#so no emptiness or feeling hollowed out after he gained it only to realize it wasn’t what he wanted

[rainswept]

aventurine is “money can’t buy happiness” personified. i think

#but thankfully he knew that from the beginning… #there was no clamoring i don’t think. he wanted it for survival.. there was no false hope that it would fill any voids #so no emptiness or feeling hollowed out after he gained it only to realize it wasn’t what he wanted #because it was simply from a perspective of “i need this to climb up the ranks in life and Stay Alive” #there was no false sense of security in the idea of it bringing any purpose or life Back to his existence #“money can’t buy happiness but it sure does make your misery easier to live with” yeah

[neevblanc]

„curious” ♡

a/n —hey all! hope ur doin' well, drink water if you haven't! have this as a treat. it's 2k and some more but i cant be bothered to check for specifics. (p.s sorry if the tarot aspects of this are wonky! i did my best to research and i pulled reference from my sister's experience with tarot cards/reading.)

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Dazai Osamu x GN!reader

Tags— 22/ada dazai, flirting?, pre-slash, don't question why reader's given a key, reader works under ango but he's also they're dad figure, it's a whole thing, mentions of sskk though not explicitly platonic or romantic, take that as you wish, dazai's infuriating habit of burying feelings and then one day he'll die

CW/TW— dazai. (/j, none i can think of.)

note — reader's ability in this is based on one that my friend chose for our self-ship au. "Teacher of Truth by Saneatsu Mushanokoji: The user can employ tarot cards to gain insight into the past, current, and possible future situations. The user needs to know what each of the cards mean in order to properly interpret what they say." it's from a post on tumblr, but I couldn't find it for the life of me! i'll credit if i can. anyway, it's been tweaked a little so i'm here to explain. in this, reader can choose to use their ability during a reading or not, but the tarot cards are always personal to them. people they know will sometimes show in the cards if they're important to them.

The next time Dazai sees you, it’s well before the ADA opens for the day. He’d admittedly had a rough night—sleep evaded him like always, and he hadn’t had dinner because of his own laziness. His futon was impossibly comfy. How was he meant to part with its loving warmth?

The Door to the agency creaks open, the sound not unlike the groan of the cafe floorboards only steps away. One of Dazai’s favorite activities was purposely seeking out the creaky floorboards and dancing on them so loud Kunikida would have to berate him, of course. He was intimately familiar with the annoying sounds this old building could make.

The office is darker than during working hours, but he notices the meager amount of lights still switched on. Distantly, he knows Kunikida would’ve blown a gasket about the electric bill if he had found them still on. He takes a step into the room-

Something rustles. Downstairs, an old radio plays a song he does not recognize. Pigeons flutter and coo from outside the window.

Somebody was in the agency, and had it been any of his fellow detectives, he’d have known.

“Hmmm, what’s this,” he mutters absently, volume low enough to alert whoever it was had decided to trespass.

”Dazai-san?” a soft voice calls, and Dazai pauses for a moment. A short, hollow sound follows—cards shuffling. He bites the inside of his cheek. How curious.

”Last I checked, you don’t clock in with the rest of us measly agents. Surely Ango’s fuming by now?” He hums, stepping into view of you. you’re sat at Atsushi’s desk, bag perched on top of Atsushi’s empty report trays. Dazai almost smirks at the sight— silly Atsushi, always rushing to complete everything in a timely manner. One day, he’d get him to turn them in later, hopefully months later- like he did.

”Hm, no. I clocked in earlier, but Ango wanted me over here early. Something about a mission I have to hand over to Fukuzawa-dono. I got a key from him last time, so I just let myself in.” you explained. Dazai pulled his own chair out and collapsed into it, peering down at what your hands were busying themselves with.

He realizes they’re tarot cards. Thick and sturdy under your fingers, you set them up neatly in front of yourself. The backs are a matte purple, decorated with silver details that glint as the sunrise light hits them for just a fraction of a second. The illustrations seem to flicker with movement, almost like snapshots of time shifting through an old camera, frame after frame.

”What’s got you so busy?” he asks, exaggeratingly leaning over to look at the cards. You laugh and smile, expression wobbly. He notes the change. You briefly shake out the bracelet laying on your wrist, almost nervously. You lay the last card on the desk’s surface. Atsushi’s cute cat clock ticks from where it’s placed near his report trays.

“I do readings for the day early in the morning, just in case. Sometimes, I don’t even use my ability.” You explain, keeping your voice low so as not to break the morning peace. Dazai glances at the cat clock. Soon, the secretaries and Kunikida will clock in and begin their work day. He focuses back on you and grins, intrigued.

“Anxious, then? I guess the ability to see the future will do that to ‘ya.” Dazai sighed, crossing his legs and resting his chin on his hand. He was content to watch you finish setting the cards down in a formation he admittedly did not understand.

” What does that one mean?” he says, pointing to one of the cards. Its flickering surface shows a woman with mint-colored hair pulled up into a bun. Behind her, there’s a black mass, and she seems to be standing in a graveyard. There are two Xs at the top of the card. You redirect your attention to the card he’s hovering his finger over and smile.

”That’s Judgment—renewal, reflection, awakening, or reckoning. For a personal reading, it would mean going through a period of self-evaluation or maybe even trying to understand the people around you and your situation more.” You explain, seemingly done with the spread and setting down the other cards nearby. Dazai purses his lips.

”Sounds gloomy. Lame!” He huffs, upset by his choice. you gasp and narrow your eyes.

”Don’t call them lame! You’ll piss them off, Dazai.” You hiss, smacking him on the arm. Dazai grins and leans closer, smile growing coy.

”Really now? And how exactly does one do that?” Dazai prods. You stick your tongue out and cross your arms.

“Not telling. Now shut up and let me do my reading.” You grumble, eyes flicking over the cards. Dazai whines and throws himself forward, almost shoving you off of Atsushi’s chair.

”Dude!” You yelp, hands scrambling to grasp his coat as he rights himself. Dazai grabs you by the shoulders and shakes, intent on being the biggest possible nuisance.

”That’s boring! Do your reading laterrrr; it won’t matter, right? Ne- do a reading for me! I wanna know my future,” He begs, grinning. You blink and scowl, pushing him away.

”First off, it would matter. Doing a reading later would be a completely different outcome. Just wait. All I have to do is interpret these. I’ll do yours after.” You grumble, adjusting their sleeves and settling back into the chair. Dazai harrumphs but settles into his own chair to watch you silently read the cards.

You focus back on the cards, and Dazai settles himself by watching you idly. You’re dressed in what you always wear to work, but it’s casual enough to know doubt have been breaking the dress code had you not been working under Ango for so long.  There’s a small scrunch to your nose as you focus on your task, and Dazai can spot how you run your tongue over your teeth in thought. Dazai looks away pointedly. Taking a few breaths, he forcibly clears his mind. How odd.

”Okay, done.” You hum, straightening and starting to pick up the cards. He shifts so his whole body is faced toward you. You take gentle care of the cards, putting them back into the deck.

”Why do they flicker like that? You aren’t using your ability,” he asks, curious about the shifting images on the cards. You shrug.

”Don’t know. It happens no matter what deck I use, though I prefer using this one. The images just shift into the same ones most of the time, though some have changed over time.” You explain, shuffling the cards. Dazai reaches out and hovers over your hand before poking the back of it gently. You let him despite knowing the outcome.

The images on the cards still lying on the table flicker, completely uninterrupted, even as Dazai feels the shiver of his ability eating away at yours. He hums and pulls away. He hadn’t been paying attention when he jostled you earlier, but you were right- they were unaffected.

”Strange, but not unheard of. Some ability effects aren’t considered active enough for my ability to erase.” Dazai says, allowing you to continue. you finish and present him with the deck, pulling away when he goes to take them.

”Don’t be mean to them. They’ll be mean to you. You can’t even think anything negative; they’ll know. You’re gonna cut the deck in 3, okay? We’ll do a simple reading.” you explain, and only once Dazai agrees (crosses his heart and hopes to die!) is he gently handed the cards.

”What do you want to read? We can focus on love, or money, or your career, things like that.” You say. Dazai ponders for a moment before sniffing, mouth settled into a pompous pout.

”I want to know if someone will finally be interested in a double suicide with me.” He huffs. You scoff.

”You’re insane. Okay, so love. Think about that while you cut them.” You nod, giving him the go-ahead. He runs his fingers over the well-loved edges and slots his thumbs through the deck where it feels right, setting the individual cuts down on the desk before them. He tries to take it as seriously as possible, though thinking about love has always made him squirm and itch beneath his skin.

You reach over once he’s done and clear your throat, carefully picking the top cards on each deck and laying them out in front of him. On the left, the first card flipped is a wheel, seemingly in the sky and surrounded by clouds. The clouds float by calmly, though Dazai can’t find anything particularly personal to you the way some of the other cards would show.

It’s made a little more difficult considering the card’s orientation- upside down.

You hum at it before moving on. The card in the middle is revealed, and this one piques his interest. He grins a little at the image. Two figures hold goblets in their hands, strings of power rising from the cups and meeting above their heads to form a Yin and Yang sign. The figures are startingly familiar- one dark-haired, the other light-haired. Accents in their hair match each other, silver and black clashing and melding nicely. This one’s facing right-side up. The image flickers to show the energy that swirls around, occasionally circling their respective holders.

The last one flicks onto the wooden desk with a hollow sound. The image is soft, not unlike the first one with the blue sky. A sun takes up the upper half, rays pronounced against the sky. Ttheire’s a little kid in the illustration, their beaming face scrunched up in happiness. There’s a flag clutched in one hand, with the other gripping onto the mane of the white horse they’re perched upon. Sunflowers frame them, peaking over the illustrated garden wall behind them.

It’s an endlessly endearing picture, and from the smile, he has a feeling he knows who it is. Like the last one, it’s right-side up.

You settle your chin against your palm, leaning on the table with a hum.

”That’s….a really nice reading, actually.” You move to point at the cards. Dazai sits patiently with his hands on his lap. Nothing more fascinating than seeing someone in their element, he supposed.

”That first one is The Wheel of Fortune. Upside down, it’s a little darker. It represents your past,” you pause, looking at him for a moment. “I think for you, it’s focused on the feeling of helplessness—lack of power or control…like you had love but couldn’t control how and when you lost it,” you say, your voice soft. Dazai fights to ignore the discomfort building in his throat.

”Well, what can I say? My dark past haunts me,” he bemoans, and you huff a soft laugh. You move on to the next card- the cups. You look a little embarrassed by this one.

”This one is the present. Two cups represent…well, partnership. More specifically, the realization of a new partnership. This one can be pretty romantic. I guess you’ve got something to look forward to soon,” you say, pointedly ignoring the images of his two kohais. He grins, sparing you of the teasing. He didn’t know how well you even knew Akutagawa- but it was amusing to see everyone could see what those two denied vehemently.

”The last one is the future. You got The Sun, which is actually really sweet.” Through your embarrassment, Dazai watches a sweet smile grow on your face. He matches it easily.

“It means joy and success, for you in particular. It means…whatever or whoever your two cups is for, you’ll be very happy together.” You say, and Dazai sighs wistfully.

”Maybe someone will finally want to commit suicide with me! This news might keep me alive a day longer just yet,” Dazai coos. You groan and take a deep breath, seemingly ignoring him as you duck your head down and then start to put the cards back.

”You better hope you didn’t piss this deck off, Dazai.” you huff, glaring. Dazai pouts, cradling his face in his hands.

“What?! I followed all your rules; I would never,” he whines. You flip him off and busily tuck the cards into a soft leather pouch. He lets his hands drop and watches for a moment.

”Thanks for the reading,” Dazai says, his voice back to normal. You glance at him and smile.

”Yeah, no problem. It’s nice to read without my ability once in a while,” you admit, expression soft. He grins. Something stirs in his chest.

”You can read me whenever you want, lovely.” He purrs jokingly. You startle, flushing. You glare and kick him with your foot.

”Don’t say shit like that,” you mutter. Dazai whines out a laugh, having settled on teasing you until he could see the smoke coming out your ears.

Before he could continue, the door creaks open, and the overhead lights flick on. Multiple people come shuffling in, and Dazai can hear Kunikida conversing lowly with Fukuzawa. The secretaries also file in, chattering contently amongst themselves. Fukuzawa and Kunkida pause only to greet them both. you wave politely, and Dazai salutes them both.

you blink your eyes to adjust to the light now flooding the room. Dazai huffs and stands with a groan.

”Alright, I’ve got five minutes to get out of here. You’ll be going in to see Shachou, right?” He asks, stretching. you stand and nod, giving him a look.

”Where are you going?” you ask, picking up your bag. He groans at the way his back pops as he rights himself from his stretching.

”Home. I only came here 'cause I was bored. But in the long run, it’ll be a lot funnier if Kunikida’s mad all morning when I don’t show up~” He snickers. you shake your head, a smile pulling at your mouth.

“You’re so lame. See you, then.” You sighed, heading down the hall Kunikida and Fukuzawa had disappeared down.

”And yet you love me. ‘Till we meet again,” he calls, pointedly ignoring the yell you let out.

”Whatever!” you yelped, and Dazai let the agency door click closed behind him.

He grins. Curious indeed.

note — can you tell i love brothers! atsushi and dazai? also, the woman in Judgement is Mizuki Tsujimura, who I headcanon is pretty good friends with reader in this one. :) please let me know if there are any pronoun inconsistencies! this was originally written with she/her pronouns, and i did my best to fix it to match the gender neutral style i like to use for tumblr stuffs.

©neevblanc 2024 // do not plagiarize or repost

#bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs #dazai x reader #gn!y/n #dazai osamu x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #dazai x you #gender neutral y/n #neev.doc

[cocobear137]

❄❆❄ Indescribable Warmth ❄❆❄

Tighnari x female reader

Why cryo? Out of all the things you have gone through, a vision was the last thing that you wanted. The gaze of the gods wasn't what you wanted. It was your parents. 

The sky was gloomy and cold. No sun, no light And no one around. Only the rain made its prominent presence as it drenched your every being. The mountains and trees all felt towering as tears slipped from your eyes as you stared at your vision. The last thing you remember is the harsh stare of your disappointed father as you failed another exam from the Akademiya. You tried so hard in following your parent's footsteps in becoming a researcher or scholar.

After years of studying and countless sleepless nights, it wasn't enough to gain their praise. And failing the exam didn't help. It made everything worse. All you could think of was what are you going to do now? You couldn't bare to see those eyes again. The shame and disappointment in them were too much for you to handle. Much less hear their words. Your heart ached at the thought of never seeing them again. They were all you've known and the people who took care of you. Yet, they are the same people that made your life a misery. 

Before ending up in the cold rain, you sat in front of your father as he yelled at you. Your face is blank and deadpanned as an unsatisfied businessman. Maybe you have finally gotten used to the many lectures or rather you got used to hiding how much it hurt to see your disappointed father's face. Either way, it didn't stop him from yelling. But an idea to make it stop came to mind and without hesitation, you stood up and walked out of your home. Slowly the screams and shouts were drowned out by the thunderous rain. Slowly the thoughts roll in. 

You were now alone. Wondering about the forests of Sumeru. Heading nowhere in particular. "Where should I go?", questions upon questions filled your mind as you walked further and further away from your home. The lush green of the forest became blurry and melted into one coherent shade. It was confusing. Your mind was already a mess. Holding your ground in front of your parents was no easy task and now, everything flooded out and the waves of emotions became overwhelming. Maybe you finally snapped. Maybe this was your breaking point. Or maybe this was the first step to becoming free. The cryo vision glowed, its bright blue light standing out from the greens. You stopped. 

Everything stopped. Your mind. Your movements. And even the rain seemed to slow just a little. Suddenly the realization of the vision that you held in your hand brought you back from insanity. Although, it didn't erase all the ambiguity, someone's gaze, the gods' gaze nonetheless, looked at you. And the thought of someone rewarding you. Looking at you. Paying attention to you, made you feel something indescribable. Nothing that could possibly be put into words, but this feeling felt warm and tingly inside. Maybe the thought of someone caring about you made you feel validated. Maybe you are thankful to whoever shows a slight bit of kindness. Whether it be of good intent or not. You have never met an archon. And the stories of the Tsaritsa didn't make you want to meet her. Only a fool will be ignorant to turn their heads from the actions of the Fatui. But maybe the supposedly cold-hearted archon had some sympathy. 

It seemed like hours since you left your home. Maybe it has been. But you grew tired of walking and need a place to rest. As much as the abandoned treasure hoarders' tents looked, who knew if they were going to come back? It was doing to be difficult to shelter that isn't pre-build by someone else. You rarely went outside because of the hours at your desk. So your experience is as good as none. Out of desperation, you set your mind on an empty tree hollow. And it seemed like the gods has some mercy from the rain, as there was one, just up ahead in some discoloured part of the forest. The trees and grass were grey and brown. Surely, it doesn't scream danger. Upon entering the entrance to the large tree hollow, you felt tired and a sense of relief from the rain washed over you. Quickly lying down, you succumbed to sleep. 

The rain had ceased by morning. And the sun was just rising in the sky. Birds chipped with no care that they might wake you up. But you were so at peace, you didn't mind. But someone in the distance saw your body and concern grew in the pits of their stomach. 

Tighnari, a forest watcher in the Avidiya forest was on patrol before the sun was awake. He often cleanses the many withering zones that have been popping up more recently. But coming upon a particular withering zone he spotted you. At first, he saw your body and thought it was lifeless and many humans without visions can't handle the symptoms and side effects. Sometimes they can be deadly. Then the shine of your cryo vision put his mind at ease, but only a little. How did you end up in a withering zone? Sure, the effects of ley line energy are less severe on vision welders, but that doesn't mean they should be careless about going near such dangers. Coming closer to your body, he caught sight of your breathing. You were alive. 

You felt a gloved hand on your shoulder and your body shake. It was gentle yet firm. You didn't want to wake up. This was the first morning you felt at peace. No thought of a heavy lot packed schedule or shouting parents. Just the peace of the dew-covered grass. But alas, you stored awake when the shaking didn't stop. 

"5 more minutes.... please." You sleepily say. Unaware of what was skating you and whether or not it was a danger to you. Either way, you were too sleepily to care. 

"You can't stay here it is too dangerous." The voice replied. Their voice was also gentle yet firm. Just like their touch. The voice sounded concerned. It wasn't forced or sarcastic. It sounded genuine. Something you've never heard before. 

"Why?" You said turning slightly away to get their hand to stop shaking. 

"This area has serious dangers to one's well-being. Please wake up and come with me. I'll find you a safe place to nap." 

"You sound so sure of yourself. If I wake up now, it will be hard for me to fall asleep again." 

"Fine, you leave me with no choice."

Suddenly this stranger lifted you by the waist with ease and hoisted you over his shoulder. Not being fully awake, you thought you saw this stranger have a tail. You went to grab it. And when your hand touched the green fur, it was soft. Surprised you retract your hand and decided to officially wake up. You shake your head and try to comprehend what situation you are currently in. 

Ok, I ran away from home. I slept in a tree hollow that was in a withering zone. Whatever that is. And now this guy is carrying me?!?

"Hold on put me down! I don't know who you are!" You screamed and kicked suddenly realizing your predicament. The stranger put you down gently and had you facing him. You immediately saw his ears. Tall and fluffy. Then you saw his attire. It looked more suited for the forest than what you were wearing. 

"Finally grasping reality. Well, my apologies I needed to get you out of the withering zone. My name is Tighnari. I am a forest watcher and I was on patrol when I found you. I'm also taking you to Gandharva Ville to properly examine you." Tighnari said. You took a second to process what he said. 

"Examine me?!?" You suddenly feel scared. To be fair, anything with the word 'exam' was going to spark some nerves. "What for?"

"For any symptoms from the withering zone. Now, come. It seems like you are ok to walk so, we can talk on the way."

And so you did. You walked with Tighnari. The forest looked so much more beautiful under clear blue skies. The lush green was more vibrant and the trees and mountains didn't feel towering as before. Now that your mind was a bit clearer than last night, you really appreciate the view. 

"How did you end up in that tree hollow?" Tighnari said after watching you take in the view. He suspected that may be the first time in the forest. 

"Oh..." The memories of last night flashed back. your father's face. Your calm exit. The rain. Your cryo vision. Your tears. And your state of mind at the time. "It's a long story." 

"It's a long way to Gandharva Ville. I wouldn't mind listening." 

"I ran away from home." 

"I see. May I ask why?" 

"Short and simple of it is, I was tired of seeing my father's disappointed face. So, I left so I didn't have to see it ever again." You looked every else but in Tighnari's direction. You didn't want anyone to see you like this. So broken and fragile. "Now thinking about it, it was quite an impulsive move."

"I don't blame you," Tighnari said calmly. It surprised you. You weren't expecting that response. "I am suspecting you have nowhere else to go, am I right?" 

"Correct." You said lowly and with your head down. 

"You can stay with me until you get back on your feet and I can help you with your vision." 

"My vision?" 

"Uh, yes. That is your vision, right?" Tighnari pointed to the cryo vision that hung from your waist. Its teal blue light shimmers in the light of day. "They say that visions are given to those who share the same ideals as the archon that grants them. Although, I can't prove that to be true. Still researching that topic." Tighnari giggles at the thought of his personal research. 

"That is my vision." You confirmed. "I got it last night." 

"Good. I got some lessons I can teach you. In the meantime, you can stay at my place." 

"Wait, really?" Shock laced your voice. No one has offered so much kindness to you in your life. 

"Of course, you got nowhere to go, right? It would be rude of me to leave you in the forest which is dangerous in itself. You're also not one of those stupid adventures. Otherwise, I would've just let you go after I looked at you."

"Uh, yes. Sorry."

"No need to apologize. Besides, I got to examine you. How long were you in that withering zone?"

"All night." You shamefully admitted. After hearing his concerns for you and the mention of a withering zone being dangerous, you were fully expecting a lecture to come from Tighnari. But he just pulled out his notepad and wrote a couple of things down. You were shocked and it was shown in your facial expression. 

"I'll certainly add my finding about you to the new forest guide." He giggled as he looked up to see your face. But concern bubbled after a moment. "Are you ok?"

"You're not going to lecture me?"

"No. Of course not. Even though it was dangerous, this is the first time I've seen a vision welder stay in a withering zone for a very long period. If anything, I'll be asking you questions." Tighnari smiled. "Has all your life been lectures and lessons? You are dressed in an Academiya uniform so I'm assuming that is a yes. Otherwise, you wouldn't have blindly stumbled into that withering zone if you already knew what it looked like." 

"You could tell that from just looking at me." You felt seen. Similar to an open book and he could see what was inside. 

"I come across many people throughout my time in the forests so I know my fair share about people. Although, new experiences are always welcomed."

You and Tighnari continue to walk to Gandharva Ville. Engaging in many other subjects during your conversation. Tighnari was right about it being a long walk, by the time you reached your destination, it was mid-day and the sun was high in the sky. Welcoming you to the Ville, you quickly got examined by smelling certain scents. It wasn't a bad examination and Tighnari asked many questions. But by the end of it, you still couldn't get over one question. 

"Why did you help me?"

Tighnari's ears pricked up at the sound of your voice that had interrupted the quiet. He sat at his desk taking some notes and when you saw one of his ears twitch in your direction, you knew he was listening. 

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't question. I'm grateful for your aid." 

"No. It's alright. From your behaviour, I realize that my actions may be unfamiliar to you. It's ok to question the unknown to get more answers. That's how research works after all." Tighnari said without turning his head. He set down his pen and made his way to you. "I know how prestigious the Academiya can be. Their expectations are high and overwhelming. Not to mention the control they have on research. Your emotions and actions are valid and I understand them. So, don't go beating yourself up now." 

For a moment you felt warm inside. And that indescribable feeling rose again. But you didn't want to question this unknown because didn't need to. 

#tighnari #tighnari x reader #tighnari x you #tighnari x y/n #genshin fanfic #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #tighnari x female reader #fanfic #x reader #x y/n #genshin #genhin impact #sumeru #sumeru akademiya #cryo #cryo vision #vision #tighnari genshin #genshin impact tighnari #genshin tighnari #tighnari genshin impact #tighnari fluff #tighnari fanfic #writing #Sumeru #sumeru genshin #genshin sumeru #sumeru genshin impact

[roohuh]

Mourning the loss of a beloved Professor

Part -1 of Obliviate

Ominis X MC

Summary: Ominis comforts a grieving MC seeing a new side of her

Warnings: main story spoilers!! Grief panic attack

Breathless sobs rattle your entire body. Sitting in the large arm chair in Fig's now empty office you hold yourself weeping for all you have lost. When you came to Hogwarts you were so hopeful for this new life in the magical school. How had it all gone so wrong? Overwhelming guilt of all the deaths you were powerless to stop cripples you so that all you can now do is sit here and cry. You held it together so well in front of everyone; the Hogwarts Hero they hailed you. However after the funeral you could not contain your grief. You had quietly slipped away as soon as you could sealing comfort in Figs office. You are so wrapped up in your grief you do not hear the door open behind you. Upon hearing the weeping Ominis freezes in his tracks. He attempts to clear his throat to gain the attention of whoever is crying to no avail. Unsure of what to do he stands there dumbly. Then recognizes the voice of the muffled “Fig.” Cautiously he approaches the chair laying a hand on your shoulder. You jump a foot into the air not expecting to be disturbed here as you face your introducer, half expecting to see Fig's warm face.

“Ominis!” You exclaim in surprise wondering how long he had been there.

“I am sorry, Professor Weastly had sent me to grab something. I did not mean to intrude.” He stammers, withdrawing his hand. You and Ominis had not been necessarily close; he was Sebastian’s best friend and lately you had been working together to help your friend handle the grief at the loss of his uncle. After Anne had destroyed the spell book Sebastian had began to be more like his old self and you had started to wonder if there was some sort of hex placed on the book. You enjoyed Ominis’ company but he was not one to let a person in easily so that you always felt a wall between the two of you. And now he is standing before you as you openly weep. In an effort to gain composure you take a long shaky breath.

“Are you alright? Sebastian had said how close you and the Professor were.” The word close sounded hollow in your ears and you could not help but break into a fresh set of tears.

“I failed him.” You stammer through the tears. Unsure of how to help, Ominis kneels next to the chair. To him you were always so composed so sure of yourself; you took on any foe without hesitation and always emerged victorious.

“You saved Hogwarts.” He offers in a feeble attempt to help but it falls on deaf ears. You gasp for breath desperately trying to regain control of your body but it will not listen. Ominis gently picks you up from the chair and holds you in his lap sitting on the floor together. His hand is gentle on the back of your head pressing you into his chest.

“Just try and slow your breathing, listen to my heart and try to match that.” He is calm and soothing, stroking the back of your hair. You embrace him tightly, holding on as if he is your only lifeline. The scent of his cologne fills your senses as sobs break over you. Tears wet the front of his shirt as he holds you gently shushing as you begin to slowly regain composure. Eventually you stop crying and you both sit in silence until you let out a small hiccup. Ominis can not help but chuckle at the sound. Blushing furiously you realize you are sitting in the boy's lap with your face buried in his chest. Another hiccup.

“Would you like me to fetch you a glass of water?” he offers. You chance a look at his face which is flushed straight up to his ears. Awkwardly you scoot off his lap with a soft,

“Yes please.” You watch curiously as the boy disappears in search of water. Once out of the room you press your hands to your cheeks feeling how hot they are, thanking your lucky stars Ominis is unable to see you. Pulling a handkerchief from your pocket you blow your nose. Ominis returns much quicker than you had expected. You are thankful for the water as you take the cup your hand bushes his and his cheeks flush.

“Thank you.” You stammer awkwardly.

“Crying always makes me thirsty.” He offers.

“Hard to picture you blubbering.” You giggle in response.

“I used to cry all the time as a child. My aunt was the best comforter, she always hugged me and brought me water when she caught me crying.”

“She taught you well then.”

“Never thought I would be the one to comfort someone els. I am sorry about the Professor.” You sniffle and bite back the tears which are all too ready to resurface.

“He was a good man. First person to believe in me.”

“In what way?”

“When my eleventh birthday came and went with no magic my family was all so disappointed in me. I was a squib. Then this last summer my magic came in and still I was looked upon as a disappointment assumed to have weak and undeveloped magic. Then Fig came. He taught me about magic and helped me realize my ability to wield Ancient Magic.”

“I never knew that about you. You are so gifted I just assumed you transferred or something” Ominis marvels. You laugh and shrug

“I had a great teacher.”

“We both know there more to it a an than that.”

“Who knows, I am not sure what use it is since I couldn’t save so many…” your throat closes up at the thought and you swallow hard. Unexpectedly Ominis takes you in his arms again.

“You can not think like that. Think of the countless people you did save. The Professor did not die in vain. Fig gave his life for all of us.” Initially you stiffen at the contact then soften, you are not use to this side of Ominis but you are certainly not opposed.

#ominis gaunt #ominis x mc #hogwarts legacy #fanfic #ominis x reader #ominis x you #hogwarts legacy ominis #harry potter hogwarts game #ominis fluff

[spaghettiwench]

Lucy as the Golden Blade AU headcanons because the comic I did for it a little bit ago started gaining some traction. Please enjoy some of the thoughts I had while drawing it:

-Lucy joins up with Fittes after the Screaming Staircase and becomes the apprentice of the Golden Blade after Penelope realizes how strong of a Listener she is.

-Lucy leaves for Fittes in part because she wants to keep her promise to Norrie in becoming one of the best agents in the business and in part because she doesn’t want to lose a team that she truly cares about all over again.

-She refuses to wear the Fittes uniform but finds herself wearing gray more often than not (sometimes she’ll wear splashes of blue because she really likes the color)

-Gale pushes her to her breaking point when it comes to both rapier skills and her psychic abilities, making her incredibly powerful and skilled with a blade by the time she crosses paths with Lockwood and co again.

-Lucy and Gale do not like each other in the slightest. Gale is annoyed that he gets stuck training some snot nosed brat and Lucy is pissed because no matter how hard she works she is never up to his standards. Nonetheless he trains her and she shows up every single day because she would never give him the satisfaction of thinking that she’s hiding from him or not up to the challenge.

-I like to think she volunteers for jobs where she might be able to run into George and Lockwood again. Not because they’re friends (of course not they’re sworn enemies at best) but because she likes to bait them.

-Also she finds that Lockwood is a fantastic sparring partner and keeps a detailed count on who wins what battles. She keeps a tally in the inner cover of one of her sketchbooks.

-The night at Winkmans warehouse both Gale and Lucy were in attendance but only Lucy ends up catching up with Lockwood and dueling him. Lucy holds that over Gale's head for months, accusing him of losing his touch because of his cripplingly old age. He never fails to remind her that even though she caught Lockwood she didn’t manage to actually beat him.

-She uses that point as a reason to push herself even harder at rapier practice, she’s determined not to be bested by him again.

-Lucy will never admit it but she looks forward to her confrontations with the small agency. Going out of her way to keep up with their cases in the papers and magazines. Deep down she likes them and remembers their friendship from when she first arrived in London. Secretly she believes she owes them for being a stepping stone in her success, and she never stops feeling guilty for leaving them behind in the way that she did.

-The more she crosses paths with Lockwood and George the more she starts to regret abandoning them for Fittes.

SPOILERS FOR HOLLOW BOY/CREEPING SHADOW/EMPTY GRAVE PAST THIS POINT

-Lucy meets up with Lockwood and co again when they go and visit Chelsea for the mass haunting. Fittes even has her working on the case so she gets lumped in with Kipps and his team.

-The chase at the parade is basically the same except instead of Lockwood and Lucy helping each other out they’re determined to see who can catch up to the attacker first. It ends with them pulling out the rapiers by the river, almost coming to blows before they’re found by other people.

-Lucy goes with Kipps to Aickmeres and it ends up playing out the same exact way. Lucy gets teamed up with Holly, the two argue, Lucy ends up saving Holly before herself and falling down into the old prison. She still sees Lockwood as the Fetch and he still comes down after her. So when he offers her a job, to come back to Lockwood and Co, to be part of a real team again, she has to refuse. It breaks both of their hearts when she does it.

-Okay this is where I start to deviate from cannon a bit more so bare with me

-Lucy has no idea that Fittes and Rotwell are opening spirit gates, at the end of the black winter is when Penelope finally trusts her enough to let her in on the secret

-Lucy is obviously horrified by the idea and runs away. She has nowhere else to go other than to the one place she knows is safe. The only place that might offer to take her in, and runs off to Portland Row.

-Of course they take her in and after the Creeping Shadow case she officially becomes the newest member of Lockwood and Co.

-Absolutely flips her shit when the skull starts talking to her when she first moves in

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co #lucy carlyle #anthony lockwood #george karim #george cubbins #holly munro #quill kipps #the empty grave #the hollow boy #the creeping shadow #the screaming staircase #the whispering skull #the golden blade

[tiny-wooden-robot-fics]

Against the Tide - Eleven

Rating: Explicit Pairing(s): Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez x Original Female Character, Silvio Ricci x Original Female Character Characters: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez (Bleach), Silvio Ricci (Ikemen Prince), Olivia DuBois (Original Female Character of Color) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergent, Pirates and Princes, Slow Burn, Action/Adventure, Worldbuilding, Angst, Some Subtle Racism, Sexual Tension, Political Subplot

Previous Chapter: Ten | Next Chapter: Twelve

Summary:

She thinks of Silvio again, and words that he's said to her. "Even so, why would you want that? War is hell. And Vora going to war means using up the resources that you deem so precious. Lives would be lost - the lives of your friends, maybe your family, people you cherish. If you claim to love Vora so much, why would you want to put it through that kind of hell again?"

"I don't," Barnes answers. "Ideally we'd get what we want without ever having to take up arms. But if war is the only way to gain our independence, then it's a necessary sacrifice."

Read on AO3

Silvio stands there for a long time after they’ve left, staring at the ugly, scarred wood of the inn room door. He feels hollow and numb, like a fruit that’s been scooped of all its meat and is just an empty skin. 

That isn’t what this is and you know it. Neither of us were thinking clearly. And maybe… Maybe this was the interruption we needed to cool down. 

The words keep running through his mind over and over again. The sound of her voice permeates his ears, jams his head full of emotion like the stuffing in a chair. He tries to shut it out, but even covering his ears and closing his eyes doesn’t work. 

He doesn’t want to think about the way she left his room the previous evening. The way she’d refused to look at him but he’d seen them anyway - her brown eyes hurt and glossy with tears. 

You wanna leave… leave. 

He’d driven her away. 

And not just into the arms of another man - a man he despised - but possibly into something or someone dangerous… something that might have hurt her. 

Or worse. 

He kicks at the table in the room hard enough to knock it over with a crash. 

--

“What do we do now?” Daisy asks, when the two of them are back inside the tavern. 

“We can start by askin’ around,” Grimmjow answers. “See if anybody saw her after we did last night.” He looks down at her. “Sorry for scarin’ ya back there,” he adds quietly. “Don’t know what came over me.” 

“You don’t have to apologize on my account,” Daisy expresses. She takes a deep breath. “I think you both… are upset. I think I understand why you would be,” she adds, with a shaky smile. “I’m only happy I was there to try to intervene before things got worse.” 

“I woulda killed him if you hadn’t been there,” Grimmjow mutters. “Felt like I wanted to, anyway.”

Daisy looks back at him, prepared to laugh. When she realizes there is no mirth whatsoever in his expression, her laughter dies in her throat. “Why do you hate him so much, Captain?” 

Her question seems to take him by surprise. “Why?” He repeats it. “Because he walks around thinkin’ he’s better’n the rest of us. He talks bad about men like me for makin’ a livin’ the best way we know how just because he was born with a goddamned silver spoon in his mouth.” Grimmjow kicks the tip of his boot at the floorboard, aggravated. “Uses his money to get whatever the hell he wants, like he can just pay the whole world to do his biddin’. Like to see how well he’d do without his daddy’s money.” 

She absorbs his words. “I don’t know Prince Silvio very well,” she confesses. “I was only newly brought to the palace before this trip. You see, I was training to be the Queen’s lady’s maid to take over for my mother.” 

“I dunno what any of that means,” Grimmjow laughs. 

This time, she laughs too. “It just means I spent more time with the Queen than the Crown Prince,” she explains. “So I don’t know if everything you’ve said about him is true. I do know that Lady Olivia wouldn’t want the two of you to fight,” she continues. “She’d probably be very angry with you both if she knew you wanted to do each other harm.” 

He mulls over this for a moment. “Yeah,” he says finally. “Yeah, you’re right. She would.” 

--

“What can I get you?” The girl is as cheerful as ever when she asks. 

“Sit down,” Silvio says. 

Confusion fills her features. “Apologies, my lord, but---”

“Sit down,” he says again, a hard edge in his voice. He looks up at her, his blue eyes icy. “Don’t make me say it again.” 

The barmaid does as she’s told, looking around only once before settling herself across the table from him. One glance at his face and she understands exactly why he’s told her to sit. 

“Where is Jarron Barnes?” Silvio asks. 

“I’m not sure I understand.”

Silvio peers closely at her. He leans forward. “Do you want to do this the easy way, or do you want to find out what the hard way is?” 

