction and he smiles awkwardly. “That’s the best line I got,” he says, and he introduces himself with a name you don’t commit to memory.

You give him a fake name and he reaches his hand out to shake. He’s got a disarming personality, but that doesn’t mean you trust him. You know better than anyone that there’s no better tactic than to appear non-threatening. Still, he’s incredibly attractive and you’re in the mood for a party of two tonight.

You let him talk for a while—about his job, about his family—and you pepper in a few lies here and there. He hasn’t laid a hand on you or invaded your personal space in any way that isn’t necessary among the crush of people at the bar. When the bartender signals last call, you decide that he’ll do. You’re rarely wrong about people, and even if you are, you could snap his neck like a twig if necessary.

You allow him to walk you out, expecting him to make a move, but he doesn’t. He just stands there with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, rocking a bit awkwardly on his feet.

You smile and tilt your head. “Nightcap?” you ask, and he follows you like a puppy to your hotel room.

You don’t want another drink and neither does he, but he waits for your signal before he tries anything. You try not to make it all seem transactional, but it’s not like your heart is in it. You let him kiss you and touch you, albeit briefly, and you pretend to enjoy it even though that’s not what you want. What you want is to be on top of him, using his body for the pleasure of your own, and it’s not long before you’re doing exactly that. Your beautiful stranger certainly doesn’t mind, not even when you close your eyes and allow yourself to think about someone else inside you—what his face might look like all twisted up and blissed out, what sounds might spill from his pretty lips, what the cold metal might feel like against your hot sweaty skin.

You make yourself cum and then kick him out (kindly). You’re gone by sunrise. You’ve got places to be.

*****

Natasha sits cross-legged on her couch, a pint of ice cream in one hand and scrolling her tablet with the other. After Miami, you’ve been a ghost. None of her usual contacts have been able to give her anything useful. You’ve gone underground, and she knows she won’t find you if you really don’t want to be found. Whoever your next target is, it has to be somebody big if you’ve covered your tracks this well.

She doesn’t regret not taking you in, even though Bucky had complained the entire ride back about how leaving you there was a mistake. But, as she’d told him, you have to want to come in. Trying to force your hand is not only incredibly dangerous, it defeats the purpose. Natasha doesn’t want to retraumatize you; she wants to help you. There’s no point in trading a floating cage for a gilded one.

She doesn’t realize she’s finished the pint until the spoon hits the cardboard. When she goes to pull another one from the freezer, her phone rings.

“What’s up, Rogers?”

Steve’s voice holds a barely contained anger that Natasha knows well. “You need to come in.”

She should have known Bucky would rat her out, but it still pisses her off. “Steve, it’s getting late. Can we do this in the morning?”

“I don’t know,” Steve replies. “Are you gonna steal another jet in the middle of the night?”

“Technically, I didn’t steal-”

“Natasha, please,” he says, and she can picture the set of his jaw on the other end of the line.

She sighs. “Alright, fine. I’m leaving now.”

When she gets to the tower, most of the usual suspects are gathered around the conference table. Steve looks pissed. Tony looks amused. Sam and Wanda look concerned. And while, to anyone else Bucky would be wearing no expression at all, Natasha can tell that he’s feeling a bit guilty—as he should, he gave her his word. He mouths “I’m sorry” when she sits down at the table and she raises an eyebrow at him that he knows to translate as a middle finger.

Steve tries to speak but Natasha cuts him off. “Save me the lecture, Rogers. I’m not going to apologize.”

Steve’s voice is stern but not unkind. “This needs to be a group decision, Natasha, and as of right now, you’re the only person who thinks this is a good idea.”

“That’s not actually true,” she says. “Wanda? Do you want to tell Steve what you told me?”

Wanda looks a little shocked to be called out but she answers, if a bit hesitantly. “It sounds like she needs help, Steve. Like she’s lost. I… I know what that feels like—when everyone thinks you’re a monster.”

Wanda and Nat’s eyes both turn to Bucky, looking for any recognition whatsoever that he, too, knows exactly where they’re coming from, but he’s completely stolid. Underneath his blood is boiling and he feels like he wants to crawl out of his skin, but the surface remains placid.

Tony pops a blueberry into his mouth and swivels in his chair to face Natasha. “So, let me see if I’m understanding this correctly, Romanoff. You want to bring in one of your former compatriots who has spent the last… what?... year or so on a globetrotting murder spree? Am I getting the general idea here, or am I missing something? I have to be missing something, because if I’m not missing something, this is categorically batshit.”

“It’s more complicated than that, Stark. But essentially, yes. That’s exactly what I want to do.”

Tony laughs. “Wow. OK. Well, Rogers—you and I rarely agree on… well… anything, but I gotta say, I’m Team Cap with this one.”

Natasha crosses her arms and huffs her displeasure.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says, looking around and addressing the room, “but don’t we usually catch mass murderers? Isn’t that kind of our thing?”

The longer the conversation goes on, the more uncomfortable Bucky gets. It wasn’t lost on him that Tony’s eyes lingered on him when he threw out the term “mass murderers,” and he’s learned that it’s better to just let Tony go off when he feels the need. Still, he needs to get out of the room. He needs to take a walk, get some air, push all thoughts of you and this whole mess out of his mind, because if he doesn’t, he thinks he might go crazy.

“Are we done here?” Bucky asks.

“No,” Steve replies. “Sam? Anything you want to say?”

Sam takes a minute to gather his thoughts. “Look, Nat, I understand where you’re coming from on this. I really do. And it would be different if she was willing to come in on her own. But it sounds to me like she isn’t interested. She wants to be doing exactly what she’s doing. You can’t rehabilitate that. You just can’t.”

Steve looks apologetically at Natasha. “I’m sorry,” he says, “but it’s a no. I’m not necessarily saying we go after her-”

“I am,” Tony interjects. “I’m saying that. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Steve glares at Tony and it shuts him up. “Leave it alone, Tony.”

“You’re seriously telling me you want to leave this girl on the streets knowing what we know? Come on, Rogers.”

Everyone starts to raise their voice at once—everyone except Bucky, who is already sneaking out and halfway to the door—when Natasha shouts, “Enough!”

She takes a deep breath and blows it out, speaking softer now. “I’ll find her and I’ll bring her in, whether she wants to come or not. But it stays in this room—no cops, no agents, just the team. When I get her here, I’ll figure out what to do with her.”

“Fine,” Steve says, and the rest of the team assents. “Buck, you go with her.”

Every cell in Bucky’s body is screaming not to do it, but he never could say no to Steve. He grunts his agreement, refusing to even look at Natasha before storming out of the room and out into the humid mid-August evening. He walks all the way from Midtown to Brooklyn, but he still can’t shake the malaise that’s settled over him ever since Natasha first came to him with her plan.

Bucky knows that he should understand—and, in a way, he does—but he just can’t bring himself to feel anything for you except disgust. Natasha sees something in you that he just doesn’t see. All Bucky wanted to do when he finally got free of it all was prove to everyone that he was a good man—that he was not the things that he’d done. It took a lot of work and a lot of time, but he’s finally in a place where he’s separated himself from the Winter Soldier. That isn’t who he is; it never was.

Steve always knew that, and Natasha hadn’t taken much convincing. The others, though—some of them still don’t fully trust him, and if he thinks about it for too long, it cuts deep. So when Bucky thinks of you—free now, but still violent and bloodthirsty and absolutely unrepentant—it makes him sick. After all the work Bucky has done, how can Natasha look at you and him and think that you’re the same?

Not everyone comes out of their traumas unscathed. Sometimes people can’t come back from the things that have happened to them. That’s you. That’s who you are. You’re not good, you never will be, and as sad as it may make him, Bucky truly believes that you are beyond redemption. You don’t need to be saved; you need to be stopped.

Bucky gets a text as he unlocks the door to his Brooklyn Heights apartment. He’s been waiting for it, hoping for it, and now he has it. Natasha doesn’t know where you are yet, but he does. One of his contacts in Bucharest has a line on you, and he’s not going to let you get away this time. Much as it pains him, he doesn’t trust Natasha to keep her word to the team and take you in against your will. No, Bucky is going to handle this himself. You may be a Widow, but you’re no match for the White Wolf.

CHAPTER THREE >>>

[a-libra-writes]

SFW Alphabet - The Huntress

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Anna is plenty affectionate when you both are alone. It took some time for her to be more open to hand-holding or cuddling and not just hovering over you, anxiously looking around for any danger lurking by. When you first began to take her hand or sit close to her, she almost wasn’t sure what to do, but she welcomed it. It’s been such a long time since she had this sort of affection.

The most obvious way she shows affection is by doggedly protecting you, but there’s more. She likes to have you in her lap while she sharpens her hatchets or bandages up her fingers, put a hand on the small of your back while you both walk through the forest, whittle you little wooden animals … Good luck leaving unless there's a Trial. She won't want you leaving her sight and wouldn't understand why you'd do such a thing.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

A friend is already as rare as a lover, so she treats them much the same. She'll be less overprotective, but just as stubborn, and will still want to teach them things and spend time with them. Anna is almost normal when you're her friend, sometimes you forget she's a giant axe-throwing killer… then she'll do something creepy and put you on edge all over again. And she certainly won't be more merciful in trials.

She's surprisingly easy to approach, if you want to attempt making friends. Unlike most killers in the Fog, she won't try to axe you right away (unless you're a man or present as one…). She'll let you watch her hunt and follow her from a distance, but eventually she'll approach if you don't do so. 

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

She loves cuddling! And such a big woman is excellent at it. She’ll cuddle anywhere you want, but it’s most comfortable in a warm space with a fire - that's more for your comfort, not her’s - and she’ll pull you into her lap and wrap her strong arms around you. She adores it when you press against her chest or her neck, especially when she can feel your soft lips against her skin. She’ll want to pet your hair, sing to you, listen to your chatter - anything. When it comes to sleeping next to her, the cuddling is less cozy because she holds you so close and leaves you little room for wiggling.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Anna would just love to have a blissful domestic life with you. She wants you to live in the cabin her mother built, with a little girl or two you both raise together, with a garden and maybe a good hunting dog and … you get the picture. It’s sweet how much she yearns for this, how clearly she can see it in her mind. It really would hurt her if you didn’t want to at least live with her (nevermind how difficult the Entity makes that whole scenario…). She’ll teach you all she knows, too: She’s excellent at cleaning and cooking all the game she hunts, and she’ll fix up the cabin anytime it needs repairs. 

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

It would take a long time for Anna to get to this point. She’s so lonely and so attached that she’s willing to put up with a lot. She will eventually draw a line, though, and she’ll make her concerns known. Depending on how you break up, Anna will either keep her negative feelings to herself and sulk in the Fog… or she’ll go out of her way to target you in the Trials. 

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Her experience with feelings like this are next to none, but she believes you two must be meant to be together! She has such wonderful, light feelings when you’re around. It’s the only good thing in this strange, confusing place she’s been brought to. Marriage doesn’t mean much here, but if you brought it up, Anna would be tickled to wear something matching and have a little ‘ceremony’. It binds you to her even more.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Anna tries her best to be physically gentle, but she is a strong woman and may grip you too hard, especially at first when she’s so unused to being with someone. She has trouble reigning in her strength when she’s worried, angry or excited. Though when she hears you cry out, she instantly stops and carefully handles you like glass for the rest of the day. She’s always very careful when carrying you while you’re injured … even when she has to put you on the hook eventually, she'll make it quick and give another Survivor a little extra time to get you. If you've had an especially bad series of trials, she'll brutally sacrifice every other Survivor and gently carry you to the hatch. Anna thinks this is a very good, kind thing to do.

For emotions, Anna isn’t so good with that. She doesn’t always understand the terror or anger or sadness you might have… Hell, when you first met, she didn’t understand why you were afraid. She was instantly intrigued, yet you kept running. Sometimes talking to her about emotions is difficult because she wants to act and fix it, but that isn’t always possible. She’ll even get upset if you don’t seem to cheer up after a while.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

She pulls you into her arms and gives you a long hug that’s warm and almost too tight. Often she’ll rest her head against your shoulder, since you’re much shorter, and just stay there for a minute or so. If she was more talkative, she’d probably express how worried she was and how relieved she is when you’re back from the Trial, but this is enough to get her point across. Quick hugs are fine, but the lingering ones are the most intimate. 

