#And wishing they’d given it another few years in development.

[babbling-starling]

[hornyfor-redacted-onmain]

Date Day Pt. 2

Pieces of My Heart - Chapter 17 Stray Kids OT8 x reader, Soulmate AU Trigger Warning: Midly suggestive comment made, creepy behavior, and technical assault (reader gets grabbed)

Masterlist | Next Part

You got a message as you were getting ready. Having just finished taking a shower, you checked your phone to see that it was Sophie, who had sent you some memes and a sweet message asking how you were. You answered truthfully telling her you were good but still getting used to a new place. After a second to consider it, you sent her a photo of your two favorite outfit ideas with a question mark.

She answered back immediately.

Sophie oooh, date night? the first one looks really good, the second one is a little too revealing let me know how it goes :) Y/N yeah, first date. kinda nervous wish me luck!

The flood of sweet messages that followed made you smile. You took the outfit she had chosen (which included a beautiful soft sweater that just so happened to match Felixs’) and put it on. You finish getting ready just in time to hear a knock on the door, and you grab your keys and phone before opening the door.

You pause, and then hold up a finger. “Give me a second.”

For your birthday a year prior, you had been given a polaroid camera. The first few weeks you had been obsessed, taking pictures of everything and anything just to shake the polaroids out and feel cool doing it, but eventually you had gotten over it. The camera had been rediscovered in the process of packing your bags, and you had brought it along on a whim.

The sight waiting for you at the front door felt like the perfect opportunity to use it.

Felix and Hyunjin were both caught off guard when you snapped the first photo, but as you shake out the photo, they quickly get excited. They both pose for the second photo without you even having to ask. You hold up the first polaroid as the second one develops, showing it to the two boys with a smile as they crowd next to you to take a look.

Breathtakingly beautiful, and yet somehow homey, you were surprised that Hyunjin had toned down his date outfit compared to what he would normally wea. He had picked an all-black outfit that wouldn’t stand out so easily but still managed to make him look like a hundred bucks. He had his hair slicked back, and you knew his face would mostly be covered with a mask while out in public, but in the photo you could appreciate his model good looks in full.

Felix somehow managed to look ethereal, even with wide eyes of surprise. His mouth was slightly parted, having caught sight of the camera just before you took the photo. His hair was slightly messy, freckles barely seen with the washed-out coloring of the polaroid, but he looked just as beautiful as always, even though he was slightly blurry.

“Yah, a little warning would have been nice,” Felix said, even though he smiled down at the photo.

Hyunjin was already looking at the second. “Ah, this one came out so good. Do you mind if I take a photo of it?”

“Don’t go posting any photos on social media just yet. You don’t want fans to recognize you,” You warned.

“I know,” Hyunjin said, pulling out his phone. “I’ll post it later.”

You hear another snap and look back at Felix just in time to see him shaking out one last polaroid, and you roll your eyes. He smirks.

“Had to get one of you too. Especially when you look so breathtaking.”

“Hmm, they’d look so pretty in a photo shoot, wouldn’t they,” Hyunjin muttered, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye as he takes a photo of the polaroid. “All the beautiful clothes they could wear.”

Felix eyes the photo he took of you. “I think they’d look prettier if they weren’t wearing anything at all.”

“Felix!”

“Sorry babe,” He said, not looking sorry at all.

-0-0-

You weren’t normally a big fan of museums. The paintings were pretty enough, but they never really spoke to you the same way you assumed it did to more artistic people, like Hyunjin. Still, the instillation that he had brought you two for your date was not only the most colorful thing you had ever had the pleasure of walking through, but somehow also very open in its meaning.

You noticed it from the very first room you three walked in. It was covered in colorful strings, which at first just looked pretty, but from certain points in the room the strings would line up just right enough for an image to form. You spotted a butterfly first, and then what looked like a leaf.

Felix waved you over from the furthest corner, joined by two teenagers and a family of three.

“It’s the cocoon. I’m guessing that there’s a caterpillar somewhere,” he told you.

You looked around until you spotted another small group of people in a spot you hadn’t been to before. After pointing it out to him, the two of you walked over hand in hand to find that it was indeed the spot where the strings formed a caterpillar, and he grinned, leading you around the room to watch the entire process take place. You met back up with Hyunjin at the door to the next room, and he eyed your joined hands with a smirk.

“How are you liking the colors?” He asked Felix.

Felix looked back at the strings with wide eyes. “I’m more surprised they managed to form different images with the same strings.”

“Hmm, I think you’ll like this one too.”

Hyunjin led the two of you into the next room. The walls and sectioned off parts of the floor had what you assumed were cotton, only they were dyed in soft pastel colors that matched the soft pastel ombre of the walls and floors. The cotton in the sectioned of portions had small entrances, where workers would allow small groups of 3 or 4 people walk across the ground barefoot. Felix let out a small sound in surprise.

“Wow. It’s like the colors are … only kind of there, but still there. So white.”

You hummed. “I think it’s supposed to be the sky. Look, it’s mostly blue, red, orange, and pink. It’s like a sunset.”

“The cotton is the clouds,” Hyunjin agreed, taking Felix’s other hand. “Want to go walk on the clouds with me?”

Felix nodded, and the three of you made it over to the sectioned off portion. You had to wait a few minutes in the line to walk across, and the worker warned you all to walk slowly and to be careful, but once you felt the ‘clouds’ under your feet you knew that it was worth the wait. You were also immediately sure that it wasn’t cotton you were walking on.

“It’s so soft!” Felix exclaimed, wiggling his toes.

The boys waddled ahead of you, Hyunjin even reaching down to touch whatever you were walking on with his own hands in awe.

It really did feel like you were walking on a cloud.

The second installation wasn’t as interactive as the first two. It consisted of multiple pop-art paintings hanged around the room, and Hyunjin was more than eager to explain some of them to Felix. You, however, made your way around the room quickly, and with a quick thumbs up from the boys to show that it was okay, you advanced to the next room by yourself.

This one truly stumped you. You weren’t sure what it was, no matter how long you looked at it. It was a large pane of glass that nearly split the room in two, and splatters of paint littered across the glass. There were lots of dark blue and green peeking out in spots, but most of the glass was covered in bright red splatters, like someone had launched buckets of paint right at it.

You must have spent a long time staring at the art piece trying to understand because Hyunjin and Felix caught up to you, Hyunjin wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“It’s kind of sad, isn’t it,” he murmured.

You blinked. “I don’t get it.”

He pointed out the green and blue splotches on the edge. “It’s supposed to be the earth. The blue and green is the planet, and the red represents … well, I guess you could take it literally as blood covering the earth. But I think it does a good job of representing violence, pain, anger, evil. Its pretty open to interpretation.”

“Oh,” you said, nodding in understanding. “Huh, I never would have thought of that.”

Felix rolled his eyes. “He’s just reading the information packet we were handed at the entrance.”

“You mean the one I stuffed in my bag and haven’t looked at since we got here?” You said sheepishly, reaching for the now crumbled paper.

Hyunjin laughed.

Felix began to wander off towards the other side of the room, but Hyunjin stayed with you as you started to read through the packet, learning about the artists of each piece and the meaning behind them. Hyunjin wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin against your shoulder, slowly rocking the two of you side to side.

You giggled. “I can’t read if you keep moving me.”

“You don’t need that anyways. I’ll explain everything to you,” he assured you.

“I’m sure you’ll do a better job anyways,” You said, giving up and deciding you’ll finish the packet back at home. “I love the way you explain things. I love the way you see things.”

“I just appreciate all the little things, the beauty in life. It makes all the big things that much more meaningful.”

“Like what?”

He pressed his mask up against your cheek in leu of a kiss, and you leaned back into his embrace. “Like you.”

“You’re such a romantic.”

“Hmm.”

The two of you stood there for another minute, softly rocking back and forth. You closed your eyes and let his warmth wash over you, the feel of his skin on yours, his chest expanding and retracting as he breathed, his soft humming in your ear.

You smiled. “You mean the world to me.”

He just held you tighter in response.

-0-0-

You had once again managed to wander ahead of the boys. You decided to wait for them in a quitter section, sitting down on a bench and scrolling through your phone as you waited. A family walked through, their chatter filling the small room, but they eventually moved on, and you took a second to observe the painting in front of you.

It was pretty, not as colorful as some of the other pieces you had seen today, but you imagined it had some deeper meaning you didn’t quite get.

A guy a little bit older than you sits down on the bench next to you, and you quickly move you bag closer to your body, scooting to the side with a small nod. The two of you sit in silence, looking at the painting, before he suddenly speaks up.

“It’s amazingly intricate, isn’t it,” he says, voice deep.

“Oh, I guess,” You murmur.

He tilts his head, still staring at the painting. “I’m in awe of the technique. Don’t think I could replicate something that beautiful even if I tried.”

You hummed in agreement.

There was a moment of silence, and then he spoke up again, this time turning to look at you fully. “What do you think about it?”

“Oh, I’m not much of an art person,” You explained. “I’m actually just waiting for someone.”

The man narrows his eyes, nods his head for a few seconds, and then shoots you a blinding smile. “Are you a foreigner?”

You hesitate. “Yes?”

“Your Korean is very good.”

“Oh, thank you.”

“You know, foreigners usually learn a lot from sleeping with Korean men.”

He said the words so nonchalantly, so bluntly, that it took you of guard for a second. You couldn’t even find yourself getting angry or scandalized, because you were just so in shock that someone would even say something like that out loud. It was only then that you acknowledged how uncomfortable he was making you.

You grimaced, standing up. “Right. I think I’m just going to-“

“Yah, leaving so soon?” He says, grabbing your arm as you try to pass by.

The room was empty. There was nobody around, and there was a strange man grabbing you, and it took everything you had not scream. Maybe you should scream. Should you scream? Should you hit him? You began to panic, not sure what to do.

His grip tightened. “Hey, there’s no need to be afraid. I just want to talk.”

“Let go of me.”

You tried to sound authoritative, but you voice wavered. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and it felt like someone was squeezing it. You try to pull your arm away, but the sudden recoil of the action only has you falling towards the man. The second his other hand touches your hip, you jolt past your hesitation and slam straight into outrage.

“Let go of me!” You yell, pushing against his chest with all your might.

The action forces him to let go, and you stumble back. You’re tempted to run, and for a split second you almost do, but then the loud laugh of a kid gains the attention of the man.

Two kids run into the room, followed by a very anxious mother trying to get them to quiet down. The woman and kids seem to be part of a group, and the small room slowly starts to fill with people. You turn around to look for the man, but he’s already gone.

The kids laugh loudly again.

You rush towards the bathroom as you feel your eyes starting to sting with tears, anger making your body feel hot and fuzzy. It wasn’t until you were in the empty room that you realized your bag was vibrating. You pull out your phone, eyes widening at the 4 missed calls and dozen texts Chan had sent you. Before you can read any of them, he’s calling again.

“Are you okay?” Is the first thing he says the moment you answer.

“I’m okay,” You say instinctively, but then you pause. “I … actually, I don’t know if I am okay.”

“What happened. Where are you?”

“I’m still at the museum, I’m fine … physically. It’s- there was a guy, he said something gross, and he grabbed me. He’s gone now, but it just kind of freaked me out.”

You looked down to your arm, which felt strangely cold from the man’s touch. You felt slimy just thinking about his hands on you.

“Where are the boys?” Chan questioned, and you put him on speaker so you could wash your hands.

“I don’t know. I was waiting for them, and this creep just walked up to me.” You took a deep breath. “I think I’m okay. I just need a minute.”

“Take as long as you need sweetheart.”

You scrubbed your arm with soap in hopes of elevating the disgust, but the harder you scrubbed the more your skin began to sting, so you gave up. You dried off and took a second to just stare at the mirror. The anger was still there, so was the fear, but mostly you just felt tired. You shook your head, picking your phone back up.

“I think I’m good. I’m really sorry I freaked you out,” you told Chan.

“Don’t ever apologize for something that isn’t your fault.” He let out a sigh. “Are you sure the guy is gone?”

You peeked your head out of the bathroom. “Yeah, I don’t see him. I think he got spooked by the other people who showed up.”

Chan swore on the other end, in both Korean and English. “Do you think you can find Hyunjin or Felix?”

“Yeah, I’ll look for them. I’m sorry you had to feel that. I’m sure you’re busy.” You wandered back to the room you had just been in, but there was no sign of the boys. “I can call you back later.”

“I mean absolutely no offense to you sweetheart, but you must be out of your goddamn mind if you think I’m hanging up right now.”

You let out a small laugh. “Fair enough.”

It was comforting, knowing Chan was on the phone as you made your way around the museum. Even though you were sure you weren’t in any real danger, and the rooms you walked through were full of people, you knew deep down that you wouldn’t have felt as safe as you did now if Chan wasn’t there, even if it was just him breathing on the other end.

You finally spotted Hyunjin first, letting out a sigh of relief. “I found them.”

Hyunjin looked up with a smile as you ran up to him, but his smile quickly dropped when he saw your face. “Are you okay?”

“Let me talk to him,” Chan said, and you quickly handed over the phone.

Felix wandered over when he spotted the two of you. He noticed the tense atmosphere between the two of you, and he placed a hand on your arm in worry as Hyunjin’s face began to pull down in worry and anger.

“What’s going on?”

You licked your lips and took a deep breath. “Some guy grabbed me, I freaked out. Chan felt it.”

“Wait, some guy grabbed you?” Felix dropped his hand and looked you over in worry. He gently lifted your arm in shock, and you realized that there was a small red mark from where you had been grabbed. “Oh my god, are you okay?”

“It’s fine, I’m just pissed he got away.”

“I’m going to kill him,” Hyunjin said, and he quickly said something in Korean so fast you couldn’t even begin to understand. “Hyung, I’m calling the cops.”

“The hell you are,” you exclaimed, grabbing the phone out of his hand. “Are you insane?”

“This guy hurt you,” Hyunjin argued.

“That guy is a creep, I won’t argue with you on that, but he didn’t hurt me. He grabbed my arm a little tight, but I’ve been hurt worse by walking into a table.”

“He put his hands on you.” Felix said.

“And what do you plan on doing? Looking for him? Yelling at him? You don’t even know if he’s still here!”

“I’ll have the museum security find out who he is. I’ll track him down myself if I have to,” Hyunjin said.

“Right sure, I can see the headlines now. Stray Kids Hyunjin arrested for attacking a man who was a creep to his soulmate.” You smacked his shoulder. “What happened to keeping a low profile?”

Felix grabbed your hand. “Baby, this guy should have never touched you. What he did was not okay-“

“I know. Believe me, I know.” You interrupted. “But he’s gone now. And I’m not going to let you guys expose yourselves just to … defend my honor. He didn’t do anything that would warrant more than a slap on the wrist. It’s not worth it.”

You could tell neither one was satisfied, but something on your face must have convinced them, because they quickly conceded. You only then remembered you were still on a call with Chan, and you quickly brought the phone back up to your face and asked if he was still there.

“I’m still here,” Chan said softly.

“You get all that?”

He sighed. “Yeah.”

“I’m hanging up on you now.”

“Please, be safe.”

You smiled. “I will.”

The words ‘I love you’ burned on the tip of your tongue, begging to be released, but you swallowed them down.

It didn’t feel right.

Not yet.

-0-0-

Even though you tried to encourage the boys to finish the exhibit, they unanimously agreed to cut the date short, and you were secretly relieved. You held Hyunjin’s hand tight as you walked past the security guards, knowing he would be tempted despite your agreement, and managed to make your way out into the warm afternoon sun without any issues.

You were relieved that the boys hadn’t been recognized yet.

“You want to go home?” Felix asked, and you thought about it for a second.

Now that you were out of the museum and breathing in fresh air, the idea of cutting the date short and ending it on such a bitter ending felt wrong. You shook your head.

“What do you want to do?” He asked.

You pursed your lips. “Are there any parks nearby?”

“Hmm, there’s one two blocks away,” Hyunjin said, already looking up the directions on his phone. Then he tilted his head. “If you’re willing to walk a little further, we’re not that far from the Han river.”

“Oh! I’ve always wanted to go to the Han river!”

“Then lets go,” Felix said, eyes crinkling.

You walked in between the two, holding hands with both of them and swinging them back and forth. You felt carefree, a nice change from the exhaustion you had felt earlier, and the wind blowing through your hair swept away all your worries. Even so, you could tell neither boy was completely over what had happened.

You pulled your hands together, forcing them to hold each other’s hands as you moved behind them, giving them a big smile. “You two look good together.”

Hyunjin snorted, wrapping his arm around Felix. “Maybe I’ll steal him all for myself.”

Not one to be outdone, Felix grabbed Hyunjin by the back of the neck. “Who says I won’t come willingly?”

Hyunjin jolted back at that, and the two of them started laughing. You raised an eyebrow, noticing the way their eyes darted to each other and then back to you. You patted Felix on the shoulder as you moved past them, skipping to the corner of the street.

“Come on lover boys. You two can flirt with each other later.”

The three of you continued your walk with less tension than before, the events of the museum only a blip of an otherwise nice day.

Well, relatively nice.

It was hot out, as summer was starting to get closer. The sun was shining bright, and by the time you guys found a nice spot near the river and under the shade, you were sweating. While it wasn’t unbearingly hot, Hyunjin’s offer to get ice cream was a blessing.

He told you he would back quickly, smooching your cheek messily as he left.

Felix decided to wait with you as the other dancer left, leaning back on his elbows and closing his eyes to enjoy the cool breeze. There were kids playing and laughing, couples walking at the riverside, and even dogs running in the grass. It was peaceful.

“I hate it, you know,” Felix said.

You tilted your head in confusion. “What?”

“Having to hide this.” He opened his eyes to look at you. “Not being able to be with you so publicly.”

You eyed his mask still on his face, pulled down only slightly below his nose. Any normal person would have taken it off by now, but even though Hyunjin had led you two towards a fairly secluded area, it was still too risky for his face to be seen in public.

Or rather, it was too risky for him to be seen in public with you.

You looked down. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Felix was quick to reassure you. “It’s what I signed up for when I decided to become an Idol.”

“You still deserve your privacy,” You muttered.

“Would you have done something if we weren’t idols?”

You didn’t have to ask him what he was talking about.

It was silent for a second, wind blowing through the trees above you. Leaves and flowers began to fall around the two of you, littering the grass between you. You grabbed a flower, twirling it around your fingers as you contemplated Felix’s words.

“Maybe.” At the way his face fell, you shifted closer. “Hey, I’m not saying that your idol status was the only reason I didn’t want to get the authorities involved. Like I said before, I doubt they would have been able to do anything more than chastise the guy anyways.”

Felix sighed. “It still doesn’t seem right.”

“It isn’t. But I’m okay, really.”

You reached over to hold his hand, and he gave it a tight squeeze. When he turned his head to look at you, you were already looking at him, the wind blowing hair around and blocking your view for a second. Felix’s eyes shifted to the side, and you turned to see what he was looking at, but you didn’t see anything. You turned back in time to see him pulling his mask down.

His lips were on yours for only a split second, but it was enough to make your face heat up. Felix pressed his forehead to yours, whispering against your lips.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

You smiled, letting your lips press together again. “With you? Always.”

He didn’t say anything else after that. Hyunjin didn’t mention your close proximity when he returned, simply handing over your ice cream with soft eyes.

“Careful, it’s starting to melt,” he warned you, but it was too late. A glob of ice cream had slid off the cone and hit your fingers.

He gratefully handed you a napkin afterwards, and you laughed when his own ice cream began to melt onto his hand as well. Felix accepted his own ice cream more carefully, managing to keep his hands clean.

Without thinking too much about it, you licked the ice cream that had fallen onto your fingers before wiping the area with the napkin. You then licked around the cone edge to catch the melting ice cream drops and avoid more of a mess, finishing off with a proper taste of your actual ice cream cone. You looked up to catch both boys watching you with familiar looks.

You snapped your fingers at them, instinctively speaking in english. “Hey, mind out of the gutter. I don’t put out on the first date.”

Felix laughed at your statement, replying in korean. “Damn, there go my plans for the night.”

“Wait, what did you she say?”

The two of you laughed at the confused look on Hyunjin’s face.

Yeah. You were okay.

-0-0-

“Walking me to my door, like proper gentleman,” You teased.

Hyunjin grinned, slipping the ball cap he had used out on the streets and running his hands through his hair. “Maybe we’re just hoping for the end of the date kiss.”

“So I’ve been told,” You said, giving Felix a side eye. “You seem awfully sure of yourself.”

You turned to open your door, planning on teasing them a little bit more, but Hyunjin pressed himself up against you, leaning on his arms resting above you. You turned back to face him properly, flicking his nose.

“Did you need something?”

He puckered his lips in response, and you laughed. You conceded, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down for a kiss. His own hands dropped down to your waist, his touch warm and comforting as he kissed you softly and slowly. When he pulled away, you were surprised to see him looking almost sad, and you watched his eyes flicker down to your arm where the man had grabbed you.

While it wasn’t noticeable to anyone who didn’t know better, the skin was red and irritated. There was a chance it might bruise slightly.

You tucked your finger under Hyunjin’s chin and lifted his face so you could look into his eyes. “Hey, forget about it. Forget about him.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he said.

“It wasn’t your fault,” You assured him. “Don’t let the actions of one horrible man ruin our perfect date.”

“Perfect, huh?”

“Ahh, don’t let it go to your head,” You droned, pressing another kiss to his lips.

To both of your surprise, the moment Hyunjin pulled away Felix was there, pushing you back against the door and kissing you so hard it made you see stars. He practically devoured you, your breath stolen and lips tingling when he finally pulled away. His eyes were dilated, mouth red and slick with saliva that he licked away, cupping your cheeks in his hands.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” He asked you, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“What happened to taking it slow?”

“Screw slow.”

Later that night, as you were getting ready for bed, Hyunjin sent a message to the group chat. It was a picture of you and Felix kissing at your front door, and he sent another message after.

‘Nothing in that museum compares to seeing these two together. This is real art.’

[the-uninformed-zennial]

So, uh, Fable ended.

And now I’m gonna be sappy on main.

I started watching Fable about half a year before I started being active in the fandom, around the time I started falling in love with my partner @hoardingpuffin . Watching Rae and Caspian’s relationship develop was actually part of what helped me realize that the things I was feeling for them were romantic and not just platonic. Surprisingly enough, that’s just the beginning of the profound effect Fable had on me.

