#time to hide in a mask and retreat for the rest of my life now!!

[gamereaped]

❛ then maybe it’s best if you don’t come home for now cloud. ’ tifa utters the words in a tired whisper, her voice desperately trying ( and failing ) to not crack with each and every syllable spoken. ❛ i’ll...take care of explaining things to rindo once he’s home from school. ’ like i always do, she thinks to herself before quickly sweeping the thought away as she hung up - no parting goodbye or final ‘i love you’ given as she clutched a hand over her mouth to choke down the incoming sob. she needed to get through this. she would get through this. inhaling deeply, she takes a moment to compose herself before finally stepping into the living room and freezing immediately.

    tifa’s instantly greeted by a pair of eyes, eyes so much like her own, staring back at her in confusion and, most of all, hurt. the mother knew she didn’t need to ask him what he had heard: his expression alone told her everything. ❛ rindo, your father and i... ’ tifa begins until she eventually drifts off, struggling to fight against the urge to just finally let go and have a breakdown in front of her own child. but she didn't. she couldn't. ( aren’t i the one who is supposed to keep everything together? if i don't, who will? ). ❛ i’m sorry, sweetie. i-i didn't want you to find out like this. ’

❝ ↪ @kitaishi submitted an ask !!

All he had planned to do was grab a snack or two before his plan to venture out for a walk in an attempt to catch the latest drop his game offered. Now that he'd made it home from school, that opened up the door for him to carry out his plans he'd made with Fret after his studies had been complete for the day. The drop being the primary reason he'd agree to meet with him in the first place.

It was meant to be quick, harmless; something not even worth being noticed. His mother usually had something optimistic to say while his father? Well....his father would have to of been home to make more of an impact on him, if he's honest with himself. Making his way inside and setting his items down, he ventures to where he makes out the familiar voice and stops dead in his tracks.

. . .mom's upset again, dad's to blame it feels like.

Rindo's already tugging his mask up in a failed attempt to hide the expression his mother had more than likely read from his red eyes alone. He didn't understand, he never understood outside of whatever story or tale she'd come up with to throw him off the tracks. But he's always been quite the observant child. He's known more than he lets on. Even without knowing what exactly -- just that there's something.

What happened between his mom and dad? What happened to their family? It used to be....different? His memory betrays him and only leads the pain in his chest to swell more. " How long have things been bad? "

He shakes his head and already looks away, the distance already starting to form. All Rindo wants to do now is hide away and not deal with anything.

[megamindsecretlair]

A Hold On You

Pairing: Franklin Saint x Black!Fem!reader / Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Smut, PWP, cursing, PIV, fingering (female receiving), spanking, some dirty talk, all consensual. Daddy kink and breeding kink. Fluffy smut. Established relationship.

Summary: Taking place between season 4 and season 5, Franklin toys with the idea of legacy and keeping the people he loves in his life. On date night, he hits you with a proposition.

Word Count: 3,039k

Part 2

A/N: Hello brainrot, my old friend. Whew, it pays to be feral ASF for Damson. That man is lethal. I don't even want kids and I want his babies. I'm sorry if this triggers some! Please, please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! I can't get better if I don't get feedback!

Taglist: @planetblaque @notapradagurl7 @miyuhpapayuh @henneseyhoe @mybonafidefeelings @blackerthings @wide-nose-and-wonderful @halfofmysoulsblog @sevikasblackgf

“Have my baby,” Franklin said. 

Your head whipped to the side so fast that you almost got whiplash. An ache pulsed in your neck and you rubbed it as you stared at Franklin. You sat on the floor, on a blanket, with a light dinner spread out between you and Franklin. 

Moonlight poured into the living room, illuminating the space and lighting up Franklin’s gorgeous face. You expected him to start laughing or look away from you. To break the tension somehow. 

Instead, he gave you an unreadable look. He retreated behind whatever invisible wall there was in his mind. He had one leg down and one leg up, his arm resting on his knee, and his hands clasped in front of him. He was a study in patience as he stared you down. 

“You’re not serious,” you said.

“As a heartache,” he said. 

You lowered the finger sandwich from your lips and finished chewing. You continued to stare at Franklin. Were you sleeping? Did you pass out and imagined having dinner with Franklin? 

You put the sandwich on the plate and brushed your hands over the plate for stray crumbs. You looked away from him. Your stomach bubbled. Your hands began to shake. 

“The type of business you’re in doesn’t scream safe for kids,” you said. You tried to be delicate, but the neighborhood was still buzzing about little Tianna. 

Franklin nodded. “I understand, but that’s different. I can protect us,” he said and finally cracked his mask. He smiled briefly. 

“Franklin,” you said and shook your head. “There would be no hiding that. What the hell would I do? Become a housewife, lamp up, and get fat?” You asked.

You shuddered and thought about that scenario. You’d certainly enjoy the sex, but you couldn’t imagine spitting kids out like that. 

Franklin laughed. “Naw, but a home office could be arranged. Bodyguard for when you go out,” he said.

“A bodyguard? That’s romantic,” you said and rolled your eyes. 

“Have my baby,” he said. He pushed plates out of your way and got to his knees. He crawled closer, giving you wide puppy eyes. Kneeling, he was still way taller than you. He leaned in and kissed you. 

He leaned back with a satisfied hum. He kissed your jaw and then your cheek. He returned to your lips and hovered. When he licked his lips, you felt it. When he breathed through his mouth, the air swept over your wet lips. He was just shy of kissing you and you leaned in to close the gap but he leaned back at the same time. 

“Just say yes,” he said. 

“But then I’d be fat and gross,” you said. 

Franklin smiled against your lips. You had closed your eyes when he started kissing you, so you opened them now. He must have sensed it, because he opened his eyes at the same time. 

“Impossible. You’d be even more gorgeous,” he said. 

“I’d whine and complain about everything,” you continued.

Light danced in Franklin’s eyes. He licked his lips and his tongue swept your lips. 

“I’d love to hear your sexy voice,” he said. He finally pressed his lips against yours. He hummed, pressing closer. You sighed against him. He took the opportunity to lick his way into your mouth. 

You moaned softly, already feeling so needy for him. Your toes flexed as you kissed, loving the feeling of him being so close. You rubbed your hands up and down his strong arms. His hands cupped your face. He held you in place, exactly as you were. 

“I’d crave weird things and demand them at 2am,” you said, when you broke apart just far enough to gasp. 

“Shit, I like drivin’ at night,” he said. 

You giggled and shook your head.  “You’re crazy. Who gon’ get up at all hours of the night feeding it?” You asked. 

Franklin began to kiss your neck, murmuring in between pecks. “We’ll both do it, so we’ll both be miserable,” he said.

You pushed him and sucked your teeth. He laughed and rocked back. He brought his lips back to your neck. “I’ll let you get all the beauty rest you deserve after delivering my baby,” he said. 

Your pussy clenched and you huffed. This couldn’t actually be turning you on, right? And yet, looking at him, you didn’t have a doubt in your mind. You would happily have his kids. You would love little sons that looked like mini versions of him. They’d keep their heads held high because that’s how much awe Franklin inspired. 

You’d be so grateful to have his daughters, that looked like a mix between you. And they’d all have his brain. Franklin was easily the smartest man you’d ever met. It scared you sometimes. You felt like he was born in the wrong era. He belonged in the future with more people to appreciate his intellect. 

Franklin hummed his appreciation down your neck and across your exposed chest. The dress you wore had a deeper neckline than what you usually wore and Franklin took advantage. His right hand massaged the back of your neck. His left hand pushed more plates out of your way. There was a tray at the top of the blanket to hold your drinks. 

When the blanket was clear, Franklin pushed you onto your back. Between the carpet and the thick blanket, this position was surprisingly comfortable. 

Franklin settled to the side of you. He threw his right leg over yours, his thick erection settling against your hips.  You gasped and Franklin smiled against your skin. He leaned on his left hand while he took his time undoing the buttons of your dress. 

The purple checkered dress complimented your skin tone well. He undid the few, big black buttons. Each one gave way and freed your aching breasts. Your nipples were perking up and rubbed against your bra. 

As he revealed more of you with the buttons, he kissed each inch of space. “You’d look so fuckin’ beautiful full of the seed I gave you,” he said. 

You shivered and looked at him. His head moved over your body. His beautiful lips felt like heaven against your skin. 

Franklin reached the bottom-most button that ended up just above your navel. This, too, he paid attention to. Your hands dug into his little fro as he swirled his tongue around your tummy. 

Your breathing increased as your eyes started to roll. “Oh, fuck,” you said. 

His right hand grabbed the hem of your dress but he didn’t move it further. Your eyes snapped open to look at him and his eyes were closed tightly. He opened them slowly. 

“I’d love to watch this sexy ass body change, knowing you’re carrying my baby,” he said. 

Your arousal began to leak out of you. You moaned at the sensation. He leaned down and kissed your tummy again. “Watch this stomach get bigger and bigger,” he continued. 

He trailed his finger up your body and played with the strip of fabric in between your bra cups. He kissed the top of your right titty. Then he sucked your nipple into his mouth through your bra. 

You hissed and you jerked, your thigh spasming randomly. Your hands ran over his shoulders as he continued. “Hm, and these titties would get bigger for sho,” he said. 

His hand returned to the hem of your dress and pushed it up. His hand found the core of you and palmed you. You gasped, your breath dragging over your throat. 

He thumb stroked you from over your panties and you groaned. “Please, please, I need more,” you said. 

“Let me cum in that pussy then,” he said. 

You hiccuped as you laughed, not able to gather that much air. This was so dangerous. And yet…

You found yourself opening your legs wider, giving him more space. His thumb reached under your panties and he pressed down, rubbing against your pussy. He pushed into your entrance and you moaned, throwing your head against the floor. 

Franklin put his lips next to your ear. “Let me fill you up. And keep fillin’ you up,” he said. 

“Oh fuck,” you cried. The thought of being filled up by him had you rolling your hips. You needed him higher. On that needy little nub that always gave you away. Franklin could smile at you and your clit would throb. He could walk into the room and flood your panties within a second. It ought to be illegal having this type of visceral reaction to him. It was lethal. 

If Franklin ever figured it out, you’d never be safe from him. He’d have you to agree to steal the torch from the Colosseum. There was nothing he couldn’t do to your body that you weren’t already begging for.

“Are you sure? You’d be stuck with me,” you said. It was a last ditch effort. What if you really did turn up pregnant and he ended up resenting that fact? You knew without a doubt that Franklin would make an amazing father. You just weren’t so sure that he wouldn’t hate your guts after.

It was a stupid fear. Franklin had never given you reason to believe that he wasn’t into you. But after everything he had been through the past few months, you wondered if he wasn’t rushing into this. 

“I know…I know that it was hard feeling like everyone leaves. But I won’t leave,” you promised. 

Franklin brought his head up to look into your eyes. He kept up those delicious circles on your clit. Your body pulsed with tension and relief. Your thighs shook violently. He kissed you, his lips remaining on yours for longer than a few seconds.

“I know. I promise, this isn’t anything other than wanting you. Loving you. Leaving a mark behind so you’ll remember me forever,” he said. 

He moved his hand faster and little desperate cries began to leave you. Pressure built and built until you exploded, coming undone under his expert fingers. He whispered things into your ear; nasty things about what he wanted to do to you. How sometimes he wanted to drive you wild with his dick from sun up to sun down. 

How he wanted to devour you, lick and suck his way to hearing you screaming his name. As you convulsed beneath him, he kissed your chest, sucking your nipple back into his mouth through the bra.

“There’s no way I’d forget you, Franklin,” you said. 

“I know,” he said. He pulled his hand away from your clit and painted your lips with your juices. “Suck.”

You began to suckle his thumb, sucking all of your arousal off of his thumb. You moaned around the taste of yourself on his big hand. You clung to his wrist as you suckled harder. 

“See you do shit like that and it...” he made a strangled noise. “I want to just use you.” 

You bit your lip and closed your legs, seeking relief from the inferno roaring inside of you. That orgasm wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough. 

You leaned up on your elbows and looked at his face. The moonlight played across his features like a delicate lightshow. “You can do whatever the fuck you want to do with me,” you said. 

Franklin took a long, deep breath and blew the air out of his mouth. “Don’t fuck with me,” he warned. His voice grew deeper, the low tones dancing along the back of your head. 

“Whatever. You. Fuckin’. Want,” you said. Each word was punctuated with a kiss. Franklin growled and leaned back on his knees. 

He grabbed your waist and flipped you over. You landed on your stomach with a soft, “Oof.” Franklin pulled the sides of your dress down and off of your arms. He released the clasp of your bra and pulled that off as well. 

Air hit your wet nipple making it pebble. It rubbed against the blanket and you moaned. He pulled your hips up until you were on your knees. He pushed up your dress, exposing your ass. He grabbed both globes of your ass and squeezed.

The mounting pressure made you cry out. “Oh, spank it, Daddy,” you said. 

Franklin obliged, spanking your ass. The smack bounced off the walls. Red, hot fire bloomed on your left ass cheek. You bit your lip and dipped over further, arching your back. 

Franklin pushed your panties to the side. Arousal escaped you. Franklin gathered it up with the tip of his dick. He moaned at how wet your pussy was. He faced no resistance as he slipped inside.

“Oh fuck!” You moaned together. Your shriek ended on a whine as he slid in and out with ease. Your hands clenched and unclenched the blanket, looking for any type of crutch or anchor. Something to weigh you down when your body so desperately wanted to float away. 

You reached the pinnacle of bliss. Franklin worked his hips slow at first, letting you attempt to get used to him. But he started to jerk, his hold more bruising, his fingers pulling you onto him.

You matched his strokes, throwing your ass back on him. Your thighs slapped together loudly and lewdly. He smacked your ass a few more times and groaned when you clenched around his dick. 

“Fuck, I’m gon’ cum in this pussy. You gon’ carry my baby,” he said. Each promise was a hard jerk, pulling you onto him so completely that he bottomed out. His dick continued to spear inside of you, touching a primal part of you.

“Oh right there, right there, Franklin,” you moaned and chanted. Your belly tightened and tightened, curling into a little, tiny ball. 

“Fuck me,” he moaned as he rammed into you. He rutted into you. Driving you down onto his dick like he wanted to carve his name inside of your pussy. As if he could brand himself there. Sear himself and leave such an impression behind. As if by sheer force of will, he could mold your pussy around his dick. 

“Oh, cum in me, Daddy,” you moaned. “Give it to me.” 

“Take this baby,” he chanted. It was both a promise and a determination. He spoke it into the universe. Writing your fates among the stars and daring to be denied.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you cried. That tight ball of pressure finally unraveled, turning you into a limp noodle as your orgasm ripped through you. It pulled you apart, one stitch at a time. Pleasure rippled throughout your body and you cried out, the blanket muffling some of it. 

Franklin could barely keep his hands on you as he unloaded into you. His spurts of cum were hot, scalding, painting your insides with the essence of him. “Shit,” he groaned as he dumped his load inside of you. 

You both panted as you came down, your breaths mingling as you both tried to return to your bodies. Franklin pulled you up and on your side. You groaned as he slipped out of you. There was a squelching that you felt and heard and you moaned again. He laid down behind you, molding his body against yours.

You felt his dick slide wetly into the crook of your ass. Franklin absently kissed your neck. He raised your left leg and brought it to rest across his long legs. 

“Get these wet for me,” he said. He brought his fingers to your mouth. You suckled and drooled on his fingers. He then brought his wet fingers to your clit and played with you. You jerked and moaned, trying to escape.

He moved his right arm under your neck and pulled you against him. His biceps flexed against your neck and you made unholy, guttural noises. His left hand continued to please you, pushing you past the point of arousal. 

Your senses were full of him. The way he smelled right now, the sound of his breaths in your ear. “Where you think you goin’?” He asked. The sight of his thick arm around your neck, the way his dangling fingers pulled at your nipples. 

His fingers dipped into your entrance and massaged your spongy walls. “Naw, hold that shit in for me,” he said. 

He massaged his cum back into you, pushing it higher and higher. You felt so stuffed and full that despite cumming so many times close together, your body reacted just as hungrily. Gobbling up his fingers and his cum. 

“Franklin,” you called out, tears running down your cheeks. He had to feel them. His shoulder was beneath your head. The tears ran down and to the side, splashing onto him. He kissed and licked your ear. 

“I know, I know, baby,” he whispered. 

You twitched and gyrated on the floor, robbed of seeing his face. Your hands searched the blanket for purchase. You felt his dick twitch against your ass. 

“Oh, no,” you groaned before another orgasm left you shaking. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head. Your mumbled speech was incoherent as pleasure made you growl like an animal. But fuck, you felt so fucking good that you couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. Your limbs moved of their own accord. 

“No more,” you gasped out. Fuck, you couldn’t take another one. Not right now. You were far too sensitive, jerking at every new touch and slide of his fingers. Franklin stilled his fingers, tugged on your nipple and kissed your neck. 

“That’s my girl,” he whispered. He brought his left hand up to rub your belly as if he could already imagine it swollen and stiff with his son or daughter. He pressed on your tummy, massaging it. 

“You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous,” he said. 

You were too tired to give him a proper response. You kissed his arm and he moved until you pressed into his chest. He wrapped his arm completely over your middle. “I’ll protect us, babe. Come whatever tries to get between us. I’ll do everything in my power to keep us safe.”

Somehow, you completely believed him. You laid there and talked with him about everything you could think of. You both passed out somewhere around the moonlight disappearing and the sunlight returning.

You know you need more in your life: The Secret Franklin Saint Files

There is now a Part 2!

[21wanderer]

Benchwarmer

“Are you going to sit there all day, Rick?” the trainer asked his best rugby player, who sat almost motionlessly on the bench. “Yeah, I’m sorry” he replied trying to sound unwell, but not too sick either.

“My stomach has been acting up all day,” he lied trying to get the nosey trainer to leave him alone. He tried his best to look like he really wanted to be here, whilst being too unwell to actually participate. Practice had just started, there was about one and a half hour to go, and the waiting time was making him anxious.

---

He had prepared everything, signed up for an activity before the rugby team arrived to have access to the same locker room, replaced Rick’s water bottle with an identical one, but with the bodysuit serum and an acute laxative added, even made copies of the bathroom key and written the whole meticulous plan down in every detail to make sure nothing was overlooked. But if he thought that slipping on Rick would be a piece of cake, he was sorely mistaken. For all his planning he had forgot to account for the size of the bathrooms.

The bodysuit serum had done his trick by the time he let himself into the bathroom with the unconscious Rick, and he had managed to separate Rick’s head from his body, so he could slip into him, but crammed into the tiny bathroom, that just wouldn’t work.

He needed more time... and space, but he couldn’t risk anybody walking in on him. He carefully unlocked the bathroom door peering into the empty locker room. He had an idea, hopefully it would work, he obviously couldn’t afford to mess this up.

Rick’s teammates had already called for him, and he had been in the bathroom for almost 15 minutes, he needed to get out there, before they became suspicious.

Jolting out of the bathroom, he headed straight for Rick’s bag and rugby gear, from the bag he pulled out Rick’s sub suit as well as his socks and boots. He retreated to the bathroom with it, and it was much easier to pull on. The baggy suit would be the best way for him to hide his body, whilst he pretended to be Rick.

He slipped into the slightly amorphous suit, zipping everything, then quickly pulled on Rick’s socks and boots. The socks obviously hadn’t been washed since last practice, but he didn’t mind at all. That aroma would belong to him soon enough. He then grabbed Rick’s lifeless face and slipped it on, and he needed to do it quickly. Plunging his head into the hollow throat, he soon found the eye-holes and from there, he could begin to adjust the mask, making sure eyes, nose, mouth and ears all were aligned properly.

From any outside perspective he looked exactly like Rick, and as long as he kept the suit on, nobody would know. Checking if the coast was clear again, the Rick-imposter left the bathroom. He stuffed the headless Rick-suit into a locker and locked it, he would have to retrieve it after the game. He checked himself one last time in the mirror, the face was animate, Rick’s charismatic face moved as if it was his own. But he did not feel safe yet, if anybody saw the unfit body underneath…

---

With everything securely zipped, he made his way to the field outside, but headed straight for the benches. Now all he had to was to be patient and wait, it would be so worth it, once the waiting time was over. And although he was nervous, it did feel good to finally be in the position, where people saw him as Rick, being dressed in his clothes, seeing the world through his eyes. Soon the rest of the athlete’s body and life would be his. He just needed for practice to end, and for everybody to go home. Then he could take the final step.

[gh0stly-pages]

Out of Our Minds (Part Three)

Ledger! Joker x Harley Quinn-esque f!reader (18+)

CW: swearing, mentions of violence

Words: 4.1k

Chapter Summary: The third session with the Joker, and as you try and delve into the man he is, you can't help the connection you feel. Seems he might feel it too...

previous part: part 2 | next part: part 4

Notes: Hello everyone! Apologies for the wait, took a bit longer because of Halloween, was having too much fun to write. But here we are! This series is def picking up the pace now and soon we will dive into some real chaos lol. Please enjoy :) (I love inputting bits of Arkham dialogue in these because i can >:) )

_____________________________________________

On your way to work, it seems Gotham is in shambles. 

There seems to be some type of announcement going on, by someone from the GPD. You could care less, honestly, especially since you need to get to work before you’re late, but what piques your interest is the crowds of people. There is an obvious rift amongst them. Some of them hold signs displaying the infamous bat symbol, crying out in favor for Batman, it seems, some holding children at their hip who cry for the man they’ve lost. The other half push back against the pro-Batman crowd, yelling things like ‘murderer’ and ‘fraud’. The tension is so thick you can taste it. These people might tear each other apart.

Oh, if only Joker were here to see this. He’d never shut up.

A woman bumps into you, clutching a sign with that bat symbol painted on it, with words beneath it reading ‘come back’. You sneer, and she retreats back to her other Batman groupies. How could anyone get so worked up over a man in a mask? Take the mask off and we’re all messed up inside. Batman had worn the mask of a hero, parading around as Gotham’s salvation, and yet he killed people just like his enemies had. Like Joker had. Except Joker didn’t pretend to be someone he wasn’t. 

Mr. Dale may be right about keeping all this from Joker, but you can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt. He’s going to get out eventually and see all this mess. They can’t hide it from him forever. Even if he’s on house arrest for the rest of his damn life, he’s the Joker, and they won’t be able to stop him. They’re just scared. Scared that the Joker may have won. 

You walk through the city, broken into chaos, all the way to Arkham.

———————————————

This time when you enter Joker’s little conference room, he lacks his usual straitjacket, and you’re both surprised and relieved that your bosses actually listened to you. His asylum garb has been replaced with the usual Arkham patient outfit, an orange baggy shirt with matching orange pants. Immediately, as ashamed as you are, your eyes go to his arms, which are surprisingly lean and toned, probably from numerous fights. You trace his arms down to his hands, each of which have a separate handcuff linked to a man made circle jutting from the table. You look at every crinkle, every callus, every line. Human hands. Dangerous hands.

“Uh, doll, my eyes are up here, ya know.”

Shit. You look up into his eyes as you take your seat, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m… sorry, I was just-“ You try to search for an excuse, but it’s clear from the teasing look Joker gives you that he’s not looking for one. You flush. “I’m surprised they let you out of the jacket.” I’m surprised your hands are so normal. 

“Well, it certainly wasn’t from my good behavior,” he clucks, his tongue hitting the top of his mouth. “Did you ask them to get rid of it?”

You can’t tell if he’s angry or not. “I did.”

He breaks into his signature, manic grin. Not angry. Good. “I knew I liked you, doll.”

Joker doesn’t say ‘thank you’ or ‘I appreciate it’ but somehow, this is better. It’s probably as close as you’ll get to hearing those words from him and it ignites something in you. You feel proud of yourself. Proud that he’s proud of you. Before you can return his smile, you remember ‘hey, wait a fucking second, this is my patient The Joker we’re talking about here’. You settle for a small smile. Be professional. “Mr. J, I wanna start this session off by just saying I think we’re making some good progress-“

“Doctor y/n, you seem to have quite the fascination with my hands,” Joker interrupts, a giggle rising in his throat. 

Dammit. Were you looking at his hands again? You didn’t even fucking notice. You’re not trying to. You’re probably just a little shocked. Again, it’s like pulling back the curtain, getting a glimpse at the man behind the act. And there he sits, with such human looking hands. “Excuse me, I’m just…” You search for the words. “I’m not used to seeing you without being all wrapped in a jacket.”

“Well, ah, they’re just hands. Did ya think I’d have talons?”

“Maybe. Or maybe, like, robotic hands. Rocket launchers for hands. Something cooler.” Are you teasing him? Your patient? You might be teasing him, just a little.

At your teasing, his smile shifts sideways into a smirk, eyes thinning. “Cooler? What’s cool is, ah, what these hands have done. They’ve been the cause of the end of so many lives.” He tries to lace his hands together, but the handcuffs keep his arms too far apart, so his fingers touch only slightly. “Now, ah, where were we?”