Her gaze shifts away from him, her mouth turned down in a frown. “By now my lord, I’m sure he must be nearly a day’s journey away.” 

“Going where?” 

“I don’t know,” she answers quickly. 

He wants to grab her by her shoulders and shake her until the information she’s withholding falls out of her head. Instead, he reaches into his cloak and pulls out a pouch. Her gaze follows his hands as he sets the pouch on the table with a heavy metallic clink. 

The girl’s eyes widen. She’s almost drooling. 

“So you are a greedy little rat,” Silvio hisses angrily. “How much did you sell her for, huh?” 

“My lord, I swear I didn’t---”

“Cut the shit,” he snaps. He hasn’t raised his voice, but the dangerous edge to it shuts her up immediately. “How much?” 

“A week’s wages,” she admits guiltily. 

Incredulously, he stares at her. “I should break your fucking jaw for that,” he mutters. “You trade information to a man who spends his time robbing some of the wealthiest merchant ships in the Yarmouth waters and all you ask for is a week’s wages?” 

The girl looks to be on the verge of tears. 

“What’s in this pouch could easily cover a month’s wages for you,” Silvio goes on. She reaches for the aforementioned pouch, and he rudely slaps her hand away. “You’re going to tell me exactly where Jarron Barnes is heading and what he plans to do with Olivia once he gets there. Do you understand me?” 

“My lord---”

“What I asked you,” he cuts her off, “doesn’t involve any answer other than you nodding your head. You can even say, ‘yes, my lord.’ Do you. Understand. Me?” 

She nods. “Yes, my lord.” 

“Good.” He sits back in his chair. “Now start talking.”

--

His ship is fast. 

As fast as the Hellcat, she would reckon - if not faster. She wonders if he’s stolen it from someone else. If it is merely a spoil of his endeavors. 

She would ask him, but the fabric that’s been jammed between her teeth is still there. It keeps her from talking at all. 

“What’s it like to have two very different men lusting after you?” 

She glares up at him. 

“Oh, that look is scary,” he laughs. “I wonder what you would be saying right now if you could talk.” 

Why don’t you undo this gag and find out? Olivia wishes she could telegraph that thought to him. Her arms and legs are still bound as well, and she’s been tossed into an ungraceful heap in one corner of the deck. 

“Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll both be coming after you soon,” Jarron Barnes offers. “That is,” he adds thoughtfully, “if they don’t kill each other first.” He kneels down so that he’s at eye level with her. “If I undo this gag, are you gonna be nice?” 

Olivia simply stares at him. 

“I don’t think you will, but I’m gonna undo it anyway.” He reaches behind her head, untying the knot and pulling the fabric away from her mouth. 

Her mouth is dry. She swallows and opens it to speak. “Why is it that I’m the one tied up like a criminal, when we both know who the real criminal here is?” 

He looks back at her shrewdly. “One of my guys has a broken nose because of you. And I suspect you would have done much worse if the freedom to use your arms and legs  hadn’t been taken away from you fairly quickly.” 

“That’s what happens when I get attacked,” Olivia spits. “I will fight back.” 

“So I’ve noticed.” He leans back, studying her. “I can see why the pirate would like you - you’re scrappy. The Prince, I’m not so sure about. What have you got on him that makes him so taken with you?” 

She ignores his question. “Why am I here? What could you possibly want with me?” 

“You’re a lure, of course,” he replies. “I don’t care about the pirate - I have no quarrel with him - but I heard from some very reliable sources that the Prince has been asking around, looking for me. It seems like his plan once he finds me isn’t one I’d like very much. You’re my assurance that he won’t do anything unnecessarily foolish until I’ve had a chance to speak with him properly.”

His words make Olivia laugh bitterly. “If you think I mean that much to him, you’re sorely mistaken.” She shakes her head. “And what’s your plan once he catches up to you?” 

“You assume he’s going to catch up to me at all.”

Olivia shrugs, as best she can with her arms still tied behind her back. “You assume he’s not able to.” 

“Alright, I’ll give you that,” he concedes. “After all, the Hellcat has a reputation for being one of the fastest ships in the world. So let’s say those two continue to work together with the goal of getting you back. In the event that they catch up to me, I get what I want.” 

“And what is it that you want?” 

“Simple,” Barnes shrugs. “Vora’s independence. Our own government, ruled by leaders we choose. Clario stays the hell out of our business and relinquishes its control over our taxes, our trade, our resources… everything.” 

Olivia muses over his words. “Do the people really hate living under Clarion rule that much?” 

Her question seems to catch him off-guard. “Right,” he says slowly after a moment. “You wouldn’t know anything about life in Vora, because you and the rest of the traitors in your family turned tail and ran from it.” He sneers at her. “Didn’t stick around to watch the fallout and went to live like good little diplomats in Clario.”

“I’m going to forgive the blatant ignorance in your statement,” Olivia starts, “because I’m asking you seriously - does everyone in Vora feel the way you do? Has it really been as bad as you make it sound?” 

“Like I said before, what we want is independence. We want to regulate our own trade and taxes and resources.” 

“Vora isn’t languishing,” she points out. “I may not have set foot on its soil in twenty years, but it doesn’t mean I don’t keep up with what’s going on there.” 

“Has living in Clario dulled your senses?” He asks angrily. “Do you really think it’s fine that your father just rolled over and showed his belly to those… those invaders?”

His words slam into her stomach like a gut punch. “That isn’t fair and you know it,” she protests. “When my father relinquished his position as Prime Minister of Vora, it was because he was trying to put a peaceful end to a war that had been going on for nearly a decade.” She takes a deep breath in an attempt to cool the blood in her veins and keep her emotions from getting the best of her. “You may choose to conveniently leave that part of it out, but I won’t.” 

Barnes scoffs. “I remember hearing that the Prime Minister and his family agreed to pick up and leave us all here,” he counters. “And that their oldest daughter was practically being sold off to the Crown Prince of Clario.”

“And yet here I am,” Olivia interjects sarcastically, “noticeably not owned as property of the Crown Prince of Clario.”

He laughs rudely. “Still doesn’t mean you’re forgiven for turning your back on your home.”

“I was a child,” she snaps. “What was I supposed to do? Run away on my own? Hope no one would notice me stowing away on a ship to Vora?” 

“You haven’t set foot on the island in twenty years,” he points out with a shrug. “You’re telling me that in all that time, you couldn’t have found your way back?”

His words hurt, more than she’d like to admit. “I made a promise to my father that I wouldn’t,” she says. Even as the words come out of her mouth, she realizes how it must sound to the man in front of her. “My parents are diplomats. If I were to leave Clario and return to Vora, it would look like I wasn’t in support of the arrangement that they gave up so much to make.” 

“We can stand here and debate the merits of that all day, and you still won’t change my mind about what you are,” Barnes retorts stubbornly. “And the bottom line is that we wanna rule ourselves. Either you support that, or you don’t.”

“Suppose I don’t. What then?” 

He shakes his head. “Then you find yourself on the wrong side of a war.”  

“Do all the citizens of Vora feel that way?” Olivia asks. 

His hesitation gives him away. 

“They don’t,” she surmises. She peers closely at him. “And I can take a pretty good guess as to who you think should step into place as the new leader of Vora.” 

He doesn’t answer her, but she doesn’t really need him to. He isn’t very good at masking his emotions… or maybe he doesn’t care to. Either way, Olivia can tell that she’s guessed correctly.  

“Let me ask you something,” she starts, shifting to look him in the eye. “What happens to those citizens of Vora who are fine with things the way they’ve been for the past twenty years? What happens to those people who don’t necessarily want you appointed to speak for them?” 

“They’ll come around,” he assures her confidently. 

“What if they don’t?” 

“They will,” he insists. “They’ll see that I’d never turn my back on my home.” 

“I’m asking you not to do this,” she implores him. Silvio’s words echo in her head, and she says them aloud. “If Vora goes to war with Clario again, Vora will lose… again .”

“You don’t know that. We’re more prepared than we were last time. I’ve been gathering resources for a long time now. We won’t lose.” 

She thinks of Silvio again, and words that he’s said to her. “Even so, why would you want that? War is hell. And Vora going to war means using up the resources that you deem so precious. Lives would be lost - the lives of your friends, maybe your family, people you cherish. If you claim to love Vora so much, why would you want to put it through that kind of hell again?” 

“I don’t,” Barnes answers. “Ideally we’d get what we want without ever having to take up arms. But if war is the only way to gain our independence, then it’s a necessary sacrifice.” 

Olivia looks back at him dubiously. “I don’t think it’s going to work the way you’re envisioning it.”  

“You don’t believe me,” he concludes. “And that’s fine - you don’t have to. Vora isn’t your home anymore, so you don’t have any stake in this fight.” 

“That isn’t true, either,” Olivia sighs. “And I’ll say it again: if your plan is to use me as a bargaining chip to get what you want, you may be very disappointed.” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he laughs. “I’d wager your prince and the rest of the calvary are making haste after us as we speak.” He stands. “You’re not very good at playing the damsel in distress.” 

“Are you disappointed?” 

“No,” he admits honestly. “And quite frankly, I wouldn’t have expected any less.” 

--

Daisy is starting to understand why Olivia always looks so put out whenever the Captain and the Prince interact around her. 

“We found out the name of the ship Jarron Barnes is sailing in,” she starts, hoping the words will diffuse the tension and keep either man from drawing the steel at their hips. “It’s called the Sea Queen.” She glances up at Grimmjow and he nods. “They say it’s fast.” 

“I know that ship,” the Captain adds. “And I sure would like to know what happened to her Captain. He was a tough old bastard.” 

“Barnes was waiting for us to arrive so he could take Olivia to Vora with him,” Silvio sighs angrily. “And I wouldn’t be surprised if he was the one who spread the rumor that he was already back on Vora.” 

“So what do we do?” Daisy asks, anxiously wringing her hands. 

“We go after him,” Grimmjow replies simply. 

“The barmaid says he’s almost a full day’s journey ahead of us.” Silvio looks skeptical. “If his ship is as fast as she’s said, we may not be able to catch up to him.” 

“You sellin’ the Hellcat short? Did you forget how fast she can cut up the sea?” 

“You have faith in your ship, and that’s wonderful,” Silvio grumbles. “But forgive me if I lack the same confidence in it. Even with a ship as fast as yours, a day’s distance is a hell of a gap to close.” 

“So what?” The pirate shrugs. “Even if the Hellcat can’t catch up to him - and that’s a big ‘if’, we know he’s headin’ to Vora. We’ll catch him when he gets there either way.”

“And walk right into an ambush of his choosing?” Silvio actually laughs. “Are you stupid?” 

Sky-blue eyes flash with anger. “Watch your fuckin’ mouth, pretty boy.” 

“This is me watching my fucking mouth, pirate,” the Prince retorts. “We don’t know what he plans to do with Olivia. He could mean her harm. He may have already hurt her.” 

“Listen here.” Grimmjow’s voice is low and dangerous. “Don’t stand here and talk about her like only you care. We all got a personal stake in this.”

“Maybe if you’d acted like you cared about her last night, we wouldn’t be in this predicament.” 

“Bring it up one more time,” Grimmjow hisses, “and I’ll cut that tongue of yours out.” 

Daisy’s headache is quickly intensifying. “I have something to say.” she murmurs. Her voice is quiet but serious, and both men turn to look at her. “We all have the same goal… to help Lady Olivia out of whatever trouble she’s in.” She inhales deeply. “And I don’t think she would want the two of you to fight. She’d want us all to work together and help her. If you two really want to kill each other,” she adds tiredly, “I cannot stop you. But I also cannot save her on my own. I need your help - both of you. So can we please just… call a truce? A temporary peace treaty?” 

Silvio rolls his eyes. “How about we agree to stay out of each other’s way?” 

Frustrated, Daisy shakes her head. “But we have to work together,” she protests. “We can’t work together if we’re avoiding each other.” She looks up at Grimmjow pleadingly. “Please.” 

He frowns. “Most I can do is promise not to kill him,” he mumbles. “Least not before we find Livvy.” 

She looks over at Silvio. He shrugs. “Please shake hands to seal the agreement,” she proposes. Her voice is trembling slightly, but her gaze does not waver as she looks first at one man, and then the other. “On your honor as men.” 

Grudgingly they humor her. 

It’s Grimmjow who turns away first. “We leave at dawn,” he announces. “Anybody who ain��t on the Hellcat at first light either spends the next two months in Baiz or finds their own way to the next destination.” Without waiting for a response, he stalks out of the tavern. 

“Well, that asshole was right about one thing, at least,” Silvio utters under his breath. 

Surprised, Daisy turns to look at him. “Right about what?” 

“She must’ve rubbed off on you,” is the answer he gives. When she opens her mouth to respond, he beats her to it. “It’s a good thing.” And with that, he turns away too, leaving her alone with her thoughts. 

--

At dawn, she is exactly where she needs to be: on the deck of the Hellcat, watching Grimmjow’s crew file onto it in various stages of fatigue. Daisy feels a little bad for them - what was meant to be a semi-leisurely trek to Vora has turned into an urgent mission. Unaware of their early departure time until late in the evening, many had been forced to cut their merrymaking short. 

The Captain himself is as fresh-faced as ever when he comes over to greet her. “Top o’ the mornin’ to you.”

“Good morning,” she smiles up at him. She glances around. “I don’t see Prince Silvio,” she says worriedly. “I hope he doesn’t miss us.” 

“Bastard’s already here,” Grimmjow mutters. “In his cabin… he slept on the Hellcat last night.”

“Oh.” His words have surprised her. She giggles a little. “Well I guess he was more ready to go than all of us.” 

Grimmjow shrugs. “Wouldn’t’ve known it from the way he chased us outta his room yesterday.”

“I just wish I knew whether or not Lady Olivia is okay,” she sighs, sobering up. “It’s nerve-wracking not to know what’s happening to her.” 

“She’ll be fine,” Grimmjow smiles down at her reassuringly. “We’ll get to her soon, and in the meantime, she’s good at holdin’ her own.” His gaze grows steely. “And if he touches a hair on her head, he’ll have hell to pay. I won’t hold back.”

“Captain, are you in love with her?” 

He sputters in a rare moment of being completely caught off-guard. “Well shit,” he chuckles. “Guess Livvy’s way of askin’ honest questions is startin’ to rub off on ya too, huh?” 

“I’m sorry,” she says, her face flushing. “I know it’s impolite and probably highly inappropriate for me to ask.” 

“That mean you don’t wanna know the answer?” 

She hesitates. “I only want to know if you want to tell me.”

“Then I’ll keep it to myself. A man’s entitled to his secrets just like a woman is, don’t you think?” 

It makes her laugh. “I guess you’re right.” She looks around to make sure no one else is within earshot. “And for what it’s worth, I know she wouldn’t blame you for what happened to her.”

Grimmjow frowns. “And what makes you so sure about that?” 

“I don’t know if I can explain it the right way, but I’ll try,” she starts thoughtfully. “Lady Olivia isn’t like that, you know? She wouldn’t blame you for something bad that someone else did to her.” 

His blue eyes are on the horizon. “Even if she never woulda been there if she hadn’t been lookin’ after me?” 

“Well, it might have happened anywhere,” Daisy points out. “Especially if those men had been watching us the whole time.” 

He shrugs. “Dunno if that’s supposed to make me feel better.” 

“I’m sure it will when we find her and she tells you herself,” Daisy smiles. 

--

When the knock on her door sounds, Olivia is already awake. “I’m surprised you even bothered to knock,” she mumbles when he opens the door without waiting for an answer. “I didn’t think hostages warranted the privilege of privacy.”

“If that’s the way you want me to treat you,” he shrugs, “that can be arranged.” 

“You abducted me, bound my hands and feet and gagged my mouth, then tossed me onto the corner of the ship’s deck all day yesterday so I could suffer from sun and windburn. Forgive me if I’m not jumping for joy at the prospect of being here, bed or not.” 

“You’ll get used to life at sea eventually,” he jokes. 

“You know good and goddamned well I’m already accustomed to life at sea,” Olivia sighs witheringly. “What I’m not accustomed to is being treated like cargo instead of like a human being.” 

“I’d say you’ve been treated at least slightly better than cargo.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “So let’s say your plan goes exactly as you’ve envisioned it - or at least as close as it can get. What will you do then? How will you make Vora better than it already is?” 

“Why are you asking? You don’t care.” He looks skeptically at her. 

“Of course I do,” she affirms. “Your passion for this is obviously rooted in something you feel very strongly about. And though I’m no true diplomat, I would be casting aside everything I’ve learned from my father if I didn’t ask.” 

“Huh,” he says slowly. “You really mean that.” When she nods, he speaks again. “Alright then. Come with me and I’ll tell you.” 

“Where are we going?” 

The smile he flashes her this time seems to be a genuine one. “I’m hungry, and you must be, too. I’ll tell you my plan over breakfast.” 

Previous Chapter: Ten | Next Chapter: Twelve

#tinywoodenrobot fics #black oc #bleach fanfiction #ikemen prince fanfiction #bleach #ikemen prince #ikepri #bleach grimmjow #grimmjow jaegerjaquez x oc #silvio ricci #ikepri silvio #olivia dubois #grimmjow jaegerjaquez

[ranalatus]

IM SCREAMING AND ON MY KNEES RN LITERALLY THANK TOU SO MUCH childe suffer challenge 🤗🤗

funny but do you think like hydro users could produce mist? and images onto the mist?? because if so imagine that + signora. im deviously laughing rn. OR OR imagine stupid scaramouche drowning in indescribable emptiness because of him realizing theres nothing he can do in this position, he cant even throw his hissy fits 😭😭

OR THEM HAVING A LITTLE MEETING TALKIJG SHIT. "rhey are so annoying." "ihate them." then jts just "hate who?" HAHAHAHA farts

NAHHH I LOVE THE MEETING IDEA LMFOAAJDBDB IMAGINE SCARAMOUCHE JUST STARING INTO NOTHING, FEELING LIKE A HOLLOWED OUT DOLL WHILE THE OTHERS TALK SHIT ABOUT YOU BCS YET AGAIN YOU MANAGED TO GAIN THE RIGHTS TO THE PLANS THE HARBINGERS THEMSELVES SUGGESTED TO THE TSARITSA

I hope you don't mind me taking creative liberties of your harbinger torture methods bcs I LOVE them sm

spoilers - Signora's backstory (??), Scaramouche's backstory

warnings: mentions of war, blood, manipulative reader, reader is the bad guy, reader is very much the bad guy

There's nothing but the smell of blood filling her nose, nothing but the remains of war flooding her vision. Signora feels nothing but dread as she relives the times of war from back when she was still a normal, regular maiden of Mondstadt

She hates it. She hates it so, so much

A faint chuckle echoes from beyond all the yells of other people, people who were rescuing the dead bodies. It was a cold laugh, not fitting the cries of family members who lost their loved one in the war

Her hand gently grazes the face of her beloved, the face bloodied and unrecognizable thanks to the battle he fought

Her hand passed through the mist

Mist. Of course

How could she forget? You have hydro vision users on your side. Hell, you have everyone on your side

She clenches her fist. A long time ago, you had her on your side as well

This is but another attempt at taming her, another attempt at getting her back on your side after she, in your words, went berserk

“My dear ember, do you see it now?” The illusion of her husband melts away, and she has to hold herself back from clutching it close to her chest. Her re-opened wounds burns in your hands, as you grab her chin and make her look at you. As you force her to look into your cold, dead eyes under the facade of comfort and warmth

“You are nothing without me. I gave you everything, and I can so easily take it all away too. Now let's stop being defiant, you'd look so much better under my control anyway, ember.”

You're smiling. You're smiling and everything is going your way. You're smiling and you have everyone and their weaknesses wrapped around your fingers like you're holding a marionette's strings

Scaramouche isn't anticipating the moment you find out his identity. His weakness

Because at this point, it's no longer a matter of if, but of when

He can't even shake in fear, he can't even cry. No, he can only sit still like a good doll and wait until you finally find the secret he's hiding. Wait until you untangle his puppet strings and bring him back to life

He doesn't want to. Back then, he used to wish for someone to use him, for him to have a purpose

He doesn't want you to give him that purpose

He's always been stubborn, easily angered and easy to tease. That's what you made him to be, after all. Even without you controlling him, you wrote out his fate and destiny with your tongue

He let you control his image. He let you control his favor

“Balladeer,” A familiar voice. He looks to the side, finding the grinning face of your servant. He can't remember his name, all he remembers is that he stuck faithfully and loyally to your side even from back when you had no power in the palace. “My master is calling for your presence.”

His heart, he doesn't even have one, pounds roughly against his chest. There is a knowing glint in your servant's eyes, and he swears he can see your foggy figure behind your servant with the same knowing grin on your face

He let you control his everything but he can't, he doesn't want you to control his life

But it's no longer his choice, is it? The moment you stepped foot into this castle all those years ago, shivering and begging for help, the lives of it's inhabitants ended up in your hands

Now, they have to live exactly how he has all these years. Empty, hollow puppets

— Ehe fatui!reader lore

#genshin impact fanfiction #yandere genshin impact #genshin fatui #genshin impact fatui #fatui #fatui!reader #genshin impact signora #genshin impact scaramouche #fatui harbingers #☁️.brainrots

[mandalhoerian]

NO TIME TO DIE | leon kennedy x oc | 3

pairing: leon s. kennedy x oc word count: 15K~ (I AM SORRY) warnings: past child abuse, gore, descriptions of vomit, suicide attempt, vera being blasphemous to god , again with cringy humor inspired by my real life experiences of awkwardness, they're getting to know each other ur honor 😭 summary: For the sake of getting out of the station and to save Marvin, Leon and Vera end up establishing field agent and mission support unit of two without knowing what it is through trials of trust and vulnerability. READ ON AO3 ! CH. 4 ☆ NO TIME TO DIE MASTERPOST

Lt. Branagh was lying sideways on the couch, one glance at the him would suggest he was sleeping but the man was visibly shivering and his lips were pressed into a thin line, face shiny with the pearly droplets of sweat, a white sheet taken from the curtains surrounding them draped over his body that Vera had taken extra care to tuck underneath — so his back wouldn't be exposed should he toss around, according to her crestfallen explanation. 

This must be how her father put her to bed when she was a child, Leon thought, cocooning her into warmth and safety. He had to look away from her lovingly caressing her father's head like he was the child and she was the parent, the lump stuck on his stomach got twice the heavier with the sight.

A hollowness curled its way home within his ribs at not being able to imagine that kind of love between him and his late parents, hell, he couldn't even remember receiving that kind of agonizing affection from them, feather soft and sitting-before-the-stove-on-a-winter-night cozy. The closest he got to it was when he successfully completed deliveries or brought money home as a child beggar, his father spared him then from the usual beatings that he told was necessary for people to pity him — people loved broken pretty things, always wanted to fix 'em . Leon was no different from an injured pup in their eyes, he had said, so he had to act like it, too.

Mornings were filled with twenty wink sleeps and nights hardwired him to stay alert like a hawk, gang members coming and going like it was an inn, his mother's cheap sugary perfume hanging in the rotten, molded air as she left home and didn't return for weeks, Leon surviving on salt on bread or bouillon cubes and his father's anger the whole time, the brown-stained refrigerator mostly filled with liquor, strangers randomly spawning in his home with guns in their belts looking at him funny, his father laughing, and then empty film strips and blanks in his memory — and Leon hurting all over, running, sleeping on the streets for a couple of days and managing his hunger until his existence was forgotten and going back home then, body used to the punishment he was sure to receive. It was chaotic and it was routine.

Leon survived. Leon survived because he was simply made that way. He was born into survival. 

For him, home was the most dangerous place on earth, a jungle filled with predators — the meaning of the word safe didn't come to him until after the day he lost his family. Then, home was just a box with all the hazardous contents removed, it never meant more than what the definition entailed, never really bothered him unless he was faced with what he wasn't allowed to have, the adolescent Leon avoided parks, hurried straight back after school, anywhere children would flock to, followed by parents who loved them to bits. Those were the places where tears decided to surface after long periods of feeling absolutely nothing. Leon couldn't control his body's response, and he resented the vulnerability and the feeling that he was made of glass — he would never be ready for the danger ambushing him around the corner, salvation had turned him weak. 

If only he wasn't introduced to affection by that cop who had shown the first act of kindness in his life that he could remember, changing his life forever. It was when he had gained consciousness, the first time he realized he had autonomy, the first time he had felt unbridled happiness and joy and gratitude in his life that he wanted to share it in abundance: the relaxation of a full night's sleep and a body that could just let go, the warmth of a homemade meal, everyday life not as a fist that came down on him but a hand that was an encouraging push into a kinder world — Leon wanted everyone to feel this way in their life just once. It had healed him. He wanted to change someone's life the way his was changed. He wanted to do that for someone, be that cop for other many Leon S. Kennedy's.

He found his calling in helping people, and he had two people right now who needed him to step up the most.

He tried his hardest not to picture Vera and Marvin in a child's bedroom at night, illuminated by the soft yellow light coming from the bedside lamp, Lt. Branagh younger and healthier and happier, telling a night time story to his little daughter basically made into a blanket burrito. Leon closed his ears to the giggles of a young Vera, of course questioning the story at every turn and nitpicking at every detail ("How's that a twig, dad? It must be a branch if it has leaves!"), enjoying squabbling with her father over the tiny details. Warm, warm, warm.

Leon couldn't swallow the fist-sized rock stuck in his throat. and swore to himself: he would save them, he would take them to safety, no matter what , he would not fail Lt. Branagh.

He had been wavering before, utterly confused and split into two pieces over doing what he thought was right and what he was ordered to do — Lt. Branagh was his boss, but also a man with a family he wanted desperately to be saved before him. It gave massive jitters of anxiety to Leon to be thinking about disobeying orders despite the world ending around them when all he wanted was approval, but at the same time, could he be a good cop if he didn't have the gall to do the right thing?

He was wearing the uniform, he'd better live up to it.

"Let's leave him to rest," Leon whispered, lingering behind the crouched Vera.

The fingers on the lieutenant's sweat-covered forehead stopped and she straightened her spine, looking back at him over her shoulder, a faraway look in her half-droopy eyes. His heart ached for her.

She sniffled without tears, and got up, signaling Leon to follow her to the front desk, and took the Toughbook with her. On the way, she said, "He needs herbs, that could put him to sleep a bit. Help the pain."

Those definitions sounded a bit... Leon stretched out the word, uncertain. "Herbs? You're not talking about cannabis, are you?"

He got laughed at. Again . "I wish. Getting high in the middle of all this would be a dream come true, but no. Herbs I'm talking about are medicinal." She set the Toughbook down on the desk, pulling a rolling chair and sitting down on it, working to open the station's maps. "Native to the Arklay mountains. You know the pharmaceutical corporation, Umbrella? They farm them for medicine. These herbs have healing properties, relax John Law."

His lips twitched upwards from their corners at John Law . Weirdly enough, this felt like they've been acquainted for a long while instead of having met like an hour ago. Leon reckoned it could be because of her personality, Vera seemed like the kind of social, center-of-the-room girl who would get close and chummy with a person who she was just introduced to on the spot. She just gave off the energy of the type who immediately started drunk-defending a girl she met in the bathroom line as if they had been blood sisters since birth. 

She had immediately warmed up to Leon and was treating him with the normalcy of a friend, which in turn, he had to admit comforted him greatly. The zombie apocalypse was easier to bear with someone to share the experience together. He only wished Claire could get here soon, safe and sound, they would be stronger together.

He leaned over to see what she was doing on the computer. "That's good to hear, I guess."

One square was slowly blinking red on the map, it had 'Lounge' written on it. He couldn't figure out what he was looking at when she snickered. "The red ones can be used for enhancing the effects of weed though."

He whirled his head around at that toward her so fast that she cackled, holding her stomach and hitting one foot on the ground, not trying in the slightest to hold back the ugliness of that sound. Leon was surprised to say the least, eyebrows shooting up at that. "We are not feeding weed to my dad, oh my god, don't worry I'm just messing with you."

His neck warmed up instantly, but it thankfully didn't reach his face. He was aware his skin was prone to get flushed very easily, it was something he didn't like about himself, it gave away his feelings on a silver platter when he didn't want to. On top of that, Leon really felt bad that he was taking hits left and right in the eyes of this girl, he couldn't be that easy to sway back and forth, could he? "What exactly are these things, then?"

"Alright," she said, sniffling again. "So we have three types of herbs. Green, blue and red. They have official, scientific names of course but I couldn't care less." She stopped, mirth in her eyes. "I only care what flavor they add to my weed."

He made his eyes go wide slightly, a warning in his voice. "You want me to cuff and stuff you or something?"

That earned him fully raised eyebrows up to Vera's hairline underneath her short bangs, and her gaping at him like a fish out of water. Her eyes trailed to the handcuffs hanging from his hip, and back to his face, something suggestive in her face that he couldn't decipher. "Okay, didn't expect to make such a discovery..."

A giant question mark hung above his head as he stared in confusion. Leon didn't get it. "Discover what, that cannabis is illegal?"

She stared for a second, unblinking. 

Leon hadn't paid attention before, but they were colorless. Pale monochrome gray eyes. How was that possible? It was striking against the deep tan of her skin and the soot black of her thick and long eyelashes.

Vera hit her fist on the table. "Oh my god, you don't realize," she said, her voice suddenly big, shocking him out of his recent focus on the color of her irises, and panicked for a moment thinking she reacted to him staring into her eyes that intently. "Oh you're the sweet type, oh." Her hand went to her heart.

What was happening? Where had that come from? "I'm not following, but thank you?" That was a compliment, right? This was the second one he got from her that read like an insult but didn't prick like one. Strange.

"Never change," she said, jokingly emotional for some reason and it perplexed him. He knew he wasn't going to get it out of her.

Yep, you guessed it, another insult-compliment. 

"Okay?" He half-laughed, disconcerted. "We're getting distracted. Tell me more about the herbs. Outside of their usage in cannabis this time, please."

"I'm tempted to refuse. Oh to be cuffed and stuffed."

Leon tilted his head to the side, not saying anything. He was missing something here, damnit.

"You're sucking the fun out of everything." Vera huffed. "Here I am trying to forget about my sick dad and you just have to pop my balloon." She spun left and right with the rolling chair. The poor girl wasn't serious in her jab, he knew as much, but her admitting she was actively trying to soothe herself bothered him just the same.

Leon wished he could do something already, impatience rising in his stomach to go out there and start working on getting the way out open. He frowned, but she didn't see it, continuing her explanation. "Back to the point, as you wish. Green herbs have the ability to heal basic injuries, chew on 'em and you'll be immediately relieved. It's a huge upgrade from aloe-vera. If you've applied it to any burn or injury you know it's freaky how fast that shit helps, imagine how wild this green herb is. I jumped from the first floor once and the recovery by just eating this was magical."

"Jumped from the first floor, not fell?"

"Hell yeah," she gave him the rock hand sign with both hands. "I’m metal like that."

Leon thought back to her saying twink with her whole chest, amused.

She was searching his reaction for something, eyes squinted a bit, the sheer thickness of her eyelashes made it seem like she was shutting her eyes funny. "Not gonna ask? Not curious in the slightest?"

"Nope," he said. "I respect your privacy."

"Man, we are so different. You don't argue, you're not nosy, you're nice and respectful. How is this gonna work?" Complimenting him once more, making it come out like complaining. That had to be a trait of hers. "We need spice in this relationship."

Easily distractible, got it.

"Let's put herbs in it," Leon reminded her, gently, without making it obvious he was telling her to get back on track. "You were saying blue?"

She came back to the moment, stopping her spins with the chair. "Yeah, uh, blue herbs are to treat poisoning. As for red herbs, they're very pretty but they don't do anything. Or so people thought. I was talking about weed for a reason, they discovered red herbs are amplifiers of some sort when someone in this city accidentally mixed it with pot and thought they were god for like a week and had to be taken to the ER. They said they tried it because they read it in an Asian medicine book or something and now it's being researched and an entire industry is changing. Crazy, right?"

He could indulge her for just a second.

"Were you that person, Vera?" Leon asked flatly.

"No," Vera said immediately, a shocked, deer-in-the-headlights look in her face, she clearly hadn't expected to be hit with that and Leon was satisfied deep down, he had avenged himself. "Why? Thought you weren't curious."

"So you're accepting this is about you."

"I'm— I'm not? I'm not. The fuck." She blinked rapidly, unable to comprehend how fast the conversation had escalated. He had to accept this was kind of satisfying. "Not the point at all."

"Okay," he shrugged, also noting that word irritated her a bit. He did manage to distract her, though, so it was fine. Back to the point. "So how do I get these? They can't be in the station, but according to what you're saying they should be sold in herbal stores. Do we come back once we get out and take what we need from there?"

"You know what happens in a disaster? People stock up on necessities. This is what happened with the herbs. A lot of citizens had the same idea and when they took refuge here, they also flooded the station with all the herbs they brought." She leaned back on the chair and it squeaked. "They are all around the place now. You can imagine why."

"So you're saying I just have to pick them up on the way?"

"Ding-dong!"

"This is the single greatest thing I heard tonight, I can get moving right now," Leon said, knocking on the desk excitedly, an energetic spring to his feet while moving away and inspecting the fenced west wing door and the panel next to it that was covered entirely by yellow duct tape from a distance. The knife Lt. Branagh gave him could slice through. He returned his attention to Vera. "What's the location of the next medallion?"

"Okay, so good news and bad news." Vera raised her hands and then put them down, slapping them on the desk on either side of the Toughbook. "Both medallions are on the east side," her left hand moved to the hellish place Leon had barely made it out of. "One on the second floor," likewise, her right hand moved towards the right. "One on the third floor. I saw you investigating the precinct earlier so you must have seen that the only available way is by the shutter door because the other entrances are locked —- both the east and west side are like that, actually. Doors with a blue spade symbol on it."

"I saw two more spade doors to the left. One on the right."

"There is a spade key to unlock these."

"I'm assuming you don't have it?"

"No. David does. And I have no idea where the hell he is."

From the lack of gunshots, Leon had an inkling of what had happened to the guy, but he didn't voice it out loud, transparent sadness put lines of stress on his brow.

"There are three other doors with different symbols like this one," Vera added. "The interior designer clearly wanted to stick to a theme. This museum is one giant escape room."

Great , Leon thought. Why did he think it would be easy? "So heart, diamond and club keys? How can I get them?"

"Don't worry about the heart key, it belongs to Chief Irons." She almost hissed the man's name, her nose scrunching at it, a faint disgust flashing in her face and then dissipating. Leon’s attention perked up. "It unlocks his private chambers and the places he keeps his art collection in, nothing useful to us."

How did she know that?

Maybe it's common knowledge around here between the officers.

But Vera wasn't a police officer, that much was obvious.

Others could have explained it to her.

It makes sense, Leon concluded, closing that discussion in his head.

“Is the Chief gone as well?”

“Hopefully,” she murmured flatly.

Did he hear that right? “What?” 

“I said, doubtfully,” she cleared up, shrugging. “Don’t worry about him. He must have saved himself somehow, getting away is his defining characteristic.”

His eyebrows lowered in discontent, the sarcastic jab was making the hair at the back of his neck stand up. 

That was his boss. Leon was unsure if he should try to pry, there was something private there, the hatred burned and he smelled the smoke. He wanted to find Chief Irons as well if he could, but his instincts told him if he tried to talk about that right now, Vera would start pulling away and distancing, that was something he couldn’t afford, he needed her in the moment. He would cross the Irons bridge when he got there.  

He pressed forward. "What do I do about the other keys?"

"I guess we just have to look out for them?" Vera shook her head, shoulders pulled to herself, she was clearly lost as well. "Marvin had them together at one point but after everyone split up around the station, the keys got scattered too."

Leon could put together the thought process that led to that decision. Lesson learned. He had to attach himself to Vera and Lt. Branagh by the hip. "Not a good idea to separate, we should stick together moving forward."

"Yeah, I agree as well. They thought they'd be able to cover more ground but they spread out way too thin. The undead overwhelmed them quick. You don't want to be by yourself when that happens."

Leon moved around the desk to stand next to Vera and leaned down, looking at the screen again. He inspected the 'Lounge' area and what surrounded it. Second floor. This had to be the room with one of the medallions. "Lucky to have you look out for me, then."

Vera pushed away from him by making the chair roll away a bit, and cleared her throat, looking unpleasant to be content. How she managed to pull such an expression, Leon didn’t know. "Damn right you are."

Leon gave her a genuine nod to which she slightly scowled that he took as a joke, and then asked, "This where the medallion is?" His pointer finger was on the area flashing red.

"Yeah. It would take five minutes tops to go in and out if we had the spade key since the way is through the library, but we are stuck taking the long road." She groaned, throwing her head backwards, inky strands of semi-long straight hair flying all around with the movement. "Fuck this, ugh."

He had to bring Officer Kennedy out for that, but man, was it hard. This was his first goddamn day, he wasn't used to being authoritative. "For the record, you're not coming with me."

The chair rolled away when she stood up in a hurry. "Listen—"

"I have listened." Leon interrupted. "And I have an idea, but you need to cooperate with me instead of going against everything I say." He recalled Lt. Branagh's words. "We need to trust each other."

" Fine , go on."