I had never really interacted with fandom spaces before Fable. But when I caught up with lore sometime in November 2022, I decided to join the discord. It was a crazy place. Being someone who’d never really been in a server before I was completely overwhelmed and nervous, so I didn’t interact much for the first month or so.

Then I discovered that, despite the incredible love for the project, no one had made a “which character are you?” Quiz yet, so, I decided to fuck it and make one myself. The response I got to that was unlike any I had seen before. I was getting pinged weeks afterwards with people’s results and it made me really happy to see how much my work was appreciated by everyone in the community. It got me thinking about other ways I might be able to give back.

Then, as you all know, the stream “Call” and it’s partner “Response” came out on Ghosty and HeyHay’s channels. I’d been feeling so similarly to the two characters, dealing with my long distance relationship with Puffin. So, I took those feelings and the words Heyhay and Ghosty had used to convey them for their characters and put them into a song.

And then something insane happened.

Everyone liked it. Like, everyone liked it. This crappy recording I made at 2 AM suddenly got hundreds and then thousands of views when I put it on SoundCloud and YouTube. It was insane. I had written some songs before, but they’d always been ridiculed, so having a large group of people like the fable community enjoy something that I wrote was absolutely insane to me, and it encouraged me to make more.

I found myself being inspired by the characters in fable, connecting with different storylines or sentences said on streams. I found myself writing songs, one after another after another.  At one point I was writing a song a week for a period of about three months. I had never experienced this amount of raw creativity before, but every time I put a new song out, I only got encouraged to make more.

And then people started to ask me when I was going to put them on Spotify. And that was another moment that everything changed. I realized if I was gonna put these out there in such an official way I didn’t want it to just be a bunch of crappy recorded singles. So I needed to make an album.

That was something I had never considered doing before. I knew nothing about music editing or sound mixing. Up until that point all of my songs had been made on GarageBand at 2 AM with very little editing or mixing going into them. So, I started saving for a real music editing program and within a few months I got there.

Then came the actual making of the album. I took a few months off in the summer and just dove headfirst into it. Every spare moment I wasn’t modding for the Sherbathon, or the discord, or streaming my own lore, was spent working on those songs. And while looking back now I wish I knew what I know now about music editing, I’m so glad I did what I did. Putting that album out, seeing how you all responded to it… it made me realize that this is something I love, something that I don’t have to wait for someone else’s permission or teaching to do.

This fandom is the reason I’m a musical artist and that is something I don’t think I will ever be able to express the importance of enough.



As much as I could talk about the unending support and encouragement I received from the wonderful cast members throughout my experience making the album, or how being given the role of mod on the fandom discord taught me so much about how to be a creator in my own right, or even the amazing experience I had being able to make songs for the lore. When it comes right down to it, it was the community, cast and all, that impacted my life in the profound way it has been. So thank you, each and every one of you, whether you are a cast member, a fan, a fellow mod, or even just someone who streamed a song you didn’t have any context for. Thank you for changing my life, for giving me the encouragement to pursue my dreams.

Thank you Fable SMP cast, crew, and community 💕

[teamdilf]

bestie I am begging you I'm lit obsessed w your Solavellan stuffs I hope you keep writing abt them after all that.......... happened in Veilguard...... and I ALSO wanna kno what you think of it once you finished 🤭🫣😭👁️👁️

I’ve already got one post-Veilguard fic up and am working on another! I’ll put my thoughts under a cut for the sake of people who haven’t finished yet.

In general, I loved the game. It had its issues - I think the lack of world state customization hurt the narrative, leaving it feeling disconnected from the other games.

I didn’t feel as strongly about the companions as I have in the previous games - but I’ve also only played once, and I finished the game over six days. I’ve just started a second run and I’ll be playing over a much longer period of time so I’m hoping that will change.

Bellara and Davrin were my favourites, though and I romanced Davrin, and thought it was lovely. 💜 I’d been so lukewarm on Bellara in Vows & Vengeance so I was pleasantly surprised by how much I loved her. Emmrich was also lovely, but I didn’t connect with his storyline, truth be told.

Having developed my Rook, Melody, so much beforehand was helpful from a role playing perspective, especially since I was disappointed in the lack of Lords of Fortune lore. Her backstory has changed a bit to correspond with canon reveals about the LOF origin, and I’d like to write about the early years of her life, and meeting her mentor/adoptive father, Marcel.

Now, on to my Solavellan thoughts! 😂 I was happy with the ending. Thrilled, honestly, because I’d predicted long ago that the happiest ending they’d ever have would have Iris leaving to live with Solas in the Fade. I adored the Loki/Sigyn allusions to their ending.

That being said, I think they could have stood to let their reunion breathe a bit. I didn’t like that Solas refused Lavellan when she asked him to stop - I think it would have felt better if he’d been waffling, and not get answered when Morrigan intervened and brought Mythal to speak to him. Initially I’d been pretty pissed that it was Mythal and not Rook or Lavellan who talked him down, but after a few days of reflection, I’m more OK with it. He needed to be freed from his self-imposed bonds in order to be able to move forward and start the work to accept what he’s done cannot be undone without causing mass carnage.

That he ended the game as the veilguard (willing or unwilling) felt right - he needs to atone for all he’s done and his vow to protect the world with every breath he takes was moving and satisfying.

The kiss was fine - he’d gotten chewed up by an archdemon and was in rough shape so, much as I’d have loved a bit of tongue in there, my assumption is Lavellan was being careful not to hurt him. 😂 I wish we’d gotten more of his expressions - the fly cam shots floating around are beautiful and I’d have loved to see him smile as he gazes at his love in-game, rather than via fly cam.

Long story short, while the journey wasn’t perfect, the destination was, and I’ve got a whole list of fanfic ideas to tackle - both featuring Iris and Solas, as well as Melody and Davrin. Right now I’m working on a fic set immediately after Solas and Iris arrive at the prison. It’s heavy on the hurt/comfort on account of Solas taking a legendary ass-kicking, but I’d also like to explore Iris’ own regret, given the nature of the space they’re living in, as well as her efforts to alter the space to make it a home and not a prison. It’ll be a slow effort, but you can see the end result of that work in the fic I linked above, which is set three years after the end of Veilguard.

[monstrousgourmandizingcats]

Okay please tell me about this animorphs stuff because it seems like a WILD ride

Animorphs is an extremely moody and morose series of serialized mid-grade novels from the late 1990s (opinions vary on whether or not it's moody and morose enough to count as grimdark). They were everywhere when I was a little kid; you'd walk into an elementary school classroom at the beginning of the school year and there'd be six or seven Animorphs books already lying around, as if they'd spawned from the walls and floor or something. Unfortunately, they were produced in a very disposable, one-and-done way, and they're now out of print and semi-difficult to find as hard copies; for that reason, the author, K.A. Applegate, has explicitly advised fans to just pirate them. I've been finding a lot of them at public libraries instead, though, because I greatly prefer hard-copy reading when at all possible.

Applegate was a Midwestern housewife who co-developed and co-wrote the bulk of the series with her husband, Michael Grant. In addition to Grant, the later half of the series employed a bunch of other ghostwriters as well, although Applegate retained creative control and regularly vetoed what the ghostwriters were doing.

The premise of the books is that a group of five ordinary-ish teenagers stumble upon a crashed alien ("Andalite") spaceship and are given the ability to "morph" into different animals, subject to a two-hour time limit. They use this power to fight a guerrilla war against another alien species, the Yeerks, who are little grey slug-like creatures who take up residence in the brains of larger species and override their free will. For the bulk of the series none of them is sure who in their own families is and isn't a Yeerk; they know for a fact that at least two of their loved ones are. There's an atmosphere of paranoia that leads to increasingly toxic codependency as the Animorphs slowly lose the ability to trust, take any interest in, or care about non-Animorphs, although they do keep fighting for humanity as a whole.

The Animorphs are:

Jake. The leader of the group. "A dumb jock trying to play General Eisenhower." Likes basketball and the Offspring (which he just refers to as "Offspring" for some reason). From a secular Jewish family, although not completely secular since they light Sabbath candles. His brother, Tom, is known to be a Yeerk.

Rachel. Jake's cousin. A skinny blonde shopaholic and semi-serious hobbyist gymnast who develops worse and worse rage issues as the series goes on. Is she a brave soldier for humanity, or a violent maniac who gloms on to a good cause so she can avoid confronting the darkness within her? Neither; she's explicitly, textually both! She's my favorite.

Marco. Jake's best friend. A typical "funny" late 90s/early 2000s teenage boy with all the tastes and interests we generally associate with that--video games, South Park, Howard Stern. All that's missing is Family Guy. Of ambiguous sexuality and appears to be in love with Jake. Able to suddenly get incredibly serious, even ruthless, when he has to. His mother, Eva, is not only a Yeerk but an incredibly important and high-ranking one. Eva is Mexican Catholic but Marco doesn't appear to be religious.

Cassie. Rachel's best friend and Jake's love interest. From a middle-class black family that lives in a big farmhouse on the outskirts of town. Both of her parents are vets; her dad runs a wildlife rescue clinic and her mom works at a shitty for-profit zoo. The idealistic pacifist of the group, although she's a "kill 'em and then cry over 'em" pacifist and gets regularly dragged for this in-universe. Appears to be Catholic and at least semi-serious about it.

Tobias. Rachel's love interest. A mopey bully magnet with an unbelievably toxic and chaotic home life who accidentally-on-purpose gets stuck in morph as a red-tailed hawk in the first book and retains that as his default body for the rest of the series even once he regains morphing ability thirteen books in. A dreamer who's able to use his own ambivalent identity to build bridges between all sorts of different groups, but also has almost as much of a killer instinct as his girlfriend and occasionally makes calls that are even more coldhearted than Marco's.

A few books in they're joined by Aximili, an Andalite cadet trapped on Earth whose storylines alternate between goofy fish-out-of-water comedy and dark military psychodrama. For this reason, it's difficult for both the other characters and the reader to understand how they're expected to react or respond to Ax. Ax is technically Tobias's uncle since we find out Tobias's missing dad was an Andalite who became stuck in morph as a human.

As the books go on the morality is complicated significantly; the Animorphs resort to more and more repugnant tactics, and we find out that although the Yeerks' government and military brass are pure evil, a lot of individual Yeerks are just folks who've been dealt a crummy hand by evolution and have fallen for propaganda that they're justified in overriding other species' free will to "solve" this. There are Yeerks who believe it's wrong to take unwilling hosts, and Yeerks who wish they could find a middle way between being conquering slavemasters and "slugs beneath the Andalite hooves". Unfortunately, not many plotlines focus on them.

So that's Animorphs.

[capseycartwright]

it always leads to you, in my hometown

James gave her a reassuring smile. “You can love somewhere,” he began, and maybe he meant somewhere and someone, too, but Erin wasn’t ready to have that conversation. “And still need to leave it for a while. Derry will always be here,” he reassured, reaching out and giving her knee a gentle squeeze.

“And you?” she breathed the words. "Will you always be here?"

- or, a series of moments over their university years where james and erin fall together, fall apart, and find their way home to each other.

read on ao3

AUGUST 1998

Erin wanted to make one thing clear: she loved Derry. It felt important, to clarify that - especially as it was the night before she left it for four years of university in Dublin. She loved Derry, with every part of her heart and soul, the city etched deep into her bones, at the core of who she was - Erin Quinn could have been a very different girl, if she’d grown up somewhere else. But, she didn’t: she’d grown up in Derry, and so the city she called home now would forever be, well, home.

Derry was changing - for the better, Erin hoped, but that wouldn’t become clear for another while yet. Derry was changing, the city she knew so well entering a new era, the Good Friday Agreement approved on all sides of the border, people beginning to hope that their future could be a peaceful one. May had rolled into August, the summer slow, and syrupy sweet, the days feeling endless, and too quick, all the same, passing faster than Erin had been ready for.

The lights of the city glittered in front of her as Erin watched on from her spot on the walls, drinking in the sight of her home before she set off for university in the morning.

“I thought I might find you here,” a voice drew her attention, Erin twisting to see James standing a few metres away, arms crossed over his chest as he watched her carefully.

Erin gestured vaguely. “Yeah,” she managed. “You found me.”

“Mind if I join you?”

Erin shook her head, watching as James eased himself up and onto the cool stone of the wall beside her. Derry was never very quiet, but it felt quieter that evening, the noise of people going about their lives background noise as she watched James settle next to her.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what’s wrong?” she asked after a beat of silence.

James shrugged. “I think I can guess,” he said, because over the last year, James had developed this uncanny ability to read into Erin’s every thought, and so it didn’t surprise her that he knew. Well, Erin supposed - it wasn’t hard to guess why she was here, sitting on the city walls, instead of watching her mother go through the packing list for the fifth time that day.

“Everything is changing,” Erin said, letting out a shaky breath. This week - it had been full of goodbyes.

They’d gone to the airport with Clare and her mammy on Tuesday, waving goodbye from the departures hall as Clare had headed for the security gate, and her new life in London, away to university about as far as she could get from Derry. Erin understood, really, she did - for Clare, Derry was filled with the ghost of her father, the man sitting quietly on every street corner, a reminder that he never saw Clare finish school, never got to vote in the referendum, never saw his beloved Northern Ireland start on the slow march to peace. No, Erin could understand why Clare needed to leave - but for a moment, clinging to Michelle’s hand, Erin had wished that the day hadn’t come and that Clare hadn’t felt like she needed to go.

It was hypocritical of her, she knew - Erin herself was off to Glasgow in the morning, a place at the University of Glasgow on their English Literature course waiting for her. She’d applied on a whim, and told nobody, until UCAS had come through and informed her that she’d been given an unconditional offer at Glasgow to study her dream degree. It had been her mammy, who’d told her she should go, Mary wiping away Erin’s confused tears as she’d reassured her daughter that it was okay, and she should go, and follow her dreams, and her, and her daddy, would always support her - no matter where in the world she was.

James was staying. That had been the biggest plot twist of it all - if their lives were a novel, and James staying in Northern Ireland could be considered a plot twist rather than a thoughtfully made life choice - but Erin could understand why he was staying. James hadn’t said it in as many words, but here, in Derry, he’d found a place to call home for the first time, and so it made sense that he wasn’t willing to go very far, English and Film Studies at Queen's University Belfast his new home as of September.

“It is, aye,” James agreed, and Erin couldn’t help but smile at the Derry lilt that had found a home in James’ accent, the swotty (Michelle’s words, not her own) English accent he had arrived in Derry with all those years ago now slowly beginning to fade. It suited him, Erin decided - he was a Derry girl, after all.

“What - what if it’s not as good?” Erin couldn’t help the tears that welled up in her eyes as she looked at Derry, and looked at James again, her heart aching as she tried to even begin to process the monumental changes that they were standing on the precipice of. For years now, Erin had dreamed of university, adulthood, and growing up, and now it was finally all happening, she couldn’t help but wish that she was heading back to Mary Immaculate College and Sister Michael’s wrath in two weeks' time.

James looked thoughtful, for a second. “I don’t think it’ll be comparable,” he said, continuing after a beat. “Nothing is ever going to be comparable to this,” he gestured vaguely, waving toward the rolling expanse of Derry that spread out for miles in front of them. “But that doesn’t mean that what’s coming next is going to be bad. You know? It’s going to be - it’s going to be fun,” he said, determined. “It’ll be different, sure, but it’s going to be fun too.”

Erin wiped roughly at her eyes. “What if I can’t do it alone?”

James gave her a fond smile. “You’ll never be alone, Erin,” he said, and Erin couldn’t help but smile. She hadn’t ever been alone, not really, her life always full of joy, and laughter, and friends and family. She, and Clare and Michelle had already gone through the teary goodbyes and promises to stay in touch, and Orla had, in her very Orla-like way, solemnly reassured that she could easily swim the length of the Irish sea between here, and Scotland, if Erin ever needed her.

“I know, I just…” she trailed off, wondering how to voice her fear aloud. “What if I get to Glasgow, and I can’t do it alone?”

“Erin Quinn,” James said, as though he was about to say something obvious, something she should already know. “You can do anything you set your mind to.”

read the rest on ao3

[raposarealm]

Rapo Rambles About Juri and Herself

Maaaan, reading through Juri’s MSS, I’m seeing what I very well could’ve been.

I took on working on the JSON for Ai’s translation of Juri’s MSS, and while editing the file format to merge with the Japanese JSON, I’ve gotten to read through the translation (which is quite well done, thank you Ai!) 

For some context, Juri attends Ryuugasaki Academy, which is a relatively well-to-do all-girl’s school. She worked hard to get into its attendance, so her father (who’s both single and a teen father, so he has literally Juri and that’s it,) wouldn’t have to worry about her getting a poor education, or, more importantly, her getting kicked out. Except, she continued to get into tussles, and was on the verge of expulsion, presumably not for the first time, when she was approached by Kyubey, and made her wish: for a “perseverant heart”. That’s what granted her personal magic as such; she can endure much more than before, but the more she endures negative emotion, the more violently she’ll ‘explode’ when she reaches her inevitable limit. As of her MSS, the only outlet she’s found has been to physically fight other people (mostly Yuna). 

I remember when I was in elementary school, and was in private schools similar to Juri’s. I also had a serious anger issues, coupled with a number of neurodivergencies that made it all worse. From what I can see, I don’t know whether Juri was bullied or hazed when she was younger, but given the combination of her extremely short temper, rough behavior inherited from her father, and of course, said father’s young age and single status, I’d wager she definitely was. I wasn’t in Juri’s exact situation, but it was comparable in some ways -- for one, I had a mother in bad health, who was bedridden for part of my elementary years, and for two, I attended so-called ‘Christian’ private schools that were, for the singular exeption of one actually good Catholic school (yes, I’m serious!), were basically Evangelical nightmares. 

My father, as I’ve noted on here before, is a Doctor of molecular genetics, and from the combined influence of him and my mother’s profession of emergency nursing/paramedicine, I developed a strong interest in scientific fields very early on. When asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I’d routinely answer ‘a chemist!’, with heavy enthusiasm -- I wanted to work in drug research specifically, because another hit to my mother’s health was her extreme allergy to NSAIDs (non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs), which are the primary treatment for most chronic pain. Needless to say, the minute any of my teachers found out of my father’s profession, and how his love of the sciences had rubbed off on me, they’d give me all hell. ‘Of course she’s bad, her father’s a biologist! Which means he believes in evolution,’ they’d unilaterally think. (Look, my ‘science’ textbook in fourth grade claimed the Moon was only a few thousand years old, which was the moment I realized how dumb the curriculum was.) So I was allowed to become the bullying target, with the teachers refusing to reprimand any student who harassed me, and instead turning the blame on me when I’d boil over from repeated abuse. Hell, I sat out in the hall as ‘punishment’ nearly every day in fifth grade, arguable the worst year of my life. 

The difference though, from Juri’s background, is that I had two parents, one of whom was a full-time mother, for the very reason of my severe neurodivergence. When I got to middle school, which hilariously was a public school run fifty times better than even the best private school I’d attended, these sources of abuse were removed, since the teachers a) didn’t give a shit about what my parents did for work, b) were required to keep their religious views out of the question, because while Virginia might be a Bible Belt state, this was Northern Virginia, where that sort of bull doesn’t fly, and c) were informed of my special needs before the year started, and were required to follow any accommodations on my IEP (thanks, ADA!). Juri doesn’t get these luxuries, I know, and I can only imagine that I’d have turned into her by high school if I hadn’t gotten the support I did. Juri’s old man is as supportive as he can be, but he was stated to be only 19 when Juri was born (so 35 now,) so he’s got his own set of issues to deal with, and likely didn’t get the time to mature properly himself, ‘cause he had to raise a kid at the same time. (Meanwhile, my folks were nearly forty each when I was born.) She’s been stuck with no support but her father her whole life, and she’s had to support him right back. It’s kinda surprising that they don’t fight all that much, actually. 

To go into some Arc 2 spoilers, Chapter 10 gives us another perspective, too, showing us what Juri would’ve been like as a parent... but also what she’d have been like if she’d been given a fairer shot. In the Kimochi bit in episode 4, we see Juri as a teen parent to Ao, yes, but she’s not alone like her father was -- she has Yuna, who’s been the closest to support Juri’s had this whole time. She’s also got Hikaru, to an extent, and while Hikaru won’t hold down a job to save her life (ironically,) she’s still good-natured and kind, and, more importantly, cares about Juri and Yuna’s wellbeing. Juri’s given a chance to ‘trial-run’ being an adult, since she knows this whole bit will end eventually (though, from their perspective, in 14 years!) She’s given a chance to work for something, to have a support structure she didn’t before. All that ends up giving her ways to manage her anger beyond just beating people up -- yeah, she still has to fight the kimochi every time Ao gets fearful, but she’s got Yuna in tow to help, as well as Hikaru. 

I’m in my 20s now, and I’ve only just started attending college. I’ve got a certification for pharmacy technicians, but no license, and I go back to school for my third-ever semester this winter. I’ve been convinced for years that by the time I’d get to college, my dreams of having a four-year degree in a science field or in translation would be violently shattered by my own inability to simply ‘do things I don’t like!’. Well, while I likely won’t be able to handle a full degree for quite a while, the idea that it’s my own damn fault I can’t do so has also been shot down. I’ve been struggling with a deep depression and a sometimes straight-up paralyzing anxiety for years now, to the point that my whole high school career was extended an extra year past when I should’ve graduated as a result. But, after almost a whole decade of being psychologically stuck, I’ve gotten some treatment for it. The chronic pain I’ve been fighting is starting to be managed, after we finally found a pain management doctor who’d actually take me seriously. I’ve found a therapist who’s actually able to cut through some of my own self-deprecation to get the point across that my behavior is normal for ADD folks. I’m inches away from getting a license finally, after being forbidden from getting one at sixteen, and I’ve been cleared to ride my bike into town along a certain route, so I’ve got ways to get outta the damn house. I know those aren’t the same ‘clean break’ Juri got in Chapter 10, but given that the Kimochi mindscape wasn’t reality anyways, she’s still gonna have work ahead of her to make that future a reality for herself, too. But, knowing that there’s a chance that things can turn out alright, and that you’ll be happier in the future, takes a lotta weight off the shoulders, y’know?

It’s late, and I’m tired from my medication increasing in dose today, so I dunno if I’ve made much sense, but basically I love Juri more now because I can see myself in her, and therefore I can see some hope for myself in there, too.