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Anna says all sorts of sweet phrases and words in Russian, you aren’t positive what they all mean, but they’re certainly good things! Though there’s one phrase she says that’s always softer, always muttered when she’s holding you tight. You have a feeling you know what she’s saying, and it doesn’t take long for her to form that attachment to you.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

She doesn’t get jealous, exactly; her protective instinct takes over first. If someone is flirting with you, she perceives them as a danger first, not a rival - especially if it’s a Killer. A Survivor could be clearly flirting and she’d assume their closeness and lingering eyes means they’re going to do something dangerous. Anna’s reaction is the same: She pointedly steps in front of you and tells them to leave… with or without hatchet in hand, depending on her mood.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

She loves any kiss you give her, but the light, playful ones are the most fun because she doesn’t expect them. She just lights up when you kiss her scarred knuckles and her rough palms, or place a kiss on her cheek. She’s a little shy to take off her mask, but when you kiss her nose, it’s just so cute! It helps her relax into your deeper kisses. She likes to kiss your chest, to feel your heartbeat and soft skin between your breasts. Her second favorite place is wherever makes you giggle. It’s just too cute to hear. Anna’s lips are pretty chapped, which is to be expected. Initially she kissed a bit too hard, as it was a new thing, but once she gets the hang of it she likes being gentler.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Anna says she adores children, especially girls. She likes to chat with them, play with them, teach them things. Her mother taught her everything, after all, and she loved her mother. Though the more you talk about this, the sadder Anna becomes. When she speaks to you about the little girls - the ones she ‘saved’ - you start to wonder if Anna actually knows anything about raising children, even if her heart is in the right place. It’s probably best she doesn’t, at least not without you to help.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

If you both were in the real world, in some idyllic country cabin, Anna would wake up just before dawn. She’d give you a kiss on the cheek while you slept before going off to her morning chores, usually cleaning something she hunted, getting firewood inside or clearing a path in the snow. By the time you’re awake, she’s made coffee and washes up before joining you for breakfast. 

… Though this is the Fog, so the schedule is a bit different. Neither of you need much sleep, but she’ll still “wake up” before you to patrol around. She hates anyone coming near the little shack you both tend to stay in, especially killers. When she comes back, she brings something she hunted that you two can roast over the fire. You’re… pretty sure the animals in the Fog are edible…?

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Snuggled up to the fire in the evening is Anna’s favorite. Before she’d endure the cold and a little fire, but it’s so much better when she’s got you wrapped in a blanket on her lap. You’ll still need to add logs and stoke the fire because her tolerance to the cold is near freakish thanks to the Entity. It’s modest,  but it’s a luxury considering the rest of the Fog. You have a feeling she’d want the same if you both were in the “real” world again, but you could introduce her to hot cocoa and a silly tv show.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Anna isn't so talkative, but you can glean things from how she acts and what she teaches you. Her protectiveness and paranoia is obvious, but there's also the careful way she looks after her equipment and how easily she hunts. When she starts mentioning her past, things begin to click into place. You can ask her most anything, but thinking of the little girls she lost and her mother can get her quiet for hours. It’s still a painful subject.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

When it comes to you? Anna is incredibly patient as she guides you through tracking in the wilderness, making a fire, throwing an axe, actually using the axe properly to chop something, and so on. She’ll smile (and maybe suppress a chuckle) when you inevitably mess up, and gently correct you. When you’re done she wants to check over any calluses and bruises, and wrap them up herself. 

You’ve seen the other side, though. When you come back battered from a trial, and she knows who did it just based on the injuries. She doesn’t speak, only gesturing you to stay put before she furiously stalks off into the Fog, her shoulders hunched and her fists tightening hard around her hatchet. There’s no amount of calling after Anna, or god forbid, grabbing her so she’ll stop. Even the mention of a Survivor bothering you is enough to get that dark glint in her eyes. 

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Anna remembers … unusual things. She knows your scent, even when you’re covered in muck and blood. If you’re shampooed and perfumed, well, she can pick that out from an impressive distance. She remembers your gait, the way it sounds and how it looks through the fog. When she’s alone, she remembers new songs you’ve given her to hum, and how you feel against her. Things like favorite colors, movies or random facts of your time hold less water. They aren’t immediately important to her.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Her favorite memory, even years after you both are together, is the first time she got to hold you in her arms. There was a lot of build-up before that; following Anna around, getting to know her, you both getting closer and you finally allowing her to be so close. That’s what it felt like, permission, and she was more than happy to scoot in and cuddle up. She was delighted that you were just as soft and warm as she always imagined.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Incredibly protective. It cannot be understated how much Anna wants to lock you into her mother’s home like she did those girls, but this time she knows what to do. She could keep you safe, she says, if only you both were in her home again. It hurts her that she can’t fight the Entity or keep you permanently safe from the other Killers. Sure, she can wound them or chase them off, and she can tend to your wounds after Trials, but it’s not the same.

You know this weighs on Anna some days, so it’s best to comfort her and indulge in her desire. Yes, it would be wonderful if you stayed at her cabin.  You could cook the meat she brings home, and tend to a little garden outside. There’s not much you can do to “protect” such an imposing hunter, but these sweet fantasies make her feel much better.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

It's difficult to keep track of time in the Fog, so the concept of anniversaries or even normal dates is asking for a lot. Still, Anna puts clear effort into your relationship. She protects you, brings you little trinkets she's made or found, and likes to find quiet, safe places to keep you until a Trial starts.

If the two of you weren't trapped, she still wouldn't be the best about remembering specific dates. But she'd still do little things to express her love every day.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

She’s quite insistent that she knows the best way to protect you. Not that there aren’t plenty of things the Entity has dragged in specifically to murder you, but sometimes it can border on paranoia. You’ve often felt that if you ever came across Anna in the real world, she would have locked you up “for your own good”. Even just considering the things and people that could hurt you fills the intimidating woman with a sense of anxiety and dread… and she turns that to resolve. Trust her, dorogaya. Just let her take care of everything. 

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Anna doesn’t think much of her looks, and never has. Not once was it something her mother raised her to consider important. Everything about her attire is meant for practicality… except for the trinkets around her waistband. And the masks. Those are sentimental, not mere decoration. After knowing you, she makes a point to clean her hands and nails before any cuddling and romance goes down. 

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

There was always that horrible feeling she had after losing a girl. If she lost you, it would be so much worse. She didn’t think it could be this much worse. It was unbearable. Anna would lash out, freezing her heart even more than before. She’d alternate between lashing out at the Entity and those around her. Her axes would still hit their targets, but it would be a much bloodier affair - more the work of a butcher than a hunter. It’s so much harder to move on this time, and for once, the idea of finding someone new to protect isn’t helping.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Anna has a variety of animal masks, but her rabbit is her favorite and most worn. They were just fun things her mother helped her make, one of the few real toys she had growing up. So it’s sentimental and makes her feel comfortable when she wears them. She doesn’t mind taking them off when you’re both alone and she wants kisses, but not in front of people she doesn’t like or trust. She thinks you look adorable when you wear one!

The Entity has given her some mutations, though they aren’t apparent from a distance. The most obvious are her eyes and nose. When she takes off her mask, you can clearly see her sclera and irises are all black, with her pupils being little specks of light in that blackness. They can be a bit unsettling. Her nose is oddly shaped, clearly not natural; it reminds you of a panther. Her nails are thick, short and black, with the nailbeds being a purpley-black. Her gums and most of her veins have a blackish tint as well. While she was already a powerful woman before, the Entity has made her even moreso. She has a high tolerance to the elements in general, and the pads of her feet are rough and black like a dog’s paws.

This is probably obvious, but Anna dislikes men. ‘Hate’ is a strong word but she has an instant reaction to throwing an axe to anyone presenting as male - as opposed to a woman, where she might hesitate or observe before throwing it. She doesn’t like men talking to her, she doesn’t trust them, she gladly tosses them around like dolls during Trials. A man you greatly trust will not be free of her suspicion and ire, but she’s willing to be begrudgingly civil if you scold her.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

She dislikes cruelty, both in a partner and in people. Note, Anna doesn’t consider what she does to be cruel - she tries to minimize suffering, or at least, that’s what she believes. It’s why she has little patience for the other Killers. She also doesn’t like someone who might be secretive, or doesn’t trust her. She’s trying to help. Why would you leave without telling her? Can’t you see she’s doing what’s best for you? This stubbornness isn’t cute. 

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Anna can sleep anywhere. She can sleep sitting up or standing, on the hard ground or covered in a cloth under the snow. She’s become so accustomed to rough sleeping conditions that if ever given a chance to have a soft, clean bed, it would be a little disarming. The sheer softness would make it difficult to sleep - like she was going to fall through the fluff - and she’d probably accidentally rip any sheets. When she sleeps, she’s oddly still; only the soft noise coming from her nose is evidence she’s resting. It’s hard to tell if her eyes are closed with that mask on. Often, she sleeps with a hand on a hatchet.

[glitxhwayventeen]

A Different Kind Of Love…

Wonwoo: Chapter 3 (Save Your Tears)

Characters: Wonwoo x female reader

Genre/Warnings: multi-member au (different scenarios), werewolf au, fantasy, angst, fluff, cheating (again, sort of), FOOD mentions, Mood Swings. Any others will be put as warnings when future chapters are thought up/written.

Author’s Note: Here it is friends! A chapter with almost complete fluff. Who would’ve thunk huh? Anyways I hope you guys like the chapter. I had quite a bit of fun writing it for some reason…

Please remember that all of these chapters and the content within them are a work of fiction! They’re just for fun/entertainment!

Bold= Dialogue Italics= Thoughts

Mostly domestic ☁️ & barely any 🥀

A Different Kind Of Love… Master List

Chapter 3: Save Your Tears

It had been exactly three months since you had been marked by Wonwoo and finally completely integrated yourself into your new pack. You hadn’t seen or heard from Song since that night, but you still felt VERY uneasy about the whole situation. People didn’t just get together the way you and your mate did and get a sweet happy little ending.

Wonwoo and you were doing great personally though. You now slept in the same room, ‘slept’ together, and just all around loved each other. You were starting to have a hard time remembering what life was like before you had gotten attacked by that angry mob now that you were with him. He made time stop and fast forward all at once. Everything seemed to go on forever and yet so quickly when you were with him. And you loved every single second of it. Even if you had a hard time showing him that sometimes.

You were downstairs in the kitchen making breakfast for all the boys, someone had to. They literally could not seem to take care of themselves even if they were grown ass men. So you kind of took on the part of den mother to them, you were the only responsible girl they had around after all. None of the Alphas had mates yet, in fact, no one older than Jihoon had found theirs yet. It was only the younger ones. And while their mates were great, they just very much acted like their wolf counter parts, which meant fun all day everyday without a second thought. So that left you being one of the few, other than Seungcheol and Joshua, who knew when enough shenanigans was enough. You didn’t mind, you liked having a big family again.

Many of the boys reminded you of your brothers. Especially Mingyu, who ate and played just as much and as rough as they did. It caused the both of you to become very close, even to the point where he felt like one of your biological brothers, he reminded you a lot of Mako. And of course, Wonwoo was absolutely delighted that the member he considered his best friend and his mate got along so much. He trusted Mingyu around you more than anyone else, so much so that he refused to even let you leave the house without either Gyu or himself by your side.

You had been having your nightmares again which was relatively normal for you. However, Wonwoo had started having them himself, which as a seer was very much not normal or good in meaning in anyway. He wouldn’t tell you what they were about, he always said you didn’t need to worry or be bothered with them as there was nothing to mention. But the way he clung to you, and the way he forced Mingyu to stay with you when he couldn’t, started having you think that maybe things weren’t as alright as they seemed…

You still just brushed it off, trying your best to just enjoy your little honeymoon bliss with your mate and continued to flip pancakes. Everything would work out. That’s what your voices said, so that’s what you believed. Soon enough, your mate had woken up to an empty bed and marched his way downstairs with a pout adorned on his face.

“(Y/N), why are you downstairs stirring batter instead of upstairs snoring in my arms?” He let out in an annoyed huff as he came to stand beside you, watching your actions with playfully narrowed eyes.

“Because Wonu, 1.) everyone will need breakfast soon and I hate that Seungcheol’s always left to be the one to do it and 2.) you take forever and I hate waiting for you to wake up. And HEY I do NOT snore!” You ranted, smacking his toned chest with your free hand in the process, the other firmly gripped onto your whisk as you made more mix for more pancakes.

You had gotten comfortable with him to the point of joking. Which not only made you proud, but made Wonwoo’s heart soar. He was glad he could coax you out of your shell a bit.

“Yeah yeah sure. And Soonyoung isn’t a little sexual deviant.” He chuckled and kissed the top of your rat’s nest covered head.

“Hey! I heard that!” Soonyoung shouted from his room in the higher portion of the house.

“Yeah I know.” Wonwoo smiled, dipping his finger in the batter you had just added some strawberry syrup to to add more flavor and plopping it directly into his mouth.

“Whatever that weird stuff is is good. But don’t think I’m still not upset that my mate left the bed without me this morning.” He assessed, sitting himself down on the counter next to you while you started pouring batter onto your skillet.

“Well get over it my love. It’s not the first time it’s happened and we both know with the way you sleep, it’s not gonna be the last. And my pancakes are not weird! They are delicious.” You declared, flipping a newly heated pancake over so it’s other side would begin to cook.

That’s something he had come to realize about you: you were always very prideful of being able to do household things well. And certain things like your hair for that matter. You always had high personal standards, though you only seemed to hold yourself to them as you didn’t care if anyone else lived up to them, just you. He chalked it up to your tribe’s old family centered traditions. He thought it was cute, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t tease you a bit about it.

Wonwoo smirked and bit his lip at the gratification you showed in your cooking, “They are. They’re still weird as shit though. Who puts the syrup INTO the batter?”