You stumble to find the words. So much for professionalism. “R-right, sorry. I think we’re making real progress here. Yesterday was a good session, and I’m hoping today will follow suit.” You bring out your clipboard. Click your pen open. “Now, why don’t we pick up where we left off? We were analyzing your crimes-“

“Spectacles.”

“Whatever you wanna call em’. Now those are only one part of the man you call the Joker-“

“That is, ah, my name, doll face.”

You hold your hand up. “Let me finish. We haven’t talked about you. About this person you present as the Joker. And yes,” you say roughly, before he can cut you off again, “I know you say that you and this character you present are one in the same, but nobody is exactly the person they put out. I mean, you did say we all hide behind a facade. So, let’s talk about Joker, the one we see on TV getting the best of Batman.” You scribble a little picture of him, smiling wide and in his signature purple suit. Jutting your chin, you gestured for him to look at it. “This will be the outside Joker…” You do another little doodle, one of Joker without his makeup and in the Arkham garb. “And this will be the you in here.”

The Joker looks down at your drawings and bites the inside of his cheek. “Not much of a difference, doll face, except that I look even crappier in here.”

You roll your eyes. “Are you proud of the person that Gotham has come to know?”

“Define proud.”

“Do you feel a sense of satisfaction over the person you allow Gotham to see? This crazy clown figure?”

Joker tilts his head back, thinking, and you can’t help but stare intensely at his neck, tracing down his throat to his Adam’s apple, which moves as he swallows. Geez, what is up with you and the staring today? Luckily, he doesn’t think for long, tilting his head back down to look at you. “I’m just fine with whatever I showed to Gotham. And I don’t regret-tah one bit of it.” Looking all smug, he smirks. “I’m not proud of who I am, I relish it. Bask in it. The Clown Prince of Crime, they call me! Nothin’ better than that, doll. Means I’ve made a difference.”

“You’ve certainly made an impact, Mr. J. For better or for worse.”

“And whaddya get out of all that, doll? That I’m some kind of egotistical maniac?”

“Let me do the analyzing, please, Mr. J.”

He grunts. “Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, and you can’t help but smile. “You say you’re proud, but clearly it’s not enough,” you tell him, scribbling notes underneath the doodle of him. “When you get out of here, you’d like to go back to all that, wouldn’t you? Go back to testing the B-Man?”

“Batsy and I just fit so well together, dolly. We’re meant to chase one another to the end of our days!”

If you can find him. “All the stuff you pulled then, did it really amount to anything if you want more?”

“Oh, doll, it’s not that I want more. I’m not just some kinda freak gettin’ a good fix when I cause havoc. My point just keeps needing to be made!” He winks at you. “Course, I know that if I get out of here I’ll have to behave.”

You seriously doubt Joker even knows the concept of behaving. “B-Man would just get you again, would he not?”

Joker cackles. He laughs at everything but you’re always confused when he laughs at something you don’t find remotely humorous. “That’s the fun part! He and I, we’re like a cat and mouse, like in those old cartoons. We’re just chasing each other in damn circles and, ah, the fun doesn’t-tah stop until one of us falls.” With a cruel smile, he flicks his fingers, as if toppling something over. “And I don’t intend to be the first to fall.”

“And after B-Man falls?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see, I suppose. Doesn’t sound very fun. Why, you got a soft spot for the Bat?”

“For Batsy?” Technically, you’re not supposed to be very vocal in your own opinions, especially when they do nothing to help, but wouldn’t it be good for Joker to know you’re with him on some things? Not that Joker has too much disdain in Batman, he clearly loves to mess with him, but obviously the two are on very different sides. You want to show Joker you stand with him. “Absolutely not. The Bat hasn’t done anything to benefit me. If anything I feel more… useless. This man in a mask gets to go around fighting criminals and gets praised and here I am busting my butt everyday and what do I get? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” You clap a hand over your mouth. Way to go overboard. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling.”

The Joker, of course, doesn’t care that you rambled on. He looks amused. No, not just amused, he looks pleased. His whole face contorts into an evil grin. “Well well well, doll face, nowwww we’re talking. Why didn’t you tell me you loathed the Batman so much?”

“Didn’t think it important.”

“Well, ah, I find it important. Looks like we wanna both go after the Batman, don’t we?”

“Go after him?” Now it’s your turn to laugh. “Obviously I’m not going to do that.”

He scooches forward. “But you’d like to. Come on, doll, given the chance, wouldn’t you wanna, ah, take the Bat down?”

For some reason, you actually think about it. If you really did have the chance, would you want to bring down the Bat? He was already down now, obviously, but if you had had the chance before then, would you have taken B-Man down? Before you can even dive into it, you snap yourself out of it. Why would you even care to do all that in the first place? Imagine you, beating up Batman? You’re not crazy. “I’m not so sure about that.”

Joker shrugs. “That isn’t a no.”

Things are going far from where you need them to be. “Let’s take this conversation back to you, Mr. J. How about we talk about the Joker in here? Nothing left for you to do except sit and think. You’re not out causing havoc, you’ve been stripped of your weapons and your makeup, what do you feel about yourself now?”

Already, you can tell the Joker isn’t too fond of the question. He squirms uncomfortably in his chair, muttering things under his breath that all sound nonsensical to you. For some reason, you kinda like it. It’s about time you get under his skin too.  “I feel like I wanna hurt someone,” he answers, clenching his fists. “I just wanna get out there and get back to everything.”

“Okay… see, you’re angry at being in here, and you don’t know how to handle your emotions so you’re resorting to violence.” As much as that’s probably true, you’re almost sure that if you were stuck in Arkham, you’d wanna hurt a few people too but that won’t help.

“Violence solves a lot more problems than ya think.”

“Not mental ones. I think I’m seeing what’s going on here, Mr. J.”

Joker taps on the table, a random pattern of noise. “And that is?”

You point with your pen between the two Joker sketches. “Both these people have unresolved problems, problems coped with by violence. Plenty of people do this, but they don’t go around trying to make their points to the whole damn city. These huge acts of violence are outcries and you don’t even realize it. You have no one to turn to to sort your feelings out with and this is what the outcome is.” You look back up at him, and it’s clear he’s confused. “I told you at our last session, you need company. Someone you can relate to, empathize with, talk through these feelings with.”

He frowns. “And what about you, huh? You’re, ah, just as alone as me, not a soul to talk to, and yet you’re not blowing up hospitals.”

Will he ever quit trying to analyze you? “I have other means of coping, Mr. J. Whatever happened to you… it made you hurt. And this hurt, it turned you away from people, even though we need companionship. We seek attention and validation and yet I fear you’re seeking it in all the wrong ways.”

“Who says we need companionship?”

“Human nature. Our hearts. Your mental state,” you say harshly.

His tongue pushes out his scar as he licks the inside of his cheek. “Feistyyy. I like it when you’re all, ah, riled up.”

Joker was really pushing your buttons now, and it was worse that no matter how upset you got at him, he’d find some kind of enjoyment in it. You really couldn’t win some of the battles he put you up against. Yet, the purr in his voice made your cheeks heat. You could never tell when to be angered or enamored. “I really do think that whatever happened in your childhood resulted in your detachment from emotion, and a distrust in people, and this mix of the two… well, it hasn’t been the best for you.”

“So, whaddya suggest? I go mingle with some of the other Arkham patients? Spend some quality time together finger painting and singing Christmas carols?” His laugh comes out as a sharp exhale. “I don’t think friendship is gonna fix me, doll.”

“I wasn’t going to suggest any of that,” you assert. “I just think that isolating ourselves from not just people but also feelings, now that doesn’t get us anywhere good.”

“Clearly,” he giggles, lifting up his cuffed wrists. “But I’ve been doing just fine, doll, aside from this little incident of being locked up in here.”

It was like the Joker just considered Arkham some bump in the road before he could continue his anarchy. That wasn’t good. He couldn’t have his heart set on going back to taking down Batman, no matter how good his reason. Especially considering, well, Batman was nowhere to be seen. Gosh, you wish you could just tell him. Maybe he wouldn’t see it as motivation, maybe it would shut down all his ideas. There was just far too much risk with everything. Say something, say nothing. The Joker was a lot of uncertainties. “But you shouldn’t have to be locked up in here. You don’t have to be if you just try and listen to me. I really want you to get better.”

“I don’t need to get better,” he growls. “The way other people feel, it’s just a soft spot for others to exploit. I’m already winning because nobody has anything on me. Chaos stirs something inside me, isn’t that enough?”

“No, Mr. J, you need more than that,” you plead. Why is he so stubborn? “Just a little company can do wonders. Just some faith in someone.”

“So they can do what? Push me down on my knees like some kind of sinner, making me beg for forgiveness? Making me change my ways? You really are crazy if you believe that.”

Joker is impossible, really. You don’t know how else to get your message across, how to make him listen. So instead, you think back on your deal, take a deep breath, and give him a story.

“When I was ten years old, the kids at school all decided they hated me so much that they all pretended I didn’t exist. I’d try and approach people and… and they never even acknowledged me. It followed me all throughout the rest of my school years.” You mess with your coat, fidgeting with the buttons, not quite able to meet Joker’s gaze. “I know how it feels when people hurt you.”

You wait, wondering if the Joker will give you a story back. You’re surprised when he opens his mouth to speak. “Once, ah, when I was just starting out, one of the criminals I hired managed to sneak up on me, knocked me to the floor real good. Kept babblin’ on about how I was a freak, how I’d never amount to anything, the heel of his boot digging into my back.” He stops, taking a deep breath, and you wonder for a moment if he’s going to stop all together but he continues. “Course, with all his ramblin’, he failed to notice me grabbing a blade. I stabbed him right in the foot, and oh boy, did he scream. I gave him the nastiest beating of his life, I’m sure. Blood all over the floor. And right before I was done, I made sure to give him and I matching smiles. Die with a smile, no?” Joker holds his chin up. “I don’t need people. People don’t care.”

It’s only a single story yet you realize the Joker has so much behind him. So many incidents that seemed to have fueled the thunderous rage beneath his skin. This man, finding humor in the wickedness of the world, wanting to show that everyone is essentially just as rotten as he, has been torn apart over and over again. Society had crushed the both of you yet here you sat, a doctor, and there he sat before you, a madman. In your anger towards the world, you had sought to try and help it, and in his anger, he wanted to burn it all down. You still had hope left in people, he had let that all die away.

He said people didn’t care, but you cared. This was more than just a way towards a paycheck, you really did want to help him. That’s what you’d always wanted for every Arkham patient. Yet the others did not quite distrust people as much as Joker did. Joker didn’t have anyone for him. How was it that Batman, a murderer playing superhero, still had half the city on his side and yet everyone just wanted Joker to rot away in here? You think about yourself, and how much better you would feel if you did have someone, if you had been given love and support along your miserable journey. If you could give Joker the support you’d always wanted, well, maybe that would change something in him.

“We’re both pretty messed up, huh?” you finally say, deciding not to comment on anything specifically about Joker’s anecdote. No need to keep talking about something so horrific. Joker didn’t need that. He needed comfort. 

Joker blows air from his nose, smiling softly. “We are, aren’t we? Just a buncha freaks.”

“Freaks still need to stick with other freaks.”

“And who have you got exactly, Miss l/n?”

You freeze. Nobody. Absolutely nobody. He knows it. Yet for a moment you feel… well, embarrassed. Your hand creeps to your warming face, your eyes feel suddenly watery. You don’t have your parents anymore. No old friends from school or college, not that there were many to begin with. No coworker friends, shitty bosses. All you have is yourself and you hate it. 

Joker seems to notice that his comment didn’t go down well, and he holds up his hands like he’s gesturing for you to stop, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “Uh, doll, I didn’t mean to pry…”

“No, no, it’s fine…” You quickly wipe at your eyes with the back of your hand. “Just wasn’t expecting the question, I guess.”

“Right,” he mumbles. “It wasn’t, uh, meant to be an insult.”

You let your eyes flutter close for a second and take a nice, long breath in. When your eyes open again, you straighten yourself out, contemplating your next words. “I know how it feels to be alone, Mr. J. More than anything.” Your voice comes out as a whisper, your fingers drifting towards his own, which are splayed out on the table. He sits up very still, unmoving save for a twitch in his jaw, as he watches you place your hand on top of his. You’re not sure what you’re doing, but you need your point made. “I… I know how much you think you don’t need people, but people offer support and guidance, and if I could have some of that right now, for fucks sake, I would.” You sigh. “I don’t have a lot of friends.”

Joker’s tongue slowly traces along his chapped lips. You wish you knew what he was thinking. You hated how well he read you and you could hardly get anything on him. Finally, he speaks. “Well, you got one now.”

The Joker, a friend. It sounds like the stupidest thing in the entire world. This was someone who had hurt and killed and destroyed. Someone who was close to no one, the people around him with one purpose: to serve him. He had said how loyalty didn’t come for free, that it needed to be bought. If something so simple as loyalty was seen as a transaction to him, did he even comprehend the concept of companionship? He must have, at some point, whoever the man before the Joker was. But the person you were dealing with was not that man, you were dealing with Joker. Joker did not seem a man who connected with anyone yet he tells you how alike the two of you are, and you can’t help but believe it. Alone in the world, the two of you. Maybe he can’t yet bring himself to make a real connection with anyone but, goddammit, you wanted him to try.

Why not be alone together?

It would all be in hopes of helping him, you told yourself. Whatever relationship the two of you were forming. If he could have someone to talk to, not just in a professional sense, but someone who would really be there for him, you think that would help a lot.

That’s all this is. This is to help him.

You squeeze his hand. “I like the sound of that, Mr. J.”

—————

It started off as a joke, really. 

Joker didn’t want to be analyzed. The first night he had been brought into Arkham, he had been poked and prodded, as doctors tried to decipher what kinda pills to stuff him full of. Joker had tried to fight them off, but they had injected him with something that made him sluggish. Just a few hours later was when they had sent in all the psychiatrists to try and fix him. Joker didn’t need to be fixed. He was an agent of chaos, a force to be reckoned with, something they just couldn’t comprehend. Then you’d come along, and you were so lonely, and Joker liked toying with things that were easy to break. Except you’re nothing like the others. There’s something about you, this way that you interact with him, the way you don’t see him as some freak. When you stare at him, you don’t look at him like he’s a monster. It’s strange.

Joker doesn’t do friends. The term itself means nothing to him. It’s a meaningless word. Most words are meaningless to him, empty sayings. Yet when you look at him with those eyes, like he’s your equal rather than beneath you, Joker does feel something. Some kind of connection. He’s never thought about killing you, which says something. It’s the only way he can describe this feeling towards you, something other than the pure disdain he usually feels towards others. There is something… warm about you. Joker didn’t like it. Yet he let it happen anyways.

Long after you’re gone, when he’s strapped onto the metal slab the Arkham guards call a bed, he thinks on some of your words. You thought a companion would help him. Someone he could rely on. Someone who would truly be loyal.

He smiles wickedly to himself. You might just be right.

Taglist: @lightsabergirl / @knoepfl / @jeffswh0re / @itsmrshamilton / @heath-ledger-jokers-wife / @lolwey

Lmk if you'd like to be added! Hope the @'s are working lol...

[scribbledghost]

The Visitor - Part IV

Pairing: Vessel x Fem!Reader (Vessel the character, not the real man behind the mask)

Rating: G

Word count: 1,738

Summary: Vessel and his visitor have a brief moment of respite.

Notes: 3rd person POV, use of she/her pronouns for reader. Fluff. Vessel fully leans into catching feelings. Part three can be found here.

Just as Vessel had expected, Sleep attempts to not only summon him as his visitor slept, but also attempts to invade her mind.

Vessel knows full well what Sleep's plan is - what its preferred modus operandi is. It will attempt to wear her down, forcing her to relive every painful moment of her life over and over again until she is desperate for any kind of relief. That is when Sleep will make her an offer; the same offer it made to Vessel himself, as well as the others: convert, and be renewed.

On the surface, it will seem crystalline. Genuine. An offer of help in such trying times. But it is nothing but a beautiful lie. Sleep will tell her that her visions will stop if she converts, but this could not be further from the truth. Vessel knows this first-hand.

So when he feels Sleep attempt to intrude on the woman's mind as she slumbers, he tightens his grip on her and uses every ounce of his power to force the entity away. He is soon engulfed by Sleep's visceral anger at his obstruction.

If you wish me to aid you in her conversion, she must trust me, he says sternly. I cannot earn her trust if she associates me with pain.

The rage he senses coming from his deity softens, but only slightly. In days past, he may have felt fear at earning such ire, but things are different now.

Circumstances have changed.

Vessel attempts to circumnavigate Sleep, swift in his arguments with the millennia-old pseudo-creature. He has been with Sleep for far too long, and as a result he knows when he can transgress boundaries and when he must acquiesce.

He always did have a silver tongue.

As the woman rests peacefully at his side, blissfully unaware of the tug-of-war happening next to her, Vessel does his best to convince Sleep that giving him complete freedom when it comes to her is necessary for her to convert.

She must still face her demons, he says, but you must allow me to aid her. If she views me as someone who will not harm her, it will be easier to ensure she becomes yours.

You act as though you have any say in the matter, Sleep responds coldly.

Your word is law, Vessel grovels, but I implore you to trust my judgement with this.

Sleep goes silent, though he knows it has not left him yet.

Have I ever broken my word before? Have I ever been anything but yours since my arrival?

Again, Sleep does not speak. But Vessel knows it is pondering its next words carefully.

And how do you plan on keeping your word this time, my vessel?

I will earn her trust, Vessel communes. Be kind to her. Help her when I can. I will be a light in the dark for her. Then, when the time comes for you to offer her a place amongst us, I will push her to agree.

So you will love her, Sleep corrects, then betray her.

Now it is Vessel's turn to retreat into silence. The first part of Sleep's accusation will be - and is - true. The latter portion, however, is not.

He guards his thoughts carefully, quietly hiding the bright flame of defiance stirring in the depths of him. If Sleep sees the slightest hint of a future deception, the deal will be off, and punishment will be swift. He shudders to think of what awful fate will befall his visitor should that happen.

Yes, Vessel says finally, doing everything in his power to seem convincing. If that is what it will take to ensure her safety, then that is what I will do.

Silence falls over the domain, an unsettling quiet blanketing the world. The only sound of life is the woman curled into Vessel's side quietly breathing in her sleep.

I will be watching.

It's all Sleep offers before Vessel no longer feels its presence.

Once he is certain Sleep has left him, he gently retreats into the mind of his visitor.

He finds her sitting alone atop a mountain, a sprawling landscape before her. Valleys and hills abound, interspersed with small lakes and rivers. A fine mist obscures much of the taller mountains, but the sun still shines across the realm despite it. The birdsong is gentle, and Vessel can almost feel the warmth of the sunshine.

Her own version of Eden, it seems.

She hears his approach, turning quickly to him. At first, she appears startled, but as soon as she lays eyes on him, her features melt into a smile.

"Vessel."

He has never heard his name sound so beautiful.

Vessel takes a seat on the grass next to her, wishing he could smell the crisp, clean air. He has not needed to breathe for many, many years now, but he still finds himself taking several deep, slow breaths.

He involuntarily tenses when he feels her shift closer to him. When she nearly backs away with apprehension, he reaches for her, laying a gentle hand on her back to hopefully draw her back in. Thankfully, she obliges, and Vessel once again tucks her against him.

"Can I ask you something?" she says quietly.

"Always."

"Do you... I mean... is your mask really just a mask? Or is it a part of you? I keep thinking I see the eyes blink sometimes, but I don't know if I'm just imagining things."

"It is... difficult to explain," Vessel begins. "It is indeed a mask, first of all. It is a sign of my devotion to Sleep. I can remove it at will, though I do not do so often. But it is also a part of me, connected to my body in a way I am unsure I could properly articulate. The eyes of my mask move with the eyes on my body - you were not imagining them blinking. And it stays connected to me without the aid of any sort of straps or fasteners. But I could not tell you how it does so."

"So, when did it become part of you?" she asks. "You've said before that you used to be human. Did the mask come when you... turned into a vessel? Or did it develop over time?"

"To be truthful, I am unsure," Vessel says, running a thumb along her upper arm. "It feels as though it has always been a part of me, though deep in my subconscious, I know that cannot be true. It has changed over the eons, and has not always looked like what you see now. But I cannot remember when it began to be something other than a simple mask."

She gives only a hum in response, falling quiet for a moment.

"I'm sorry," she says suddenly. "I know I'm asking a lot of questions."

She could continue to question him until the universe expands into infinity and Vessel would thank her for it.

"I will never disparage you for inquiring," Vessel says, gently leaning over to nudge her temple with his forehead before he can stop himself.

It's an almost intimate gesture, and he notices an almost imperceptible hitch in the woman's breath as he does so. He senses her heart rate increase, and vaguely he wonders how it would feel to replace his forehead with his lips against her.

But he does not. Instead, he pulls away, and immediately senses vague apprehension and confusion in his visitor.

"I apologize if I made you uncomfortable," he says. "I failed to consider if such an act would overstep."

"No," she blurts, then goes quiet again for a spell. "...No. You didn't overstep. It was... it was nice."

He smiles, then leans his head over to nudge her again.

The two of them stay there for some time, quietly soaking in each other's presence amongst the leaves of Eden.

"I'm scared to wake up," she admits softly.

"You have nothing to fear," Vessel says. "I will be by your side."

"...What happens when the visions come again?" she asks.

"I will be by your side for those as well."

"But you can't stop them," she says, pulling away and gazing up at him.

"No," he admits, "I cannot, though I deeply wish I could. I can attempt to transfer some of your anguish to me, but I can only do so when you are actively in pain."

He watches her carefully, his cold heart cracking in his chest as he sees tears well in her eyes.

"I wish I knew what it wants from me," she says.

Vessel tenderly thumbs away a tear that begins to track down her cheek, briefly contemplating telling her of Sleep's plan to break her down and offer conversion. But she cannot guard her thoughts like he can against Sleep, and he fears cluing her in on his plot to spare her would result in Sleep discovering it the next time it probes her mind.

"You will find out in time," Vessel soothes. "Every visitor to the domain does. And when you do, I will be there to help you achieve whatever it is Sleep asks of you."

Then, slowly, he tilts his head down and presses his forehead against hers. However, it does not take long for her to duck down and lurch into Vessel's chest, shoulders shaking as she wraps her arms around him.

He holds her as she cries, petting her hair and offering what he hopes are soothing words.

Vessel has a vague intuition of what his visitor is truly needing. The reason why she was chosen to be a prize for Vessel.

She is lonely. Just as he is.

He can sense it, though he cannot discern the specifics. But she is so desperate for connection, for care, for warmth. For love. Yet, she is afraid. She fears the hurt that can come with vulnerability.

Vessel understands implicitly. Perhaps with time, he will be able to not just erode her walls, but his own as well. Only the future will tell.

As she calms, he senses that she is near waking. After gently wiping away stray tears, he helps her to her feet and extends a hand to her.

"If you would like," he says, "I can introduce you to the other vessels."

She hesitates for a moment, the landscape around her fading back to monotone gray, then slots her hand into his.

[upsidedownmvnson]

reader is insecure about being chubby | eddie munson blurb

requested by anon <3

warnings: insecurities, fluff, really mean bullying names, may be a long blurb idk

AN: i was chubby so i felt this one, and nothing said here wasn't said abt me in real life, but i know eddie would love something soft to grab

Everytime you walked to hallways, you had Eddie Munson's undivided attention. He was totally enamored with you. Every inch of you was a treat. The wide hips, every curve, the huge boobies, an ass he wanted to grab a handful of... The boy was obsessed. He would make up any excuse to talk to you, and anytime he could make you smile, he would be on top of the world for the rest of the day.

All day everyday Eddie would be tripping over himself to get your attention, but you saw it as something friendly. You thought Eddie was trying to be your friend. You thought maybe he saw you as a potential for Hellfire.

You were so wrong.

You, of course, were also smitten for Eddie. You would curl into yourself whenever he was around, he just made you feel so shy. He was so bold, so confident. It was something you admired about him. He was so rough, all leather, denim and calloused guitar fingers. You wanted to feel those fingers.

Today, you were wearing a skirt, against your typical covering wardrobe. You were excited when you left the house, but now you were just nervous. People looking at your legs, judging them. It made a shiver shoot down your spine. You were at your locker, trying to make yourself disappear into the metal.

"Damn, babe," Eddie said, leaning on the locker next to yours. He chuckled when his words startled you but talking, "you look good today."

"Stop," you said, heat rising in your cheeks and neck. You probably looked ridiculous, but Eddie's smile was as kind as always.

He brought his hand up to run one of those beautifully rough fingers across your cheek, tucking hair behind your ear to keep it out of your face.

"Pretty," he said quietly, trailing that finger down the side of your neck before dropping it back to his side. His eyes were a little wide like he hadn't meant to actually say that out loud.

"Eddie?" you kept your voice low, questioning his sudden desire to have his hands on you. It wasn't actually sudden, it's just the first time you perceived it as anything other than friendly.

