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“Don’ let Jack know,” she slurs automatically, fear-trained in this. She can’t even keep her eyes open and she knows this, anchored while she drifts deliriously between past, present, and sleep by it: if Jack finds out, there’ll be trouble.

She nestles her cheek into his tit, breath tickling the inked bits of his skin as well as the scarred. Even adrift, it’s nice here. Comfortable. If she’s not careful she’ll say some really pathetic shit, like mentioning any of this out loud. Instead, she mumbles, “Don’ wanna be no trouble. Get back too it soon ‘s can.”

“You’re cold. Come here.” (from Teach)

𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 ♡

She’d normally complain. Normally bitch and grouse and moan, find any way other than following the order to see it through, but Edward has Anne at one very large disadvantage: he is well. And recognizing that is all the sign Anne needs to show her she is not. She’s quiet when he fusses her into the bed, mumbles a thank you when he wraps her in a blanket. She supposes, distantly, that she really must have been cold to be wrapped and held against him, human furnace that he is, and not overheat immediately.

Her eyes start to droop and she leans her head on Edward’s shoulder—misses it a bit for his chest but lays her cheek there all the same. Surely she just needs a rest. Right? Would he mind her napping on him like some overgrown infant? She ought to ask. She ought to open her mouth and ask. But Anne’s mouth stays mysteriously closed as her blinking starts to get slower and slower.