“I do. It makes them taste better” You insisted before you put the finished pancake with the rest of the cooked stack you had managed to create before your mate came to bother you.

“You know maybe you just don’t know how to cook.” You pointed at him with your spatula in a teasing manner.

“Maybe not” He shrugged, ducking his form down a bit to get closer to you, “But I DO know that when you’re done cooking them, you’re just gonna eat them plain like a freak.”

Just as he finished his sentence, half a dozen wolves made their way into the kitchen. You hadn’t even realized anyone other than Soonyoung was really even up yet do to you focusing all your senses and attention on your mate. That had taken you a lot of practice as, in the wilderness, you had to pay attention to everything and everyone around you.

“Mmm smells good (Y/N), what’s cooking?” Seungkwan questioned as he fought Soonyoung for a seat that was positioned closer to the food.

“Pancakes. I made loads of them” You stated, looking towards the two bickering werewolves before you and turned the stovetop off.

“And it is NOT freaky to eat them without syrup. Lots of people do it. Plus, the extra syrup’s so sugary it’s been making me feel sick lately so I would rather just eat it without to avoid it.” You spoke to Wonwoo, who had finally brought himself down from the counter and sat himself down on a chair to grab food with the other boys.

He just laughed in response to your stubbornness and pulled you to sit on his lap with a kiss to your cheek, “Whatever you say baby. I still think it’s weird to eat a plain pancake.”

It had taken you quite a while to warm up to this kind of PDA. When you first came to them, something like that would have you wiggle your way to sit alone and have to hide your burning cheeks. You’d really come a long way. Well, at least with Wonu

“Oh yeah no that’s suuuuper weird (Y/N). You may be a sociopath.” Jeonghan chuckled as he plopped another large bite of a pancake into his mouth, smiling.

“Yeah that’s weird as shit. Who the hell eats a plain pancake?” Soonyoung snickered, shoveling a whole syrup filled circle into his mouth.

“Look, what do any of you know? Most of you had never even eaten a pancake before I came around because Koreans don’t typically eat them for breakfast. So shut up!” You spit out, your feelings starting to get hurt at the constant teasing of the others.

“Who’s the weirdo eating plain pancakes?” Joshua, the American, asked from the stairs as he slowly made his was down towards the rest of the pack to eat.

“Well the Westerner thinks it’s weird so…” Chan said with a shrug and a shit eating grin.

The boys all busted out laughing, some so hard they had to hold their sides. Wonwoo started to choke a laugh back into your shoulder as you sat there and folded your arms over your chest.

“You guys suck. I try and be NICE to you and I get laughed at for my eating habits. I don’t want to have to sit here for this” You huffed, getting up from your mate’s lap and walking upstairs to your shared bedroom, closing the door a bit louder than you probably should’ve when so many people were still sleeping.

“Damn, what crawled up her ass?” Hansol, who you had stomped past on the way to your room said, finally getting himself situated in the kitchen.

Wonwoo let out a frustrated sigh before he stood up from his place, grabbing a plate of pancakes in the process. He was still trying to figure out when his teasing was too much for you. And he probably would’ve been fine had the others not decided to join in. You liked them, you did, but you weren’t as comfortable around them just yet. Them taunting you probably really upset you and he was just the dumbass who let them continue to do it.

“Me. I’m an idiot. I’ll go talk to her and see if I can get her to come back down.” He said as he begrudgingly made his way to the stairs, slightly kicking himself internally for upsetting you over something so little and stupid.

-

Once he made it to your bedroom door, he tried to turn the handle, only to realize it was locked.

“(Y/N)? Baby? Can you please open the door?” He whined out, not realizing he had upset you to the point of you wanting even HIM to leave you alone.

You always wanted him around you. Even when you first came to the pack, you still would rather be near him. Even when he was with Song, you still liked having him close by. Even when you were angry at him, you’d rather be angry at him with his arms wrapped around you than be angry at him alone somewhere. You never locked the door. His inner wolf groaned at the thought.

“No.” You bluntly spit out, wanting him as far away from you as possible and trying to suppress a stomach growl all in one go.

“I brought pancakes…” Wonwoo all but sung out, having heard your angry stomach and knowing damn well you would give into him if he had food.

After hearing a small groan from the other side of the barrier, he heard a little click of metal before the door swung open. In front of him was a very angry looking you, your cheeks were stained with tears and it caused a small whimper to emit from his chest. He had caused you to cry and it crushed him.

You had your hand out in expectancy as he had promised sustenance in exchange for entry. He dutifully handed you the plate and closed the door behind him. He watched as you scarfed down a full pancake in one go. Damn, you were more hungry than he thought.

“What do you want?” You sniffled at him once you had cleared your airway of food.

You sat the plate down on the nightstand before you stood and turned your attention back to your mate, grabbing another pancake and taking small bites in the process. You were never really this hungry or ate this much, but when you got sad lately, you just felt like eating. Probably not the best habit, but you weren’t that good with your feelings, you always just followed your instincts instead. They always kept you alive, and right now they were telling you to eat, so you ate.

“I wanted to apologize baby. I didn’t mean to upset you. It really was just a joke. I didn’t mean to make you cry. You’re not weird. Plain pancakes are fine. I should’ve just kept my big mouth shut.” He groveled, wrapping his arms around your small frame.

“Yes. Yes, you should’ve.” You agreed, finally swallowing the remains of your food and crossing your arms in annoyance, slightly leaning away from his touch to wipe your tears away.

You wanted him to touch you. God, you wanted him to touch you. But you didn’t want to give in so easily, because once you gave in, you knew he’d get all smug and then you’d want to punch his smug face. You wanted him to genuinely feel bad before you crashed your lips to his and ripped each other clothes off. It was only fair.

Wonwoo could smell the wetness already beginning to form between your legs. He suppressed a smirk threatening to appear on his face for getting you this worked up by literally doing almost nothing, but he knew being cocky wasn’t a good way to get you to stop being mad at him. So he stuck with his original plan: begging for forgiveness.

He easily lifted you up and secured your legs around his waist, holding onto your back so you wouldn’t lose your balance and fall, “I really am sorry. I won’t do it again baby. I promise.” He spoke as he leaned his forehead against yours with his best pout, tugging at your heartstrings.

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to contain your excitement for what was about to come, but failed miserably and let a happy smile creep up on your lips. You locked your hands behind his head, giggled at him and bit your lip.

“You’re forgiven. This time. BUT you have to make it up to me.” You decided, eyes looking up for a moment in thought to tease him. He slowly started moving towards the bed that was in the center of the room before he spoke up.

“And how would you like me to make it up to you baby?” He said as he began kissing your neck softly, trailing around your mate mark with a grin plastered on his face.

“Well for starters, you can fuck me senseless until I forget what I was even mad at you for to begin with.” You confirmed, tilting your head to the side to give him a bit more access to your exposed neck.

“With pleasure my love.” And with that, he fell to the bed with you in his arms, careful not to crush you in the process before he got to work on his promise.

(Updated 8/23)

[multi-lefaiye]

1,2,11,16 for Arthur/Noah

thank u bestie!!!! okay i think this is the last one i'm gonna answer for tonight, but i'll try to get to the other asks i have in my inbox soon!!!

What’s their love languages?

Arthur very much leans towards physical affection and acts of service in terms of love languages. He's very tactile and loves doing things for those he cares about. There's a scene in Fragile Things I think about a lot where he and Noah are sitting together and Arthur just starts,,, playing with Noah's hair and braiding it a little.

Noah, meanwhile, is more of a quality time type person. He doesn't necessarily shy away from touch, but the way he knows to express love best, especially with someone he's with romantically, is just to hang out and spend time together. Even if you're doing separate things, just hanging out in the same room is good <3

Do they have a dynamic trope? (enemies to lovers, sunshine x grumpy, etc?)

They're very much an example of friends-to-lovers! However, I think there's also a case to be made for idiots-to-lovers :3 (And you could argue friends-to-lovers-to-enemies-to-friends for their arc across both Fragile Things and Bleeding Over Eden)

What’s a song that describes their relationship? Or, what’s the song that they’ve deemed “their” song?

So I do have a whole playlist for Arthur and Noah and when I listen to it, it makes me very emotional. There are a lot of songs in there that I could share, describing different points in their relationship, but I'm going to share a song that I think they would absolutely pick as being Their Song, and none of you are allowed to judge me for it.

So uhhh yeah Arthur loves country music and Noah grows to love it too through knowing Arthur, so Their Song is a country song.

More specifically, it's Bless The Broken Road by Rascal Flatts. Does it fit exactly? No, but it fits enough that I think a lot about Arthur teaching himself the song and serenading Noah with it, or maybe them slow-dancing to it,,,,

I am so normal about these two (I'm lying)

What’s their favorite “domestic bliss” moment? Do they cook/clean together? Do they like to go out shopping together?

I answered this one over here: [link]!

[sweetsakusa]

Coming Home At Twilight

A lil Nanami brain rot (more like a rant)

Anime: Jujutsu Kaisen

Genre: fluff, domesticity, drabble, slice of life

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1.7k words

-

“I’m home,” you call to no one in particular. You are met with the eerie silence of your home, the air conditioner humming softly in the background as a natural ambient sound to fall asleep. You slip on a pair of house slippers, the soft padding breaking the serenity of the home. 

You walk into the living room and the sight of Kento sleeping soundly on the leather couch with a book open on his chest and his glasses still resting on his nose appears before you. It is a wonderful sight to see him so relaxed and casual; the light just barely peeking through the twilight, ending the night puts you into tranquility. Smiling, you set down your work bag and tiptoe closer. 

His shirt still tucked, but ruffled from turning in his sleep, his tie thrown half-hazardly on the one of the cushions and he still looked as handsome as ever. Perfectly sculpted cheekbones, his defined jaw, the slope of his nose, his normally flawlessly styled hair now hanging in small wisps on his forehead and seeing all of it, there was no doubt in your mind that he was made by the gods themselves. 

His eyebrows were no longer pinched together and his lips were relaxed, not the typical thin line of subtle annoyance that could quickly curl into irritability. In other words, he was the epitome of effortlessly good-looking. 

You gently pry off his glasses, placing them on the coffee table. He doesn’t flinch nor open his eyes. He is typically a light sleeper, constantly hyper aware in his sleep. He gives no sign of waking up.

He must’ve had a long day at work last night.

You glance at the clock on the coffee table, a frown growing. It is still 4:56 in the morning. A part of you wished to not wake him up, give him some well deserved rest, but concern rose in your chest at the thought he might be overworking himself. You set your hand on his, tracing the veins that protruded from his knuckles. 

You lean over and place your lips on his forehead, brushing away the hair that fell on his face. When your eyes fall onto his face again, you are met with pools of a gentle blue sea that is his eyes. You kiss his forehead again and his eyes flutter closed.

“Love, you should be sleeping on the bed instead of the couch,” you mutter against his hairline. 

He sighs exhaustedly, running a tired hand through his hair before meeting your gaze, bored orphic eyes sucking the light out of the room. You just knew that he was sleeping on the couch to wait for you to come home as much as he would hate to admit it. You simply knew him too well.

You continue to stroke his cheek as if holding the finest china, your thumb caressing the skin just underneath his eye bags that were always there, making him look much more older and mature for his age. “How long have you been laying here?”

His eyes soften just a little from your touch and he shuffles to make himself more comfortable, resting his head against his forearm. “I was reading a book and then I fell asleep.” Then it must have been a couple hours, you concluded.

You knit your eyebrows together. “You haven’t been overworking yourself, have you?” 

He shakes his head. “No, I haven’t,” he says with nonchalant honesty. Nanami knows how you complain when he pushes himself too much, but his job was still demanding. His work ethic is certainly admirable. 

Your hand instinctively moves to his chest, just above his stomach, patting it soothingly. “You should get some more rest. I’ll wake you up for breakfast.”

“No. Stay here.”

Your eyebrows knit together, causing a wrinkle on your nose and forehead. “No?” His request was strange to say the least. He never did anything out of the necessary and frankly, it was like that for most of your relationship. Sure, there were some moments of shared affection, but even then, Nanami was a man who liked to keep to himself. 

Swinging his legs over the edge and pulling you up, he wraps his arms around your waist and begins to sway back and forth as if to balter to a silent tune, his forehead leaning against yours and his breath tickling your nose.

Your body stiffens in surprise. He’s not normally like this.

You pull away just enough to scan his face for anything strange. He doesn’t look any different. You place the back of your hand on his forehead, feeling his temperature.

Kento’s eyebrows furrow in slight irritation and the peaceful look of bliss flickers away at the cool touch of your hand. “What are you doing?”

You frown. “Are you sick, Kento? It’s not typical of you to act like this.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Oh,” is your only response as you give up the energy to explain his strange behavior. Hesitantly, you relax into his embrace and he pulls you flush against his body as your arms drape over his shoulders. You exhale the subtle cologne of wood and maple on his shoulder, releasing the mountain of stress that had accumulated on your shoulders throughout the last few weeks.

“You looked a little stressed,” he says eventually, answering your question from earlier. “Maybe this might alleviate it,” he murmurs into the shell of your ear, sending electricity down to your toes. His reassuring words and the way his tongue adds stress to his “t’s” warms the base of your stomach and causes butterflies to erupt.