"It's time for you to put me out of my misery," Eddie said, hand over his heart feigned agony. "Would you please do me the honour of going out with me this friday night?"

"You want to go out with me?" you asked, cheeks burning under the skin.

Eddie chuckled a little, but his eyes held a hint of confusion. His voice was soft, but questioning. "You can't really be that shocked, I mean... I've been coming on pretty strong."

Now you were embarrassed, your insecurities preventing yourself from enjoying the compliment. You were too stunned to say anything, but Eddie's eyes were kind, they encouraged you not to retreat into your shell. He was too sweet, touching your shoulder to keep you grounded. You felt his warmth threw the shirt you were wearing.

"Hey," he said softly. "Where'd ya go?" When you just blushed further, he said, "it's okay to talk to me, I've got your back sweetheart."

"Eddie we can't go out," you said finally, the disappointment clear on his face. He didn't try to hide the sadness clouding his eyes.

"Why not?" he asked, "it's okay you don't have to explain. Somebody else already, huh?" His defensive babbling continued, as he tried to mask his hurt feelings at the thought of your rejection. "I shoulda known a catch like you already had somebody sweet on her, I mean... damn, you're beautiful."

"Eddie, stop." You refused to tear up in the hallway, that would only attract the sharks. "It would be ridiculous. People would make fun of us."

It hurt Eddie's feelings at first, thinking you were talking about him, and his reputation. But after examining the look on your face, he realized you were talking about yourself, as if you would somehow be dragging him down. And that didn't make sense to him at all, you were so fucking cute.

"What do you mean?" he asked, try to keep your attention up at him. An intimate moment lost in the crowd of the students in the school. You and Eddie just seemed kind of, lost in your own little world. "Who would laugh at you?"

"I don't know? The basketball players? What if they ask you what it's like to ride the piggy?" You sounded small. Like your own words were taking up too much space, so you made them smaller.

"Do... do people call you uh... stuff like that?" he asked, unable to make himself say the actual words. Afraid to ever let you hear a words like that come out of his mouth. "That's- that's fucking horrifying, I'm so sorry. You don't deserve that."

The softness of his voice was a pleasant surprise. Like he knocked off the theatrics and let you see what he was really thinking, feeling.

"I don't want to overstep anything," he said, voice dipping low so no one else heard him say, "but you have no idea how sexy I think you are. If you'd let me..." his voice dropped even lower, sensual and seductive, close to your ear, whispering, "...I'll show you."

"Eddie," you whispered, cheeks hotter than you'd ever felt. The blush looked more maroon than pink. "There are people everywhere."

"And they'd be jealous," he said, backing off and raising his voice back to normal, "because you are the hottest girl in school, and you're all for me... but we can make that official when I take you out on Friday."

[reds-skull]

BLOOD||HUNGER

[PREV PART] [AO3]

OOO I'm very excited to share this chapter! We're getting close to the finish line!

Its name is "The Song of Us"

Page 54 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable 15:

The Blind man asks his companion, before dawn break, What do you believe, is a beast’s fate, Once death seizes its life, in his inevitable grasp? The beast, his heart knowing of the fallen knight’s pleas, Of men they lost, who were left to be but a worm’s dark feast, Answers, death reaches for monsters all the same as men, For the unjust, for the cruel, For the kind, for the forgiving, All bones become one, until they become none, As death is the only being, to see all as one and the same.

This city is quiet, in the way a drowning is. Something wicked is happening under the surface, hidden from plain sight. If only its victim had air to scream.

The Hunter has intel beyond the SAS’s scope, beyond Laswell’s. Informants, comms. A man pronounced to all as dead. How is it possible, they were written off as a non-threat before?

Soap grits his teeth, tapping the lit end of his cigarette on a wall. Simon started moving a few minutes ago, the poison once again retreating. By the haunted look in his brown eyes, John could tell they both know he’s running out of time.

Price has been arguing with Laswell while helping Simon. Something about the fact the Hunter seemingly didn’t exist a year prior, on paper. Appeared out of nowhere one day with an army behind them, ready to burrow into intelligence networks in a way even Makarov couldn’t.

Makarov’s name came up a lot in that conversation. Enough that Soap had to take a smoke.

Anger thrums through his veins. Begging for blood. The same incessant screaming that drove him to choke the life out of Makarov, the same fire that kept him going through this personal slice of hell.

Maybe he’s an idiot, for wanting to kill the Hunter, for believing it will change anything.

The cigarette’s flame licks his fingers.

Soap crushes it against the wall. He turns around, watching Simon and the Captain. Far enough to not hear them, but they seem to need a bit of privacy anyway. Soap can’t say he’s ever seen Price that emotional, in their short meetings.

He asks himself where Gaz is when the Lieutenant approaches him.

“Price is bloody livid, isn’t he?” Gaz huffs.

Soap hums. His eyes move from the Captain to Simon, his mask still on the ground besides him.

Kyle follows his stare, “did you know Ghost’s identity, when I found you two?”

“No”, the white skull almost glows in the moonlight, “I only found out when… the communicator tried to use it against him.”

He can feel Gaz scan his features, “and you still decided to work with him.”

Soap doesn’t answer. Simon and Price are hugging now, the movement uncoordinated to Ghost. He doesn’t know how he can tell.

He turns to face Gaz, “I swore we will finish this together. I don’t go back on my word.”

“We both know this goes beyond that, Soap.” Gaz gives him a half smile, “the way you look at him… Haven’t seen you like that with anyone else.”

Soap frowns, scoffing, “don’t know what yer-”

“You have feelings for him, don’t you?” Gaz asks, almost gently.

…Feelings?

…..Could he?

“I…”

“Don’t lie to yourself.” Gaz murmurs, “in all the years I’ve known you, you didn’t act like this. Going against everyone you know, jumping in front of him when Price starts threatening him, letting him rest his bloody head on your legs- c’mon Soap, you’re fucking smitten with the man-”

“Kyle.” Soap stops him, head hanging down to hide the embarrassment painting his cheeks red. He scrubs a weary hand over his features, looking up at his friend between his fingers.

Gaz’s eyes soften. Soap sighs, “I- this is not the time for that kind of shite. We need to fuckin’ dust the Hunter, and then-”

And then what?

Soap lowers his hand, stare unconsciously drifting towards Simon. Since when have his eyes started doing that?

It hasn’t been more than a month since he arrived to this godforsaken city. How is it that John can’t imagine being alone again?

Or… how can’t he imagine an ‘after’ without Simon?

“I won’t lie to you.” Kyle starts, his tone gentler, “I still don’t fully trust Ghost. Even if he is… Simon Riley.” the Lieutenant places a hand on his shoulder, “but I can tell what you truly want, even if you think it’s not feasible.”

“That’s because it isn’t-”

“Bullshit.” Gaz turns John around to face him, “look, we are not good men. We’ve been operating outside the law for… for as long as I can remember. What we do, the way we dirty our hands...”

Kyle lets out a shaky exhale, squeezing his shoulder, “what I’m saying is, we can make people disappear. And if you… if you want that, I can help. I’m sure Price will too-”

“Yer out of yer mind-”

“Are you going to go back to Scotland, mate?” Gaz’s voice sharpens on desperation, “are you gonna go back to feeling like you have nothing to live for? Can you really leave this life, leave Ghost, behind?” He almost whispers the end, “be honest.”

How could he go back? No apartment, endless job search, a buzz under his skin that cannot be scrubbed off, disappointment to his family, emptiness, emptiness, emptiness-

“What else can Ah do?!” Soap tenses under Gaz’s hand.

That hand keeps him steady all the same, “whatever you want, John.” Kyle smiles sadly, “me and Price don’t have that freedom, but you two? You don’t have stuffy generals breathing down your neck.”

“I don’t-” Soap cuts himself off, thoughts whirling faster in his mind. He gets reminded of what his therapist used to say about him, back when he was just discharged.

“You fixate on danger, John. To the point of obsession. You don’t know when to let go, if you believe you can make things right.”

“Even if the cost is more than you should be willing to pay.”

“Just… think about it. Besides…” Gaz looks away, expression darkening, “I have a feeling the 141 might need people like you in the future.”

Soap brows furrow, “dishonorably discharged adrenaline addicts?”

Kyle chuckles, “no”, his hands tighten on Soap’s shirt, “people we can trust. People who are willing to do what’s right, even if they know they shouldn’t. Even if they don’t act the way the higher ups would want them.”

His brown eyes turn to look at John, determination he first saw on bootcamp only growing stronger, “people like you.”

Soap goes through another cigarette with Gaz by the time Price and Simon return to them. Both of their eyes shine with tears.

“Laswell did some digging.” Price grunts, “wasn’t easy, finding intel on the Hunter. They know their way around our networks, clearly.” his stare flickers towards Simon, “this operation-”

“Mass murder” Soap corrects. Calling this an operation would spit on the dozens of innocent people left to rot here.

“Mass murder”, the Captain continues, “is very unusual for the Hunter’s soldiers. Almost… flashy.”

“The communicator admitted it was an attempt to frame me.” Simon rolls up the mask in his hands, slipping it on, “they needed to show the British Army I’m too dangerous to keep.”

“And they knew the SAS would send the 141 because of the informant.” Gaz huffs.

Price nods, “which they did succeed in, but it also exposed them to us.”

“The SAS wouldn’t have investigated it further if ye actually killed Ghost the first time around.” Soap grumbles, wincing a moment later when he remembered who he’s talking to.

The Captain takes it surprisingly seriously. “Correct. This is not the first time they hide behind a smaller, supposedly unconnected criminal.” he hangs his arms on his tacvest, commending voice booming in the empty streets, “the Hunter is now top priority for the 141, our orders are to eliminate them, along with any high ranking officers remaining within their army. This mission is classified to all but us and Laswell - anyone else will be treated as a potential collaborator of the Hunter.”

“What about Soap and Ghost, Captain?” Gaz asks.

Price sighs, “Ghost has escaped after releasing the civilian he captured as leverage. And John MacTavish?” a sly smile pushes his mustache up, ”he has never set foot in this city.”

Kate Laswell isn’t someone Soap knew well, back in his service. Has heard her name being dropped in a couple of debriefs, a few calls here and there regarding missions.

He becomes increasingly grateful she’s on their side, as she brings up more and more intel on the Hunter. Their main source of information is the informant Ghost killed - the man recognized several undercover soldiers moving supplies in and out of the city in the past few weeks. He knew something big was going to happen, but the SAS waved it off as a local gang.

On the day of his death, he managed to send in one last report. The informant knew his time was limited, that his cover was blown, so the message was painfully short.

‘Skull in warehouse, Konservy, game over’

It was not clear if who he referred to when he transmitted the name “Skull”, and at the time the comms officer asked the informant to repeat, thinking it was a mistyped “Ghost”. With what they know now, it’s highly likely he was actually talking about the Hunter, and their red skull insignia. Konservy is a name of a warehouse, two clicks out of the city, as Laswell quickly found out.

‘Game over’ is the agreed upon sign for caught spies.

Price and Gaz have brought out their maps, attempting to lock down the warehouse’s location. Soap and Ghost were gently shooed away after it became obvious they don’t have any more useful intel to provide.

“How’s your neck?” Ghost asks him, the two of them leaning against a crumbling wall.

Soap opens his mouth to answer, when gloved fingers brush over the bruised skin on his throat. “I uh…” he swallows, the hand following the movement, “I feel fine.”

Ghost hums, caressing the wound for a moment longer before pulling away. Soap wants to chase the touch.

He really is in over his head, isn’t he?

“Simon.” Soap looks up at the bright skull mask, “have you thought about… what are ye gonna do after?”

“...no.”

“...Would ye go back? To what you did before?”

Simon stares at him deeply, eyes closing, “I don’t think I can.” he looks back at Soap, “you? What did you do before?”

Soap chuckles bitterly, “ah, I was spendin’ my newly civvi life indulging in only the greatest of pleasures. Like sittin’ in an office for nine hours a day, or knittin’ a scarf on my therapist’s orders.”

Simon’s shoulders shake with a badly hidden laugh, “I’d like to see you knit.”

Soap grins, “oh I was a natural. It definitely didn’t have several holes by the time I was done.” 

“How did you get here, then?” Simon asks, mirth still creasing his eyes.

His smile drops, words dying on his tongue, “I uh…” that weeks-old shame starts creeping back in, “was about to be evicted. Got fired, bastards never liked me anyway. I jus’ took all of my money and… ran as far as I could.”

Simon hums, shoulder leaning in to nudge his. Soap thinks the conversation is over after a few moments of silence, the both of them mauling over the words, when Simon surprises him.

“Think I’d like that… running away.” he murmurs.

“Aye? Where would ye go?”

“Don’t know. Don’t think it matters.” Simon leans in closer, their foreheads almost touching, “as long as the company is good.”

Soap feels a shiver go down his spine, eyes wide as he tries to find the joke that must be in Simon’s.

But he looks so painfully sincere, even when he finally leans away, “too bad there’s none ‘ere. Might ask Laswell if she got any tips on finding partners in crime.”

Soap lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, “think they make dating apps for fuckers like ye?”

“Doubt I’ll find anyone as mental as you on Tinder, Johnny.” Simon deadpans.

“That’s because yer looking in the wrong place - Christian Mingle is where the real crazy bastards are.”

Simon can’t hold in his laugh this time, and for the first time Soap hears the way he snorts a little when his giggles become uncontrollable. It’s a horribly endearing sound, one that he wants to hear for every day for the rest of his life.

It makes his heart hurt, heavy, sinking in his chest like a death sentence.

Gaz was right.

He’s in love with Simon Riley.

Gaz went back to get the vehicle he and Price infiled with. It had a laptop, a few maps, and the most wonderful MREs Soap ever had. He never thought he’d miss that shite, but after running on a handful of oranges and a possibly moldy sandwich, they tasted like heaven on earth.

As he and Ghost had their meal (Simon’s eyes sparkled in a way that told Soap he was clearly as delighted with the food as he was), the 141 finalized their plan with Laswell. Soap could see them arguing about something, but he was far too preoccupied with eating to care at the moment.

Ghost, however, did care, “need anything, Price?”

The Captain snaps his head up, taking off his hat and scratching at his hair, “we have an angle to breach, but…”

Gaz joins in, “We don’t have intel on how many guards are posted, their location… mission will be doomed from the start if we just go in guns blazing.”

“Why not do some recon, then?” Soap wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, “we’re all trained for that.”

“Too risky, the warehouse is exposed, and the Hunter won’t leave any obvious gaps in security if they’re worth their salt.” Price grunts.

Ghost gets up, walking over to the maps spread on the truck’s hood, “then we break in.”

Soap smirks at the assurance in his voice, “and that’s why I love the Ghost.”

He instantly catches the knowing expression on Gaz’s face, as well as Simon stiffening beside him. Soap curses himself mentally, feeling his face heat up in shame. He prays for any god that might listen, that Ghost didn’t take it as seriously as the truth is.

Thankfully, Price saves him from blurting out some more recently-discovered-emotions, “no other way but through, eh Simon? What do you have in mind?”

Ghost scans the maps of the warehouse Laswell has sent over, “The Hunter doesn’t know we’re working together, if they’re expecting an attack they would only expect two people - me and Johnny.” his eyes flicker to Soap’s for a brief moment, “if we split up, the 141 could take them by surprise.”

“You said they’re after you and John, Simon. If they catch you, we might not be able to help.” Price says grimly.

Ghost sighs, looking away frustrated. His head turns to face Soap, eyes calculating, “...what if they don’t know it’s us?”

“What?” Price asks.

Ghost continues, eyes still staring deeply into his, “Johnny can easily disguise himself, he’s done so before. All he needs is to cover up his face and hair.”

The Captain nods to Ghost, “and what about you, son? Everyone knows your mask.”

“But no one knows his face.” Soap answers, understanding washing over him, “but Simon-”

“I can’t be Ghost if we want to finish this.” Simon brushes fingers over the bone-white teeth of the skull mask, hand tightening into a fist.

Gaz nods slowly, “and we can’t be the 141.” he sends a meaningful look to the Captain, “this operation has to be kept secret. If the SAS learns we collaborated with the Ghost…”

“Then we won’t be.” Price walks to the back of the truck, pulling out 3 black balaclavas and throwing them to Soap and Gaz.

Price begins explaining their plan, “Laswell has gathered up a few blueprints of the Konservy warehouse. There are several key points that appear to be far too open for us to breach, all except one - the offloading garage. We’ll split into two teams, me and Gaz will take the offices and CCTV rooms, clearing the way for Soap and Ghost to infiltrate the main machinery room.”

“Our plan depends on each team watching the other’s six, we’ll have to keep comms up.” Gaz adds.

“Once the first team takes over the CCTV room, we will be able to locate the Hunter. The faster we do this, the less likely reinforcements will arrive.” Price hands Soap and Ghost a radio.

“Do we know where they keep their vehicles?” Soap asks while fitting the comms over his clothes.

“Yeah, should be around where we first enter. Why?” Gaz raises a brow towards him.

A wicked smile spreads on Soap’s lips, “might be able to set up a little surprise for any newcomers.”

Ghost chuckles darkly, “always ready to craft a trap, aren’t you, Johnny?”

“Never failed me before, Simon.”

“You can take a look at our supplies, take whatever you need.” Price looks over each of them, “any questions?”

Soap flexes his hands, adrenaline thrumming a familiar song through his veins, anger painting his vision red, “what are we waiting for?”

[ellekhen]

Hand, Hearth, and Home

Chapter 73 - Awaken and Rest

Chapter Summary: The party reunites for a desperately-needed rest.

Pairing(s): Astarion x Male Tav (Main); Past OC x Male Tav Rating: Explicit Length: 373K+ words; Chapters 73/?? (Master Post)

Excerpt below:

When Church comes to, he finds the world frozen in time.

And then he sees her.

The Raven Queen stands there — watching him from behind an unblinking, haunted-looking Astarion. She appraises them both, tilting the pale mask of her head. Her many eyes wink as her feathers flutter in a nonexistent wind.

“Oh Church…” the Raven Queen murmurs sadly. “See how easily he overwhelms you?”

“Stay away from him!” Church snarls at her. 

The Raven Queen sighs, gesturing down at the vampire spawn. 

“All it took was exterminating one undead — one suffering soul — and you would have had my protection until the day you died… and beyond. Your shadow never would have bested you.”

Her mask drifts lower as her wings flex. 

“It is not too late for you to win back my favor.”

Church stares at her incredulously, and he almost wants to laugh at the ludicrousness of her proposal.

“I don’t want your protection,” he spits. “I don’t want your lies, and I won’t hurt him.”

“Oh?”

The Raven Queen’s feathery body grows longer, more monstrous as she stretches forth to crawl over to him. But the tiefling stares as steadily as he can as her mask studies him closely, even though every cell of his body screams to turn and hide away. 

“You saw what became of you without my protection. Is this your final decision?” she asks him softly. Dangerously. 

“I won’t vow to destroy the undead,” Church says evenly. “Not for you. Not even for my own soul.” 

“Your mind could die. Your soul could sunder. Is that what you wish?”

Church huffs a bitter laugh.

“Well, you said ‘could,’” he mutters. “Does that mean I have a chance after all?”

The Raven Queen laughs — as if taken aback.

“There is always a chance, however small,” she muses. “But embracing that chance also means embracing the far greater possibility of endless suffering and death.”

Church stares and stares at the frozen Astarion, wishing he had time to help him understand…

“I don’t want to die,” he croaks. “But I want him to live more.”

“Even if his life will bring more death and damnation? Not only to you, but to many, many others?”

Church closes his eyes for a moment. He can still smell the foul blood and viscera caked into his clothing by whatever transpired during his sleep. 

“…yes,” he whispers.

The Raven Queen’s mask looms over him, studying him closely. 

And then she giggles. 

“How delightful,” she murmurs. “How curious. How deeply…” she takes a deep, shuddering breath as she retreats back into her smaller form. “How… horrible,” she says, voice distant, “Oh. I see your path before you — the turns in the road manifesting like newborn stars. You poor things…”

Church frowns at her. 

“What are you—?”

“Where one door closes… another opens,” the Raven Queen lilts. “I still see tragedy in your futures. Such sweet, sweet tragedy. But, oh! It is ever-shifting. Yes, so many possibilities are ripe for the picking…”

Church swallows, his mouth dry. 

“You intrigue me, child,” the Raven Queen declares, amused. “I will keep my eyes on you both. I will send my witnesses. They know your names.”

“Just leave him alone!” Church beseeches her. “Leave us alone.”

“Fret not, child. No pact will be made today… by your choice alone,” she says softly. “But the offer still stands, for as long as you are capable of making that choice. And that choice will linger there beside you — your destiny. Your doom.”

Church reminds himself to breathe. 

“So what happens now?” he asks her, voice cracking. “Is my soul lost? Is that the tragedy?”

The Raven Queen hums dubiously. 

“I see the potential for a tragedy far more delicious… provided you survive this one. You will have a short reprieve when you wake,” she says enigmatically. “What you will do with it, I do not know. Not yet. You will play your part, and my children will watch. Whether it’s tomorrow or a hundred years from now, we will be waiting for you. 

“And then, when all has come to pass, I will see your face in the Fortress of Memories, my child. And when that happens…” she summons the silver orbs of Astarion’s memories once again, smiling at them. “...you may collect what was lost.”

Without further ado, she disappears in a flurry of wings.

Church slumps back to the ground, his consciousness fading as time begins to pass once more. 

Without the protection of any entities, it’s only a matter of time before the shadows will claim him again. 

Well. 

He won’t spend it waiting for that to happen.

[oliolioxenfreewrites]

The Retreat I

8 months after the accident…

Monique gripped the steering wheel of her weathered Subaru, stealing glances at her best friend, Ashleigh, in the passenger seat. The winding mountain road stretched before them, an endless ribbon cutting through the dense, shadowy forest. As the sun reached its apex in the sky, casting long fingers of light through the trees, Monique felt a familiar tightness in her chest.

The radio played softly, filling the silence between them. Ashleigh’s eyes were fixed on the view outside, but she could sense Monique’s unease.

“You know, this is exactly what we need,” Ashleigh said, her voice gentle yet firm. “Getting away will help clear your mind.”

Monique sighed, her grip tightening. “I don’t know, Ash. What if this is just another failed attempt to escape my life?”

“It won’t be,” Ashleigh insisted, turning to face her friend. “You’ve been through so much, Mo. I know you’re stronger than you realize. It’s time you remembered that. We both need this time away to breathe and heal.”

Monique glanced at Ashleigh, seeing the determination in her eyes. “I hope you’re right,” she muttered, returning her gaze to the road.

At thirty-two, Monique wore her experiences like invisible scars. Her once-bright smile now seemed forced, a mask to hide the turmoil beneath the surface. This vacation was meant to be an escape, a chance to outrun the shadows of guilt and grief that had dogged her steps since that fateful night.

The car rounded another bend, and Ashleigh gasped softly. “Hey Mo, look!”

Their friendship had been a lifeline for Monique, a bond forged through years of shared experiences, laughter, and tears. Ashleigh’s unwavering support and infectious optimism had always been a source of strength for Monique, especially during the darkest times. Despite the heavy weight of her recent past, Monique felt a flicker of hope as they ventured deeper into the mountains, guided by Ashleigh’s constant belief in her resilience.

As they approached the clearing, a cabin emerged from the wilderness. Its weathered exterior spoke of years of neglect but also held a mysterious charm. Like hollow eyes, the windows watched their arrival with curiosity and anticipation.

Monique eased the car to a stop, killing the engine. “Home sweet home,” she said sarcastically. The silence was so loud that the only sound was the tick of the cooling engine and their shallow breaths.

Monique’s feeble attempt at humor fell flat in the eerie stillness. Neither woman moved to exit the car. Monique’s mind drifted, remembering her previous argument with her brother Marcus. He had insisted this trip would help her heal, but Monique couldn’t take the mix of pity and encouragement in his eyes. It was her fault David was gone. Her actions had shattered so many lives.

A sudden movement in the trees snapped Monique back to the present. She tensed, eyes scanning the tree line. “Did you see that?”

Ashleigh frowned, peering into the gathering darkness. “See what?”

For a heartbeat, Monique thought she glimpsed a person standing motionless among the pines. Then it was gone, leaving her to wonder if it had been a trick of the fading light.

“It’s nothing,” Monique said, more to convince herself than Ashleigh. “Come on, let’s get our stuff inside before dark.”

They exited the car, the crunch of gravel under their feet echoing through the silent forest. Monique couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched as they retrieved their bags from the trunk.

Ashleigh bumped her shoulder playfully against Monique’s. “Hey, this is supposed to be fun, remember? Two weeks of rest, relaxation, and zero cell service.”

Monique managed to put up a small smile, grateful for her friend’s unrelenting support. “You’re right. I don’t think I could’ve done this alone.”

As they approached the cabin, keys jingling in Monique’s hand, a chill wind whipped through the clearing. It carried the scent of pine and something else – something old and vaguely unsettling.