Leon sighed in relief. "You need to stay here for the lieutenant, he needs you." He raised one hand when she was about to talk. "And not just as his caretaker. When I get that fence up, there'll be an opening for all the zombies to come through. I'll make sure to be thorough and finish all that I come across but you need to be here just in case."

Finish all that I come across flowed out of him easy as melted butter, but in reality, it was a horrible thing to say and Leon barely held his ground without swaying — like those things didn't use to be living breathing human beings turned into abominations. It was all instinct to see nothing but monsters when looking at them, there was not a shred of humanity about any of those things anymore, but when the adrenaline ebbed away and his conscience flowed in, all he thought was: Oh god, I killed people today, Jesus fucking Christ, what if they were in there? What's gonna happen now? Has the whole world gone to shit? Is there a point to this?

Focus, Leon.

"I can't just let you go out there all by yourself, that's not fair." Vera sucked a breath in, underneath everything, her stiff body language told Leon that she did not really want to come with him, her steel gaze was uncertain at best and begging for him to refuse her at worst. "I wanna have fun too."

Vera needed to sound more condescending, and had to put more vigor instead of discomfort behind having fun if she really wanted Leon to fall for that devil may cry attitude. He knew she was scared, as any human being thrust into sickening survival would, the girl had lost so many people — she was locked in with monsters carrying the faces of once familiar friendly faces and she was all that was left along with her father; nobody could ever be ready for shit like this. 

His heart soared at the sight of her trying to sound mean and making it into something personal and isolating it from him so that she could toughen up. She was trying for Leon. That alone was enough to give him strength.

"I know you're feeling guilty because you think you're doing nothing but It's my duty to keep you and the lieutenant safe, and I will." He needed her to trust him for this, just let herself depend on him. Leon knew he didn't look the part, but he was more capable than people would give him credit for. This was the time to prove it. "Just be my backup like before, if you want to? That was a great arrangement and it worked out, didn't it?"

Vera didn't joke, scowling deeply. "I don't feel good about this. You're doing all the work."

"Literally why I'm here for," Leon responded, sure of himself.

She looked down, weary, the light of the chandelier created a big shadow of her eyelashes on her cheeks, her hip leaning on the edge of the mahogany countertop. Then she did a double take at something behind him. "This is Marvin's," Vera said, reaching around a hand and gingerly touching the handle of the knife strapped to Leon's Sam Browne peeking out from his waist. And she pulled her arm back fast when it brushed the fabric of the vest covering his side, obviously not meaning to reach for Leon in the first place.  

"Yeah," he confirmed, low and soft. "He gave it to me."

She fell quiet.

Then, a spark. "I know what I can do for you!" She jumped a bit and Leon stepped away, eyes huge, for her to run past him, watching her with interest. "Wait here, I'll be back in a flash!"

Minutes later, he was dumbfoundedly watching as the main desk of the hall literally transformed into a workbench. The Toughbook had returned to its original place to make space. One side had a collection of different sharpening whetstones and the other full of tools used in gun repair — gun lube, cleaning picks, wrenches, hammer, electric screwdriver, a whole hex key collection, torx bits, and all the other stuff Leon just couldn't decipher — he only knew the basics to take care of Matilda.

"You're a gunsmith," he stated, now the part about crafting clicking into place. He did not see that coming.

"Among many other things, yes," Vera said, her head shake was akin to a bobblehead, spreading her arms to span the whole length of the desk. "Velkam to mai şop, diır kastımır!" 

Welcome to my shop, dear customer. What accent was that? Middle Eastern of origin like her, but not quite Arabic — the sounds didn’t roll like that. 

She played imaginary drums, the energy causing Leon to feel this was just him walking into a gun shop after settling better in Raccoon City and getting his first paycheck. "Brrink mi eni parts end ai şal enhens yor fayırarms! If samtink gets brrokın, kam to mi end ayll fiks it! If yor nayf gets damacd, ayll restor it bak to its formır glori!"

Bring me any parts and I shall enhance your firearms. If something gets broken, come to me and I’ll fix it. If your knife gets damaged, I’ll restore it back to its former glory. Hard r’s, emphasized k’s, vowels flat. Seriously, what accent was it? 

Her playing into a stereotype he couldn’t figure out yet aside, Leon could not be any far off in figuring someone out. What in the world was she? He couldn't keep the fascination off his face, trailing one finger from the far right end of the desk to the left, just looking at all the equipment as if they had materialized out of thin air in front of him, which they kind of basically did.  "Wow."

He caught her, cheeky in her pride, confidence looked good on her. "I get that a lot," Vera said, arms loosely crossed, a sleazy smile pulling on her mouth that only the upper lip colored with black lipstick. 

Leon really had to get going, as much as he wanted to stay there and continue chatting, the clock was ticking for Lt. Branagh. He knocked on the wood two times with two fingers before starting to walk away. "Alright, I'm moving out."

Vera called behind him, whisper-yelling. "Don't worry partner, I got your back..." A pause as Leon pulled out the combat knife and started to tear the taped box. "From right here."

He pushed the button to get the fence door open. Partner . He liked that. Ephemeral warmth tickled his chest. "I feel safer already."

Leon braced himself for the worst, his body locking up and kicking the survivalist animal inside him into the driver's seat, quite anticlimactic when all he found was a waiting room with lined brown leather couches directly in front of the booth and already something he thought was a green herb in a pot next to the reception counter. He pulled on the spiky leaves, inspecting the plant. Then with hurried steps, he brought it back to Vera.

"That was fast," she said. But when she noticed what he was carrying like a baby, she abruptly stood up from her chair. "You found it!"

"To be honest, it was right in the next room. Will this help?"

Circling around the desk-turned-workbench, she snatched it from Leon's arms. "Of course it will! I'll feed it to Marvin right now." Vera stopped in the middle of her jog towards her dad. She couldn't directly look at Leon, her eyes were darting around, coy all of a sudden. Her voice was barely audible. "... Thank you."

He hadn’t even done anything to be thanked for quite gratefully like that, her watery silver eyes shone with the kind of appreciation that closed a fist around his heart. That’s how desperate these people were for a drop of salvation in this hell. 

He had to get a move on. 

"Anytime," Leon smiled slowly, and turned back to continue his journey into the bowels of this place. 

Marvin weakly tried to shove Vera's hand off, scowling at the green herb in distaste and inhaling sharply, air hissing and whistling between his teeth. "Get that thing away from me, girl."

He used to be grumpy and unaccepting of help every time he got hit by a sickness and had to be taken care of, and was reflecting the same behavior right now as well, thinking he was throwing fists with the wound itself by fighting Vera. He thought he was being strong by refusing help and asserting he didn't need it. 

Overtime, she had learned this was a Marvin thing rather than a man thing. He got angry (at himself) for getting sick and Vera got to deal with the wrong end of the stick. It was so hard to look after him when all he did was snap at her over the littlest things. 

Vera kept an eye on the screen, Leon was still investigating the reception, standing perfectly still in front of the famous bronze statue. "Eat this or I swear to Satan’s left nut I'll shove it down your throat, I'm not joking. You are weak right now and I will take advantage of it."

Ignoring her, he tried to turn away. "Save it for yourself."

Vera put a hand on his shoulder and stopped him, wincing when he hissed. "For my sake. You will feel better instantly, I promise." She whined when he grunted. "C'mon I gotta help John Law over here, he's waiting, don't fight me right now."

"No, no, " he wheezed, voice fluctuating, trying to sit up all of a sudden, but she put a hand on his shoulder and laid him down. He grabbed that hand tightly with unexpected strength that made Vera flinch. "No, you can't. Stay right here. Let him do his job."

The ugly coward in her celebrated, happy to receive the green light that she could sit on her ass and expect having everything done for her. It was disgusting. Vera thought she could suddenly have a bravery awakening with Leon, but that wasn't the case, people just didn't change like that with a snap of the fingers. 

"Okay, okay ," she said, urgent. "I'm not going anywhere, it's fine, I'm here. Just please take this and get some rest, yeah?"

"You're going to stop yapping if I do?"

She extended the green herb she'd picked into bite sized pieces. "Normally I'd say no promises but I'll make an exception this time."

 "Give it here," Marvin said, taking it all at once like he was downing pills, and started chewing, his entire forearm was shaking. "Leave me alone now."

She itched to argue with him on why he was pushing her away like this and not let go like a dog hanging from a criminal's arm until he admitted something, but her priorities had to be reassessed. At least his breathing had gotten smoother and the harsh lines on his forehead had disappeared with the instant effect of the green herb. The anxiety ball in her torso dissipated instantly, they could do this. If she kept feeding him herbs, grind them into powder when she got more to apply it into the gash, he would be able to hold on until they could get him help. This was great progress.

So she stalked back to the desk with the Toughbook in her arm and one hand holding the walkie talkie. Leon still hadn’t moved an inch. "Found something interesting?"

His low quality head on the screen jerked up at that. "Sorry, I must have spaced out. Shit, I have to get it together." His voice was so on the softer side that it wasn't audible from the next room despite there being little distance between them.

Vera sat down and started setting her layout. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, it's..." He paused. "Just a weird feeling is all, reading this." 

He meant the commemorative statue, she'd never stopped to read whatever was written on it, and interestingly, it had piqued Leon's interest immediately. "What's it say?"

"This bronze statue is dedicated to all the brave men and women who have given their lives so that others may have freedom and safety. It is a tribute to all our everyday heroes who valiantly protect us and are willing to make the ultimate sacrifice." He took a pause. "We do it."

The first thing that came to mind was all the police officers who got turned into monsters trying to do just that. 

She cupped her forehead and rested all the weight, droopy gray eyes tracing the monochrome blood trails reflected in the reception’s camera feed, a faint ache seeping into her temples. All those sacrifices were for nothing in the end, everything was lost.  

It spread a bitter taste in her mouth, so she took out a clove from her pocket and started chewing on it, relishing in the stinging freshness. "Sounds like Nike's motto, just do it."

He sounded somehow down before, but it melted off like caramel. "I think it's as in we do it so you don't have to." 

That was a heroic line, had the potential of a dangerous edge to it, but heroic nonetheless. "Just like you, huh? You're out there right now so I don't have to be."

"I think you're giving me too much credit right now," Leon said, and Vera let out a sound back at that. "This is my first day. I did not imagine it'd be like this."

He made way around to the back door leading to the south west hallway. She switched to the cameras overlooking the whole whole loop consisting of the north west hallway and west central passage all linked to each other, surrounding the record's room, supply room and the operations room. The only active threat she saw was one undead officer banging on a vending machine in the passage, with a couple others lying, or rather, playing dead on the floor. 

"The coast is clear in the south east hallway partner," Vera said, flipping through the tabs one more time. "So is the north west. I see the undead in the linked west passage though."

"Got it," was Leon's response before he completely sunk into silence and walked forward. Corners were blind spots, and when he didn't immediately turn right, her gut twisted. 

She was debating to reach out and question his status, but the walkie-talkie buzzed before she could. “Is there something else here other than zombies?” He was queasy. “I’d rather not describe what I’m looking at, but I can’t imagine zombies have the intelligence to hang someone from a pipe.” 

She heard a hammer fall in the landscape of her head. 

Fuck , lickers. She had forgotten about those goddamn fuckers. Shit, shit shit shit . “Fuck, I’m so fucking sorry Leon, don’t move an inch from where you are and lower the volume on this and listen to me and listen to me good .” 

“Oh Jesus fucking Christ,” he whispered.

“Keep those peepers peeled for a whole demon that looks like a skinless mutated human. That’s what probably did what you’re looking at right now. They’re all exposed muscles, and those motherfuckers’ brains are hanging out from their skulls and it’s their weak point, but they’re lethal and have insanely sharp, long claws that can take a whole elephant out in one strike. They’re blind as bats but their hearing more than makes up for that. Whatever you do, stay quiet and move like a shadow, don’t run around like a dog out of leash — make like a snail, and you’ll avoid them altogether.”

“Great, awesome, I should be just fine,” he said, horrifyingly upbeat and casual. Vera ran a hand over her forehead when she heard him say it like that. He wasn’t wrong to be exhausted already, she should have been more attentive and not have fucked around as much as she did back there. Goddamnit. He could have been caught redhanded by those bitches and it would have been on her to not have warned him when she should have. 

He said nothing about that and didn’t seem sarcastic or angry at her, but damn, he had every right to be. Vera would have his head if the roles were reversed and he was the one who idiotically forgot crucial information that could have cost her life. Leon was too nice for his own good. Was he a fucking saint or something? 

Leon was willingly setting forth on a pilgrimage into the belly of the hell itself for the sake of saving two people he didn’t even know all that well, so that was a stupid fucking question to ponder on. Leon S. Kennedy was whole a guardian angel if such beings existed at all — Vera would be fucked having Marvin wounded on her hands all by herself, and somehow, a rock to lean on had found his way to her. All cloud mellow gazes, and enough boyish softness to go with pronounced cheekbones with a jawline like it was sharpened on a whetstone, Leon had the saying that inner beauty reflected to the outer going on for him. A legitimately great guy. She couldn’t be more grateful, had anybody else been in his place, Vera could only imagine how this would go. 

No words would come out of her shame-obstructed mouth after that, she only watched Leon progress and look around—-

—-Until an undead from a broken window fell through and muffled gunshots echoed. He dealt with that smoothly, way too smooth, to be exact. Leon was methodical, shots taken controlled, aiming for the knee first to knock them down, putting distance between him and the target, and popping the heads the last, no panicking whatsoever, nothing that he showed her, at least. She just couldn’t believe he was supposed to be a rookie. All the experienced ones were gone and a rookie was making it.  

And all Leon had to comment on was, “I gotta cover these windows with something or they’ll keep thinking this is an open house.” 

The line went dark all the way to the operation’s room and the silence only broke when he discovered the record of events by David. Despite collaborating with them and taking jobs from them, Vera was not a part of the force, and was kept outside of documents such as official reports, therefore didn’t know the contents of them. She instructed Leon to read it to her, maybe there was something of use written in there they could work with.

“ September 25th, ” he started. “ We're turning the station into a temporary shelter due to the massive sudden outbreak. All police personnel have been instructed to make the safety of the citizens their top priority as we try to accommodate as many of them as possible. So this is how it started. Did you come here on the 25th as well?”

Vera flashed back to Marvin with all her necessities packed into a duffel bag in his hand basically snatching her out of her apartment basement right after she came back from a crucial meeting with Ben Bertolucci. It came to her in dazed blurbs of hazy, foggy snippets, she was watching it from above; Marvin and she stumbling into a small horde of undead together, seeing the state of a bent Sarah Lakin in with her tattered, bloody long-sleeved linen maxi white dress, insides ripped apart like she was some plush toy, Vera vomiting in her mouth at the sight and pushing the disgusting thick, textured liquid back, and then booking it straight to the station in Marvin’s police car. When she came to her senses, the station had turned into a giant bunker crawling with survivors the officers were having a hard time keeping under control. 

That Vera of a couple days ago was dumb and hopeful enough to not know only one infected within the many was all it took to chain-start a massacre.  

“There is an addendum here,” Leon continued. “ One of the refugees attacked us in the middle of the night, resulting in the death of 1 officer and injuring 3 others. The person in question was quickly restrained. We believe this was simply a case of someone snapping under intense stress. ” He sighed. “It wasn’t stress was it?”

“No,” Vera said. “It was an undead. Those three others turned eventually as well, and the person proclaimed dead also came back like two days later.”

From the grave she had put him into. 

“Shit, no quarantine system?”

“Simply too many people and not enough officers to hold the law above their heads. Cliques formed, leaders were made. And they did not like anybody being accused of being infected, barely any action could be taken without a scuffle and it threatened the safety of others who didn’t want to be involved. It was a mess, no need to go more into it.”

“God what the hell, I should have been there.”

Sweet as always, it squeezed Vera’s heart, bless this guy, fucking seriously. “Again, no need to go more into it. Don’t beat yourself up over hypothetical what-if scenarios, dude.”

“Okay, dude ,” he repeated, and her face soured like she’d eaten a lemon slice. Oh, she did not like that. It was alien coming from him, a suburban middle class cream khaki pants wearing white dad trying to be hip with their children was what it sounded like. 

“Don’t ever say that to me again.”

“I also like partner better,” he said, making it obvious he was smiling slightly.

Oh. 

Leon gave no time for her to recover from that. “ September 26th, a mob attacked the station today, resulting in a number of casualties. A few survivors were able to make it safely behind the emergency shutters, but surrounded as we are, it'll be hard for any of us to escape this place. We're not sure we can fix any of our comm equipment, so we remain cut off from the outside world.” He contemplated something. “A mob? From the outside? Citizens were able to run around?”

“A horde of undead. To be honest, the news and radio stations were treating this like any other virus, just more deadly. Nowhere did they say it led to coming back from the dead with hunger for human flesh. So we caught on very late and as blasphemous and uncanny as they looked, we still thought of the undead as infected people, just very very sick. Not walking corpses.”

“You said you were trying to fix the comms, so that happened after the 26th. If the news had changed after that, all of you would have known, damn.”

When did she say that? He remembered but she didn’t?

“And September 27th, there was another clash on the west side of the station around 1pm. Twelve people died, and there is only a handful of survivors left. Everything is falling into disarray in here.” The slow exhale he let out continued for about two seconds. “Signed, David Ford.”

The swallow came as a reflex even when all saliva had magically evaporated from the roof of her mouth, the sensation was prickly. This would be the last fucking thing she would hear from David? “Nothing in here, this was a waste of time,” she said thickly, biting back the rolling waves of nausea in her stomach. She didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t want to think anymore. 

 Leon didn’t say anything back. 

The way to the passage was blocked, the door to the supply room was locked, and Leon had no choice but to jump from the clerestory window in the operations room leading to the other side. Vera wasn’t sure about this, tossing the clove inside her mouth around while she weighed the possibilities. “How about you come back and we think this through?”

“I can climb just fine, Vera.”

Well, he was a rather bulked up guy for his age… Not the point though. “I don’t doubt your physical capabilities, it’s the scenario in which you’re running away and have to back up, and before you’re able to climb that they get you. You have no way of circling back here if you get in trouble.”

The girl was more bothered by the fact that she would be too late to run to his rescue if it came down to that, putting her fear aside. This police station had a lot of shortcuts, but all of them were off the table at the moment, and Leon compromised beyond the operations room would mean Vera taking ages to get to him when his story would be over within seconds, blink and he’d be bitten. 

Maybe it was time to work on some lockpicking. Oh how Vera wished Jill revealed some of her tricks in the time they spent together. 

“That’s… a great point actually.” Leon acknowledged, though not defeated. He did see her point. Vera knew then he would follow it up with an objection. “But I have to push through. No use in overthinking, I’ll be alright.”

Vera sunk her nails into her palms out of frustration, slumping back on her chair, the clove crushed between her molars. The walkie-talkie made clicky and popping sounds under her tight grip. “Leon—”

“I have you watching my back after all, right?”

Oh you sweet talking son of a bitch. 

Fuck, praise was her weak point. If she was on a telephone and it had a cord, she’d be twisting it with her finger right now. “You’re playing into my ego to get what you want, that’s not fair.”

“All’s fair in love and war… and the zombie apocalypse, I guess.” He moved to climb the crate right under the window he wanted to jump out of. “You with me?” 

She croaked, “Yeah, I’m with you,” like a cranky old grandma who was dragged out of bed for dinner. 

“That’s good,” Leon chuckled, a bit held-back by the strength he put into hopping over to the other side, and Vera promptly changed cameras to follow him. 

The vending machine undead was still beating the shit out of the same machine, he’d been at it for a while. She had to commend him for the persistence, the guy maybe was expecting the meat to fall through and had no cash, which was admirable compared to his peers thinking they were entitled to eat other people. 

She grimaced, hell below, she was fucked in the head coming up with shit like this. That used to be a human being. 

“Leon, up ahead—-”

“Yeah, I see it.” He braced his gun. “Leave it to me.”

“Who else can I leave it to? God?” She scoffed. “The old man has been of no help thus far.”

“That is so offensive.” For a guy who was uncomfortably saying that, Leon sure sounded a tad bit entertained.

Gunshots. Undead down. Leon making sure it’s going to stay down.

Even though he couldn’t see it, Vera threw her hands in the air and audibly smacked them on her thighs, picking at the threads of the fishnets. “Oh, my apologies . For compensation, those offended can kindly suck my dick.” Vera was sure they’d understand true abandonment when they saw what terrible fate the most undeserving, sweet souls were condemned to. No better awakening than shock therapy. 

“An atheist,” Leon remarked, picking up something off the ground, possibly bullets. He was big on stocking up, it was good foresight on his part, with the speed he was going through shots, Leon needed all the cartridges he could find. Upon seeing it out with its whole polymer-framed glory the first time, Vera had immediately noted down his Heckler & Koch as a 12-shot capacity 9mm handgun, maybe she could teach him how to make handgun ammo with gunpowder so he could manage better in the future without worrying about running out. “Goes with the punk aesthetic, I guess.”

“You’ve been profiling me, John Law?”

“I—” he began to stutter, panicking, going up a couple pitches. Police profiling had incredibly bad connotations, she was a person of color, and he clearly was aware of how wrong this could end. “You’re not a criminal, of course not, I just— um, I’ve just been observing , it’s not as bad as it sounds, really I just—-” He stopped to breathe. “I thought it’d be inappropriate to rapid fire questions right now, so I… Uh…”

“Now we’re going into the stalker category.”

“And now you’re teasing me,” Leon groaned. 

“I’ll cut you some slack. You are at a literal crossroads after all.” It was so fun to poke fun at this guy. “You can either go into the safety deposit room, the west office, or follow the corridor all the way to the stairs leading up to the second floor, there is also a darkroom just in the corner.”

The smile on her face died down like a candle unexpectedly being put out. The west office. Ah, no . The welcoming sign was still up. A series of shivers went down her spine picturing Leon standing in the bloodied room with the only unblemished thing being his coworkers’ celebratory welcome surprise, he never got to meet any of them other than Marvin —- this was the only memento left behind for him. Welcome Leon. Welcome to the bloodbath, none of us are here anymore and you are forced to take down each one of us when you were supposed to shake our hands to greet us. 

Vera thought not even in her most empathetic moments could she come close to understanding what he would feel upon seeing that. Her new friend had lost a promised life the moment he had got it and the reminder of it was going to be right in his face as the cruelest mockeries from a trickster. The physical want to be there for him overwhelmed all her senses in that moment, she should be able to do at least that when he was risking his life for her and Marvin, but was stuck in front of a Toughbook monitoring his activities. She threw another clove in her mouth and relished the sharp sting. How useless. 

She supposed it was a good thing that he went to check out the safety deposit room first, and the movement outside distracted her from the silent mourning and what’d happen with the inevitable discovery. “Leon, two undeads outside. I know honey is the most tempting to a bear, but it also has a whole coven protecting it. Look through the lockers after you deal with them, don’t risk it.”

“On it,” Leon said, baiting the unwanted guests in and looping them around the room to gain some safe distance. The deeper he went into the building, the fainter the gunshots became. 

When he was done, Leon became completely invested in getting all the items in this room, but the keypad to the lockers terminal was missing a few keys. “I don’t suppose you have the missing keys on this thing? Or the keycard… I could really use a shotgun…”

Vera raised her eyebrows at that. “Just use a pen or a hairpin to push them down, you don’t necessarily need—-”

“And the keycard to the shotgun?”

Damn. Oh he really wanted that shotgun, didn’t he? One would think he was talking about a girl he had a crush on he was dying to get to. “You’re really en armor ed with that shotgun, eh?” Vera repeated, “Got shot through the heart at first sight. Eh? ” again when Leon fell quiet. 

“I don’t know,” Leon began, tentatively. “That’s a loaded question.”

“Oh my god,” Vera could clap like a little kid, voice squeaky. “Keep this up and that’s dinner on me right there.”

“Oh shoot.”

Dad jokes were a language of love between her and Marvin, it felt great to have caught a common frequency they could at least bond over a bit with Leon. 

So much for joking back and forth, though, it sure became awkward right after she eventually went into the west office and stumbled upon the welcome sign. After that, Vera didn’t get much response from him apart from humming and agreeing when she tried to engage in distracting talk. Leon focused on solving the little puzzle Marvin and the others had set up for him so that introductions and mingling would make it easier to remember the names —- he would surely not be able to forget it now, with it being radically burned into his mind. 

Vera had pumped herself up in her mind to pep talk Leon through this and be the emotional support  he would need, to know just what to say to him so that he could bear the weight a bit better, but it all went down the drain when Leon withdrew into his own. Words were suddenly intangible. She was never the type to give inspirational speeches or make someone feel better, always the solution-focused problem solver —- she strongly disliked only listening only, especially whenever someone just needed a person to be there emotionally. It drained her. She wanted to get things done for them and it was irritating as fuck to see the situation not get better. 

Vera was terrible at this. She couldn’t do anything for Leon, hell, she couldn’t even give him a helpful couple of words. 

“He in the west office?” Vera damn-near jumped out of her skin when she heard Marvin sneak up on her. “I’ll be damned, that thing’s still hanging.”

“Why are you up?” She turned in the chair to see him force himself to sit on the item box, a hand pressed onto his side. Vera immediately reached for him as if he was about to fall. “Go get some rest.”

“No rest for me with this right here.” She helped him give his back to the wooden wall behind, breath shivering. He vaguely pointed at the pink walkie-talkie with his head. “You two established a modus operandi in my absence.” He had that there’s hope for you yet, tone. 

“That’s one way to put it.” Vera glanced briefly to Leon when she heard gunshots, he was dealing with two other undeads that had risen from their sleeping state. A self-deprecating ghost of a smile came upon her. “I’m not that much of a help, though.” A beat, her showing the Welcome Leon s ign to Marvin.. “I don’t know how to.”

“Give him time,” Marvin grunted out, swallowing back breaths, it pained her. She really wanted him to go back and lay down, but pain was pain wherever the location, according to a wise man. “He’ll go through it on his own terms. Keep him out of his head in the meanwhile.”

“Don’t think. Thinking slows you down. Slow gets you killed. I know. I’ve been trying” Leaning her head back, she followed Leon’s figure explore the west office, puzzle forgotten for now. “I just wish I could comfort him, you know? I’m not good at shit like this.”

“You got a crush on the rookie or something? To think…” He closed his mouth, giving a stuttering breath from his nose with eyes closed to keep the pain at bay. “You were criticizing the Disney princesses for marrying a guy they just met.”

That green herb had worked too well in restoring his health. 

“Marvin! It’s not like that!” The fucking clove flew out of her mouth with the power she put into quietly screeching like she had heard the most blasphemous thing that day, and she immediately closed her her mouth with a hand and wiped her lips. Marvin clutched her wound as he laughed weakly. “You’re seriously that eager to get rid of me?”

Marvin held her gaze, misery and love both nestled on each shoulder, a forlorn smile pulling his lips up. “Yeah,” he quavered, fragile as a broken bird. “You’ve been a pain in my ass for too long.”

Spirit wilting, she picked at the scabs on her lower lip, heart thrumming against her ribcage painfully. “You don’t mean that.”

“Listen honey,” he began, and Vera already wanted to hightail it out of here. Whenever he started being sweet, it only meant something hurtful would be following. “I’m not sure when else I’llbe conscious enough to tell you, so I need you to hear me out while I can get these out coherently, okay? I don’t have the energy to argue with you, please give your father at least this.”

Vera looked away, tear glands being pricked with needles already, thumbs beginning to pick at the ruined black nail polish on her nails. “You’re speaking like— like…” She couldn’t dare to get the word out. “Why are you—”

“Please,” he insisted, taking a few seconds to steady the sounds of protest his body made for using too much effort. “Don’t make me beg more than this, don’t make me…”

Vera slapped her hands on her face, dragging them down to settle on her cheeks and pressing her eyes with her fingers, rocking back and forth for a bit before just frantically nodding her head yes. 

“I worry about you,” Marvin began, shuddering with a sudden spike of pain. “There is nothing more important to a parent than their child’s safety. You will only understand when you become one yourself. It’s always going to be you before me. I don’t have much care about anything else.”

Vera could taste iron, the soft tissue breaking under her canines.

“I also have to make sure you’ll be okay… after me.” 

“I don’t want to do this,” she said, deliriously.

“After getting out of here…” Marvin ignored her, choking on his words. “Don’t go running around sticking your nose in dangerous places. Not again. Stay out of the shithole Umbrella has dug themselves in… Leave that to Redfield and the others… Stay safe. Forget about all this. Start a new life.”

Like he wasn’t going to be by her side, like he would be dead already by then. 

“You did all you could,” he said, compassion enveloping her, yet the meaning itself was a thousand cuts against her heart she couldn't push away. The air became stifling, her vision blurred, everything a soft golden haze. “You did your best, Vera.”

You did your best.

But did she? Did Vera truly do her best? 

That was when the dam finally broke and her body began to shake with ugly, treacherous sobs. Marvin’s cold fingers found her nape and pulled her into an embrace, as tender as handling a sand castle, it was perhaps the last time she was taking refuge in his arms. She couldn't take that, the thought alone broke her down to a million pieces. 

Vera would never be enough to save her dad, she wasn’t enough to put a stop to this outbreak in the first place. She hadn’t done all she could, hadn’t even done anything. A fucking coward  paying for her inaction is what Vera was. 

She deserved it, but her dad didn't. Why did it have to be him who got hurt? Why? 

“Vera. I’m right by the west office door, can you slip me a hairpin from the gap in the threshold if you have any? I’ll try to push the missing keypad buttons with it.”

Leon.

She gasped for air. Vera didn’t know how long she’d been crying for when he paged in with that. She rose from Marvin’s chest and pushed her wrist to her nostrils, sniffing the tears back in, trying to ignore the coldness of his body. “Go lay down, Marvin,” she said, avoiding eye contact. “You need to conserve your energy.”

More tears swelled up against her will at him leaving at that with the pace of a heavy stock animal, she wanted nothing more than to rush to his side and take his arm to her shoulder, supporting his weight and laying him to sleep like he used to do back in the day when Vera would feign sleep just to be carried to bed in his arms, just to feel that warmth and be a small baby despite her big age of ten to thirteen. Marvin would coddle her every single time, knowing she was starved for that kind of love. 

Vera couldn't even give the fraction of that comfort back to him, she had chased him away the moment agitation took over. Why was she like this? 

Like a little kid wiping her face with her hands, she palmed at her face trying to erase the evidence for the weakness she'd just exhibited, gloves getting wet with her tears and making for an uncomfortable sensation. 

"Vera?" Leon repeated, with more urgency. His voice was audible, layered twice, both from the walkie-talkie and right behind the door he was behind —- that’s how close he was to where Vera was. "You there?"

"Yeah, I'm here," she said, walkie-talkie wobbling. "I'll bring a hairpin to you in a moment."

"You sound..."

She shut him down. "Don't worry about it."

Moments later, she was in front of the spade door leading to the west office with the desired object in hand taken from her purse. They didn't need the walkie-talkie to hear each other anymore as she said, "I'm sending it through right now. It's dark in there, will you be able to see?"

"I have a flashlight, it’s fine." Leon's natural voice, not accompanied with the static, was so soothing. 

"Here goes nothing," Vera huffed, getting on to her knees and positioning the hairpin right where she could flick it through the slot underneath the door. Hopefully it wouldn't be too strong to go flying that he would lose it in the midst of all disarray in the office. 

Rhinorrhea from her nose had to overflow at that moment. "Shit, hold on," she cursed, wiping it with the back of her sleeve, the pink material darkening with the fluid. Sue her. She didn't have tissues. Sniffling, Vera said, "Okay here you go," and flicked the hairpin right towards Leon with a faint 'ping' sound. It was a success.

"Got it!"

"Nice," she echoed back, dusting off her hands and moving to stand up. 

"Hey, uh," Leon mused, uncertain, sweet . "Are you okay?"

She couldn't handle kindness at present, couldn't allow it , didn't deserve it. There was no time for this. "Are any of us?"

"That's fair..."  He raised his voice when he heard her footsteps. "Just know I'm here for you! We're in this together." Vera could choke in the benevolence, it was a rope tightening around her throat. "Partner."

She had gotten comforted again. When it was him who needed to be consoled. 

"Yeah," she cleared her throat, feeling like absolute horseshit, not having any idea what she could say to him. "Together."

"Hey, I got some wooden boards. Gonna backtrack a bit and cover any open windows, you guys are wide open for any zombies that might fall in through those. I don't want to risk it."

"Yeah, okay," Vera acknowledged, no contradiction whatsoever. She'd been quiet the whole time Leon finally solved the puzzle to his desk and acquired all kinds of goodies from the security deposit room; marinating in her own puddle of self-deprecation about not being able to match his energy every time he was enthusiastic about each step and tried his best to draw some sort of response from her. "I don't see any undeads around, you should be okay."

"You got a hammer I can gun these bad boys in with?"

That put a smile on her face scarily fast. "I can meet you halfway if you want, no need to run all the way back."

"No."

"Leon."

"No, seriously, it's dangerous."

"Hey dangerous, I'm Vera."

Unbearable whooshing began to claw at Vera's ears from the walkie-talkie, like wind was blowing directly into a microphone. "Jesus fucking Christ—-"

Vera was closer to the hallway, she had lazily picked up the hammer lying on the counter, closing the distance between the main hall and the reception. She had been so scared before, the fight or flight survival instinct never let her get any close to danger, but this time, she crossed the threshold with no resistance, like she was walking into a room in her own house. Her mind was calm, serene, uncaring if she crossed paths with any undead on the way. She wasn't thinking anything, she just did it. Her mind was blank. 

Fuck it, really. 

The echo of muted, pounding footsteps was all she was greeted with as she closed the door to the dark, shadowy hallway seemingly reaching into infinity. In the distance, some light with the source being far away, was dancing wobbly on the walls, erratic. Whatever was coming, it was fast as hell. 

It could be a licker. All the blood in her body retrieved back to her heart at the thought, a chill taking over her limbs. 

Survival instinct didn't kick in, what settled instead, liquid warmth spreading under her skin, was acceptance. Weird as it was, Vera didn't really feel anything, not even fear. Her heart didn't pick up. If Marvin wants to go, then I'll follow, was the faintest childlike whisper of her unconscious, barely picked up by her. 

She squinted her eyes to discern just what she was looking at, but soon enough the light got stronger and clearer, the frantic footsteps got closer, the source of it turned the corner and almost splatted on the wall, the momentum was too strong to make a sharp curve such as that.

Holy shit, Leon?

It hadn't even been minutes. What the fuck? He could run like a fucking cheetah? 

Eyes wide as plates, hammer clenched in her hand, standing there like a kid who'd gotten caught staying up at night, Vera watched in shock as he came up to her in seconds with the same speed, his chest rising and falling in rapid breaths. 

A strong, prolonged clap of thunder blended into the labored, shaky sounds. "Don't... don't ever." He doubled over, putting his hands on his knees, panting choppy. "Do this again. Ever."

Her blood decided it was the perfect time to restart the flow in her veins, pulse pumping in her ears at the tone of his constrained yet petrified tone. 

The lightning that followed afterwards illuminated his tight and tense brow enough for Vera to see she'd scared him to death, despite Leon's torso being basically parallel to the ground due to him leaning forward, his sandy blond hair was damp at the roots. Then it dawned on her that she had basically wandered into a possible death trap willingly and forced his hand to race against time.

What was she doing? 

Not thinking. 

What was she expecting to happen?

Nothing. 

Nothing? 

"I know you're going through a rough patch," Leon rose back, breathing still shallow, but able to get sentences out. "Being reckless isn't the solution, please just." His hands reached forward, hovering between the two, like he wasn't quite sure what to do with them. "Don't scare me like that, fuck. I can't have you die on me, you can't throw yourself out  this way."

No, she wasn't.... She wasn't suicidal. She just... she just.

"I don't," she stammered, as if she was being impeached, her shoulders pulled into her bosom. "I didn't. I'm sorry..."

"Can I?" He was asking her for something, but it didn't register until she was able to tear her eyes away from his genuinely worried baby blue gaze, drowning in the earnest compassion for another human being, burning in the darkness despite the absoluteness of the defeat, candidly and undeterred like a humble candlelight, the unbending desire to safeguard a soul. 

Vera wasn't aware she had pulled her hands into herself right over her heart, knuckles white as they could get, nails about to draw blood from her palm. Leon's own gloved hands were just above hers as if he was about to try petting a feral, hissing kitten. He wanted permission to hold her hands. Her singular nod accompanied by frantic blinking almost went unnoticed by him.

She made a small noise behind her throat the moment his fingers brushed over the back of her hands and slipped into her palm, the hammer clattered on the ground and Leon paid no mind to it, gently gripping the ends of her fingers as if he was a gentleman helping a lady get off her carriage, awfully respectful to not cross any boundaries with her. His fingertips were burning up, the heat sent little zaps up her arms. "I know you can't be open as a book with me, that's fine. You don't have to say anything. Just know you can lean on me and that I am with you. I am here." He gave her hands a firm squeeze. "We can do this. Don't give up, don't let yourself go like this."

Vera didn't know where, "There's no point if Marvin is gone," came from, she was watching someone else speak for her, awfully numb inside, yet her voice still shook. "There is no point in anything."