You sigh heavily with content and he hums in response. It did help lessen the tempestuous strain in your mind. Work was a pain and becoming a slight burden, but Kento had no problem soothing it all away with soft kisses and passionate embraces. 

You felt like your soul were floating of pure bliss, ascending away from Earth and into the heavens all while Kento kept you grounded and held on, refusing to let go as if you were his lifeline and truth was, you probably were his lifeline and he was yours. 

Your hand trails up to his hair, combing through his locks that tickled your palms. He releases a small sigh, melting in your touch and squeezes you just a little bit tighter like he was scared an outside force would snatch you away.

It would have been awkward if it wasn’t for the ill-coated affection. And though it was quiet, there weren't any words needed to be exchanged as if a turn of phrase would disrupt the comfortable silence the two of you created. 

You slowly blink away the sleep, but to no avail, you squint at the sun peeking through the horizon, it’s rays beam into the penthouse suite apartment. 

“The sky looks beautiful,” you mumble into his shirt, sleep threatening you into oblivion. 

“Mhmmm,” he hums agreeingly into your hair, his hands running along the valley of your spine, up and down before settling on your lower back. He cracks his eyes open, also slowly succumbing to exhaustion due to lack of sleep. He peers down to see you in all your angelic beauty. The sun highlights the plains of your face, your cheeks illuminating golden in the early morning sun. You looked ethereal. Serendipity must have been on his side when he first met you.

He is aware that the sunrise is beautiful, reds, oranges, pinks, yellows, and blues smeared across the sky as the sun slowly creeps up like every cliché painting, but you are even more divine and luminous than the star itself so he stares at you with an adoration that is only meant for you. 

You crane your head, meeting his soft gaze and breaking his scrutiny. You stare intently at his vivid blue hues, as blue as the sky, the dawn making his eyes gleam. Perhaps that’s why you feel like floating when he is holding you close to him. Maybe that’s why you feel like you’re in heaven when you’re his arms, but also grounded at the same time because he is like heaven on earth.

Wow.

Your eyelids feel heavy as you slowly close them, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips as you raise yourself on your toes towards him. He meets you halfway and closes the space, giving you a few kisses before pulling away, satisfied.

You mumble a quick, “I love you,” against the corner of his lips before pecking his cheek and leaning against his chest once again as he ever so slightly sways back and forth, as if rocking you to sleep.

“Love you too.” He no longer shies away from those words like he used to, weary of the lifelong commitment those words brought. He reaches for your hand, the certain finger containing a gold wedding ring. He places his lips on the cool metal, a wordless reminder of his infinite love, sealed by a simple promise.

“Let’s go to bed,” he mutters against the crown of your head and you let out a soft sigh. His arm still wrapped around your waist, he guides you into your shared bedroom.

You sink into the mattress, groaning at the relief that flooded through your body. Kento crawls next to you, his calloused hands never leaving your waist. 

“Ken,” you say, voice groggy and practically on the verge of passing out. “Don’t you have to go to work?”

“I’m taking a day off,” he says simply. “You must be exhausted. Go to sleep. I’ll wake you up in time for breakfast.”

You scoff softly into the silk pillowcase. “As if,” and with that you fell asleep to his fingers lingering aimlessly on your clothed stomach. 

Nanami contemplated if it was a good idea to wait for you to come home and wake up in the wee hours of the morning only for him to fall asleep on the couch and you had to pulled him out of sleep. Maybe it didn’t go as planned, but it sure felt nice when the two of you watched the sunrise together before going back to bed. 

He whispers another ‘love you’ into the back of your neck before letting sleep cast its spell. Though he falls into a deep dreamless slumber, he feels light and airy like floating among the clouds. 

Yeah, you definitely made him feel like he had entered heaven and it never gets old. 

[kettle-on]

This one did not go as well as I hoped, but then I always think that when I'm about to post a chapter.

If I knew how to write it, there could be optional smut at the end of this one, but I have zero confidence (or imagination) when it comes to that, so apologies but no, there's none here.

You'll just hafta make it up yourselves

(Still, this chapter does have one of my favourite little bits so far!)

attn: @jessm78 @coincidence-ithinknots-blog

Previous Chapter

Chapter 6

“There’s something almost kingly about waking up alone,” declared John Cleese as he and Eric made their way to the morning room to start the day’s work. They had both set out early, Eric having slept quite poorly, perched atop his typewriter, and John unusually well-rested.

“The peace and privacy and space,” he continued, “Yes, I think it sets one up rather well for the day.”

“If you say so,” Eric abided with a small smile.

Before recently, Eric’s preference was to fall asleep with a girl beside him and by the time he’d wake up in the morning, she would be long gone. Thus went the final years of his previous marriage, rocky and uncommitted – his “asshole years” as he’d come to refer to them. As all things tend to do, marriage seemed like the right idea at the time, but the seductive adventure of fame was more than Eric had bargained for.

“How are things with you and Connie, anyway?” he asked his now strutting friend.

In fact, none of the visitors had seen any sign of John’s wife Connie Booth for months. The two had never been particularly candid about their relationship, but other than seeing her on the television in late-night repeats of Fawlty Towers (of which plans for a second series were now rumoured), she remained mostly unseen.

“I’m not going to talk about it,” said John with finality.

“Oh come on, John.”

“No. I’m not going to,” he repeated, stroking his mustache.

“Not even to advise your old pal?”

They had reached their destined room, and John set to work immediately rearranging the cushions on the sofas and armchairs.

“Eric, you’ve just spent Christmas in the West Indies with a beautiful woman. You don’t need my advice.”

“I just don’t want to mess up again,” Eric confessed heavily, plopping his curled copy of the script onto an end table. “All the shit from before. Is it really worth going through that again?”

“Why? God! Don’t tell me you’re marrying Lyn again,”

“No! No, obviously I mean Y/N.”

“And? She’s a very nice girl, so what’s the problem now?”

Eric was baffled, and searched his hands for an answer.

“Eric, every relationship is a new start,” John began, suddenly soulful. “Every marriage is a new set of conditions and variables. You know that. Y/N comes with entirely different features and functions, and even you - you’re different to what you were before. You’ll be different every time. Except for some things, of course. You’ll always be an ugly, greedy bastard with a smart mouth and no sense of occasion.”

“Cheers,”

“But you’ve come a long way - I’ll say that for you. Anyway, what does Y/N have to say?”

“I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it.”

Raising his eyebrows and lowering his chin, John gave Eric his famously unimpressed face, “Well that’s your first problem. I can’t imagine what’s stopping you.”

“Can’t you?” asked Eric, looking up from under his fringe.

Against the wishes of the house staff, lunch was taken later in the day (“teatime” as Terry Jones insisted) on a folding picnic table on one of the many lawn areas around the lot. With the addition of a cotton table cloth and wooden bench seating, Mr. Brown the butler couldn’t refrain from voicing his distaste. Eric and Michael doubled up with charm to convince him to leave it be.

“See how nice it looks with the rhododendrons all around us!” Michael demonstrated.

“Yes, and you needn’t worry about the table cloth; I’ve pulled it off the bed,” added Eric in jest before abandoning Mr. Brown altogether, and they strutted arm-in-arm across the grass to join the others at the table.

Their camaraderie extended even as far as the last piece of fresh olive bread left in the basket. Sat side by side, Eric and Michael were mirror images, their arms reaching into the basket in the middle of the table, when their knuckles collided.

“Oh! Sorry - ”

“Sorry - ”

“You have it.”

“No no, please. Take it.”

“No, I’m fine. It’s yours.”

“Well, only if you don’t want it.”

“I do want it, but only if you’d rather not.”

“Oh, you have it then.”

“Don’t you want it?”

“Yes, but you - ”

They were cut short by Terry Gilliam’s arm of God reaching between them, grabbing the piece of bread, and aggressively gobbling it up.

Afternoon chat was considerably more relaxed and domestic than evening party topics. At this time of day, rockstars and millionaires turned into normal people who were content to discuss the shapes of teabags, and revisit childhood moments of blowing on a blade of grass between their thumbs to make it whistle.

Y/N felt most at ease here. She shifted slightly and propped her feet up on the bench opposite, next to Eric’s side, the table cloth gently covering her toes. Before long, she felt the familiar comfort of fingers around her ankles. Eric was always dutiful to show he was never out of reach.

He was already looking at her when she raised her gaze to him, and his smile grew. From time to time, they’d share a moment like this one - at home in each other’s eyes, unspoken declarations of attraction, of love and affection.

“What are you trying to send that’s costing you 8 dollars?” Eric’s voice cut their silent exchange as he cordially re-entered the table conversation.

Terry Jones seemed to be unsure as to how shocked he ought to be at a recent postal charge.

“Why not just hang on to it and take it back with you – it’s only another ten days,” suggested Eric.

“Well I’m hoping I’ll manage to forget about it, and it’ll be great surprise when I get home,” Terry just about managed to explain before his conviction crumbled into resigned chuckles.

Before long, plates emptied and glasses were refilled from water jugs and wine bottles. Across the table, Eric and Y/N’s eyes met again, exchanging a look of “let’s go be alone somewhere.”

Laying a small paper down on the table, Eric began to manufacture an expertly rolled spliff, and only then did Y/N notice… both of his hands were occupied, and yet her ankle was still being stroked. Shifting her eyes, she caught sight of Michael, peering over his glass at her with impatient eyes, his other hand out of sight. Noticing he’d been found out at last, he lifted his head in exaggerated confusion, darting around and attempting to look elsewhere. Despite herself, Y/N stifled a giggle.

“Coming?” Eric asked softly with a smile as he rose from the bench, and Y/N quickly withdrew her now tingling ankles.

The grounds at Heron Bay included paths perfect for meandering afternoon strolls without straying very far from the main house. This afternoon, Eric and Y/N chose the garden route, passing a tidy swimming pool, and over a small bridge toward the far end of the beach. Clasping hands, their arms swung gently between them as they walked.

“I wonder if I’ve taken enough photos of this place yet.” said Y/N when they stepped off of the bridge. “I don’t ever want to forget how beautiful it is, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to remember all the details.”

“We can always come back, you know,” said Eric. “I wouldn’t pass up another few weeks.

“What about you?” he asked and gently pulled her toward him, wrapping an arm around her back as if they were to start dancing. “Are you having a wonderful time?”

“Wonderful!” replied Y/N with a wide smile.

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm!”

“You sure?”

His tone was not doubtful, but the slight furrowing of his gentle eyebrows showed concern. But what was he getting at? Was she not convincing?

“Well I… I guess I’m not really used to being away from home for so long. Especially not somewhere with table service, and a tennis court, and dinner with The Rolling Stones. It’s, um… it’s a lot. But it’s wonderful!”

They continued their stroll along the beach hand-in-hand as before. The mood was once again slow and easy and peaceful, though Eric seemed ever so slightly more pensive – a typical development when “partaking in grass,” as he liked to describe it.

“Have you been talking to Michael?” he asked suddenly.

“Michael?” Y/N repeated.

“He’s great with this sort of thing.”

What sort of thing? she wanted to ask. She still felt uneasy asking Eric to repeat himself or clarify something, as if querying him was proof that they were somehow not in sync like he believed they were. But hadn’t they just had a moment of silent connection earlier?

Stupid, silly girl. She smartened up. Just speak. But just as she opened her mouth, Eric spoke again.

“So have you fallen in love with him yet?”

“What?” Y/N was breathless.

“Everyone falls in love with Mike Palin at some point,” he explained with one of his cheekier smiles.

“I uh...” she faltered, whether from the suggestion or from Eric’s grin, she wasn’t sure. “I don’t think so, no.”

Eric took a long pull on his gradually disappearing joint and nodded.

“Give it time,” he said with confidence. “You’ll see.”

They soon came across a small secluded bower, lightly shaded by swaying trees that dotted the coastline. Here they would pause for a while, away from disturbance, with only the ocean to meet them.

Y/N sat between Eric’s long legs, his arms at either side of her, resting on his knees. She leaned back into his warm chest and he kissed her ear. It seemed like a long time since they had last been alone together – work on the film script had taken over the day time, and famous visitors kept their nights busy and bustling. Y/N pondered the photos she had already taken, and how even the best ones couldn’t capture this current bliss: the warmth of the sun and the ground, the waves hushing in the near distance, the earthy and fiery smell from Eric’s quality cannabis, and his long and loving limbs around her.

After several minutes of comforting silence, Eric spoke:

“So,” he blew out quickly, “what do you think about getting married?”

Y/N turned on her spot to look at him, feeling her heartbeat quicken.

“I think you’re a little too stoned to be proposing right now.”

“I don’t mea-…” he began, cutting himself off with laughter. “I’m not proposing, I just wanted to know your thoughts on it. I guess Ricky and Penny got me thinking, and… and I was just… thinking.”

Y/N kept a focus on him. He wasn’t used to stumbling over words, but now… what was she going to say?

“And I’m not stoned,” he managed to get out through breathy nervous laughter.