Monique hesitated at the threshold, her hand on the tarnished doorknob. This was their refuge, a chance to heal and move forward. Yet, as she gazed into the cabin’s shadowy interior, she couldn’t shake the feeling that they had made a terrible mistake.

With a deep breath, Monique pushed open the door. It swung inward with a mournful creak, revealing musty darkness within. Neither noticed the gleaming eyes watching from the forest’s edge as she and Ashleigh stepped inside.

The musty air inside the cabin tickled Monique’s nose as she fumbled for a light switch. A soft click and warm light flooded the room, revealing a cozy interior that immediately dispelled any lingering unease. The cabin’s weathered exterior had hidden a warm, inviting space that promised comfort and relaxation.

“Wow, Ash,” Monique breathed, taking in the rustic charm of the living room. A stone fireplace dominated one wall, flanked by well-worn but comfortable-looking furniture. The wooden walls were adorned with old photographs and paintings of the surrounding wilderness, adding to the cabin’s quaint appeal.

“This place is pretty nice,” Monique said, her tone lightening.

Ashleigh beamed, already hauling their bags inside. “I told you! I found this place online while Marcus and I searched for venues for the big day. It had great reviews from other guests for a quick reprieve.”

They began exploring the cabin, starting in the living room. Monique noticed a large, plush rug beside the fireplace and a stack of firewood beside it. A sturdy wooden coffee table held an assortment of nature magazines and a few board games.

“I can already picture us cozying up here with a fire going,” Monique said, her spirits lifting.

“Exactly,” Ashleigh agreed. “This is our sanctuary for the next two weeks.”

They moved into the kitchen, a small but well-equipped space with modern appliances that contrasted with the rustic charm of the rest of the cabin. The countertops were clean and stocked with basic cooking supplies, and a welcome basket on the table held locally sourced produce and a bottle of wine.

“Look at this,” Monique said, picking up a small jar of homemade jam. “They thought of everything.”

They continued their tour, finding a bathroom with surprisingly modern fixtures. The shower was spacious, and the vanity was stocked with fluffy towels and various bathroom products. Monique smirked as she noticed the stockpile of feminine hygiene products.

“I’m not sure how she knew to stock up on feminine hygiene products,” Monique said with a raised eyebrow. I guess you told her it was us, huh?”

Ashleigh laughed. “Yeah, I mentioned it was two women staying. Figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask for the essentials.”

“I’m impressed; this is way nicer than I expected,” Monique said.

“Wait until you see the bedrooms,” Ashleigh replied, leading the way upstairs.

The main bedroom was the highlight of the cabin. It featured a large bed with a rustic wooden frame dressed in cozy quilts and soft pillows. French doors opened onto a covered porch that overlooked a babbling stream. Monique stepped outside, inhaling the fresh mountain air and listening to the soothing sound of the water.

“This view is unbelievable,” she said, turning to Ashleigh. “I can’t believe you found this place.”

Ashleigh joined her on the porch. “I knew we needed somewhere special. Somewhere, we could relax and disconnect from everything.”

The second bedroom was smaller but equally charming. It had a single bed and a window that offered a view of the dense forest. Ashleigh placed her bag on the bed and turned to Monique.

“This will be my room. You get the primary suite,” she said with a smile.

Monique felt a surge of gratitude. “Thanks, Ash. Really.”

“I’ve got a whole itinerary planned, too! I promised hiking, yoga, and that winery visit. Oh, and I brought some art supplies for you. I thought you might want to get back into sketching.”

Monique’s throat tightened at her friend’s thoughtfulness. She hadn’t touched her art supplies since before the accident.

“You’re spoiling me on this trip, Ash. Seriously.”

“You just call me Big Momma, Ash.” Ashleigh responded with a terrible impression of a masculine man who provides a special kind of “sugar.” A slight smirk sneaked in, about to make her break character.

Monique looks at her and says, “Anything for you, Big Momma.”

They fell onto the bed after bursting into laughter. After regaining their composure, the two returned downstairs when Monique surprised her friend and wrapped her in an affectionate embrace that symbolized their 20 years of friendship and history. After unpacking, they spent the next hour or so discussing the latest gossip from home. Monique felt more at ease than she had in a while, thanks to the cozy vibe and Ashleigh’s company.

They decided to stroll before dinner as the sun dropped below the tree line, leaving long shadows across the clearing. The forest trail was alive with the sounds of birds settling in for the night and small animals rustling in the underbrush.

“You know, Mo, sometimes all we need is a little nature to remind us of what life is really about,” Ashleigh said softly as they passed the stream. “Two weeks of peace will do wonders for your soul.”

Monique nodded, taking a deep breath of the pine-scented air, fighting her mind’s attempts to remember the hikes with David. He epitomized getting outside and getting to it. She’d thought of him fondly instead of with heavy guilt. A faint sense of hope was felt for the first time in months. Maybe she could start getting better here.

Returning to the cabin, they fell into an easy rhythm of setting dinner together. Ashleigh pulled out the fresh trout they had picked up on the way during the drive-up while Monique set the table. Preparing a meal brought a sense of normalcy that Monique hadn’t realized she’d been missing.

“Who knew we’d make such a great kitchen team?” Monique remarked with a small smile as she arranged the trout on a plate.

“Remember our college days? We were practically gourmet chefs with a hot plate and a microwave,” Ashleigh replied with a laugh, tearing open a packet of herbs.

Monique chuckled. “Yeah, those were the days. Having real food and a real kitchen for a change.”

“Exactly. “And, real friends who stick by your side no matter what,” Ashleigh said, her tone more serious as she met Monique’s eyes.

Monique felt a warmth spread through her chest. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Ash.”

“Luckily for you, you’ll never have to find out,” Ashleigh replied with a wink.

Monique nodded, feeling a sense of contentment that had been forgotten for far too long. Ashleigh’s promise of a peaceful retreat was beginning to make her feel like things might get better.

They settled to eat, savoring the freshly cooked trout and reminiscing about their road trip. The cabin filled with the delicious aroma of lemon pepper seasonings and thyme, and their laughter echoed through the rustic space.

“This trout was a great idea,” Monique said, licking her fingers. “We should stop by that market again on the way back.”

“Deal,” Ashleigh agreed, holding her fork in a mock toast. “To our first bestie dinner in the cabin!”

“First bestie dinner in the cabin!” Monique echoed, clinking her fork against Ashleigh’s.

After dinner, Monique and Ashleigh settled onto the cabin’s porch, glasses of wine in hand. The surrounding forest hummed with the evening chorus of crickets and frogs. The air was incredible, and the night sky revealed a blanket of stars.

“To, new beginnings,” Ashleigh said, raising her glass of wine.

Monique clinked her glass against her dear friend’s, a genuine smile tugging at her lips. “To a new beginning.”

They sipped their wine in comfortable silence, listening to the symphony of nature around them. Monique felt a sense of peace she hadn’t experienced in a long time.

“So,” Ashleigh began, her voice gentle, “how are you doing, Mo? And don’t give me that ‘I’m fine’ nonsense. I was afraid we’d have to admit you soon enough!”

Monique laughed wryly, then sighed, swirling the wine into her glass. “Honestly? I don’t know. Some days are… better than others.” She paused, struggling to find the words.

“It’s just… everywhere I go back home, I see him. David, I mean. Or I see the looks people give me like they’re just waiting for me to break down.”

Ashleigh reached out and gently squeezed Monique’s hand. “He was your college sweetheart, turned husband, Mo; I can’t even begin to understand how you feel. You are so strong for even making it through the day, even though all you want to do is curl up into a ball and hit ‘Do Not Disturb.’”

“It’s a pain I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy, and please know I appreciate you and this beautiful cabin you got for us. I just…” Monique trailed off; her gaze fixed on the darkening forest.

“I can’t help feeling like I’m running away.”

“You’re not running away,” Ashleigh insisted. “You’re taking time to heal; that’s why we’re here. There’s a huge difference.”

Monique nodded slowly. “I guess so. It’s just difficult to see it that way sometimes.”

Ashleigh leaned back in her chair, looking up at the sky. “Something about being out here makes everything else seem so small. The stars, the trees, the sounds of the forest—it’s like a reminder that there’s so much more to life than the pain we carry.”

Monique followed her gaze, the stars twinkling above them. “You’re right. I’ve missed this. Just being able to look up and feel… connected to something bigger.”

“Let’s make a pact,” Ashleigh said suddenly, turning to face Monique. “For the next two weeks, we focus on the present. No dwelling on the past, no worrying about the future. Just being here, right now, is all we need.”

Monique’s eyes met Ashleigh’s, and she saw the sincerity and determination in her friend’s gaze. “I can do that,” she agreed, “for you and me.”

Ashleigh grinned, holding out her pinky finger. “Pinky swear?”

Monique laughed; a sound that felt foreign yet incredible. She linked her pinky with Ashleigh’s. “I pinky swear.”

They stayed on the porch longer, wrapped in blankets, occasionally pointing out an exceptionally bright star or a constellation they recognized. The conversation flowed easily, with light-hearted banter and more profound reflections.

“So, how are the wedding plans going?” Monique asked, genuinely curious.

Ashleigh’s eyes lit up. “Oh, Marc and I have been so busy. It’s coming together, but you know how stressful it can get. Finding the right venue, finalizing the guest list, and don’t even get me started on the dress fittings.”

Monique smiled. “I can’t wait to see you walk down the aisle. You’re going to look stunning.”

Ashleigh squeezed her hand. “And you will be right there beside me, Miss. Maid of Honor, and all. You know I couldn’t do this without you, Mo.”

Monique’s heart warmed at her friend’s words. “I’m honored. Truly.”

“Who else besides my ride-or-die would I want to marry my brother?”

They continued to sip their wine after sharing a giggle. As the night grew colder, they decided to head inside. They secured the cabin, double-checking the locks on the doors and windows before settling into their respective rooms.

As Monique lay in bed, drifting off to sleep to the gentle babbling of the stream outside, she felt a sense of calm wash over her, the weight of the past months lifting ever so slightly. For the first time in a long while — she allowed herself to hope this retreat might bring the healing she desperately needed.

She was about to drift off when a faint sound reached her ears—something soft like gravel crunching underfoot. Monique’s eyes snapped open, and she strained to hear her heart racing. The sound was muffled but distinct, moving slowly around the cabin.

She held her breath, eyes fixed on the shadowy outline of the window. For a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of movement—a vague, shadowed figure blending into the night. She started peering out of the window when she was proven correct by being startled back into bed, playing asleep to avoid detection. The figure paused, leering into the window, no longer lingering at the forest’s edge from their arrival. She and Ashleigh were on the second floor of the log cabin; how could they have possibly gotten up here? Monique’s heart began to pound in her chest as she scrambled to find her phone and turn on the flashlight. Immediately after she looked up, the figure disappeared, leaving only an eerie silence in the master cabin suite. Shadows cast on her wall began forming the same silhouette she’d just seen a moment prior.

Monique exhaled shakily, feeling quite irrational. She told herself it must be a trick of the moonlight and her overactive imagination, but the unease lingered. She instinctively knew she should check on Ashleigh, but trepidation kept her in bed, her intuition faltering in the oppressive silence. The promise of peace in this dense forest now felt tenuous, as if the darkness outside held secrets that were just beginning to stir.

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[yes-and-no-not-maybe]

Ghost didn’t like this. Jonny’s shite-eating grin, Gaz glancing at him when he wasn’t looking, and fucking worst of all Price. He’s started touching him more, a hand on his shoulder, gently bumping into him when they passed in the hall. It’s pissing him off. Something is going on, something wrong. This has been going on for the past week, Ghost can’t focus on anything. With every slight against his nerves, his skin crawls and his scars itch. Don’t get him wrong, Ghost lov- appreciates his coworkers. Their company certainly makes his life more interesting than it would be in a more professional unit. But goddamn if one of them doesn’t spill the beans soon, he’s gonna snap and start spilling some guts.

“Lieutenant.”

Fuck, this whole thing has got him off his game. Price is barely half a meter away from him at this point and he didn’t fucking notice. Yes, they might specialize in stealth but Price isn’t that good (no offense, Captain). To add salt to the wound Price has the gall to look concerned.

“Yes, Sir.”

A soul grating pause, before Price snaps the glowstick of Ghost’s wits.

“Pack your bags, Simon. The letter on your bed will explain. We’ll see you out. Have a good vacation.”

If Ghost didn’t have his mask on Price would have seen him gaping like a fish out of water. A very scared and suddenly desperate fish. “Captian, wait!” Some higher power finally grants him a bit of solace as his superior stops his tactical retreat, but doesn’t turn to face him. Ghost swallows hard, his sanity rests on Price’s response. “I didn’t request a leave of absence. I would like to .” Price continues walking.

“Unfortunately, I cannot grant your appeal. I’m sorry, but it’s out of my hands, Simon.”

So Simon did what he did best when he faces a problem to big. He ran. When he finally comes back to himself, he’s not sure what time it is. At least he’s still on base. Well, in the stupid forest around the base, but it means no one saw his face. His face?! Simon's hands fly up to his face, meeting bare skin and not the comforting fabric of Ghost’s mask. “Fuckin’ hell.”

His hands come away slick with sweat and definitely-not-tears (Tommy always called him a crybaby). Focus, Simon. Throwing a tantrum isn’t going to change anything, he’s still going to have to leave… And now he has to figure out how to get back to his room without anyone seeing him. He misses the days when he was thin enough to force his way to the vents.

Sighing, he starts back in the direction of the base, he might be able to sneak into the showers first and steal a towel for later. A shower might make this nightmare seem more manageable. Fuck.

He ended up hiding in a shower stall for over an hour, not like he was counting or anything. Guess he was still afraid of the truth, after all. Damn it. There he is sitting on the stall’s bench with a towel fucking wrapped around his face, just to feel some semblance of sane. God, he’s so lucky Price convinced Laswell that the 141 didn’t need to take psych evals.

[dnangelic]

his mouth opens then shuts . the wings attached to his back too lift then drop . his expression warps in all sorts of ways : from shock to befuddlement to a strange , guilty realization . he had been normal until inheriting his so-called 'destiny' --- no , that line of thinking was wrong . even before the first time he felt his body feverish and aflame with changes at the genetic level , he lived the sort of life that no other ordinary child would have endured . hide and seek with radios, tag with traps for training . locks and skeleton keys like building blocks and baby rattles ; magic and terrifying transformations may very well have been the next step in a series of increasingly absurd ones .

but then --- how to explain dark ? himself and not himself , a voice that both unfailingly encouraged and ruthlessly mocked him , that he should have , yet could not always bring himself to trust . his was a face that terrified yet pleaded simultaneously for his acceptance , a wretched mask that begged and begged to be worn . the tip of a sharp tooth digs tenderly into the soft flesh of a bottom lip , and he thinks of all the times that he had lost track of fang or force and drawn blood . accidentally , only ever on accident ; dark had never sought to hurt him on purpose , and the various sins and faults too , had only ever been the tamer's own .

' i ... ' never just his . never just dark's . even now , debating endlessly between the idea of making his other self , his shadow into a thieving rival or simply a shade that stretched out from the soles of his own feet , he feels his heart quiver . ' i don't want to let go of him . ' and this was the epitome : that he wanted to be kept , that he wanted to be needed . gently , jealously , ripe-sweet and bitter with selfishness . a selfishness that diamont excuses , the boy listening on intently .

things were much simpler for the other , it seemed --- being able to so readily push and run from others , to speak of acceptance as if it weren't one of the most difficult things for human beings to demonstrate at times , and as if it had nothing to do with living under the law and oh-so-flagrantly defying it . still , there's pleasantness to the other's thought , and he nods . a small smile naturally blossoms on his lips as he retreats into daydream , trying to imagine the impossible world wherein the likes of saehara and his father , hiwatari and saga and the rest of his school all blithely accepted the boy who could become an inhuman monster before their very eyes .

this warm fugue lasts until diamont's second to last remark --- and the question , throwing everything out of balance , makes him burst into laughter . the rare noise sounds divine , until the boy covers his lips and tries to mask any sharp-tooth snarl . he thinks : saehara's interest in becoming a reporter was all his own . saga , though he had inherited the industry from his father , was intent on pursuing his own masterpiece films whether or not they involved dark . even hiwatari ... though the most complex and mysterious out of the group , still seemed to be stubborn and intent on forging his own path , no matter how dire the straits or wire-thin the road to capturing dark became .

' ... it's just my luck , i guess . ' the cherub-bliss dissolves , cools away , and leaves him seeming somewhat frigid and lonely , cold at the shoulders but no place else . he nods nevertheless to diamont's suggestions , and the light lingering in his eyes remains firm . i'll prove you wrong --- words he had once furiously said with his own voice to dark once upon a time . he can't help but wonder , had he changed at all , even since then ?

' um , diamont ... san . even though you said you weren't good at this sort of thing , i --- ' his head tilts a little , struggling to find the right words . ' thank you . i really appreciate it . i've never been able to talk about this sort of thing with anyone before , so it feels a little strange ... but you've been so kind to me , and i feel much better . ' a hand lifts to his chest , and it rests there , over the space of his heart . ' i'll try to think about things for a little while . i'll keep everything close , right here , until i come to some kind of decision . but --- in the meantime , is there anything that i could do for you , too ? it feels unfair , you've given me so much good advice , but i ... i still haven't been able to do anything in return . '

Diamont quiets and listens, nodding along to pivotal parts of Daisuke's tale. Through he said he was a man of a few friends, Diamont would point without hesitation how many people Daisuke managed to know - even if it was under the shadow of somebody else.

"To me it sounds like you want to be normal in a world where everybody is normal", he concludes. Before continuing. "But you are not normal. And while you say that everyone fits in how they should, you do not. But is being different so bad?" The dragon tilts his head, the inquiry genuine. "If being different is what makes you yourself, then wouldn't 'being normal' be akin to denying one's self?"

While the question was as sharp as a knife, Diamont lets it out with a tone of genuine curiosity more than any malice. "You do not even trust yourself. How can you be proud of something you do not trust? Think of it like this: I could weave a spell, but if I fear that it might kill me, then the chances of me wavering are bigger than normal. Because I do not trust it. If I did, then I would have been sure that it would do what it is supposed to do." A frown makes itself present, finally.

"I do not waste time with people that cannot do anything." The statement is as cryptic as ever. But Daisuke should be smart enough to understand. "Yet I am still here. Talking to you. And telling you how I see things. Are your victories his, or are they yours, too?"

Diamont stretches his legs, expensive heels clicking against the floor. It gives him time to think. And to continue with his barrage. "Not everyone lives under the law, and if you enjoy stealing... what is wrong with it? Just do not get caught." That seemed simple enough. "It does not mean that you are a bad person. Hm. I do not know how to explain this. But you just are not. It just means that your skills are located somewhere else."

As for his social situation, Dia has absolutely no clue on how to comment on such things. "I have only met a few people through my entire life. If somebody chased me only wanting to put me down, I would push them away. If somebody rejected me, but wanted "me" for what I am not... I would run. I think people should accept you for what you are - wholly.

... Daisuke." The air hangs heavy for a moment. "Why are there so many people in law enforcement in your school? I thought they would be around your age. Is your school a school for prodigies or something? Whatever their parents do should not influence them at all. That is just stupid." He is about to open his mind and suggest to alter their memories, but thinks better about it. "I know there are schools where I am from, and some of them are specialized. In magic, in fighting, in alchemy. In whatever you think you want to be.

I always found out that the easiest way to stop people from berating you or saying stupid things about you is to prove them wrong. If they think you cannot amount to anything, then prove them wrong. They will be forced to swallow their own illogical misconceptions."

[valdomarx]

“Geralt. My dearest friend. My closest companion. Light of my life, fire of my-”

Geralt narrows his eyes. “What do you want, Jaskier?”

“Seeing as how I’ve made you famous, and I flatter myself that this has eased you path somewhat, why, this very inn not only took us in but even offered us a discounted rate-”

“What do you want, Jaskier?” Testier this time.

“Ahh. Well. Let me put it plainly: I’m in need of a favour.”

Geralt raises one eyebrow, in an expression he knows speaks volumes.

“I need you to come with me to Lettenhove this winter and pose as my fiancé.”

Geralt nearly drops the sword he’s sharpening. A million thoughts whip through his mind, but one is most pressing: “Why, for Melitele’s sake?”

Jaskier waves a hand in a vague and non-descriptive gesture. “It’s a court thing, you know how families are, and my mother has made it abundantly clear that it’s time for me to settle down and this year I’m to return affianced or else she’ll select someone for me. And I can’t get hitched to some local lady, Geralt, I simply can’t, it’ll ruin my bardic appeal, not to mention my employment prospects, and of course I won’t be able to travel with you, and it’s-”

Geralt holds up a hand to ward off the wall of words. The idea of no longer travelling with Jaskier is unconscionable, not that he’d ever admit that out loud. And they spend so much time together they’re practically married anyway. How hard could it be to pretend for a few days?

“Fine,” he says gruffly.

“Oh, Geralt, you are wonderful.” Jaskier beams and throws his arms around Geralt’s neck. Geralt growls, but secretly, it’s actually rather nice.

-

“Mother, this is Geralt, my fiancé.”

Cold, clear eyes look him up and down, assessing him, and pinch into an expression suggesting he has been found wanting. Geralt decides against opening his mouth and further cementing that opinion.

“A witcher.” Her voice has the familiar twang of Jaskier’s, but with the flat, expressionless cadence he associates with the higher echelons of the aristocracy.

“A witcher!” Jaskier confirms in a cheery tone. “Isn’t that exciting?”

She sniffs in a manner which makes it clear that exciting would not be her first choice of word. “I see. He will be joining us for this year’s Yuletide?”

“He will.”

Her face draws back into the impassive mask of the well-bred. “Very well. You will stay in the east wing.”

“Thank you, mother.” Jaskier executes a stiff bow which Geralt copies and they beat a hasty retreat.

-

“That went rather well!”

Geralt blinks. “Jaskier, I’m fairly sure your mother means to have me killed in my sleep.”

“Oh, don’t mind her. She’s always like that. She’s actually softened up a lot since dear old dad died, gods rest the grumpy bastard.”

Geralt struggles to imagine how such staid, cold people could possibly have produced a son as bright and warm as Jaskier. They might as well be a different species.

Jaskier pushes open a door to a grand suite, all plush velvets and gold ornamentation, a thick woven rug underfoot. It’s the most opulent room Geralt has ever seen, but Jaskier pays it no mind and throws his bag casually on the bed.

“We’ll have to stay here together,” he says apologetically, not looking Geralt in the eye. “But the bed is plenty big, or I can sleep on the sofa if you’d rather -”

Geralt is still taking it all in: The space, the furnishings, the frankly enormous bed which looks divinely comfortable. And there, through the next room, that looks like-

“Is that a copper bathtub?” he asks, eyes wide. Such luxuries were a rarity indeed.

Jaskier grinned. “It is. Let me get some food sent up and I’ll wash your hair?”

Geralt grumbles, just for the effect, and decides that putting up with tedious aristocracy might have its benefits after all.

-

Yule festivities in Lettenhove are, mercifully, a mere matter of days. First there is the fitting for formal attire, which Geralt scowls through but Jaskier promises will be made up for with plenty of good food and wine. Then there are several deeply tedious aristocratic parties, which Jaskier sails through and Geralt spends mostly hiding in dark corners, as is his wont.

Occasionally, Jaskier will grab him by the hand and introduce him as, “Geralt, my husband-to-be,” and something funny will flip over in his stomach which will require several drinks to settle. When he returns to his dark corner he’ll find his heart pumping a little faster as his eyes track Jaskier flitting around the room. It’s probably just indigestion from all the rich food.

Then there is the formal family Yuletide dinner, a spectacularly awkward and singly unpleasant evening spent around a long, cold table with Jaskier’s mother and various cousins, who regard Geralt with expressions ranging from bland disinterest to active hostility. The food is heavy beyond measure and the conversation cruel and bland by turns.

They cover the need for raising taxes, the many failings of the servant class, and the petty squabbles over jewels and titles that seems to be the bread and butter of these people. With each hateful line, Geralt feels his blood rising. If it weren’t for Jaskier making pleading eyes at him, he’d take great pleasure in explaining some hard truths to them.

When a cousin begins expounding on useless lazy peasants in the estate, complaining that they can’t work because of plague, but we all know they’re simply idle, Geralt grits his teeth so hard that he swears the sound must be audible.

Beneath the table, Jaskier takes his hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. Staring down at their joined hands, Geralt detaches from these awful people and their awful conversation and focuses on the simple warmth of Jaskier’s fingers intertwined with his own.

-

They make their escape from dinner as soon as can be considered polite, and Geralt takes a second to lean against the door to their room, breathing deeply.

“You did well not to throttle anyone,” Jaskier says with a reassuring smile. “If we’d had to listen to cousin Edrick for a minute longer, I might have launched over the table with a carving knife myself.”

Geralt reaches for him without thinking, and once again Jaskier’s hand slips into his own. It’s grounding, to feel something genuine in this place surrounded by artifice.