"We will help the lieutenant," Leon asserted, determination radiating from him. "But until then, you have to stay vigilant. He is scared too, Vera."

That got her lower lip trembling. Her mountain of a father, small and weak, all on his own, brought tears to her eyes. "He is?"

"Terrified, even. When you're hurt to that point, all you can think about is death. He fears what will happen to you if he dies. That's why he's frantic. He can't be strong for you, so you have to be strong for him ."

There was not one strong bone in her body, Vera was pitiful in front of Leon picking up all her pieces for her, but upon hearing that, something within Vera shifted, all that protectiveness and despair for her father started rebuilding itself from the ground up. "What do I do?" The question came out as if she was 12 years old instead of 21. 

"We do this together ," Leon's fingers caressed hers encouragingly, one wayward strand of hair that had probably gotten misplaced while he was running like death itself was chasing him, fell over, curtaining one eye. "We work together to get those medallions. No more running off into oblivion. Okay?"

"Okay..."

"Whenever you feel hopeless, talk to me. Trust in me. We are a team now." Leon leaned in a bit, staring deep into her eyes in determination. "You have me, alright? You're not alone."

Vera could cry. Fuck. She wasn't a crybaby, she really wasn't. Something about the unfiltered gentleness in this guy made her feel so safe that her emotions took it as a green light to flow forward. "You have me too," she said, taking her hands away from him and wiping the sweat on her shorts. "I'm not much, though. Unfortunately you have to make do with me for now."

"That's not true. You're perfectly fine," When you're not attempting suicide, Vera completed in her head. "I couldn't ask for anyone better."

She did smile tiredly at that though, and he drank that in like it was water. 

“A good partner wouldn’t have forgotten to inform you about lickers,” she pointed out. 

“We’re both rookies, go easy on us.” He bent down and picked up the hammer, throwing it in the air and catching it right at the handle after it spinned in the air a couple times. “Now, I better get those windows boarded up or we’ll really become midnight snacks for zombies.” 

Since the only option left for Leon to gain access to the upper levels was the west stairway, the second floor had become entirely inaccessible due to a ruptured steam tank in the men's locker room (courtesy of a Mr. Carlos) with no valve to turn it off with. Leon had to cut his exploration short and return downstairs, focusing on covering another broken window just on the way to the stairs.

Vera was back at her usual station in the main hall as well. She had gotten another set of green herb gifts from Leon, which were fed to Marvin promptly, much to his complaints and chagrin. He was doing a bit better, those really had helped after all. And with understanding what his mindset was better thanks to Leon, she had calmed down considerably, her spirit stood strong with newfound determination to keep her chin high so she could actually be someone to be depended on. 

Leon had taught her in such a short amount of time. For a guy as naïve as him, the sincerity in his soul inspired great wisdom. 

While he was hammering the nails, she said, "Your name fits you, by the way. Leo-n. L aw E nforcement O fficer." Vera stopped to think about the joke, seriously pondering. " N early."

She thought he would counter with something along the lines of, "Great. Rookie joke. It's not like I haven't heard a dozen of them already." 

The real Leon was in awe for some reason. "How did you manage to come up with that? How is the acrostics that fitting? How does this even happen?"

She couldn't differentiate if it was a real reaction or if he said that on purpose after picking up she liked to be complimented. To be honest, Vera had been sitting on that one for a while, wondering what she could put for the last letter 'n'. If he was a detective trainee, she would have said noir .

Rookie joke bested that one, but damn, was noir a good alternative. 

In the camera, he rotated towards the darkroom. She mused, "It would have been perfect if your name was just Leo. The n is ruining things."

"Law Enforcement Officer. Not." 

Vera snickered. "Good one."

"Another thing about you," he started pacing around the darkroom, checking out the lockers. The quiet clacking of the metal translated as rough static in the walkie-talkie. "Dad jokes. Got it from Lieutenant Branagh?"

Leon profiling him had been a passing joke, but the sheer attention to patterns in her behavior? No joke. " Duh . Though I wonder what else you have noted down in that golden noggin of yours about me? Real detective work right there."

"I wouldn't say it was difficult," Leon blurted, shyness seeping through.

He was trying to be humble and dodging praise, just for that she would be evil to him for a minute. "So I'm that much of a basic bitch, huh."

His breath hitched. "I didn't say that."

"But you thought it." 

"I honestly didn't. I'm still thinking about you," Leon said, and had it not been said in that context, the whole thing would sound romantic as hell. But no, it was about a dude analyzing her. "And I still have questions. What else can you do?"

"This sounds derogatory."

"No," Leon corrected. "What else can't you do?"

"That also sounds derogatory."

"It's all compliments. I know you like those."

That was the most derogatory one out of the three, but coming from Leon, it was most probably said in harmless, affectionate commentary. Vera too had picked up a couple things about him, annoyingly, the first thing being the guileless, unusual sweetness. He was cute, she would give him that. 

After gathering items and putting some things in his newly acquired hip pouch, he left the darkroom, heading towards the third floor. "I thought you were linked here as a computer technician or something along the lines, but turns out you're a gunsmith?"

"Assuming now, aren't we?" She leaned back on the chair, kicking her feet up on the surface of the desk. Security cameras on the stairs only saw certain areas, and all the cameras in the third floor had gone out after a series of explosions which they had discussed before, so she had to rely mostly on her ears to follow Leon along. "What else do you have?"

"You play the guitar, your fingertips and short nails make it obvious." Vera turned her hands inside, palms up, and curled her fingers inwards to take a look, she'd never really thought about it like that before. "You build electronics because you clearly said that you customized the walkie-talkies. A lot going on here."

Man. She almost blushed there at the notion of having been looked at as intently like that. "Gee, you know how to make a girl feel special, huh, partner?"

"Not exactly the time to play 20 questions, so," Leon explained, modest and apprehensive, not as panic-struck in his answer as before. "Sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

Survival depended on observational skills, what could Vera say to that? There was no time for getting to know each other, he was right. "Nah, not even in your wildest dreams. Making people uncomfortable is my job." 

He must have laughed soundlessly at that, because only a puff of air was what the walkie-talkie relayed to Vera. He'd reached the third floor. 

Yeah, third floor, she had to remind him. "Quick PSA. Be on the lookout for lickers. I don’t like that it’s been quiet so far. Easy and slow, Leon. I'll be tapping out for you now."

"All sweet, all golden," he chirped, and the phrase was familiar to her from somewhere, but Vera couldn't put a finger on it.

It hadn't even been a couple seconds of silence when Leon paged in with, "Jesus Christ, I found it," causing Vera to get closer to the edge of her seat. "I found the spade key."

"You're shitting me. Just like that? Where was it?"

"I went through a hole on the wall into... a study, I guess? It was right on the desk." He was weirded out. "What the fuck happened here?"

"Long story," Vera admitted, Irons polluting her thoughts. "For another time. Now , follow the north west hallway, it should take you directly to the west storage room. Interestingly, you'll be getting to the maiden medallion first. I don't know what condition it's in, you'll have to see."

"Cameras not working, I remember."

"Good luck."

"Don't need it when I have you."

Vera tutted, embarrassment dusting her cheeks. Leon didn't say shit like that for flirting or joking around, he strangely meant this kind of stuff in a corny, cheesy, genuine way. It was hard to get used to. The innocence was legitimately throwing the girl off every single time she got a one-liner such as this.

Leon interrupted the quiet that had befallen between them, hesitant and solemn. “You said that Officer Ford had the spade key, right?” 

“Yeah,” Vera confirmed, afraid of what was coming, mouth set in a hard line. “Why?”

“He was here. I found a note about lickers. I think he may have left the key on the study.” He was apologetic when nothing was his fault. “Do you want to…?”

“No,” Vera refused. “I don’t have it in me to listen to it right now.”

Vera wasn’t strong enough to accept now this as what remained last of David, and the fact that this piece of information was possibly going to be how she would remember him for the rest of however long her life was. She had built the last boulder up only for it to be tumbling down the hill like this? Vera could take only so much in one day, she didn’t even know how to explain it to Marvin that yet another friend of his was lost to the faceless sea of the undead. 

“As you wish,” Leon said, and that was it. 

A little while later, Vera found herself listening to Leon's explanation about the room filled with filth and debris, and the note he found in the west storage room with bleeding repugnance and a firestorm of an outrage, her entire body burned up with the whirlwind of emotions she couldn't let the slightest gust of it out to not Leon know. 

Irons. That motherfucker had fucking tortured his own officers up there while innocents fought for their lives underneath him, they fought to protect him all the while their friends were being violated unbeknownst to everybody, and that's what Brian Irons enjoyed the most —- the art of suffering.

She couldn't tell Leon that this asshole was a serial killer. How could she even prove it? Why would he believe a girl he just met over his supposed boss who he'd only ever heard admirable stories about? If Irons materialized out of thin air at the moment and ordered Leon to arrest Vera, he would. He was still a cop. The world had gone to shit but Leon still clutched to some semblance of purpose and order his duty brought, there was nothing to indicate he would go against the whole Chief of RPD. 

And because she was blinded red by all the fury her body was trying to contain and her brain was in maintenance, all she could come up with to tell Leon was, "I don't know."

Which was a big mistake, he was an observant guy. "But you just said it was a long story." 

Rubbing her brow like it could ever ward off the incoming headache, Vera huffed, "I said that because I don't know."

It felt as if she had accidentally chosen the wrong dialogue that unlocked the bad ending in a video game.

"That's okay." Leon didn't argue back, though, unable to hide the hesitance. She was grateful he had stepped down to change the subject regardless. "By the way, we have a problem with the statue."

"Of fucking course," Vera spat. 

"It's behind bars. From what I see, we have two options. Safe or big ."

"Hit me."

"We can find a tool like a pipe bender to open the bars enough for a person to fit, or," Leon said, dragging out the word with intonation. "There is an electronic gadget here. I'm thinking it was left behind by the sick maniac who wrote the note, it looks legit enough to me. Can become a C4 explosive detonator with a battery." The sigh in-between was exasperated. "Which is missing."

"Did you not hear me talking about lickers, Leon?" Vera gripped the walkie-talkie harder. "All of them would flock there the moment it goes kaboom. It's a death sentence."

The confidence he had in himself to take the lickers out reflected in his demeanor as he queried, "Do you have a better idea?"

"How tight are the bars? Maybe I can squeeze in."

"I'm pretty sure you can't."

The anxiety came out on top with all the possibilities she was trying to come up with for how to solve their little problem. In retrospect, Vera had to see how bad it was herself to reach a conclusion, but all instinct was screaming at her to go with the safe route. An explosion wouldn't only lure lickers in, it was also an invitation for the undead. Let's say Leon tried to Rambo the lickers back to hell, the undead surely would get in the way - and that was the least of what they could do to him in such a predicament. 

"Let's be on the lookout for anything that can pry them apart, then. You can't fight the lickers, Leon, if these undead people are zombies, then those are actual demons. You'll understand when you see them, it's like a portal to hell opened to this city. Not worth the risk."

"I understand," Leon said. "We'll keep looking." 

“You have the spade key, want to go back to the west office real quick and unlock the door?”

“I’m closer to the unicorn medallion, I’ll go get it first.” 

“It also would be easier to unlock it from the main hall, you’ve got a point. Only one though. I’m still the smart one here.” She scanned the library, frowning at the screen. “The undead are having a cookout in the library, it’s crowded in there.”

“I’ll be careful.”

Right after saying he'd be careful, Leon literally fell from the second floor, pummeling through some rotten, faulty wooden flooring that gave out under his running steps —- even Marvin heard the commotion, rising from his resting place and peeking his head out from the sofa to the loud crashing and banging accompanied with Leon yelling as he tumbled down. 

"Shit," Vera cursed under her breath, heart immediately dropping to her stomach. Half-risen from her seat, she loudly called for him through the walkie-talkie. "Leon! Leon, can you hear me?"

Only static answered. Fuck, what the fuck do I do?

Should she bolt through the reception entrance to go help him? God, fuck, it would take too long, adrenaline was already making every limb in her body tremble like a leaf caught in a storm, so many possibilities racing in her mind. 

What to do? What to do? 

"Leon!" she tried again. Still no response. No gunshots, either.

"Every goddamn thing in there heard that noise!" Marvin shouted at Vera, alarmed, struggling. She quickly stepped out of the reception desk and ran out to see him sitting up. 

Noise. Yeah, noise! 

If Leon was being eaten right now, fuck forbid, he would be screeching at the top of his lungs. There was nothing. 

It would take him some time to recover if he was still conscious, she had to do something to divert the undead's attention. Noise!

Grabbing her shovel, she scrambled to the spade door of the library. Hitting the door over and over again with all her might with the metal end as if she was beating a rug, she yelled, "Hey! Assholes! Over here!" as high and loud as her voice cords allowed, to accompany the reverberating echoes and ear-grating clangs the shovel made against the wood. It would be okay, no lickers would be able to enter the main hall, she was free to kick up a storm from where she was. 

Vera got the fruits of her efforts as she heard the persistent nail clawing and weak banging on the other side, heard the growling and yowling of the undead. Many of them, in fact. 

"Yeah, that's right!" Her arms were burning and stinging. "I'm right here! Don't you want a snack? Come!" She kept crashing the shovel on the door, the metal leaving lighter colored dents on the surface. "Here!"

Vera heard gunshots. Yes! "Oh thank fuck," she whined, a wave of warm exhaustion hitting her. But she couldn't stop. Leon could be disoriented, he just fucking bodied one floor. 

Gripping the stick tighter and letting out a growl of determination, she went back to making her own ruckus while the gunshots got more frequent and more controlled. 

Vera continued until the last of the undeads thumping behind the door stopped after a shot, and the sound of slumping reached her ears. A couple more gunshots followed that, and then silence followed, the shovel slipped out of her hand and clattered on the floor as she tried to settle her heaving chest and thundering heartbeats, suddenly feeling very shaky.

Oh no, was her blood sugar dropping? Right now? 

The usual dead giveaway was lips tingling for Vera. She would wait until that happened, otherwise, this could be just adrenaline wrecking her body. 

"Leon?" she cried, with nervous anticipation. 

Something heavy was being dragged on the other side, blunt shuffling.

"Leon!"

"I'm here!" A thump. "Give me a second! The door-- they got stacked over it."

"Oh my fuck." Vera's body deflated with a groan of relief, her knees buckling. She crouched back on her heels and rested her elbows on her knees, extending both arms forward like she was offering them for vaccination. Her pounding head rolled down. "I almost died of a heart attack, shit. This guy..."

"Vera," Marvin called, unnerved, interpreting it as something else. "What's wrong?"

"I'm fine," she waved a hand weakly, unable to look back at the moment, her back was to him. "It's the adrenaline."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

She got up eventually as she heard the rattling of the key in the hole and the door was finally opened. And there Leon was, a bit ruffled, uniform dusty and dark blond hair messy, but he looked unharmed, no blood visible anywhere on his exposed skin. She could hug him and choke him simultaneously, fuck, she almost expired because of worry.

Instead, trying to keep her voice steady and her expression angry, she lectured him. "I told you to be careful, goddamn." 

"Thanks for the help," he beamed at Vera, like he hadn't taken off ten years off her life. "The vest protected me from damage but I was out of it. I would be dead meat if you started banging on the door two seconds later."

Her eyebrows pinched together. 

Marvin cut in on Vera's thoughts of pinching both Leon's cheeks and stretching the skin out of frustration. "You okay, rookie? That was a big fall."

Leon stepped around Vera to see Marvin better. "I'm fine, sir."

"Good."

She wanted to ask about his wellbeing too, but the words didn't come out, her concern remained buried and came out as something entirely different. "Where's my walkie-talkie?"

Leon's shoulder jumped and stiffened. "Ah..." He looked back and stared inside the library littered with dead bodies. "It dropped with me. I didn't have time to look for it." 

That last sentence made her feel like absolute garbage, stepping over the bodies and trying so hard to keep the smell of decay out of her mind, she gingerly said, "Come, let's search then."

Leon kept up as Vera pressed a button, making a small dot on the walkie-talkie in her hand start flashing red. The reflection of the other walkie-talkie's own light painted the brown stacks across them, and Leon ended up finding it stuck underneath, easily reaching down to get it. 

He held it up like a trophy, smiling bashfully, it squeezed something inside her chest. And as he jogged to her, she said, "I'm glad you're okay by the way, didn't mean to be a bitch about it. I was..."

"Scared, I know. You don't need to explain anything." Leon walked backwards to the lounge door, facing her, the understanding of an angel had to be gifted to him at birth. "Let's get the medallion." 

Vera nodded absentmindedly, a fuzzy feeling swirling inside her head, and followed Leon like she was bound to him by strings.

Once in the lounge, standing before the gigantic bronze unicorn statue, Vera brought the notebook closer to her face, trying to discern Elliot's doodles, on the verge of getting a headache over the tiny drawing. "Is this supposed to be Gemini or Pisces?" 

"I'm sorry, what?" Leon stepped closer, also wanting to take a look. Vera turned the notebook a bit so he could see.  

"Yeah, this. Do you think it's Gemini or Pisces?"

Leon went through the puzzle to find the correct symbol. "It's just fish to me."

"They are supposed to represent zodiac signs, though!"

"Okay," he said, a fond, supporting smile on his face despite the 'I don't really care' undertones of his tone. 

Vera, invested, put her pointer finger on the next doodle. "You see this is clearly Scorpio. But Pisces has fish representing it, and Gemini is often associated with twins. There are twin fishes in there, so what? I don't get it."

Leon also put the scorpion in. "I don't know, you're really trying too hard to fish an answer out of me."

Vera snorted, and when Leon looked over, surprised at the sound, she covered her lips with one hand, the other still holding the notebook open. "Didn't know girls could make such a sound."

"Shut up," she said, neck heating up. "The next one's Aquarius."

Leon was utterly lost. "What is an Aquarius?" He scooted closer to which Vera gave him space, and looked down to see the symbol. "Water jug." His gaze switched to Vera. "Could have just said that to me."

"Not my fault you don't know general knowledge."

"It's girl stuff," Leon said, working to find Aquarius on the puzzle. 

"It's general knowledge." Vera could smack him on the shoulder with the notebook if they were closer friends. "Let's see you try to ask around when it comes up on a crossword puzzle."

Pulling the medallion out from its socket, Leon smirked at her for the first time, cerulean eyes twinkling, the mischievousness was a first sight for Vera. "How would they even ask the question? There are two fishes, is it Pisces or Gemini?" 

Smartass. He was lucky to be this cute. "Listen—-"

"Both of you, come back here now ," Marvin's voice buzzed from Leon's radio hanging on his hip. "I've got something important you might want to see."

tagging: @ocs-supporting-ocs @ocappreciationtag

#leon kennedy x oc #leon s kennedy x oc #leon s. kennedy x oc #resident evil oc #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon s. kennedy #oc: vera kaplan #story: gravedigger #era: no time to die #resident evil fanfiction #ocappreciation #shai's writings #one chapter dedicated to getting the unicorn medallion

[remy-reinhardt]

HAPPIESTPLACEHQ TASK 11 - INTRO & CONNECTIONS

remy reinhardt ~ twenty-six ~ assistant baker ~ he/him (trans man, gay)

[ bio / muse / headcanons / spotify ]

Character Information

Ever since he was a child, helping around the kitchen with his Nana, Remy knew he wanted to cook. It took him years of washing dishes and mopping floors, learning the inner workings of a professional kitchen, and a month under the secret guidance of chef Auguste Gusteau, to finally set his mind completely on the end goal of being the chef of his own restaurant.

This has barely allowed him to cultivate a social life, which now, at twenty-six and with a stable job at Terrence Gold’s bakery, has truly come to bite him in the ass. After finishing high school, Remy has kept himself so busy with gaining experience for his dream job that he has barely had a free moment to put any thought on the type of person he wants to be, beyond a famous and respected a chef.

Since he hasn’t quite achieved this dream yet, it’s not like Remy is putting everything in the backburner to get himself a friend squad: it’s more like he finally realized just how lonesome his life really feels.

Passionate and hard-working, this doesn’t fully translate as of yet to normal human relationships: it’s a work in progress that Remy’s only now fully putting some effort on. Swinging wildly between paranoid and arrogant, Remy is nonetheless extremely loyal and would do anything for those he considers family.

Wanted Connections

Fellow Kitchen Staff: After years of odd jobs in the kitchens of Redwood Hollow, Remy is more than able to recognize quite a few faces. If your character has been part of the culinary business in the last ten years, they might have seen Remy in the background, mopping floors and washing dishes, perhaps even shared a cigarette outside the back door during breaktime. 

Little Rascals: Despite what his father says, everyone is very much aware of the petty crimes a bunch of Remy’s “cousins” dabble on from time to time, from casual pickpocketing to stealing brass doorknobs with crowbars. And besides, as clean a record as he currently has, and as much as Remy has managed to stay away from that branch of his family tree, it’s not like he couldn’t be eventually swayed to join in on the fun some time...

Head Chef: There is a large empty space where Auguste Gusteau, Remy’s old mentor, used to be. Certainly, nobody could really replace him: that doesn’t mean Remy’s not willing to accept the patronage of a more experienced master at the craft of cuisine, if that allows him to advance in his way to the dream of restoring Gusteau’s restaurant to its former glory.

This Charming Man: Not having any relationship experience doesn’t mean that Remy isn’t aware of the fact that he has a pretty specific type. He is invariably attracted to the confident, daring, smooth-talking, a-little-bit-of-an-asshole-in-a-charming-sort-of-way sort of guys he really wishes he could be. And Remy knows this because of the friends he has had a crush on who were exactly like that; so, perhaps, this is finally the time when he can finally take the next step and do something about it, instead of just letting his feelings eat at him.

Plot Ideas

Thick As Thieves: Remy has managed to keep his little brother on the straight and narrow... But that doesn’t mean that he has to abide by that, necessarily, right? After all, if your character could keep a secret, then nobody would be none the wiser.

After Drifting Apart: Before his transition, Remy had had a few girls he was friends with and quite close to, but which he eventually ditched in favor of finding a place with the other boys in his family. Years later, your character pops up again, wanting to become friends again; and partly out of a real fondness, and partly out of a sense of guilt, Remy tries to make an effort.

Now Show Off: Your character finds out about Remy’s cooking ambitions, and decides to put him to the test (whether or not they have the actual means to give him something in exchange for his efforts is up for debate –it could very well be just a scam to get free gourmet food). Remy will certainly jump at the opportunity to prove himself, though depending on what’s at stake, this might just be the most grueling challenge Remy has yet faced.

Taken Connections

Friends: @magicalterencegold, @tianarpowell​

Other

I’d like to see other characters from Ratatouille, especially Linguini and Colette.

I could really see Jaq Checkers and Gus Octavius being good extended family friends of the Reinhardts.

#happiestplacetask #happiestplacetask11 #death mention cw

[ace-the-fox]

I have complete my sort of essay about Momo and Hayato. This one is more of a continuation of 'What if Momo have black eyes' notes. I made some edits by adding about Momo's personality thanks to you)

Momo and Hayato are the same as their parents. So here's how it goes. Let's start off with Momo.

Momo has red hair like her mother and a cheerful smile on her face. But it's her black eyes that made her more resemble like her father. (realized she's the only kid who have at least something from Kosaku's gene pool lol) Momo's personality is a mishmash of her mom and dad. She's kind and outgoing but mostly she's a doormat who wants to gain a social status in her high school hierarchy.

Hayato looks the most like his mother but his attitude of not being social, the mumbling and has a dead stare, all came from his father, most likely how he was raised in a broken family and because he's still a kid, picked up this attitude by observing from his unloved parents.

What's crazy how if Momo have black eyes, it be more messed up if you think about it especially to Shinobu & Hayato.

Imagine you're Shinobu, finally learned your husband is truly gone. You tried to move on with the grief but it's sort of hard when your daughter have his eyes and just can't bring yourself to look at in her direction. Yikes... She does notice adult Momo will look more like Kosaku but isn't that much bother like Hayato is. Probably because as long as Momo's sunny personality is still there, Shinobu wouldn't be so worried.

Now how about Hayato? Obviously he be more affected by this, specifically from when Kira took over Kosaku's face/life. When Momo started working that requires her to wear a business attire and started taking the responsibility of looking after him like a parent should, Hayato feels uneasy how his sister somewhat becoming like their late father but better(?)

I have this odd but specific event that could happen between the two siblings. Momo and Hayato starts arguing something small that becomes a big deal and somewhere along the way, Hayato would spill to Momo how he doesn't want a replacement dad but wants her to just be his sister :,(

Also, Momo would literally become Kosaku if her hair is short and the ends jutted out to spikes but with more fluff.

Hope you will like this :)

Oh man... Oh man...

You know what that last bit reminds me of?

This Lilo and Stitch scene (sorry it's so low quality, it just downloaded that way for some reason). I know Hayato would be a teenager in your scenario, but still. Ouch.

Also this would mean that both our beloved girls take their eye colours from a dead parent. And their living parent both have had issues dealing with that. (Except, Kira kinda deserves it. He did murder Reimi, so like--)

Do also like the idea of Momo eventually looking and acting more like Kosaku too. After all, she's spent her whole life trying to be the glue that holds her family together (poorly, but she makes the effort). Now there's an empty gaping hole in the portrait that she needs to fill. And I can see her slowly kind of losing her identity in that. Sure she still has her sunny personality, but everything beneath that becomes kind of hollow for a while...

BUT to even out the angst, Haruka helps! She recognises when her girlfriend's beginning to wear herself physically and/or emotionally and practically forces her to step back if she needs to. She wants to help her and the Kawajiris after all the shit her dad put them through.

#jjba #momoka kawajiri #hayato kawajiri #shinobu kawajiri #kosaku kawajiri #haruka kira #baby girl baby <3 #love this sm ty

[l-lend]

A/N - This has been hanging out in my drafts for a while, so I think it's time that it sees the light of day. If you hadn't caught up with @photogirl894's Sun & Rain, I'd do that first and then come back due to character interaction stuff.

Captain Gregor & OC (platonic)

Warning(s) - intoxication, angst, loose loose timeline of events

The underground hovel that passed as the last safe haven for clones still had this hum of unease seep into Rina's bones as she padded along the corridors. Was it because of the sheer weight of rocks that could easily come loose and turn everyone in here into a red stain? Maybe just a bit. The current time though was the worst for her: the resting cycle between patrols. Her hand would twitch towards her pocket hoping her abandoned vape mod would return to her. Her pocket remained empty despite checking for the fifth time since she woke. Why did everything have to fall apart while she was quitting? Well, not everything.

Kimber and Hunter seemed to patch things up well enough to be caught holding hands and sharing glances. At least through the holo-coms Kimber could spare. No fault of hers that they were busy going around the galaxy being heroes whether they believed it or not. Rina would probably be doing the same, but someone has to make sure Rex and Kida don't sire a new army that would take twice as long to get to fighting capacity. Those two thoughts caused a conflicting hollow pang in her chest.

The feeling of a hand on her shoulder brought her from her thoughts. Her face gained a touch of color at the realization of her face being close to colliding with plastoid.

“Easy there, Ri.” The cadence of his voice was a dead give away.

“Sorry, Chuckles. Got a bit into my head for a bit. Mostly out of boredom.”

The former commando loosed one of his trademark chuckles, “It's alright, surprised you aren't on patrols.”

Rina clicked her tongue, her hand checking the empty pocket again, “I would if Captain Stiff didn't tell the young bloods I can't take their shifts anymore.”

“Yeah, he'd do that, but he means well.”

“He hasn't cleared you for work yet?”

His laugh weaved its way inside his reply.

“Yeah, something about getting acclimated here and getting my sleep cycles right. Empire likes that trick when you're one of their guests.”

Comfortable silence reigned for a minute or two before Gregor gestured to what he had been carrying.

“I have a little something to occupy my time. Wouldn't mind some company.”

Rina's eyes grew wide seeing the bottle.

“Where the kriff did you find that?”

He grinned, “One of the shinies brought it back from a salvage run. Bought it off him for some chores.”

Rina snickered, “Oh, that sucks. I would've had you give up your blaster for some Tatooine Pod Fuel. You think it's still good?”

“You wanna find out?”

Rina exhaled roughly in an attempt to ease the burn surrounding her throat. Yep, this was Tatooine Pod Fuel alright. Thankfully with this clone sanctuary hidden below in caves, there were plenty of alcoves for the pair to hide in while they drank. They were just doing their duty after all. What if the younger clones got a hold of this? They would be flat on their backs for days. Their only method for checking time was the liquor disappearing from the bottle, and how slurred their speech became.

Gregor chuffed a laugh, “You throw that back too easy. You sure you didn't go to clone bars?”

Rina scoffed, passing the bottle over, “Didn't interact with clones too much until Boss Lady started chasing armor.”

“Hmm, she take a page from Kida and snag a captain?”

Rina pursed her lips, offering a shrug, “Nah, a sergeant, but his whole squad are characters. Guess she got a thing for bandanas and the hair.”

Gregor paused mid gulp, moving the bottle from his lips, “Tattoo down the side of his face? Gruff voice?”

Rina blinked, “Actually...that's the one.”

“I'd still be on Daro if not for them. Bit rough around the edges, but they're alright.”

He offered the bottle back and Rina accepted staring at the liquid for a few moments weighing her question out.

“Are they doing okay?”

“As well as anyone could in this. Why you being all soft, Ri? Your Boss Lady steal the sergeant out from under you?”

“Absolutely not my type.” Rina spat back before taking a deep swig, “Still have a rain check to kick his teeth in if he hurts her.”

"Now that I'd pay to see.” He chuckled, growing quiet to study her face for a moment, “Although you could've just commed your Boss Lady and see how her and the sergeant were doing.....so which one is it?”

Rina hoped that the sudden wave of warmth washing over her cheeks was just the drink.

“I was just curious, okay?”

The commander smirked, “Come on, Ri. I'll start guessing.”

Rina took another gulp from the bottle.

“Okay, okay. So which one then: the sergeant is taken. There's the one packed with cyber ware, but you'd probably snap him in half.” He began listing them off on his fingers.

“There's the walking datapad..”

Rina tipped up the bottle again for another swig.

“What about the big guy?”

She immediately doubled over coughing and hacking in an attempt to clear her throat from the burning liquid. Gregor's chuckle morphed into full blown laughter.

“I-it's not like that.” Rina rasped.

“No need to explain to me.”

She was silent, but her drinking partner's laugh only died down as he took in her somber expression.

“Just a roll in the bunks or...”

She shrugged, offering the bottle, “Kissed him once. He took care of me when I did something stupid and got sick.”

He hummed, “You try comming him?”

She nodded, avoiding his gaze, “Frequency's been dead since shit hit the fan.”

She reached out for the offered bottle and took a swig. The dark liquid burning down her throat offering a warmth that she craved.

“but your Torgruta friend could track them down.”

Rina sighed through her nose, “Irys is busy making sure we don't get found out here. She barely gets enough sleep as is.”

“Okay, what about the one that's with em now.”

Her attention was focused on the bottle, “Could, but it doesn't come up,” Pressing her back against the stone wall, she slid down until she was seated on the floor, “usually it's talk of some mission they just did and how her and the sergeant are doing. I'd be bothering her over shit that might not even be there.”

“That's a sorry excuse,”

“The hell?”

“You heard me. If she's your friend you can talk to her about it, or with any of them really.”

“Look, boss lady trusted me to take care of them, so that's what I'm doing. Kida has her family safe and sound with the sti-.. Rex, Irys is thriving gathering information, Lex actually smiles a bit more, and boss lady has her sergeant and her boys. Everybody's happy.”

“and what about you?”

Her shoulders raised in a dismissive shrug, “I'll live.”

“Don't think you deserve it?”

“Don't think I should be picking out curtains and baking pies when that's not in the cards.”

The bottle barely had enough liquid to cover the bottom as she offered it out again meeting the shake of his head.

“That's all you.”

“Suit yourself,” She tipped back the bottle letting the last drops of the liquid run down her throat.

Rina laid back in her makeshift bunk after Gregor had walked her back. A few items from the ship had made its way to her quarters as the weeks spent here became months. After losing her staring contest with the ceiling, her eyes fell to the blue and black tooka doll that kept his post on her bed. Her fingers traced the fabric making up his ears tracing the line of stitches keeping the doll together. Her hand then went to her datapad and instead of pairing her com to scan for a frequency she had long since memorized she tapped on the screen until her com glowed with a red blinking light. She took a breath before speaking into the com.

“Hey, I uh..hope you're doing alright. You seem to be after I spoke with someone who saw you last. It's good to hear actually.”

She sighed running a hand through her hair. The stubble of an undercut offering a new sensation.

“The stiff has me taking some time off from patrols until I can get some rest, but I'm not taking it so well..so I've been told. I'd rather just be busy. My mind starts to wander and that's never been good for me. If your frequency goes live again, I'd love to...call you. Nothing crazy just it's been a while and...I-I'd like to hear from you. If you have some free time, but no pressure if you're busy.”

Her teeth found their way into her bottom lip as if to hold back, but the words flooded out of her no thanks to the drink.

“I just miss you, and if it was just a meet and greet after that whole rescue mission then that's okay. I just wanna know where we stand. Maker, that sounds dumb. It's not like we owe each other anything, but...look I'm gonna get off here before I say something even more stupid.”

She tapped her datapad shutting off the glowing com light and put it down staring back to the ceiling until the combination of drink and exhaustion stole her away to sleep.

@locitapurplepink @rain-on-kamino @writing-positivelyexisting @burningfieldof-clover @padawancat97 @ahsokastechie @dukeoftheblackstar

#Rina Caska #oc fiction #captain gregor giving off brother vibes

[jawllines]

There was very little Y/N could take from Anne’s brief testimony. At this point from the judgment of character alone Y/N had long since abandoned the idea that he could have killed his wife. The part of her that is immersed in the world of stories, dark literature, and mystery, tells her that she’s naive to trust him so wholly. That certitude like this would personify, walk with her hand-in-hand off the ship on a wooden plank, and there she’d find her naivety with a sword to her throat, telling her to jump. 

Y/N could be intuitive when she wanted to be. When she truly opened up her heart to a situation and saw it for what it was, and despite quite a few attempts of trying to make the accusation of murder make sense, she simply couldn’t. That didn’t mean she didn’t want to hear it straight from his mouth though. Just because she had made up her mind about the idea of him killing her, didn’t mean she knew the details that led to that judgment from the town. Who heard when about what and why; there was no way to know other than the two ideas she’d come up with: 

1. Break into the police department and look through classified records. 

2. Ask Harry. 

She thinks she’d try her luck fighting off a policeman first. 

or

Y/N’s questions are answered and Harry’s been through a lot, hasn’t he?

(TW: mentions of murder, suicide, abuse, alcohol/drug use)

part 1

part 2

part 3

iv.

For four years, Harry had been stuck in a meadow.

Not a beautiful one that flourished beneath a vivid blue sky, with colors aplenty and life in abundance. It was cold; clouds hung low and heavy with icy rains that pierced his skin with every drop. The world was grey, the flowers were dead, the life was dormant, and Harry was alone. Stagnant in old memories that he wished to forget, haunted by new ones as the days passed and grew shorter, the night came quick and stayed long, his insides hollowed and his skin froze. Each passing day felt empty, bunnies with chubby paws and gurgling, giggly faces brought small beads of happiness but bunnies had to sleep, and he has to work.

Numb -- he felt numb and bitter, starving for warmth in four years of winter. Even his tears had frozen, the hot sting no longer brought comfort but more pain. And he lay there among the dried yellowed grass, wondering when it might get better. He lay there the first year wondering if his marriage was a mistake, and the second year he questioned if it would’ve been better if they had not met. The third-year he ponders if he were ever meant to be loved-- he wonders if it was supposed to feel this rotten. Had love stories no truth to them? Had all the authors been lying? Within the bad, there was always some good, but Harry hadn’t felt much good for three years by then. The fourth-year he wondered if it was his fault, all of it, just as the wind whispered in his ear. Maybe had he done something different then nothing would have happened. Maybe if he had been different then everything would be fine. Maybe then the bunnies wouldn’t have eyes that didn’t match his own.

It had started with a speckle of sunlight. The kind that appears at the end of a sluggish storm that came in the afternoon, filled the streets and soaked the soil of ditches with rain. Clouds withdrew, revealing the sun had begun sinking past the horizon, only thirty minutes or so until night inked the sky, but even for those few minutes there’s comfort. Reddish hues cut through the gloom, half the sky is dense clouds that ease to another town and the other half are cooed promises of a stormless day come morning. That’s how it started. . .just a little bit of sun with a giggle that drowned out the thunder.

The next day, the rain stopped. He blinked up at the clouded sky questioning why it had stopped pelting his skin like glacial stones -- it had been so long of this he panicked for one moment, maybe two (maybe three), but he tried to make do with it. His hollow stomach growled for the first time in ages, the scent of almond jam tarts slithers through his nose and makes his mouth water. The sun peeks out through the clouds to giggle again, teasing him with a few minutes of warmth -- the bunnies came to bask in it too, from beneath the burrow he’d made for them. One he lay on top of to keep them from the rain. They nudged at his back, demanding to come out, and so he rolled over and let them and they enjoyed the heat as well.