“Well, I think…” Y/N turned her gaze to the surrounding trees, and tried to consider her words carefully.

“I think a lot of people these days do it for the wrong reasons, or they think they have to. I look around and see so many marriages falling apart that it kind of takes the romance out of it.”

Eric gave another few nods as he took a final drag.

“If I get married,” said Y/N, “I’m going to have to really want to stay together, y’know? And not just give up when something gets tough. Otherwise what’s the point?”

“Well, there’s money,” suggested Eric sarcastically, and he stubbed out the remains of his joint on a nearby rock.

“Money…” Y/N repeated. She slowly turned to face him again.

“Yeah, marry for money, and then split with a nice settlement.”

“What a great idea,” she said, meeting his hazy expression.

“You think so?”

“Mhmm,” she hummed, and her lips hovered above his. “Sounds sleazy. I like it.”

“Yeah, it suits you.”

They kissed slowly, with no rush or anticipation. Herbal sweetness lingered on Eric’s lips, and Y/N delighted in their soft encouragement.

“Hmm. So, how much money you got?” she asked with pretend seriousness, back to playing the game after their make out.

“Well…” he began. He spoke slowly but animated. “I’ve got… ninety-thousand pounds… in my pyjamas.”

“Oh yeah?” She knew where this was going.

“And I’ve got forty thousand French francs in my fridge…”

“Oh no,” she groaned and dropped her head onto his bony chest. Eric was infamous for bursting into song, particularly ones he was quite proud of having performed for Python.

“There is nothing quite as wonderful as money -,” he began the silly song, bouncing his knees and shoulders as he sang, and snaking his arms around her waist.

“Fuck off, you capitalist!” Y/N protested, though she couldn’t help her laughter.

She was only just able to silence him with kisses, but their shared laughter continued as they lay on the soft ground, rolled over together, and made themselves more comfortable for an afternoon romp.

[wxlfstxrx]

Sleepy and cuddly O'Knutzy headcanons to warm my heart?:) Please and thanks🥺❤️

ANON WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO ME i am craving cuddles so bad now and i got none :( hnnnnnnnnnggggggggggggggggggghhhhhh okay let’s go *cracks knuckles*

am going for the cliche here so tiny 5’9 logan likes to sleep in between his two big boys. he doesn’t really sleep with his head on the pillow (“it hurts my neck” “pillows are meant to protect your neck, lo” “i doN’T KNOW IT JUST HURTS”), instead he scoots down a little so he can bury his face in leo’s chest, and most of the time only the top of his mop of brown curls peeks out of the duvet. he snuggles in close to leo and throws his leg over his, latching onto him like a koala. he breathes in leo’s scent, a mixture of their shared soap and laundry detergent, and he loves that they all smell vaguely the same because it signifies their relationship and the bond they share. he misses living with dumo and his family, he really does, but he loves that the three of them are now living together and it’s all so domestic he can cry.

finn spoons logan, his chest to logan’s back, and arms wrapped around his waist. because he actually does sleep with his head on the pillow (“like a normal person” “shut up”), logan’s head is practically tucked under finn’s chin and his face is inches away from leo’s so when he wakes up the first thing he sees is leo’s peaceful, unguarded face, one side of his face mushed into the pillow, his long eyelashes fluttering lightly as he periodically frowns and mumbles incoherently in his sleep. his ankles are entangled with leo’s, bringing them close and basically sandwiching logan in between them. he loves being the first one to wake up because he gets to savour the few quiet moments where he can just appreciate his two boys, especially because they’ve practically become his family and he’s not so alone anymore like he was when he first joined the lions, scared shitless and always guarded.

leo, with his long arms, wraps around the two boys easily. his hand rests on finn’s waist and that means his arm is draped over logan’s shoulder, and he loves that he can hold them both in his sleep; it grounds him and reminds him of a time where he would wish for himself to someday find a love so genuine and unapologetic. he falls asleep and wakes up intertwined with the two people who have given him everything, who have shown him what love is, and who have taken care of him like nobody else (besides his family) would. he loves that, and he loves them.

when finn’s inevitably the first one to wake up in the morning, he spends a good fifteen minutes just playing with his sleeping boys’ hair, trailing his fingers up and down leo’s cheek, tracing patterns on his freckles, and burying his face in logan’s hair, wrapping his arms even more tightly around him. 

leo’s the heaviest sleeper on the planet so he doesn’t stir at all, just continues snoring softly, but logan makes a small noise or two and brings his free hand to rest atop of finn’s before falling back into a light slumber.

eventually, finn decides to get out of bed, wanting to use the bathroom and brush his teeth, but when he pulls away from logan he hears a soft whine and his heart just swells tenfold and he almost doesn’t want to get up. but he really has to pee so he kisses logan’s cheek and whispers i’ll be back before slipping out of the covers. 

although logan is practically a walking heater, he instantly feels the cold air on his skin when finn gets up, and he blinks a few times to wake himself up, one hand still flat against leo’s chest and his leg now resting on top of his calf. he turns around slowly, stretching his lower back as he does, and he wraps leo’s arm around himself as he presses his back to leo’s front, feeling his hardness digging into his back. he smiles sleepily as finn comes back, and lifts the covers, holding his hands out.

finn breaks into a soft smile and climbs back into bed, feeling logan’s arms circling around his waist and pulling him flush against his own body. he presses himself closer and finn lets out a soft moan as their hips grind against each other. logan starts nipping at finn’s chest, licking and kissing his way up to his neck, and finn just buries his fingers in logan’s hair, massaging his scalp gently and making him hum in contentment. 

logan starts running his hands up and down finn’s back, feeling the muscles rippling underneath his touch. his skin is one of logan’s favourite things about him; it’s smooth and always warm and he loves to run his index finger over the freckles splashed all over his body. he thinks freckles are the sexiest thing ever. at one point, his fingers slip below the waistband of finn’s boxers and he starts to knead the firm flesh of his arse, drawing out long, breathy moans from the redhead, who hauls him further up the bed to kiss him with an intensity that was entirely too inappropriate for… five forty-eight in the morning. logan’s not complaining though.

suddenly, he feels a warm mouth pressed on the back of his neck and a large hand coming round to palm him slowly, thumb rubbing over the tip of his now fully hard length. he gasps loudly into finn’s mouth and then whimpers when he feels leo’s equally hard erection pressed up against his arse. he can’t decide whether to thrust forward into leo’s hand which by now has found its way into his shorts, gripping onto and stroking his throbbing shaft, or to grind down onto leo’s heavily leaking cock which is sliding up and down between logan’s arse cheeks in sync with his hand.

finn helps logan to make that choice; he shuffles down the bed, red curls disappearing under the duvet, and yanking his shorts down, he closes his lips around logan’s cock and starts sucking him devotedly. leo hauls logan up onto his hands and knees, making finn shift so he’s lying underneath logan, cock still buried in his mouth. leo moves to straddle finn’s hips, grinding down on him as he leans forward and licks teasing circles around logan’s entrance at the same time, and both finn and logan let out positively indecent sounds that just make leo even harder.

finn’s hand finds its way to the waistband of his sweats and pulls them down enough such that his leaking cock springs free and he starts pumping him with his fist, smearing the precome all over the swollen tip and driving leo absolutely insane.

logan’s barely coherent but he chokes out a plea for leo to just eat him out now, please, stop teasing him, he can’t wait any longer, and leo happily obliges, driving his tongue into logan, who bucks his hips into finn’s mouth, making him gag.

they build up a steady rhythm and it frankly doesn’t take long for the three of them to climax, one after another, their limbs trembling violently as they ride out their orgasms. logan barely manages to roll off to the side before he collapses onto the mattress, fully kicking the duvet off of them. leo has fallen forward onto finn’s chest, still breathing hard and clutching at the redhead’s biceps as he tries to steady his breathing. finn just looks like he’s in complete bliss, running his hand up and down leo’s sweaty back soothingly and pressing his face into the crook of his neck. 

at one point, logan reaches over to the nightstand, picks up his phone and suddenly jumps up, exclaiming in alarm as he practically drags the other two up by their hands. we’re going to be late for training, he rushes out as he nearly trips on the way to the bathroom.

finn gets confused for a moment. isn’t today sunday? he asks, frowning at logan who’s frantically brushing his teeth. logan’s eyes widen and he spits the toothpaste out, rinsing his mouth and splashing water on his face before straightening up again. part of his hair is dripping wet and falling over his forehead in rivulets and water is dripping off his chin, and finn’s suddenly turned on again. he presses his hand down on his half hard cock, trying to control himself as logan checks his phone again.

fuck, he breathes out, his shoulders slumping. yeah, it’s sunday. leo’s rolling his eyes amusedly while leaning against the doorframe and he holds out a hand, pulling them back to the bed. he’s already yawning again, the adrenaline from earlier having worn off and he’s back to being a sleepy baby giant.

finn and logan look at him curled up on the bed and smile at each other, eyes full of love, and they join him back under the covers for a couple more hours of sleep.

[forever-rogue]

Step Into the Daylight - Part 8

Summary: The journey to Ilum turns out to be very illuminating. 

A/N: Thank you guys as always for your wonderful words and support. I hope you enjoy! Taglists are open, and as always feedback is welcome! xx

Pairing: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin x Reader)

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: none

SERIES MASTERLIST

MANDALORIAN MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

Soft light filtered in through the small windows of your hut as your eyes fluttered open. You let out a small yawn as you felt a small tugging coming from the foot of the bed, realizing that was most likely the reason you were awake, rather than the light. A small coo met your ears as you slowly sat up and spotted a pair of small green hands trying to climb up the bed. Keeping your gaze firmly trained on the edge of the bed and making sure you didn’t look in Din’s direction, you leaned towards him. 

“Good morning, my little love,” you reached over and picked up the small green child. He made a small sound of content as he settled into your arms and looked at you with wide, innocent eyes, “always the early riser, huh? Will you come and lie down with me for a while?”

He looked at those with those big, gentle eyes and seemed to nod slightly as you laid back down with him at your side. It was comfortable, a quiet moment that was more peaceful than anything you had experienced in so long. Din had stirred slightly, but still was fast asleep as you settled back down. Even in his sleep, he held you close, an arm draped around your waist, his face still nestled against your back and his breathing slow and steady. It felt normal, like it was something had happened often, rather than being the first time. This was your little family, and although you knew that this was not meant to be your every day routine for some time, you longed for it, almost ached for it now that you had gotten a little taste of the sweet domestic bliss. 

Snuggling back down and resting a hand on top of Din’s, you allowed your eyes to close again, your other arm tightly holding the child. You didn’t know how much more time you had to enjoy and bask in this, so you were going to take full advantage of it while you could.

»»————-　♡　————-««

The next time you were roused from slumber, the space next to you was empty and the child was gone too. You rubbed the remaining bits of sleep from your eyes as you sat up, stretching and enjoying the feeling of your joints cracking. 

“Good morning,” you turned and found Din sitting at the table, armor and helmet completely back on, feeding the child that seemed to possess a ravenous hunger as he continued to grow. You gave him a small smile as you slid out of the bed and walked over to them. You had a distinct feeling that he wore a smile as well, even despite the helmet. You sat down in the chair next to him, petting the child in the space between his large ears, “I hope you slept well.”

“Yes,” you felt your cheeks start to heat up immediately at the mere thought of the intimacy you shared the evening before, “I hope you did too.”

“Better than I have in a long time,” he admitted, his hand finding yours and resting gently on top of it. You let out a small sound of surprise, biting on your bottom lip. He tilted his head slightly and looked like he was about to say something else, but a loud knocking on the door quickly cut him off. 

Jeele opened the door and PC quickly rolled in, coming over and beeping excitedly at you. You greeted him and gave him a few reassuring touches before he was overcome with joy at the sight of his newest little friend. Jeele looked between the two of you and you pulled your hand back instinctively.

“It is time,” she stated simply, “we should leave as soon as you are both ready we shall leave for Ilum.”

“I just...how are we going to get there without coordinates, and since neither of us have heard it?” you asked and she gave you a look that made you wonder why you even questioned her. You shrugged lightly as you exchanged a look with Din.

“I know where we are to go,” she answered simply, “and so does the droid now. He will be to assist.”

Din let out a small sigh as he looked between the droid and the child, who were already playing together, lost to everything else. You caught his eye and gave him a small, reassuring nod, silently trying to tell him it would be okay. You still didn’t know about his little vendetta against droids, but you hoped you would get it out of him or at least have him tell you a little bit more.

“Our journey will be just fine,” she insisted, “but just remember to dress yourselves and the little one warmly. Ilum is a cold and unforgiving place.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

As soon as you had set foot back on the Razor Crest, a familiar warm rush hit you, bringing a smile to your face as you became reacquainted with your home.

Home.

This was it. Because Din and the child were here. And now PC would be too - or so you hoped. You hadn't exactly broached that subject with Din yet. When you returned to the small sleeping quarters you had once occupied, you found that he had left everything exactly as it was before you had left. The sentiment alone brought a smile to your face. The sight of a small bundle sitting on the cot and waiting for you only increased it.