“Come on,” Jaskier says. “Let’s get out of here.”

Geralt doesn’t even ask where they’re going before nodding.

-

They sneak away from the estate out of the servants’ door and follow a winding path toward a cluster of lights in the valley below. The path into Lettenhove town is quiet and calm, and as they walk the snow begins to fall in soft flurries, covering the ground in a peaceful white blanket.

The town looks picture perfect when they arrive, a charming jumble of thatched cottages and a small, cosy inn from which bright light spills out into the snowy night. When they enter the barmaid runs over to hug Jaskier and the proprietor slaps him on the back, and Jaskier has a kind word and a waved greeting for every person in there.

Geralt feels something unwind in his chest, something he hadn’t realised was tight and twisted until now. Seeing Jaskier in his element, among people who love him for who he is, instead of among that cold, hateful family, he feels right in a way he hasn’t for days.

Jaskier is already buying drinks and passing them around, and he excitedly waves Geralt over. “Bree, Geoffrey,” he addresses the couple behind the bar, “This is Geralt.” A shy smile sneaks over his face. “My fiancé.” The couple gasp in delight and congratulate Jaskier, then they’re embracing Geralt like old friends and pushing a drink into his hands.

“Come on, Geralt, join us!” Bree smiles warmly. “It’ll be the ten o’clock bells soon, and we must have Jaskier lead us in a song.”

The evening is a whirl of music and dance and loud, terrible singing, which the entire town seems to join in. For once there is no corner for Geralt to hide in, so he stays by Jaskier’s side, basking in the reflected glow of these people’s clear adoration of his bard.

-

When the midnight bell chimes and Geoffrey turns them all out for the night, the revelers wend their way home still singing and drinking. As the place empties out, Jaskier slides over to Bree to press a kiss to her cheek and a bulging purse into her hand. She tries to wave him off but Jaskier tucks the money behind the counter all the same, and Geralt watches, a deep wave of fondness sweeping through him.

The snow is still falling when they step out into the now-quiet street, soft, fat flakes drifting lazily from the sky and sticking in Jaskier’s hair. His cheeks are flushed pink and his hair falls in an messy sweep over his eyes; without thinking Geralt reaches out to brush it away behind his ear. Jaskier’s blush deepens as he does so, but he shivers in the cold.

“Here.” Geralt unclasps the thick cloak from around his neck and sweeps it over Jaskier’s shoulders. Jaskier’s mouth forms a little o of surprise and he looks up at Geralt, something tender in his eyes.

Geralt’s gaze is caught by the snow flakes settling on Jaskier’s lashes; he’s so focused that he almost jumps when Jaskier reaches out to take his hand. The sky seems to glow with a soft orange light as the clouds reflect the last few fires in the town below; everything is warm with Jaskier’s hand in his despite the chill in the air.

“Thank you,” Jaskier says softly. “For being here with me.” And leaning in, his breath caressing over Geralt’s face, he touches his lips to Geralt’s cheek in a ghost of a kiss.

Suddenly it occurs to Geralt that this will be it, tomorrow they’ll head back on the path like none of this ever happened, no more holding hands or being close, no more being introduced as Jaskier’s betrothed. And despite the hellish parts of this experience he really doesn’t want it to end. He likes being Jaskier’s person, and he likes Jaskier being his.

They are still standing close together, mere inches between them, and it’s no effort at all to lean in, slowly, cautiously, to find Jaskier’s lips with his own, to place a tentative kiss there. And then Jaskier’s hands are fisting in his shirt and tugging him closer still, and his arms go around his waist and Jaskier is kissing him back like he’s been waiting for it, their mouths slotting together like they were made to fit each other, and everything is blazingly bright like the white of the snow.

When they pull apart they stay with foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air, and Geralt can see a smile cracking wide over Jaskier’s face.

“I like being engaged to you,” Geralt says quietly, unable to keep it in.

Jaskier’s smile widens even further. “I like being engaged to you too,” he says. He kisses him again. “Fiancé.” Another kiss. “Husband to be.” And another. “Partner.” One more. “Beloved.”

“I like the sound of those.” He suspects he may be wearing the same dopey grin as Jaskier is.

“Then let’s make it official.” Jaskier bites his lip. “Marry me?”

Jaskier is a picture of perfection, eyes gleaming and cheeks ruddy, snowflakes in his hair. Geralt’s heart has always been right here.

“I’d be honoured.” He considers for a second. “But not in Lettenhove.”

Jaskier’s laugh sparkles with joy. “Anywhere but here.”

[braindeadbaddie]

A Case Study in Kisses: Bajifuyu Through the Years

half for me, half for you, sticky kisses for two

Chifuyu and Baji will always split half a peyoung yakisoba.

They will buy one..two or ten, eat half of each, and then switch.

Baji is sentimental, and although Chifuyu thinks it’s a little impractical, he indulges him because he loves him. He loves to think that this is something that they do. This is theirs.

Baji does not eat peyoung yakisoba with anyone else, because when Chifuyu is done with his half, he always cups his face, and kisses him deep. He licks his way into his mouth, bites his bottom lip, and sucks on his tongue until Chifuyu is a whimpering, withering mess.

“For the extra flavor,” Baji says while licking his lips when he pulls away.

Then he goes on to continue eating, like he didn’t turn Chifuyu’s brain to mush.

Baji doesn���t tell him, but peyoung yakisoba always makes him crave his kisses. And the flavor always tastes a bit better from Chifuyu’s lips.

melting clouds

“Thank you for your patronage, have a good day,” Chifuyu says with a cheery voice as he waves off the last customer of the day.

Chifuyu sighs as the customer service smile melts off his face.

Today has been a long day. A very very long day.

He rubs the side of his neck, trying to work out the extra stress that has built there as he walks towards the door to flip the sign to “closed.” He lets out another long sigh before turning around and walking through the store to look for his boyfriend, so they can hurry up and get home, where they can hide away in the covers and pretend nothing exists but the two of them.

He turns into the cat food aisle and sees his boyfriend… laughing with Kazutora.

Now…Chifuyu has forgiven Kazutora for the pain of the past. He understands why he did what he did and how he lost his sanity to the world. He loves Kazutora, because Baji loves Kazutora, and because to some extent, he gets Kazutora.

So he understands exactly what is behind the look in his eyes when he looks at Baji.

Chifuyu’s been there too.

He swallows, try to work down some of the jealousy that is working into his guts.

It doesn’t work.

Fuck it.

Chifuyu walks up to the pair, throwing his arms around Baji, and nuzzling his face in the side of his neck. He gives him a squeeze as he lets out his third and loudest sigh. He feels the rumble of his boyfriend’s laugh before he hears it, the two working in tandem to send a hot thrill down to his toes, just as stepping into a warm bath would.

“Long day?” Baji asks, the sympathy apparent in his voice.

He nods, the exhaustion catching up to him as he rests his head against the back of Baji’s shoulder.

“The store is mostly clean, I can go count the register and finish everything up if you guys wanna get home a bit earlier…” Kazutora says, his voice masking most of the envy Chifuyu knows he feels.

“You sure?” Baji says, the rumble of his deep voice soothing Chifuyu’s heart. He could fall asleep standing up.

“Yeah definitely. Besides, I owe y’all one remember,” he says.

Chifuyu only sleepily hums, arms loosening around Baji’s waist. He feels his boyfriend turn around and wrap his arms around him to keep him upright.

“Well since this one is so tired, I’ll let ya. Thanks, Tora,” Baji says appreciatively.

“Mm, thanks Tora…” Chifuyu mumbles out, leaning heavily on Baji’s shoulder. He hears Kazutora’s retreating footsteps over the soft lull of Baji’s heart.

“You look like a little kitten,” Baji whispers softly, carding his fingers through Chifuyu’s fingers.

“Baji,” he mumbled, leaning into the touch. He tips his head up, searching for a kiss, all without opening an eye.

Baji chuckles and plants a small kiss on his nose.

“Baji….” he whines, feel the skin burning with the oncoming blush.

The rumble from Baji’s boisterous laugh, shakes Chifuyu up enough to flutter his eyes open and pout.

He feels the way Baji’s breathe gets caught in his throat, watching with sleepy eyes at the way his Adam’s apple bops up and down.

“God, you’re so pretty it’s unfair,” Baji mumbled before gracing him with a pillow soft kiss.

Chifuyu sighs into it, and for the first time that night, he feels all the stress, all the worry, and the entire world melt away.

All that matters right now is Baji’s soft kiss, lifting him up up up, causing him to float away.

Cloud 9 could never be as sweet as Keisuke Baji’s lips.

the sweetest sound (my name on your lips)

“Chifuyu,” Baji says with his beloved’s head tucked under his chin.

“Yes Baji-san,” he answers, his back firm against Baji’s chest.

“You know…you should start calling me by my first name. I don’t know why you’ve kept these formalities up like we haven’t been together for like….ever” he mumbles into his hair.

He almost misses the way Chifuyu stops breathing. But who could blame him…his heart is going so fast he can barely hear or feel anything but thump thump thump thump.

Chifuyu lowers the heat on the stove, where he’s making tea and turns around to face Baji. He looks up at him, a pink blush dusting his face, his plump bottom lip caught in his pearly teeth.

God, how could his boyfriend look so cute, so sweet, so absolutely breathtaking with nothing but Baji’s big sweatshirt on in the dim afternoon light in his kitchen.

Chifuyu could run Hakkai and all the other models in the world out of business.

“K-Kei…” he says bashfully, intoxicating green eyes darting between Baji’s eyes and….everywhere but Baji’s eyes.

“Hah…” Baji breathes out as the air is punched out of his lungs, blood rushing to his face.

“Kei…” he says again, more firmly, holding his gaze this time.

Baji bites his lip to stop himself from making anymore embarrassing sounds.

“Kei…” Chifuyu whispers softly, tilting his head just the slightest.

“God…” Baji groans out before rest his forehead against his boyfriend’s. He presses a firm kiss to his lips, before doing it again and again and again.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Chifuyu,” he whispers softly into the small space between them.

Chifuyu mumbles out something incoherent before pressing a small kiss to the corner of Baji’s mouth.

“Baji-san,” he whispers back.

“No no. Kei.” he replies firmly, looking dead into his boyfriends mesmerizing oasis of green. “You have to get used to it because you’ll be ‘Baji-San’ one day too”

Then blush that sparks across Chifuyu’s face makes Baji fall in love all over again.

He watches him gulp, let out a shaky breath before looking up into his eyes.

“Ok…” he mumbles out.

lazy morning dew

“Kei…” Chifuyu says sleepily, caressing his lover’s torso with his ear pressed to his chest.

The man beneath him hums, tightening the arm around him. Chifuyu loves the vibrating feeling the courses from his boyfriend’s body into his. He plants a small kiss right over his heart, then plops his chin over his folded hands, looking up at the love of his life.

Baji looks down at him, rubbing soft circles into his skin. His grey eyes sparkle in the sunlight that seeps in between the blinds, shining in contrast against his beautiful sea of black hair, making them look like far away stars in the night sky.

And Chifuyu is helpless to do anything but cling to them like a lost traveler, trying to find his way.

“God, you’re so gorgeous,” he mumbled out, unable to stop the words from flowing out of him.

He feels a light blush rise to his face, but he can’t find it in him to feel embarrassed. Not with butterflies dancing around his stomach at the way Baji’s teeth sink into his bottom lip. Not with the way Baji’s cheekbones start to color in a pretty pink. Not with the way all the love in the world seems trapped inside Baji’s eyes.

“How can you say that when you look like this…?” Baji mumbles out, bringing up a hand to cup his face

“Chifuyu…” Baji whispers, rubbing his thumb across Chifuyu’s blushing face. “Man, you look like a dream.”

He feels all the breath leave his lungs in a soft whimper, helplessly nuzzling Baji’s palm. His eyes flutter close and holds his breath as his boyfriend’s sweet lips meet his own.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over this. Not after knowing Baji for 13 years , being with him for the last 7, and living with him for the last 6.

He doesn’t think he could ever get over the way Baji’s lips brush softly against his in the morning, before planting them firmly in a sweet kiss. He loves the way he always uses his hand to guide Chifuyu, the way his arm tightens around him. He loves the way he never rushes in the morning, taking his time to explore Chifuyu with his lips, his tongue and his sharp teeth.

As Chifuyu wraps his arms around Baji’s neck, sinking deeper into the kiss, he think this is how the Earth must feel, being kissed by the sun every morning. Softly, slowly, bringing it to life in a new way, every day.

[too-gay-for-marvel]

just this once pt.4

a/n: shes LORGE

Word Count: 5,031

Warnings: smut implications, canon typical violence, mentions of blood, non-graphic assassination

Pairing: Natasha x Reader

(pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.6.1 pt.6.2 pt.6.3 pt.7 pt.8)

“You gonna cum for me, Talia?”

“Need another mission?” Nick asked, shaking Natasha out of a memory. Her eyes darted around for a split second and noted that the meeting was over.

She had missed the last half of the briefing.

“No,” Natasha shook her head, immediately getting up and attempting to rush out past Nick.

“Well that’s a shame,” Nick continued, moving to the doorway and completely blocking Natasha’s retreat. “I needed a legendary assassin to accompany a local fish.”

“Not a fish,” Natasha replied, far too quick for her to stop herself.

“Funny, that’s the exact same thing she said,” Nick said with a smile before crossing his arms over his chest.

Natasha knew she had lost; she hadn’t really had any hope that she would win anyway. If Nick wanted her to do something, she was going to end up doing it, and that was that. She motioned her head for him to walk with her, and his smile grew. Asshole.

“I need you to take out a target,” Nick said as if there had never been any lull in the conversation.

“Who?” Natasha asked. They reached the elevator and she pressed the button to go up to the gym. Nick pressed the button for his office.

“Jake Porter.” He handed a manila folder to Natasha. It was heavy.

“Says he’s SHIELD?” Natasha asked as she quickly flipped through page after page.

“He is,” Nick nodded, looking down at Natasha. “He’s also the snitch from your last mission.”

Natasha nodded, trying to ignore some vital parts of that mission. She had managed to avoid you for a few months again, but she should have known better than to think it would have lasted forever. It seemed almost as if the world was conspiring against her.

“If it’s a hit, why is Y/N going?” Natasha asked, slamming the manila folder closed as aggressively as possible. It ended up just folding back over at an embarrassingly slow pace.

“He’s hiding in an underwater safe house.”

Of course he is.

“When do we leave?” Natasha asked as the elevator doors opened to Nick’s floor.

“In two hours,” Nick said as he walked forward, not even caring enough to look back.

Natasha sighed once the elevator doors slid shut again. A knot formed in her throat and stuck, forcing her to focus on each individual breath. Something was trying to claw it’s way out of her chest; she could only keep it at bay for so long. There would be hell to pay if it ever came forward.

“Is that not cannibalism?”

“No, it’s lunch.”

The voices pushed past the elevator doors before they were fully open, and Natasha couldn’t help the small smile that graced her lips. Both you and Yelena were sitting at the bar, trays of sushi and cups of tea in front of you. Your mouth was full and you weren’t even looking at Yelena, yet she continued to raise her brow at you in disbelief.

“You’re a fish, that’s fish. It’s cannibalism,” Yelena continued, but you shook your head and picked up another piece.

“Not a fish,” Natasha replied for you. The corner of your mouth tilted up and there was a slight shift in your gills, but Yelena just rolled her eyes.

“You two are disgusting,” Yelena mumbled to herself. “Shouldn’t you be planning a honeymoon or something?”

The room went cold. Your head tilted down until you were hunched over your sushi, picking the pieces apart with your chopsticks. There was a tenseness to your jaw that had to have been painful, but it didn’t ease up. Yelena shifted in her seat and looked down at the ground.

“It’s on hold,” Natasha shrugged, desperately wanting to get off the topic.

“Oh right,” Yelena nodded, already back to her usual demeanour. “You’ve got cold feet.”

“I don’t- I don’t have cold feet,” Natasha took a slight step back and crossed her arms over her chest. “Life is just busy.”

“Busy as in you don’t want to-”

“Did you down here for a reason?” You asked, throwing Natasha and Yelena off of their argument. You were still meticulously picking the sushi apart, rice grain by rice grain.

“We’ve got a mission,” Natasha said curtly. “We leave in two hours.”

“Okay,” you said as you stood up from the bar, towering over Natasha for only a moment before walking off. “See you then.”

“Why do they always leave me to clean up their mess,” Yelena groaned, and Natasha turned to see the mess of your sushi.

Instead of answering, Natasha just gave Yelena a wink and walked away. She has a mission to get ready for.

———

“Can you please turn the fucking heater on?” You shouted from the back for what had to have been the 12th time in the past 10 minutes. The pilot ignored you.

“If you’re cold, put on a jacket,” Natasha repeated. Your sigh could have been heard all the way back in New York.

But when she glanced up, she felt a knot form in her throat. Your thermal suit was clearly not doing anything for you as you pulled what looked to be a third jacket over your shaking shoulders. Blood was showing under your cheeks, and your gills were pulled in tight.

“There’s a space heater in the safe house,” Natasha said softly. You finally looked up and met her eyes.

As soon as your eyes narrowed in on her, she felt time stop. A heat started in her cheeks and spread to her neck and chest. It was as if you were looking into her, so deep that you could find the parts of her she didn’t even know about. Something about that look, something that dug into her core and left her feeling empty as soon as you looked away.

“I’ll freeze to death before then,” you mumbled before tearing your gaze away; you tore a hole through Natasha’s heart in the process.

For the rest of the flight, the only noise was the sound of your chattering teeth. It echoed through the quinjet and Natasha felt the beginning pangs of a migraine popping up in her head. If you didn’t stop soon, she was going to be driven into a homicidal rage.

“Hovering in five,” the pilot finally yelled out, and Natasha stood up quickly with the hopes that the faster she moved, the faster she could get away from the incessant staccato clacking of your teeth.

You stood up after a moment, standing far enough away from Natasha that she couldn’t feel your warmth. But you were still close enough for her to notice the shakiness spreading down your limbs. The way your harpoon jingled on your belt as your body was wracked with the occasional spasm. And yet you put on a brave face and braced for the mission.

“My mask has an hour of oxygen,” Natasha said, already pulling said mask onto her face. “Think we can finish by then?”

“Sh-shouldn’t t-take that long,” you stuttered, teeth shivering between words. “Short d-dive.”

“Opening the cargo door,” the pilot yelled, and just as he said, the cargo door opened and you both stared out into the dark, icy water.

“Age before beauty,” Natasha teased as she gestured out at the water.

“Very f-funny,” you chattered again, but followed her direction and stepped off the cargo door and into the freezing water below.

Natasha was quick to follow suit, wanting to get the dreadful part over as quickly as possible. The very instant her feet touched the water, a painful shock travelled across her skin, sinking deep into her bones. Her fingers reacted slowly when she tried to clench her fist.

“Let’s go,” you said through your comms, and Natasha managed to see you just in time before you disappeared into the inky darkness.

It was like Natasha was swimming through jello. No matter how much she willed her limbs to move, her body to keep going, it seemed she slowed down with each stroke. The water around her started to close in, each breath drawing the pressure closer. Her lungs were on fire and her heart was pounding too hard and the darkness was closing in and she needed out.

There was the whisper of a touch on her arm before she felt herself being yanked upward, finally soaring through the water like she had wanted. In a heartbeat the water released her, the pressure disappearing far faster than it had appeared. She yanked her mask off and inhaled deeply, ignoring the way her lungs screamed at her to stop.

“Trying to get yourself killed?” You asked, and Natasha finally took notice of your hand wrapped around her bicep.

“It was too dark,” Natasha replied, her tongue feeling heavy and slow.

“You didn’t answer the comms,” you continued, “I thought you had gotten lost.”

There was venom to your words. Natasha looked up and managed to calm her shaking enough to see the fire in your eyes, the clenching of your jaw, the freshly picked spots on your bottom lip. Your hand was gripped tight enough that if Natasha had any circulation left in her arm, it would’ve been cut off.

And she didn’t care.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Natasha said, finally yanking her arm out of your grasp. “You stay here for the getaway.”

You nodded and jumped back into the moon pool, already nothing more than a memory. Natasha wasn’t sure if she liked that or not. She shook her head and took off down the corridor, already on the hunt for her target.

It was easy. Far too easy. He was in his room, door unlocked, music far too loud for him to hear anyone come in. A single shot to the back of the head, and the mission was over. Now all she really needed to do was head back to the moon pool and then you could both get to the safe house and warm up.

Except for the small, itty bitty insignificant fact that the base was set to self destruct once Porter’s vitals stopped.

As soon as the sirens started to echo through the base, Natasha was sprinting down the halls. She didn’t know how much time was left, didn’t care, she just needed the both of you to get as far away as possible before you were stuck in the rubble. Natasha turned the last corner and saw you standing on the edge of the moon pool.

“A little faster, please?” You yelled, grabbing Natasha’s arm and pulling her into the water, giving her barely enough time to pull her oxygen mask back on.

You didn’t let go of her arm as you started cutting through the water. She could feel the blood pulling back from her limbs and pooling back in her core, and she felt like dead weight. Your momentum slowed as you pulled her up and wrapped your arm around her waist.

But then the muffled sirens stopped, and you both turned around just in time to see a flash. Natasha’s body wouldn’t react, just felt like lead as you pulled her closer, curling up around her until she was completely covered in you. The distorted explosion reached Natasha’s ears just as she felt the shock wave propel you both further away.

The spinning seemed to last forever, and Natasha felt like even her brain was spinning along with the rest of her body. She didn’t know when it stopped, couldn’t tell when you were still. It was impossible to tell what was up, down, where the surface was, how deep she was, how close she was to death.

Until you pulled away slightly and looked at her.

Natasha went to take a breath and immediately felt freezing water shoot down her throat. She cut the breath off as quickly as possible, but it was too late. The water was deep in her lungs, freezing each individual cell from the inside out. She didn’t have an oxygen mask anymore.

There was a split second where your eyes met hers, and they almost seemed to turn black before she felt your free hand close her nose. She was about to push you away when she felt your lips on hers, cold and chapped. You pulled her closer and teased her lips open, and she didn’t fight it. If she was about to die, then at least she would die happy.

And then you exhaled, and her lungs inflated and felt just a little lighter, and the darkness inched away.

You pulled your mouth away and started swimming again, presumably heading up though Natasha couldn’t tell anymore. Every few seconds you would exhale more oxygen into her lungs, keeping her alive as you dragged both of your freezing bodies back to safety.

As soon as you broke the surface, Natasha gasped and filled her lungs with fresh air before coughing the water back out. She was freezing, her limbs felt like lead, and her body was aching from the inside out. And yet you continued to pull her along, swimming to shore until you could pull her up with you.

The rocks on the shore poked into her suit, leaving bruises that would grow very quickly once she got back to the safe house. You laid on the shore too, back down, small pebbles sticking to your gills. From the way they twitched, it was clearly uncomfortable, if not painful.

You both stayed there, laying in the freezing tide, rocks and pebbles sticking into your skin to the point where you would both be recovering for weeks. Natasha’s eyes wanted to close; sleep seemed to wonderful and it would have been so easy. You could both just sleep and not hurt anymore.

But death was not in the cards, and Natasha wasn’t going to let a little cold win.

She rolled onto her stomach slowly, as fast as her body would allow, before pushing herself up to her knees and then her feet. It was painful; her body felt heavy and little pinpricks were on every inch of her skin. But she wasn’t going to think about it. Instead, she grabbed your arm and yanked you up, ignoring the gasps and hisses that you let out.

“Two miles left,” Natasha mumbled; her lips felt frozen shut.

The walk was slow; neither of you had the energy nor the warmth to make decent time. You both stumbled, tripping over your own feet, or the rocks, or the uneven terrain. But eventually you made it, right as the sun was at its highest point in the sky and Natasha almost felt the ghost of warmth in her cheeks.

“Sit down,” Natasha demanded as she threw the door open. She didn’t bother looking back before moving to grab the space heater and put it directly in front of the couch.

Your eyes were dead; they didn’t shine the way they were supposed to. Your hands kept a death grip on the blankets pulled tight over your shoulders. The shakiness in your body had disappeared, now completely still. It felt like a hole was punched through Natasha’s chest, grabbing her heart and ripping it out.

She sat on the sofa opposite you and just watched you. Hoping that you would move, that you would blink, that you would start shivering again. She didn’t know how long it normally took you to warm back up, didn’t know how long it would take for you to get back to normal. But she did know the word you had used for this condition before; you were torpid.

It felt like hours later, but Natasha’s eyes shot back to your face once she heard a wheezy gasp come from you. Your eyes looked glassy, but you blinked once, slowly, before a shiver wracked your body. Just one. But that was enough for Natasha to feel the vice grip around her throat release.

The ringing of the safe house phone made you both jump.

“Romanoff,” Natasha answered, her eyes travelling back to you.

“You’re safe?” Maria asked through the phone.

“Y/N’s torpid, but we’re secure,” Natasha said curtly. Her pulse was starting to increase.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Maria asked again.