Each passing day the sun shows itself more and more, first timidly -- meek and mild, a little unsure. It smiled at Harry though he rarely smiled back. . .his cheeks were frozen how could he? But slowly he thawed; he could move his head again, look side to side, visualize the grass was now lush, healthy green, and wildflowers in an assortment of colors had begun to bloom. When the sun first came, he’d been so guarded. . .so worried. . .so angry that he couldn’t welcome the feeling of it kissing his skin. As each day passed the sun grew warmer and brighter, and as each day passed, the grass grew greener and the flowers more lively, and as each day passed, Harry’s smile grew bigger.

Harry liked laying in this field much better, bathed in golden rays.

And Harry liked waking up with Y/N beside him.

She was a rather heavy sleeper, or so Harry found which confused him greatly. The few times he’d woken her with his nightmares, somewhere behind all the murky fog of him trying to gain his footing back in reality, he would wonder how she woke so easily. Was he really that loud or did she rise at the sound of a pin colliding with linoleum? It had been the second night she’d coaxed him back to sleep that he realized it had been the former as it was easy to quietly slide out from the cocoon of her arms and the blankets that she’d made to bring him comfort. Y/N slept like a log -- he’s sure she could sleep through a marching band storming up and down the halls of the hotel -- but she always woke for him. Woke for him and coddled him.

Harry hated needing it, but he loves it while it’s happening. In ways it felt like a guilty pleasure; something that he indulged in though he probably didn’t need to, akin to an extra scoop of ice cream on his waffle cone, or staying up an hour later to finish binging a show. As he came down from the horror that his subconscious had fed him, to melt in Y/N’s arms was very pleasant. She felt like sun but she smelled like spring rain, and she held him like she knew how much he needed it. Like she knew how good it felt for him to be in someone’s arms. . .how happy he was to not wake up alone.

He preferred this though -- to wake with Y/N beside him, no memory of a night terror tormenting his brain as he blinks his eyes open. Y/N was not curled as close to him as she had been when they’d fallen asleep and while this made him pout for a moment, he is glad to watch her from this angle. She was close enough to him that he felt her warmth diffuse from her body beneath the sheets, but far enough that he could make out all of her features without having to move his head. All he does is press the corner of the pillow from his face with his fingers so his view isn’t obstructed at all.

This wasn’t a creepy thing -- he knew if she woke it might look like a creepy thing, him just watching her, but Harry was simply looking. He enjoyed the calm that her face contained; soothed and undisturbed. He could tell from one look at her face when her mind was racing, whether it be the faint furrow in her brow or the way she starts playing with her lips with her fingertips or nipping at her nails absentmindedly. That spacey glow in her gaze when she stares out the windshield of the car lost in a daydream that Harry wished to join her in. What does she think about when she spaces out like that? Harry would love to know but he found himself too shy to ask most days.

Too shy? It was novel, the idea of him being shy. Had anyone in his life known that he got absurdly shy and flustered when it came to this girl, they’d find it laughable. He wasn’t like this normally. . .even after everything that had happened, he was able to put on a brave face and fake the character that he’d always presented himself as. To make people more comfortable, to force the pity out of their stares when he walked into a room, to make himself feel normal when he had every reason not to.

But when he was with Y/N, he felt all jumbled and rearranged, his thoughts knocked together like the beads inside Charlie’s little rattles. It made little sense to him but his feelings never made much sense to him, even the ones he thought he’d understood. As a young boy, he’s always felt his emotions so intensely, like they could encompass his being sometimes, both the good ones and the bad ones. Rarely did they ever make him act out, but his mind was constantly going, it felt, and his mum always told him he was governed by his heart. And when he grew and chose to be more analytical, he’d thought he’d pressed that all aside. At the point that Y/N had entered his life, he’d made the assumption he’d grown out of it.

He’d been wrong.

That was okay though, wasn’t it? It was alright to feel things but they were so big. That’s the only way he knew how to describe them -- incredibly big, ardent, impassioned. Did she feel these just as he was? When she saw him, did her heart race unreasonably fast? Did she feel bashful beneath his gaze? Was she happier when they were together? Why couldn’t Harry just ask?

Why couldn’t Harry just ask?

The ache in his knuckles reminds him of what he’d done the night prior, mixed in his emotions regarding it. His reaction to Emmett had been boorish, and how he took the guitar even more so. After the little anecdotes, Y/N had shared with him about the kind of man Emmett was, it filled him with such hatred. Such hatred and spite for a man that he had not once met, but had raised memories from Harry’s own brain that he could not leave ignored. He hated him. . .he hated him for what he’d done to Y/N -- hated him for the broken look in her eyes at the thought of him, at what life he’d taken from her.

And he hated him for his own personal reasons. . .selfish reasons.

How could there be so many of the same type of person in the world?

Y/N wriggles in her spot, her brow pinches as her arms emerge from the covers and reach toward the headboard, a soft groan stirs from her chest. Harry held his breath for a moment -- should he look away? If she opened her eyes to find him staring at her, would she be unsettled? Would they be okay like she said they would? He hoped so. . .he really, really hoped so.

Her eyelids flutter first, before she blinks, squinting against the sharp morning sun that filled the room. Only a moment passes before she turns to him, a small, sleepy smile pulls at her cheeks. Eyes puffy from sleep, Harry struggles not to coo aloud -- she’s terribly cute.

“G’morning.” Her voice sends sparkles through his body; glittering, dazzling, iridescent bubbles.

“Good morning,” he cleared his throat after his gravelly response, and watches as Y/N pushes herself up from the mattress, but her bottom lip pouts, “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

She nodded, “Mhm,” it’s gentle how it leaves her mouth, it makes him want to protect her from the world, “You made me all sticky last night.”

Harry’s brows raised -- he hadn’t thought she’d mention it. If anything, Harry half expected them both to pretend it hadn’t happened. It probably shouldn’t have but at the moment, Harry had not considered what it might mean afterward. All he’d known was in that moment, he needed to touch her, and taste her, and feel her in every way imaginable.

It would hurt, Harry thinks, if they had to pretend that things hadn’t changed. Harry’s body, his mind, his heart sang too loudly for him to drown the sound of it out and play pretend. He had felt her against him in every way imaginable the night prior and still it hadn’t felt like enough. It had been a part of the reason he’d tried his best to hold out for as long as he could. If that were to be his only time with her, he wanted to make it count, but even then. . .even with how much they did and how long they did it for -- he just wanted to be even closer.

And he almost can’t stand it. Almost can’t stand how much he wants her.

“I cleaned you up, Sweetheart. Did I not do a good job?”

Y/N tilted her body toward him, and very suddenly did she plop across his torso, words muffled from where her face was pushed into the covers, “You did alright I guess, but I need a shower.” He smiled, laying his hand flat across her back, rubbing circles over the cotton fabric of his shirt she wore and he felt her melt; her muscles ease and her bones jellied, “Don’ wanna get up yet.”

“Don’t have to,” he murmured, “Can sleep as long as you like.”

Y/N’s response is a low hum that vibrates from her chest to his belly. The familiarity in her actions brings relief to the tension he’d been stacking in large blocks throughout his body. He had filled with such dread that they might revert back to their old, sheepish tendencies in how they regarded one another. Part of the reason he’d watched her wake, he’d admit, was because he’d been so happy that she was still there and he had to make sure for the first few minutes that it wasn’t a lovely dream. That Y/N was right beside him resting, not sat in her room in deep contemplation about how to go about reorienting their situation to how it had been.

Of course, if Y/N told him that she was uncomfortable and that things were weird, he would respect whatever decision she’d make in response to it.

He is, however, more than delighted that that wasn’t the case.

Still, he voices his concern slightly, in case he was reading her actions wrong. He doesn’t stop rubbing on her back as he begins speaking, and she startles some as he’d just woken her back up, “We are okay, yes? We’re still good how we were?”

Y/N re-earths her face from the blankets, lying on her cheek so she could face him. Her face looked so soft -- Harry’s tempted to reach his fingers out to stroke against her cheek, but he stops himself, “Are you worried?” He does not waste a moment before giving a solemn nod, swallowing thickly when her fingers find the bare skin of his chest, stroking there gently, “Why?”

His brows furrow, trying to deviate his attention from her careful caresses, “I. . .we did a lot last night,” he murmured, “I’m worried that you might regret it a little.”

“I’m glad you said it, ‘cos I was g’na say I was worried you regretted it but I’d been too embarrassed to ask,” she moves her hand to cradle his cheek, and Harry’s face warms as he lets his eyes flutter closed, leaning against her soft palm, “I don’t regret a thing,” her words were sincere, “We’re silly.”

Harry nodded, a small smile painted his face as he allowed himself to get sucked into the moment. Free of his memories, free of his worries, free of anything. . .anything at all that doesn’t have to do with being in this bed. It feels good. Harry doesn’t think he’s felt this good in a long time.

Harry doesn’t think he’s felt this good ever.

“We’re silly.” He repeats.

                                                             .                       .                       .

Feeling things could be a lot sometimes.

Emotions could be cumbersome.

At least that’s how they had felt before, especially with Emmett. Y/N always felt like her emotions were trudging through sludge, grappling for the edge of a riverbank but being dragged back into the murky water. They were conflicting and confusing; they didn’t feel good at all. And they dwindled so thin that by the time she was packing her things in her car, the tears she cried were out of frustration that she was the one who had to pick up and move her life around, not because she was sad she lost him.

But these feelings for Harry have always felt so. . .light? That didn’t feel like the right word. Not light in the way that they weren’t intense for her, because they were earnest and enthusiastic -- but they didn’t feel heavy. It had felt like Emmett was always at her hips, yanking her down to the deep end of a pool she’d drown in. With Harry, he pulled her hands gently toward fields and hills of green, where they floated just above the soil, giggled and tumbled and skated their fingertips along the morning dew.

She felt calm with Harry. . .her feelings were big, and they were good.

For the rest of their time in the city, things had felt as if they changed but in the same breath, they hadn’t much at all. Harry is still as tender as he always is, and he still trips and fumbles over his words. As they had grown to know each other his stony exterior cracked progressively but it had felt that he’d dragged down a full wall for her. Maybe two even; she’d taken a chisel and sledgehammer to the mortar fixing the stone together and carefully broke it. A soft glowing center had been revealed but only sometimes, she found. Only sometimes would he hold onto her for a little longer than normal. Only sometimes would his gaze linger. Only sometimes would it look like he might kiss her, but he pulls his lips into his mouth instead.

Y/N doesn’t push him because she knew there were at least two more walls left fixed around him, and both of them are components of life before her. Whatever had happened, had left Harry a broken man, and no matter how desperately she wanted to know everything about it, she wouldn’t pry. She even tried to stop quietly theorizing about it all, though Anne does not make it very easy at all.

Last night they all went out for one last dinner together, and when Harry and his father excused themselves to go to the restroom it was only Y/N, Anne, and Charlie left at the table. Charlie had found his way into Harry’s lap at some point throughout the night, and Harry passed him off to Y/N’s lap when he’d left the table, but he pulled off one of his rings so that Charlie could keep playing with it. Y/N held the marching teddy ring between her thumb and forefinger as his chubby hands gripped around it and he marveled silently.

Anne smiled gently at her as she pierced a piece of steamed broccoli onto her fork, “I want to thank you, Y/N,” she had begun, before she twisted her body around to look at the direction of the bathrooms then turned back to face her, “I’ll be quick about it, the two of them never wee for long. I want to thank you because. . .well, I don’t know what you’ve done to him, but he seems less. . .less miserable than he has been these past few years. I know part of it could just be the healing properties of time, but something tells me you bring a lot of light into both his and Charlie’s life.” Slowly she shook her head, “He’s misunderstood, a lot of the time. He always has been, even when he was a child.  Just loves with his whole heart and some people take advantage of that. I don’t know the nature of your relationship but I just ask that you continue to treat him kindly, no matter if it is platonic or not. God knows he needs that after what she put him through,” she hovers the broccoli over her mouth, “Though I hate to speak ill of the --”

Y/N wanted more. She wanted to take Anne out for coffee after dinner, find themselves a secluded booth in the back, and ask her every question that she could possibly think about what she didn’t know. Deep in her marrow, she knew it would be wrong to find out from someone who wasn’t Harry, but it would be easier wouldn’t it? Y/N would know and Harry wouldn’t have to relive the traumatic events for her to know. It would be the easiest solution, she’d think.

But before Anne could even finish her sentence, Harry appeared. The worst of it was she couldn’t even be irritated with his sudden reappearance, because the smile he gave her was sweet enough to melt her heart as he placed his hand on her shoulder then squeezed past her to get back to his seat, “Through the windows, I saw a candy store. It’s the same chain that has those fudge-dipped Oreos you like. Would you like to stop there after dinner?”

There was very little Y/N could take from Anne’s brief testimony. At this point from the judgment of character alone, Y/N had long since abandoned the idea that he could have killed his wife. The part of her that is immersed in the world of stories, dark literature, and mystery, tells her that she’s naive to trust him so wholly. That certitude like this would personify, walk with her hand-in-hand off the ship on a wooden plank, and there she’d find her naivety with a sword to her throat, telling her to jump.

Y/N could be intuitive when she wanted to be. When she truly opened up her heart to a situation and saw it for what it was, and despite quite a few attempts of trying to make the accusation of murder make sense, she simply couldn’t. That didn’t mean she didn’t want to hear it straight from his mouth though. Just because she had made up her mind about the idea of him killing her, didn’t mean she knew the details that led to that judgment from the town. Who heard when about what and why; there was no way to know other than the two ideas she’d come up with:

1. Break into the police department and look through classified records.

2. Ask Harry.

She thinks she’d try her luck fighting off a policeman first.

How could she just ask? There was no way to, she was certain of it -- no appropriate way to, at least. Any way that she tried to phrase it in her head sounded too nosy, too forward, too abrasive. Not only had she come to the conclusion that she didn’t believe he could kill his wife, but she’d also come to the conclusion that it was simply impossible to string the right words together so she could question why everyone would think he did. What was their relationship like before? He’d said they’d gone on trips -- that she’d liked the sun, and her only solace moving somewhere as dreary as the vacation town they inhabited was the beach. And she knew that Anne didn’t like her, for some reason or another -- that she put Harry through a lot. But that’s it.

That’s it.

If she thought about it for too long, her head ached. And when her head ached, her brows knit and she’s staring off into space without thinking all too much about it. So she hadn’t realized that Harry had even appeared back beside her in her hotel room, until she felt the tenderest of caresses just along her jaw, something he typically only did at night. When she turned to face him, his fingertips met her face, smoothing out her brow with the pad of his thumb, “Your head is hurting,” he murmured knowingly, the icy mint scent of his gum flutters along her nose, “Do you want to rest? I could finish packing for you.”

“How did you know my head was hurting?” Harry continues to rub her brow until she’s relaxed the muscles in her forehead, and the tension begins to dissipate from her shoulders.

“I’m observant,” he murmured, letting his hand fall away from her face but he slips it down, letting it rest on the curve of her throat, “You slept very little last night. Could feel you tossing and turning.”

It was true; she’d fallen through the rabbit hole of her thoughts as she’d spent many nights doing, only now when she was doing it, chances are she was laying beside Harry. One of the things that had changed was their need to find an excuse to sleep in the same bed, which was a blessing. Now, how Harry asks, is by offering her a shirt to sleep in while he feeds Charlie his last bottle for the night, cradled in the crook of his arm. Y/N gives Charlie plenty of cuddles and kisses, they lay him down in his crib, and the both of them get ready for bed themselves.

All of it feels very domesticated, especially the bits where after they’ve washed their faces and brushed their teeth, they crawl into bed and Harry finds them a movie to watch that they inevitably speak through half of, then get invested in the last quarter. Y/N thinks Harry finds it easier to touch and cuddle at night; this is when things feel most different than what they had been. He indulges in soft caresses, gentle squeezing, pulling her flush to his body, and skimming his fingers all along her skin, giggling when she shivered like he found joy in rousing goosebumps in his wake. The way Harry holds her spoke for how touch starved he’d been, and Y/N melted beneath the attention. Especially since this was when he was most open and willing to give it.

The night prior, he’d fallen asleep after one movie and the half of a second one (typically he tries to wait for her to fall asleep first, but she had taken to combing her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, and when she peeked up at him as his eyes began to flutter shut, he scrunched his nose at her, “Thank you, Darling”), and she’d stayed up. Her mind chattered at her, tweeted thoughts like a rose-ringed parakeet. What had Harry gone through? That would make him have horrible nightmares? That would make people think he was capable of murdering his wife? That his mum would thank her for bringing light into his life? The whole dark mess of it was so lost on her. It just made her want to hold him, kiss his rosy cheeks, protect him from the world and only share him with the sun and the moon.

After she had gotten up to have a wee, checked on Charlie, and crawled back in bed, she didn’t want to disturb him by weaseling her way beneath his arms again so she stayed on her side. So she tossed and she turned, wondering and searching for answers she couldn’t pull from thin air. Maybe she could just call his mum -- she’d given her, her number -- she could call her, ask her, sit on the phone for hours because she loved to talk (Y/N would guess that’s the outcome of a relatively silent husband) and she’d divulge every nitty-gritty secret Y/N knows she’s been nearly frothing at the mouth to tell.

But she couldn’t. . .she just couldn’t.

It was after she’d sighed to herself, quiet enough that there was no possible way she woke him up, but she felt a hand meet her side. His forearm slid along her hip, tucked around her body, and dragged her from her spot to meet him back in the middle. Y/N gave a questioning hum as she rolled around to look at him, but his eyes were closed, and he still appeared to be asleep. That is until his lips parted, a small, tiny smile at the corner of his mouth, “Sleep now. I’m giving you half of my sleepiness to help you.”

She rested her head on his chest, packaged all her inquiries in a tightly bound bundle, and tossed them outside for the night.

His notice reminded her of this, and her shoulder slumped as she tipped her forehead against his chest, “Aish, I forgot I woke you up last night. I’m the worst bed buddy.”

Harry rests his chin on her head, “Don’t say that,” he murmured, “You take away my nightmares and you smell like how I think the moon might, so you’re the best bed buddy.”

So gentle. Soft. How could he ever even hurt a fly?

Did he have something dark in him? Y/N wonders what it might have looked like to see him with Emmett, as she slid her arms around his waist and hugged him to her body. This rare display of daytime affection made whatever relationship they were developing feel real. More than just a drunken romp after emotions had run high; something tender and warm. Something that Y/N could get lost in.

“I reckon you take the title of best bed buddy. You gave me half of your sleepiness, remember?”

Harry hums, “Mhm,” he pulls back, letting his lips touch to her temple, “And I’ve just given you a quarter more. Lie down Sweet thing, I’ll pack the rest.”

Just as Y/N’s flipping back and forth between lying down for the nap or sucking it up and packing the rest of her things after taking paracetamol or two, there was the telling babble that told them both someone was awake. They unwind from each other, turning around to see that Charlie had woken up from where he’d been napping in his car seat. Y/N peeks around Harry, brows rising at the big, bright eyes that stare at them tiredly, “Well look at that! The absolute sleepyhead just woke up.” She made her way to Charlie, clicked the buckle that secured him to the seat, and fit her hands beneath his armpits, “C’mere, you little sloth. Say good afternoon, Daddy! I slept so long so that I could have an extra good time on the way back home, hm?”

Charlie lies his head down on her shoulder, holding out his chubby fingers toward Harry who made his way over easily. He took Charlie’s hand and kissed each of his fingers, before pretending to eat them, and smiling triumphantly when a bubble of giggles is the result. The scene makes her heart warm, but not nearly warm enough for her to not remember their check-out time was briskly approaching.

“Here,” she murmured, handing him over to Harry, “Cuddle, and I’ll finish packing, yeah? I’ll save my quarter of sleepiness for later.”

“Could I --” Harry began, just as she was about to move toward the bathroom. When she pauses and looks back toward him, he has that shy look on his face again. . .the one that appears just before he starts to fumble over his words a bit when he asks her something. Whether it be for a cuddle, or if she’d like to visit someplace with him, or if he wants his hair played with, “--could I kiss you?”

She tries not to smile too hard as she pushes up to kiss him.

And she presses an exaggerated kiss to Charlie’s cheek too.

                                                                   .                      .                        .

Being back at home is. . .different.

They got home around dusk; the sun sank low in the sky, disappeared behind the tree-line, and with it the end of their trip together. Coming home from a vacation always felt a bit off, after pretending another place was your home for a little while. Rooms were stiff, the air was stale and un-lived in, and it took about two hours of lighting candles, pushing open windows, turning on fans, and turning on every light and telly so that it wasn’t so quiet. Silent, and weird, and lonely without the people she’d been with.

Even though Y/N had technically had her own hotel room, by the end of their trip they had been spending every night together. She was with Harry, Charlie, and Marzipan which was much preferred than the stillness of a flat post-vacation. If she were honest, she struggled not to tear up as Harry was helping her take her suitcase from the trunk, and to hide her emotions in an effort not to appear clingy, she hugged him and hid her face in his throat. Harry curled his arms around her tightly. He knew though -- in the weird Harry way, he knew how she felt, even though she was making good on not letting it show on her face,  “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Sweetheart,” he dipped his face into her hair, pushing a chaste kiss to her head, “I don’t start at the university again until next week, and I’ve only got a bit of work to do at home, so you’ll be bothered with me all day.”

Harry kissed her cheeks and sent her to her flat with Marzipan. She aired the place out, desperate to make it feel less uninhabited, and had even shoved her linens in the wash before she showered (which made for a very cold shower -- after so long of being gone, she’d forgotten that warm water for her sheets meant frigid water for her body). Marzipan reacquainted herself with her surroundings and though it all smelled of her, she even appeared to be discontent with the change.

Around 10 PM her phone buzzes on her bedside table, just as she had moved her linens into the dryer while simultaneously regretting washing them at all (she just wanted to lay down at that point). Brows pinched, she reaches for it and sees Harry’s contact on the screen -- had she forgotten something? Why would he be calling her?

“Hello?” She held the phone close to her ear, “Harry? Is everything okay?”

“Yes, yes, everything is fine,” Harry responded, and he paused for a moment, just silent on the other end until he cleared his throat, “I -- well, I believe this was much less embarrassing in my head. I don’t mean to sound as if I’m fixed at your hip, but I missed your voice.” A dish clatters on the other end of the line, and he mutters a small ‘shit’ before continuing, “It’s -- um. . .it’s very quiet without you here. Not that I think you’re loud or anything I just. . .yeah. I just miss you.”

Y/N is incredibly fond; her heart swarms with warmth that stretches it three sizes too big for her chest, and she feels soppy and softened. Her lips curl in a tiny smile though he can’t see it, she wonders if he’ll be able to hear it in her voice through the receiver, “I miss you too,” she responded, brushing her hand against her cheek, “It just feels weird.”

“I’m not keen on it. Which is why I -- well, I wondered if you would like to stay on the phone with each other? Would just tell you to drive over now but it’s so late, I don’t want you on the roads.” He explained to her, “I had thought about just coming to get you myself, but then I’d have to strap Charlie back in his seat and for some reason, I feel he would not appreciate being woken up.”

Soft -- she would say it again, and again, and again. Harry made her feel so unbelievably soft, she’d reckon if someone tried to hug her right now she’d mold into the shape of their body. It’d been so long since someone had evoked such strong emotions from her and she just isn’t used to it anymore. All the heart racing, the stomach flutters, the sweaty palms, the goosebumps. . .everything.

“Yes, I’d like that,” she sat down on her bare mattress, tracing the diamond-shaped dips and curves of the upholstery, “If you’re falling asleep and I’m talking too much, you’ve got to tell me though. I’ve just put my bedding in the dryer so it’ll take me a minute before I’m actually lying down.”

Harry hummed, “I should’ve thrown mine in the wash, now that you’ve mentioned it.”

“No you shouldn’t have, ‘cos I’m miserable now,” she lamented, “Would give anything to just pop my head on the pillow and pass out.”

“Poor thing,” he murmured, “You don’t have extra bedding?”

She flopped down, tucking the phone between her ear and the uncovered pillow, “Harry, I’m lucky to even have the ones I do now. Hate spending money on bedding, it’s too much! Especially if it’s anything worth sleeping in.”

“I get what you mean,” the sound of running water cuts on, and she hears the sound of ceramic plates clinking together again, “Plus, it’s few and far between you find something aesthetically pleasing, innit? And then it’s got to match your room. White is the easiest to match but I reckon if you’re an on-the-bed-eater then that could be a bit problematic.”

“No kidding,” she agreed, “I guess for like -- I dunno, cum stains -- white works out though.”

”Christ,” she could picture it, Harry shaking his head in the way he does when Y/N says something he wasn’t expecting that may have been on the side of vulgar -- he did it several times when she would briskly and casually mention the fact that he’d morphed into something short of a male Aphrodite. He’s shy -- he’s always been shy, but he just manages to get shyer in the bits that he should be confident in. “I guess -- I guess, yeah for cum stains, that’d work out wouldn’t it?”

“Mhm,” she let her eyes close for a moment, “What’ve you got to do tomorrow? Tell me all about your engineering and I’ll try to keep up.”

He does.  Harry explained the project that they were currently working on and Y/N attempted to understand the large words and abbreviations he was using, but eventually she did have to tell him to bring it down to a freshman at college level so that she could at least kind of follow. It made sense that he was a professor, and a good one at that, because he knew so much but was able to break it into smaller bits and pieces so that she could digest it. When she had questions, he had full-fledged answers that swiped away the dark areas. By the end of it, she was halfway certain she could take a crack at computer engineering (like running their coffee orders and half understanding what they were discussing around meeting tables, but still a better understanding than she had in the first place).

Around 12 AM, Y/N’s made her bed up and sat star-fished staring at her fan blades whipping above her, listening to Harry’s syrupy voice tell her about his trip to Scotland he took with his parents when he was around 15. Explained to her that he met a man there who taught him how to play guitar in the two weeks they were there, and connected him to a woman who would further his learning in London. Harry had mused about how he had used to hope to be a musician of some kind, but he never thought he’d been good enough. Y/N told him that he’s silly because she thinks he’d be lovely.

“You’ll have to play for me,” she told him, rubbing the corner of her pillowcase between her thumb and forefinger, “On the telecaster. Y’know that’s yours now, don’t you?” Knuckling tiredly at her eyes, she suppresses a yawn so she could continue speaking, “Not to re-gift something from my ex or anything, but it’ll only collect dust in my closet.”

Harry, who had long since finished his nighttime routine (he’d politely excused himself to brush his teeth and wash his face), sounded like he was shuffling in his bed, “Wouldn’t you want to sell it? You could make a pretty penny off that, Sweetheart, especially the one you bought. It would feel wrong to have it wasted on me.”

“Wasted on you?” Y/N scoffed, “How could it be wasted on you? I don’t care about the money, I just want it to have a loving home. Now if you don’t want it because it’ll just be a hassle I’m sure I could pawn it off on someone, but nothing could ever be wasted on you. You’re the whole reason I even have it back!” Lulling her tongue over her mouth, she wiggles her toes at Marzipan who eyeballs her from the floor, where she had been sat for the past twenty minutes falling asleep, “Which -- could I ask you about that?”

He’s silent for a moment -- a pause long enough to make her regret asking, to disrupt how smooth the conversation had been going before her question -- but he does respond eventually, “You can ask me anything you want. Anything at all.”

“How did you get it back?” She swallows, “Like, I’d assume from your knuckles he hadn’t just handed it over.”

Harry, again, pauses for a moment but this time it seemed like he was only gathering his thoughts, “When you had gone to the bathroom, I went to the green room they had to get it back for you. I know you hadn’t asked but. . .well, it didn’t seem right for him to have it. Not after what he had put you through, you know?” Y/N hummed, encouraging him to continue, rolling out the muscles in her shoulders that had gone stiff in her idle sitting, “So I went in and I asked for it back, and he was. . .difficult about it. He offered to pay for it and then told me I was trying too hard and that you weren’t “worth it”. . .so I punched him and said a few choice words. I’m --” he sighed to himself, “I’m not a violent man, I just couldn’t -- I can’t stand when someone acts like that. . .like he deserved that guitar. I apologize for resorting to violence though. I shouldn’t have done it without speaking to you first, and now that I recount the details I feel a bit silly. Barbaric or summat -- like -- I’m sorry for talking in circles, I feel like I’m talking in circles. ” He does another deep sigh, Y/N can almost feel it against his cheek, like the content ones he lets out after they’re finally cuddled in bed but with a slightly annoyed lilt, a warm and gentle puff, “It frustrated me and I acted out, but I don’t regret it. It’s your guitar.”

Y/N dipped her face back into the pillows, tingles zip down through her body like sparks of electricity as he recounted the story and began to fumble around his feelings. He doesn’t realize how much she appreciates it though -- how refreshing it is to hear him speak. It always sounds so open and raw, like he’s saying the words as soon as they pop in his brain. Brisk pauses, talking in circles, expressing how something had made him feel and how he feels now because of his actions.

“Harry?” She shuts her eyes, pretending that he’s laying across from her.

His voice is small but clear, “Yes?”

“I think you’re amazing,” she began, “And I think, you don’t have to apologize for anything because if you would have first cleared it with me I would’ve suggested more barbaric antics, like kicking him in the chest and something with fire.” A breathless giggle comes from the other end, she smiles a dumb, big smile that makes her cheeks hurt, “Thank you for standing up for me. If anyone ever says something to you, I’ll kick their ass, how about that?”

Another chuckle leaves him, Y/N feels as if she’s swallowed it, feeling it warm her bell, she keeps her eyes closed and melts into the mattress while Marzipan jumps up and claims the space behind her back.

“Thank you, Sweetheart.”

                                                         .                             .                            .

It was rare that they went into town together.

Well, not so much rare as it was relatively nonexistent. The only time they’d been here with each other, they had made a beeline to a private beach where they couldn’t be disturbed. It was simply them, the fine grain sand in tiny hills and mountains and the gentle plodding of waves against the shoreline. They hadn’t even stopped for food or sweets, and Y/N couldn’t blame him -- if it were her in his situation, she would avoid the town at all costs.

So, it was safe to say she had been surprised when he suggested it.

They’d been back from their trip for four days, which they had spent re-acclimating to life at his house again. Y/N got back into the pattern of her regular nanny duties while Harry got back into his work, though he does take a few more breaks than he had been prior to their trip. These breaks last a bit longer than the old ones did as well, and are typically ended with a kiss to her temple and a raspberry blown into Charlie’s neck. If he takes a break while she’s sat in Charlie’s room during his naps, he scouts her out with a snack of some kind and will sit in there with her for a little while as they share it.

One night, Harry had asked if she would like to stay over and of course, she had agreed to it. Their day went as normal, Y/N put Charlie to bed while Harry finished up the course plan he’d been working on for several hours. After she showered and got ready for bed, she slunk down to the kitchen and brewed lavender vanilla tea, before pouring the both of them a cup and finding her way to his office. Despite the door being cracked open, she knocked first and waited until he called for her to enter before she did so.

“I made us tea!” She began as she entered, smiling gently when his eyes met hers, “It’ll help get you ready for bed too, since your brain has been so busy all day, reckon it should calm you down.”

Harry looks surprised -- the kind of shock that might light someone’s eyes if they weren’t expecting something. She thought he’d have heard her bumping around in the kitchen, but she wonders if he’d assumed she was only making some for herself. If he had even paid mind to the disturbance in the quiet at all. The apathetic look he’d been giving his computer prior to her arrival is replaced by one of gentle delight; his lips pluck up at the corners, “You didn’t have to do that,” he murmured as she set the mug down on a coaster, “Thank you -- I appreciate this a lot.”

“Of course,” she smiled before fixing her handle on the mug, about to pivot on her heel to make her way out of his office but his fingers loop around her forearm suddenly, “Oh! --”

“Why are you leaving?” He inquired as Y/N steadied herself, and he plucked her wobbling mug from her hands to set it down on the desk.

She nodded toward his computer, “I figured you were still working,” she explained, then motioned to herself, “And I didn’t necessarily want to annoy you today.”

The skin between his brows crinkles as he shook his head, “You could never be a bother to me,” he responded, no teasing lilt in his voice that would have matched her own -- he seemed almost offended that she would even suggest such a thing, “Stay with me. We can drink it together.”

“Yeah?” Harry nodded earnestly, “Well, alright. I guess I’ve always kind of wanted to try sitting on that couch --” she turned again, her mind set on going toward it, but Harry’s grip only tightens around her wrist, stilling her. 

“Wait --” he began, but when their gazes locked, his cheeks pinkened quickly; she thought it was cute, how easy it was from him to blush, and she thinks if she reached out they would be warm to the touch, “ -- I. . .well, this feels silly now,” he shook his head at himself, and sighed heavily, “With you, I always act and speak before I think things through, it’s very -- it’s troublesome, for me. I get flustered too easily.” 

“That’s okay,” she told him, “Just means every word out of your mouth is authentic. Plus,” she succumbed to her desire, reached her fingers out, and touched the warmth of his cheeks, “I think it’s a bit cute.” As always, he leaned into her touch like he was starved for it -- just wanted her near. . .as close as possible, and then even closer than that. “What were you going to say?” 

Harry’s hands found the hem of her shirt and he ran the pad of his finger along the seam but he was never one to avoid looking into her eyes. No, instead he stared at her, pupils fixed on her face, “I wanted to know if you’d like to sit in my lap? Not in a filthy way!” He rushed to say, “I just wanted to hold you for a little while, if that would be okay?” 

“Of course!” She used her knee to push his chair out further, plopped down on his thighs, and wiggled until she could settle. Y/N would have been a little coyer about it had the situation been with any other person, she thinks, but Harry responded much better to this. He asks for things like she’ll judge him for them -- like he’s worried her reaction to his inquiries will be poor, that she will be disgruntled or angered by them. And Y/N’s goal was to make sure he knew there was not a doubt in her mind when she agreed to do something that he suggested. He had good ideas, she wanted him to know that. 

Albeit startled, he acclimated to her position on his lap easily. He slung his arm around her waist, and held her still and close, scooting them both nearer to the desk. He reached for her mug and placed it into her hands before picking up his own. After a sip, he hummed low and dipped his forehead against her shoulder, “You’re always so warm,” he murmured, “And soft.” Once he set his mug down, his fingers floated up toward her neck, stroking against the delicate chain of the necklace he’d gotten for her, “I’m glad you like this.” 

“How couldn’t I?” She responded, raising her hand to his knuckles, “It’s a very thoughtful gift. How did you know I liked rubies, hm?” 

“I didn’t,” he spoke into her shoulder, “Really, it was one hell of a guess. The jewel was just so beautiful it reminded me of you.” 

Y/N felt her face heat up, “Aish, here you go -- always buttering me up,” she turned some, craning her neck to look at him, “Flattery will get you nowhere, y’know? If you want me to do something for you, all you’ve gotta do is ask.” 

Harry nuzzles back and forth, his face brushing and crumbling the back of her shirt. She’s not sure if he’d been doing it to shake his head or if it was a sign of his affections, but either way, Y/N hummed and poked his thigh, pushing for a response. “I’m not buttering you,” he murmured, “You deserve to hear these things. They’re the truth after all.” 

“So there are no ulterior motives to all these sweet words?” Harry shook his head once more, “Then what’s poking my bum?” She had noticed it after she had shifted on his lap the first time in an attempt to get comfortable and had been toying with the idea of mentioning it. They hadn’t done anything sexual since New Years', just cuddles and caresses, but the opportunity really hadn’t arisen. And Harry, well, she couldn’t imagine him initiating anything, with how much he second-guesses himself.

His response had been to squeeze her tighter, and tuck his face deeper into her shoulder, and she hummed once more “Hm?” 

“Sorry,” his words muffled, his tone bashful, “I -- I get them sometimes, when. . .it doesn’t have to necessarily be because I’m turned on, y’know?” 

Y/N leaned back into him, “Ohhhhh,” she tutted her tongue, “Like an affection stiffy then, yeah? You big softie.” She slid her palms against his forearms to carefully unwind him from around her waist despite his protesting whines, as she sunk to the ground, the thud of her knees muted by the rug, “Get your kit off, I know a good remedy for affection stiffies.” 

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to,” he murmured as she fit herself between his legs, her hands firm on his knees when she split them apart, “I could do you instead.” 

Her brows pinched and her mouth pouted as she looked up at him, “Hm? But I want to do you,” she told him, then tilted her cheek against his knee, keeping her gaze fixed on his, “Do you not like blowies?” 

Harry’s cheeks are such a rosy pink -- he’s so damn shy, she couldn’t stand it (in the best way). Such a domineering, strong-willed man all flustered and red-faced from just her speaking about having her mouth on him. It made her head spin in circles. 

“No, I -- I really like them, but --” he shuffled his hips, his hand found her head and he stroked her temple, and if not for how mesmerized by him she was, she might have let her eyes flutter shut, “-- I just don’t feel like I deserve one if I haven’t made you cum yet.” 

For fuck sake. 