[heybeybey]

And though I close my eyes

Summary: On his 84th birthday, Levi looks back. [Post-canon events, canon-compliant]

Pairing: Levi x Pain Levi x Petra, minor Gabi x Falco

Warnings: Suicidal ideation, major character death (ends bittersweet I promise lol)

Words: 1,525

Inspired by this funny video on Youtube. How I turned it into angst, I also don't know.

---

“Happy birthday, happy birthday~”

“I’m too old for surprises,” Levi drily notes, trying hard not to smile. He thinks he would’ve hightailed out the room, but Gabi had already blocked the way.

They all ignore his grumpy grumble as Falco places the cake in front of him.

“Happy birthday to you~”

The room erupts in jeers and joyous laughter the moment the song ends, and Levi finds himself being nudged to blow the candle and make a wish.

“Give grandpa Levi a birthday hug, Carter,” Gabi nudges her youngest son.

“Happy birthday, grandpa Levi!” Carter greets him, now too big at ten years old to climb his lap, but not much of a rebellious teen enough to not throw his arms around the old man.

Levi gives an ‘oof’ as he accepts the eager hug from the boy, a small fond smile tugging up the corner of his lip. He gives Carter a pat on the head and allows him to ramble away.

“Happy birthday, Uncle Levi,” Falco greets again as Levi accepts his gift, giving a grateful nod to the couple he’d basically raised since he moved to Marley.

“Thanks,” Levi says, then remarks when he’s sure that Carter was already occupied with wolfing down his slice of cake. “I hope this is my last.”

Gabi erupts in laughter, used to his grumbles and joking quips of how an old fuck like him is still breathing.

Falco, ever the sweet boy that he is even as a middle-aged man now, gives him a nervous smile, always antsy at the thought of Levi dying. It’s the same for all their other children.

“Oh, don’t be like that, grandpa,” Sophia, Gabi and Falco’s now 26-year-old first-born, noted. “I bet you and Carter can still go racing with your wheelchair and his bike.”

“Pretty sure wheelchairs aren’t made for racing,” another piped up. This one looking more and more like Falco since the day he turned 23. Benjamin had sometimes been Levi’s favorite. The blonde knows when to shut up, fond as the old man may be of all of Gabi and Falco’s children.

Levi never understood why they’d all made a fuss out of his eventual passing. He thinks it’s been long overdue, if he’s honest. It’s not like he’d faced death on the daily during his prime years in the military.

And what the hell are you supposed to do at eighty-fucking-four?

The world have no need for Ackermans now.

It would’ve been easy—a gun to his temple would do the trick. A noose around his neck is also a less messy option.

Hell, he could’ve just given into his injuries four decades ago and maybe he would’ve joined them all earlier when he’d saluted his comrades for the last time.

He finds that he thinks of them more frequently in the last few years. Levi doesn’t know if it’s just the impulse that comes with old age—to be a sensitive little shit as you crawl your years away to your gravestone.

Levi mind floats to them as the world gets more advanced, and they didn’t even get the chance to experience what they all worked so hard for.

He thinks Hange would’ve loved all the new technologies that pop up in Marley in what seems like every year.

They recently developed this box thing called a “television” (the twitch on Gabi’s brow whenever Levi breaks another remote had always been priceless). Levi tried fixing the wires once when their first television broke down, before Falco politely asked him if he needed any help and took over repairs.

He gets the feeling the late Scout scientist would’ve dissected the box the first chance she gets.

Marley’s books were next level—their libraries even more so—and he can only imagine how Erwin’s huge-ass eyebrows would’ve shot up in interest.

Tch. Maybe Levi would be a sap enough to gift him a book or two.

There’s a pub a few blocks away the first apartment he rented in Marley. He thinks Eld, Oluo and Gunther would all appreciate the unique list of drinks. He’d bet his finest tea cup that Eld would’ve sneaked a bottle or two out.

The three men sometimes got the courage to ask their captain out for drinks back when they were still alive. And despite Levi’s annoyance at their tendency to share a single brain cell, he’d acquiesced once or twice.

And most importantly, he’d found something called a record player.

“Imagine if we can just play music in private, captain. Maybe you wouldn’t be too hesitant to join in on the fun,” she’d teased him when he’d refused to dance in public during one of the midwinter festivals. “We can ask Hange to invent one!”

“Don’t give her more ideas,” Levi had replied to her, hands shyly shoved in his coat pocket as he lounged at the back of the ballroom.

She’d flashed him a dazzling smile and kept him company for the rest of the night, singing along to the band.

He’d found himself entranced whenever he sneaked a glance at her that night, her ginger hair looking more like silk with her every sway to the music.

It’s not that he didn’t want to dance with her. He regretted that he didn’t, to be frank. But Captain Levi back then didn’t have time to dwell on regrets.

On nights when he couldn’t sleep, he’d sometimes turn on the record player that Gabi bought him. He knows jackshit about what’s trending, nor does he care (and the model he still owns is way outdated), often just grabbing a record that seems to fit his tastes.

(Or reminds him of her voice, despite only hearing her sing once.)

“Grandpa Levi,” Carter snaps him out of his reverie. Levi looks around, as if bringing himself back out of his thoughts. He finds the room was abuzz with the usual chatter as the family always celebrate midwinter thanksgiving along with his birthday.

“Wanna go outside?” Carter invites, then comes closer as if conspiring with the old man. “This place is full of boring adults.”

Levi looks at the cake that he seemed to be staring at for awhile now, and decides to humor the kid.

Sometimes conversations with Carter reminds him of another energetic green-eyed boy he’d been in charge of in what seemed like forever ago.

“Yeah, sure thing brat,” Levi replies, making a wobbling attempt to stand up. “Can you grab my cane? This wheelchair’s making my ass sore.”

------------------------

It’s been a few days since his 84th birthday and Levi sees them more these days.

Sometimes he thinks he can feel Erwin lounging next to him, the man’s steady and confident presence accompanying him as Levi flips another page on the morning paper.

He’d also get a flash of messy auburn hair and goggles, only for it to be gone the moment he turns around to find the source of the annoying cackle.

At night, he’d often hear the sound of footsteps in the hallway, which reminds him of his former squad sneaking back to their rooms after a night of whatever fuckery they got involved in. He’d chalked it up to Gabi and Falco coming home late, despite the footsteps being heavier than they’d usually be.

Perhaps the worst of them all is the ginger hair he’d see from the corner of his remaining eye, only for the visage to be gone before he can even blink.

On good days, he’d find her soft fingers running through Carter’s hair, and his heart twists whenever his mind strays to the realization that this oblivious boy could’ve been their grandchild had she lived past the 57th.

Sometimes he’d get a whiff of her lavender laundry soap as he attempts to make his cup of tea, and he swears the taste is almost the same as when she’d made it for him decades ago.

Levi thinks it’s another good day today as she sits in front of him, her form more vivid than it had ever been in the past.

Petra’s smile is soft and melancholic, but it’s there. It's there as she holds his hand tight and reassuring, as she tucks a stray strand of inky hair out of his face. He missed her smile, and he doesn’t know when was the last time he’d been this happy, save for when Gabi and Falco adopted Carter from the streets.

That’s why he doesn’t understand why Gabi is panicking next to him, or why Falco had ran out to seek help.

He would’ve scolded the brats (because they’ll always be brats to him) to calm the fuck down, but Levi can’t seem to find his voice right now.

Everything momentarily went black, his vision blurring, and he feels what felt like a final sharp squeeze on his chest.

“Took you long enough, Captain,” Petra’s voice finally pipes up after a moment, her cheery smile as bright as when she’d first saluted him. He’d only ever seen her the past few days, but had never heard her talk.

It’s been more than forty years since he’d last heard her voice.

As he looks around, taking in how everything feels light and freeing, something in Levi tells him that her voice will be a part of his daily moving forward.

Fucking finally.

[thefanficmonster]

All The Colors

Corpse Husband x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Colorblindness, Swearing

Genre: Fluff, Romance, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: The colors are not always seen but rather felt. Just like Y/N feels the colors through their best friend and boyfriend Corpse. That’s how they realize that what they can’t see is the most beautiful and genuine feeling in the world. The feeling of knowing something and someone so deeply.

Requested by my dear friend Lulu, who you might have known as greenieofshield. Unfortunately she’ll never get to read this fic and I’ll never forgive myself for not putting it out sooner but I’ll also never forgive the universe for being so cruel as to take her away so early. She was one of the best people I’ve ever met, always so full of optimism, always there to brighten up my day and make me smile. Always so strong and brave, never falling victim to the hate she received despite not being deserving of it. The world lost an angel the day she died and I as well as so many other people will forever miss her.

Love you and miss you with my whole soul and hear, Lulu. Hope they’re treating you right in heaven ❤

For what it’s worth, Y/N has never asked people to describe the colors to them. In their eyes that seemed like the equivalent of poorly patching up a wound: they could hear thousands upon thousands of descriptions of each color and still wouldn’t be able to imagine it. The descriptions would only make that worse to them. So to avoid feeling even more like they’re missing out they never asked.

However, that doesn’t mean they haven’t developed their own way to ‘visualize’ and imagine colors throughout the years. They’ve tried loads of different methods, few of which stuck around and not for long either. That is exactly why they frequently used to tell their friends: “You can’t paint me a rainbow with black and white and shades of grey and expect me not to feel like I’m missing out on something. Paint me the gloomy sky on a rainy day and only then we’ll be even cause you’re seeing the same greys I am.”

Little did they know how drastically their logic was about to change in the following years.

Speaking of said following years - they met Corpse who became one of their best friends in practically no time. And within just a few months of that friendship’s blossoming, a romance sparked. A romance their friends would jokingly refer to as ‘romance of a lifetime’. Maybe it was said jokingly but Lord knows they weren’t wrong in saying so because the two were completely head over heels for one another -s till are to this day - and never shied away from showing it.

Y/N and Corpse met through Rae who Y/N was staying with while on a little vacation to Los Angeles. To be even more specific here, the two met through a game of Among Us, the game responsible for many wonderful friendships since its release.

“Guys, guys, guys.“ Y/N said after sparking up a bickering session for falsely accusing ‘blue‘ of faking a task in Navigation during the final round for the day, “Here’s a little rule of thumb for whenever we play together again: don’t trust me if I accuse a color instead of a name.“ It’s safe to say that statement rose a few eyebrows in the Discord call, the confusion serving as amusement to them before they explained themself, “Oh, why that is? Hm, I don’t know, maybe cause I’m colorblind.”

Rae who was in on the scheme the whole time and was struggling to hold in her laughter finally snapped while the rest of the players were left processing the information that had been dropped on them.

“But you practically kicked our ass every single round?!“ Corpse said, amazement and confusion in his tone.

“Expect the unexpected from this schemer, take it from someone who’s known them for a decade now.“ Rae said, winking at her friend from across the room. Not failing to notice the blush on their cheeks while doing so though.

“Corpse, are you calling me a good liar?“ They poked a stick at him teasingly, desperately avoiding Rae’s gaze which widened the second she realized why her friend was so flustered by Corpse’s remark.

“Practically a con artist.“ He replied to them with a laugh, earning one from them in return.

And so they practically conned him into falling in love with them with their quick wit, sarcasm and cuteness. If someone is to ask Corpse if he expected to fall for Y/N, he’d probably say yes.

“They were like a magnet the moment they entered the lobby and started talking.“ He said once on a live stream in response to a question he received in the chat regarding Y/N, “It wasn’t hard at all, falling for them. What took me a while was realizing it. While I was referring to them as ‘best friend’ all my friends were rolling their eyes and going ‘Sure, bud.’ Just took me a bit to realize why.”

Luckily, it didn’t take him too long to grasp what his heart was actually screaming at him. Good thing they came to terms with it so soon too, otherwise they would’ve driven their friends insane.

Anyway, enough about what happened and what could’ve happened under one circumstance or another, what matters is the ‘here and now’ of their relationship. And trust me when I say it has never been better and it keeps getting better every day.

The beauty of what those two have is in the tiny every day things that they do for each other, the good morning texts even though the other person in probably just in the kitchen making breakfast while the other cannot find it in them to get out of bed; or it’s laced within the calls between them when neither of them are home or at least one of them is out and about, busy with a task they’ve probably been putting off for far too long. Don’t get me wrong though, the romantic gestures aren’t rare either. Random gifts are exchanged by them on regular intervals but one consistent and super romantic gesture that repeats a few times every year (of the two years they’ve been dating) is Corpse giving Y/N a bouquet of flowers.

A detail Y/N couldn’t help but take notice of was the fact that the bouquet was always made up of the same flowers with only small changes to the arrangement of them and maybe some tiny ones added too. Unfortunately, they aren’t artificial so they couldn’t have kept them thought they wish they could’ve. That being said, it goes without saying that those flowers mean the world to Y/N, the gesture actually - they know flowers are a common gift to give but anything they receive from Corpse is so special and makes them feel like the only person who’s ever received such a gift.

And so they got curious, they had to ask. They had to ask the question they never thought they’d actively ask considering their view of the topic. But they still did.

“Hey Corpse.“ Y/N spoke up out of the blue, breaking the silence that had fallen over them while they watched the movie they were only partially interested in given how exhausted they both were from devoting themselves to their respective tasks and responsibilities throughout the last few days.

Corpse hummed in response, the arm wrapped around their waist doing a little motion as if encouraging them to continue, his gaze immediately traveling down to his partner.

“What color are the flowers?“ They asked, gazing at the bouquet - a gift they had received from him for their birthday a few days prior - in the vase on the dining table.

They waited a few seconds but when they didn’t hear nor feel any sort of response from him they couldn’t help but look up at him. Upon doing so, they saw his small smile as his eyes too remained on the bouquet. “They’re black and white.“ He replied eventually, “Black roses and white daffodils.“ His gaze wandered away from the vase and down to meet theirs, “I don’t want you to think I’m seeing them in their ‘full beauty’ while you only see them in black and white. You are seeing them in their full beauty and not missing out on anything. They are absolutely beautiful black and white as they are.“

As a response to his answer, Y/N couldn’t suppress the growing smile on their face no matter how hard they tried. So they didn’t try at all, they let the smile lighten up their face before speaking up: “You’re a wonder, Corpse.” They said, pushing themself as upright as they could to be able to kiss his cheek. “However, you’re wrong.” They say when they pull away, smirking up at his confused expression, “My world was black and white until you came into it. You’re all the colors, Corpse. Your love’s red, joy’s yellow, sadness blue, chaos green. Love red. You’re all the colors and out of all the people that have tried to describe to me how they look, you have managed to do that just perfectly without even trying.”

Little did they know that’s exactly what he thinks of them - their world is black and white because all the colors live within them. Because they are all the colors.

And maybe they both are, seeing as how they came into each other’s lives exactly like the rainbow after the pouring rain.

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[russaldondarrion]

— - lightning in a bottle

╰ ┈ [ ryan corr, 27 , cisgender man , he/him ] in the time of dragons , russal dondarrion is entering the game of thrones . said to be dedicated + reliable , we can only hope that is the case as regrettably they are also well known to be dogmatic + rigid . when asked about them , people are always reminded of the boulder that splits a stream, the smell of freshly polished boots, gritted teeth and a tensed jawline, and the burning desire to prove oneself . though they are the lord of blackhaven , their true loyalties lie with house baratheon and dondarrion and rumour has it that if given the choice they would support the prince of dragonstone / their family above all else . those of us in the shadows wish them luck and can only hope they will survive what is to come .

B A S I C S : 

NAME: russal dondarrion.

TITLE: lord of blackhaven.

AGE: 27.

PRONOUNS: he/him.

HEIGHT: 6′1″.

BIRTHPLACE: blackhaven, the stormlands.

RELIGION: the faith of the seven.

S U M M A R Y :

russal was adopted along with his twin sister at the young age of five years old, and only has vague memories of his birth family.

he was always a rather serious child, often said to be mature for his age

perhaps this was because he was often shunned by his peers due to his tendency to call their imaginary games ‘unrealistic’. there weren’t many who wanted to play with him, but that was fine with him. 

he was something of an ugly duckling, not getting much attention from any gender growing up in terms of attractiveness. it wasn’t until he was around eighteen that he began to grow into the looks that had been too harsh on a child’s face, but rather becoming on that of a grown man’s.

suddenly he was getting far more attention than he knew what to do with, but went along with it and had no shortage of bed partners for a year or two. 

there were two instances that proved to be a wake up call. one being that he hadn’t realized that one of his bed partners had begun to develop feelings, and he’d accidentally led him on. he’d found russal coming from the bed of another and was given a nasty shock having been under the impression that Russal returned his affections.

meanwhile- the person he’d shared the bed with (a long time crush of his) made it rather clear that they’d only been interested in him for his good looks rather than anything that lay below them. (wanted connection) so it was plain to see he was rather bad at this whole romance thing, and has since decided to avoid it entirely. 

the cold shoulder he received while growing up extended further than other children his age. for as long as he can remember his family had been looked down upon by the rest of the nobility. for some it was because of the humble beginning house dondarrion came from, having been nothing more than lowborn messengers when the storm king saw fit to raise them to noble status. 

beyond their humble beginnings, their status and standing was only made worse by the fact that their father was a well-known sellsword. his lack of honor was often conflated with the rest of his family, and there weren’t many who wished to rub elbows with such a disreputable family. 

this was a part of the reason russal took it upon himself to train for the kingsguard from a young age. after all the gold cloaks were among some of the most respected in the land. he and his family would be untouchable. perhaps his sisters might even make respectable matches if he rose to their ranks. 

his father raised him to take on the ‘family business’ as a sellsword, and russal went so far as to accompany the former ruling lord on a few of his contracts. but it didn’t take long for russal’s morals to get in the way of his desire to please his dad. it was the first mission he’d gone on that included innocents, and it was quickly revealed he didn’t have the stomach for such things. so while his father was busy, he released those that they’d taken prisoner, hiding the truth from his father.

despite this and his disapproval of his father’s profession, russal loved his dad. he was everything a father should be even thought his profession left much to be desired. 

russal had arrived in king’s landing only for the prince’s wedding and witnessed the fall of the red keep. it was here that he found out a secret he’d rather never had learned, and keeps close to his chest- hiding it from everyone and even those closest to him. 

his father died in the attack on the red keep, making the new ruling lord of dondarrion a freshly anointed one. 

now russal is in his final steps towards becoming a member of the kingsguard, and has been tasked with the protection of larra rogare as one of his final tests.  

W A N T E D  C O N N E C T I O N S : 

the person who’s heart he accidentally broke: this was the connection mentioned in the previous bullet points! they were sleeping together, and they thought there were feelings and potentially exclusivity involved. Russal was under no such impression but unintentionally strung them along due to his lack of experience with romantic feelings. the other person found him coming from the bed of another. 

the bed he came from: this goes a bit with the previous connection! this was someone russal most likely had a childhood crush on but had never won the attention of until he became more handsome. he thought them sleeping together would be the beginning of a beautiful relationship. he was....wrong. the other person wasn’t interested in anything more than a fling and told russal as much.

father’s sins: i’d LOVE to have connections with people who potentially employed his father as a sellsword, OR fell victim to one of his father’s crimes!

kingsguard members: he wants to be in the kingsguard and has been working towards it! gimme them kingsguards!

old soul: as mentioned, russal didn’t mesh well with people his age while he was young. he often found himself in the company of adults instead. so this could be any people decently older than him that knew him while he was younger and indulged him while he did his best to sit with the adults!

SIBLINGS. BRING THEM TO ME.

[onceupona-chaos]

SJM setting up a forbidden romance

(And why I think ACOSF was written to set up Elriel)

This is my interpretation and obviously an Elriel post. So if that's not your cup of tea, be warned.

I made this post to basically organize my thoughts and then I decided to post it (lol). Here I talk why I think Elriel will be endgame based on my perspective that SJM already set up a lot of things that point to Elriel and a forbidden romance.

ACOSF is the first book of a new trilogy, which means SJM wrote it with an overarching plot in mind that we began to know in ACOSF. So whatever happens in ACOTAR5 is a direct consequence of the events in ACOSF.

For example, SJM won't kill Koschei and write another plot. She made her decisions when she was writing ACOSF and the overarching plot already started to be established.

I already made a post talking about the plot. I think Elain is the only character that can move the plot forward, because she's Made, therefore she can find the fourth trove and she has a connection with Koschei, which combined with how little we know about her and her powers makes her the perfect main character. But here I want to talk a little about how Sarah wrote ACOSF preparing Elain's character in terms of romance and how she set up a future forbidden romance.

At this point, it is canon that Elain is Azriel's secret, I'm not going to talk too much about, because you can check this amazing post here.

SJM structured the first book of the new trilogy around the ideia that something is deeply tormenting Azriel to the point he can't sleep and then we find out he has a secret. The bonus chapter made it canon: his secret is Elain, so there's no going back from that.

Just from the book, we know that there's something wrong with Elain and, whatever it is, she is hiding it.

Elain had already departed with Feyre, claiming she had to be up with the dawn to tend to an elderly faerie’s garden. Cassian didn’t exactly know why he suspected this wasn’t true. There had been some tightness in Elain’s face as she’d said it.

Alright, so the regular reader knows something is up with these two characters. (That alone is already a reason for the next book be about them, but moving on)

But when ACOSF is read with the perspective of a future forbidden romance in mind, we understand precisely why SJM needed us to know some very specific information.

Azriel's personality traits

SJM highlighted specific personality traits of our bat boy:

Az had a vicious competitive streak. It wasn’t boastful and arrogant, the way Cassian knew he himself was prone to be, or possessive and terrifying like Amren’s. No, it was quiet and cruel and utterly lethal. Cassian had lost track of how many games they’d played over the centuries, with one of them certain of a win, only for Az to reveal some master strategy. Or how many games had been reduced to only Rhys and Az left standing, battling it out over cards or chess until the middle of the night, when Cassian and Mor had given up and started drinking.

Sarah made a show to tell the reader the fact that Azriel is competitive, so she needs us to remember that.

That whole scene had one job: to emphasize that Azriel is competitive and strategist.

Now, if Azriel is giving up on Elain and moving on to another character, why bother to let the reader know he doesn't give up easily? If he is going to just give up on the only female that is making him get over his five hundred years passion, why bother to write a scene where he spares with Cassian only to tell the reader that?

Mostly important, why tell the reader that in countless times, Azriel seemed to be loosing, but he turned things around and won?

He's a strategist. Don't forget he planned his strategy for the snowball fight for a year.