No. No, Natasha wasn’t sure.

“I’m good,” Natasha replied anyway, “just ready to get out of here.”

“About that…”

“Don’t say it,” Natasha mumbled. She leaned against the wall and let her head fall back.

“A storm is rolling in and we won’t get to you in time,” Maria continued anyway. “You’re stuck there for a few days.”

Natasha looked over to you again, noting the rise and fall of your shoulders as you slowly, painfully pulled another blanket over your body, this time covering your head. The flush hadn’t come back to your cheeks yet, but you were moving. She could work with that.

“Will we keep power?” Natasha asked, although she already knew the answer.

“Questionable,” Maria answered anyway, “but the generator is in the back room.”

“How much can she manage?”

“She can handle one room. Use her wisely.”

One room. Not enjoyable, but manageable.

“Keep the phone plugged in?” Natasha asked.

“Preferably,” Maria answered, the sound of a smile coming through the phone. “I’d like to talk to you every now and then.”

“Then it’ll be ready,” Natasha replied with her own small smile. She missed Maria. She missed her a lot.

“I’ll try to call after the storm hits, test out the line,” Maria continued.

“I’ll be waiting for your call, then,” Natasha continued.

“You two are disgusting,” you called from the sofa, and Natasha was brought back to the current situation.

Right.

“Go check on the fish,” Maria sighed, “and keep yourselves warm.”

“Yes ma’am,” Natasha teased.

She stood up and hung up the phone before turning to check on you. You were shivering steadily, and your eyes were looking around. There was the faintest blush to your cheeks and forehead and your lips were looking slightly less chapped.

“W-what’s the w-word, bird?” You asked, looking up to meet her eyes.

“We’re stuck for a few days,” Natasha sighed as she sat on the sofa opposite you. Unlike you, she could heat up quickly. Now the cold was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

“So basically,” you started, “they’re leaving me to die.”

“No one is leaving you to die,” Natasha huffed, rolling her eyes.

“Yes they are.”

“You’re so dramatic,” Natasha shook her head. “You have every blanket in the house wrapped around you, how are you not warming up?”

“Because I can’t warm up like that and you know it,” you groaned before falling back against the mountain of blankets.

“I’m not putting up with this right now,” Natasha said, all concern from earlier gone. “Give me a blanket, I’m going to get some sleep.”

“Take the one off the top,” you pouted, “it’s not helping much anyway.”

Natasha walked over and grabbed the blanket you had mentioned, pretending not to notice the ice and pebbles still currently sticking to your gills. You looked absolutely miserable, and she felt a pang in her chest at the sight of your shivering frame.

But she couldn’t bring herself to say anything, instead just turning around and heading off to the one bedroom. She was going to get some sleep if it was the last thing she did.

Or so she thought.

Natasha woke up to darkness and a cold starting to seep through the blanket and her thermals. She planted her feet on the freezing floor and took a deep breath, not really prepared for the fact that the power was out, and she was going to need to watch you at all times to make sure you genuinely didn’t die.

She grabbed her blanket and the two pillows off the bed and made her way to the living room. There was a flickering glow on the walls, and she walked in to see you sitting in front of the space heater and a fire. The generator was more quiet than she had expected, but it still released a constant thrum throughout the safe house.

“When did-” Natasha cut herself off, her eyes having locked onto the bloody gauze and minuscule shrapnel pieces littering the floor.

“About three hours ago,” you replied, either ignoring her hesitation or not caring. “You were out for about seven.”

“Did Maria call?” Natasha asked, trying to walk around you without seeming obvious.

“Yeah,” you nodded. Natasha could see your eyes focused on your abdomen, shaky hands moving deftly. “Said the storm would last for about two day from the time she called.” You looked up with a raised brow. “And that she loves you.”

Natasha finally got a good look at what you had been doing while she was asleep. A jagged piece of metal was sticking out of the left side of your abdomen. There were numerous blood spots on the remainder of your suit, and some bloody tweezers and towels were on the floor in front of you.

“What happened?” Natasha asked, eyes still zeroed in on your side.

“From the blast,” you shrugged before looking back down to continue picking shrapnel out of your skin.

The blast? Natasha hadn’t gotten any kind of injury from the situation, aside from a headache and maybe some oxygen deprivation, but she didn’t recall anything hitting her. Why had it hit-

Oh.

Oh of course.

She was torn. She wanted to help, was desperate to fix you up so you wouldn’t hurt or bleed. But it would have been crossing a line; you never wanted anyone’s help. On top of that, anyone’s hands on your skin made you uncomfortable.

But you were doing such a bad job.

“Give it to me,” Natasha said. She held her hand out as she sat down beside you, already using her other hand to start taking the blankets off of your shoulders.

You huffed and started grumbling to yourself, but handed the tweezers over anyway. She finally made it down to your skin and found the true culprit of the metal sticking out of your side; an entry wound on your back, near your left shoulder.

“You pushed it forward so you could reach it, didn’t you?” Natasha asked as she got to work on the piece, picking smaller pieces out as she found them.

“Does it matter?” You asked. Natasha didn’t answer, instead just pushing the piece out of your skin and ignoring the hiss of pain you sent her way.

“Hand me the first aid kit,” Natasha demanded. You grumbled again but did as you were told.

It was quick work patching you back up; your low blood pressure was very beneficial in the moment, and she wasn’t worried about you bleeding out before you could get back to the tower. You wouldn’t be comfortable, but at least you would be safe.

Once she was sure you weren’t going to ooze through the gauze, Natasha gathered the bloody articles and got up to throw them away. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see you pulling the blankets back over your shoulders, wincing every now and then when you twisted the wrong way.

When Natasha got back and sat down on the sofa, she just watched you. Watched your slowed breathing, the occasional shiver, the inaudible groan when you shifted. You looked miserable, but at least you were breathing and talking.

“I’m bored.”

Maybe she didn’t like that you were talking.

“Then you’re going to have a rough few days,” Natasha answered.

“But I’m bored,” you whined. “Help me not be bored.”

“You’re an adult, find something to do,” Natasha shot back. She got up and walked over to the bookshelf, leafing through things that she knew she wasn’t going to read, but was hoping it would give you the idea to find something.

“If I get too bored then I’ll die,” you sighed. “Do you want me to die?”

Natasha turned her head slowly and raised her brow at you.

“How dare you,” you whispered.

She turned her head back to the bookshelf so you wouldn’t see the smile desperately trying to show on her face. Your sounds of indignation continued to reach her ears, so she hurriedly picked the next book her fingers touched and walked back to the couch.

You both sat in silence for a while, and Natasha actually managed to get some reading done. She had no idea what the story was actually about, but that didn’t matter. All that really mattered was that she was killing time, and if she killed enough time then it would be time for her to go back home and forget any of this had ever happened.

“Nat, I’m bored,” you said again after more silence.

“I already told you to find something to do,” Natasha replied without looking up from her book. “I’m not going to find something for you.”

“Fine,” you grumbled as you pushed yourself up from the floor. “I’ll do it myself.”

Natasha sighed but let you go. She didn’t look up, but she was still hyper aware of where you were in the safe house. Aware of each step you took, of each cabinet you opened. Just knowing where you were gave her a sense of comfort.

“Wanna play a game?” You shouted from the other side of the safe house.

It was going to be a long few days.

———

“Connect four,” Natasha said as she slid her red chip into place. Again.

“Connect four my ass, you fucking cheater,” you said as you tried to find out just where Natasha had cheated.

“How do you cheat at connect four?” Natasha asked, a smile threatening to show through her facade.

“I don’t know, but you did,” you said, pointing your finger at her. In turn, Natasha just chuckled and took another sip of her vodka.

Two empty bottles were on the kitchen counter.

“I demand a rematch,” you said again, giving her a deathly stare.

“You’ve been saying that for the past 37 matches,” Natasha said simply.

“Fine, then we’ll play another game,” you said quickly. “We’ve got… Clue, Monopoly, Parcheesi.”

“We’ve played all of those, Y/N,” Natasha pointed out.

“Doesn’t matter, we’ll play them again and again until I win and you stop cheat-”

The sound of the generator shutting down made the both of you fall silent. Almost instantly, Natasha noticed the cold soak into your bones and your body start shaking. Your teeth clattered and you instinctively pulled the blankets tighter.

“That’s not good,” Natasha whispered. Her voice seemed to echo in the now-silent house.

“It’s cold, Talia,” you shivered. You sounded like a scared little kid.

It broke Natasha’s heart.

She didn’t know if it was the butterflies or the alcohol, but she ignored the feeling in her stomach and moved over until she was sitting directly next to you. Her hand lifted the blankets up so she could get under them, and then found her arms wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you against her.

Your body was tense against her, but it relaxed quickly once you were settled. There was a peace about you that Natasha hadn’t felt in months, since before that mission so long ago. And your body relaxed against hers gave Natasha more peace than she could ever hope to get with anyone else.

“You’re ridiculously warm,” you mumbled from under the blankets.

“It’s a gift,” Natasha teased. You chuckled, but then sat up and switched the positions, pulling Natasha into your lap.

“You’re warmer this way,” you mumbled as you laid your head against her neck. Your breath tickled her skin.

Sitting in your lap was a dangerous place to be.

“We can’t do this,” Natasha said softly.

“We’re still on a mission,” you said, your lips moving against her skin. “It doesn’t count if it’s on a mission.”

“You know that’s not true,” Natasha said. You lifted your head and looked at her.

She could see the flush in your cheeks, going down your neck and tinting your gills. There was a darkness to your eyes, reminiscent of the inky water you two had escaped from. And just like that water, they pulled Natasha in. Pulled her in and held her captive as they engulfed her completely until there was nothing else but her and the water.

“It can be,” you whispered, moving in slowly.

“Don’t kiss me,” Natasha said so softly, her voice more like the ghost of a whisper.

“Say it like you mean it,” you said, now only a fraction of an inch away.

“I can’t,” Natasha whispered around the knot in her throat.

She could feel your breath on her lips, could feel the way your fingers were digging into her thigh and hip. The fire left a warm glow on your face, illuminating the scars, the shaved hair that was starting to grow back in, the sparkle of the inviting water in your eyes.

And Natasha wanted to dive in.

Until the rumble of a quinjet landing nearby shocked her out of her trance. She pushed herself off of your lap, rushing to the door as quickly as possible and throwing it open to see Maria standing on the cargo door.

“Need a lift?” Maria asked over the roar of the quinjet.

“And a medic,” you said, suddenly appearing behind Natasha. You had ditched the blankets and were standing tall, although Natasha could see the slight shake in your hands.

“Lucky for you, we’ve got both,” Maria said with a smile, ushering for the both of you to hop in.

Natasha got in first and looked back to help you in, but you ignored her outstretched hand and crawled in on your own, face scrunched in pain as your wounds pulled. You didn’t look at her when you passed, instead heading straight to the medic and letting him get a look at your injuries.

You ignored Natasha the entire trip home.

Natasha swore everyone on the jet could hear her heart explode the same way the underwater base had.

[crimsontroupe]

Xartsa'aga looks at the small mound of dirt, but Aeron is who replies. If you ask him - if you ask them - if there is something worth fighting for, then you should fight it.

So they pick battles. They do not belong to the fragmented moon, but people pray feverishly for solace. For hope. The darkest night, the gentle illumination that is necessary then. Battles, battles on top of battles. Battles until he shatters and picks himself up again. Never backing down, no matter what.

Aeron knows that he cannot stop. One day, lying on snowy fields and looking at the blindly white sky at dawn, he had realized: a peaceful death was not in store for him. The heavy mantle of heroism, ever so weighty on shoulders. Other adventurers would eventually find that retreating back to the safety of a home is what they desire.

Xartsa'aga would rather die on the vast expansion of the steppes, a welcome return to a first home. Aeron knows his death is at the end of a long tunnel, haunted by trials that no man can imagine.

They pat down the grave, making sure it will not be disrupted. Quickly, they hide it behind foliage: masking smells and assuring a peaceful rest. If a hungry animal is intelligent enough to see past all of this, then it was deserved.

He would starve to see other people thrive. In his own way, he shapes the world. Differently from Okishur. Different from Vohtii, from Okiqara. From Evi. Kindness and sacrifice. One step at a time. Aeron would tear his own scales with his own hands if needed. He would bleed on the floor if the cause was just enough.

Okishur has repeatedly warned him against it. He pays no mind. The falcon has ever been stubborn, hard-headed fool. The heart soars, bloodied as it is.

A smile.

"You are kinder than you know, daughters of ocean and night. When the sword is not enough - when the axe and magic might are not enough - that is when we grow. That is when we allow ourselves to change. You have done things for the sake of people you barely know; this would be impossible years ago."

Because there is love, the heron replies at last. Because there is love. For this world, for the people around us. Open your eyes and see. Hear it. Every small voice, every smile. Some of them opportunists, yes. But they are insignificant.

Hear the relieved sigh of the child who was reunited with their mother. Listen to the uncontrollable sobs of the woman who received her final mementos from her late husband.

Hear, hear. The chorus of nature, the raging storm inside you. The one outside. In that moment, you two are one. In that moment, no matter how mundane or hurtful a task, you have earned gratitude.

You have earned love. And so you love in return. The world. The people. The star. And so that moves you. And so that brings forth miracles - soaring impossible heights. The miracle of life and the somberness of death. Can you hear it?

Aeron stands, finally. The smile is still on his lips. One hand is raised, and he ruffles her hair. Roughly. Much like two wild animals playing. They think it is funny how Okishur's hair looks disheveled.

My dear friend, can you hear it? The ocean sings your praises.

"In this moment and until you decide to rest, you are alive. Our Mother has made you brave, but it has also made you kind. Behind that bravery that shall never shelter, I can see the change. You are not the same person you were when we first met."

The power to conquer even the darkest despair. My friend, can you hear it? Dear Pontus, can you hear me?

"A warrior of the Steppes you might have been, but now you have something more. Something you did not possess before. Until the end, your tears will be our tears.

You have learned to raise your axe for others. Not only the people close to you. Know that there will be people who will also find solace in darkness, as we now both know."

The daughter of the darkest, deepest depths grinds a heel into the dirt with an irritation so potent it could roll off her in waves. Not at the one in front of her, but at something, anything. An indirect sort of emotion, something she has no control over, never has, never will. Unabashedly, Okishur is the sort of person who makes sure the world can see everything she feels; not one single secret to be had, the world and all in it will know exactly who she is and how she is with nary a glance. Whatever she is irritated about, she gives it no voice, but makes herself known in such a way.

She looks at the mound of dirt.

The Ejinn do not bury the dead, they are left to the waters. to the animals that will pick at them, feast on the skin, the meat, the organs. The plants will take the rest, cover the body and feast on it slowly. The dead are a part of a cycle they have utmost reverence for but reverence and conscious thought are two different things; the Ejinn move with their dead in a way that is practiced, it comes naturally. A mother puts her mother in the water, a father puts his father in the water. Husbands, wives. Sisters, brothers. Sons, daughters. All of them will at one point usher someone under the waves, and in turn, be ushered. There is no need to bury, to cover, to hide the dead.

She does not understand why he bothers, but Okishur does not begrudge Xartsa'aga his rituals. Falcons do not mourn the way the crocodile does; fundamentally, their ideologies are incompatible, but each respectable. Okishur unfurls her hands at her side, gnarled claws in need of repair that they have simply had no time for glisten with her old void kissed blood. "I begrudge you of many things." An honest truth, always honest. A woman so incapable of uttering falsehoods. "But your desires are not one of them. You would know if they were." Another truth, for she has in many a night gone to her brother and demanded answers.

'Why do you let them clip your wings?' Asked the crocodile to the wounded heron on its back. No answer satisfied it then. 'Why do you fly to the ones who hurt you?' they asked again, in the midst of the murky waters, keeping their charge above the depths. There was no answer that's satisfied them then. 'Why do you not let me protect you?' They ask. 'What drives you to kindness? To mercy? To love them?' The heron does not reply. The crocodile in turn ceases to ask.

"My mother always told me that if I ever placed a word in her mouth, she would wash mine out with the brine from the sea. But I think you would not find sea salt worth balking at." But it is ultimately an expression of displeasure, and gives voice to a complex set of feelings that Okishur struggles to communicate. Her expression draws into a tight grimace. "We're quite different Okiqara and I. We are thus different from you. Neither of us are as kind as you." The answer is not so cold, but fond in a way that can only be sad. Kindness, they both know, but Okishur and Okiqara have rarely exercised it.

"The moon is kind, the dark that it illuminates is not." The dark hides the beasts of the night that prey on the unsuspecting. The dark hides the dangers of the waves, the horrors beneath. They cannot be kind, not in the way that Xartsa'aga is, but they exist to compliment such people. The harshness of such people make those like him shine brighter. "But I suppose, I would have tried." Okishur catches herself. "I suppose I did." In her mind she can see it, the dead of night. Sin Eaters. The Crystarium looming behind them and the soldiers they tried to save. Her rage, so limitless, a well of strength that seemed to never run dry, was not enough. They saved so many that night. They saved so few. Okishur has not forgotten it.

She remembers Lyna slamming her fists into stone, screaming with sorrow to the heavens. About her failures, about her people. About living when others never would again. The woman's sorrows ring in her mind with a clarity that almost makes tears well in her eyes. 'I'm fine. Perfectly and utterly fine. Better than fine! I'm hale, and hearty and whole!' The woman spat, an outburst of anger that Okishur understood but only a fraction of. 'We've come so far! So gods damned far! We could see the end! And now... they won't be here to see it.' More than any other, more than any display, any words about be kind, gentle, about the tenderness man needed. In that moment of wailing, of fury and tears, Okishur understood why her tribe does as much as they do.

She does not begrudge them their heroics anymore. She does not begrudge them their sorrows.

"You cry enough for the both of us though." A bitter, bitter truth. Never once has she been moved to tears. A consequence of death. Okishur feels much, but there are some things death has robbed her of, that even Okiqara cannot emulate. A heart that feels still, that beats because it is told to. A heart that can no longer fully express itself. "So I must thank you for that." With broken nails she gestures to the mound of dirt with a smile and a laugh. "So cry all you wish, do as you please brother of mine. Nhaama made you with a gentle soul, so take pride in it instead of asking dead women their thoughts."

[theonewiththefanfics]

Don’t Worry, Darling (one-shot)

Synopsis: Falling in love with a co-star is something that can hurt, especially when it seems like they’re talking to other people behind your back, but falling in love with a co-star and being unable to help when they’re sick, is even worse.

Pairing: Harry Styles x fem!Reader

Genre: angst, fluff, SMUT 

Warnings: COVID-19, sickness, swearing, SMUT (fingering, m going down on f, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it))

Word count: 11 968 (yoikes)

Please note I’m not trying to make light of the pandemic or the virus and those impacted by it. It’s a very real and serious thing, which is why I decided to use it. Please stay safe and healthy, follow the local health guidelines and if you have the ability please get vaccinated. Let’s keep ourselves and one another safe, frens :)

When Y/N got the call she’d gotten the role of Jack’s ex-wife who’d disappeared in mysterious circumstances, she was over the moon. As a Marvel alumnus, she was excited to work with Florence, as she’d loved Midsommar, and knowing she was going to be one of the new faces carrying the next Marvel chapter, she wanted to get to know her. Having played Tony Stark’s adopted daughter since the age of six, she was very protective of the franchise but was excited to see where it’d go.

      Then Shia LaBeouf, Chris Pine as well with Dakota Johnson’s announcements coming soon after, Y/N got even more stoked, and with Olivia Wilde leading all of them, she was sure the movie would be a hit.

      Shia and Dakota had to drop out due to scheduling issues (which Y/N couldn’t lie – she was kind of happy Shia couldn’t do it), and that's where Harry Styles took over the role of Jack with Kiki Layne Dakota’s Margaret.

      Now, when Y/N had seen Harry’s picture next to the re-cast e-mail the whole production had been sent out, she might’ve had a little (a massive, like a ginormous) freak-out. As much as she’d grown up listening to classic rock, due to Robert Downey Jr. and Iron Man, she’d been an avid One Direction fan. Like to the point, it might even seem a bit creepy. Y/N had sort of grown out of the obsessive phase of it all, but most definitely admired the solo albums they’d been able to produce, and when Dunkirk came out, she was excited to see Harry join the acting world, with the amount of talent he had.

      The first table read was sort of awkward, and definitely the weirdest one, given how a pandemic had started, and everyone was at their respective homes using Zoom. 

      Y/N and Florence had been the first to join the conversation about half an hour before the official beginning, and by the time everyone else did, they were crying from laughter and had to excuse themselves from their computers to collect whatever remaining composure they had. 

      “You two alright?” Oliva Wilde had raised her eyebrow, as the women re-joined, still chuckling. “Will we have to use body doubles for the scenes you two are in?”

      “No!

      “Nohooo!” both of them yelled through laughter. “We’ll be as professional as professionals are. Which is very professional.”

      Then Y/N made the mistake of glancing at Florence’s square, and the two busted out laughing again, spewing apologies in between, but no one seemed to really mind. In fact, it looked like they appreciated how casual and open everyone was being, hoping the set wouldn’t be stiff either when they moved onto filming.

      And for the two women, it wasn’t really. Actually, they grew closer than ever. The amount of time Florence spent in Y/N’s trailer was to the point that the two started to talk about just moving in together. After scouring the nearby apartments for rent, they settled on a three-bedroom apartment, as two-bedroom ones were non-existent. 

      When Harry grew closer to them as well, given how he spent quite some time with both women, they suggested he move in as well.

      “You know, what? I changed my mind. You’re taking away our closet, and I don't like that,” Y/N pouted, watching as Florence lifted a pile of her clothes and moved it to her room. “That’s not very ‘treat people with kindness’ of you.”

      All he did was flick a finger at her forehead, which Y/N swatted away with a smile. When he’d double-checked about moving in with them (which, mind you was the seventh time, and half his stuff was already there), the two women were ecstatic. They got along amazingly on set and basically having a sleepover with friends every night suited all of them quite well. 

      At that moment, Y/N was sitting on the edge of her bed, knitting while Harry painted all of their toes and Florence put on facemasks.

      “Wine!” Y/N suddenly exclaimed, almost knocking over the light blue nail polish bottle as she jumped up, throwing her needles back on the bed. “We need wine!”

      “Do not ruin my masterpiece!” Harry hollered after her, as she waddled away on her heels, toes separated by foam and hight up in the air. She even had to manoeuvre around the carpet to avoid any hairs and fibres that could get stuck inside the still wet lacquer.

      It took her a second to find a bottle all three of them could enjoy, given their tastes were so different – Y/N preferred sweet and red, and didn’t care if it was a three-dollar bottle from Target, Harry had a bit more of an expensive pallet, giving preference to something with a more of a lingering aftertaste and in the higher ranges of price point, while Florence liked rosé and white wines.  

      Taking two glasses in one hand and the bottle with a third glass between her fingers, she shuffled back to her room when she heard the two muttering something in low voices before Harry whispered harshly, “I’m not telling Y/N that!” 

      “Won’t me what?” Y/N’s question made him and Florence spring back where they’d been engaged in a heated conversation when she re-entered the room, putting the wine bottle and glasses on the nightstand.

      Florence waved her off, giving her a smile, she didn’t believe in. “Nothing. Now come on, Harry will do your fingernails now, and I think it’s about time the mask came off.”

      And that’s when Y/N’s heart dropped. She’d been in the industry long enough to know how fake people could be, how they could put on smiles so inviting and friendly while hiding their true intentions behind them. She just didn’t think two people she’d found so genuine and sweet would be like that.

      And the thing was – it wasn’t the first time she’d heard the two whispering like that and hushing up when they saw her enter the room or even come somewhere near to them. 

In the beginning, Y/N had chalked it up to the two being closer, given they had to spend more time together, so they knew one another better, but this time sort of solidified it wasn’t the fact the two were closer, it had to deal with Y/N specifically.

      So, she started to distance herself. She’d had enough users in her life to last her for the rest of it. Y/N excused herself from the movie nights they had on most Fridays, she no longer joined in on the cooking sessions and mostly spent time in her room, or on work calls.

      When she re-entered the flat, four weeks after their falling out, they watched as she nodded to them, and went inside her room, closing the door, much like she’d been doing for the past thirty days. 

      “Do you think she knows?” Harry asked, brows furrowed and bottom lip between his teeth as he hoped the doors would open, yet, obviously, they didn’t. 

      “Well, I haven’t told her, and unless you did, then I doubt it…”

      Harry stood up, running a hand through his hair. “I’m gonna talk to her.”

      “You think it’s a good idea?”

      “No, but if she’s upset maybe she needs to talk to someone.”

      “Or maybe she wants to be alone.”

      Harry bit his lip thinking over Florence’s words. When he was upset about something, he himself did like to kind of retreat and become a little bit of a recluse, to sort out his emotions before anyone else tried to jump in and help with it, but the thing was – Y/N’s distancing started the night when she’d walked in on the two of them arguing, and it’d been about the girl in question herself, so he shook his head. “I’ll just ask if she’s alright.”