Y/N slid her hands up his sweatpants and pulled at the drawstring of his sweatpants until the knots are undone. She tucked her fingers into the waistband and started to tug, before he finally raised his hips to help her get them down, “Technically we’re at an uneven orgasm ratio. You got me off four times, I’ve only gotten you off once.” Y/N found quickly that Harry hadn’t bothered with underwear at all, and she swallowed thickly as she looked at him. It felt like the first time all over again; the delight and the nerves, the way her mouth waters. The head is swollen, ruddy, and wet -- he was so big that she knew once she got her lips around him, only a quarter of the way down would feel like an absolute mouthful. She could already feel the ache in her jaw. 

“Well, you’ve -- oh,” he paused when her fingers looped around the base, “I mean if we’re being. . .if we’re being technical, you’ve made me cum plenty. The thought of you at least.” 

She didn’t know what to do with the information. The knowledge that Harry got off to the thought of her -- the imagery that invades her brain is enough to make each of her cells feel electric; sizzling and sparking as she pictured it. Harry is in his bed, surrounded by his crumpled bedding, face heated and body flushed as he works over himself. She imagined what it must have been like. Had he been trying to fall asleep but his mind danced toward her? Had it started out as an affection stiffy or was it pure arousal? What did he imagine when his fingers were wrapped around his cock? Was she riding him while he sat on the couch? Did he fuck her roughly over his desk, or was it soft sweet, and tender in his fresh cotton sheets? Maybe he’d even imagined sticking his prick deep in her mouth and fucking her face? Did he look as shy as he did right then? 

It was difficult to bite back the lewd noise that crawled up her throat, so she plugged her mouth with the head of his cock and stifled it against him. Harry’s head tossed back as her lips stretched over the tip, lulling her tongue against the slit where precum deliciously oozed. Y/N mustered all the spit in her mouth to drool over him -- she wanted it to be wet, sloppy, and messy for him -- wanted it to feel as if he’d dipped his cock into a warm pool. He deserved it, or at least she thought he did. 

Plus, she thought, if he kept looking down at her so shyly, with his knuckle tucked between his teeth as he watched her, she would just have to clip off a part of the moon and hand it to him. 

Despite her desire to keep watching him, Y/N had to tilt her head down so she could take more of him into her mouth. Her tongue stroked against the underbelly, slicked across the throb as she forced herself downward. Though her gag reflex was dodgy, she hummed to suppress it, sending vibrations down his shaft. His thighs squeezed around her body, her eyes watered once she got him to the back of her throat. She was only able to keep him there for a few seconds before she had to slide off, popping him out of her mouth before she gasped wetly. Strands of spit and his precum attach them to each other, but they bow and snap once she starts to twist her hand up and down quickly. Her lungs burned as she sucked in a breath to make up for the fact she hadn’t really been breathing well through her nose. 

She cradled his prick to sponge wet kisses down the side of it, down to his balls where she suckles and drools as she peeked up at him and felt a shiver run down her spine. Harry already appeared so fucked out, his chest heaved, his knuckle still tucked into his mouth to keep quiet. “Hey,” she panted, swallowing the spit that had collected in her mouth, “I want to hear you.” The hand that wasn’t preoccupied with his cock, she used to grab his wrist and pull down, “Let me hear you.” 

“Sorry,” he let her take his hand, but he maneuvered them so that he could slot their fingers together, and he held her hand tightly before he rested them on his thigh, “Haven’t had this done to me in a while, and with it being you I -- well, I’m just a bit of a mess.” 

“I like messes,” Y/N murmured against his head before she flicked her tongue along the frenulum, “Do you wanna hold my head? Or you could stand up and fuck my throat -- I’m good with either.” The moan that left his lips was well worth taking a moment to breathe, and she shivered at his whimpers when she circled the pad of her thumb at the underside of the head, “I just want you to feel good.” 

Harry squeezed her hand again, “I don’t know, Sweet girl, I just -- oh! Oh, fuck, baby,” Y/N had sunk back onto his prick by then, without a thought other than sucking him down and sucking him dry. He deserved it -- she thinks that if she could for him, she would stay on her knees for days on end and leave her mouth open for him to use as he pleased, “You’re going to make me cum if you keep doing that.” 

Again she hummed and sank as low as she could go, her throat spasming around the head while she used the other hand to cup his balls and his thighs tighten around her again in a little hug. It restricted the movement of her hand a bit, but he mewled, goosebumps pebbled over her skin as she felt him throb against her tongue once more. She drags off of him again for another breath, only this time she doesn’t tug at him while she does so. 

Y/N wondered what she looked like to him from this position. She’d only ever let one boy take a polaroid of her before when she’d been on her knees for him, and when she’d witnessed it after the fact she cringed. It was blurred, but the angle was awful and his thumb was halfway in front of the lens, so after he fell asleep she took it, cut it up into little slivers, and saved it to burn in the next bonfire she attended so that she would never have to look at it again. It had put her off blowies for a while, actually, but she had thrown all caution to the wind when it came to the man sitting above her. She hadn’t concerned if she looked pretty or not, she just wanted him to feel good, but now as her chin is wet and her lips no doubt reddened and swollen, she wondered if he thought she was still pretty. 

Maybe with anyone else, she would be far too self-conscious to ask, but with Harry, she doesn’t worry about it. Isn’t even the least bit nervous when she swallows and asks, “Do you think I’m pretty?” She murmured, blinking up at him.

Harry didn’t waste a second to respond, “I think you’re beautiful.” 

“Even like this?” Her hand began to move over him slowly, and she watched with delight as his eyelids fluttered, “Even all messy?” 

Another whine slithers from his throat, long and drawn, low and pitiful, “I --” he sucked in a deep breath, she watched as the air filled his lungs through a heave of his chest, “I always think you’re beautiful,” he admitted, “I think you’re an angel.” 

Satisfied with his answer, Y/N tucks the head of his prick in between her lips again but stays put. Only lets him sit against her tongue, trying hard not to smile when he makes a little desperate noise, “Baby,” he wiggled, “Please!” 

“Hm?” She hummed against him, and he bucked his hips a little in response. 

His hips stuttered away from her, “Sorry -- sorry, I --” she squeezed the hand she still held of his, encouraging him to do it again. It took him a minute to understand what she meant by it, but when she stayed in her place and squeezed his hand a second time, he rocked his hips up into her mouth again, “You want me to --” 

“Mhm,” she hummed again, and Harry does it again, and again, and again, stroking against her tongue and fucking shallowly into her mouth. She feels him throb again, and she knew it was going to happen soon; her insides bristled at the thought of him filling her mouth.

“So good,” he murmured, his head tilted back, “So, so, so good, fucking hell,” he panted, “Your mouth -- I’m g’na cum,” his hips jutted forward, “I’m g’na cum, I’m g’na cum.” 

The ache in her jaw burned only slightly, but she began to bob her head and started moving her hand. She wanted him to cum, and the quicker the better, honestly, because she didn’t know how much longer she could keep it up. Y/N thinks she would have pushed herself just to make sure that he came, no matter how long it would have taken, but this was much better, she’d say, at least for her mouth.

His other hand did eventually find her head, and he doesn’t slide his fingers through her hair but he does lie his hand on the back of it. The pulse drums in her mouth, she tilted the head against the inside of her cheek and all his muscles go taut as a bow while he squeezed her hand tightly. His groaning is loud, he didn’t bother to muffle it at her request as he began to spurt into her mouth. It’s warm, so much of it filled her mouth and if she could smile at the joy of it then she would have but she had to keep all of it. She worked him through it, twisting her palm against his shaft until he squeezed her hand again, this time for a different reason as she kept on him until he was twitching and sensitive. 

Y/N pushed herself from her spot on the ground, and took hold of Harry’s chin, and used her thumb to pull his lips open. It took him only a moment to understand what she wanted, and he opened up for her easily, as she fixed their lips together and pushed his cum into his silky mouth. Harry moaned against her as he tasted himself, and once she parted with another little peck, she pulled back and swallowed the rest. He swallowed as well, staring at her with spit-slicked, fuchsia-colored lips as he panted. 

With the back of her hand, Y/N dragged it across her mouth to dry it, “You cum a lot,” she was careful in how she handled his softening prick, tucking it back into his sweatpants that she helped him tug up, “It tasted good though, so I guess that’s alright.” 

“Thank you,” he wrapped his arms back around her waist when she sat back down on his lap, where she had been before, “You’re wonderful. I’ll make you cum next, yeah?” 

“Mm,” she hummed, “I’m good for t’night, just wanted to do you.” The lavender tea was still warm, she could feel it from the ceramic that heated her fingertips, as she passed it off to his hand, “Since I have the most wonderful-est mouth in the world though, you could make me cookies or something.” 

Harry took a drink, she wondered if it sank warm and comforting in his belly, “I don’t have anything for making cookies, Pet, I’m sorry,” he continued before she could pout, “But -- well, I thought maybe we could go into town tomorrow. A picnic on the beach might be fun if you’d like that -- it’s supposed to be a bit nicer out than it has been. We could even stop by that bakery you like so much and get sweets, yeah?”

“I love picnics, but --” she stopped herself, the words dance on her tongue but she shot their feet and watched them crumble because she couldn’t say but you hate going into town, don’t you? Since they think you killed your wife? -- no, that wouldn’t do. Her stupid brain had been just seconds from ruining a nice moment, and no matter how badly she wanted to know the truth, she didn’t necessarily want to find out after his prick was in her mouth. It felt like a heavier conversation than just post-orgasm cuddles on his chair, “-- but I didn’t bring my basket.” She settled for instead and she watched as the concern that had been building on his face dissipated, “I’ve got a wicked picnic basket but I think I either lost it in the move or it’s still at my old place.” 

“That’s alright,” he began to rub her back with his free hand, “I’ve got one. It may not be as spectacular but it will do.” 

She pushed a kiss to her cheek, “Okay, good,” she told him, “Now finish your tea, I’m exhausted.” 

                                                         .                             .                           .

They cuddled that night; Harry liked to be a big spoon so he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. 

There is a nightmare -- a small one, nowhere near the extent of the other’s that she’s woken him from -- so she doesn’t have to wake him up as abruptly nor aggressively. She merely spun in his arms and petted at his face, murmuring for him to wake up only two times before his eyes blinked open. Before she could say anything, he reached up and held her hand closer to his cheek. 

“I’m okay,” he said, his voice gravelly, “I’m awake?” 

“Mhm,” she hummed, “You’re awake.” 

Harry nodded, “I’m awake,” he agreed quietly, his eyes fluttered shut again, “I love you.” 

Y/N’s brain doesn’t really catch it -- how could her brain catch anything, really? She was so sleepy, and Harry was so warm, and soft, and she wormed her body closer around his. 

“Love you too.” She murmured but her mouth is filled with marbles and her brain doesn’t catch that either. 

                                                              .                          .                         .

“Baker bezzy!” Adam cheered when the bell on the store door’s knob clinked against the glass at their arrival, a grin stretched wide on his mouth as he stuck his arms out high in the air, “Oh, how I’ve missed you -- but the cash registers have missed you more, m’sure of it.” His brows shot straight to the sky once his gaze shifted over to Harry, “Mr. Styles, always a pleasure! And Mr. Charlie, looking dashing.” 

Y/N loved a warm welcome and Adam was always keen on giving them. Charlie was strapped to her chest in his best picnic gear, dungarees beneath his purple coat and buckled shoes that Y/N knew she was going to pop off at some point so he could stuff his toes in the sand. He held her finger in one of his hands, flashing gummy smiles with a singular tooth that had begun to sprout, and Adam waved at him with three fingers. She was appreciative of his treatment toward Harry most of all though; despite his clear surprise that he was seeing him for the first time in what may be more than a year, he covered it well. 

“Hello,” Y/N smiled brightly, “My wallet surely hasn’t missed you though if I’m honest.” 

He holds his hand over his chest, “You wound me, but I’ll let it go. Lucky for you, I’ve just pulled your favorite out of the oven.” 

“Cinnamon rolls?” She gasped, and Adam used both of his hands, waving them toward himself. 

“Yes, yes, you can say it -- Adam, you’re the best, you’re so cool, oh my god what would we do without you -- wouldn’t be the first time I heard it, and you know what?” He plucked off the glove on his right hand, typing something into the register quickly, “They’re on the house, ‘cos I missed you lot so much. Take me on your trip next time.” 

Y/N thanked him about a dozen times before picking out what else she would like, and looping one of her fingers in Harry’s belt loops to tug him closer to the display, “D’ya want a chocolate puff? I dunno’ what that is but it sounds yummy.” 

She effectively racked up a little too much, but it’d been so long since she’d been here so she deemed it only appropriate. Plus, she got free cinnamon rolls which made it a little better. Y/N tried not to spend so much time speaking with Adam as she usually does, especially when she’d realized quickly that Harry was not adding much to the conversation. He probably felt awkward -- Y/N might if she hadn’t been down walking about town for a while, unknowing of how he might be received. Adam had been kind outwardly, but were his thoughts filled with malice? Was he looking at Harry up and down, debating on whether or not he was a cruel being?

Adam had been the one to bring it up to her, but he was also the first to disagree with the population consensus. Harry didn’t know that though -- all Harry knew was that Adam was working smack in the middle of a town that thought he’d killed his wife. Y/N couldn’t say that she would be up for much conversation at that point either, but she still tried to incorporate him into the conversation though he was more so responding with polite smiles and nods. There was little tension behind it but she could still sense his discomfort and ended the conversation with a wad of cash as her gratitude; he told them to come back soon and sent a wink in their direction.

She thought nothing of it -- he always winked, whether it be to her, or the older women that come in, she reckoned he was just being a flirt. It had been so insignificant, actually, that after they made their way to the private beach, laid his lavender-colored “bleach blanket” out to sit on, and unloaded the basket (that was filled with sandwiches, chips, fruit and veggie slices, the cinnamon rolls they’d just gotten for dessert, and some mashed peas and sweet potatoes for Charlie to eat), when Harry said, “He likes you,” Y/N is more than confused.

“Who, Charlie?” She had pulled him from where he was strapped on her stomach, flipping him around so he was sitting in her lap, leaning against her torso and staring out at the ocean, “I’d sure hope so, he has to see this ol’ mug often enough.” Y/N popped open the container of mashed peas, while she let him hold onto his spoon, his fingers wrapped tightly around it while he marveled at the ladybug figure on the handle.

Harry shook his head pensively, “No, not Charlie,” he responded, and in turn, Y/N’s brows furrowed, as she took the spoon from Charlie and dipped it in the peas, “Your baker bezzy. . .Adam.”

A scoffed laugh left her mouth as she gaped at him, “Adam?” Her movements pause, the spoon stopping just short of Charlie’s mouth, and a frustrated whine peels from the back of his throat, “He absolutely does not like me!”

“I think he does,” he twists his ring at the bottom of his pinky finger, but instead of bashfully looking to the side his eyes bore into her own, “How he looks at you and talks to you -- he winked at you and gave you free cinnamon rolls. . .” he trailed off, before repeating firmly, “I think he does.”

“I think that he’s just a bit of a friendly flirter and I leave good tips,” she shook her head again, “But like me? Not like that, I’m certain of it.”

Harry straightened out his back, “How do you know?”

It hadn’t been what she was expecting, and she’s flustered as she fumbles over, “Because I just know! I figure I could piece together if someone had feelings for me or not.”

“You didn’t know I had feelings for you,” he pointed out, reaching forward to wipe away some of the food that had dribbled onto Charlie’s chin before wiping it away with a napkin, “I’d been -- I’d been enamored by you since the first week we’d met, and you had no clue, did you?”

Her eyes bulged wide, as she exclaimed, “No you weren’t!” Because she wasn’t that blind, was she? The first few weeks they knew each other Harry had been so cold and closed off; she would shuffle back and forth anxiously behind him while he methodically made his morning coffee hoping he wasn’t moments from telling her she was fired. As time went on, they’d certainly gotten closer, but she would have had to say that bridge was crossed further than just a week of meeting, “Harry, I thought you hated me that first week.”

“I was incredibly fond of you. More so than I should have been and more so than I particularly cared to admit at the time. You smelled like fresh linen and sweets all the time, and your smile always reached your eyes; I never imagined you would feel even remotely the same for me, so I tried to be as distant as possible with you working in my house but it was difficult -- you made it very difficult.” Again, Y/N wishes that even for a moment he would break away his gaze, because she’s captivated by his words and mesmerized by the way the sunlight brought sparkles to the green of his irises, “When you held me for the first time, it felt like my insides had melted and it was all I could think about for weeks after.”

Her heart was hammering, thundering in her ears, “Harry --”

“And I was so cold toward you because I hated myself for feeling that way, but it felt good to be warmed in the light that you emit. All of that is beside the point,” he huffed out a breath, pointing his finger toward himself, “If I could hide that right under your nose, then he could definitely hide liking you behind free cinnamon rolls and cheeky winks.”

It took Y/N a while to find what to say, her mind racing a hundred thoughts a second, but she felt as if no response she conjured up would be good enough. Her heart filled with butterflies, that fluttered down to her stomach and made her giddy all over. She felt like a kid again, as she flushed warm, so it was only reasonable that in true teenage fashion her response was to nudge him with her foot, trying not to grin as hard as she wanted to.

“Harry,” she began, “You’re jealous.”

A disgruntled look took his face, and for a moment Y/N almost regrets saying it, but then he responds.

“I am,” he admitted, shoulders slumped and for the first time he shifts his gaze from her to the ring he’s twisting around his finger, “Like a petulant child,” he sounded upset with himself, giving a strong sigh, “I am jealous that you may have feelings for him because I think you two would do well with each other. And I -- I fear that I’m not very fun.”

His honesty is a lot, but it’s refreshing. Like breathing the air of a meadow far from the city smog that sat heavy in the lungs, where the grass is green and dewy, the flowers have all blossomed, it feels like living in a painting and it smells like renewal and it’s clear as looking through crystals. He speaks from his heart; his words are sincere, and it makes her feel like she’s floating. She wishes he didn’t look so grumpy about it though -- and she wishes he didn’t think that he wasn’t fun.

So Y/N plopped the spoon back into the peas and set it off to the side for a moment, placing her hand on Charlie’s tummy and keeping him pressed to her body as she began to shuffle from where she’d been positioned. She carefully avoided the food they had set up, but she urgently pats at his thighs until he gets the hint to spread them open. Y/N spun around so she faced out toward the water again, only this time she pressed her back up against his torso and lied against him, settling Charlie back in the cradle of her crossed legs, taking the peas in hand.

“If I had feelings for Adam that surpassed friendly, then I would be in the bakery kneading bread or summat. And if I didn’t have fun with you Harry, then I would avoid every chance of seeing you outside of your house for more than a few minutes at the time,” she tilted her head back, craning her neck so that she could look up at him some, and she finds that he’s looking at her, “If I wanted to be anywhere else right now, then I would be, but I’m not because I want to be with you.” She knocks his foot against hers, “Aish, you’re silly.”  

Harry smiled, his hand cradled the side of her face and petted at her jawline tenderly, “I’m sorry,” he murmured, the waves crash against the shore in a particularly loud burst but he’s so close she can still hear him clearly, “I know I worry too much. I’ve never had this amount of reassurance before.”

She grinned, “Well if it’s reassurance you need, then I’ve got a load of it!” Y/N dipped the spoon in the peas and fed Charlie again, “I love a bit of reassurance myself, so I try to dish it out as much as possible, y’know?”

He dips his forehead against the back of her head, and breathes in deep, wrapping his arms around both her and Charlie.

Harry says nothing but he doesn’t have to.

Their lunch is pleasant, the sun is warm, and Charlie fell asleep soon after they had finished, resting with his cheek on her chest and his arms slung around her body. Y/N was moments from sleep herself, with her belly full and her mind swimming in drowsy clouds. It hadn’t helped that Harry was petting so gently at her arm, accompanied with murmured stories of his childhood by her request. Harry had always told her that he’d grown up with money, and from the time spent with his parents that much was clear, but she was curious by the extent of it. Growing up her family hadn’t been in the worst shape, but definitely not the best, so the polarity of their younger years was interesting to her.

He’d told her about the birthdays that he had, one of which included him and his four closest friends taking a trip to Disney World. His parents covered the entirety of the visit, along with bringing Harry’s nanny along so that she could watch over all five of the nine-year-olds (which clued her in that paying for nannies on their trips was a standard practice Harry had carried over). Nothing had been off-limits, he’d told her, that whatever he had set his eyes on he got and Y/N mused over the possibilities of all the things his nine-year-old self had determined he needed. Shirts, stuffies, figurines -- he told her his mum had kept them all, and each year on his birthday she sends one of the stuffed animals with his actual gift (which she’d been doing for eight years now, meaning that he had gotten at least eight stuffed animals and with the price of those things? Christ!).

And then he told her about his first kiss, back when he was 11 under an apple tree at his Nan’s farm, with the daughter of a family friend. He told her it was horrible, and he’d been so nervous that he’d cried leading up to it, but he regarded the memory fondly. Harry kept in touch with her for years after and had even been the first person she’d come out to when they were teenagers -- he came with her on her first date and spied from a distance because she had watched one too many crime shows and had been positive she was going to be kidnapped, but it went well. When the date had gone to the restroom, Harry slid over to the table and slipped her money to pay the tab and get ice cream afterward.

Y/N had inquired about his schooling, and he told her all the ins-and-outs of the private school that he’d attended. He said it had been pleasantly boring, but went on to tell her an extensive four-part story about a student-teacher relationship that somehow managed to last three of their four years there. It had pulled her from the dreamy state she had slipped into, finding that she’d slipped down so her head was in his lap as she opened her eyes and gaped up at him, “That’s like -- like, incredibly illegal.”

“Don’t I know it,” Harry had agreed, “I always knew something was up with the bloke — he ate raisin bread every lunch period.”

A horrified gasp left her mouth, “No, the monster! Why every lunch period?”

“Couldn’t tell you. It was very unsettling.”

After that, Harry started describing a trip that he’d taken to Japan during cherry blossom season, and went into extreme detail about how the air smelled, and how the wind felt against his skin. He told her that words and pictures would never be able to translate how beautiful it was, but he tried his best to as he traced looping patterns with the tips of his fingers onto her cheeks. That’s when her eyes had fluttered closed, and that’s when she started falling into a pleasant slumber. Harry still spoke though she knew he could see that she was falling asleep, but he doesn’t mention it other than caressing her jaw and murmuring, “Sleepy thing.”

Y/N is unsure how long they are there, but she is very sure that she’s never been more comfortable in her life. And as he coaxes her awake, she opened her eyes, squinting at the sun that still sat high over them while she tried to refocus on his face, “Hm?” She hummed and Harry giggled brightly.

“I said let’s get you two home, Angel,” he helped guide her from his lap, but he doesn’t rush her -- just a gentle hand on her back as she cradles a still-sleeping Charlie to her body as she sat up, “When I checked the weather they called for rain in an hour or two. Reckon it wouldn’t be very fun to get caught up in the storm.”

They clean up after themselves thoroughly, and Y/N carefully places Charlie in his holder that was fixed on Harry’s chest this time. As they walk toward the car, Y/N can tell that Harry is deep in thought but she doesn’t question him on it -- she didn’t like to pry or push him to say things if he wasn’t ready to, which made it all the more gratifying when he did open up to her, even about little things. Though this thing, apparently, had felt very big to Harry -- at least the furrow in his brow was telling her that.

“I --” he began, and Y/N paused, her hand wrapped around the handle of the door, humming to let him know she was listening, “I need to go to the store.”

She controlled her features well enough, she’d say, because her brows don’t skyrocket at the suggestion of going in an even more public area than the bakery, “Oh? What d’ya need?”

With a clear of his throat, he explained, “We ran out of creamer and paracetamol,” his fingers are clutched tight around the keys but he finally digs the pad of his thumb on the button to unlock the car, “It’ll only be a moment.”

Y/N popped the door open, “Well that’s easy enough! I can pop in for you if you want. Or we could go in together too!” It rolled off her tongue -- she tried to act as natural as she could about it; she couldn’t let him go into that store alone. The thought of it gave her hives all over, “I might as well pick up a few things myself.”

Harry gave a ruminative smile, one that barely reached his eyes and only twitched the corner of her mouth by the smallest of quirks. It was very reminiscent of the sort of smiles she’d been privy to when they’d first met, and she’d not realized how much she hadn’t missed it at all. She liked the smiles that she received now, big and bright, rosy cheeks but a beautiful light behind his gaze. No, this one was cold and contemplative -- this one spoke of loneliness and pain.

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want you to go in by yourself.” Harry questioned and she didn’t waste a moment, nodding quickly.

“Of course,” she popped the door open, “Yeah, we’ll both go in then. In and out, right?”

He was nervous. Even if Y/N had not an inkling of a clue about his past (and his present, she guesses) with this town, she could feel the tension thick and heavy in her chest. It makes her shuffle uncomfortably, silence filling the car apart from the tick of his blinker as they made their way to the market. Her heart hammered as he parked the car, and it continued to hammer as they got out of the car, Harry placed Charlie into his holder against his body and they walked toward the store. Y/N tried to lighten the mood even just a little, and again she got that tiny little smile, that made her shoulders sink just slightly.

She thinks the tension eases when they walk through the doors and are not immediately stoned. Y/N isn’t a hundred percent sure what the both of them expected, but she guesses something to that extent was what had built up in their heads. A deep breath in and she tried one more time, and squeezed his shoulder once as a silent reminder that she was right there beside him, “They have those red bean buns here, right? I’ll get us some of those.”

Harry scrunched his nose at her, “I think your body functions solely off sweets now, doesn’t it? If not for me  you would not eat any real food.”

It felt as if both of them had been holding air in their lungs but finally sighed out, and each passing minute without a scene breaking out among the others in the grocery, the more they both relaxed. While she could still feel Harry’s worry, he had even begun joking some with her, not letting his guard down but making an effort not to let on how uncomfortable he was to her.

Y/N had really thought they’d made it through the whole store without any trouble, as she slipped the red bean buns into their basket. Harry had been right in the middle of asking her if she’d like anything else while they were still here, just as they passed a woman in a purple knitted sweater. If Y/N hadn’t been staring at one of the stitches at the back of the neck that was just a bit loose, she may not have caught it, and maybe it would have been better if she hadn’t. Maybe it would have been better if her ears hadn’t perked up to hear the uttered, “Disgusting,” that left the woman’s mouth as her gaze caught Y/N’s.

Her brows dip as she paused, her upper half had already been turned and her bottom half followed so she faced the woman fully, “Excuse me?” Y/N said it without thinking, and Harry hums as if he thought she was speaking to him, “Ma’am, what did you say?”

The woman had little shame as she turned to face Y/N, face pinched as if she were revolted, and Y/N’s heart began to sink as she realized what was happening, and with Harry right beside her no less, “I said disgusting,” she put emphasis on the word, “For him to show his face here. We all thought he’d moved.”

Y/N scoffed, “Listen, you need to --”

“Y/N,” Harry’s voice cut through her sentence, his hand resting idly on her shoulder, drawing her attention from the woman, “It isn’t worth it. We should go home.”

The pain in his eyes makes her heart sink lower; she felt as it eroded in her stomach’s acid, and the fight in her had been snuffed out like a small flame beneath a shoe. Y/N looked from the both of them, perturbed by the situation, conflicted only slightly as she swallowed and began to turn away from her. She would have left to -- for Harry’s sake, she would have left and pretended that it hadn’t happened at all until he felt comfortable enough to bring it up -- she would have, really.

“Yeah, why don’t you go home? Wife killer.”  

She really would have.

“Actually, I think you’re the disgusting one,” Y/N had begun as she turned back around, “To say something so cruel. He lost his wife and you’ve decided that it’s his fault? You’re the worst kind of cruel -- downright evil,” her nails pinch into her palms, “You’re awful!”

“Y/N --” Harry tried again, but the woman cut her off quickly.

“He’s the awful one!” She seemed shocked Y/N could have even suggested otherwise, “You’re new here, Honey, so I’ll let you in on what your boyfriend did. He killed his wife after treating her awfully -- cheating on her!” Her words were vile, and to say all of this in front of Harry. The rage that lit through her vessels was enough to make her feel like she was burning up, “And he got away with it ‘cos he can afford fancy lawyers to cover up the truth. So before you go around calling people you don’t know evil, look at the man beside you. And learn some respect.”

Y/N took a small breath, just a moment to collect her thoughts.

“Fuck off.”

“Excuse me?” The woman’s brows raise.

“Respectfully, Fuck. Off.” Y/N’s glare was undeviating, but she could feel eyes on them -- other people watching them closely, though they wouldn’t show it outright, “Were you there when it happened?” She stepped forward, “Or are you God? Some deity?” The woman appeared confounded, like her argument should have been able to sway Y/N, “I don’t think you are -- I think. . .I think you’re a foul creature that thinks you have the right to judge a situation you had no part of. And I think you should think about someone’s feelings before you start saying something with no real basis other than word of mouth from other people just as rotten as you. You really need to do some soul searching if you think that this is the proper way to confront anyone about your feelings. I hope you think about this before you go to bed at night.” She stepped back, closer toward Harry before taking another small breath, “You’re lucky you didn’t wake the baby, or you would have really upset me. Goodbye.”

With this, she turned back on her heel,  and carefully guided Harry by his shoulder to follow her as he let the basket sit on the ground where they’d been. Her eyes burned with tears of frustration and anger, as the look on his face when the woman had first stopped them replayed over and over again in her head. Maybe if she had fought him on it -- maybe if she had just fought him a little harder, he would have stayed in the car and she could have spared him from having to hear that woman. She gave in too easily, and when he tried to get them to leave, she stayed to fight which. . .well, she doesn’t regret saying anything that she did, but she does regret making Harry look bad if she had.

All she had done was bring more attention to them -- she blew it out wide open and brought everyone into his business. She wouldn’t be shocked if he were upset with her. . .no matter her defending him.

“Y/N,” he says her name, but she doesn’t respond at first, swallowed in her thoughts she barely registered that he’d said anything, “Y/N.”

“Yes?” She responded, her hand sliding from his shoulder and back down toward her side.

He paused for a moment, “You knew?”

For a moment, everything freezes.

Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart hiccuped over a beat; Y/N’s fingers twitched where they sat at her sides, her lips hung open waiting for her brain to muster a response -- anything. Could she figure out something to say? Anything at all?

“Y --” she sighed, her blood roaring in her ears, “Yes,” she answered, shoulders slumping in defeat, “I knew. But not -- I didn’t know at the start at all.”

“How long?” Charlie began to blink his eyes open, slow as a pleased cat, “You knew for how long?”

Was he angry with her? Y/N couldn’t tell -- she couldn’t read him at all and it made her palms sweat. She hadn’t been technically lying but she still felt immense guilt suffocating her at the realization that she hadn’t been entirely truthful either. Not that she ever had the opportunity to just. . .bring it up, but still -- fuck, she didn’t know what to do.

“Since the third week.”

                                                       .                            .                         .

The ride to his house is silent.

Not the comfortable one that they sometimes fell into; like when she’s so focused staring out the window that no words come to her mouth, where the engine’s lulled purr and Charlie’s small giggles and babbles fizzled through the quiet. The kind where Harry had much recently started placing his hand on her thigh, resting it there with no real purpose other than to touch her. One where she feels content and calm, and if she let her eyes flutter shut she could drift off to sleep, the sun disappearing and reappearing as they drive past trees creating pink flickers behind her lids.

No, this wasn’t like that at all.

There was no noise. It felt like even the car had sensed the tension and held its breath waiting for one of them to slice words through the quiet. Her gaze was trained out the window but her fingers shook and her heart raced -- she could hear it thumping in her ears. She should have kept her mouth shut, she’s decided that if she hadn’t said anything at all then everything would be okay. If she had ignored the woman’s tasteless murmur, then she and Harry could have been laughing right now. Maybe they would have sat at one of the park benches, or pushed Charlie on the swing. Maybe Harry would share one of her sweets with her while the sun began to sink. Maybe she wouldn’t feel so downtrodden and gloomy.

Clouds thick with rain pulled in from the North and had Harry not mentioned them earlier, she would have thought the weather had changed with the mood. It was befitting, at the very least, the heavy drops spatter the glass as the gates open for them, and the loud iron hinges that usually make her cringe is a welcomed piercing into the silence. If it were a normal day, Y/N would joke that they should ditch the gate and invest in a moat instead  -- she thinks Harry might have chuckled.

Y/N half expects him to tell her to go home, but he doesn’t. The first words he spoke after about 20 minutes of nothing was a gentle request to take Charlie in, and warning her that Niall would be stopping by for something. She vaguely remembered him mentioning Niall earlier before all this, so she doesn’t panic that he was lifting her of her duties and going back to how things had been before her, but the thought had still arisen, no matter how fleeting.

“Do you need help grabbing everything?” She inquired, but he only shook his head.

“I’ll be okay.”

It was rotten -- this feeling that had begun to overcome her was as rotten as the wood in a forgotten cabin and as dense as sludge from the bottom of a polluted river. This was her fault. . .god, if she had just kept her stupid mouth shut!

But how could she? The lady had been so spiteful and so cruel, and to witness it happening rather than just theorizing about it, made it much too real. At that moment, the weight of what Harry had been going through here had finally settled deep in her chest and it made her sick. She didn’t know what happened but she knew he had vivid nightmares -- she knew the lost, faraway look that would take over his face at the mention of his wife, and she knew the pain that crossed his features every moment he’d uttered how he doesn’t really go to town.

They all so viciously passed judgment on them for something they knew absolutely nothing about and Y/N defended him for something she knew nothing about. It felt as if it had happened either seconds ago or hours ago like she was caught in a figure-eight of time that couldn’t decide what it wanted to be -- seconds, minutes, hours. Tears still burned behind her eyes but she refused to shed them, as she hid away for a little while with Charlie in his playroom. The only time she comes out is just a little over two hours of them being home when it was time for Charlie’s supper. Just as she’d stepped onto the hardwood from the last step, the doorbell rang and Y/N was quick to answer it.

Niall is revealed once she pulls the door open, and the warmth of his grin combats the chill of evening air that rushed in the foyer, “Hey, Y/N!”

“Hi,” she smiled, stepping out of the way so that he could step in, “How was your winter break?”

Niall loosened his scarf from around his throat, “If Mr. Styles asks, it was dull, boring and I couldn’t wait to get back to work, but between you, me, and Charlie, I wish we had about four more weeks of it.”

She led them in and went to the kitchen while Niall made his way to Harry’s office. Y/N fuddled about making Charlie’s dinner, but could only stomach a glass of water for herself as she fed him. Normally she would dance between giving Charlie some, then eating a bite of her food, and making idle chatter with him as she did so. She still tried to chatter at him so he didn’t notice the difference, but she knew he could feel something was off. Babies were smart little things, and they could read energy better than anyone in a room like they had built-in radars that either dampen or strengthen with time.

Instead of feeding off it in a bad way and getting fussy, he’s just extra cuddly though. Held one of her fingers while she slid mashed carrots into his mouth and cooed at his puckered lips while he tasted it. No matter what happened today, this little guy knew no different -- just another day for him. . .she longed to switch places.

Just as she had wiped his face clean of his food and filled the dishwasher with what she used, the door to Harry’s office opens, followed by a call of, “See you, Mr. Styles!” So she turned her body toward the opening to the kitchen so she could bid him a farewell too, and soon enough he pops into the frame, “Hey, I’m heading out. Mr. Styles said after you lay Charlie down to come speak with him,” Y/N’s breathing hitched, Niall raised his fingers that he had crossed with a grin, “Hope it’s for a raise. See you later!”

“See you later,” she called after him but it was weak, and her heart (that had just finally begun to settle) began to hammer again. It continued to do so as she pulled Charlie from his seat, and all throughout his nighttime routine. She still tries for him, smiling at him, humming, and talking as she washed him clean of the day, blew raspberries into his tummy after she lotioned his skin, and dressed him in something warm and cozy. Charlie would fall asleep if she set him in his crib, she knew that, but to soothe herself and prolong what may be an intense conversation, she sat him in her lap and read him a story. Even after he’d fallen asleep in her arms, she pressed her nose to his soft hair and tried to calm herself down.

Eventually, it couldn’t be helped any longer. Her nerves got the better of her and she lowered him into his crib, turned off the light, clicked his sound machine on low, and crept out of the room quietly. She knew Harry would still be in his office because she hadn’t heard him go to his bedroom, so she walked down the steps and tried to soothe the worry from her bones as she grabbed a water bottle from the kitchen. No matter what, it was still Harry -- still the man who was always so gentle and kind with her. Today had thrown him off -- it would throw anyone off, so she understood why he was so quiet and distant. She would be too if the circumstances were flipped.

Still, she hated how this felt, as her knuckles knocked against the wood and she held her breath, waiting for him to speak.

“Come in.”

One more deep breath and she pushes the door open, and instead of making her way to his side like she had been doing, she stood at the door awkwardly, waiting for him to speak first. If she had been the one to initiate this then she would have prepared something to say, but she stays quiet -- he invited her down, so he had something to say, and she was keen on hearing it. Harry stood in front of his desk, his bum resting against the lip of it with his legs outstretched, and he held himself up with his hands on either side of him. He doesn’t avoid her gaze, locking it with her own, and she watched as he took a deep breath of his own, blowing a small stream of air through pursed lips.