Setting your bag down, you gently walked over and gently picked up the soft surprise. They were new clothes - a beautiful winter white set of pants and a tunic, along with a beautifully embroidered cloak. The fabric was soft, but thick, clearly meant for the cold weather. You couldn't help but hug the clothes to your chest, heart soaring at the idea that Din had taken the time out to acquire and pick these garments just for you.

"I hope you like them," his voice caught you off guard as you turned and found the Mandalorian standing in the doorway, "Jeele said to get warm clothes for everyone before we came. I...hope you find them to your liking.”

"They're beautiful," you gave him a small smile as you set them back down, "thank you, so much."

He gave you a small nod, and you a moment of silence passed between the two of you. But before you were even aware of it, your feet carried you across the small space and threw your arms around the armored man. He took a moment to respond, but he slowly wrapped his arms you, "there's nothing to thank me for, mesh'la."

"You're going to have get a new line," you grinned at him, "because I can and will thank you whenever I so desire."

You heard what you were sure was a snort of laughter from under the helmet, but before he could say anything else, you were interrupted by the loud beeping and giggling coos of PC and the child. Sighing lightly, Din reached down and picked up the small green bundle, letting him climb onto his shoulder.

"Come," Jeele’s voice cut through whatever you were going to say, and Din gave her a stiff nod before following her back to the cockpit. An inadvertent little sigh escaped your lips as PC beeped at you and you nodded in understanding. 

“Is it that obvious?” you asked as he rolled against your leg and nudged you fervently. Yeah, it was that obvious. If he was human you were positive the droid’s eyebrows would be raised high enough to reach his hairline, “I don’t...I don’t want to lose him.”

It was the first time you had admitted to out loud to yourself, let alone anyone else. He had a small sound of reassurance, prompting you to bend over and pull him into a hug, “maybe I can tell him one day. I mean what if he doesn’t even feel the same?”

He chirped a few more times are you rolled your eyes and shook your head, “just because we spent the night together doesn’t mean anything...what if he was just lonely? And cold?”

You started to head out and towards the cockpit, ready to take your familiar spot in the co-pilot’s seat behind Din. PC rolled after you, chiding you in the manner that reminded you of a parent, “people share beds all the time and it doesn’t mean anything and don’t argue with me...”

A few more furious beeps, “he does not look at me that way.”

“Who doesn’t look at you in what way?” you stopped dead in your tracks as you came  face to face with the Mandalorian in question. You’d thought for sure he would already be in the cockpit, but you proven wrong, yet again. PC peeked out from behind you and beeped; you were glad that Din seemingly couldn’t understand him, but you kicked him back gently with your foot anyway. 

“No one,” you shrugged lightly, but just by the subtle tilt of his visor, you could tell he didn’t believe you. You could have dismantled that droid on the spot, “it’s nothing...shouldn’t you be in the cockpit?”

“Hmm,” he mused quietly in that stoic way he tended to do. Sometimes you didn’t mind, other times it drove you crazy. Like right now. You really wished you could see what was going on behind the helmet, and more importantly in his mind, “I was heading that way...were you coming?”

“Do...do you want me to?” you perked up slightly, sure that PC was watching you intently. You were glad that he wasn’t able to speak, but it would be hell when Din learned to interpret what he was saying. Of course you wanted to go with him, it had become so familiar, and you had missed his company more than anything.

“Always,” he promised softly, turning on his heel and heading towards the ladder to being his ascent up the ladder. It was hard not to stare at him, especially his backside, which you’d studied on more than one occasion. Not that you wanted to objectify him, but he was just...very appealing. Every part of him; and the fact that you’d never seen his face, well, it just added to the mystery. But that face, those lips had pressed kisses to your shoulder just the evening before, as he had nestled tightly against you. How were you ever supposed to recover from that?

“Master,” you turned to Jeele who was currently very deep in concentration as the droid and child played around her. Maybe one day you’d manage to have her level of concentration and be able to meditate properly, “if you don’t need me right now...”

“Join your Mandalorian,” she insisted quietly, not even bothering to open her eyes. A small smile had stretched over her features, “you have much to discuss.”

Opening and closing your mouth a few times, you wondered what she meant, but you weren’t going to question her wisdom; she’d been right more often not and you didn’t have a reason not to trust her. You sighed slightly at the other two, pointing a finger at PC, “you two behave. Otherwise you might accidentally deactivate and get left behind...again”

He chirped furiously at you, but you raised an eyebrow before turning back to join Din. You weren’t sure why, but your stomach was fluttering and your heart rate was elevated. This was just Din. You’d known him for some time now, why where you suddenly feeling this way? Shaking your head to clear your mind, you poked your head up and found him sitting in the pilot’s seat, looking relaxed for once as he stared out in the vast forest area that you had called home for the last six months. 

“I’ll almost miss it,” you mused as you made your way and slipped into your old spot, tucking your legs under you as you watched him closely, trying to read his expression. But it was hard; it was almost like he had put up a wall to block you out. Not in a negative way...almost as if he was nervous. You could feel his energy, especially now that you were so much more attuned to things, “it’s a lovely place, but I think I’m ready to go.”

“It’s peaceful,” he noted as you nodded, “but-”

“It’s not home,” you finished for him, “do you want to see something cool?”

Your hands were practically itching with desire to show him some of the things you had learned in your separation. There was so much, so many wondrous things you had learned, so much knowledge gained. 

“Show me then, Mesh’la,” he was amused as you nodded, flicking your fingers tightly as you turned on the ship. He was startled for just a moment before he realized what you had done, a short bark of laughter reaching your ears, “very impressive. It took you months to learn that?”

“Din Djarin! You’re so mean,” your eyes widened in surprise, but you realized he was just joking, “I’ll have you know that I’ve learned more than that! Wait until we can practice some sparring - you’ll be most impressed then!”

“I have no doubt,” he promised, reaching back and gently resting a hand on your leg, giving your thigh a small squeeze. He let his gloved hand linger for just a moment before turning back to the console and punching into the coordinates that were given to him by Jeele and PC. She had practically made him swear to secrecy, and Din knew better than anyone about respecting things such as this, “it’ll be some time before we’re there. Even if we make a jump to hyper space.”

“Great,” you sighed heavily, leaning back in your seat, “nothing like having time to stress and worry.”

“Are you worried?” he asked gentle and you shrugged your shoulders in a noncommittal response. You weren’t exactly sure what you were feeling; a bundle of nerves, fear of the unknown, worry that somehow you would fail. A combination of a million things at once, and yet nothing at the same. A sense of calm was washing over you, perhaps reassurance from the force? Or maybe Din’s calm nature was rubbing off on you.

“Not really...” you gave him a small smile, “it’s just...it’s so silly, right, but it’s just this terrible fear that I...might not be cut out for any of this. That somehow I’ll fail. And then...”

“You won’t fail,” there was a cool confidence to his tone, like he was so set in his opinion that there was no way you could change his mind. You knew you couldn’t - he was a stubborn man when he made his mind up. Another of his many endearing, if not sometimes frustrating, trait, “look at what you have accomplished, what you have done.”

“I’ve done nothing,” you scoffed lightly. 

“You’ve done so much more than you know,” he turned to face you, the black T of his visor was concentrated firmly on your face. A warmth crept up your eyes and you looked away, focusing on a loose thread on the edge of your tunic. He made a small sound before turning back to the controls while you pondered over his words. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

You sat in comfortable silence for time, staring out at the stars of space. You’d never felt as small and insignificant as you did when you watched the stars, but Din never made you feel like either of those things. He made you feel important, and for a long time you didn’t know quite what word to use but you knew now - loved. Suddenly, the overwhelming urge to speak washed over you, and you found yourself asking the question before you fully processed what you were doing.

“Din?” your voice faltered slightly as you stared at the back of his helmet. He turned in seat to face you, making sure everything was properly on autopilot before giving you his full attention. He leaned back in his seat and stretched his long legs out in front of him, “do you...have you....have you ever had a riduur?”

He tensed ever so slightly, and while he remained silent for a moment, you could see the tension all over his body language. Biting your lip, you looked away for a moment, thinking that you must have surely overstepped your boundaries. Ready to apologize and come up with an excuse, you opened your mouth, but he was faster, “how do you know what that means?”

“I...I had a lot of time to myself,” you stated the obvious, relieved to hear that he didn’t seem annoyed or mad, “and there were so many old books, printed, and datapads with information. It’s amazing what kind of things that were just abandoned. There was a lot on Mando’a...and your culture. I...was curious. I wanted to learn more, I tried learning your language, but PC said I wasn’t very good. He’s programmed to know a lot of different languages; I was able to restore that for him anyway.”

He let out a small sound, somewhere from deep within his chest as he locked his gaze onto yours, “you tried learning Mando’a?”

“Yes,” you smiled lightly, “to be able to speak to you in it.”

“Oh,” he was glad for the helmet, once again. You would have seen the brilliant crimson that crept up in his cheeks as he watched you with pure adoration; no one had ever done something like that for him. But then he realized, “so you know what....”

“I’d never heard it before....but I vaguely remembered reading that word. So...yes,” you answered his unfinished question with a grin that threatened to break your face in half. He nodded his head and nudged his foot with yours, trying to reassure him that it was okay. A sense of warmth spread throughout his limbs and he wished he could kiss you. He wished he could just rip off the helmet then and there and finally kiss you the way he been wanting to for so long.

“No,” he said after a short while, “I’ve never had a riduur before. It’s never...no...”

You didn’t know why but you bit the inside of your cheek at his confession; but you didn’t want to get your hopes too much. Just because he called you Mesh’la, and you’d shared a bed, nothing was worth getting too caught up in. Maybe...he was just being kind. But still - the little flip your heart did was undeniable. 

“Din?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I ask you something else?” he nodded deftly, “droids...why don’t you like them?”

There was a pregnant pause as he crossed his arms over his chest and despite his best efforts, a small sigh still reached your ears. Surely you had done it; you’d pushed him past his limits and he was not going to have it any longer. For the most part, he was a fairly collected man, he wasn’t quick to anger, unless the moment called for it, for all intents and purposes. But this must have been it. 

“You’ve told me so much about your past,” he said after some time, looking around the cockpit and finding it hard to look at you, despite the barrier between the two of you, “you’ve always trusted me. Why?”

“Because you cared about me when you didn’t have to,” years of living in servitude and then being some sort of renegade on your own had made trust a difficult thing. You never...really trusted anyone, no one stuck around long enough or ever earned it...but Din had. He had earned your trust, in an unspoken manner the moment he chose to save your life without reason, without the promise of anything in return, without inhibition, “you never asked questions, you never wanted anything, but you saved me. Why did you do it?”

“It was the right thing to do.”

“Exactly,” you gave him a soft half smile, “that told me all I needed to know about you, Din.”

A slight quirk of his helmet was enough to tell you that he was quickly choosing over what to say, your words echoing loudly in his head. Eventually he turned back to you and stared at you long and hard; how you wished you could see the determination and intensity of his face, “I was a foundling once. I was not born into Mandalorian culture. I was taken in and raised, trained, in the ways of the Mandalore, the creed.”

You crossed your legs under you and leaned forward in your seat, giving him your full attention. You would have never known - he was so protective of, so dedicated to this way of life, the way, that you were almost positive that he would have known it from birth. A small pit settled in your stomach and told that there could be no good, no happy, explanation for why he was a foundling. Reaching over, you grabbed his hand and gave it a light touch, silently telling him that he did not have to continue, to delve into areas that he was not ready to you, “Din-”

“During the fall of the Republic, there was a separatist attack on my village, where we lived. The droids came and destroyed everything; my parents hid me in a bunker,” he paused for a moment, getting choked up as he relived the memory that had haunted him for so long. Turning his hand over, you laced your fingers with his, holding onto his has tightly as possible, giving there was more you could, “they died almost instantly. I was sitting there, waiting to be next, ready to meet my fate when the hatch reopened this B2 droid was staring me in the face.”

“But you were saved,” you stated the obvious, “by a Mandalorian.”

“Yes,” there was a certain sadness to his answer and it carried a lot of weight. You wondered if he ever spoke to anyone else about this, if he’d ever gotten the chance to tell his story. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to; but you hoped that this was at least somewhat cathartic in some way. It didn’t change how you felt about him - if nothing else, it made the fondness in your heart grow stronger. Maybe that’s why he’d saved you, “they took me in, trained me in the fighting corps, I became one of them.”

“This is the way,” you repeated the phrase you had heard him say countless times before. He repeated it after you, his vice a soft, gentle thing as he took your hand and held it to his face where his cheek would, almost in reverence, “thank you for trusting me and telling me your story.”

“I haven’t....it’s been a long time,” he confessed, “since I have spoken so candidly, with another. I’m more used to be being alone.”

“You’re not alone,” you promised, “you’ve got me, you’ve got him, and if...you’re willing, the droid. I know, it’s a lot to ask of you and had I known-”

“It can stay,” he said quietly, “I can see how much he means to you.”

“He was the only thing I had while I was away,” you chuckled lightly, “he knows too much. He knows...he’s even excited to meet you.”

“The droid?!”