      He took a deep breath and went to enter the room he hadn’t seen in almost a month. “Hey.” Harry poked his head through Y/N’s door, making her swirl around in her chair. She looked adorable to him. She’d changed into a big fluffy nightgown, the hood up, a headband pushing hair away from her face with a green facemask covering her skin. The domestic life flashed through Harry’s head like a freight train, as it was something he craved, but pushed it away. There was no daydreaming before figuring out what was in front of him in reality. “You okay?”

      “ 'M fine.” She shot him a quick smile. “Why? Did Olivia send something new for the script?”

      “Um, no, ‘s just you’ve been, I dunno – detached a bit?”

      “Look, Harry… I may be younger than you, but I’ve been in this industry longer than you or Florence.” Y/N stood and shrugged before crossing her arms. “And the thing is – I don’t care for shit like that. So, you two can gossip and whisper and talk whatever you want about me behind my back. Everyone else is doing that so, you’re not that special. But’ I’d prefer if you did it somewhere else besides my room, my space, and I’ll say this once, but very clearly – we’re not friends. I don’t need friends like you. We’ll be civil and we’ll do our jobs, but…” Harry’s heart broke at her eyes, seeing the pain in them as she nodded and made sure he understood where she stood. “We’re not friends.”

      She didn’t leave any room for argument. When Harry left, Y/N didn’t even look over her shoulder to see him exit.

      The next couple of mornings she didn’t see them leave nor come back, seeing as Y/N had the week off from filming, but the morning of the seventh day was awkward as hell, given how all of them had to go and get tested, and well, they had their allocated time slots one after the other. Usually, they’d take one car together, but this time, Y/N drove off on her own, while Harry and Florence carpooled on their own.

      The tests were always nerve-wracking. If one person went down, the whole production did for at least two weeks. And as much as she hated going in alone, she was glad no one was with her in the car, because as she stepped out, a certain notion swept over her that this would be a lot different than usual.

      A doctor dressed head to toe in protective gear motioned for her to sit down, as another processed her ID and work ID. Her leg was bouncing up and down the whole time, and he eyed her. If she could see his lips, she was sure they’d be pursed. “Anything wrong?” He handed her back the IDs before moving to the table where a set of large q-tips seemed to lay in sterile packs.

      Y/N sighed, biting her lip and nodded. “Woke up with a sore throat and a small cough appeared on my way here as well. I wiped and cleaned everything down at the apartment I’m staying at and wore gloves and a mask the whole time.”

      “Anything else?” the doctor asked, writing down each word as Y/N said. “The feeling of breaking bones, fever, muscle pain, eyes hurting when you look up, lost sense of smell or taste?”

      “No, nothing like that. Just a sore throat and a small cough.”

The doctor let out a large sigh, probably from having to wear a full-on hazmat suit. “Alright. Just for safety reasons, so we know who’s a potential contact person, who are you staying with?”

      “Florence Pugh and Harry Styles. We’re renting an apartment together.”

      “Do you know if they’ve had any symptoms?”

      “No,” Y/N shook her head honestly. “And I haven’t really interacted with them this past week, as they’ve been on set, and I didn’t have any scenes to film, and by the time they get back, I’m already asleep, and I’m still asleep when they leave so there’s been no direct contact. We have our own kitchenware, so there shouldn’t be any direct contact. I think.”

      That last bit was half-true, seeing as she hadn’t been asleep when they came back, but she might as well have been. The second Y/N heard the door click, she’d place her headphones on or leave the room, only glimpsing the two faces falling as she did that.

      The doctor clearing his throat and motioning for Y/N to open her mouth so he could take a swab and then to do the same for both her nostrils, was what brought her out of it. She was so used to it, it was like nothing at that point. “Okay. We’ll need you to stay in the car while the test is being run, and if it comes back positive, you’ll be placed in a separate flat, as to not endanger the rest.”

      Her ‘alright’ was barely audible. Fuck. It just felt like the universe was against her. First, the two people she’d gotten closest to were whispering behind her back and being fake to her face, now she might have a super contagious virus to which there was no medicine really, nor was there a vaccine, let alone the thought she’d have to miss filming for potentially more than two weeks.

      The thirty minutes of wait were agonizing, her leg bouncing up and down. Y/N’s eyes kept watching the line of cars slowly move forward through the tent and then settle behind hers. She knew Harry was about five cars away, and she was glad he wasn’t closer. They weren’t really allowed to get out of their vehicles while the tests were being run, and Y/N didn’t think she’d be able to not look back at him through her review mirror. 

      Two more minutes passed when finally, one of the med students in the full hazmat suit came up and knocked on her car window.

      “Miss Y/L/N?”

      “Yes?” 

      “ID please.” It was standard so that no med info got leaked. The only reason she had to rummage through her stuff was, because she’d bite the little plastic card in half if she didn’t throw it somewhere deep inside her bag.

      “So.” The man sighed, and he didn’t need to elaborate. Y/N understood, but still, he had to confirm it to her. “Your test came back positive for COVID-19. The production has been informed, and for safety reasons, everyone will have to self-isolate for two weeks.”

      Y/N’s head slammed against the back of the seat. “Fuck. Okay.”

      “Because so far, you’re the only positive case, you’ll be placed into quarantine. We’ll need the address you’re staying at, and if you need anything from your apartment, we can send someone over to grab a few things. You’ll have to follow the black SUV right there.” He pointed further down the lot where indeed a black SUV stood. “They’ll take you to where the quarantine apartments are. Is there anything immediate you’ll need?”

      “I – uh – I need my pills, my birth control that is. I take it every evening. Computer, chargers. That’s the most immediate I can think of. Maybe some food? I didn’t get the chance to eat breakfast.”

      Even through the mask, Y/N could see the man smile. “Well arrange that. In the meantime, here’s the number for the coordinators who’ll get you the rest of your things and deliver them to you.”

      “Thank you. I’ll call my assistant, and she’ll drive down to the apartment. She knows where everything is.”

      “Have you been in close contact with her?”

      “Just through the phone. She hasn’t been on set in almost a month, as I told her only to come when it’s an emergency… Guess this is it.” Y/N let out an awkward chuckle.

      And truly that was it. With one last motion as to where the SUV stood, she started back up the engine, reversed out of the spot and followed the car to where the ‘Don’t Worry Darling’ production had set up a few quarantine apartments, specifically for actors and crew, speed-dialling her assistant Anna and letting her know of the situation.

      “Shit, girl,” she’d cursed. “That sucks.”

      “Tell me about it.”

      “Okay,” Anna huffed. “Do you have a spare key for the apartment by any case or do I need to go down to the lot and ask Harry or Florence?”

      “Both of them will be at the apartment, given how everything’s shut down, so they should be able to open the door for you. Hopefully, if both of them are negative. If not, call me, I’ll tell you where we hide the spare. Thank you, Anna.”

      “Of course.”

      As Y/N pulled up behind the SUV, a man and a woman in face guards and masks stepped out. She ended the call and stepped out as well, pulling on a cloth face mask, an envelope in their hands, which they handed to her.

      “Your flat’s on the third floor, 367. When you have the list of things you need, forward them to us, and we’ll gather your things.”

      Y/N nodded and gave them a tight smile. “Thank you. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

      With a sigh, she took her bag and entered the complex. As much as she’d only had a small cough in the morning and a sore throat, walking up those flights of stairs made her winded more than it usually would. Maybe it was the knowledge she had a sickness, or maybe it was stress about missing work and putting everyone on lockdown, or maybe it was the combination of it all with her falling out with Harry and Florence on top.

      She placed the key in the lock and twisted, revealing a studio type apartment, and it was so bare it made her heart clench. As much as she felt awkward being around Florence and Harry, their flat was a bit messy, had little pieces of clothing thrown around, giant knitted blankets on the sofas, a candle always lit whenever someone was home. Harry’s shoes were typically all over the place while Y/N’s make up was scattered around everywhere. Literally. Florence and Harry had gotten back early one morning from a night shoot and found her looking under the sofas for one of her lash glues as she started to get ready for the day. They’d made that flat their home for the time being. This… this was nothing like that.

      She threw the keys on the small kitchen counter and shrugged off her jacket. They was going to be a long two weeks. At best.

 ***

       Back at their place, Florence and Harry were pacing around, having heard the news that someone was positive, and everything had to shut down for the time being, yet Y/N was nowhere to be seen when a knock at the door disrupted them.

      Harry was there and flinging it open in a matter of a second, only to be stopped by Anna instead of Y/N.

      “Hey.” His brows furrowed as she and two people all wearing masks and gloves entered. “What’s going on? Is Y/N alright?”

      Anna sighed, nodding her head for the two strangers to go towards the woman’s room. “She was the one who tested positive for the virus. Gave me a list of the things she’d need while in quarantine. We’re here to pick ‘em up and get them to her.”

      “And she’s not doing that here?”

      “Per the safety instructions, she’s been placed in a separate flat in self-isolation.”

      “She could’ve done that here. We’d be fine with it,” Florence butted in, arms crossed over her chest. “We’re more than willing to take care of her. She’ll need someone to help her.”

      “You both tested negative.” One of the people piped up, carrying a box of books and yarn. “I’m sorry, but she’ll have to quarantine separately until she’s no longer infected. She’s under the supervision of doctors, and she knows if an emergency happens, they’ll be there in ten minutes tops. I’m sorry, but this is how it has to be.”

      Harry sighed, nodding as the people exited their place, but before Anna could leave, he took hold of her bicep. “Hey, can you please tell her to call me? I just wanna talk.”

      “I uh – ” Anna furrowed her brows, showing Harry that Y/N hadn’t said anything to her about the falling out they’d had. “I’ll uh, yeah. I’ll do that.”

      With that he was left to close the door and just wait for… anything.

 ***

       In the two hours Y/N had spent in the apartment, she already felt like going insane, having been left alone with her thoughts, so how she was going to do another two weeks after finally getting back into the rhythm of work was beyond her. She didn’t have any of her knitting supplies, didn’t have any of her books (yet), and most likely there was no reason to look at her script anymore, as she’d made up her mind about a lot of things. 

      There was a knock at the door, and Y/N instantly had a mask on her face and gloves on her hands. She peeped through the peephole and when she saw boxes lined in the hallway, three people in masks and faceguards at least six feet away, only then did she open the door and give them a wave.

      “Everything should be here, but if you need anything else just pop me a message.” Anna then pointed at a bag that sat atop everything. “There are the most important things, so you don’t have to rummage through everything and a pizza is on the way while I do some grocery shopping for you. And umm, there’s a paper you need to sing that you know you need to be in self-isolation and that you understand what happens if you’re not.”

      Y/N hoped all of them understood she was smiling underneath the mask, grateful for having them help her out like that. “Thank you. So much.”

      She rushed inside found a pen and signed it, moving between the boxes to place the papers on the stairs so that they could be safely retrieved. With that, the two assigned people left, leaving Anna to say goodbye.

      “Call me.” She pointed at Y/N. “No matter what, even if you just wanna talk for five seconds.”

      “Will do.” Y/N nodded and gave her a thumbs up. “If I could, I’d hug you.”

      Anna sighed, cocking her head. “Same. And umm, Harry told me to ask you to call him.”

      “Yeah, uh thank you.” She knew he probably wanted to talk, so it wasn’t that big of a surprise, but it still made her stumble on her words. “Take care, Anna.”

      “You too.”

***

       The next two days Y/N spent worrying as to how to present her decisions to the cast and crew. She felt worse with every hour, and with that had come her thought process, but as much as everyone was going to be impacted by what she was going to do, Olivia would be the one dealing with it most, so later that night she hopped on a Zoom call with her director.

      “Hey, girl.” Olivia gave her a warm smile, and Y/N almost melted. God, she loved that woman. She was like the older sister she never had. “How are you doing?”

      “I’m alright. Feelin’ kind of woozy from time to time, throat’s killing me, and I’m fairly certain I’m getting abs from how much I’m coughing.” That made both of them chuckle before Y/N bit her lip and ran a hand through her hair. “Look,” she sighed, looking at Olivia. “The reason I called you is that umm… well, I think it’d be a lot more cost-effective for you to re-cast me. We’ve barely shot one scene with me. I’ll be out of commission for two weeks, as a minimum. It could get worse. And I’m definitely not going to be back before I get two negative consecutive tests.”

      Olivia shook her head, running down her hands over her face and then through her hair. “Y/N, I really don’t want to do this. There’s a reason we cast you. You’re amazing, and yours and Harry’s chemistry is off the charts. We’re all quarantining for two weeks, and I’m sure you’ll be fine in no time, back on set and killing it like you always do.”

      “You don’t know that.”

      “Of course, I do! Nothing’s gonna happen to you.”

      “All I’m saying it could take up to a month to get those two negative tests. By that point, you could’ve shot at least a fourth of my scenes. Olivia…” Y/N gave her a small, sad smile. “I know you know I’m right. I hate to pass on this, but I won’t hinder the production. If you want my input, I’ll help with the re-casting, if it takes the guilt away.”

      “I still feel like shit this is an option we even have to consider.”

      “’S not your fault. You didn’t get me sick. We should be happy it’s just me, not someone else or more than one person.”

            ***

      For two more days, it was radio silence from Y/N, and Harry and Florence were anxious messes. If they could distract themselves from the falling out while on set, then now, having to be cooped up inside the apartment with pretty much nothing to do, was so much worse, not to mention Y/N declined all of their calls and left their messages on read, leaving the only option for checking in either through Anna or what she decided to share on her social media, which wasn’t a lot. But the thing was, Harry knew his best bet was to call Y/N in the middle of the night. Disorientated and barely awake, she probably wouldn’t look at the caller ID once. And he was right.

      A bleary face appeared on his screen, eyes squinting as she tried to block out as much of the light as possible. “Hello?” Her voice was scratchy, and Harry’s heart clenched at just how much pain her throat must be in, let alone how she was feeling as a whole.

      “Hey, there, lovie.”

      It took her a second to comprehend the person who was speaking, and she’d be lying if she said hearing Harry’s voice didn’t bring her some sort of joy. “Hey, H. Are you alright? Why are you still up?”

      “I couldn’t sleep. Kept thinking about you.”

      Y/N hummed, rolling on her side, and immediately regretting it as the action elicited a coughing fit. “Yeah?” she asked hoarsely. “ ’Nd what about me?”

      ‘How shitty I feel about everything’, ‘I miss you’, ‘I’m so fucking terrified’, but instead he asked, “How are you doing?”

      “Alright,” Y/N croaked out before her body was racked with coughs once more. Harry’s own chest hurt just hearing them. “Fever’s finally down, so I’m getting some sort of sleep. Throat’s killing me though, and they’ve hooked me up to an IV. They’ll be coming in two hours or so to change the bag. How are you?” she asked quietly. “How’s Florence?”

      “She’s alright. Upset. Just like I am.”

      Y/N’s brows furrowed. “Why’re you upset?”

      “Are you kidding me? You’re sick, alone in quarantine and… and we can’t help you. I can’t help you.”

      A genuine chuckle escaped her. “Didn’t know you had a medical degree, Styles. Could be my personal nurse. Fetch me my water and shit.”

      “No, but at least I’d like to be there for you.”

      “Harry…” 

      “I like you,” he said after taking a deep breath, hoping that the break he’d heard in Y/N’s voice as she’d said his name wasn’t just because of the sickness, but because her heart thudded just as fast as his when he thought of them together, that her mind reeled with the possibilities of where their futures could take them and that whenever they touched, she could feel the electricity that ran through his fingertips, igniting his whole body. “That’s what Florence and I were whispering about all the time. Is that I’m madly crushing on you, and I couldn’t gather the courage to say it to you.”

      A strong coughing fit made her drop the phone on the bed and lean over, as she gasped for breath, and through it all, all Harry wanted was to be there. Fuck him possibly getting the virus, as long as he could make it easier for her in some way. 

      “ ’M sorry,” Y/N whispered, trying to keep her voice as low as possible as to not aggravate her throat. “Harry, I’m so sorry.”

      “Hey, there’s nothing to apologise. You’re sick, you can’t help –”

      “No,” she shook her head. “I’m sorry I assumed you and Florence were talking bad behind my back. I never should’ve done that. And this is not an excuse, I’m not trying to shift the blame from being in the wrong, but I like you too.” She gave him a shy grin that he thought was as bright as the sun. “I really like you too, Harry. I think that’s why it hurt so much to hear you two whispering ‘bout something. And thinking it was about me, and it was something bad, hurt even more, ‘cause I really connected with Flo, and I kinda, well I kind of fell for you. Hard.���

      “You did?” His tone was like he didn’t believe what his ears were hearing.

      “Yeah. A lot actually… I – I really like you, Harry.”

      He couldn’t explain how his heart expanded in his chest while simultaneously was being crushed by his inability to help, by the distance between them, while the hope that glimmered in his eyes at Y/N’s words made her heart break as much as his was, when he asked, “So you won’t resign?”

“Harry,” Y/N made her voice as tough as it could sound with her condition. “I told them to re-cast me not because of you. I’ve been on enough sets and worked with enough pricks, and still gotten the job done. Genuinely, this is not because of you or Florence. I just – I just don’t want to hold up production. You’ll all be out in what – twelve days or something? I’ll be here for at least twice that, if everything goes the way it’s going right now.”

      “I don’t want anyone else to play Larie. You are my Larie,” he muttered, which made Y/N smile, but in a true Y/N fashion she just wanted to make others feel better. 

      “You do know Jack murders Larie in the middle of the night.”

      Harry’s mouth opened like a fishes’ while Y/N’s mouth pulled up in a grin. “That’s – that’s not what I mean, and you know it!”

      Both of them were laughing now, all tension having evaporated. 

      “I know.” She bit on her lower lip. “But um… we’ve gotta be practical. I sent Olivia my resignation letter already, and she signed.”

      She saw Harry sigh and throw back his head at her words. 

      “ ’M sorry, Haz. I didn’t want to but –”

      “I know.” His smile was gentle, understanding. “You always put everyone before yourself. God, this just sucks major ass.”

      “Trust me,” Y/N started before being interrupted by another major coughing fit. “I –,” she took in a breath. “I know.”

      Her heart cracked seeing Harry’s face and his green eyes, the eyes she’d gotten lost in more times than she’d ever admitted being lined by tears. “I wish I could help you.”

      “But you are. Just by – by talking to me, by keeping my mind off things. You’re helping me more than you’ll ever know.”

      “When you get out, I’m taking you on a date.”

      Y/N couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on her face. For the first time in a while, she felt good, despite being sick. “Is that a threat, Styles?”

      “It’s a fucking promise.”

      That night she fell asleep listening to Harry talking, seeing as it became harder and harder for her to do so, so he just took over, telling her stories that lulled her to dreamland where he was there, and she could touch him. 

      The following days she also had calls with Florence and the rest of her cast to explain the situation, but she wasn’t doing much talking anymore, and one night they’d even seen her almost throw up from coughing so much, which broke everyone’s hearts. They were lucky the only Covid case before Y/N had been a light one, so witnessing just how brutal it could be, made everyone appreciate what they had, but at the same time, feel as helpless as ever.

      A week and a half in, that was when shit really hit the fan. Despite her feeling shitty the previous days, now Y/N woke up from the feeling as if she was drowning. She’d fallen asleep while talking with Harry on FaceTime, his features illuminated on her phone. At first, she thought it was just her dream still lingering and causing that effect, but when after a minute or so her lungs still remained on fire, she knew she had to dial the doctors.

      In five minutes’ time, an ambulance was at her door, and it was a miracle she’d been able to get out of bed to open it because the second she did, her whole body pretty much collapsed into the arms of one of the nurses. 

*** 

      “Come on,” Harry muttered into the phone, pulling on a pair of trousers as quickly as possible and a knitted sweater he took from the floor as he immediately tried to redial her, having heard the call drop. “Come on! Pick up, Y/N!” Her voicemail answered instead.

      “Damn it!”

      It took Harry seven minutes with the way he was driving to get to her assigned isolation place, only to be greeted by red and blue flashing lights, an ambulance right in front of the entrance, and it took Harry five seconds to feel his heart drop as a team of three doctors wheeled out a gurney on which lay Y/N, face covered in a mask, an IV stuck inside her arm while a huge plastic cover domed over her body.

      Without even thinking about himself or his safety, Harry jumped out of his car, rushing towards the ambulance.

      “Sir.” One of the doctors extended a palm towards him, keeping him back as Harry tried to get towards the inside of the car. “Sir, you can’t be here.”

      “Is that Y/N?” Harry felt like he was spinning out of control, and his mind was dizzy from not being able to take in a proper breath. “Is – is that Y/N?” 

      “Are you family?”

      “I –,” Harry so desperately wanted to say yes, to say he was her boyfriend at least, but he couldn’t lie. “No, I’m just her collegue – friend! I’m her friend. Is she alright?”

      “Okay, well is there anyone we can contact from her family?”

      Harry nodded, knowing that her mum and dad were on her emergency contact lists. “But her family is out of the country, and they won’t be able to fly out with all the restrictions in place.”

      “Alright.” The doctor sighed before looking back inside the car. In a way, Harry was happy he couldn’t see Y/N because he was sure if he did, he’d completely break down and crumble to the ground. “We’ll contact her parents, but if you could leave us your number as an emergency contact on place that’d be a lot of help.”

      “Okay, uh…” Harry took in a deep breath, held it for five seconds and then let it out before reciting the number he used while in the USA and his permanent UK number as well, so he could be reachable anywhere and at any point in day or night, no matter the time. 

      “Well keep you up to date.”

      And with that, the ambulance doors shut, and they rushed away, the vailing of sirens echoing in the dark night, leaving Harry with a hand in his hair, tears streaming down his cheeks and without a clue as to what to do.

***

      In the end, Harry had gone back to his car and cried for what felt like ages, but instead, it was just twenty minutes. He pulled himself together but was still shaking as he made his way back to the flat where Florence basically ripped open the door. Seeing his face told her everything she needed to know.

      “She’ll be alright,” the woman muttered as she soothed Harry by rubbing a palm up and down his back, letting him hide his face in her shoulder. “It’s Y/N. She’d pull through an atomic bomb.”

      They spent the rest of the night and the following day on the couch, glued to Harry’s phone waiting for any sort of updates. From time to time a text message came from the hospital letting them know what procedures were being done on Y/N, that her parents have been informed, and if necessary, they’d allowed Harry to be the main contact person because of his proximity to their daughter.

      Three days later and the quarantine for the rest of the cast and crew ended, yet when they returned to the set, everyone was in low spirits. Especially, Harry – he was miserable. Every moment spent not reciting lines or acting was occupied with the thoughts of Y/N, how she was doing, was she improving, was she still breathing, how he wanted to just ditch everything and run to her, to help in whatever way he could.

      “This sucks,” Florence grumbled, arms crossed over her chest as they took a break while re-setting already in for the fifth day of filming, eight since Y/N’d been in the hospital. “Can’t believe they won’t allow a phone in with her.”

      “It’s the same policy for everyone, but trust me,” Harry sighed and looked up at the bright blue sunny sky above. “The number of times I got out of my bed in the middle of the night and had the car keys in hand is ridiculous. And the number of times I’ve thought about breaking into that hospital is even more concerning.”     

      Florence let out a small chuckle and nudged his shoulder. “I’d cover for you if you did. As long as she doesn’t have to be there alone.” She hung her head, blond strands falling down to curtain her face. “Can’t imagine how scared she must be.”

      Harry just sighed. There really wasn’t anything he could say. 

      Something vibrated in his pocket, but he no longer furrowed his brows when unknown numbers called, knowing it was from the hospital. It was nerve-wracking though to pick up the call each time because he had to mentally prepare himself for the possibility of bad news, even though he always hoped for good ones. 

      “Yes, hi. Hello. I – oh,” he put a hand over his mouth and sagged down onto a chair. “Oh, thank god, thank you, doctor. Yeah. Yes, I’ll let her know, and someone will be there to open the flat. Thank you again. For everything.”

      He took away the phone from his ear and stared at the ground for a minute before leaping up and hugging Florence, laughter escaping his mouth.

      “What’s wrong?”

      “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong, it’s the opposite. Y/N’s out of the hospital.”

      “Oh thank god!” Her hands flew to hug him back.

      “She’ll have to stay in self-isolation until the two negative tests and will be monitored by the doctors, but she’s out.”

        Immediately he was dialling her, and Harry had never been as happy for the invention of a video call, because when he saw Y/N’s face light up the screen, as tired as she looked, it was the most beautiful sight that graced his eyes.

      “Hey, lovie.” His voice was soft and low as if anything louder would worsen her state.

      Her ‘hey’ was barely audible, but he heard it, and it made the weight of a boulder drop off his shoulders.

      “I’m so – I mean we all are so happy you’re back home.”

      Y/N smiled, shaking her head. “I’m happy too,” she whispered. “I missed you. Missed everyone, but most of all I missed you.”