“It seems you’ve forgotten how much of spying is waiting for the right moment. People don’t engage in their evil deeds when it’s convenient to you.”

Cassian rolled his eyes. “I stopped spying because it bored me to death. I don’t know how you put up with this all the time.”

“It suits me.” Azriel didn’t halt his sharpening, though shadows gathered around his feet.

When I read this for the first time, I honestly hadn't understood the meaning of the shadows gathering around his feet and it clearly had a deeper meaning.

But reading again, SJM used Cassian's character to emphasize that Azriel waits for the right moment all the time. Not only when he is spying. Being patient, calculating, persistent are arguably Azriel's strongest personality traits, at least the ones that are highlighted in ACOSF. Sarah is letting us know Azriel plays the long game and doesn't give up.

Every information SJM is giving us regarding Azriel (and Elain, more on her later) is essencial for a forbidden romance story. If you know what's going on with these characters, all pieces of information just... click together.

Elain's personality traits

This is a bit more complicated, mostly because Elain is passing through an inner change, which means being prepared for her arc.

However, SJM compared Elain to Azriel in ACOSF:

“Elain was the only one who guessed. She caught me vomiting two mornings in a row.” She nodded toward Azriel. “I think she’s got you beat for secret-keeping.”

We already know from ACOMAF that Elain is good at secret-keeping. But here SJM not only reminded us that, but she compared Elain to Azriel in secret-keeping, emphasizing both of them are probably the best in secrecy among the IC.

Remember: these two characters are clearly hiding something in ACSF. It's not a coincidence that SJM compared them in this case.

She scanned Elain from head to toe, wondering if she’d been taking lessons in stealth either from Azriel or the two half-wraiths she called friend.

SJM compared Elain's abilities to Azriel's (and his spies) not once, but twice. And if you take into consideration the previous books, it's not the first time she compares these two characters.

Both of them showed defiant behavior

Defiant: refusing to obey authority

Elain:

“What happened.”

When Rhys spoke like that, it was more of a command than a question.

Elain waved a hand in dismissal before flinging open the veranda doors and striding into the open air.

And of course, he have that fight with Nesta. Nesta isn't exactly authority, but she was described as "Elain's guardian", which means their relationship was at least a little hierarchical.

Azriel:

“No,” Feyre and Rhys said at the same time, in the same breath.

Azriel’s eyes shuttered. “I wasn’t asking for permission.”

“We take no risks,” Feyre said, voice flat with command. “Pull all your spies out.”

“Like hell I will.”

Honestly, is this the guy people are thinking that's going to give up on Elain because of Rhy???????

SJM deliberately let us know about them getting over their previous LI

I've seen a lot o people arguing that "they can't be endgame, because the first couple never is".

But... are we forgetting that they were in love with two different people before?

When Elain met Azriel she was deeply in love with Graysen, and he was still into Mor. The readers didn't even know about Mor sexuality then.

Until ACOFAS, we can see that both of them are not entirely over their LI yet.

Elain:

“I don’t want a mate. I don’t want a male.”

She wanted a human man.

Azriel:

Azriel choked on what I could have sworn was a laugh, his normally shadowed face lighting up as Mor bustled in.

Az, to his credit, gave Mor a smile of thanks, a blush creeping over his cheeks, his hazel eyes fixed on her. I looked away at the heat, the yearning that filled them.

However, we get to see that they are slowly getting closer. Azriel shows he's uncomfortable in spying on Lucien, Elain's throat bobbs at the sight of him, he seeks her out to wish happy Solstice, she gives him a present, they stay up past three in the morning talking and on and on.

Months go by. We already knew they are getting closer and then we have this:

Elain:

She knew Elain had given her maidenhead to Graysen a month before they’d been turned Fae. Elain had been glowing the next morning.

Elain cocked her head. Didn’t dissolve into the crying mess she usually became when Graysen came up.

Elain was glowing: she was in love, happy. She loved Graysen. And now she is getting over him. Not only that: SJM made sure to tell us she has had sex before (and enjoyed very much lol). Elain is clearly being prepared for her arc in terms of character development, plot and romance.

And Azriel:

Mor no longer sat beside Cassian, draped herself over him, and Azriel … those longing glances toward her had become few and far between. As if he’d given up. After five hundred years, he’d somehow given up.

Few and far between. It's a process for both of them to move on. At first they were friendly and then it became something more.

Azriel didn't wake up one day, realized that his brothers were mated to Elain's sisters and went: WAIT A MINUTE I WANT ONE. I would argue he showed interest in Elain since their first meet, just like Cassian showed interest in Nesta. However, Nesta and Cassian weren't in love for anyone else, differently from Elain and Azriel.

Also, Elain and Azriel are very much quieter in comparison, so... it makes sense that they needed more time to get closer and be romantic interested in each other.

But again: why bother to tell us both of them are moving on from their previous LI? Why tell us Azriel doesn't give up easily? Why tell us they are both good at keeping secrets and are hiding something?

SJM knew exactly what she was doing.

[glimmerglanger]

maybe not the most inspiring of prompts, but for a potential spicy sunday, could we see some codywan with Obi-Wan’s manhandling kink in full force? I know you���ve mentioned it a few times but I’d love to see Cody pick him up and hold/pull/twist/carry Obi-Wan around in all kinds of ways without breaking a sweat 🥵

!!!!!!!!!!! I am so very, very weak for Obi-Wan’s manhandling kink. ALSO this decided to be about a lot of FEELINGS in addition to the spicy.

Have some post-war (everyone lives, nobody dies) Codywan fic this fine Tuesday morning. NOT SAFE FOR WIZARDS. Very Spicy. Happy domestic times. Soft and sweet, for all the spicy.

~~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan knew he was heavier than he looked. Years of training - of war - had turned him mostly to muscle and bone. Which made it something of a surprise, the first time Cody bodily hauled him along in the middle of a fight, without any apparent signs of difficulty.

Obi-Wan had gone down hard when a shell detonated only a few feet away; he’d been more worried about deflecting the force of the blast away from his men than remaining on his feet. He’d been prepared to scramble up when Cody just grabbed him - hands gripping tight at his arms - and yanked him back to his feet, dragging him along until Obi-Wan’s legs started working again.

And that was...interesting, he registered through the dizzy haze in his head.

But there hadn’t been time to consider it more than that. And he didn’t allow himself to consider it, later, after the campaign, when he was back in his quarters on the Negotiator. That would have been...inappropriate.

He didn’t allow himself to think about it, even though it kept happening. As the war progressed, Cody developed a habit of shoving or pulling him out of the way of a hazard, as though that were - somehow - simpler than just yelling at him to move. 

It grew more difficult to ignore after Ventress threw Obi-Wan off of a building and Cody - somehow - caught him on the way down, yanking him out of a freefall with little more than a grunt and setting him down again.

But ignore it and set it aside Obi-Wan did, focusing on keeping his voice steady and his heart from racing inappropriately, clear through his defeat of Grievous, through receiving word from Coruscant that Anakin had discovered that Palpatine was a Sith lord, and fought him, and--

And the end of the war.

And it was a surprise - a delightful one, to be sure - when Cody showed up at Obi-Wan’s quarters in the Temple, one evening, after the Senate declared the war over and said, “General, Obi-Wan--I wanted to--”

Cody kissed him soft instead of finishing the thought. Unsure, that first time. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure that Cody had ever kissed anyone before and eased into it. They went slowly. They had no reason to go quickly, and, afterwards, Cody asked, “Should I...go?”

And Obi-Wan tugged him back to the bed and said, “You should stay.”

They fell asleep like that, woke up like that, and Obi-Wan expected, when they woke, that perhaps Cody would pull him closer and--

And Cody pressed close, indeed, after he woke up. But he was ever so careful with each movement. He handled Obi-Wan as though his bones were wrought of spun glass, as though the thought of leaving a bruise or a mark was not even to be considered.

Obi-Wan felt his warm joy, his pleasure, his contentment, and so he ignored any of the itching little desires that had lived in his head for years, by then. He, too, felt overfull of joy, leaning closer and kissing Cody’s mouth, taking him apart and putting him together again.

#

Perhaps they would have gone on like that indefinitely, if Obi-Wan never took an injury while handling a simple mission on Ryloth. He was still hurt by the time he made it back to the Temple, aching all down his left side, even after the healers looked him over and released him.

Cody was waiting for him, outside the door to the healer’s wing, a frown on his face. He said, “I let you go on one mission alone, and look what happens,” tone full of worry and chiding concern.

Obi-Wan gave him a smile and said, “Oh, it’s nothing, really.” 

Cody flashed him a disbelieving look and dragged one of Obi-Wan’s arms over his shoulders - soft and strong and warm - turning him towards their quarters without another word about it, and Obi-Wan’s gut kicked over, hard.

He felt like he was buzzing in his bones by the time they made it back to their rooms. Part of it had to be the pain-killers the healers had given him. It didn’t help that he missed Cody terribly. They’d been apart for the better part of two weeks.

Obi-Wan had gotten used to waking up beside him, going to bed curled against him.

It made his breath catch when Cody tugged him through the door and said, “Come on, let’s get you cleaned off,” and just headed for the fresher. 

Obi-Wan had been perfectly willing to pass out in his current condition. But he said nothing in complaint when Cody brought him into the fresher and then leaned him against a wall, reaching for his belts with a determined look on his face.

“You’re quiet,” Cody said, after a beat, shoving Obi-Wan’s outer tunic down, dark eyes glancing up, some worry reflecting in them.

Obi-Wan shrugged, shivering when Cody’s hands skimmed over his skin, over bruises and aches. He said, half out of his head, “Just thinking I need to get banged around more often.”

Cody went still, hands on Obi-Wan’s belt, expression freezing into place. He said, confusion making his voice gruffer, “What -- why?” 

Obi-Wan hummed. He was beginning to think that, perhaps, the healers had missed a concussion. It happened, sometimes. He felt as though he were floating and had definitely lost some measure of control over keeping his thoughts from spilling out of his mouth. “So you drag me around,” he said, breezy, and Cody just--stared at him, before something darkened in his eyes.

Cody looked to the side after a beat, hands still so close to Obi-Wan’s cock. Obi-Wan wished he could enjoy that state of affairs properly, but he didn’t think he’d be able to get hard. Not with the way his head felt. Cody cleared his throat, while Obi-Wan was thinking about things they could do even if he weren’t hard, and said, “You want to be dragged around, Obi-Wan?”

“Mm,” Obi-Wan said, leaning against the wall and feeling content to stay there as long as Cody desired. “Yes. But don’t worry. You don’t have to.”

Cody sucked in a little breath, held it, and then swore quietly before shaking himself. “You need to get to sleep,” he said, and started moving again, dragging down Obi-Wan’s slacks and turning on the fresher.

Obi-Wan groaned softly when Cody tugged him into the fresher. He let Obi-Wan lean against him as the hot water came down, as he rinsed off Obi-Wan’s skin, and, eventually, dried him off. And, somehow, they ended up curled up on their bed. Obi-Wan was starting to fade out, losing track of time, but that was alright.

Cody was there to keep track of it, for him. He could just...ease down into sleep. 

He was almost there when Cody asked, soft against his shoulder, “Why?”

“Why what, darling?” Obi-Wan asked, so drowsy the words blended together, nearly a slur.

“Why do you want dragged around?”

Obi-Wan hummed, pushing back a little against Cody’s warm, welcoming form. He almost shrugged but lacked the energy for it. “Just like it,” he said, yawning so wide that his jaw popped and then closing his eyes. “The way you do it.” And he didn’t know if Cody asked any further questions, because he fell asleep.

#

By morning, Obi-Wan vaguely remembered that Cody had insisted he take a shower and that they had spoken about….something. The details were a smeared blur, but he was used to that sensation. There were entire days he barely recalled, his memories all faded away from injury or exhaustion.

He noted it when Cody pulled him close to kiss him, before they left their quarters. It put a shiver down his back, but they had things to do, and so he set that aside. Cody watched him, though, gaze searching Obi-Wan’s expression before they stepped from the room.

And, later, when they were finally finished and able to snag some time to themselves, Cody tugged him through the door to their quarters, kissing him, hands everywhere. Obi-Wan groaned, pleasure jolting down into his gut, falling into the embrace.

And he groaned, unintentionally loud, when Cody pushed him a step back and then another, until his shoulders hit the wall. Cody made a thick sound in response, pulling his clothes off, and sliding down.

Obi-Wan swore, already hard by the time Cody tugged down his pants and stroked a touch over his cock. He bit his bottom lip, staring down, and then made a strange, ragged sound when Cody purposefully licked across his cock and slid his hands out to Obi-Wan’s hips, pressing him hard against the wall, staring up the entire time.

Obi-Wan shifted, as best he could, and gasped when Cody just tightened his grip, holding him just so. He could have used the Force to pry Cody off, if he wanted. But, fuck, he didn’t want. He wanted to just - just be held tight, to squirm fruitlessly while Cody bobbed his head and sucked and rolled his tongue and--

And swallowed, when he brought Obi-Wan over the edge.

Obi-Wan clenched fingers into his hair, breathing hard, groaning when Cody slid his mouth off slowly. “Like that?” Cody asked, and Obi-Wan jerked out a nod, pleasure still throbbing within him, feeling Cody’s desire still pulsing in the Force.

“Good,” Cody said, and shifted, and Obi-Wan made a startled sound when Cody put a shoulder against his hips, wrapped an arm around his legs, and just stood, hefting Obi-Wan over a shoulder as though he weighed nothing.

Obi-Wan gasped, “What?” because it was so - so unnecessary. Their bed was hardly a dozen steps away. Muscle shifted under him as Cody crossed the floor, one of his hands closed on the back of Obi-Wan’s thigh, before they stepped through the bedroom door and--

And Cody dumped him down onto the mattress, so hard he bounced, gut getting tight again despite the fact that he’d just come, because, Force--

He started to reach for Cody, wanting him closer, immediately. Cody’s eyes were so dark. He was radiating lust through the Force, so thick that it made Obi-Wan shiver. He brushed a hand over Cody’s side, and then Cody was leaning over him, grabbing his shoulder and yanking and--

And rasping, “This what you want?” as he pulled Obi-Wan over onto his stomach and crawled onto the bed, pressing down over him, solid and warm and steadying, sliding his hand down Obi-Wan’s body to grip his thigh, pulling his leg to one side.

Cody settled closer against him, and Obi-Wan gasped back, “It’s very nice,” unthinking.

He had no idea what had brought any of this on, but that was a puzzle to solve at a later date. Sometime when Cody wasn’t humming and shifting, grabbing Obi-Wan’s hips and pulling them up, just moving him where - where Cody wanted him to be, his voice thick when he said, “Oh, I think we’ve got to do better than ‘very nice.’” He heard the click of a bottle opening and shivered down his back, his cock twitching already, Force-- 

“Cody--” Obi-Wan strangled off when Cody brushed slick fingers over him - once - and then pressed the tips of two fingers inside of him. He jolted, groaning, and Cody tightened his other hand on Obi-Wan’s hip, gripping hard and sure.

“Fuck,” Cody panted out, working his fingers in and out, going a little deeper each time, spreading them inside, stretching-- “Fuck, do you know how long I’ve wanted to - to hold you just like this? To just--” He twisted his fingers, pulled them out, came back with a third--

“How--” Obi-Wan gasped, looking for enough air to speak, feeling -- dizzy and good and -- “How long--?”

“You were--” Cody broke off, swearing, fucking his fingers in only once, perhaps twice, before dragging them out, his hand making a slick, wet sound when he stroked himself. Obi-Wan made a ragged sound in anticipation, trying to shift his hips to be more encouraging, and Cody tightened his grip again, panting out, “You were--on the bridge of the Negotiator. Bent over. Some star chart. And I wanted to - to push you forward--”

“Cody,” Obi-Wan panted out, wondering, fleetingly, exactly how long ago that had been, it could have been at any point during the war. It could have been the first time they met, that had been on the bridge of the Negotiator, but surely--

“And hold you, just like this,” Cody went on, leaning forward, the head of his cock pressed slick against Obi-Wan’s body, and-- “Get my cock in you,” he panted, rocking forward, Obi-Wan just stretched enough that it didn’t hurt but, oh, fuck, it ached. He felt it, each inch driving into him. “Just like this,” Cody panted, bottoming out, as Obi-Wan’s cock twitched against his stomach, hard so fast against it almost hurt.

“You want -- want me to fuck you like this?” Cody asked, apparently deciding to wait for an answer, buried so deep, holding Obi-Wan just so, letting him feel how full he was, how-- “However I want?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan gasped out, trying to shift forward enough to fuck back on Cody’s cock, and Cody grunted, putting his other hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, pressing down, holding him, and--

And Cody didn’t make him wait, after that, fucking into him hard and deep, breath punching out across Obi-Wan’s back and shoulders. Holding him just so, just how Cody wanted, and Obi-Wan was stuttering out nonsense words by the time Cody finally lost his rhythm and swore.

Obi-Wan expected Cody to fuck him harder, to shove him down, to come like that.

Instead, Cody leaned over him, curled an arm around his chest, and - with a grunt - rocked back onto his heels, dragging Obi-Wan along and--

And it drove his cock in deep. Obi-Wan felt speared open, crying out dazedly, Cody’s arm a band around his chest, Cody’s other hand sliding down his stomach, fingers curling around his aching cock, Cody grinding out against his ear, “Give it up for me, then, come on.”

Obi-Wan yelled something - it might have been Cody’s name - when he came, head dropping back on Cody’s shoulder, feeling his body squeeze around Cody’s cock and shivering when that was what brought Cody off, feeling the hot spill of him and hearing the noise he made as they sagged there together in the middle of the sheets.

“Force,” Obi-Wan rasped out, eventually, boneless in Cody’s hold. Cody made a thick sound against his shoulder and nodded, shifting so they collapsed sideways onto the mattress, just holding one another as their heart rates slowed down.

[viperbarnes]

The Long Last Summer

[B. Barnes] Oneshot

40s Post-War AU

Summary: With Steve off in America again, Bucky finds himself doing his own version of a USO tour through Italy, boosting morale and friendship, or so they tell him. However, a new stationing in the tiny town of Montecarra gives him more reason to want to stay, when he becomes quickly whisked away by wild, carefree and exuberant you.

Warnings: language, smut, mentions of the war, awful awful Italian probably. The reader has a name, but it's still written as a reader insert.

Note: The reader/character in this fic is a black woman. This fic was originally uploaded elsewhere, so if you're a part of the small audience who read it originally please don't panic, it isn't stolen lol. The story is almost entirely spoken in Italian, but doing italics for every conversation was annoying, so just assume that unless otherwise stated! Thank you for reading!

Words: 19.5k [This is very long.... Sorry...]

The hot Italian sun beats down on the town below, the occasional breeze carried overland from the nearby ocean to the west might have been a blessing if that too weren’t humid and warm. Bucky Barnes thinks it should be a sin for it to be so hot so early in the morning, but he’s long past complaining about it. Leaning against his car door, stopped on a hill overlooking the town of Montecarra, Bucky takes another drag of his cigarette before stomping it out. At least he hadn’t woken up in a filthy, sweltering trench, surrounded by hot bodies after another restless night of gunfire filled dreams. At least he was only required to wear his uniform during official ‘work’ hours.

Giving the town, his newest home, one last look, Bucky gets back in the car and makes his way down.

Being a core member of The Howling Commandos these past years, Bucky had earned himself a certain amount of celebrity, both in America and abroad. Especially in Italy. Given that Steve had returned to the States already, and Bucky had expressed some minor interest in staying in Europe a while longer, Colonel Phillips had happily assigned him as a ‘morale liaison’ while the US and other allies sorted out the peace treaties and demilitarisation of Europe.

It made as much sense to Bucky then as it did now. He had come to realise that ‘morale liaison’ was just jargon for ‘dancing, handshaking, smiling, posing monkey’, seeing as most of his time the past two years had been spent shaking hands while smiling and posing for various photos. Usually with politicians. Bucky hated politicians.

Luckily, his newest post, Montecarra, was far more what Bucky had thought he’d be doing when Phillips had given him his orders; helping people rebuild and reclaim their lives in a post-fascist Italy. As he drives through the small town, Bucky thinks briefly that the bulk of it seemed to be almost entirely untouched by the war, the classic Italian architecture and warm coloured buildings homey and welcoming, the cobbled stone streets and walkways looking every part the idyllic Tuscan town, but then he sees it.

Toward the edges of town, Bucky’s eyes catch on a shattered stone building, utterly destroyed. It’s a small ways from the town itself, a little field between it and the nearest houses, and he can’t help but already feel grateful for the fact it looked to be the only place that had been hit by the violence, though he doesn’t deny the unseen scars that no doubt linger on the people themselves.

He quickly looks away and continues on to his residence.

There was no army base or fortifications in Montecarra, the nearest being in Florence, but The people had kindly offered up a small, newly unowned cottage for the military to house any visiting soldiers in during their stay. When he finally gets to be shown around by the nearest neighbour, a friendly older woman, he’s glad that for the time being, he has it to himself.

He gets himself settled, partially unpacks his bags before getting bored and making his way out to the blooming garden, camera in hand. It had been a gift from Steve, sent for his birthday the previous year when the two had not been able to reunite, and although Bucky had much preferred putting pencil to paper before he’d owned his own camera, he’d found in recent months, as the cold receded and the sun came out, he’d picked up a knack for photography.

The fact that this model was an ‘instant’ model, making it so that after each photo he took, a little slip of paper would spit out and slowly develop the image, certainly aided his newfound love for the hobby. When he had been a kid, his Ma would take the family to have their pictures taken once a year, and the results always took days or weeks.

Lifting the camera to his eye, Bucky peeks through and aims it at a tall bushel of bougainvillea, the bright red against the butter-coloured walls of his cottage making him wish the photos weren’t just black and white.

He snaps a few more floral shots, wondering absently if he’ll be able to buy more photo paper in town. With the sun still high in the sky, he decides that he may as well take a short walk, if not to introduce himself to some of the locals, then to answer his question.

Honestly, the unendingly friendly reception he’d received everywhere he went never ceased to surprise him. Two years ago Italy had been the enemy or the soldiers and government at least. For the most part, the people caught in the crossfire had been weary and scared, but helpful where they could be to Allied soldiers. Still, the warmth they seemed to hold him, and other allied soldiers with was always a little startling at first.