“First, I want to apologize,” he finally started, and Y/N swallowed thickly, “I shouldn’t have -- I shouldn’t have subjected you to an environment I knew could have been hostile. We should have gone home and I should have just ordered it.” Her brows knit immediately, and she opened her mouth to refute that, that could have been his fault in any way but he held up his hand, “Please, Sweetheart, I -- I need to -- I need to get through this.”

She nodded, the twist in her belly partially satiated by the term of endearment -- he wasn’t mad at her, at the very least -- that helped a great deal.

“I should have, but I hadn’t because  -- because things just feel so normal with you, and I wanted that. . .I wanted to go to the grocery store with you how we could in the city, and to be normal here. I thought that maybe we could, but for my own selfish reasons, I didn’t think it through nearly enough.” He shook his head at himself, “And I apologize for shutting down the way that I did on the ride home. It was naive of me to believe you could work for me this long and not know what is thought of me here. I think a part of me thought you might know but you had always -- you had always treated me so kindly, and you never asked questions so I had suspicions that you may have heard a passing word of it but not in great detail.” One of his hands, he combs through his hair, sighing before he started again, his voice shook only slightly with the first syllable before he got a hold of it, “I told myself several times that if you. . .if you had ever asked what had happened to my wife, I would tell you everything. I would open my heart to you in every way imaginable before you could -- before they could say anything to you. So I was frustrated finding out that you had already heard that side of it, and that I wasn’t able to speak with you before you could think that I was a murderer --”

“I don’t,” she cut him off firmly, “I don’t think that at all.”

His lips twitched again, in a small smile that just barely reached his eyes that tilted down to the floor, “I want to tell you,” he took in a shaky breath, “I need to tell you, but I’m scared. I haven’t. . .I haven’t really told anyone the whole thing, but --” he looked back up to her, “Do you want to know? Are you -- are you willing to listen to me?”

“Yes, Harry,” she answered with assured conviction, without even a moment passing by, “I want you to tell me everything. If you want me to know then I want to know.”

He nodded,  “Okay,” he murmured, “Can we sit?”

They positioned themselves on the couch, and Y/N took the decorative pillow that would be pressed against her back and sat it in her lap. She curled her arms around it, her fingers idly playing with the tassel at the bottom left corner just to give herself something to do. Harry was preparing himself to speak, and despite how relieved she was to finally get the story, she felt her heart clench in pity for him. Re-living it would be difficult, but he wanted to tell her -- he said he needed to tell her -- so she would listen.

“Ebba and I had met when we were 18 but had only been officially together for 2 years before we started to have problems,” he finally said, shifting uncomfortably on his side of the couch, his fingers fixed around the ring he’d been playing with earlier today, “It was little stuff at first -- little fights and grievances, but we both had decided that it was normal, that kind of thing. Couples bicker and argue because they love each other enough to, that’s what my mum had always said and it had always sounded about right. So we would have tiffs and make-up and it would be well again, but. . .well, the arguments started getting a little worse, especially around our anniversary. She kept accusing me of cheating on her, again and again, and again, but I hadn’t even so much as thought about another woman since I asked her on our first date.” He stared at a spot on the floor -- he looked far away, “And it’s a shit feeling being accused of something like that, so I would fight her back.”

“You’d think we would have taken a break or something to cool off from each other, but we were 23 so instead we moved in together. Thought maybe if we were around each other more then questions of infidelity could be shattered because we would be around each other more. This is around the time I started really gaining my footing in the industry, you know? And Ebba -- well, she’d already had a well-established place at her mother’s company so she was doing just fine. We played happy home for a little while in the new place in the city but it went. . .it went bad again, a few months in. She became very. . .aggressive when we fought, like -- like smashing things and breaking things, but I always figured that was kind of my fault. Could never admit when I was in the wrong about something so I’d just keep pushing her, y’know? Or it had felt that way at least, like no matter what I said I would just push her and push her and push her. But we --” he dipped his head down, staring into his lap, “We loved each other so much, we didn’t want to end things. Had plenty of conversations about ending it, and she’d even packed her bags a few times but we’d never go through with it. If she left, she’d show back up at our flat the next day.”

He took a small breath, pausing for a moment like he was collecting his thoughts again and Y/N offered him the water that sat at their feet. Harry nodded and took two drinks before he continued.

“My mum suggested couple’s counseling, ‘cos she and my father had once when they were younger, so we did. The woman they had gone to see was still in practice so we went and did about 12 sessions. It worked for a little while, or well enough that I thought proposing was the next best step -- we had re-entered that honeymoon stage again and it felt like we were on top of the world. So I proposed and we got married, and it was good for a few months but then I got a promotion,” he twisted the cap back on the bottle, setting it back where it had been on the ground beside her leg, “So I was traveling less with her, and I had less time off but that was a decision I made for myself, the company hadn’t made it. I wanted to -- for selfish reasons. . .it was all for selfish reasons. I wanted more money and I wanted to climb up the company and to learn from the best, but I couldn’t do that if I was spending summer weeks in Cabo. But I never -- I was never clear behind my motives for doing it, so she thought I was just trying to avoid her. Avoid her and “fuck some old computer prick’s wife” is what she would say. And the more we would fight, the longer I would stay at work, the less we would see each other.”

Y/N’s mind was spinning; it felt like Harry was dropping pieces of information that she followed closely behind to collect, fixing them into a timeline that he’d created. Her heart was still beating quickly.

“The first time I caught her cheating, she cried to me after I walked in on them -- it was some bloke from her job, I think, but she had thought I was gone at a business conference for a week. We’d had a massive fight before I left about me leaving, so I had changed my flight a day early to surprise her. The flat was trashed and she was there on the bed with him in our room. I wanted to leave -- to stay at a hotel for the night but she was sobbing, and she was drunk, and I couldn’t leave her alone. So I stayed, and the next few days were rough but then we talked it out, and we cried, and it was good again.” He gave a small self-deprecating smile, “That happened only one more time in that flat, but it technically “didn’t count” because we were on something of a break. I didn’t really see it as that kind of break, but I hadn’t been clear, I suppose.”

It was hard to hear him reflect on it, still finding fault in things that he shouldn’t at all find fault in. Her chest ached for him.

“I went back to school for my Master’s in an accelerated program when I was about 25. I told her I wanted to teach because I wanted to share my knowledge and help students put their best foot forward how some of my good professors allowed me to. Which was true, for the most part, but most of me just wanted to be away from her. I couldn’t handle it anymore -- the fighting, and the breaking, the yelling and the. ..and the hitting. It just felt good to not be home, but instead of being honest with her, I just found more reasons to not be alone with her for more than a dinner or two. I regret that. . .I regret not being honest.” He took in a shaky breath, “2ish before she died, we moved out here, and that was the real end for us. It started out kind of good, like always but then she started disappearing for days at a time. She had started drinking a lot and partying, and the worse our fights got. I tried to get her help -- I could see she was unhappy and this was never the life she wanted to live. It was too close to her father, and she hated it, and so I tried but she didn’t want it. She would say that she wasn’t addicted to anything, she was just having fun because life with me was miserable. I told her I wanted a divorce.”

His eyes had started to become glossy, she noticed how dewy they looked from the glow of his lamp, so she placed her hand on his knee and stroked it carefully with her thumb.

“At first she didn’t fight me on it, only packed her bags and said she would be with her mother for a while. A week later she came and told me that Charlie was in her belly and he was mine -- it was bittersweet. For once I understood why people tried to make marriages work for a child’s sake, and for nine months we were. . .fine. We weren’t awful but we weren’t good either -- we were just fine. But when Charlie was born I. . .” he paused, “When he was born I just had a feeling. A sick, disgusting feeling but it was there nagging at the back of my head and I couldn’t quiet it. So one day when she had gone out with her friends, I took Charlie and we got a paternity test.”

Y/N forces her face to stay neutral.

Her breathing pauses entirely.

“5 days later I found out that Charlie wasn’t mine,” his brows furrowed, and he shook his head, “I confronted her about it. I didn’t -- I didn’t care that he wasn’t mine, I had already fallen in love with him but I needed her to know that I knew. I wanted to know who his real father was. I wanted to know why, if there was any doubt that he could have been mine, did she not tell me. She got upset, she took Charlie and went to stay with her mother again. I didn’t see either of them for 4 months, until -- until one day someone knocked on my door but they were gone before I’d gotten there, and in their place was Charlie. It was too cold for him to be out there so I brought him inside first and I made sure he was warm and taken care of before I called her. I called her again, and again, and again, and again. Niall was there for that, which -- well, he really shouldn’t have been here even while he’s a TA but he was struggling with the material for an exam in one of his other courses and asked me to help him. I hadn’t been on campus so he drove out and we’d been studying in my office.” He explained, wiping a tear from his cheek, “I wonder. . .I always wonder what must have been going on in his head to see his professor like that. Couldn’t bring myself to look at his face but he was playing with Charlie for me, while I was pacing.”

“I checked her location and saw she was in the city, and I -- I apologized and begged Niall to sit with Charlie while I went to see if everything was okay. I just had this horrible feeling, because it hadn’t felt like the other times where she would just disappear and not answer my calls. If she was in the city already then it couldn’t have been her to drop Charlie off, someone else had. Halfway there I got a call from her mum and -- she was sobbing, and asking if Ebba was with me. If I knew where she was, and I told her I was on my way there. She told me that Ebba had written her a letter and left it on the counter for her, for when she got home. She said she was going to -- she said she was done with it all. With everything -- with life.”

It’s getting harder for him to continue, tears fall freely from his eyes now but he still won’t allow himself to truly break and Y/N’s hold on his knee tightens.

“She was at this bridge -- it used to be really popular a decade ago but they started construction on it that never finished, so it was basically deserted. By the time I had gotten there, the police were already there and they were -- her body was covered at the river below the bridge. I cried into the dirt, and I screamed and I screamed and I screamed until an officer’s hands touched my back and he sat me up. Her mom showed up around then too. It was awful. . .it was so, so, so fucking horrible.” He wiped at his face again, “When they actually looked over her, she was -- she had a lot of different drugs in her system.”

“And everyone. . .everyone in this fucking town had thought I killed her and after. . .and after all this time, it started to feel like it. I would have -- I hadn’t seen her for months at that point, there was nothing I could have done, but they look at me like I’m a fucking monster. Like I pushed her off the bridge myself. There stupid fucking theories -- they didn’t think I could hear them but I could. How I didn’t act like Charlie was my son because I resented him and his mother. I love him with my whole heart but those first few months after her death and even sometimes now I’m just so. . .I’m so scared that his biological father will come for him. I didn’t want to -- it sounds stupid now, but I didn’t want to get too close so it wouldn’t hurt as bad when he was taken from me, but even that didn’t work. I’m stiff and stuffy but I love him, and even though the whole relationship was nothing but tattered ribbon by the end, I would have never hurt her. I had. . .I didn’t love her anymore. I hadn’t felt any true love for her for years at that point, but I didn’t want her dead, and with a child in this world no less! But no -- no they made me out to be a killer.“

Y/N is overwhelmed by all of it -- every single word had been more and more difficult to process, and there was no hope of her being able to formulate a response that would do him any good just moments after he’d finished telling her. Sympathy and sorrow weigh in her muscles as she moves forward, wrapping her arms tightly around Harry’s body and dragging him into her own. As if had taken a sledgehammer to the last stonewall he had up around him, he sobs. He holds her close, even tighter than he has after a nightmare, and he lets every emotion that he’d been bottling up out all at once. It’s heartbreaking; her own tears wet her cheeks.

She isn’t sure how long he cried, but it wanes slowly, reduced to hiccups and sniffles. Y/N would have held him to her chest as long as he wanted -- all night and into the morning if that’s what he needed -- but when he’s finally settled, he begins to withdraw. His cheeks are red and wet, his eyes are puffy, his lips are bitten swollen and fuchsia red -- he looks absolutely fucking exhausted. Y/N cradles his face in her hands and guides him to look at her, stroking the damp skin of his face with her thumbs as she spoke.

“Thank you for telling me. I know it must have been very hard,” he nodded, “I don’t think I could ever have the right words to say, to absolve you of any guilt you’re feeling, or to make any of your pain go away, but I do -- I do want to tell you,” his lips quiver, “That Charlie is your son, even though you don’t share blood. You’ve raised him, and you care for him, and when he sees you you can just tell that he is yours, and no matter what happens nothing can change that fact. And I wanted to tell you, that you were not at fault for her death. There was nothing you could have done, so you cannot blame yourself for that, because she was sick Harry.  And you can’t solely take the blame for what you’d been through in your relationship either -- it was abusive. You’ve been through so, so much and nobody should ever have to go through anything like that,” she leaned forward, and pushed a kiss to his forehead, “I’m so sorry, Harry. I wish I could take it all away.”

Harry took in a shaky breath, “Thank you for listening to me,” he murmured, “And for. . .and for not believing them and what they said about me. And for telling Mrs. Stuart off in the grocery. And for. . .for everything,” he dipped down, touching their foreheads together, and he giggled a small bit, “I want -- I want to get better. To process all the trauma of it so I can be the best version of myself for you and Charlie. Reckon I should probably look into therapy.”

Y/N breathed out a laugh, “I think that may be beneficial, yeah. Think everyone could use a bit of therapy -- nothing shameful about it.”

“Yeah,” he nodded to himself, “I think I’ll do that.”

                                                     .                              .                               .

Y/N had not foreseen how light the air around them would be. Even lighter than before; if a week ago it felt like floating on clouds with him, then now they move when the wind blows even a gentle gust. It’s good and it’s freeing, and if it feels as if there’s a weight off her chest then she knows Harry must feel a weight off his.

It was a lot — all of it was so much, and she doesn’t think she could truly comprehend the pain that Harry had suffered through but though it hurts to know, she’s glad to understand him more. To understand all his stony bits and all his worn, weathered bits. To push a piece that had been missing in the puzzle and see the full picture — and while it was agonizing to retell, she noticed how even now Harry has softened more, and she had already thought he was as soft as he could’ve been.

As if he were porcelain, Y/N treats him delicately. She knows how he must feel right now, exhausted and raw; his inner thoughts and the source of his nightmares cracked open and spread out before the both of them. He deserved to be touched kindly, and gently. With warmth and love and care. Y/N knew it wasn’t her responsibility to pick up the broken pieces and tape them back together -- that would be too much work for any one person to do for another -- but she vowed right then to help him. In her mind, she promised to hand him bits of tape when he was sticking parts together or helping him reach his back. She’d support him in any way she could because she. . .she felt so deeply for him. Y/N doesn’t think she’d ever felt this way for anyone before -- she knows she hasn’t, actually.

She drew him a bath and sat with him while he soaked in the tub, the both of them just wanting to be close. Needing to be close. He had offered for her to climb into the tub but she politely declined, “Let me take care of you for tonight,” she murmured, “I’ll take you up on that tomorrow though if the offer still stands.”

“The offer will always stand.”

Y/N shampoos his hair for him, massaging his scalp and soaping up the strands for no other reason than she knew it would feel good. They understand it without words, which is why Y/N simply sheds her clothes and digs through his drawers for a shirt to sleep in as he dries off. And it’s why she crawled into his bed beside him, immediately adhering to his side, their legs tangling and their arms wrapping around each other like if they even for a second thought about letting go, the other would float away.

Y/N pushes kisses all over his face, loving on him in every way that she could because she could and he accepted it happily. His smiles were soft and sweet and made her melt. She just wanted him to remember that he was with her, right now, in the present -- away from that. Away from the pain and the hurt. The look in his eyes when she paused and just stared at him for a little while said everything that she needed to know without words, but when he said it aloud, it felt even sweeter.

“You mean the world to me,” he hummed, the pads of his fingers smoothing over her temple, stroking down to caress her jaw, “I love you.”

Her heart swells full, and she bites down a grin that threatens to split her cheeks.

“I love you too.” She responded, lowering down so her face was pressed to his chest. He’s warm -- she lets her eyes flutter closed as she immerses herself in him. His essence and his being; she breathes him in greedily.

Harry is quiet for a moment, long enough that she thinks they may be going to bed for the night, but he chuckled suddenly.

“Weird,” he murmured, “Feels like we’ve said that before.”

#WOOOOOOOOOOO #YAHTZEE #SHE'S FINISHED :D #I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE HER #WRITING #HARRY SMUT #LOVE THESE GUYS #LOVE YOU GUYS #WOOOOOO

[oh-katsuki]

Don’t Tell (Armin x Reader)

Pairing: Armin x Reader

Content: professor!armin, smut, overstimulation, dub con, power dynamics, semi-public sex (classroom), oral (m receiving), sub!armin

TW: dub con, overstimulation, professor!armin, sub!armin

Word Count: 2.4k

A/n: subby armin? yeth. Archive Fic

Your ocean science professor, Professor Arlert, always drove you crazy. There was just something about him that had you clenching your thighs. He was so proper, so quiet, and so unassuming, god you would do anything to take a bite out of him. You watched as his slender fingers traced across his keyboard, wrapping up his lecture with his standard dismissal, his blue eyes meeting your own as you sat to the left side of the lecture hall. Armin’s face flushed red as he darted his eyes back down to his computer upon meeting your gaze, and you fought back a smile at the way he seemed to try to disappear into his blue sweater.

The lecture hall cleared out, scores of students leaving the room to get to their next class or simply go back home, but you lingered behind, only starting to pack up your things when the room had become slightly empty. You took your time placing your things away, the air between you and Armin growing thicker as time passed. Making your way down the lecture hall steps, you approached the lectern, Armin attempting to avoid looking at you until you cleared your throat.

“Professor?” You spoke, looking up at him and stepping a little closer than you needed to be.

His face turned a soft pink as he turned his head down to look at you. “Yes, _____?” You could hear the slight shake in his voice as you smirked up at him, taking another step closer.

God, you could do this all day just to drink in the way he reacted to you. It was precious, and the thought of what he would look like under you had arousal building in your core.

“Do you think that if- “ Your sentence was interrupted, Armin jumping back from you as the next lecturer entered the room.

“Ah, Professor Arlert, my apologies! I thought your class would have cleared out by now.” They spoke, their attitude upbeat.

“Professor Hange, I was just about to leave. ____ just had a question for me.” He hesitated, his voice catching. “What was it that you needed?” You could see the remnants of a blush on his cheeks as he made eye contact with you. It was cute how he was trying to keep his composure, cute how he was pretending that your proximity to him didn’t have him hard in his pants.

“Ah, nothing. I’ll come back for your office hours.” You chuckled, waving your hand. “Make sure you save me a spot okay? I’ve got a lot to ask.” Your gaze lingered on him for a second before you turned to Professor Hange. “Nice to meet you.”

—–

Armin knew he shouldn’t be looking at you like that. He knew that as a professor, he had to be professional, you were a student after all, just trying to get your education. Still, he found himself antsy at the idea of spending time alone with you, even if it simply was to go over course material. He’d even gone so far as to tell other students that his appointments were booked for the day, just in case you wanted to spend more time in this cramped meeting room.

However, his worst transgression in his mind was the way he’d groomed for you. The way he’d trimmed himself and showered before his office hours began because there was some part of him that hoped your real reason for coming was far more sinful. What he didn’t realize was just how correct he was.

“Professor?” You rapped gently three times on the ajar door to his office, pushing the door open slightly to peek in.

“____, come in.” His gaze found yours, motioning to the array of chairs in front of him.

You smiled sweetly at him, walking over to the chair beside him and taking a seat. His eyes widened at your choice, breath hitching as you scooched it closer to him. “How are you today?” you asked, leaning your cheek on your hand.

“I’m good, ___. And you?” He was being formal, his back straight as he pretended to occupy himself with organizing his papers, pretending he couldn’t see the way your eyes hungrily scanned over his figure.

“Better now.” You piped up, flashing your teeth at him and crossing one leg over the other.

That skirt you were wearing had him drooling at the way your thighs squished against each other and he was finding it difficult to keep his eyes off of you and the curves of your body. His gaze wasn’t lost on you of course, and you only became more aggressive in your advancements, however, each time Armin would pull himself back, attempting to gain some semblance of professionality.

The two of you continued like this for a while, a dance between two people who knew exactly what they wanted, one being too afraid to take it. The tipping point was when you put your hand on his thigh, ghosting it upwards and squeezing slightly.

“Professor, I still don’t understand.” You frowned at him, hand squeezing the meaty flesh of his thigh and eyes drifting down to where his cock now strained at his jeans. Your mouth fell open into a gentle o, meeting his eyes.

“I- I think it’s best if-” You cut him off, hand moving over his bulge as you moved your lips close to his, so they ghosted against him as you spoke.

“It’s okay.” You looked at him for a second, the way the blush rushed to his pretty cheeks, or the way his lips trembled against yours.

Fuck he was so innocent, such a goody goody. A proper and respected professor that you now had stuttering before your eyes. You wanted to ruin him. You loved the way his cock started to twitch under your hand as you kneeled between his legs, undoing the buckle on his belt while the pretty blonde stared at you, a prominent blush on his cheeks and his eyebrows furrowed in mock resistance. He was so hard by the time you’d gotten him in your hand, a bead of pre-cum gathering at the top. You wiped your thumb across it, Armin’s head falling back against the chair.

“We shouldn’t…” He spoke, his voice trailing off at the way your eyes looked as you gave the head of his cock a kitten lick.

“Think of it as a thank you.” You spoke, licking a broad stripe up the side of him. “You’re just such a good teacher.” Your other hand came to graze his balls. “So pretty too… such a pretty voice and such a pretty cock.”

The praise went right to his head and as if he couldn’t be more consumed by you, you took him in your mouth and the prettiest moan escaped his lips. You felt so warm around him, your cheeks hollowed out and your tongue pressing against the underside of his head. He tasted salty but clean, and you couldn’t get enough of the way the smooth skin of his cock felt against your tongue. His reactions were just too precious, the stutters that came from his mouth as he tried to will himself to stop you, and the way he fought the instinct to bring his hand to your hair.

“Huh, I could-” He groaned. “I could lose my- fuuuuck.” Armin’s mouth fell open when you sucked on the head of his cock, your tongue swirling around as your hands pumped what you weren’t taking. His moan went right to your pussy, arousal pooling in your panties.

“Our little secret.” You mumbled, taking him fully down your throat. You lifted your eyes to look at him, to take in his expression. His mouth was hung open, hands clutching either side of the chair beside him, and his face was bright pink as pretty whimpers fell from his lips. “You wanna fuck me?” Armin fell silent, his bottom lip trembling. He looked so different from how he normally did. Usually he was so put together, but right now he looked messy, his hair was messed up and the collar of his button down was open and out of place. This was the reaction you were looking for, the one that had you shifting on your knees to relieve the tension building in your core.

“You’ve got to say it if you want it.”

“Yes, please.” He spoke, flinching slightly as your tongue swiped over the tip of his cock. You stopped pumping him and he whimpered at the loss of contact.

“Please what?”

“Please let me fuck you.” He whined, eyebrows knit together.

You smirked, standing up and sitting on his lap, guiding his hand to your clothed cunt. You rubbed his delicate fingers over your clit. Armin could feel the wet spot, his whines becoming more pronounced as he realized that he’d been the one to get you so worked up.

“See what you did to me, professor.” You mumbled, your voice catching slightly as his fingers grazed your clit.

The words had his cock throbbing beneath you, his eyes shooting up to meet yours as he realized how desperate you were for him. Fucking you had been a fantasy for him, he’d stayed up late in his office, fucking his fist to the thought of how you’d look being stuffed full of him. He never thought he’d get to see you like this, grinding down onto his hand. Armin’s last semblance of professionalism was leaving him as he admired the way your hips ground against him, he wanted to give in, to let you fuck him, let you have him.

“Please.” You spoke breathily, your gaze meeting his. That was it, any chance Armin had at fighting back was now gone with one simple word from you and he pulled your panties to the side and pushed a finger into your heat.

Armin curled his finger a few times, hitting that spot inside of you and watching the way your eyebrows furrowed together at how he felt inside of you. He wasn’t working towards a goal, just experimenting with the way you whined and whimpered above him. Your eyes never left his as he pulled his finger from you and brought it to his lips, tasting you.

“I taste good?” You asked, raising an eyebrow as you reached down for him, rubbing the head of his cock through your slick.

Armin nodded fervently, moaning slightly as he made sure to get all of you off of his fingers. He couldn’t focus, his mind was hazy and completely clouded with thoughts of you. Fuck he wanted to be inside of you and the “let me” that slipped through his lips in his delirium had your legs starting to shake with anticipation.

You lowered yourself onto him, exhaling heavily as he filled you up, his cock stretching you open. Armin bottomed out with a whimper, his head rolling back against the chair in which he sat. Your legs straddled either side of him, and his hands came up to find your waist, running them over the dips in your hips. He’d wanted this for so long and whenever the thought crossed his mind that “holy fuck, they’re here and I’ve got my hands under their bunched up skirt and they’re looking at me that way”, his dick twitched with anticipation inside you.

With his hesitation gone, Armin started to roll his hips against yours as you rode him, bouncing up and down on him in a circular motion. You took his hands from your waist, bringing them to cup your tits and squeezing slightly. His cheeks flushed red, eyes widening as you brought his hands under your shirt to squeeze the supple flesh. You’d decided against wearing a bra, and that fact didn’t go unnoticed as Armin’s fingers pinched at your nipples, earning him a small moan.

He continued to roll his hips against yours, your lips moving to kiss his neck. Your professor’s whimpers and moans only served to bring you closer as your hips moved up and down over him with more fervor. He tilted his head to the side to give you easier access, his breath picking up.

“Fuck, feels good.” He whimpered into the hair by your ear.

“Yeah?” You breathed against him, rolling your hips. “Y’gonna cum, professor? For me?” You asked as he began to quickly unravel beneath you.

“Y-mhm.” Armin spoke, giving you no warning as he came into you, his hips snapping up abruptly into your g-spot as he rode out his orgasm.

His thrusts began to slow, but you took his jaw in your hand, bringing his attention to you. “I’m not finished yet.” You breathed, picking up your pace against him and rutting your hips forward so the head of his cock hit the spot in you that had your eyes rolling back.

You felt so full and each drag of his cock along your walls had you clenching around him. You brought your lips to his, licking into his mouth as he trembled beneath you, the overstimulation becoming too much. You leaned back, your back forming a pretty little arching as you began to rub your clit, meeting his gaze.

“Professor, do this for me.” You took his shaking hand, unsteady from the overstimulation. “I know you can.” Slowly, you began to use his hand to rub slow circles into your clit, a moan pushing past your lips.

Armin began to moan and whimper, his fingers shaking against your heat as you ground down against him. Your breath left you in shaky whimpers as your eyes found his. You could feel him twitch within you and you whined against his lips.

“Gonna cum again for me, sir?” You asked, earning another nod from Armin, pulling away to steal a peek at his face as he came again, a dry orgasm wracking through his body.

He fell forward, his free hand coming up to grab at anything as euphoria took over him.

“Fuu-uck.” He whined.

His little voice and flushed face as you fucked him through his orgasm threw you over the edge, your body shaking on top of his as your walls clenched around his sensitive cock.

The two of you sat there for a moment, bodies against each other as Armin gently grabbed at you in an attempt to ground himself. You stood up from his lap, adjusting your panties so they rested back over your cunt, stuffed full of his cum.

Your professor sat back in the chair, dumb founded, before tucking himself back into his pants, raking a hand through his hair.

“____? We- uhm I-” He stuttered as you packed your things up, watching the way you wiggled in your skirt, knowing that only minutes earlier you’d been cooing him through an orgasm.  

“Don’t worry professor, I won’t tell if you won’t.”

#armin x reader #armin arlert #armin x reader smut #armin smut #armin arlert smut #armin #aot #snk #attack on titan #shingenki no kyojin #aot smut #snk smut #attack on titan smut #shingenki no kyojin smut #sub!armin #tw: dub con #tw: overstimulation #tw: semi-public sex

[valentina-writes]

Dying light

Request: anon: Hi um i was wondering if you could do an azriel x reader with 6 from angst and 7 from fluff? i loved starfall btw!

A/N: Awww thank you! I really liked writing this one!

(And I haven't figured out yet how to answer an ask while still being able to add tags, so I'm doing it this way)

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: one curse word

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Spring had always been your favorite time of the year. When the coldness of the winter air disappeared and made room for the sun, a warm breeze and you were able to finally spend time outside again, you were happy. That was until you met her.

Elain was, in every way possible, the incarnation of spring. There was her obvious love for flowers and plants of every kind, her sweet and gentle nature. There was the way she talked, so softly and lady-like. And there was the way she dressed, always in beautiful pastel colored dresses.

You did not hate her, no. The fact that Feyre, one of your closest friends, was her sister, already played a big role. And then she was just so sweet and gentle, that it was essentially impossible to ever want to harm her in any way.

But you did not like her, no. Not at all.

Your aversion for her had started the day you met. It wasn’t fair, you knew that yourself. She had gone through a lot, being turned into a fae and all. But this did not make up for the way she had crossed you in every way possible.

You had always had a thing for the handsome shadowsinger. Maybe it was because you never felt the need to fill the comfortable silence between you with awkward small talk and you always felt good around him. Maybe it was simply because you had been friends for a while and grown closer.

Now, it didn’t matter anymore why you had fallen in love with him. Over the months before you met Elain, Azriel and you had grown closer. You had spent a lot of time training together, just as well as missions you two had completed together. And even in your free time, you always seemed to hover around each other.

But that was a thing of the past. When Elain had entered your life, Azriel had changed. He spent nearly every free minute with her, sitting in the garden or having hushed conversations. When he was training, he now did it with Cassian because your schedules didn’t align anymore due to his time with Elain. He deemed his missions too dangerous for you, too. In short, the only time left for you to see him was when the entire inner circle was there. And even then, he seemed to be naturally drawn towards her.

Today was just like that. You had awoken early in the morning, the sun shining through your window for the first time in weeks. The promise of a warm spring day lingering in the air.

Last night, after telling Rhysand of your problems and drinking some of his wine (and by some you meant quite a lot), he had deemed you unable to return home on your own, so you had stayed over at his townhouse.

You dressed up in a comfortable sweatshirt and grabbed a book and a blanket. On your way into the garden you stopped by in the kitchen to get a mug of hot chocolate. Nobody except for you seemed to be awake already, probably because today was a rare day off.

Out in the garden you sat down under your favorite tree and started reading. The wind was still slightly chilly, but later it would probably become a very warm day.

You weren’t really able to concentrate on your book. First, the sun that shone on your face and warmed every part of it, making you close the book and soak in the warmth. And then, when you opened your eyes again, they fell on the flowers Elain had planted only a few days ago. Your heart clenched at the memory of Azriel kneeling in the dirt next to her, helping her plant these flowers. You were only a heartbeat away from ripping them all out of the ground, when the door to the small garden opened again.

And there she was. Pretty as ever, she walked into the garden, sitting down on a chair. You quickly glanced away from the flowers and opened your book again, pretending to read. The last thing you wanted was to strike up a conversation with her.

She did not greet you and neither did you. She was looking at nothing, her eyes not focusing on anything. Sometimes you wondered if she had gone insane. But then you reminded yourself that, even though she had everything you had always wanted, she still deserved to be treated with some human decency.

Shortly after she had sat down, you heard another rustling coming from the door. For a second you thought about winnowing away. But no. You were curious of what they discussed. Curious of what conversations they kept from you and the others.

You shortly looked up, stealing a glance at Azriel. He looked ethereal the way he sat there, on the small terrace, stretching out his wings and sipping on a mug, his eyes still tired. The burning feeling of jealousy that had been your dear companion for the past months, appeared in your chest. Had he slept here? Had he spent the night with her? You wouldn’t be surprised if he did.

Your cheeks burned as you went back to pretending to read the book. You could not concentrate on anything except for him and the relatively new feeling that arose. Hollowness. You felt so empty inside. You had known him for such a long time, had been sure that he reciprocated your feelings. Now, the only thing that was left was the bond.

Yes, you were sure that what you felt next to your heart was the mating bond. You had felt it snap when he had cleaned your wounds after training with Cassian. Your entire world had shifted when you had looked into his eyes. As if he was the center of your world now, everything else meaningless.

But he had not shown a trace of feeling the same, had not told you that he felt it too. And you were sure that he would have if he did. Shortly after, Elain joined your friend group. Was it possible that your mate did not feel the bond? That it was only there for you? You had asked Rhys this question last night, breaking down in his arms after the others had gone to bed. He had not known the answer. And now you were left more devastated than ever before.

They had started chatting a little bit, but you were unable to catch their words over the chirping of the birds. It was impossible. You wouldn’t gain anything from staying here, looking at what you couldn’t have. It would only make you even sadder.

You risked another glance at him. He was laughing at something Elain had said, his spread wings glowing red and golden in the sunlight. And his eyes … pure joy spoke out of them. You knew you should be feeling happy for him. You knew that he deserved to be happy, even if it wasn’t with you. But the bond next to your aching heart said something else.

For a second, you looked at Elain, the definition of peace and beauty. For a second, you allowed yourself to unleash the entirety of your jealousy and pain, of the sorrow and agony you felt. And for a second, you actually hated her.

In this moment, you did not realize that you had forgotten to build up the barrier around your mind. You did not realize that you had been so overtaken by your feelings that you left the end of the bond, that you assumed was only one-sided anyways, unguarded.

The conversation stopped and over the discarded book you saw Azriel’s head snap in your direction. The look on his face wasn’t angry by any means … it was surprised. And hurt. His shadows began to show again, swirling around him. He knows, you realized. He feels the mating bond too. And he hasn’t said a thing over the last months. This was all you needed to know.

Without caring about what they might think about you, you winnowed away from them, just as your first tear began to build in your eyes. The familiar feeling of nothing and the air being pressed out of your lungs comforted you a little.

You could still feel the sun on your face when you appeared at your destination – the apartment you rented. Most of your days were spent training or making plans with the inner circle anyways, so that you mainly went here to sleep.

Azriel would find you, you were sure of that. It would only be a matter of time – if he wanted to. Most likely he was still sitting in Elain’s nice little garden joking about your sudden departure.

You laid down on your bed, curling up in a ball. Never in the past months had you felt as lonely as you did now. He had known about the bond, had felt it too. And never had he tried to talk about it. Azriel hadn’t even rejected it. Just left it there, hanging in place to remind you of what you couldn’t have.

Not even an hour later you heard a knock on your front door. You didn’t want to open the door for him. And if he would wait there all day long, you wouldn’t care.

The knocking became more prominent and louder. Through the door you heard him calling your name. “Y/n?! I know you are in there”.

At first, it was easy to ignore the pounding on your door. But after a while, you had heard enough. Especially when you felt his presence in the bond.

Groaning out of anger you stood up and strode to the door. You would tell him what you thought of his behavior. And then make sure that he would stay away from you from now on, as much as it hurt you.

You opened the door and there he was, looking just as beautiful as ever, though frowning.

“What do you want?”, you snapped at him, “Go away and leave me alone! I don’t want to talk to you again. Ever”. That was probably a bit too dramatic. But you did not care.

“Please, y/n, let me explain”, he begged. His shadows were nowhere to be seen, a sign of his discomfort. At least he felt as bad about this as you did.

“You still love her, don’t you? You felt the bond, you knew what was going on. But you didn’t even once try to talk to me about it, not once! You didn’t bother, didn’t care about how I was feeling the entire time! And never did you stop spending so much time with her. You are always around her, spending every free minute with her, not wasting a single thought about me. Leave me alone, I don’t want to see you any longer”.

You wanted to slam the door shut, but he reached out and held the door open. His face now looked pained, an expression you hadn’t seen on him in a long time.

“No, listen to me, y/n. I spent time with Elain because she needed me. She needed someone to listen to her and do what she loves with her, to adapt to this new life. Nobody saw the light inside her dying, nobody saw what she was going through, so I helped her. I know all too well what she is feeling like at the moment and I thought you would understand this”.

You wanted to stop him, but he didn’t let you talk. “Yes, I felt the bond. I don’t know how long you have felt it, but … it’s been there a while already for me. I wanted to talk about it, yes, I did. But shortly after Elain and Nesta joined us you started being so absent. You never talked to me, left the room when Elain and I entered it. I figured you didn’t like me back. That you just ignored the bond or wanted to reject it but hadn’t told me yet”.

You looked at him, not yet completely convinced. “I don’t believe you”, you said, “The way you look at her … the way you talk to each other, spend every free minute together. You always went out of your way for her. But never for me. When was our last training session together? When have we had our last conversation without the others? When have we been on a mission for the last time? I can remember each of those last occasions. You stopped noticing me after she appeared”.

“Her and me are just friends. Can’t you see it’s you I love?”, he asked. You stared at him in shock.

“Yes, y/n, I love you. And I know I fucked up, I know that I should have spoken to you earlier and I know that we didn’t spend as much time together as we used to. But has it ever occurred to you, that I felt the same way you did? It’s not just my fault that we stopped being friends. I waited for you. Some days I sat there and waited for you to join me training. I waited until I couldn’t take it anymore. And then I went to talk to Elain, because she was the only one who would listen to my problems”.

You didn’t know what to say. For the first time you thought about your behavior during the last months – and realized that he was right. He had spent a lot of time with her. But when he entered the room, when you crossed each other’s path in the hallway, you had fled every single time.