“I’ve told him a lot about you,” your face felt like it was on fire as you confessed. You felt more like a young girl with a crush rather than a woman grown, “about how you saved me, came back for me, did everything for me. Without you, none of this would have ever been possible.”

“You saved me too,” he reminded as you slid out of seat and stood in front of him. He looked up and watched you closely. His heart was pounding what seemed like a million beats per second as he mirrored your actions, “maybe we saved each other.”

“Maybe we did,” his hands found your face, the smell of the soft, worn leather invaded your senses. He quickly pulled them off and tossed them on the console, wanting - needing - to feel your skin with his. His touch was warm, electric even he gently cradled your face, his long fingers tracing over your features, “can I...ask you something else?”

“Yes,” his breathing was slightly ragged as he vowed to commit your face to memory, wanting to capture this moment forever, “anything.”

“When was the last time...someone saw you?” you bit your lip and looked away for a moment, only to be pulled back in by his gentle touch, “not that I...I would never...”

“Not since I was young, when I swore the creed,” but you’d known that already, known that from your research into his adopted culture, from what you of him, “once it is on...if it is removed you cannot wear it again. Only a child or a riduur would be allowed to see.”

“Oh,” you were neither of those things. Only the small green adopted son he had found would be privileged enough to see him completely. Maybe you would never see. But, as you had already accepted in your heart without hesitation, if you never saw him without the helmet, then that was okay. Nothing changed who he was, or how you felt about him or how you cared for him.” 

“I....mesh’la,” he started but trailed off, resting his forehead against yours, the beskar cool against your warm skin. You could tell he wanted to say something more, and your own heart was pounding at a frenzied pace as you willed him to go on, “I...”

“We’ve arrived, we must begin our descent,” you almost jumped back from Din as Jeele’s head poked up into the cockpit, startling you both. You cleared your throat as Din nodded and pulled back from you, sitting back in the pilot’s seat, “I suggest you change into your new clothes. It was will be cold and unforgiving.”

Casting a look at Din who was pointedly staring at the console you nodded before following Jeele and climbing back down the ladder to change. Your new journey was starting; you weren’t sure if that was causing your nerves or the fact that there was clearly something new developing between you and the Mandalorian. You were on the precipice of....something. And you were curious as a loth-cat to know exactly what it would be. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

Ilum was exactly how Jeele had describe; it was freezing, windy, and everything was covered with glittering snow and ice as far as the eye could see. How could something like this remain untouched and hidden to almost everyone in the galaxy? 

You stepped off the Crest, and despite how warm your new garb was, there was still a biting chill that caused you to shiver. You looked over at Din and he seemed completely nonplussed, along with Jeele and PC. For his own safety and comfort, the small child had been left on the ship, to be tended to by the droid. You bent down and offered him a small embrace, “it’ll be okay. I’ll see you both again soon.”

He beeped at you before retreating into the ship and leaving just the three of you. Trying to stop your teeth from chattering you turning to Jeele, attempting to liven the situation, “are we sure this isn’t Hoth?”

“Positive,” she was not responded, starting to move forward without you. Din caught your eye and you both shrugged in response as you trailed after her small figure; at least he offered a small chuckle.

It was a quiet trek for sometime, the only sounds meeting your ears was the loud whistling of the wind as it rushed around your ears. This was some sort of cruel initiation right, it had to be. 

But the small woman suddenly came to an abrupt stop in front of you, holding her had as you and Din almost bowled her over. 

“What’s wrong?” you could see him reaching at his for a blaster, his fingers twitching slightly. He was always on the defense. You couldn’t feel much of anything, no sense of danger met your senses. You looked at Din and shook your head, letting him know that it was okay. The tension didn’t leave his shoulders but he dropped his hand and motioned for you to get behind him anyway, out of instinct. You stepped behind him and tried to see what Jeele was doing as appeared to have spotted someone. 

“Who are you?” it was a man’s voice, completely foreign and unbeknownst to you. You peek around Din’s shoulder as you tried to make him out. 

“We are friends,” Jeele turned and beckoned for you to come forward and join her. You gave Din a small squeeze of reassurance as you stepped out from behind Din and walked over to her, stopping at her side, “it is time for her to make her journey.”

“What is your name?” he didn’t sound hostile, or threatening, but curious. He was bundled up against the cold but you could make out a few ginger locks poking out from under his cloak. He appeared to be close to Din’s age, or what you assumed to be his age, if not a number of years older. 

“Y/N,” you told him firmly, “Y/N L/N. Who are you?”

A small smile played along as his features as he pulled back the hood of cloak to reveal a shock of ginger hair and a kind smile, “I’m Cal. Cal Kestis.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[blythefm]

I BET ON LOSING DOGS

when: some time after snow’s party / one year and three months after the 65th games where: district 7 triggers: alcohol, death, suicide mention, eye horror (?) mentions: @virgobydcsign , azura wildhill, @dawnhardn ,  @twigelphineson

                                                                          i broke what you gave me                                                       but you kept giving me more

There is a brown package waiting for you on your kitchen table when you return from the Capitol. You get your hopes up, quickly dashing towards it and ripping it open. With everything that happened in such a short period of time, you believe this has to be a sign from someone behind the rebellion. But, your eyes spot the name neatly written on front and you let it fall onto the table before you’re done unwrapping it fully. 

Trembling hands (you don’t know if you’re shaking out of fear or anger) reach for one of the bottles of homemade liquor you keep in your pantry. It’s one of the many skills the Capitol has gifted you. The trauma that makes your bones aches is only bearable when you numb it with copious amounts of alcohol. And it’s bad for you, you know this. Every time the liquor burns your throat, you remember Dawn’s looks of concern, how she has a silent way of pleading for you to start taking better care of yourself. Still, you drink. 

There is about half a bottle left when you redirect your eyes back to the package. Your calloused fingers caress Virgo’s handwriting, wondering why the fuck someone like them decided you of all people were worthy of their attention. The district is filled with traumatized fuck ups that are easier to deal with, so why you? 

You don’t know really them, just know of them. You’ve sometimes thought of cornering them, asking them if they’re playing an elaborate prank of you. Some nights, after receiving their letters, your thoughts become darker and you scream into your pillow and curse the Capitol because you swear the old bastard has put them up to this. Because apparently it wasn’t enough to bury every person you once cared for, the torture must never stop. You still haven’t learned your lesson, it seems.

Finally, you put the bottle down. Not for good, just to give yourself enough time to see what Virgo has done now. The very second the last piece of the sparkling wrapping they seem to love so much falls onto the ground and you see what they’ve given you this time, you drop it. You reach for the bottle, but your body has stopped obeying you and you knock over the bottle. Your stash still has more, but that’s not what concerns you.

It’s the damn streaks of blue paint all over Virgo’s panting that blind you. Your eyes swell with tears and you fall onto the ground with a crash. It takes you an enormous effort to bring your knees to your chest and start rocking your body. You appear some strong, but in that moment, that image dissipates into thin air and you’re once more the scared teenager who couldn’t sleep unless Dawn was there to hold you. Now you’re fully convinced they’re one of them. 

It’s an odd reaction to something as insignificant as a painting, but the Capitol, always so creative, ensured that you’d forever be scarred by it.

                                     i’ll live in the bathroom, surrounded by tiles                                                                            all so square and steady                                                       i will die in their cool, cool arms

She’s holding you in her sleep, her naked body pressed against your bare back. It’s all so blissful you don’t want to move, but you know you have to. You promised you’d get her the blackberries she loves so much, and you have never been able to deny her anything. And part of you feels guilty, like it’s not right you get to experience this kind of domestic bliss. It’s not meant for you, not after what you’ve done, what you’ve caused. And just as misery begins to set in, you hear a sigh next you. Azura is awake. 

And what you see next is something you could never get tired of. You position yourself carefully, using your arms to prop yourself so you can gaze upon her as she stirs in the half-sleep daze it always takes her a few minutes to shake off. It’s when you see her eyes staring at you that you think that maybe all the wrong you’ve done was worth it because now you get to be with her. And again, there is some selfishness there. Your family is no longer there because of you, because you never seem to shut up. You’re reminded of it every day as you pass the memorials Twig helped you build after they passed. He saw you were hurting and offered to share a coping mechanism with you, one that kept you from drinking yourself to death or worse. It’s because of him that your arms are still intact. In a shocking twist of events, Twig was the only one who was capable of ensuring your the veins on your arms that called for you to slice them open remain untouched. “You’re not alone. You still got her.” He said.

It’s because of him and those weeks you spent slaving yourself over the pieces of wood that now honor your family that you get to wake up next to her everyday.  They now stand in your garden, tall and proud, a reminder of Twig’s noble soul. It’s during those weeks that you finally admit to Twig how much you owe him. Slowly, you begin healing. She reminds you so much of Dawn at times, both having such a knack for comforting others when they’re at their worst. She picked up the broken pieces of the shell Blythe Beesly had been, and little by little, she glued them together. 

You spend what seems like ages in your bed because you don’t want to leave her. Unlike you, she is perky and cheery. She sinks her teeth on your bottom lip, holding you close before she reminds you of your promise. And of course, you can’t deny her. One last kiss is stolen from her lips before you reluctantly walk away from the bed and get dressed. 

Just as you are done adjusting your boots and grabbing your axe, Azura is behind you, wrapping your arms around your muscular frame. All those nights working with Twig and Azura’s cooking were what helped you recover when you stopped eating after your family’s massacre. She begs you to hurry, her arms masterfully spinning you around so you can face her. “Don’t get distracted. I don’t want your breakfast to get cold again.” It’s something that happens so often, but you don’t intend it to. You’ve just never been very good at keeping track of time. An embrace is shared between you two, and just as you rest your axe over your shoulder, she leans in and kisses the helve. “For good luck.”

You don’t know how much time you spend out there in the woods. You enjoy yourself too much when you’re out in the forrest, inhaling the scent of the diverse vegetation District Seven has to offer. Along with Azura’s berries, you chop some wood for yourself and Twig. With your backpack full, you head back towards the Victor’s village. Or at least you attempt to, when you’re distracted by a little girl asking for your help. Ever since your return from the games, you’ve become the town’s benefactor. Her mother is sick, so you head over to their cabin and promise to pay the healer with grains and berries for their help. It’s not until you throw in a bottle of moonshine that he accepts your offer. The family thanks you, that little girl stopping you from leaving as she just needs to thank you one more time. Then another. And another. You hold her close, wipe her eyes, and tell her her mother needs her. And so, you leave.

Something’s not right. You notice it right away, even before you step inside your home. The flowers that surround your family’s memorial have been stepped on, as if someone wearing heavy boots had ran out of your house in a hurry. 

“Azura!” You scream, dropping your things by your door before you kick it open. Usually, she is always waiting for you in the kitchen, but not this time. You start dry heaving, feeling bile wanting to make its way up your throat. Why does this reminds you so much of the games? You realize this is exactly how you felt when you were forced to choke that boy from district five. You remember the way the light left his eyes as your hands remained on his neck. He was going to kill you, it’s what you have to remind yourself of when the memory doesn’t let you sleep. “He would’ve prevented you from coming back to me.” Azura would say before singing you to sleep. It had to be done. 

You hold your hand against your chest, recover, and head outside for your axe. None of this is normal. Your home has been touched, and with Azura nowhere to be found, you start fearing the worst. The kitchen and living room show so signs of her, so you head towards the bedroom you’ve shared with her the past few months. You hold onto your axe, preparing to swing before you push the door open with with your foot. 

Again, you get nothing. You don’t lose your stance, though. The hairs on the back of your neck are still standing straight, sensing danger is still near. Your eyes travel all over the room, looking for a sign. The walls are clean, your drawers appear to be untouched. It’s your nightstand that holds the answer. 

There, next to your side of the bed, stands a jar with what appears to be— You drop your axe, the blade making a dent on your wooden floor when you realize the same eyes that plead for you to come home are now resting inside that jar. The rage that lives within you is nowhere to be found. You barely have the energy to crawl towards your bedside table and snatch the note resting on top of the jar. 

“Cedar Hawflake sends his regards.“

Now you understand. You thought your refusal for the Capitol to use you as a piece of meat is what caused your family’s deaths, but now Azura has been added to the list of people that are dead because of you. Maybe if you had just shut up and slept with the old man none of this would’ve happened, but you’re Blythe. You’re stubborn. You never shut up. You only know how to fight. Scream about all the pain the Capitol has caused. But is that even you anymore? Because the glance you steal from the damn jar just makes you want to throw up. And you do, it just takes you second to be able fully empty your stomach, the berries you had snacked on on your way home now resting on a puddle of your own vomit. 

Completely lost in a trance, you continue crawling, now heading towards your bathroom. You need water. Maybe a razor too. You don’t know. You don’t know what you’re going to do with yourself now. So, you crawl. You hold onto the tub and touch something wet. 

That wakes you right the fuck up.

Peeking into the tub, you see Azura’s now lifeless body. You scramble to get her out of there, but all you manage to do is join her. You treat her like the doll she’s always been to you. Even if she can’t feel anything now, you cradle her in your arms and beg for her to say something. Anything. You don’t care about the blood that has now stained your legs, you only care about her.