By the time he makes it to the centre of town, he’d been kissed on his cheeks more times than he could count, but interestingly, the people of Montecarra weren’t as clingy as he’d found some other towns and cities… After greeting him, they’d happily left him alone, though with numerous and repeated offers to have him for dinner.

Once unable to stand doing nothing at all, and always on the go, the young man Bucky had once been, had evolved into a quieter, more solitary version of himself. He still liked to have fun, mind you, he’d learnt to take enjoyment and pleasure where he could in the army, but his sniper’s life had taught him contentedness with his own company. Bucky was fine being alone, without chatter or noise to distract him. He’d come to prefer it, actually.

Bucky finds that Montecarra’s central space was a large set of four courtyards, separated by various important municipal buildings and shops, and at the centre point, an old communal well that had been made into a fountain. Without thinking, Bucky lifts his camera to snap a shot of the fountain. He loved New York more than anything, and he couldn’t wait to return home, but damn if he hadn’t fallen hard for European architecture.

He’s still waving the little piece of photo paper back and forth to help it develop when loud laughter and the familiar noise of children playing reaches his ears. It startles him slightly, Montecarra wasn’t exactly sleepy, but it was quiet, and the residence all seemed to be of an older sort, he hadn’t seen many children yet, though a look at his watch tells him that might have been due to school.

A small gaggle of children of various ages come skipping into view across from the fountain, chatting loudly and seemingly unaware of the previous peace that had reigned in the town square. Unlike in New York, however, Bucky notices not a single patron of the nearby outdoor restaurant throws them dirty looks or hisses at them to quiet down, if anything, the people nearby pause to watch for a few seconds, not with disdain written on their faces, but soft, gentle smiles, before they return to their business.

A voice calling out from the back of the group, noticeable for its maturity in comparison to the children’s voices, catches Bucky’s attention and he lets his gaze skip over the scene until it lands on you, and suddenly, he’s breathless.

Bucky Barnes had seen a lot of beautiful women in his time, and had been lucky enough to know a number of them too, but you, you are something else entirely.

It’s your smile he notices first, plush rosy brown lips pulled wide in a joyful grin, so magnetising he finds himself unable to look away. Your hair is long, curly and dark, brushed into waves that the humidity and breeze seemed set on ruining, and with one hand you secure your wide brim sun hat as you chase the kids. Your white blouse is laced around the open collar and both it and the bright yellow of your skirt stand out against your syrupy brown skin, smooth and a little shiny from the sun.

“Here! Roberto, Norma, come sit here a moment! Look at the fountain!” You beckon the children, two strays in particular, over toward the fountain, and much like Bucky, the kids seem magnetised to you as well. You float right up to the water, sitting on the edge as the children all gather around, still chatting and playing loudly, though a little more orderly now.

Bucky watches you swipe a hand through the cool water, smiling and speaking animatedly with one of the children. He wonders if you were perhaps their teacher, but he’s snapped away from his thoughts a moment later.

“That man has a camera! Look!”

Bucky blinks, tearing his eyes from you, even as the children, and you, all now turn your attention to him in varying shades of wonderment. He’s still a small distance away, but it doesn’t matter as not even a second later, he’s being swamped by the pack of energetic youngsters.

“Are you a photographer?!”

“Can I see it?!”

“Will you take my picture!?”

The last request sets off a frenzy, the rest of the children all joining in to ask for their picture taken, and honestly, Bucky doesn’t even think he has enough paper for that.

“Hey! Mascalzoni! Leave the poor man alone!” You appear then, hands on your hips, not even two meters away and Bucky thinks he could faint.

“Oh, they’re—” He cuts himself off, switching to Italian.

“They’re fine, really… I just don’t think I have the photo paper for it…” He explains, trying his best to look you in the eye, but not quite making it. You cock your head in sympathy, and clap once, getting the children’s attention once more.

“Come on, stop it. Can’t you see you’ve scared him?!” You say playfully, though Bucky wants to correct that it isn’t them he’s scared of.

“How are we supposed to get more tourists to Montecarra if you’re all scaring them away, huh?!” You continue, crossing your arms and the kids seem to relent somewhat, whining a little as they back up from Bucky. You give him another, apologetic smile.

“Come along, you all better get home before your mothers’ tan your hides!” You say, making a shooing motion that makes Bucky second-guess his teacher theory. Before any of them can begin to move though, he takes half a step forward, holding up his camera.

“Wait, I can— I can take a photo of you all together…” He says, and watches as even your face lights up, though as the children all begin to excitedly gather in front of the fountain, you step away, to his side.

“You don’t want to be in it?” He asks, throwing you a sideways glance and yep, you’re still just as pretty as before. You smile and shake your head.

“No. Not this time.” he doesn’t know what you mean by that, but focuses back on the children, raising the camera and snapping a shot of the children, smiling brightly.

Chaos ensues once again when the paper pops out of the bottom, further exciting the group as Bucky attempts to hold the picture out of their reach while it develops, unable to stop himself from chuckling at how spirited they were. It had been a long time since he’d seen any kid so carefree. Perhaps that was why the townspeople were so unphased by their noise earlier.

After the picture is passed around for all to see, you clear your throat and jerk your head away again.

“Go on, clear out now.” Far more happily the children bid each other goodbye, a few moving in pairs or trios as they split off in separate directions.

Bucky is all too aware that you’re still standing near him, and he focuses on cleaning his camera lens with his sleeve.

“Thank you.” You say kindly, with a slight bow of your head, and he finds himself shrugging and shaking his head.

“It’s alright, really.” he pauses, and then;

“Are you their teacher?” He doesn’t expect the surprised laugh you let out, shaking your own head vigorously.

“Hell no. I don’t have the patience for that! We were just walking the same way.” Bucky blinks, not expecting your language, though he finds it endearing, a little more grounding. He laughs.

“I see.”

“You’re the soldier, yes? From America?” The subject change catches him out for a moment, but he’s nodding a moment later.

“Sergeant James Barnes, ma’am.” He almost salutes, doesn’t and then thinks better of it, giving you one anyway. You cock your head at him, an amused smile pulling at your lips.

“I thought soldiers wore uniforms?” You fold your hands in front of you, and Bucky blinks, down at his casual civilian clothes, and then back at you.

“Oh, I, well, I do, but only when I’m working, these days…” You laugh good-naturedly at his awkward delivery.

“I was only teasing. I’ve heard from Rome that soldiers spend just as much time out of their uniforms as in them.” You say it easily, with a playful chuckle, but the risque connotations don’t go over his head, his eyebrows lifting high in his surprise.

Were you… flirting…? Or was this just how you were?

“Well, Sergeant Barnes, it was lovely to meet you.” You’re stepping back, giving him another smile (were you always smiling? He wants to know, now), and a little wave before you begin to turn. Bucky flounders at your fast retreat and panics.

“Uh, wait!” You look back, and he swallows.

“What’s… what’s your name?” You chuckle and push your hair behind your shoulder.

“Cristina.” You tell him and he repeats it, trying to roll the ‘r’ like you do, which makes you laugh again.

“People usually just call me Nina.” You offer a moment later and Bucky nods, before giving you his own, more commonly used nickname.

“Bucky?” You repeat, almost unsure, but when he nods, mouth dry at hearing his name on your lips, you smile and nod.

“Bucky. I will see you around, Bucky.” And with that, he watches dumbly, awestruck in his place as you float out of the plaza.

—-

The warm breeze carries through the open windows of your house, sending the scents from the kitchen below wafting around the rooms. You’d already finished your work for the day, and the chores your mother assigned you, and with a slight pep in your step, you finish tying the scarf around your hair and grab your book.

“Mama? I’m going to read!” You call out, pausing for a moment to listen for her reply. You hear a faint humming above the radio and quickly take your leave, skipping down the front steps of your home and out of the walled front courtyard.

Montecarra is hot and warm, like it had been every other day this week, but you don’t mind. The streets you pass through on the way to your nook are quiet, with only the occasional Nonna in her garden, or returning from the markets. There had been more people here once, a long time ago, and in your childhood days you remember visitors, passing through and admiring your home on their way to other places. You missed that deeply, but push it from your mind, trying not to sour your day at the thought of your already sleepy town becoming sleepier.

You reach your normal place quickly, little plaza toward the outskirts of town, many of the houses here empty now. One of the homes, a double storied one like your own, has a tall garden wall that sits in the shade of the tall tree behind it. Midway through the wall, high enough to take some effort to climb, sit a series of three empty archways, glassless windows that give a view of the overgrown garden within, and from the other side of the little square beyond.

Nobody came to this part of town, not anymore, and in recent years, you’d found it the perfect place to sit unbothered. Tucking your book under your arm, you hitch your skirt up a little, and use one of the roots that climbs and decorates the wall with green ivy as a foothold. The archway isn’t high, but you certainly couldn’t get to it without a little help.

Once situated, you lean back against the pillar, bringing your feet up in front of you, and rest your book against your thighs and knees. You lose yourself quickly in the words, devouring the stories of far away places, detectives and mystery and murder. When the Nazi’s had been here, you hadn’t been allowed to freely enjoy such things. You’d been hidden away, scared everyday would be your last, but it had never come. They had left, and you had been safe again once more.

It was why you enjoyed sitting outside, in the sun and warm, basking in a world that was purely yours again.

Well, not just yours.

A quiet, but pointed cough makes you jump slightly, and you whip your head to find the source, shutting your book on instinct before your eyes find him, and you smile.

“Good Afternoon, Sergeant Barnes!” You greet, and the man returns your smile, lifting his hand briefly. You had known he was coming of course, your whole town did. He was helping the men rebuild the old schoolhouse, though he seemed to have finished that task for the day, as you had finished yours.

He was a handsome man, with dark hair and blue eyes, his pale skin lightly tanned on his face and arms from days in the Italian sun. He was young, though older than you, likely nearing his late twenties if you were correct. You hadn’t known who he was during the war, but afterwards, you’d had plenty of newspaper fodder to read. You think most of it must have been trash though, because the man the magazines and gossip columns had labelled as a charming, suave ladies man could not be the same one that stood before you now.

“Bucky. Bucky is fine, Senora Cristina.” He replies, his eyes dropping a little as he shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Well then you must call me Nina.” You reply, keeping up your smile for when he looks back at you. When he realises you haven’t looked away from him, he quickly averts his gaze again, but clears his throat and looks around the empty plaza, waving a hand.

“Quiet spot?” He asks, and you turn from where your back is pressed against the brick, swinging your legs over the side of the wall to face him properly. You nod.

“Yes. The people who lived in this part left. We don’t know if they’ll come back or…” You trail off, pursing your lips briefly, but shake your head. No. No time to dwell.

“It’s a good place to come to be alone.”

“Oh, I can— I can leave if you’d lik—” Bucky’s face falls into anxiety stricken concern as he gestures with his thumb toward the little road you think he must have come from, but you cut him off quickly, laughing.

“I was not attempting to chase you away!” You tell him, and he drops his hand back to his side. For a few seconds he just looks at you, like he’s unsure of what to say, and so you fill the silence the best you can.

“How do you like Montecarra?” Bucky nods quickly, his body language immediately relaxing somewhat. You wonder if you make him nervous because he’s unsure how to speak to women, or if it might be something else.

“It’s beautiful. I haven’t been able to stop looking, you know? We don’t have towns like this where I’m from.” You smile at his clear enthusiasm, and cock your head. You’d never been to America, you’d never even really been more than a few miles from your home, so you can’t imagine what towns must look like there.

“The people are friendly, I mean, everyone is friendly everywhere, but the people here are… they don’t seem to want to be around me twenty-four-seven.” He adds, and then clamps his mouth shut, as if he’d forgotten who he was talking to. You think maybe he hasn’t been around friends in a while. You shrug, and chortle.

“Oh, that’s just how we are. My Papa used to say that in the cities, nobody can leave each other alone because they don’t make real connections… but here and other small towns, we’re all we have, and after a while, you just get sick of each other.”

Bucky laughs, loudly and heartily, and you think it is a lovely sound. He says something in English, you think you hear ‘christ’, but he sobers, still smiling.

“I’d say that’s about right.”

“Though, you should be wary of signora Cavalli… she’s like a venus flytrap, you know?” You say seriously, but with a conspiratorial edge so that he knows you are only mostly joking. Bucky cocks his head in confusion, but chuckles.

“A what?!”

“A venus flytrap! You know! It’s a plant that looks all bright and colourful, but when bugs land on it it snaps shut!” You clap your hands together in demonstration.

“And then it eats them.”

“Are you… are you telling me signora Cavalli is going to eat me?” Bucky asks, eyebrows high and you take a moment to dramatically look him over.

“No. I don’t think you are her type. But she will start a conversation that will not end until either you or her dies, and trust me, she’s really old.” Bucky laughs again, hand on his belly this time, his head thrown back again, and you can’t help but break ‘character’ to laugh with him.

“Right. Avoid signora Cavalli. Gotcha.” He says as he calms, and again, he seems to have relaxed even more, the little pull that you had noticed between his brow yesterday, and earlier, even when he wasn’t frowning, had all but disappeared.

“Sounds like I need your guidance here. Clearly.” He continues, and you can’t help but feel excited by the prospect. You nod vigorously, and hop down from your ledge.

“Oh, definitely. I have lived here my whole life, I know all there is to know!” You tuck your book back under your arm and step nearer.

“I can show you around! There is more to Montecarra than there looks!” You pause and shrug.

“Well, a little more, at least.” Bucky appears torn for a moment, his face scrunching back into a polite concern as he holds his hands up.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, signora, I mean, Nina…” You roll your eyes and fold your arms over your chest.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, signore, but there isn’t exactly anybody else my age around here… really you’d be doing me the favour…” He opens his mouth, but you quickly beckon him in a direction before he can argue, and you hear a faint sigh, and a few seconds later he’s matching your easy pace.

“I did notice that, actually…” He confirms, and you feel his gaze on the side of your face. His hands are back in his pockets, and he walks a respectable distance next to you.

“Well, there weren’t all that many to begin with but all the boys went off to fight, and the girls either got married and moved away, or left to study somewhere else.” You try to keep your voice light and airy, try not to betray your jealousy or sadness.

You had wanted to move to Paris and study, or London, anywhere, but the shadows of war had already begun, and it had been too uncertain. Looking back, you were reluctantly glad you had not been elsewhere. Your mother had needed you too much.

You come to another small courtyard, with a large tree at its center. It was one of the oldest in the town, and this part of the village had been built around it, as was obvious from the uneven and cracked stone ground, where the roots had grown large and disruptive.

You sling a hand around the trunk, slowly circling it in a careful swing, and Bucky oddly does the same, moving opposite you, so you are always on different sides. Oftentimes you were called childish or immature by others in Montecarra, though they never meant you harm by it. You were young at heart, and always would be. You know it was not proper for young women your age to be so restless, but you couldn’t sit still. Even just walking normally was a little boring after a while. You think it’s nice that this American man doesn’t ask you to stop or to stand still.

“You didn’t though?” Bucky asks, and then hurries to clarify.

“Get married or move away, I mean.” You chortle and lean a little further forward to see his face better as you both continually circle the tree.

“I was not good enough in school,” You lie.

“And no man would have me.” You laugh as you say it, not really meaning it. When there had been boys around Montecarra, you’d had no shortage of prospects, though how many of them would have actually married you was another question entirely.

Bucky scoffs, making an odd noise in his throat, and he fixes you with a look of disbelief.

“Well I know that can’t be right…” You smile, but look away at his kind words, before another thought hits you, and you stop moving, holding onto either side of the tree as you lean around it slightly.

“Montecarra must be exceptionally boring for you.”

Bucky stops moving too, and instead leans his side against the trunk, arms crossing over his chest as he looks down at you casually, eyebrow raised in question.

“To be in such a small town, with no women who aren’t married. Compared to Paris or Rome, I mean.”

You gasp suddenly then, and quickly switch sides, making Bucky have to turn too, and you can’t suppress your cheeky grin.

“Unless of course it’s married women who you’re after. No need to worry about commitment there.” You wiggle your eyebrows and Bucky’s face turns into a molten mess of amusement and bashfulness, sprinkled with pink cheeks.

He uncrosses his arms awkwardly and clears his throat uncomfortably, and you chortle, shaking your head. There was certainly part of him you could see being charming and suave, but for the most part, Sergeant James Barnes just seemed sweet. Eventually he just laughs too, also shaking his head, and he looks off for a moment, before he carefully turns to mirror your hold on the tree, leaning just slightly around it to look at you.

He still wears a coy look of meekness when he shrugs.

“You’re a woman who isn’t married, aren’t you?” He says softly, carefully, as if he’s not sure how you will respond, and does not wish to offend.

Offence is the last reaction in your mind though, instead you feel as if the world stops for a moment, and all that exists is you, this man, and the tree between you. Despite the carefulness of his words, his expression is a little harder, his gaze locked on yours more intense and you have to force yourself to look away, pulling back from the tree just to catch your breath and your rapidly beating heart.

Perhaps Sergeant James Barnes was sweet, but Bucky Barnes was a little more savoury than that. Suddenly, some of the things you’d read make more sense, and you find yourself reconsidering your interactions. Had he specifically sought you out? Or had he just been wandering and it was a happy coincidence. You lean toward the latter but perhaps he had hoped to see you again after your brief meeting yesterday?

You wipe these thoughts from your mind as Bucky too steps away from the tree, and fix him with an innocent smile and a shrug of your shoulder as you begin stepping backwards, ready to move along.

“I am.” You say simply, unsure of what else you even could say, but the moment seems to pass, and Bucky finally tears his eyes from you, watching his step as he makes to follow you again, down another narrow street.

You make light small talk with him as you move into busier parts of town, still a little shaken from his flirting (if that was what it was). He doesn’t seem to mind, and you realise you don’t need to fill the silence all of the time. He seems content to just look and watch, but when you do speak, to tell him something, or point out a particular shop, he listens carefully.

When you make it to one of the central courtyards of Montecarra, near the fountain where you had met him yesterday, you see that the afternoon sellers have set up at the market stalls where you’d been only this morning, helping sell. Jobs and money were hard to come by in your town, everything was so small and insular, and in the aftermath of the war, people had cared less about money to pay for goods and services, but rather taking care of each other in any way they could.

You were luckier than most towns, you’d been spared the massive damage of other places, but with resources still low, and many people still getting back on their feet, feeding each other had become a community job. Bakers would gladly accept trade for their bread, and doing chores or work for others had become a reliable way to not only give back but to earn too. The shops that had managed to remain open were supportive where they could be, and it made your heart swell several sizes to know that the war had not driven your people apart.

Bucky seems to take in the sights and smells of the markets with a dreamily like gaze, his eyes roaming over the leftover morning breads, some meats and vegetables that had not been bought or traded earlier in the week and where now for sale far cheaper.

Your stomach growls, reminding you that you have not yet eaten since your breakfast, and you groan. Usually you’d have set off home for lunch, or brought something with you, before returning to your nook, but being with Bucky had distracted you.

He looks down at you in response to your groan and you scrunch your nose.

“I would suggest we eat, but I left my purse at home.” You explain. Bucky blinks, and looks over at the food, then back at you.

“If you’re hungry, I can, I have my—” You tune him out accidentally as your mind conjures up a thought, and stop suddenly, reaching out and grabbing Bucky’s arm in excitement. He stops speaking and stares down at you.

“I have a better idea…!” You say, grinning widely, and he cocks his head, looking slightly hesitant.

You release his arm only to grab the rolled sleeve of his shirt, pulling him along after you down a sidetreet.

“What— Where are we going…?” He asks, and then continues.

“And why do I feel like it’s going to be trouble?” You laugh loudly, and throw him a look over your shoulder, releasing his sleeve at last when you’ve led him through a maze of tiny alleys and narrow streets and out to the edge of town, near the main road he’d driven in on.

“Trust me.” You say, drawing out the words long and sing-songy.

“Give me reason to…” He mutters, but when you look over at him again, you can see he’s only playing the part of exasperated, his lips pulled up in the corners, and his eyes amused.

He follows you as you lead him up a long road, well away from town and towards where the fields and fields of orchards and vineyards begin. When you veer off the side of the road, toward one of the wooden fences, he stops.

“What are you doing?” He asks, a little more nervous than before, and you turn to face him fully.

“We’re going into the orchard to pick some fruit.” He fixes you with a squinted stare.

“Something tells me that we’re not supposed to do that…” You roll your eyes.

“Nobody will know. Besides, we’ll only take a few.” You bat your eyelashes the best you can manage and watch his resolve crumble. When he sighs, hanging his head while shaking it, you know you’ve got him, so you smile widely and quickly return to making your way up the fence.

Bucky at first seems concerned with you climb, moving quickly over to attempt to lend you a hand, but you hardly need it, lifting your skirt and easily scaling the posts before you land on the other side. Bucky stares at you for a moment longer, before planting his hands on the top piece of wood, and in one large jump, vaults the thing entirely.

You laugh at the sight, and cock your head.

“They teach you that in the army?” You tease, leading him away from where you might be spotted by the road, and into the thick rows of trees.

“Brooklyn, actually.” He tells you, and you spy him repeatedly looking over his shoulder and around, as if suspecting some kind of ambush. You pause, nearly causing him to walk into you, and put your hand on his arm again.

“Nobody is out here. It gets too hot in the afternoons, so they do all their daily harvesting in the mornings.” Bucky stares down at you, the little crease between his brows returning, but he nods at your words anyway.

Turning away from him, you once more gather up part of your skirt, lifting it well above a decent length, to use as a basket of sorts as you start inspecting some of the goods on ‘offer’.

“The peaches are especially good this time of year.” You say over your shoulder, reaching out to gently squeeze a few hanging from the nearest tree.

“I— What…?” Bucky asks, and when you look back at him, you see the vague pinkness back in his cheeks and refrain from rolling your eyes. Instead, you plaster on an innocent smile and hold up one of the fruits you’d plucked from the branch.

“The peaches. They’re very ripe right now. Montecarra always has the juiciest peaches. You can’t eat them without getting your fingers and mouth all sticky.” You look away then, placing the peach into your skirt and fight yourself to keep from laughing. Bucky remains quiet behind you, until you hear him let out a slightly shaky breath.

“Jesus fucking christ…” He mumbles in English, and you wipe the grin from your face before he can see it, as he finally steps closer to join you.

You end up with a nice collection of peaches, apples and some figs. You don’t take much, just a few, and by the time you’re walking the road back into town, your grumbling stomach is sated. You spent a few hours walking along the rows of trees, just talking and eating.