His shadows hid his face from your sight now, as he opened the barrier that shielded his mind from the mating bond. There was pain and sadness and anger radiating off of him. You stumbled backwards, because even though you hadn’t accepted the bond yet, the intensity of his feelings was too much to handle.

Gasping, you stood there, searching for the right words. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t see what you felt, I didn’t know I hurt you so much. The only thing I could think of was how perfect she is and how much better than me. How lucky I should be for you that you found someone. Everyday I wondered if the Mother had cursed me, if it was my fate to love someone for eternity who doesn’t love me back. Everyday I became angrier about the way you looked at each other, the way she touched or hugged you”. This conversation had turned into something you hadn’t planned, something you would’ve never thought possible.

Azriel lifted his shadows again, his face, for the first time you could remember, showing many emotions at once. Tears in his eyes, but his gaze so loving. Still frowning, but his lips already showing a hint of a smile.

You took him by his arm and pulled him inside, slamming the door shut. Without wasting another second, he crashed his lips against yours, pushing you against the wall. You stood there, kissing and soaking in the closeness for a long time. Azriel kisses were so sensual and full of pure love, that after a while you were both gasping for air. Nothing could have prepared you for the intensity of kissing your mate after so many months of yearning and fear.

Your mate. Your mate. Your mate. You couldn’t even comprehend that this was real. That he loved you too and wanted to spend eternity with you. Your mate.

“Do you want to come inside? I mean the hallway is not a really nice place”, you breathlessly whispered. At the grin that spread on his face you just said: “But I’m not gonna cook for you – yet”.

Azriel kissed you one last time, then let you go to lead the way. “No need to rush anything. We have got all time in the world”. And damn yes, you did.

#azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel fluff #azriel angst #azriel imagine #azriel writing

[theladyofdeath]

Life As We Know It {Chapter Two}

Summary: After the sudden deaths of Nesta’s sister and Cassian’s best friend, they gain guardianship of their nephew, Nyx.

Based on Life As We Know It (2010) and a prompt sent in by anonymous for our Nessian fanfic contest. This is a modern au.

Instead of doing a tag list for this story, we have decided to have a set posting schedule. Chapters will be posted weekly on Mondays and Thursdays. Chapters will be posted on both my and Shelby's blogs! >> @snelbz​

Life As We Know It Masterlist

Shelby's Masterlist

Tara's Masterlist

Trigger warning: death

The vibrations beneath her pillow had nearly stopped by the time Nesta dug it out and held it up to her ear.

“Hell-hello?” she asked, barely able to keep her eyes open, barely able to get the words out.

Her eyes adjusted as she sat up and looked at the alarm clock on Feyre and Rhysand’s bedside table.

1:26 a.m.

“Is this Nesta Archeron?” a quiet, female voice asked.

It was the tone that got Nesta. 

It was the tone that had her sitting up straight, her heart slowing in her chest. “Yes, this is Nesta.”

“Nesta, this is Claire from Velaris Hospital,” she began. “There’s been an accident-.”

It was all she heard.

After that, everything became blurred and the words that Claire spoke made absolutely no sense at all.

Rhys and Feyre were supposed to be home the following evening, the last she’d heard from her sister, she and Rhys were going to dinner and then out dancing before heading back up to the cabin.

That had been a little before eight, almost six hours ago. She could hear the rain coming down, much harder than it had been when she’d gone to bed, even a few hours before. Nyx had been asleep by seven, only waking up to cry once or twice a night the whole time she’d been watching him. All in all, the weekend had been uneventful, but she was ready for Rhys and Feyre to be home, so she could go home to her townhouse, to peace and quiet and blessed, blessed silence.

But as she quickly tucked Nyx into his car seat, doing her best not to wake the sleeping baby up, she tried not to think about the phone call. She tried not to think about the firm, but steady tone of voice as she drove across town, to the hospital. 

She had been to the hospital before.

Twice in the last fifteen years.

Once when her mother passed, once her sickness finally took her.

And once again when their father passed over complications from his heart surgery.

Nesta hated that drive, hated pulling into the hospital’s parking lot. She didn’t trust it, not one bit. She hated it. Hated the ground on which it stood.

As she parked her car in front of the building, she looked in the rearview mirror. Nyx was still fast asleep, completely unaware of what was happening, completely unaware of the phone call that had just occurred only half an hour before.

There’s been an accident.

Nesta got out of the car. She shut the driver’s side and went to the back. She carefully unbuckled Nyx from his carseat and picked him up, holding him tightly against her chest as she covered him with his oldest, softest, favorite blanket. 

The parking lot was nearly empty.

Nesta carried Nyx inside.

You need to come quickly.

She found Azriel by the doors leading deeper into the hospital, calling out his name as soon as she saw him. He turned, and she nearly froze at the look on his face, the paleness and hollow look in his eyes. But she couldn’t and she hurried to where he stood, with a stone-faced doctor.

We did everything we could.

The next few minutes were a blur of explanations and condolences, but Nesta could do nothing but hold onto Nyx, still sleeping soundly in her arms. She hadn’t even realized she was crying until Azriel slid an arm around her shoulders, offering her what little comfort he could.

They’re gone.

*

They had been driving back to the cabin when the storm had hit. Both of them had been drinking, but not enough to even break the blood alcohol level. The winding roads leading up into the mountains quickly grew slick and when they hydroplaned, Rhys had lost control of the car.

With how hard it was coming down, he hadn’t even seen the ledge coming up, or how far the drop was to the bottom of the ravine.

Nesta prayed that wherever they had gone after their final breath that they were together.

And that Rhysand wouldn’t be blaming himself.

It wasn’t his fault.

She repeated that prayer one after the other until she had begun to doze in and out of sleep.

When she woke, it was nearly five in the morning.

Nyx had slept through it all, hadn’t even realized what had happened. When they got home, Nesta had laid him in his crib, where he had remained, sleeping soundly, ever since.

4:56 a.m.

Nesta had managed to sleep for nearly forty-five minutes.

That in itself was a blessing.

Yet, as she threw her legs over the side of the bed, Nesta felt guilty. How could she sleep after the news she had just received?

None of it seemed real.

Her little sister, her youngest sister.

Dead.

All that was left of their family was her and Elain. 

Her, and Elain, and Nyx, and Seph.

Dad. Mom. Feyre.

Gone.

Nesta stumbled into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. She didn’t feel a thing. After turning the faucet on, letting the cold water run for a minute, she splashed some on her face.

It didn’t bring her back to reality like she was hoping for.

She was hoping it was all a dream.

But it wasn’t.

Her legs carried her into Nyx’s nursery, where she sat for the next couple of hours, watching him sleep, peacefully. Not knowing, not realizing, not understanding his parents were never coming home.

She heard the front door open around seven-thirty, rushing down the stairs, praying that she had, in fact, dreamed it all and Rhys and Feyre would be coming inside, home a few hours early.

But it wasn’t Rhys, or Feyre. Instead, it was another familiar head of golden-brown hair, her eyes trained in the hardwood just inside the walkway. The door had barely closed before Nesta made it down the stairs and wrapped her arms around Elain.

They both collapsed, falling to their knees on the worn rug, as Elain sobbed into her sister’s shoulder.

*

The following days were a blur. A constant stream of people calling, texting, reaching out to see what could be done. Nesta and Elain handled the arrangements, with Azriel’s help, but none of them realized how prepared Feyre and Rhys had been for their own deaths.

Maybe it was because they’d both lost their parents young. Maybe it was because they didn’t want Nyx to ever have to deal with it on his own. All Nesta had to do was sign some paperwork and present their death certificates.

The funeral home had taken it from there.

She sat in the corner of the room, wearing a simple black dress that Feyre had always told her looked matronly on anyone else, but made her look like a badass CEO. It was one of her favorites. She figured Feyre would have wanted her to wear it today.

She hadn’t been able to bring herself to look into the caskets yet, to see what her sister and brother-in-law looked like, if they even looked like themselves.

She’d never be able to wipe the memory of their pale, lifeless bodies from her mind, as she and Azriel had to confirm that it was them in the hospital. Until that moment, she’d held out hope that maybe they had been wrong. That maybe someone had stolen their car and they were waiting at the bar for the rain to die down.

But even in death she couldn’t mistake their faces.

She couldn’t imagine that they looked anything like they once did, knowing that she’d never see Feyre’s bright smile or amusement sparking in Rhysand’s eyes.

The funeral dragged on, a preacher they had grown up with leading the crowd that had gathered. Nesta was asked if she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. What was there to say? There was too much to say. 

Nesta couldn’t.

So, she didn’t.

They carried the caskets out and loaded them up in the hearses. 

Nesta didn’t remember getting behind the wheel, didn’t remember loading Nyx into his carseat, didn’t remember driving to the cemetery.

And yet, she ended up standing in front of a set of holes in the ground with Nyx on her hip. Only a few words were said before the caskets were lowered into the ground.

Nesta wondered what was going through Nyx’s head. The one-year-old didn’t make a sound, not a peep as the day went on. He simply remained perfectly calm, his head resting on Nesta’s shoulder as she swayed back and forth.

“I can take him, if you want to say goodbye.”

Nesta spun around, meeting the eyes of Cassian Nazari.

He’d been crying, she could tell. If it wasn’t for the redness in his puffy eyes, Nesta surely would have snapped.

“There’s no need,” Nesta said, with an empty calmness. “I’ve already said my goodbyes.”

It was a lie, of course.

Could you ever really say goodbye to someone you loved?

He didn’t push her, just silently stepped up next to her and stared at the mounds of dirt. Nearly everyone was gone, Azriel taking a silent, distant Elain home. Mor, Emerie, Gwyn, Amren, and Varian had left just a few minutes after them. The only ones still present were those who had filled the graves, the preacher, saying a few final prayers for peace, and the three of them.

“I don’t…” His voice was rough, in a way she’d never heard it. “I keep waiting for him to call me and tell me it’s all dumbass prank,” he breathed. “That this was all some elaborate joke to get back at me for something.”

Nesta nodded, understanding. She blinked, but was unable to stop the few silent tears from sliding down her cheeks. She didn’t know what to say, but for once she agreed with Cassian.

“If you, uh, need anything…” Cassian began, before shaking his head and taking a deep breath. “If you need anything just give me a call.”

Nesta nodded once. She knew he was just saying it out of kindness due to the situation, but she supposed it was still a kind offer.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, after a moment had passed. Without giving Cassian another glance, she was turning toward her car, walking away.

Her legs became heavier with each step she took, but she continued onward until she was sitting behind the wheel of her little black car, Nyx buckled into his carseat.

He began to fuss.

Nesta understood.

Maybe he was beginning to realize that his mom and dad were never coming back.

As Nesta drove back toward the house, her vision blurred as the tears came.

*

The next few days passed by slowly. She and Nyx made it just fine, but the time seemed to drag on and on and on.

She had just put Nyx down for his afternoon nap when her phone began to ring, a number she didn’t recognize showing up on her screen.

She hesitated for a moment, not sure if she could handle another one of Rhys or Feyre’s friends offering their condolences. Their pity.

Ultimately, she grabbed her phone, swiping across the screen to answer the call.

“Nesta Archeron speaking.”

A smooth voice came from the other end of the line. “Ms. Archeron, my name is Tarquin Hadrian.”

She paused. The name didn’t seem familiar, so she cleared her throat. “How can I help you, Mr. Hadrian?”

“I’m terribly sorry for your loss, Ms. Archeron,” he began. Nesta sighed quietly, waiting for the words to continue, but he said something she wasn’t expecting. “I’m the Lunasa’s attorney. I was hoping to speak with you about their will.”

Shit. Nesta hadn’t even thought about a will, hadn’t thought about any of the plans Rhys and Feyre had made. If they’d planned everything, down to their burials and graves, surely they had prepared a last will and testament. “Of- Of course.”

“Are you free this afternoon?” He asked. “I know it’s short notice, but I’d wanted to give your family as much time as possible to grieve, however, there are some matters that need to be handled sooner rather than later.”

“Yes, I can be there any time,” she said, looking at the clock. Nyx wouldn’t be up from his nap for another hour or so, but she could figure something out. “When would you prefer?”

“Is three o’clock okay?”

After Nesta’s agreement, he was giving her the address to his office and the call was over and Nesta was calling Elain, asking to drop Nyx off on her way over. She didn’t want to wake him, nor did she think a meeting with a lawyer was a good place for a one-year-old.

An hour later, she was pulling into the parking lot of the small law office, and she froze in her car when she spied a familiar truck across the lot.

What in the hell was he doing here?

Nesta made her way inside, letting the pretty receptionist know who she was here to see and she was escorted back to a plush office.

Cassian already waited inside, sitting across the desk from a handsome, dark-skinned man.

“Ms. Archeron,” he said, standing, extending a hand. Nesta shook it with her own. She didn’t miss that Cassian merely sat there as she entered. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

“Of course,” she nodded, taking the seat next to Cassian. Neither of them acknowledged the other, which was for the best.

There was a large stack of papers on Tarquin’s desk and as he sat, he began to lead through them one by one. Sighing, he laid his hands atop the papers.

“I’m going to cut right to the chase here,” he said. “Did Feyre or Rhys talk with either of you about what should happen to Nyx in the event that both of them should die?”

A glance at each other, but they both shook their heads. Cassian said, “No.”

Another deep breath. “They...named the two of you.”

His blue eyes looked between them, and it took Nesta a moment to realize he wasn’t just speaking to her. Just as long as it took Cassian to realize the same.

As one, they both leaned forward, Nesta resting her hands on the desk, Cassian letting his elbows fall in his knees. Nesta said, “They picked us together?” at the same time Cassian asked, “I’m sorry, what?”

Tarquin cleared his throat. “I tried to advise them against it. An unmarried couple, with your own personal history…”

“I don’t understand,” Nesta said, shaking her head. “I…don’t understand.”

“Yeah, me either,” Cassian added.

“Here,” Tarquin said, handing the two of them a letter.

Neither of them reached for it, but Tarquin didn’t back down. He held out the piece of paper until Nesta snatched it and opened it up.

Cassian hovered over her as she read.

Cassian and Nesta,

We are writing this letter in case of a tragedy. Of course, we don’t expect a tragedy to happen, but you never know.

In case something does happen, you’re to take custody of Nyx. Both of you. We know you two don’t get along, but if something were to happen to us, we need you. You see, we want Nyx to have a mom and a dad. We want him to have two people who love and support him no matter what.

There’s a reason we chose you both to be godparents.

Nesta, you have a heart bigger than anyone we’ve ever met, even though you don’t often show it. When you care about someone, you care about them wholeheartedly. You devote your life to them. You make them feel loved, make them feel wanted, make them feel protected. And we know you care about Nyx.

Cass, you love more fiercely than anyone we have ever known. You were dealt a poor hand as a child, and instead of making you bitter, it made you stronger. It made you realize how you want others to be treated, instead of the opposite. You would make an incredible father. Therefore, we made you godfather.

The two of you are opposite halves of the same coin. One of you cannot succeed without the other, even though you’d both probably argue against that statement.

Look.

If you’re reading this, it means that something awful has happened. If you’re reading this, it means that we are gone. And, if we are gone, Nyx needs someone. He needs his godparents.

We know you’re scared. We know you’re heartbroken. But, if you love us, the two of you will work together to create a family-like environment for Nyx.

We love you both.

We believe in you both.

Tell Nyx we love him, too. So damn much.

Rhysand and Feyre

Nesta’s hands shook as she lowered the letter. “We… The two of us can’t… We can barely be in the same room as each other, much less take care of a child.”

“As I said, I advised them against this, especially once they explained your personal history to me,” Tarquin said, leaning back in his chair. He laid a hand atop the paper on his desk again. “As I mentioned before, they were very thorough in their planning, even going so far as to put a sum of a portion of their life insurance to pay off the mortgage of their home. They’ve left it to the two of you as well, to ensure Nyx has the easiest time possible. No on and off weekends, no moving back and forth.”

Nesta was still processing his words, when Cassian asked, “Wait, so we’re supposed to live together? Not only take care of him, which I’ll do anyways, but live in the same house?”

With a blink, Nesta looked at him. “You’ll take care of him? I’ve been taking care of him for over a week now.”

“Well, he’s my responsibility, too,” he replied, practically snarling at her. “I’m not going to disrespect Rhys’s wishes by shirking it off on someone else.”

Nesta was about to say something else, was ready to snap, but Tarquin cut her off. “It was my duty to give you the letter, per their will. What you do with it is up to you.”

Nesta left twenty minutes later, ready to set the entire city on fire. She burst out the front doors but didn’t leave alone. Cassian was just behind her, right on her heels, calling her name.

“I’m his godfather and I’m not letting Rhys down,” he said. 

She wasn’t backing down, either. “You realize this isn’t a part time job, right? This is a lifetime commitment, Cassian-.”

“You think I don’t know that?” He asked, stopping in front of her. He paused and blinked, as if he’d just realized she didn’t have him with her. “Where is he?”

She scoffed. “With Elain and Seph. I didn’t want to bring him because I wasn’t sure what this meeting would entail. He’d just gone down for a nap and I didn’t want to mess his schedule up.”

She watched as the words registered, watched as he processed them. He probably didn’t even know Nyx had a nap schedule, and he sure as hell didn’t know what it was.

Nevermind the fact that she hadn’t known it the week before, when Feyre had explained it to her before they’d left. Before they’d-.

Tears stung her eyes, trying to spill over as they always did when she thought about her sister, about Rhys. The fire inside her, the will to fight with Cassian, disappeared almost immediately.

“I need to go get him,” she said, adjusting the purse strap on her shoulder, stepping off the curb towards her car.

Cassian didn’t follow her, and when she pulled out of the parking lot, he was still standing in front of the law offices, looking as lost as she felt.

#nessian #modern au #life as we know it #fanfic #fanfiction #collab #shacmc #acotar #acosf #sjm

[dumdumsun]

The Loveliest Lies of All

A/N: Welcome back ❤️

Warnings: none that I'm aware of

Word Count: 3599

—————————————

Chapter Two: Hard Times at the Huskin' Bee

The chirping of crickets, gobbling of turkeys and the honking of the soaring geese above indicated the morning creeping up on the trio (or quartet?). The sound that accompanied the early morning chat of the nearby animals was Greg blowing raspberries to feed his short attention span. Scout was mildly surprised that Wirt hadn’t yet snapped at him, but then again, the teen boy was skilled at blocking out his younger brother.

For the fourth time in the last hour, Scout’s leg had given out on her slightly, causing her to stumble a bit. What she would give to have a chair, a couch, a bed to rest her wounded leg for maybe half an hour. A full one, perhaps? Maybe even two?

“You know what? I think we’re gonna find a town soon,” She chirped. “I can feel it.”

“Well, we need to,” Wirt sighed, staring up at the sky that rained rays of sunshine upon them. “It’s almost morning. We should’ve found one by now. This is the way the Woodsman told us to go, right?”

“Yes, Wirt.”

Greg blew another raspberry before glancing up at his brother with big eyes. “Have you listened to anything I’ve been saying? For the last couple hours, I’ve been saying… Pbbt! Pbbt! Pbbt-”

“Well, that settles it,” He finally snapped. “I’m gonna walk up ten feet ahead of you.” He frowned and walked past the two. Scout sighed and shook her head at her friend in amusement. She failed to notice the boy stop his walking when he heard a voice call out to him.

“I hear something!”

Scout turned to Greg and started towards him. “Wirt, Greg heard something!”

“It’s probably nothing. Hey, look,” Wirt crouched down in front of a sign nailed to a nearby tree. “‘Pottsfield, one mile’. A town! Let’s go this way.”

“Okay. After this, though.” She turned away from him and joined Greg’s side. The boy had been digging into a bush and talking into it. Behind her, she heard Wirt’s footsteps before he was by her side.

“Greg, stop talking to a bush.”

“Okay.” The boy shrugged before reaching into the bush again. Seconds later, the same bluebird from the previous night flew out of the bush and flapped her wings above them.

Scout widened her eyes at the bird. “You!”

“Thanks! I owe you a favor. So, um, you guys are lost kids with no purpose in life, right?”

“Uh-huh!”

“Um-”

“How about I bring you to Adelaide of the Pasture, the Good Woman of the Woods? She could help you get home!”

As the two boys stared at the bird in awe, Scout narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. She didn’t trust this bird for one second. “Adelaide, huh? How’s she gonna help us?”

The bluebird scrunched what would’ve been her brows. “She has powers.”

“What kind of powers?”

“Powers that’ll get you home.”

“Why can’t she just show us the trail that leads us out of here? And why does no one else seem to know the way?”

Wirt exhaled and waved his hands about. “We don’t need magic talking birds leading us to fairy godmothers in the mysterious- I’m going to Pottsfield.”

“Yes. Pottsfield. C’mon, Greg.” Scout grabbed the boy’s hand and followed behind her friend.

“What about the favor?” The bird called.

Greg turned to her with a bright smile. “I’ll think of my wish later!”

-------------------------------------------------

Scout irritably sighed at the feeling of claws softly digging into her left shoulder. “Hey,” The bird softly started in her ear. “I think we got off on the wrong foot here. What’s your name?”

“Just call me Scout.”

“Wait, seriously? Scout?”

The girl snapped her head to look at the bird. “Wanna get off on the wrong foot again?”

“Whoo, someone is sassy,” She gently tapped her cheek with her wing. “Well, Scout, you seem like a very capable young lady. What if I say… we ditch these goons and you come with me to Adelaide?”

Scout rolled her eyes and batted the winged creature off of her shoulder. “Then I say no. Never.”

Rolling her eyes, the bluebird huffed and flew next to Greg, no doubt attempting to convince the poor boy to ditch his brother and walk off with some stranger. Scout knew that Greg was smarter than that, better than that, so she didn’t bother scolding the bird. Noticing her now flapping above his shoulder, the boy brightly smiled. “So, let’s small talk. My name’s Greg. What’s yours?”

“Beatrice.”

“My brother’s name is Wirt.”

“Who cares?”

Wirt frowned and glanced at them over his shoulder. Scout sighed and shook her head.

“And my frog’s name is Wirt Jr.” Greg gently rubbed his frog’s back. “But that may change.”

“Okay. That’s great,” Beatrice lowered her voice as to not alert the two teens in front of them. “How about you and I ditch your brother and his girlfriend?”

Greg hummed in uncertainty and looked away. “Maybe later.”

Scout nearly tripped over a large pumpkin nestled within the patch they walked through. Wirt didn’t notice this and kept his gaze forward. “So, Scout, you’ll do the talking when we get there. Right?”

Huffing, the girl placed her hands on her hips. “If I must, you big wuss.”

“I-I’m not a wuss! I just- Aha!” He cheered and raised his fists triumphantly, the four now standing just above a town. “Civilization, see? Now-”

Scout tried to warn him, but the teen had walked right into a pumpkin. She watched silently with narrowed eyes as he kicked and wiggled his leg out of the vegetable before flinging it to the side. Regaining his composure, he turned forward and set his fists on his hips. “Alright. Let’s rejoin society.”

The “society” the group had walked into lacked one element. A society. There were plenty of houses littering the land, yet not a soul in sight. Rounding a corner, they walked between two houses as Wirt called out for any residents. “Hello? Hello? Hm… See anybody?”

“No,” Greg scanned the area before his eyes landed on his brother. “Oh! I see you!”

Without gaining the others’ attention, Scout slipped away to check inside the houses. They seemed… cozy. Each house was the same; small, single-roomed, and nearly empty. “These townsfolk need to invest in… well, everything…” Scout whispered as she shut the door to the fourth house she inspected.

“Scout!” Wirt called from beside a haystack. “Find anything?”

“Poor interior design, but nothing to help us.” She sighed before joining her friend at his side. “Where’s Greg?”

As if on cue, the young boy poked his head out of the haystack. “Do you hear that?”

From a barn within the distance, cheerful singing could be heard. Scout gasped and helped Greg out of the hay, frowning at the small pumpkin he must have stepped in a while ago, still on his foot. Shaking off her confusion, she let the boy keep his new shoe and followed Wirt into the barn. Peeking in, the group set their sights on something otherworldly.

The townsfolk- is that what they were?- were pumpkins. Well, their bodies were made of pumpkins, string, and actual clothing like hats. Each person had a distinct face drawn onto their pumpkin face, which sent a chill down Scout’s spine. Within the barn, the folk participated in all kinds of activities. Dancing around a tall string object, bobbing for apples, peeling apples, unhusking corn. The likes. They seemed lively, carefree.

“Oh, pardon me there.” A figure spoke as they shoved themselves between a frozen Scout and Wirt. Turning, one of the pumpkin townsfolk faced the group. “Say, you folks ought to don your vegetables and celebrate the harvest with us.”

“Uh… Oh! You’re wearing costumes!” Wirt realized.

“Well, sure. Pumpkins can’t move on their own. Can they?” He shrugged before walking away. Scout gripped Greg’s hand as she watched the pumpkin man go.

“Huh… Well, good thing you’re still wearing that pumpkin shoe, huh Greg?”

Said boy grinned up at Scout. “Yeah! I’m dressed for the occasion!”

Beatrice blinked. “You guys find this place as creepy as I do, right?”

“Absolutely.”

Wirt shrugged as if to reassure himself. “So, it’s some kind of weird cult where they wear vegetable costumes and… dance around a big thing. They seem nice enough.”

Feeling the hollow eyes of one of the townsfolk on her, Scout absentmindedly shuffled closer to Wirt. “There’s something off…”

“Well, maybe I can find someone here who will give us a ride home,” Wirt patted her shoulder comfortingly. “Scout, watch Greg. Greg, listen to Scout. Beatrice, thank you, but you can leave.” He waved the bird off.

Beatrice sighed. “I can’t leave. I’m honor-bound to help you since you helped me. That’s the- bluebird rules.”

Scout raised a brow as Wirt hummed and walked away. Greg’s eyes trailed up to his tea kettle hat that Beatrice sat upon. “Beatrice, did you know that Scout is the best dance partner ever known to man?”

“Awe, shucks, Greg…” Scout chuckled and let the boy lead her onto the dance floor.

“I’m not dancing with you.” Beatrice snipped, but Scout only grinned.

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“It’s too late,” She giggled as she and Greg twirled to the music. “We’ve already started.”

Beatrice rolled her eyes and watched as Greg and Scout joined hands with the frog before dancing in a small circle. The bird noted that there was no way she was going to separate the girl from the young boy. She clearly cared about him, if she was willing to dance around like a fool in the middle of a festival hosted by pumpkin people. And not giving any lip about it, at that. Instead, she threw her head back and laughed joyfully with Greg just before a voice broke out and silenced the entire room.

“Leave Pottsfield?! Who wants to leave Pottsfield?!”

The second the townsfolk began crowding around them, Scout pulled Greg into her side, whipping her head in every direction. Greg, oblivious to the danger, smiled casually. “Oh, are we leaving already?”

“Let’s leave immediately!” Beatrice yelled just before the barn went dark. Someone had shut the doors, trapped them in.

“I’m just trying to get home.” Scout heard Wirt’s shaking voice just before he bumped into her side.

The townsfolk backed the group into a wall of more pumpkin heads and bodies as they whispered out,

“They’re not supposed to be here.”

“Maybe he’s here to steal our crops.”

“To ruin our party.”

“Or take off our pumpkin shoes!” Greg chirped, gesturing to his trapped foot.

Wirt widened his eyes and shook his head. “Uh, no. I, uh-”

A deep voice from above chuckled. “Now, hold on, everybody. Heh. Let’s not jump up to any conclusions.”

It appeared that the tall stringed object had not been an object at all. In fact, it was a body for the most menacing-looking pumpkin-folk in the entire barn. He had to crouch just to peek through the shadows, his face drawn to show a large grin of wide teeth, hollow eyes staring into the souls of the children before him.

Wirt and Scout instantly joined hands out of fear.

“Enoch,” The townsfolk who ratted them out called. “What shall we do with them?”

“Now, let’s see here, children,” Enoch detached two strings from the ceiling to act as his arms. “How’d you end up in this little town of ours?”

In a jumbled mess, Wirt and Scout spoke over each other,

“We needed to get home-”

“We were lost in the woods-”

“Then we saw your farms-”

“And your very interesting houses and thought that this was a normal place to ask for help.”

“And we all stepped on pumpkins!” Greg grinned before Scout shook her head.

“I-I didn’t! I didn’t step on any pumpkins!”

Wirt tightened his hold on her hand. “Yeah! Well… Yeah! A-And then we heard the music from the barn, and well… uh…”

“What if we just left?” Scout tried.

Enoch chuckled yet again, contradicting the very tense atmosphere within the barn. “Now, let me get this straight: you come to our town, you trample our crops, you interrupt our private engagement, and now you wanna leave?”

She blinked. “Well, when you put it like that, it makes us look bad…”

“You’ll never convict! You have no proof!” Greg shouted, almost tripping on the pumpkin his foot resided in.

The same elderly townsfolk walked over to the group, a struggling Beatrice in his hands. “This one’s trying to escape!”

“Let me go!” She cried out. “I don’t know these clowns!”

“Children,” Enoch started. “It saddens me that you don’t wish to stay here with us… particularly because I simply have to punish you for your transgressions.”

“I knew it,” Scout whispered in Wirt’s ear. “I knew they were messed up here.”

Enoch started out his next words in a sing-song tune. “So, by the order of the Pottsfield Chamber of Commerce, I find you guilty of trespassing, destruction of property, disturbing the peace… and murder.”

“Murder?!” The teens shrieked.

“Oh, no, not murder,” Enoch snorted. “But for those other crimes, I sentence you to…”

Scout held her breath.

“A few hours of manual labor.”

And then slowly let it out.

-------------------------------------------------

“Is that the last of it?” Scout asked after plunging her rake into the ground.

“Yup. That’s all the hay.” Wirt wiped a line of sweat from his forehead. “Guess that means we move onto… picking the pumpkins, right?”

“Girl!” A voice shouted out. The group turned to see a townsfolk walking up to them. “Not so fast, young lady. We need you for a special job.”

Scout and Wirt shared a look. “What… kind of special job?”

“We need a scarecrow. Need someone with nimble fingers. Gather this hay here and follow me.”

“Uh, yes, sir.” Scout quickly dumped the pile of hay into a wheelbarrow and pushed it behind the retreating pumpkin figure. She sent a reassuring smile over her shoulder at her friends. This seemed to almost do the job for Wirt, the poor boy wringing his hands together.

“She’ll be fine…”

After picking pumpkins, loading them onto a wagon, and then being bullied by turkeys (this was specifically Wirt), the group minus Scout was directed to the cornfield, baskets in hand. When approaching the clearing, the three reared back at the horrible figure displayed before them.

Its haunting grin stretched across its straw face, gangly limbs made of hay and straw, the body propped on a wooden pole. The top of its head lay open, some hay trickling from it. Beside the scarecrow was a ladder, now being climbed by Scout, who beamed at the boys and Beatrice. “Hey, there!”

“Whoo, that thing sure is ugly.” Beatrice whistled.

“He’s my pride and joy.”

Wirt wordlessly started picking the corn as Greg ran up to his friend. “Scout! I missed you so much! You missed it! The turkeys took Wirt’s hat right off his head and wore it! You should’ve seen the way Wirt jumped all around to get it-”

“Alright, Greg, that’s enough.” Wirt muttered. When Scout cackled, he snapped his head up to her. “Hey, what’re you laughing at? Your scarecrow’s head isn’t even closed! He looks like… like he’s lost his mind! Ha!”

“Stop worrying about my scarecrow and worry about your corn!” Scout pointed at him just before a stalk of corn Greg let go of had smacked the teen in his face. Wirt cried out and fell onto his back. He turned his head to the side to see Beatrice smirking at him. “Hey, guys?” Scout quietly called.

“Yeah?” Wirt turned to his friend, who stared off in the distance.

“They’re watching us like hawks…”

Once their work in the cornfield was finished, the four were sent to a large mass of empty land. Their only instruction: dig holes. Seeing as Greg was a very young and short-spanned kid, Scout took it upon herself to help the boy dig his hole and Wirt dug his own. “Scout?” Greg quietly called out, slightly winded from the work. “What if we find buried treasure?”

The girl hummed. “You think that’s why they’re having us do this? To find treasure?”

“Could be,” He shrugged before gasping. “Wait, that means we’re doin’ all the hard work and they get the pay!”

“The ways of the world, Gregory.” Scout tapped his nose. “But I’ll let you snag some.”

The two shared a laugh before Scout plunged her shovel into the ground, coming into contact with something. “Oh, hey, I found something!” She gasped.

“Buried treasure! Wirt!” Greg called out, catching the attention of his brother and their bluebird companion. “Scout found buried treasure!”

“Whoa, really?” Wirt awed as Scout ducked down to check what she found. “See, Beatrice? What’d you find, Scout?”

Wirt and Beatrice hadn’t expected to hear the girl’s frightened scream. They both flinched at the sound as Scout’s head popped up. “Greg, don’t touch it! Oh, god, get me out of here!”

“What?! What is it?!” Wirt widened his eyes and watched as Scout scrambled her way out of the hole. Greg smiled and shifted his body to reveal the skeleton laying in the hole.

“A skeleton!”

“Don’t touch it, Greg!” Scout warned. “We don’t know who that is!”

Wirt moved back and cried out in fear as Beatrice raised her brows, slightly amused. “We’re digging our own… I-I-I was wrong. I was wrong all along. I-I don’t know how to get us home. U-Use your little feet to pick our locks!”

“Oh, ho! Now you want my help?” Beatrice sassed.

“I don’t want your help-”

“Yes, he does!” Scout shouted. “Beatrice, please! At least get Greg out first!”

Any other words of plea died on her tongue at the sight of Enoch’s form moving towards them from a distance. Wirt whirled back to Beatrice, terrified. “Yes, she’s right, I want your help! Beatrice, serio-”

“Your time is up!”

“Aah!” Wirt screamed at the whole town who now crowded them once again. Scout sank back down into the hole and pulled Greg close. Shaking in his spot, Wirt stared up at Enoch, who only glanced down at the holes.

“Have the holes been dug?” A townsperson asked.

“Uh… yeah.”

“Splendid! Well, then-”

“But no.”

“No?”

Wirt blinked down at his feet before snapping his head back up to the townsfolk. “Right! Yeah… Uh, you know, we were digging, and there were too many rocks. You guys don’t like rocks, right?”

Scout narrowed her eyes as they all agreed with Wirt. “What is he doing…? We need to get out of here.”

Within the next second, Beatrice flew down into their hole, her foot free of its chain. As Wirt continued to babble, she freed Greg and then Scout, the three (plus the frog) booking it out of Pottsfield. By the time they were back in the woods, Scout’s chest burned and her leg pulsed in pain. Leaning against a tree, she sighed out and scanned the area around her. “W-Where’s Wirt?”

“Uh… Back with the pumpkin people?” Beatrice shrugged.

“What- Why?! Did you free him?!”

“Yes! I don’t know what that fool is doing!”

Scout let out a grunt of frustration. “Okay, okay. Just… watch Greg, don’t move. I’ll be right back!” She turned on her heel and rushed back towards the empty field. Cutting through the grass, she found her friend lying on his side. “Wirt!” She whispered.

He whipped his head to her, eyes wide and angry. “Where the heck did you guys go?!”

“We escaped! Why didn’t you?!”

“You guys just left me!”

Scout rolled her eyes and pulled Wirt to his feet, the boy realizing his ankle was free of its chain all this time. Dumbfounded, he let her lead him back into the woods. When he snapped back into reality, he broke into a sprint, eventually making his way to his brother and Beatrice. Bracing his hands on his knees, he took very deep breaths. “Are they chasing us?”

“No.”

He let out one last breath before standing up straight. “I-I thought you guys-”

“You’re welcome.” Beatrice smiled a bit. Wirt bowed his head.

“Thank you… I guess we’re even now, huh? You aren’t honor-bound to help us anymore?”

“I wish,” She rolled her eyes. “But you weren’t actually in any danger with those weirdos.”

Wirt grinned. “Oh, yeah! Then you still have to help us get home!”

“I got it!” Greg picked up his frog. “I wish Wirt Jr had fingernails so he could play the guitar better!”

A beat of silence passed before a voice cut through, “An odd time to tune in.”

The three turned to Scout, who approached them with a limp. Wirt frowned at this. “You weren’t running with me?”

“No, I told you they weren’t chasing us.”

“O-Oh…”

Beatrice hummed and turned back to Wirt. “So… yeah! I’ll bring you to Adelaide. I mean, that’s where I’m going anyway.”

As they began their journey ahead, Wirt wrapped Scout’s arm around his waist to support her. “Oh, yeah? What’re you going to Adelaide for?” The girl asked with a small smile.

“I guess, in some ways, I’m trying to get home, too.”

“That’s vague,” Wirt tilted his head. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t have to tell you anything.”

Scout sharply inhaled. “Touchy…”

“Well, I sure hope Adelaide is more helpful than that Woodsman was. I think his directions were… not very good.”

Scout nodded her head in agreement, leaning into Wirt’s shoulder as they continued down the autumn-decorated wood.

—————————————

Taglist: @kirishimas-manly-eyeliner

#over the garden wall #otgw #over the garden wall fic #otgw fic #otgw wirt #otgw greg #otgw beatrice #otgw frog #wirt x reader #the loveliest lies of all