“Please wake up. Please wake up.“ You use your forefinger to attempt to close her eyes, the sight of her empty eye sockets killing you inside. And you feel absolutely useless too, because you promised to protect her, you promised you’d get better and make her happy, but all you’ve managed to do is earn her an early grave. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I love you. I’m sorry.“ Snot and tears stain your face as you bury your nose in her hair, wanting to inhale her scent before it goes away from good. You stay in that position for what seems like forever. Her body goes cold and the putrid scent of oxidized blood fills your nostrils, but you still don’t move. It’s not until the next morning that the same girl you helped the previous day finds you in the tub, Azura still in your arms.

----

Virgo’s painting is now a collection of broken and charred pieces, now resting in a hole next to Azura’s grave, one you dug yourself. It’s always covered in flowers, not one day passing without you leaving a small token of your love for her. On her birthday, you leave her berries. 

The eyes, those you kept.

Whichever dog Cedar send to do their dirty job knew how to preserve them. The jar is hidden beneath the kitchen floor, the one Azura would dance on as she cooked you breakfast, the one she’d lie on with you when your nightmares caused you to break every piece of fancy china the Capitol gifted you. Every time you step on the third tile to the right of your table, the creak reminds you of the blue eyes you’ve hidden there. 

[get-your-fics]

Suburbia - Part Four

Man in Black

Summary: You have the seemingly perfect life, with the perfect house and the perfect husband. But the illusion threatens to be unraveled when you start to have strange but familiar nightmares.

Pairing: Albert Wesker x reader

Series warnings: Smut, dub-con/non-con, breeding kink, sex pollen, blood, violence

PART THREE

“You've been a very bad girl while I was away.”

His heavy boot made a solid thud as he took a step towards you. “Don’t move!” you shouted, pressing yourself against the edge of the desk behind you as much as you could. “Don’t come any closer!”

“Or what? What are you going to do?” he chuckled, but didn’t move. “You wouldn’t want to do anything rash now, dear. You’ll over exert yourself-”

“Don’t talk to me like that,” you cut him off through gritted teeth. “What the fuck is going on?” He didn’t say anything, merely stared at you. You felt like your blood was boiling in your veins. “Answer me!” You slammed your fist down on the desk, your voice bouncing off of the white walls. “I deserve answers!”

“Didn’t you find all your precious answers in those files?” He gestured to the manila folders scattered across the desk. It looked like a hurricane had blown through it. “I have to say, I’m surprised you caught on. But, you always were too smart for your own good.”

“Where are we?” you asked.

“We’re in an underground testing facility. Umbrella ran simulations here in order to sell the T-virus to government agencies worldwide,” he said. “Right now, we’re in a simulation of a suburban neighborhood. I thought it would be effective to replace your memory with artificial memories we concocted and place you here, that it would make you more compliant with the project.” He shrugged. “Unfortunately, the memory erasure had some unforeseen side effects. Hence the nightmares.”

“So you were just going to treat me like a pet?” you spat. “You thought it was okay to keep me locked up in this cage and breed me like a dog? That you could turn me into your little trophy housewife, have me cook and clean for you with the wool pulled over my eyes and get away with it?”

“Cage?” He laughed as if you had meant what you had said to be amusing. “Look around you, (Y/N).” He spun around in a circle, his arms spread wide. “This is hardly a cage. I was going to let you live obliviously in domestic bliss. I was offering you another chance at a good life, the kind of life that’s been extinct since the world ended.”

“You’re the one who ripped that chance away from me, from everyone, in the first place!” You pointed your finger accusingly at him.

“You act like I’m some kind of monster.” He pressed his gloved hand to his chest in mock offense. “Tell me, was I ever mean to you? Did I ever hurt you? Didn’t I always keep you fed and happy and content? Was I ever anything but the nice, dutiful, caring husband to you?”

You shook your head. “None of that matters. I was living a lie.”

“You can choose to see it that way, if you wish,” he said. “I was doing you a favor, (Y/N). Things for you could’ve been much worse.” He gestured to the computer, the paused video still displayed on its screen. “Well, you’ve seen the footage.”

You glanced at the video over your shoulder before looking back at him. “Was any of it real?” Your mind conjured up memories of coffee dates, of fancy restaurant dinners, of him getting down on one knee and popping the question, of him kissing you on your wedding day as you stared at him. But they were all fake, artificial memories implanted into your brain. They were hazy and lackluster, but all the emotion was still there. And even with all this new information, that didn’t make it just disappear. “Was it all pretend?”

“You mean do I love you?” You stared down at your bare feet. The fact that part of you still hoped this man loved you revolted you to the core. “I have respect for you, (Y/N). Love is trivial in comparison. You are the future - the superior evolution of mankind. You are the only one worthy of carrying my child.” His words made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. “With our combined genetics, we could improve upon the human race. Think of the things we could accomplish if we worked together.”

“I will never work with you.” You shook your head. “You just want to create monsters. You destroyed humanity out of greed. You kill people.”

He quirked a brow. “And you don’t?”

“I kill people because I have to,” you argued.

“You kill because it’s in your blood,” he said. “You see the weak and you eradicate them, making way for the exceptional species.”

“You’re sick,” you sneered. “You’re so obsessed with your perverted, demented version of saving the world, you don’t realize you’re ruining it. You don’t care about me or anyone else. You only care about yourself.”

He tutted disapprovingly. “Such harsh words, little bird.”

In an instant, you smacked his cheek with a resounding slap. His face fell to the side, his sunglasses sliding off his nose and breaking on impact with the tile. You could already see a red handprint spreading across his cheek. “Don’t call me that,” you hissed.

He looked back at you, and you gasped. His eyes - they were a bright, violent red. Every other time you had seen them, they were a clear, sky blue. But now, his pupils were black slits in the middle of each eyeball like a snake’s.

“You don’t want to do this, (Y/N),” he threatened. A golden tendril of hair had escaped his perfectly coiffed hairdo and now hung loose down his forehead. “We can forget this ever happened. We can go on living a perfect, normal life, and you can pretend like you’re none the wiser.”

“I would never agree to live in this house with you, Wesker.�� You gripped the edge of the desk. You couldn’t trust him. The second you were no longer of use to him, he would throw you away like a worn-out toy.

“Then I will be forced to take you in. We’ll wipe your memory again and start fresh. And this time we’ll make sure to flesh out the details.” His lips curled into a sinister smirk. “Or maybe it’ll be back to the holding cell. Now why don’t you make it as easy as possible for yourself and come willingly?”

You readied yourself. “I’m not going down without a fight.”

He rose to his full height and cracked his knuckles. “Suit yourself.”

You threw a punch at him. He dodged your fist and latched onto your arm. He used your momentum against you and flipped you over his shoulder onto the metal table behind him. You slid off of it and landed on the ground, the wind knocked out of you.

He walked around the table and strode towards you effortlessly. Once he was within reach, you kicked at his kneecaps. He stumbled back, giving you enough time to leap to your feet. You swung at him again. He moved out of the way, but you learned from your mistake and brought your other hand up to connect with his jaw. He recovered quickly and pushed his heavy boot into your stomach.

You were knocked backwards, sending several test tubes crashing to the floor. You picked up a shard of a flask and stabbed it into his neck as he came towards you. He barely batted an eye. He plucked it out as if he was brushing off dust, unfazed by the blood dribbling out of the puncture wound in his neck.

He charged at you again, this time armed with the broken piece of glass. You ducked just in time as he thrust it at you, narrowly avoiding his hit. You retaliated with a blow to his side. He jabbed the glass into your hand as you did so. You let out a blood curdling scream as it sunk through your flesh. You gripped it and ripped it out with a yelp, discarding the fragmented pieces to the floor. You watched as the wound ceased leaking blood and closed itself up all on its own.

Wesker swiped at your ankles, and you dropped to the ground. You cried out as bits of glass scratched at and protruded from your skin. They crunched under his boots as he stopped in front of you. He buried a hand in your hair and dragged you off the floor. He hauled you off of the ground, your toes barely brushing the tile. You wrapped your hands around his in an attempt to lessen the pressure on your scalp and flailed your legs to kick at him desperately.

“Maybe we should have some fun first.” He pressed you back against the wall and slipped his hand under your nightgown. “One last go around for old times sake.”

His hand crept closer towards your clothed core, and you brought your leg up to knee him in the crotch. He let go of you with a grunt. You landed on your feet and regained your balance enough to kick him in the chest. He flew backwards, ending up on the other side of the room. You came at him with fists flying and teeth bared. You landed a few successful punches before he grabbed both your arms and pushed you back.

He wrapped his fingers around your throat and lifted you up. He slammed your back against the wall and tightened his hold on you. He stared at you with pure rage and fury in his glowing, red eyes. He squeezed until gray dots started to form over your vision, and you felt your lungs start to deflate as the oxygen left them.

“Just... do it...” you choked out.

His unwavering stare faltered, and his expression softened. His eyes faded to a warm amber, and the hard, straight line of his mouth twisted into a frown. He loosened his grip on you and slowly set you back down on the ground.

You spat out blood and looked up at him. “You do love me.” You flashed him a lopsided smirk.

He blinked, and his eyes turned red again. “Don’t be foolish,” he scoffed. “You’re more valuable to us alive.”

But something in the way he had looked at you told you otherwise. “Well, the only way you’ll take me in is if you kill me.”

You broke from his grip and roundhouse kicked him in the face. He staggered back, and you approached him again, fists raised. You threw a punch, but he caught your arm, twisting it. “Have you given up yet?” He threw you to the ground. His expression was stone cold and stoic. “We can do this forever, and you’ll never get anywhere.”

You slowly started to push yourself up again, but he stepped his boot-clad foot in the middle of your back, keeping you down. You knew you were both equally matched and could go at this for hours to no avail. But you also knew that he had a weakness you didn’t.

You spotted a green test tube that had rolled under the desk. You reached for it, stretching your arm as much as you possibly could. Your fingertips just barely brushed the glass. Wesker got out a syringe and uncapped it. He bent down so he was at your level as you got the tube within your grasp. Just as he was about to sedate you, you reached behind yourself and injected it into his neck before he could do anything.

He let out an angered growl and backed away from you. The syringe slipped from his grip and clattered to the ground. He grappled for the metal table to steady himself, pressing a hand against where you had injected him. He panted and fell to his knees, his skin turning sallow and pale as his T-virus levels fluctuated.

You rolled onto your back and noticed a handgun duct taped to the bottom of the desk. You tore it off and rose from the ground. You cocked the gun and aimed it at him.

He looked up at you and cracked a grin. “You won’t make it out of here alive. Even if you do, there’s nowhere to go.”

“It’s worth a shot,” you replied, and then you pulled the trigger.

The blast echoed as the gun went off. He looked down as blood seeped out of the bullet hole right where his heart was. He clutched his chest, blood running through the gaps in his fingers, and slumped back against the wall. His ragged breaths grew soft and shallow with each passing second. His arm dropped to his side, and his head lolled as he went silent.

You lowered the gun and stood still. Your heart pounding against your rib cage and your blood rushing in your veins were the only sounds in the now quiet room. You hesitantly padded across the tile towards him. You stopped right in front of him and poked at him with your toe. His body remained limp. His eyes were once again amber, blank and void with nothing behind them as he stared off into space. And this time he wouldn’t be getting up.

You felt something wet hit your cheek and swiped at it. You couldn’t stop the onslaught of tears from coming, and before you knew it, you were full on sobbing. You fell to your knees in front of him and lowered your head, clawing at your chest as if your heart wanted to burst out. You blamed it on the fake memories, that you were designed to react this way, but you knew deep down part of you had wanted to continue to live with him in ignorant bliss.

You wiped away your tears with the back of your hand. Your face was red and splotchy, your eyes bloodshot and swollen from crying. Your nightgown was tattered and practically hung off of your body in shreds. Every bone and muscle in your body ached. You imagined you resembled the way you had appeared in the video, tortured and battle-worn.

Suddenly, there was a sharp prick in your neck. You furrowed your brows as a buzzing filled your ears and something foreign pumped through your veins. The world spun around you, and everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. You teetered forward and collapsed on top of Wesker’s cold, dead corpse. The position you were in allowed you to see behind you, and the last thing you saw were men wearing thick, plated armor and gas masks moving towards you with their guns raised before everything went black.

-

You slowly came to. You were lying on an examination table in a room with beige walls that smelled like bleach. You were wearing a hospital gown and hooked up to some sort of machine with a screen.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you heard a voice whisper to you. You looked up to see a face hovering above you, and when you focused in on it, you recognized it as your husband’s. “You passed out once you got on the table. Don’t worry, the doc says it’s perfectly normal,” he placated you.

You looked down at your body and noticed something off: there was, barely perceivable but visible none the less, the start of a growing bump along your abdomen. You must be about two or three months along. No, in fact, you knew you were - you could remember the day you had told him about the two little lines that had shown up on the test and how he had smiled at you with all the love in the world.

“Congratulations, little bird. It’s a girl.” He placed a protective hand over your stomach. A wide grin spread across his face, bordering on wolfish. “The first of many.”

EPILOGUE