Before you properly enter Montecarra, Bucky tosses your peach pits, and you watch them fly through the air and disappear into some of the empty fields beyond. He looks down at you with a rather cute, proud and expectant smile, and you nod, clapping just slightly.

“Perhaps they will grow and we will have our own orchard.” You tell him, and he sniffs in amusement.

“Or we’ll have to explain where we got the seeds from in the first place.”

“Or that.” You laugh, nudging his side.

You notice he’d stopped keeping quite as large a distance between you when you walked, though you don’t know if it was conscious or not. The late afternoon sun bathes Montecarra in orange and red and shadows, and by the time you’ve walked across town to where you live, the sunset is well and truly in motion.

Sensing your time has come to an end, Bucky slows slightly, stopping when you turn back to him, and point to your house.

“I live here.” You tell him, and he shoves his hands in his pockets with a nod.

“My mama will expect me to help with dinner.” You explain further, though you aren’t sure why. You didn’t need a reason to part with him, it was early evening now and you’d spent the better half of five hours walking and talking and stealing fruit together.

You see Bucky’s eyes drift behind you, past the open archway of the wall that held your home behind it, and then back to you.

“Thanks for showing me around today. You didn’t have to.” He says and you smile, but shrug.

“Of course.”

You hold his gaze for a moment longer before he nods, pulling a hand from his pocket to give you a parting wave.

“Goodnight.” He says softly, and turns, beginning to make his way back.

You step forward without thinking too much and call out, making him pause and look back at you.

“I— I work in the mornings, but you can always find me at the same place, where I was reading today. From about midday on. I’m always there… if you ever want to see me again.” You try to play it off cooler than you feel, shrugging a bit and giving him a nonchalant grin, but he only watches you.

Just as you start to feel discomfort creep in her shifts, dipping his chin slightly and cocking his head.

“I would like to see you again.” He says at last, and it’s just like earlier, around the tree. You feel a thick tension form between you, and even though he’s several meters away from you now, you feel like he may as well have been directly in front of you.

All you can manage is a nervous chuckle, dropping your eyes to the floor and anxiously tucking some hair behind your ear.

“Okay.” You say, and he must take that as your approval, because he smiles softly, and gives you one last parting nod before he walks away.

You watch him go for longer than you’d like to admit, right up until he disappears and you hear your mama call you from the front door.

—-

You see Bucky most days. After you had finished with your daily workload, you would return as normal to your little archway, only pretending to read until Bucky arrived. Sometimes he would bring his own book, and sit beside you in one of the opposite arches, but most days you spent walking aimlessly, talking about everything and nothing.

He would tell you about New York city, describing the streets and the buildings and the people in such detail you could see it in your mind. He’d show you pictures of places he’d been, other cities and towns in Italy and France and you’d been unable to keep from fawning dramatically over each.

You’d been warned by a few of the older local ladies, that American soldiers were notorious for the dalliances with girls, they’d have them and leave them, moving on to the next place as if it were nothing. But Bucky is different, you think. You weren’t so naive to think a man set on simply chasing what he wanted would change for just you, but Bucky never showed intention to chase. Not really.

He was kind, and sweet, and he never spoke to impress you like you’d seen with some boys before. He listened to you, asked for your opinions on subjects you spoke about and never assumed that you weren’t informed. You had revealed your love for reading to him, and he’d not complained once when you’d ranted for far too long about the plot of your newest book.

He never even tried to hold your hand, which was beginning to trouble you. You had given him plenty of opportunity, walking accidentally too close, and brushing your hand by his just slightly. He’d always apologised or ignored it, and you were becoming frustrated. It was not as if his flirting had stopped, when the opportunity arose he’d coyly spout sweet things that made your stomach churn something awful.

You look up from the page you’d been staring at for the past ten minutes without really seeing it, and blink. Perhaps you were wrong and he was just this way all of the time… but then you remember the moments of intense eye contact when he’d look at you and it felt like nothing else in the world existed at all.

No. no, you decide that perhaps you will have to give him a little push.

“Has d’Artagnan won the heart of Lady Constance yet? Or is love dead?” The voice, his voice, startles you so much you squeak, whipping around to find where Bucky has situated himself against the same wall your archway sits in, leaning on one shoulder with his arms crossed over his chest.

Today he hadn’t changed from his morning’s work, and you have to simply give yourself a moment to take in his uniform. It wasn’t the dress greens you’d seen on men in the newspapers, instead he wears a greeny-brown colour, the material slightly thicker in appearance, rougher almost. In lieu of the long dress coat, he wears a jacket that ends just over where you imagine his belt might be, cinching in his form rather nicely. His shirt bears the same colour as his suit, but his tie is a familiar khaki. Pins and medals and ribbons adorn his chest and you want to inspect each one up close, but you refrain.

“Didn’t mean to scare ya, sweetheart.” He flashes a smile, letting you know he’d noticed your long, admiring stare. Sunglasses cover his own eyes, refusing you access to their cool colour, and you hope he takes them off. Your mouth feels dry but you force yourself to shift to face him, hanging your legs over the side of the wall once more.

“Startled is not scared.” You correct, and watch as he pushes off from the wall casually, making his way to where you sit. He’s tall enough that should he so wish, he could climb into your archway no problem, but he doesn’t, simply resting his folded arms on the ledge next to your legs, looking up at you. At this angle, you can see behind his glasses, to where his eyes fixate on your face.

“You didn’t answer my question?” He probes and you have to think back, unsure of what he’d even asked you.

“Has d’Artagnan won over Lady Constance yet?” He reminds you, reaching out to pluck your copy of The Three Musketeers from your lap and study the cover.

“No, I was going to read more last night but the power went out again and I don’t trust myself not to fall asleep with a candle burning.” You sigh, pushing some hair from your eyes. Bucky places the book gently back down and hums.

“Did you come straight from work?” You ask, switching the subject, and as if he doesn’t notice his clothing, he peeks down at himself briefly, before he cocks his head and gifts you another grin.

“What, can’t a guy wear his uniform around a gal to impress her?” He counters, clearly joking. You scoff anyway and lightly shove his arm.

“I think I’m sick of military uniforms…” You had meant it as a continuation of his joke, but you mean the words far too much to avoid the melancholy that seeps in.

You force yourself to look away, and take a few deep breaths.

Bucky had gotten around to asking you the obvious question of how you, with your brown skin and ‘ethnic’ features, had not suffered during the war. You told him the truth; that your neighbours had hidden you and your mother in attics and basements for nearly five years.

He’d been quiet and pensive on your answer, before telling you he understood why you spent so much time in the ridiculously hot sun. He’d made you laugh, something that you hadn’t ever thought you could do when speaking about your time during the war.

A hand gently, feather-light, curls over your own in your lap, and it takes everything in you not to jump. When you look back at him, his features are sad and serious and he gives your fingers a squeeze.

“Me too, darlin’.”

You want to say something, to maybe turn your hand over and feel his palm against yours, but before you can he removes it from yours, pushing back off the wall.

“I had an idea earlier, when we were clearing the rubble away.” He extends his arm to you, waiting patiently for you to make the short jump down from your perch. Linking your arm with his, he turns you to begin walking, but reaches out and plucks your book from you, tucking it into his jacket.

“An idea? I’m not helping with the mess…” You tease, and he gives you a sideways look.

“No. Riccardo said if I were truly suffering so much in the heat, I should go to the beach.” You perk immediately, gasping softly. You hadn’t been to the beach in so long.

“The beach!” You repeat, and Bucky grins, pride showing clearly through at his effort to delight you.

“I was thinking we could grab my camera, and head on down for the afternoon. I don’t think I have anything to swim in but even just dipping my toes…” You’re already nodding frantically, pulling away from his arm as you clap and do a little jump. You really couldn’t help it, you hadn’t been down to the water in many years.

“Yes! Though, did he tell you how long a walk it was? We should be careful of it getting too dark, my mama has already started—”

“—We can just drive.” Bucky shrugs, and you pause, blinking. Yes, you knew he had a car the army lent him, you’d seen it once or twice even but…

“I’ve…” You trail off and stop speaking entirely, shaking your head, and trying to plaster back on your previous excitement, but Bucky had already seen the slight fall to your face, and he frowns.

“What? What’s wrong?” He steps forward, toward you a little, his hand absently out as if to take your arm, though he drops it a moment later.

“It’s nothing. It’s silly.” You attempt to brush him off but he only moves closer still, right up to you now, and this time, the tension isn’t the same as it had been before.

His head bows down toward you, his frame nearly cocooning yours, if anybody were to be standing behind him, they likely would not be able to see you. His hand does touch your arm this time, comforting, concerned and all of it makes your heart flutter like a million happy butterflies.

“I… It’s just that… I’ve never been in a car before.” You admit, and it really is a silly thing to make such a fuss over. Bucky must breathe a sigh of relief that your dramatics hadn’t been about something more serious, but you don’t see his expression or body language change at all for a few seconds.

“... Ever…?” When he does speak, there’s no amusement in his voice, no awe at how backwards and small your growing up had been that you’d never been in a car. He just… asks.

You shrug.

“We don’t need them here…” His face does relax a little, and he must realise how much he’s been crowding you because he clears his throat and shuffles back slightly, letting his hand leave your arm.

“Well… I think you’ll like it. It’s fast.” He says, before frowning.

“Not— not too fast.” He adds, and you have to smile.

“Well… Why don’t I go put my book away, I’ll find some bread and fixings and you can go change, and I will meet you at your cottage?” You suggest. You didn’t want to go all the way down to the beach without some sort of food, even if he said the trip would be fast in his car. It would also give you a chance to change from your day dress into something that you wouldn’t mind getting a little wet or sandy.

Bucky nods.

“Yeah. Okay. You know where it is?” You roll your eyes.

“Of course.” He hangs his head a little, and lifts his hands in defeat.

“Small town, grew up here. Got it.” You laugh. He’d mentioned once how even though he’d spent his whole life in Brooklyn, knew the streets and the major locations like the back of his hand, there were still places he’d never know where to even start looking for.

You part ways then, and quickly hurry home, the excitement thrumming through your veins once again. Not only were you going to get to go to the beach, but you were going to ride in a car!

You toss your book onto your bed without a second thought, quickly undressing and slipping on a lighter, older dress. It’s faded pale blue told it’s age, but the fabric was thinner, meaning you would have no problem if it got wet. You decide not to bother with stockings, removing both them and your garter in favour of feeling the sand with your bare feet instead, and slip your shoes back on.

Before you leave your bedroom, you catch sight of yourself in the mirror and pause. Turning your face from side to side, you inspect your features carefully. You never bothered with makeup, it was expensive and you’d only end up sweating it off, but your eyes do linger on your lips for a moment.

Creeping upstairs, you sneak into your mother’s bedroom. She was out for coffee at one of your neighbours, still, you feel nervousness take hold when you find the small golden tube in her drawer. Taking a deep breath, you uncap the lipstick and lean forwards for a better view, before carefully swiping the deep red colour across your lower lip. You follow suit with the upper, fixing it here and there, and swiping to try and neaten it up, but when you stand back to inspect yourself, you groan in frustration.

You didn’t want to look like you were trying too hard, and your painted lips and bareface didn’t communicate that at all. Grabbing a tissue, you quickly work to remove the makeup, rubbing at your lips until the bulk of the colour is off. However, when you stop to check again, you find the red has somewhat stained your skin. It only really adds a subtle flushed red over your usually brown lips, but it's still noticeable, and you panic, grabbing another tissue and trying again to no avail.

Time ticks by and you check your watch, not wanting to make Bucky wait too long, and so you pocket the stained tissues and take a last look in the mirror. Your shoddy clean up job would have to do. At least the stains were on your lips and not around them.

In the kitchen you gather up a small selection of items in a basket, just some bread and butter and homemade jam, and tuck an old blanket over the top to secure it all, and so that you could sit on it later. Checking everything one last time, you slide the basket to the crook of your arm and close up your house behind you.

You have to stop yourself from skipping as you make your way through the streets, smiling and greeting those who pass you politely and not like a mad woman. By the time you make it to Bucky’s little cottage, you can already see him leaning back against the car, waiting. He straightens when he sees you, smiling as you slow down, feeling almost hesitant about approaching the car.

“Here, lemme take this…” You let him grab the basket from you and watch him open one of the back doors, placing it on the floor, behind a seat. When he shuts the door again with a click, he turns to look at you in a both expectant and patient manner.

“Shall we?” He gestures to the other side of the car, and you let him lead you around it, swallowing as he pulls open the front side door for you.

“There you go. You know, you’re lucky this is your first car ride. This is a nice car, apparently.” You let Bucky take your hand to help you in, and for the few seconds after he’s shut your door behind you, and you see him jog around to the driver’s seat, you feel an immense awkwardness settle over you.

When he’s climbed in beside you, he gestures to something above your head.

“Here, that’s your seat belt. I know a lotta people don’t bother with them, but… better safe than sorry, right?” You nod, and reach out to grab the little buckle, not realising that the sun had been baking the metal since it had come up.

You rip your fingers away from it with a hiss, cradling them to your chest. Bucky jerks and is immediately leaning over to help you.

“Shit! Sorry, I— I forgot to tell you to be careful of the— here, look, you gotta grab the plastic part…” Your slightly burnt fingers are all but forgotten when Bucky leans right over you, directly into your space as he pulls at the belt, drawing it down and across your body, to your hip.

You watch him click the buckle together and blink up at him when he leans back, face still pulled in a wince.

“You okay?”

“Yes… I just wasn’t expecting it… it didn’t really hurt that much…” He looks like he wants to say something more, his eyes darting down to where you lower your hand back to your lap, and your face, but he eventually settles with a nod.

“Okay. Okay.” He repeats, twisting to face frontwards in his seat again as he begins readying the car. You watch him fiddle with the keys, jumping slightly when the engine roars to life all around you, but you only chuckle at the look Bucky sends you. He lifts one hand from the wheel, to hold onto a tall gear stick in the center console, shifting it a few times before you feel the car begin to move.

Despite your nerves, you can’t help but feel the excitement in your bones, and as Bucky starts to slowly drive along the outer roads of the town, toward the western most side, you can’t stop yourself from staring out the window.

It wasn’t as if you’d never seen any of these places before, but it felt different now. You feel Bucky’s eyes flick over to you every so often, a low chuckle you can barely hear above the car reaching you, but you’re too enthralled to do more than return his smile briefly.

You settle down a bit as you hit the main road. It's still a very new experience to be moving so quickly down a road you’d only ever been along at a walk. Bucky seems content in the quiet, but about halfway through the trip, he changes his hand on the steering wheel, to reach down for something on the side of his door. You watch him fumble for a moment, before he behinds winding a little lever, and you turn your gaze to where the window now rolls down, filling the car with fresh air and the sound of light wind.

“You’ve got one too,” He briefly takes his eyes from the road to point your own window lever out to you, and excitedly, you rush to unwind it. You laugh then, like a child, and lean forward to get a better view, to feel the wind blow over your face. It doesn’t last long though, the second you feel your hair get thrown about, you yip, ducking away with another laugh, but attempting to smooth back your hair again.

Bucky grins over at you, and he shuffles, keeping one hand on the steering wheel, resting his elbow on the window frame casually. With his spare hand, he rests it on his thigh, fingers tapping.

“Lotta women wear a scarf, to keep their hair from getting wrecked…” He tells you, and you make a note for if you ever ride in the car again.

“You were right.” You tell him, finally sitting back in your seat and relaxing. Bucky cocks his head, briefly glancing at you, but mostly he keeps his eyes forward.

“Hmn?”

“I do like this.”

You arrive at the beach in no time at all, the lone western road leading right down to the water. Bucky brings the car to a stop away from the road, on a patch of grass that separates the rest of the land from the sand dunes. On your right, some ways away, the land lifts, creating a rocking cliffside that encloses this section of beach neatly. You knew from your childhood that there were some caves accessible, but you’d always been told to stay well away.

Bucky grabs the basket from the backseat, and you wait for him to catch up with you before you begin treading down onto the sand. The sand is hot and pale, and the smell of sea water calls you, but as much as you’d love to throw yourself toward it, you direct Bucky to a small cropping of rocks and boulders that rested near the dunes, far enough back that the incoming tide wouldn’t reach them, but near enough to the water to be sure your things would be kept safe.

Bucky follows your lead as you kick your shoes off, climbing to the top of the largest boulder easily, it's jagged surface perfect for climbing, as long as you didn’t step on a spike. The boulder stands almost up to Bucky’s chest, and was quite large from a top side view. You beckon him to give you your basket and he watches as you quickly lay out the blanket. When he can see you settling, he joins you, scaling the rock quickly, and taking a seat beside you, where you’ve now begun to pull the bread and spreads from the basket.

“This is a nice spot.” He says scanning the horizon critically. You see his gaze turn up towards the nearby cliffs, scrutinizing them thoroughly with slightly squinted eyes. His face is so intense, you can’t help but look too, wondering what it was he was seeing, but when you turn back to him, he snaps out of it, plastering an easy smile on his face.

You open your mouth to question what he’d been looking at when he grabs the jame, and turns it over in his hands.

“Homemade?” He asks, clearly excited by the prospect, and even though you still want to know what he’d just been thinking about, you let it go, recognising a subject change when you saw one.

“Yes. My mama is very good at cooking. She cooks a lot for other people.” You tell him, buttering a thick slice of bread before handing it to him.

“Do you?” He puts the jam down as he takes the bread and a butter knife from you, beginning to spread some of the sweet, jellied fruit. You scrunch your nose.

“I don’t cook a lot. Mama says I should do more.” You roll your eyes and Bucky snorts.

“Why?”

“So that when I get married my husband won’t be displayed… or something.” You bring one of your legs to a bent position, like you were crossing your legs but only chose to do one, and shift your center of balance to be more comfortable.

The blanket was a nice touch, but it didn’t make the rock you sat on any more homey.

“I don’t understand… why women have to do so much to keep a man. If they love you, shouldn’t they not care about how well you cook or how clean your house is?” You glance at him, genuinely asking. Bucky was, as you well knew, a man, he may have insight you did not. He frowns, mulling over his thoughts as he chews his mouthful.

“I think some guys want a housekeeper more than a partner. I don’t think a lot of mother’s help that, either.” It’s your turn to frown and you cock your head, gesturing he go on. He adjusts a little, and looks off as he speaks, only glancing back at you a few times as he explains.

“It’s a cycle, right? A lady gets married, she looks after her husband, they have kids, a boy and a girl,” He pauses, takes a small bite, chews, swallows and continues.

“Now, as the girl gets older, mother starts to prepare her for when she’ll get married, so she takes on some of the household chores. The son however, he gets looked after right up until he leaves the nest. His food is cooked for him, his room is cleaned, his clothes washed…” You start understanding what he means, and nod slowly.

“By the time he’s serious about looking for a girl, he thinks they should be how his ma and pa were. I’m sure there’s love and affection, but in his mind, if she’s not doing those same things he grew up with, then how much can she really love him?” He ends with a shrug, looking at you, and you have to admit you’re genuinely surprised by his honest point of view.

But he sits up a little straighter then, and points to himself with the bread still in his hand.

“My mother would never let me get away with that.” He tells you solemnly, and you chortle at his deeply serious, over the top expression.

“Oh?”

“No ma’am. When I was sixteen she showed me how to use the machines at the laundromat, and if my room wasn’t spick and span at the end of the week I’d get it.” You laugh at the thought of a woman with Bucky’s same eyes making him remake his bed.

“And cooking?” You press, and Bucky shrugs again.

“I grew up watching her cook, helping her in the kitchen… I ain’t sayin’g I’m good. But I wouldn’t starve.” You laugh again, his stories uplifting on your general view of how things were ‘Supposed To Be’.

“Anyway, the point is, the only thing that makes a good husband or wife is that you care about one another. Everything else is negotiable.” You grin, and nod, look out at the water as he words sink in, before you sharply side eye him.

“Everything except fidelity. I’d cut off my man’s—” You cut yourself off before you can say too much, but Bucky has already begun howling with laughter, leaning all the way back to rest on his elbows, he places a hand to his chest as he guffaws gleefully.

When he calms down, still snickering quietly he nods several times to himself and gives you a look.

“I don’t doubt you for a second, sweetheart.” Your chest flutters again at not just the pet name, he’d taken to using various ones, but the softness in his voice when he says it. It makes you nervous, it makes your stomach feel like the rolling waves of the ocean before you are happening simultaneously in there too.

“Right, well. Let's cool off, huh?”

Bucky rolls his pant legs up to just above his knees before he treads into the shallows, and you lift your skirt just a little as you join him. You wallow about in the water for some time, talking about nothing in particular. At one point, he realises he’d left his camera in the car, and races back up to get it, returning with a piece of photo paper already developing in his fingers.

“Took one from the dunes. It’s a nice view.” He explains as you lean over to peer at the little print. You can make out your figure, distant in the photo.

Bucky takes several more pictures, of the cliffs, of the long expanse of shoreline on the other side… You let him be for a while, moving back up to the rock and the blanket, perching yourself on the edge as you just take in the cool sea breeze and watch Bucky move about, deeply focused.

It was sweet really, though you don’t know how many of the shots look the same.

The warm sun and your general relaxed mood lull you to lie back, fixating your gaze on the blue skies and clouds above. Your skin grows warm and a little moist under such direct sunlight, but it feels nice. You aren’t sure how long you lie there for, you even doze off for a little bit, but some time later, you hear Bucky approaching.

“Can I take your picture?” He asks as you sit up, shielding your eyes for a moment as you do.

“Me?”

“Yeah.” You want to protest that he shouldn’t waste his photo paper on you, but he’s already stepping back and bringing the camera up to check if he’s too close or far.

“Wait, let me move.” You tell him, shifting to sit side on, with your feet on the rock and your knees bent up, like you would sit in your reading nook. Bucky waits for you like you ask, adjusting a little notch on his camera before he lifts it back to his eye, peering through. You expect him to take the photo right away but instead you see his lips part and his tongue swipe out to wet them as he swallows and draws the device away again.

“Uh, your— your skirt sweetheart, it's…” He trails off and gestures at his own thigh, prompting you to glance down at yourself.

Oh.

With your legs up like this, and perhaps with the help of a little sea breeze, your dress had shifted far up the length of your leg, far more than what was proper or should be photographed, and yet, your mind begins to whir.

You cock your head innocently, and hook your finger under the hem, drawing it back even further, until almost the whole side of your leg was on display. As you do, you pop your shoulder forward and rest your chin on it, grinning widely, invitingly.