      Harry was happy they were separated by a screen because if she was anywhere in a five-mile radius, he was sure she would be able to hear his heart beat out of his ribcage at her words. “How are you feeling?”

      “ ‘M alright,” Y/N tried to let him know. “Very tired.”

      “Then get back to sleep, lovie.”

      Y/N shook her head. “Wanna talk to you.”

      “I’ll keep talking,” Harry promised. “Like we did before, okay.”

      “Okay…”

      And so, he did. He kept talking as Y/N listened, and he watched as her eyes slowly closed before she drifted off to sleep. Even though Harry had to go back to filming, he didn’t dare end the call. He’d never end the call. 

***

      It took a month and a half for Y/N to get those two consecutive negative tests, to feel somewhat human again and when she did, she probably garnered at least seven speeding tickets with how fast she was driving down to the set.

      It was the most inconspicuous outfit she could scramble together, consisting of a hoodie and baseball cap, as she watched Harry as Jack lean down to peck the actress’s lips, then step into the vintage car and rev out in the driveway, while a dishevelled Florence started the scene from the side, eyes racking over Jack’s first wife, who was dressed the exact same way, hair styled like hers and even nails painted the same, her character putting all the puzzle pieces together. 

      “And cut!” Olivia yelled across the lot, nudging Y/N’s side and giving her a smirk. “He’s gonna freak. You’re all he’s been talking about on set. We almost had to put a ban on you as a topic,” she muttered that part so only the woman could hear while telling everyone to re-set, so they could do the scene from another angle, but not before asking the three actors to come and look at the monitors so they could understand how to move in order to keep the continuity.

      Y/N moved to the side, ducking her head down as Harry, Florence and Mandy, the actress that took over her role, all leaned closer to watch the monitors. Y/N had to bite on her lip to keep the grin away, as all of them analysed their movements and the scene, nodding along to what Olivia was saying.

      “Y/L/N, what do you think?” Olivia asked, grinning. 

      Y/N stepped forward a bit, seeing all of their shocked faces through her peripheral, as she pointed to the screen, lifting her head so that everyone could see her face fully. “I think it’s great, you might want to step to the side a bit more, Harry, when –” but she was unable to finish the sentence as he swooped her in his arms, lifting her basically off the ground, and burying his face in her neck.

      “Watch the hair! Daniele will have a fit if you ruin her masterpiece!” Y/N laughed, holding one of her hands on the base of his neck, the other tightly wrapped around his shoulders, but he just shook his head, and she could feel tears splash her skin.

      “Fuck the hair!” He let out a small chuckle, and she could hear the lump in his throat. “I’ve missed you so much. I was so scared.”

      “Same,” Y/N whispered. “Missed you like crazy. And your stupid, unfunny dad jokes.”

      “ ‘M hilarious, lovie, what are you talking about?”

      He finally set her down but didn’t let go of her waist, and she smiled cupping his cheeks. “A true comedian, that’s what you are.”

      “I know. Why’dya think I got that SNL slot?”

      But his eyes, as he gazed into hers once more glassed over.

      “Hey,” Y/N cooed wiping away the tears running down his cheeks. “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry, cause then I’ll cry, and we’re both gonna be crying messes, and then these guys will have to deal with that.”

      Harry sighed, leaning into her touch. “Happy tears, lovie. All happy tears.”

      The two looked at one another as if there was no one else in the universe. And for the two of them, there really wasn’t. Neither had to say what was on their minds, they already knew.

      His face was inching closer to Y/N’s, and heart started to beat erratically, not that Harry minded, as his palm rested in the middle of her back. In fact, his own heart mimicked the rhythm, but it stuttered when someone behind him cleared their throat and interrupted their moment.

      Y/N hid her face in Harry’s chest as he sighed at Olivia’s raised eyebrow. 

      “You’ll be able to smooch as much as you want, but we need him in hair and make-up.”

      “Oli-“

      “Now,” she let out a small laugh. “Before Daniele removes my head from my shoulders.”

      “Go,” Y/N patted his side. “I’ll still be here.”

      “Is that a threat?”

      She grinned up at him. “A fucking promise.”

      Harry dashed away like lightning, hoping that the quicker he was done, the sooner he could have Y/N back in his arms even if it was for a second, but her attention was taken by a woman with long blond curls, a flowing green slip on her figure; her steps unsure as was the wave she gave her, but Y/N’s heart melted at the sight of her.

      “Hey, Flo,” she whispered and brought the girl in a bone-crushing hug, holding onto her, trying to convey how much she regretted her words and actions, especially because they were unwarranted.

      “I’m so sorry,” Y/N said, and she nodded.

      “Me too.”

      Y/N shook her head. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry about. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

      “And I should’ve made sure Harry pulled his head out of his ass.”

      That made both of them laugh, and it was nice to do it not only without having to cough up her insides, but to do it with someone she’d connected with and had become great friends with.

      “He did that. I just hope if he wants to make another move, it won’t take me dying to push him to.”

      Florence pointed at her, a serious look on her face. “I’ll kill him with my bare hands if he does.”

      A small noise of someone clearing their throat from behind Y/N took both of their attentions for them to go onto the actress who’d been cast as her replacement, the woman coming forward and extending her hand for a handshake with a nervous smile. “Hi. I’m Mandy.”

      “ ‘S very nice to meet you.” Y/N tried to give off as open and accepting of a vibe as much as possible, because she genuinely wanted Mandy to feel respected and that she wasn’t a threat. “Before you think anything if you’re worried about me taking the role, don’t. It’s all yours, so don’t worry about that. I just stopped by ‘cause I hadn’t seen anyone in almost two months. Never thought I’d say this, but fuck did I missed people.”

      Mandy shook her head, her smile a lot lighter and brighter now. “I – uh thank you for that actually. I’m a huge fan of yours, and well, can only try and live up to what you would’ve portrayed.”

      “Well, I’m sure you’ll absolutely kill it, and I can’t wait for the movie.”

      It was great to see Mandy’s shoulders drop in relief. “Would it be too much if I asked for advice on the role?”

      “No,” Y/N laughed. “But I would say that you should make this role your own. It is yours. You are Larie now. And Harry’s Jack. Make it yours.”

      As she said that, she turned to watch Harry who was practically bouncing on his feet, green eyes flitting back to where she was standing, and when their gazes met, neither could help the smiles blooming on their faces.

       “You know he messed up a scene once and said your name?”    

      Y/N’s brows furrowed as she looked over at Mandy. “What do you mean ‘said my name’?”

      “It was a kissing scene. The wedding bit, actually. As Jack and Larie recited their vows, and he leans down to kiss her, he was supposed to say, ‘I’ll love you Larie, until the very end’. He said your name instead.”

      That hit Y/N more than a semi-truck wheeling a ton of bricks would. Yes, she knew Harry liked her, and he knew she liked him, but love was a big word, and for him to admit that, whether it was a flub or not, was even bigger.

      Harry was a private person. While he openly talked about what he felt, he guarded heart at the same time, much like Y/N did. But she had to wait until Olivia yelled cut for the day, and had to watch him make a mad dash for hair and make-up before running to the dressing trailer as he didn’t want to miss out on a second he could spend with her. Even as they walked up to their shared flat and he opened the door, his fingers stayed intertwined with hers.

      “How does it feel to be back?”

      “Kinda shitty, honestly,” Y/N laughed throwing the keys to the table and shrugging out of the jacket and taking off the cap, Harry immediately helping her and putting it on one of the racks. “I’ll have to move out, now that I’m not part of the movie.”

      “Why? ‘S not like the production is paying our rent, we’re doing it out of our own pocket.”

      “Yes, but now that I don’t have a job, I kinda need to look for one.”

      “And what says that you can’t live here while you do that?”

      “I –,” Y/N’s brows furrowed. “I mean nothing, really… I just… kinda thought because I’m not part of the movie anymore it’d be safer if I found my own place. But um… I think I have something else I’d like to talk about. Mandy,” Y/N dragged out her name a bit, a sly smirk appearing on her face, “told me you had a flub on set.”

      Harry’s heart was pounding underneath her palm where she’d grabbed onto the lapels of his dress shirt, so he couldn’t run away. 

“I’ve uh,” he let out a nervous laugh. “I’ve had a couple of flubs on set. Who hasn’t?”

      “I don’t doubt that. But she said you misspoke a name.”

      She made him look into her eyes and wouldn’t dare let their gaze break. “You said my name during the wedding scene. You said Y/N. Not Larie.”

      Harry looked like a cross between a deer in headlights and a fish out of the water, eyes wide with his mouth opening and closing, no sound coming out, which made Y/N worry a bit.

      She placed a palm against his cheek. “Harry? You alright?”

      “I – I meant it.” He let out a deep sigh and leaned down to press his forehead to hers. “And when I thought back on it, I don’t remember seeing her face or Larie’s face. It was yours. And the lips I was kissing belonged to you too. I was holding your hand, and you were holding mine. And I know it’s way too quick, for a wedding -”

      “Unless you threaten me with it –”

      “I –,” Harry stuttered before laughing, all tension evaporating from his body. “No, that I don’t want to be a threat. That will be a question asked with love and hopefully an answer given to it the same way.”

      Y/N nudged his nose with hers. “Well, we’ll see. I mean if you don’t kiss me what makes you th–,” 

      But she didn’t get a chance to finish the sentence before his lips were on hers, pressing with such gentleness, it made her weak at the knees, and she would’ve crumbled if Harry’s arms handn’t woven around her middle, fingers pressing into the sides, the pressure increasing with each second their mouths were connected. 

      Harry’s hand drifted up Y/N’s back and settled on her neck as if he could pull her any closer, her own palms slipping over his stomach, pecks and grabbing onto his jaw, fingers lightly scratching at the stubble that’d grown throughout the day. He had to shave every morning for the role of Jack, but each evening she’d see a small, darkened shadow across his skin, and Y/N would be lying that when she’d realised her attraction to him, she hadn’t thought about how delicious it would feel to have it leave small burn marks on the inside of her thighs. 

      Unconsciously, she clenched her thighs, trying to create some sort of friction which became more and more unbearable as she felt Harry moan into her mouth, tongue sweeping against her lower lip, asking for permission without words, which Y/N granted without a second to spare. 

      It was heavenly to have him so close to her. She did wonder if the sensation was intensified by the fact, she hadn’t been able to touch anyone properly for almost two months, but that thought vanished when his fingers skimmed underneath her hoodie, brushing against her heated skin. No. It was because it was Harry.

       “I –,” he was breathless as he pulled away, but Y/N didn’t let him get too far, her lips attaching themselves to his neck, making him groan in pleasure. “I don’t want to push this too far.”

      Her brows scrunched up, as she took a look at him. “What do you mean? If you think I don’t want this, then let me be perfectly clear – I do. A lot.”

      Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m so fucking glad you do, but… Y/N you just got out of the hospital, where you were on a ventilator. I don’t want to make anything worse.”

      “Not your choice to make.” A devious smile appeared on her face, as she stepped a few feet away and lifted her hoodie over her head, making Harry inhale sharply. “So here are your two options.” Her hands went behind her back, unclasping her bra and letting it slowly drop to the floor, the green eyes that hadn’t left her now wide as saucers. “Number one.” She toed off her boots and popped open the button of her jeans. “We can stop this, obviously, just say the word, and I get to my room, start packing and looking for a new place. We can have some dinner and just chill. Or number two.” Y/N hooked her jeans behind her thumbs and slowly dragged them down her legs, revealing more and more of herself to Harry. “We can go inside your room and make up for the lost time. In every position imaginable, for as long as you want. But.” Y/N’s eyes glimmered with mischief as she made her way to Harry’s room. “I don’t think you wanna take the first option.”

      Harry ran a hand through his hair, turning it from the meticulously gelled hairstyle into a mop of messy strands. “You know you’re making it really hard for me to be a gentleman.”

      Y/N swayed her hips a bit more as she took another step closer to his room, the door meeting her back, and one of her hands went to the doorknob, pressing down on it. “Well, a gentleman doesn’t kiss before the first date, and definitely not like that.”

      He stood there, hands on his hips, eyes not leaving her body, as she cocked her head. “So, what’s it gonna be?”

      They were ten torturous seconds for both, hearts beating out of their chests, but it only took three steps for Harry to cross the hallway, his hand sneaking behind Y/N’s back and pressing down on the doorknob as well, revealing the inside of his room. It was messy, much like her own, but it wouldn’t take too much to rip all off the tossed around bedding leaving a whole bed to themselves. 

      “You. Are. The. Devil.”

      Her smile was nothing short of wicked. “I mean you can listen to the angel on your shoulder.”

      “I’d rather listen to you.”

      Together they stepped inside, and Y/N nodded. “Making good choices already.”

      “Can’t get on your bad side, can I now?”

      “I mean you can.” Her legs hit the back of his bed and she fell down on it, Harry leaning over, resting his elbows next to her head. “But bad boys get punished.”

      His nose skimmed over hers. Now he was the one smiling like a devil. “I’ll hold you to your word. For future reference, that is.”

      That kiss was nothing like their first. This was messy, and passionate, all tongue and teeth, hands grabbing everywhere possible to get the other unclothed. Or at least that’s what Y/N was trying to do, seeing as she was pretty much naked already, and Harry was the one still wearing too much.

      Her hands pretty much ripped open the shirt. It one of his expensive Gucci ones, she was quite certain of it, but it didn’t seem like he cared, as he shrugged it off, throwing it to land somewhere on the floor.

      Y/N sighed into his mouth as her hands were now freely allowed to run over his chest, over the ink embedded into his skin, over taut muscles that relaxed under her touch, and dig into his sides in an attempt to leave her own marks on him, much like he was going to do to her. 

      “Think you can take your pants off? It’s only fair.” Y/N muttered into his mouth and his own travelled down to her cheek, then neck and to her chest.

      “You mean my trousers?”

      Her lips quirked up and she shrugged her shoulders. “No, in this case, I meant pants the British way.”

      “And if I’m going commando?”

      Y/N pressed her hand against his chest and pushed him away from her. “You had nothing underneath all day on set?”

      “No! I wouldn’t subject the dressing department to that. But underneath this.” He looked down at his jeans and smiled at her. “I do have nothing.”

      “Well then? Get on with it!”

      Both of them were giggling, as Y/N tried to unbuckle Harry’s belt, his own fingers mixing with hers as he went for the zipper and the button. He nudged his head towards her. “Your socks and pants come off as well. Or we’ll be unevenly matched.”

      Y/N lifted her eyebrow, as she went for her own remaining pieces of clothing. “No socks during sex?”

      “No, what kind of a weirdo do you think I am?”

      “And if my feet get cold?” She threw them away somewhere.

      “We have a blanket.”

      As Harry removed his jeans and his own socks, Y/N slipped off the dampened piece of clothing that’d been on her, now both of them completely naked. 

      “Alright.” He leaned over her again, her arms wrapping around his shoulders and pulling them chest to chest. “Happy now?”

      Y/N deeply kissed him. “Very. But I think we can make each other even happier.”

      “Agreed,” Harry hummed. “Wanna get a taste first.” He attached his lips to her collarbones sucking a bruise there. “Can I?”

      She groaned at the feeling, knowing there be a pleasant ache that accompanied mark. “You can. Don’t have to, if you don’t want. No need to do this for me.”

      “And if it’s for me?” Harry was moving lower and lower with each word, wet tongue flicking against a perked bud, and making Y/N gasp. “What if I wanna feel you cum on my tongue, and what if I wanna do something I’ve dreamed about for months now?”

      His hands were kneading her breasts, mouth having left a trail of kisses down the middle of her stomach as it was moving towards where an ache that’d been left untreated made itself more and more prominent. 

“Then please, please, please do something, Harry.”

      “With pleasure.”

      Luckily for Y/N, she didn’t have to beg any more, as his mouth attached itself to where she wanted him most, tongue sweeping past her lower lips and licking up a broad, steady stripe.

      One of her hands went to fist into her hair and the other into Harry’s. “Shit,” she moaned. “Fuck, that feels good.”

      “Guide me.” He licked a circle around her clit. “Tell me how you like it.”

      “Mhgm, fuck, okay,” Y/N breathed out. “I – I mean you’re doing great on your own.” Her chest was heaving as if she was running a marathon, and Harry shifted her legs so that they lay over his shoulders. “But umm, like if you lick around my clit, but like really press down li – oh, fuuuuck, just like that.”

      The coil in her stomach tightened with each pass he did, just like Y/N had instructed, small tight circles just how she did with her fingers, only what took her sometimes half an hour, Harry managed to do in less than ten minutes, to have her toes curling and hands grasping anywhere they could find purchase to just keep onto something real.

      The vibrations from Harry humming sent shivers straight to her core. “What else, lovie? What else, do you like?”

      “If – if –,” Y/N panted, “if you suck on it, but like – fuck – shit! If you kinda keep a seal around my clit, that fuck! Yes!”

      The way Harry was eating her out was almost sensational, but what made it even better wasn’t that he just decided to do something and assumed, she’d like it, he asked, he wanted to learn and discover what made her tick and turn, or in this case – cum. 

      “Harry, ‘m close,” Y/N warned him, feeling the warmth slowly start to spread all throughout her body. 

      “I’ll get you there.”

      He let his lips go for a moment before slipping two of his fingers so that they pinched her clit and moved them slowly but tightly up and down it, while his tongue went to slip inside her hole, and that did it for her.

      With a gasp of air, Y/N’s eyes rolled to be back of her head, hips lifting up as euphoria exploded through her veins. Her mind went completely dizzy, and she was quite sure some drool also dribbled down the side of her mouth because she’d lost all ability to function.

      “ -o me, love,” Y/N heard as if through a fog, and then felt two soothing palms running up and down her legs. “Come back, love. There you go.”

      A drunken smile bloomed on her face, and she ran a hand down it, the same hand that’d grabbed Harry’s hair like a vice. “Fuck. You’re good, you know what you’re doing.”

      “Well, I’m certainly glad you enjoyed yourself because I thoroughly enjoyed myself.”

      She watched as he straightened out to sit on his knees, her legs still over his shoulders, cock slapping against his stomach, and when she looked down there was a wet patch on his side of the sheets, a sly grin morphing on her face. “You liked eating me out so much you came yourself?”

      “What can I say – bringing pleasure, gives me pleasure. And your cunt’s probably the sweetest I’ve ever eaten. But… do you think you’re ready for me?” Harry asked, kissing the inside of Y/N’s thighs and watching as she vigorously nodded her head, but he just smirked. “I think I need to test it out. Just to make sure.”

       “Harry,” Y/N whined as she felt his fingers skim the apex of her thighs, teasing her. 

      “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

      With that, he used one of his hands to open up her lips, his thumb pressing down on her already sensitive clit, eliciting a gasp before he allowed two fingers to skim her entrance and then slipped in.

      “Still so tight,” he said, watching as Y/N sighed and her mouth fell open, his fingers curling in a come-hither motion. “Told you needed to check if you were ready. What kind of a gentleman would I be now, if I didn’t make sure you could take it?”

      Y/N gritted her teeth. “I can take you.”

      “Don’t doubt it.” Harry left kisses along her leg, as he continued on with his movements, noting how her hips slowly started to grind down on his palm, so he pushed his fingers in deeper so that the heel of his hand could rest against her clit, making the pleasure intensify. “But I’d never forgive myself if I hurt you when all I wanna do is give you pleasure. And you weren’t stretched out enough. Not yet at least.”

      “Oh, god, Harry,” Y/N groaned, one arm thrown over her eyes as his fingers hit just the right spot.

      “That’s it? Right there?”

      “Yes, right there,” she moaned. “Just. Fuck! Just don’t stop, please, don’t stop.”

      “Gonna cum again?”

      “Yes, just – just curl your fingers and twist them a bit more.”

      And much like the first time, a couple more times was all it took. Her orgasm was even more powerful than the previous and fully knocked her breath out of her lungs. Her legs fell open around his shoulders, stomach and chest spasming from the intensity. 

      Gentle fingers skimmed up and down Y/N’s arms and featherlight kisses fluttered over her breasts, then chest, neck and finally were peppered across her cheeks.

      “Kinda spaced out on me there. You alright? Not too much?”

      “ ’M – I’m good. But I’m pretty sure you’ve killed me.”

      Harry chuckled, and Y/N leaned her head to the side so she could press a kiss against the closest of the swallow tattoos. “Hopefully not. I still wanna take you out on that date.”

      Her eyes landed on Harry’s left hand’s ring finger, where a golden band still laid. 

      “Oh, yeah.” He lifted the digits, still covered in her cum before pushing them past his lips and licking them clean. “Forgot to remove it. Hope the prop guys don’t kill me.”

      She hated how his eyes sparkled, absolutely knowing what that sight did to her, how it made her stomach flutter and heart thunder against her ribs. Y/N was sure with the force it was pounding, they’d crack. 

      “Well, if they don’t, I will.” She pulled him down, nails raking on his skin, dragging to rest on his ass as they bit into it. “Now get inside me.”

      “Condom.”

      “No, ‘m on the pill.”

      “I’m clean, I swear, but it’s still not a hundred per cent safe.”

      Y/N shook her head. “I’ll buy the morning-after pill. Just need you inside.”

      “You sure?” Harry placed a strand of hair behind her ear. 

      “Yeah. I mean I’m clean, and uh… I just wanna feel you.”

      He’d cum once already, and Harry would be dammed if he did it again before having the chance to know how heaven feels like. As gently as possible, he took himself, giving a few strokes before nudging the tip against Y/N’s clit, her sharp inhale stalling him until she nodded. 

      Her nails dug into his biceps, as he finally slipped inside her, making both of them moan at the feeling. Even with all of the stretching out he’d done with his fingers, and the two orgasms he’d drawn from her, the slickness helping everything to be easy and smooth, Y/N still felt a little sting.

      Harry’s head dropped to Y/N’s shoulders and even from under him, she could feel his thighs and stomach shaking, as he tried to hold his composure and give her a little bit of time to adjust.

      A couple of deep breaths later, she tapped his ribs. “You can move now.”

      “ ‘ya sure?”

      “Mhm,” Y/N nodded her head and pecked his lips reassuringly. “Please.”

      His dishevelled and sweaty hair shook as he nodded and slowly drew back his hips so that just the tip of his cock remained in her before gliding back inside. The sight alone was more than enough to make both of them explode, but they wanted to last longer than thirty seconds, especially for their first time together. There’d be quickies for later, now they wanted to have a proper shag.

      Bit by bit, Harry’s pace quickened, pearls of sweat gliding down his skin and dampening the sheets below them, much like it was with Y/N. Her leg slid up to rest around his hips, giving him a better angle and more leverage for him to strike the right spot, as he pushed her knee to rest against her chest, Y/N’s head falling back to the pillow.

      Her insides were shaking from the pleasure, and it was like an invisible force was pushing down on her chest, as she struggled for a proper breath. “Harry,” she dragged out his name, the word turning into a high-pitched whine.

      “I know,” he responded in the same breathless voice. He could feel her tighten around him and wasn’t sure just how much longer he’d be able to keep up the pace. “Touch yourself ‘f me, lovie. C’mon, use those fingers.”

      Y/N did as she was told. It didn’t give her that butterfly feeling like it’d happened when they’d been Harry’s, but it did make her cum faster, and the sensation of her gushing around his cock made him lose all self-control and he spilled inside.

      It wasn’t enough for Y/N, but she guessed she needed to settle for it. She knew that nothing really ever touched in the universe, that the closest atoms ever come to touching one another is when their wave packets overlap, much like she and Harry were now overlapping, his body lying on top of hers, skin sweaty and frame trembling as he came down from his own high.

      “I uh,” Y/N cleared her throat, finger tracing the outline of one of the butterfly in the middle of Harry’s chest. “When the people came to get my stuff, I umm, asked them to take your rainbow cardigan. Wanted something that smelled like you, so I didn’t feel so alone. Was the first thing I put on when I got out of my hospital gown.”

      She felt his body rumble with laughter and a kiss being pressed to her forehead. “I know. Saw Anna stash it inside the suitcase. I uh, I was the one who also put in one of my sweaters. Know how cold you always get.”

      She hid her smile against his collarbones. “Thank you. For thinking of me.”

      “ 'M always thinking of you… Will you knit me one though?”

      Y/N raised her eyebrow. “Knit you one?”

      “Yes. I know you knit –“

      “Everyone knits nowadays.”

      Harry drew himself back a bit, and she pushed away the matted down strands from his forehead, wiping away the sweat from underneath his green eyes as well. “Yes, but the point is – there’ll be a million other Gucci shirts and sweaters and cardigans. But I’d like to have one-of-a-kind made by you. So, I have something to sleep next to when you’re not next to me.”

      Y/N ran a finger along his jawline, biting away her grin. “It’ll probably have mistakes. I’m not that good at it. ‘M not a professional.”

      “Exactly.” Harry tilted her head up with a finger and their eyes met. “Which is why it’ll be perfect.”

      “The arms will most likely be different lengths in the end.”

      “Don’t worry, darling.” He pecked her lips before hugging her and not letting go. “It’s flawless for me.”

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