Bucky just stares for several moments, and you see him swallow again. He seems to fumble with bringing the camera back to his face, and you see his mouth in what you’re certain is English cussing. It only makes your grin that much wider.

He takes the picture, lowering the camera immediately to catch the photo it spits out, though, he keeps glancing back up at you. You only flutter your eyelashes as best you can and make sure to fix your skirt somewhat. You sit forward again, and rest your hands either side of your legs, leaning toward where Bucky still stands.

“May I see?” You ask, and he jerks, starting toward you right away.

“Y--yeah. Of course…” You note with a quiet snicker how he stands at least two feet away from you when he holds out the photograph, and you take it from him, inspecting it.

“This is a good one.” You tell him.

“Yep. Yeah. It is.” He’s aware you’re teasing him now, and you give him a smile over the top of the picture.

“You won’t throw it away?”

“Why… why the hell would I throw it away?” You shrug and hold it out to give back.

“I don’t know…”

Bucky reaches out for it, but just before he can take it from you, you pull it back.

“On second thoughts, I don’t know if you can be trusted with this.” His face resembles a rain cloud, his frown confused and deep.

“What?”

“I think it might end up in the bottom of a box somewhere… I should keep it.” Your lip quirks, and he can see the cogs turning as he realises you’re only playing. He rolls his eyes and goes to grab it from you again, but you pull it away again.

Before he can corner you where you sit, you jump off the rock, ducking to the side as he lunges, making you squeal.

“Come on, sweetheart, let me have it…” You keep moving backwards, even as you turn to face him, the photo clutched to your chest. Bucky has turned to pursue you, though he’s only walking, hands on his hips.

“You’ll have to catch me!” You take off running, unable to keep from laughing as you do, Bucky’s own chortling reaching you as he gives chase.

You duck and weave out of his reach, and even though he’s far bigger and fitter than you, you were smaller, and the drag of the sand didn’t affect you as much. He almost gets you twice, his fingers grazing your dress, and when he does finally catch you, it’s with his arms around your middle, seizing you mid stride and pulling you back.

The momentum sends you both tumbling to the sand, your back hitting it lightly. Bucky falls over you, though he catches himself before he can crush you proper. All you can do is laugh, breathless from the chase and from the fall, and most certainly from the fact Bucky now lays atop you.

He’s laughing too, his face close and his breathe warm. He shifts to lift one hand and pluck the photo from your fingers, still held to your chest, trapped their by his own body. He’s still smiling when he makes a show of placing the photo in his top pocket, and buttoning it close, and then he drops his hand, resting it back in the sand by your head.

“I caught you.” He says simply, and all you can do is nod dumbly. His eyes fall to your mouth, and you suddenly remember the lipstick debacle. You’re about to make an excuse, or explain what had happened, when he leans in, dropping his lips to your own softly. You don’t mean to, but you gasp quietly, heat pooling in your face when you feel Bucky smile, and hear his light chuckle.

He doesn’t stop though, and you gladly return the kiss at last, lifting your chin so he could reach you easier or have more of you, you don’t know. Bucky shifts over you, his knee digging into the sand as he lifts some of his weight off of you, but before you can complain, he’s holding your face, tilting your head and deepening the kiss.

When you part, reluctantly, you’re all too aware of how heavy you’re breathing, your chest rising and falling rapidly. Bucky’s eyes drop to watch for a moment, and you feel goosebumps crawl over your skin, but he looks away, moving to get off of you.

“Uhm… that okay?” He asks, scratching the back of his head a little awkwardly. You’re still just lying in the sand, watching him and trying to catch your breath.

He stands, and leans down to offer you a hand that you accept. You let him pull you to your feet, and by that time you’ve gotten at least a semblance of your sanity back. He’s looking at you cautiously, concerned maybe, but you intend to rectify that.

He hardly has time to catch you as you jump for him, legs wrapped around his middle, your arms around his neck, Bucky lets out a loud, hearty laugh as he makes to secure his hold on you. You lean in and kiss him again, heated at first, but then softer, until you’re only peppering little pecks to his lips.

“I’m gonna go with that being okay, then.” He confirms to himself. You giggle, like a schoolgirl with a crush, and realise he’d been walking the whole time he’d been carrying you. He sets you down atop the rock, hands gliding under where he’d been holding your legs, before quickly removing them, like he didn’t want to overstep.

“You had better not lose that picture.” You warn, making him chuckle, and pat his pocket.

“Oh, trust me darlin’. It’s not going anywhere.”

The sun had already begun to set, and so you make quick work of packing up the small amount of belongings you brought. As you walk back to the car, Bucky carries the basket in one arm, and with the other, he reaches out to take your hand, firmly and securely, interlocking your fingers, and you feel your whole being ascend.

He doesn’t let go of your hand in the car either, reaching out to hold it there too, your intertwined hands resting on your thigh. It’s all too short however, and far too soon he’s parking the vehicle and helping you out.

“I’ll walk you back.” He tells you and you frown.

“What? No, you’re already home, I can—”

“—I’ll walk you back.” He says again, firmer, but with a playfulness that stops you from arguing further.

You wait for him to get your basket from the backseat, and when he does join you around at the rear of the car, his face lights up in realisation.

“Oh! Wait. Hold this for a sec…” He gently thrusts the basket into your hands and you blink, watching him jog into the cottage.

He reappears a few minutes later, carrying something long and cylindrical in his hand, and as he approaches you again, he flips it, catching it smoothly.

“Flashlight. For… for if your power goes out again…” He drops it in your basket before he takes it from you again, and you’re so genuinely touched by the gesture you’re frozen for a few seconds.

“Sweetheart?” Bucky frowns, cocking his head, but you snap out of it, leaning in to wrap your arms around his neck, only a hug this time. His free arms wraps around you instantly, and you aren’t sure you’ll ever get over how nice it feels to be held.

“Thank you. That’s very kind…” You say when you pull back. He just smiles at you, before offering you his arm, and walking you home.

—-

He takes you on a picnic.

It’s such a quaint idea that when he mentions it to you one afternoon, after kissing you goodbye on your doorstep, you can’t help but feel your eyes light up like two cartoonish hearts.

Bucky had assured you he would source the meal and perhaps some wine, but he’d need your basket once more, and the next day you find yourself lounging lazily under the shade of a tree, in the empty fields outside of town.

He’d brought bread, fruit and a bottle of red wine that you’d be very excited by right up until you’d had your first taste.

Bucky burst out in laughter at your expression, nose scrunched and brow furrowed, and he gracefully takes your glass from your hand.

“It’s alright, sweetheart, it's an acquired taste…” He chortles, and you gladly let him pour what's left of your drink into his own, but you notice he doesn’t really touch it throughout lunch.

You talk for hours, clearing up the blanket so you can lie down next to one another and gaze at the cloudy blue sky. You ask Bucky to tell you once more about New York City, and as he speaks you gaze at him, gesturing wildly with his hands and smiling back at you every so often.

He was so pretty, for a boy, his eyes so blue, hair dark and lovely and smooth looking. Even his stubbly chin and cheeks, where you could clearly see he’d shaved just this morning look nice, and without really thinking, you reach out and brush the backs of your fingers over his jaw.

Bucky stops speaking, turning his head slightly to regard you softly, but you don’t stop. From the way he spoke about the war and missing his home, you think maybe it has been a while since he’d felt such gentle touches.

“See somethin’ you like, darlin’?” His smirk is barely a smirk, it's far too soft for that, but there’s still a hint of cheekiness in his gaze that draws you in. Laughing quietly, you rise to your elbow, leaning into his side where he’d previously been lying a respectable distance from you and press your lips to his jaw, then his cheek, and at last his lips.

Bucky kisses you back immediately, like he always did, lips moving softly against your own, carefully cupping the side of your face and pulling you down against him even further. Your heart races when he sits up without breaking apart from you, pushing you back so your positions are reversed. Out here you were practically alone, and even if somebody did come driving down the main road, with the tall grass nobody would be able to see you.

You wrap your hands up behind his head, tugging him down more, until he’s leaning against you fully, his forearms encasing either side of your head, a knee slipping between your own as your tongue slips between his lips. Your nearly come apart thena nd there when he moans, muffled by your kiss, but erotic all the same, and he seems to move more feverishly, kissing your quicker, bearing down against you harder.

You resist the urge to wrap a leg around him, but instead let your fingers scratch gently at the back of his neck, feeling yourself sink further and further into bliss with each tiny stroke of his tongue against yours, and each press of his clearly hardening length between your thighs.

You almost unhook your hands from his neck to lift your dress when he pulls back. At first he simply lays his forehead against your own, his eyes shut tight, and you watch him with rising disappointment and heavy breathing as he gently shifts his weight off of you, and dips his lips to kiss the tip of your nose, and then chastley at your lips.

“I uh… this probably isn’t a good idea…” You deflate, but push it aside. If he did not wish to go further, you wouldn’t pressure him. Still, the gentle ache between your thighs resists, begging for friction, for satisfaction. Bucky looks down at you, lips kissed raw and pupils dilated and it takes everything in you not to go for his pants then and there. He smooths down what he can of your hair, tucking some wilder pieces behind your ear before he kisses your nose again, and lays back down beside you.

On the walk back, the both of you are oddly silent, and although it isn’t uncomfortable, you still don’t like the awkwardness. You always felt like you could be truthful with Bucky, and you didn’t want to change that now, so tugging on his hand a little you slow your pace.

“I would have had sex with you, you know?” You squint at him and he blinks rapidly, face blushing quickly as he checks around to make sure there was nobody else present.

“Wha— I wasn’t—”

“—I’m not a virgin. I know what I’m doing.” You further assert, and he only continues to cough awkwardly, trying to reign in his clear embarrassment.

“Men aren’t the only ones who like sex. You always think us women are so eager to wait and ‘save ourselves’.” You roll your eyes then, and walk past him.

You don’t look back, but soon enough he’s hurrying to fall in beside you once more, taking your hand again even as he swallows.

“I never said you were, I just… I guess I’m not used to ladies talkin’ about it so… well, at all…” You side-eye him wryly and shrug.

“Look around, Bucky. In a town this small, there isn’t much else to do except each other. But all the boys have left now…” You shrug again, and this time Bucky laughs, letting out a slow puff of air.

“I guess.” He wears a look on his face like he wants to say something else, but he stays quiet. You slow down as you approach your home, and you’re about to ask when he stops just short of the steps leading into your front courtyard, and takes both your hands.

“I guess I wouldn’t want to take advantage. I’d want you to be sure.”

You purse your lips and roll your eyes again.

“I’m not a naive little girl.”

He laughs again and draws you near, quickly checking about to make sure no neighbour would spy the kiss he presses to your lips.

“And I’m not a boy.” The words send a thrill up your spine, and now more than ever you wish he hadn’t pulled away earlier. You swallow as he looks down at you, eyes intense and fiery and this time it’s your turn to swallow.

“I— I know…” You manage, and for a moment you can’t stop staring at one another.

Eventually, Bucky squeezes your hands and nods his head toward your home.

“You’d better—”

“—Oh! Yes… Goodnight…”

Bucky watches you as you make your way to your door and tips his hat when you look back at him before you close it.

“Goodnight.”

—-

Bucky can’t sleep.

It's late, he really should have been asleep hours ago, but he can’t stop thinking about you and what you’d said. As much as he curses himself for not seeking out the moment when he’d had you under him in the field, he’s also glad. You deserved more than a quick rut on a picnic blanket, and yet his mind wanders to Parisian nights, except all the women in his memories are replaced with you.

Would you be loud? Quiet? Would you say his name, drawn out and breathy? He decides he wants to find out.

It takes him no time at all to walk to your house, and when he’s climbed the side wall of the enclosed courtyard into the back garden, he sneaks on around to the open window on the first floor.

Surprisingly, you were either far from asleep yourself, or you had been suspecting his visit. You sit up in bed right away, but smile and hold a finger to your lips as you creep across to the window. Bucky leans against it comfortably, holding your hand when you half climb through to sit on the sill, legs dangling out beside him.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, though your demeanour seems to be far more girlish, far more pleased-but-scandalised than you had been earlier, talking so frankly about sex. Bucky gives you his best smile and shrugs.

“Wanted to see you. What’re you doing awake?” He nods to your bed, the book and torch clearly lying amidst your sheets.

“I was reading.”

“I can go if you’d—”

“—No!” You whisper, socking him lightly in the shoulder, as if it were a ridiculous thought to even suggest he leave. In the moonlight he thinks you look lovelier than ever, and he scoots closer, until he’s resting his arms across your thighs and gazing up at you softly.

“We have to talk quietly though, my mother’s room is above mine and her window is also open…” You point, and Bucky looks, see’s the curtains billowing slightly out, and he nods.

“I’d let you in, but I think you might dissolve into a blush.” You tease him, and Bucky immediately perks, eyes lighting up at the challenge. He pulls his arms off of your lap and cocks his head.

“Well I’m here, aren’t I?” He asks slowly, letting a hand gently curve up your calf. Your nightdress covers you from the knee up, but he ignores it, reaching underneath to massage softly at your thigh.

You don’t take your eyes off of him, even when he lowers his gaze to carefully push your knees apart. If anything you seem to lean back on your palms, watching him intently. Bucky meets your eye again when he snakes his hand further, forgoing your leg entirely to press the pads of his fingers against your core, eliciting a sharp inhale from the both of you.

“You don’t wear underwear to bed?” He can’t help but ask, pants suddenly restrictively tight and you breathe out slowly, clearly trying to remain quiet as he lets his fingers simply glide through you slick.

“Only when I’m expecting company.” You tell him, and he chortles, stepping closer and pressing his lips to yours.

Your head angles back for him, letting him set the pace of the kiss and gently, Bucky presses one finger inside. You almost gasp, but he kisses you harder, pulling back again just slightly, so your lips brush when he speaks.

“Gotta be quiet, remember?” You nod vigorously, eyes not even opening to meet his, and Bucky leans back further, content to watch your head lull back and mouth part in the softest breathiest moans he’s ever heard as he slowly pumps his one finger in and out of you.

He’s laser focused on the task at hand, even despite his rock hard cock, and soon he’s adding another finger, slowly letting them sink deep into your velvety wet heat, his pride stoked when you further part your legs for him. He uses his free hand to push your nightdress up around your hips, and he nearly groans at the sight. Licking his lips he sets his eyes back on you, leaning in to nip and kiss at your neck, finally letting his thumb press down against your clit, massaging in circles as slow as his strokes, and he feels your muscles flutter.

A third finger joins the others and this time you seem to reactively grip his wrist, your other hand flying to slap over your mouth as your brow furrows deeply. Bucky knows he’s breathing hard, and after adjusting himself briefly in his pants, he pulls at the thin straps of your nightdress, getting it only half down one shoulder, but it’s enough.

He wraps his lips around your exposed nipple, swirling his tongue and nipping experimentally, feeling your hand wrap around the back of his head in approval. He stares up at you, desperately wanting to see your face when he finally pulls you apart and he’s rewarded only a few minutes later, his fingers fucking you far quicker, his thumb working faster.

When you finish, your cunt squeezes his digits relentlessly in waves of pleasure, and you make strained, soft little mewls as you attempt to remain quiet. Your hips shift and twitch and he doesn’t draw away from your breast until you’re blinking back down at him, gently pulling his hand away from your clit with bashful little laughs.

“At least… at least I won’t have to change any bedsheets…” You pant, and Bucky chuckles, leaning forward to kiss your lips properly, feeling your naked chest heave against his when he does. Your eyes seem dazed, and your face warm, but when he pulls away again you swallow and gesture to his own clearly bulging pants.

“I can—”

“—Not tonight…” And he means it.

“I just wanted… I just wanted to see you.” He says, and your gaze shifts from purely lustful to something softer, and you smile, dipping your eyes away for a second.

Bucky takes the moment to enjoy his view, your dress pulled up to your hips, your pussy still clearly on display, and your sleeves hanging well down to your elbows, breasts bare, nipples hardened and exquisite. He fights the urge to reach out and start all over again, maybe get his mouth on you this time…

“S’alright?” He rests his head in his palm and you chortle quietly, nodding.

“Yes. Yes, better than… than anything with other boys before…” He gets the feeling you aren’t just saying that to stroke his ego, the blissed out look on your face and the oddly bashful demeanour you’ve taken on requiring him to believe that he really had just properly blown your mind. He grins triumphantly, and leans in again, kissing your lower lip.

“I told you I wasn’t a boy.” He kisses you full again, loving the feel of your hand reaching up to hold the back of his head to you.

“I know.” You say when he forces himself back. You watch him as he carefully pulls up the sleeves of your shirt, covering you up again, and then fixes the skirt too, until you’re mostly modest.

“You should get some sleep, sweetheart.” He tells you, and you hum, reluctantly climbing back through your window and standing on the other side. He kisses the back of your hand, but when he goes to pull away, you don’t release your hold on him, tugging him back slightly, and he blinks at you curiously.

Your eyes have taken on that same lustful expression from before and you cock your head.

“Will you think of me?” You ask, and at first, it doesn’t quite click.

“When you wrap your hand around your cock when you get home, will you think of me?” Bucky nearly chokes, nearly climbs right through your window and ends all the tension there and then, but he manages to hold strong, realising you were still somewhat teasing him.

“Darlin’ I will think of nothing but you, soaking wet and waiting for me…” He squeezes your fingers slightly, noting the approval in your eyes even before you nod.

“Okay.”

“Goodnight.”

“It has been, yes.” You finally let him go, watching as he clambers quietly back over your side wall.

And Bucky does think of you when he gets home, he strokes himself to the thought of your mouth and your cunt, and your tits bouncing in his face while he has you on his lap. It’s honestly the filthiest his mind has been since Paris nights drowned in alcohol and women he didn’t bother to get the names of. He knows your name though, sighs it again and again as he thinks of you.

He falls asleep hard and wakes up in the morning the same way, unable to stop thinking about you.

—-

In the days following Bucky’s midnight visit, you feel a giddy sort of happiness thrum constantly through your veins. Even now, as you sit up in your archway, trying to focus your mind on the letter you write to your distant aunt (you think you’ve met her all of once, but she’d written to you and your mother regarding your health and wellbeing in the aftermath of the war, so you felt obliged to reply). You find yourself able to write only several lines before you’d look up, searching, hoping perhaps Bucky would show, but even you know it’s too early… he’d still be working.

Part of you debates going to watch, the idea of seeing him labouring away in the hot sun, hopefully with his shirt removed, leaving him in only a singlet top… your stomach stirs at the thought, but you shake your head, and concentrate harder on your letter.

You manage to succeed too, losing yourself in describing Montecarra to your relative who’d never once left England, as she’d explained. It isn’t until some time later that movement catches at the corner of your eye, and you barely refrain from looking up as Bucky finally ambles into the courtyard. He must sense your buys-ness, because he doesn’t greet you as he nears, he just stops for a moment, before he continues forward.

At first you think he may approach you to wait, but instead he swiftly climbs into the open archway behind you. You take the time to pause in your own actions to peek at what he’s doing, only to find him sitting in mirror of you, his back to the same pillar yours is. After he settles he twists back and nudges your arm.

“Got any spare paper, darlin’?”

You try to pretend you hadn’t been watching him, but his grin says you’ve been caught out. Gathering a few pages from under your small stack, you hand them back to him, his fingers over your far too suspect for you to think it is anything other than purposeful. Still, you can’t help but smile, even as you settle back to finish off your letter, hearing him uncap a pen.

You find yourself referring back to your aunt’s letter to answer and reply to all of her questions and queries, and once again you almost forgot Bucky is there, until tugging on your sleeve draws you out of your reverie. You turn to look, expecting to be greeted with his lovely face, but instead, all you see is his hand, holding a page folded into a little rectangle.

Your chest flutters at the thought he’d been sitting writing something for you, and so your letter is quickly abandoned in favour of taking the little note. Bucky seems to remain as if he were oblivious to his own actions, humming quietly to himself as you unfold the paper and gaze down at the words.

‘Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?’

Again, your heart stutters, and you can’t hide your smile as you put pen to paper, drawing up your response. You refold it and hand it back the same way he’d offered it to you; tugging on his sleeve and holding it out. The page is plucked from your fingers quickly, and you try to distract yourself by turning back to your true task, only to be pulled from this once more when his hand reaches back, searching. You watch for a moment before he wiggles his fingers expectantly and you snicker, adjusting your hold on your paper, so that you can place your hand in his own.

You sit there like that for the rest of the afternoon, Bucky humming happily, your hands interlocked at an almost awkward angle, and you try your hardest to finish writing your damned letter.

He picks you up from your home later that evening, finds you waiting for him out the front. You hadn’t dressed up in a long time, and so when his gait slows and his eyes roam over you as he approaches, you can’t help but feel self-conscious.

You’d worn a simple red dress, but it was the nicest one you owned, the only one appropriate for dinner out. This time you’d committed to the lipstick, painted your lips red and done your best not to talk yourself out of it. You’d left your hair down, let it fall in loosely styled waves, and all together you felt part-movie star, part-fool.

Bucky whistles lowly, just quietly as he nears, and you have to scoff and roll your eyes, hiding your embarrassment as he draws you in, hugging you just quickly before he pulls back, hands on your waist still, to inspect you closer.

“You look beautiful.” He tells you, voice soft and sweet and you know he isn’t pontificating, or trying to woo you.

“Thank you.” You reach out to smooth over his collar and finally force yourself to meet his eye.

“You look lovely, too.”

You feel lost in a slight high as you walk to the only real restaurant in town, in the main square. In the early evening the streets are quiet, only the occasional passerby, but the cafe remains open, seeing to a few quiet patrons, plus yourselves out on the terrace.

Bucky helps you with your chair and takes your order for you, pours you your drink… it's so normal and yet you’d never really experienced an evening like it. When your food is long gone, he scoots his chair around to sit closer to you and holds your hand softly in his while you talk aimlessly. You aren’t at all worried about being seen or judged, in fact the few moments in which you catch a passing couple take a look at you, you see kind eyes and sweet smiles, only making you feel dizzier.

“You enjoyed your meals, I see?” The owner, an older man named Matteo who you’d known to live in Montecarra for as long as you can remember, stops by to clear up your plates, and you nod enthusiastically.

“Wonderful, we’ll have to come back.” Bucky says, squeezing your fingers as Matteo smiles widely and agrees.

“Maybe next time I will have figured out how to work this named record player, then you will have music as well!” You and Bucky both seem to perk as Matteo throws a thumb over his shoulder, and Bucky straightens in his chair slightly.

“I can give it a look, if you’d like?” He offers, eyes already glued to the record player sitting atop the counter only a few meters away. The older man gives him a shrug and a gesture that clearly reads as ‘go for it’, as he finishes collecting the plates and patters back off to the kitchen.

You watch Bucky move over to the counter, fiddling with the player, though you can’t really see what he does. You know he’s fixed it however, when he throws a grin back at you, and plucks a record from beside the machine, pulling it from it’s sleeve and carefully placing it down on the turntable.

Music immediately begins wafting through the air, an upbeat tune you think you’d heard on the radio before, and Bucky comes speeding back over to you, hands held out even as he pulls you from your seat.

“Dance with me?” He asks, though he’s already wrapping his arm around your waist, and you move yours to his shoulder and hand respectively. There isn’t much room between the tables on the sidewalk, and although the song is happy, it’s not a rousing jazz tune, so you find yourselves simply swaying in each others embrace as the French lyrics begin to join the band.

You end up close, so close you forget anything else exists around you, Bucky’s forehead pressed against your own, your chests similarly compressed, as if neither of you could exist apart.

You have to laugh, thoroughly intrigued and enthralled when he begins softly singing the words to the song. It’s so different to hear him speak in a language that wasn’t Italian or English and it makes your chest ache for a reason you don’t know.

“I wish I could speak French.” You say quietly, Bucky’s lips quirk up but you shake your head.

“You must be so amused by how quaint I am… never been in a car, never left my town… never learnt any languages…” You don’t mean to sound so melancholy, but it hits you then, the ache in your heart stems from just how wonderful Bucky is, and how plain you are in comparison. But he’s frowning as you finish, shaking his head and adjusting his grip on you, wrapping you up even further.

“Never. I think you’re worldy in other ways…”

Your purse your lips, but as he opens his mouth to continue you cut him off, changing the subject.

“Can you tell me about New York again?”

Bucky’s expression falters, then lifts into a sweet smile, and you know his mind has wafted away to distant city streets.

“Of course…” He talks for ages about all the shops and stores available, about all the tiny apartment buildings and the decor, and his home block in Brooklyn. He tells you about the parks and the weather, and a place called Coney Island.

“... I think you’d like it.” He finishes, and you hum, having closed your eyes now, head to his shoulder as you attempt to imagine all that he describes. You feel him open his mouth to say something, to continue, but he doesn’t, hesitating and then remaining quiet, though he holds you firmer again, and you relish in the warmth of it.

Eventually, you have to let Matteo close up, and you bid the old man thank you and goodbye as you walk away hand-in-hand. Before you can get too far however, you stop, tugging on Bucky’s hand so you have his attention, the warm Montecarran breeze blowing your hair about.

“My mama doesn’t expect me home until morning.” You tell him, seeing instantly how his eyes change.

“Why’s that?” He manages to ask, stepping close again and you smile, shrugging.

“I told her I was watching some children in town overnight.”

Bucky hums at your reply, frowns as if in thought.

“Sounds as if you may need somewhere to stay, in that case.”

Bucky takes you back to his cottage, all quiet laughs and lingering touches as he leads you inside, placing his coat and keys down on the table, but any pretence is lost as soon as you kiss him. Clothes scatter around the small space, a gingerbread trail leading to his bedroom where he lays you down and peels the last of your underwear off.

Oddly, you feel less nervous about him seeing you naked than you had in your dress, maybe because he’d already seen you mostly this way, or maybe because at least naked it was real and you couldn’t pretend or hide, it was more honest.

You itch to touch him, but you don’t get the chance right away, his kisses leaving your lips quickly to travel down and soon you’re gasping, hands clutched tightly in his hair as he buries his face between your thighs, hands holding your legs apart as his tongue and lips work quickly over you, bringing you over the edge faster than you even thought possible. By the time he’s kissing you again, your mind is a haze of filth and desire and you guide him into you quickly.

Bucky is an excellent lover, his pace and angle perfect, his weight above you welcome as he thrusts into your warmth, desperate and wanting. He isn’t boring either, doesn’t end the night quickly, instead nearing his pleasure and stopping each time, drawing it out. He instructs you in various positions, making your belly spark with his knowledge of the female body, nearly sending you into a fritz when he takes you from behind, leaves you scrambling to hold on to something as you cry out into his sheets, his cock relentless as he fucks you through your orgasm, finally finishing with you, his hands curled around to pinch at your nipples, making your cunt bear down on him even more as you fall into a sweaty, moaning and panting heap.

He fetches you water, helps you fix back your hair in your still slightly dazed state, and pulls you near again, skin to skin as you drift off to sleep, lips pressed to one another even as your mind begins to wander.

In the morning you wake him with your mouth around his length, swallow him back as much as you can as he’s drawn from slumber by the pleasure, his hand reaching down to messily clutch at your hair. You watch him come apart for you, eyes fixed on his tilted head, creased brow and open mouth as he jerks into the back of your throat, hot warmth spilling forth that you swallow with ease.

He swears and curses as he rubs his eyes and you crawl up to lay beside him once again, finding his eyes looking at you as if to make sure you were real.

“Good morning, Sargeant.” You tease, only to have him cuss more, his chest heavily quickly up and down. You chitter and brush the slightly damp hair back from his head, a kiss to his cheek as you withdraw from the bed.

“Where’re you goin’?” He asks, blinking himself properly awake and you throw him a glance as you hunt for all your belongings.

“I have to go home, my mother does expect me at some point…” You explain, and he rubs a hand over his face once more, seeming to deflate a little.

“Right. Of course.”

You’re fully dressed when he manages to pull himself to sit on the edge of the bed, still naked, still just as fine as the evening previous. He looks up at you as you step nearer, braiding back your hair before you place both hands on his shoulders.

“Thank you.” You say simply, leaning down to peck his lips chastley. He hums against you, kissing you back and quickly you’re no longer pecking his lips, your hands roaming down over his shoulders appreciatively, his hands reach up the back of your skirt, pulling your underwear to the side and—

You gasp, giggling as you pull out of his reach, shaking your head and wagging a finger at him like a naughty child.

“No! No, I have to go home!” You tell him, even as he sighs, falling back to lie on the bed again. You can clearly see his hardening length and you fight yourself to just climb atop him once more.

“I will see you later!” You say pointedly, tossing a shirt onto his lap, to hide him from you, and you see him grin, chortling even as his hand travels lower, removing the shirt and wrapping around— you turn your back, flustered and tempted, but you leave his little cottage, determined to get home before your mama woke, so you could wash and change.

—-

Somewhere in the back of Bucky’s mind, he knew it wouldn’t last forever, but the end comes sooner than he’d expected.

He stares at the small pile of pages in front of him, their words all making sense in his brain, he understands what they all say, what they’re telling him, but at the same time, he comprehends absolutely nothing after the words ‘The United States Armed Forces herby discharges you with honourable service records…’

He was going home. They were sending him home.

At last he’d be able to hug his mother, see his sister, Steve, all the other fellas… he’d get to go home and really start his life post-war. He’d been waiting on this letter for months, a year even, more perhaps. At one time, it had been all he’d wanted. And yet, all that fills him now is a sense of dread, muddled with a bit of guilt, because he knows he really does miss his family, but…

When he sees you later that afternoon, sitting up in your nook like always, he can hardly bring himself to return your smile, sparkling and bright as always, for him. You pick up on his mood immediately, even if you poke fun. He knows he can’t delay, they expected him on his flight home from Rome tomorrow. The army loved their damn punctuality.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, face falling a little when he only half-heartedly chuckles at your joke, his eyes downturned, afraid to meet your own. He swallows, and shoves his hands in his pockets, squints into the distance.

“They’re sending me home.”

A beat passes.

When he finally looks back at you, he catches the tail end of devastation leaving your features, replaced instead with a hopeful, sincere grin.

You grab his hand, pulling them from his trousers.

“Bucky! That’s wonderful news!” You say excitedly, but he can only purse his lips.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t be like that! You don’t want to spend your whole life here, do you!?” You snort a little as you knock him in the shoulder, and he smiles thinly.

No, he didn’t want to live the rest of his life in Tuscany, but he’d been getting used to having a little slice of it around lately.

Your over-excitement fades, and you lean in to him cupping his cheek.

“You’ll get to see your mother, and your city… I know you miss them all…” He can’t help but frown at a spot on your dress, avoiding your eyes like a pouting child.

“I’ll miss you, too, though.” He mumbles, and you smile, scrunch your nose and shake your head.

“In no time at all this will all be a happy memory.”

Bucky wants to protest, lifts his gaze to argue with you, but the sharp, almost panicked look you give him as you shake your head again stops him.

“No, Bucky… Don’t. Please don’t make this sad… you’ve made me…” Your voice is cut off as you sniff, the shininess to your eyes spilling over just slightly, even though you smile softly.

“You’ve made me very happy, for quite some time. Let us leave with that.” You wrap your arms around his neck, hiding your face away and Bucky sighs, pulling you closer too, and resting his head atop your own.

He glares, frowns aimlessly at a nearby wall, barely even seeing it, focusing all his energy on swaying gently with you.

“Alright.” He says, voice a little rough. You sniff into the collar of his shirt, and he smooths his hands down over your back.

“Alright.”

—-

“We rented out your room to a shoemaker. You’re gonna have to sleep on the couch until we can convince him to leave.” Becca says flatly, half her words muffled as she’s drawn into Bucky’s chest. He holds her there tightly for several seconds before pulling back.

“Oh yeah?” He rubs at his chin.

“Don’t think the shoemaker will sleep heads to toes with me?” He wonders, and Becca scrunches her nose, laughing at the image.

Winnie Barnes shakes her head and lightly taps her daughter.

“Becca don’t cause trouble. Bucky, we left everything exactly the way it was.” His mother tells him, before hugging him for the sixth time since he’d landed. He just grins, and hugs her back each time. He’d missed her. So much.

They eat dinner together, Steve and Peggy come too, and afterward, the blond makes Bucky pull out his camera. After quickly pulling some choice images out of the pile, he lets Becca and his mother rifle through, telling them about each photo as he remembers it, the act rather therapeutic. He really had been gone for so long.

“Oh… who's this?!” Becca coos, half reading, half awed, and Bucky absently leans over to get a look.

His heart stops for a moment when he lays eyes on you, your smile wide and full of glee, the wind blowing your hair wildly about, your hand lifted to hold your hat on your head. Maybe he takes too long staring, maybe it’s just something about a sisters’ intuition, but Becca whistles, then gasps as she plucks another photo from the pile now tipped on the floor.

“Here she is again! And here too!” Even his mother gives him a sideways glance, but he can’t bring himself to feel too bashful.

He clasps his hands under his knees where he sits on the carpet and hums.

“Nina. I met her in a little town called Montecarra.”

“She’s beautiful.”

“She is.” he confirms, as Becca continues to find photos with your face peppered throughout. He should be embarrassed about the amount of pictures he took of you, even ones where you aren’t doing anything but reading, but he really doesn’t.

“She your girlfriend?”

“Becca!” Winnie scolds, glaring at her daughter, but Bucky only laughs.

“I wasn’t lucky enough for that.” He shrugs, and his mother fusses.

“James Barnes, any woman worth her salt—”

“It’s not like that Ma… it’s just…” He trails off. He doesn’t want to say something to suggest he didn’t want to be here with them, because he desperately did. But he missed you.

“Well… I came home.” He shrugs, and his mother’s eyes fill with understanding. She purses her lips but frowns thinly, reaching out to squeeze his arm.

Becca frowns too, but she recovers quickly, pulling out a new photo and asking him about the features in it.

She pulls out the ones of your face, but she doesn’t mention them again.

Bucky settles in. He truly comes home. He stops feeling like he’s living out of a suitcase. He finds a job, granted it isn’t hard, with the SSR setting up an office in the city, he barely had to ask for a job. On Fridays he went dancing with Becca, acting more like a chaperone than a participant, and on Sunday’s he went to church with his mother, holding her hand through the service and making nice with the old ladies after.

He settles in. He’s home.

And then, there’s a knock on the door.

It’s well after any kind of appropriate hours for visitors, but not late enough into the night that anybody was in bed. Winnie sits by the radio in the living room, listening to her stories while Becca scrawls out a letter. Bucky had been reading when the knock came, and he waves a hand towards the women when he stands.

“I’ll get it.”

“Who on earth calls at this time?” He hears his mother wonder aloud as he makes his way down the hall to the front door.

Swinging it open, Bucky feels ready to send off whoever it is, but he stops dead in his tracks. All sense leaves him, aside from sight. He’s only able to stare slack-mouthed as you blink back up at him.

He’s never seen you in so many layers before. It was winter in New York, but Montecarra seemed to be perpetually hot, so the most he’d seen you in was a light jacket… standing before him now, on his front steps, you have a coat, a scarf, gloves, a hat and he thinks those might even be earmuffs around your neck.

“I… Hello…” You begin, your voice heavily accented when you speak English, and even though Bucky shakes himself out of his stupor, he’s still dumbfounded.

“Hi…”

“I… I’m new to the city, and I thought perhaps you will… show me around?” You seem to be thinking hard about your words, speaking slowly to articulate them. You scrunch your nose when you finish, clearly unhappy with the outcome.

Bucky can’t even bring himself to respond. He’s down the two steps separating you in seconds, hands cupping both your cheeks as he kisses you, again and again, in quick succession until you’re laughing against his lips.

“What— how— what are you doing here?!” He stops and starts, but eventually gets some version of his thoughts out. He speaks to you in Italian, not wanting you to feel limited, and you shrug, gloved fingers splayed across his chest.

“My Aunt… the one from England… she offered for me to join her in America, for better opportunities…” You trail off, and Bucky decides you could tell him any reason and he’d have been satisfied.

“I’ve been learning English.” You say, and he nods, thumb stroking over your cheek. He can’t stop looking at you, he can’t believe you’re here.

“I can see that.” He replies, in English, and watches as you slowly understand.

“Buck? Who's at the door— oh! I- I’m sorry, I—” Winnie, with Becca just behind her, stops in her tracks at the door, cheeks tinged red at catching such an intimate moment, but Bucky can’t bring himself to pull away. He see’s Becca’s eyes flash with recognition, her face lighting up.

He forces himself to pull back slightly, guiding you forward.

“Mama, Becca, this is Nina… from Montecarra.”

——

“I thought you said you’d worked in all the kinks!?” You whine, only slightly impatiently, though Bucky can understand why.

“Worked out all the kinks, baby. ‘Out’.” You roll your eyes and mutter in Italian.

“I’m going to work you out in a moment…” You say louder, and Bucky relents, holding up his hands as he finishes fiddling at last.

“Okay, okay. I’m coming! Get ready!” He tells you, quickly rushing around from one side of the camera he’d set up on a pile of books, the little wired control he holds in his hand flashing red.

“Come bambino, please smile for Mr Camera!” You bounce the tiny baby boy on your lap, earning a bout of giggles, just as Bucky slides in next to you on the stairs, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, and placing his free hand on his son’s back.

“Ready?”

“Five minutes ago…”

“Say ‘Montecarra’!”

He presses the button, and the camera flashes.

Thank You Very Much For Reading!

[hlizr50]

What's in a Name?

My first Gwynriel fic. And the rest is history, I suppose!

This fic was actually inspired by the epilogue chapters of A Court of Smoke and Shadow, another Gwynriel fic by our favorite, the incomparable @daevastanner. Read that here on AO3.

Gwyn and Az discuss surnames.

Read on AO3

“Azriel?”

“Gwyn.” He lifted his gaze to the female who had become, well, everything. Her back was to him now as she surveyed the bookshelf intently, as if the House wouldn’t gift her exactly what she was looking for. Azriel studied her, taking in how her straight, silken hair shone like copper in the firelight and how the shadows highlighted her toned back. She seemed… tense. She so rarely took so much time to choose her words. “Berdara, what’s on your mind?”

“You don’t have a surname?”

Had she been dwelling on that all afternoon?

“I don’t. When you’re brought into the world… as I was… you are not given the honor of a birthright.”

“Does it… does it bother you?” Gwyn looked over her shoulder at him, teal gaze burning through him. Cauldron, he could look into those eyes forever. He shrugged before rising from the couch and running a hand through his dark locks.

“It used to. Not as much anymore.”

“Really?” She’d returned her focus to the books lining the shelf in front of her. Azriel closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her stomach, resting his chin on her shoulder. It wasn’t so long ago that he had refused to touch her without her request. Now their intimacy was almost casual and carefree. He smiled when she placed her freckled hands over his scarred ones. “It doesn’t bother you anymore?”

“When I was younger it was a source of shame. It took me longer than it should have to realize that the name didn’t matter, because I did have a family.” He pressed a soft kiss to her temple. “I have an incredible family that made me nearly whole. And then came you, the missing piece. Worrying about a name seems almost silly when I have you.” Gwyn squeezed his hands and he tightened his embrace.

“When we’re mated, though, how will that work?”

“I’m not sure,” he shrugged. He hadn’t missed the ‘when’. They hadn’t accepted the mating bond, at least officially, but he had no doubt that it was only a matter of time. Their relationship had taken years to develop, allowing her time to heal and feel safe in his arms and in his life. They’d shared so many moments and new achievements and he was certain they would be making each other proud until they both withered away.

Gwyn wriggled a little and he loosened his grasp. She turned to face him, her hands on his chest. He let his hands find those perfect hips as he met her questioning gaze.

“Maybe…” she looked down for a blink, took a breath, and then looked back up at him, eyes glimmering with determination. “Maybe you could take my name.”

His fingers tightened on the curves he held and he felt his eyes widen ever-so-slightly. Which words did he want to say? What could possibly express how deeply humbled he was that she – the brave, beautiful, incredible Valkyrie, survivor and warrior – would honor him with her name. He, who had no birthright, had little more to offer her than his scarred heart, killing power, and a vow that she would always be safe with him.

“Azriel?”

He blinked and found Gwyn’s eyes wide with questions… and a hint of uncertainty. Cauldron, he’d been so deep in his emotions. Az sucked in a breath, searching again for what he wanted to say.

Damn him and his sensitive heart.

“Gwyn… I…”

She shrugged and looked down, pulling her hands way from clasp at her chest. Azriel could have whimpered from the loss of her touch.

“I don’t really know what is expected or what is… typical…” her voice trailed. He chuckled softly, unaccustomed to seeing the Valkyrie so unsure. He raised his left hand and softly pressed fingers against her jaw, lifting her face to his.

“I’m not sure much about our relationship has been typical, Gwyn.” He could have kicked himself when her eyes dimmed and she looked away, moving her chin away from his touch.

“I know… I…” She was too quiet, voice laced with regret. “I know I’ve made it difficult for you, Azriel. I wish –“

“Gwyn, stop, please,” he pleaded, grabbing her folded hands and pulling them to his chest. “I am so sorry, love, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.” He waited patiently, stroking his calloused thumbs over her fingers. His eyes were trained on her face, cursing himself as he noted the flush under the dusting of freckles and the thin thread of silver lining her ocean eyes.

“Gwyn… please,” he pleaded as he willed her to turn back to him, give him a chance to right his mistake. His chest swelled with pride when her lashes fell and she took two deep calming breaths.

She was the rock against which the surf crashes. Nothing could break her.

He could have fallen to his knees in relieve when she turned that sea-deep gaze back to him. The burning in the back of his eyes intensified as he lost himself in her bright stare that shone with wetness and… shame? He would not stand for that.

“Gwyneth Berdara, I would not change a single moment of what we have shared. Please, please, know that.” Azriel’s words were quiet and fierce and raw with emotion. “When I was… much younger - centuries ago - I assumed that courting would be walking through gardens and showering a female with gifts; symphonies and plays and fancy dinners in crowded upscale restaurants on the Sidra. I would be a powerful male with a demure beauty on my arm.” The copper-haired warrior tried to avert her gaze again at his words but he reached out and touched her cheek, willing her eyes to return to his. “That was a different time, and I am a wholly different male than I was then. Gwyn, you and I? We launch ourselves at each other in the training ring, each trying to draw first blood. We read by the fire until we fall asleep. We eat cookies until we feel sick and laugh until we cry. We save each other from our nightmares and encourage one another to chase our dreams. You are incredibly witty and strong-willed, and our banter rivals the most arrogant Illyrians in all the war camps”

Azriel’s mouth quirked as she tried to stifle a giggle. He moved his other hand to her face, cupping her cheeks as her fingers spread lightly over his chest. Then he leaned in, their noses a mere fingertip from touching.

“All I mean to say, Gwyn, is that I never would have expected my story to end up like this. And I may be biased, but I think our love story rivals even the most soul-shattering works in all the great libraries.”

“I don’t know about that,” Gwyn laughed, but her eyes crinkled and a few stray tears escaped from the corners. She moved her hands to grasp his jaw and pressed a quick kiss to his lips, sweet and chaste. She never ceased to surprise him, to amaze him. He grinned and pulled her back into him, lips capturing hers again. It was longer, deeper, and full of promise. When he released her mouth he kept his forehead against hers.

“I love you, Gwyneth Berdara, and I would be honored to take your name when we are mated. I am truly humbled that you would offer that to me.”

“Azriel.” He smiled wistfully as her fingers stroked his cheek. “It is my honor to give it. To the one I love. To the one who has helped me to be brave and strong. You have made me whole again, Azriel. You are a part of me. I couldn’t dream of not sharing my name with you.”

He could drown in those bright, trusting eyes for all eternity. He had to remind himself so often that he would, that they would have decades and centuries to stare more and more deeply into each other, to dream and grow together.

Azriel kissed her forehead and then pulled her against him. She tucked her head against the crook of his neck as he swayed gently back and forth. Fingers from one hand brushed through her hair as the other hand painted soothing strokes up and down her back.

“I’m sorry I was so sensitive,” she murmured under his chin. “I shouldn’t have overreacted.”

“Don’t apologize, love,” he answered, nuzzling the crown of her head. “Every one of your feelings is valid, even if it isn’t what I had meant for you to feel. What I said bothered you, and I’m relieved you were honest in your reaction so I could reassure you. Never hide your feelings from me, Gwyn. Just as I am a part of you, you are a part of me, and I could never forgive myself if I left you hurting.”

Gwyn nodded against him. “I love you, Shadowsinger.” Her arms wrapped around him and she breathed in, squeezing herself impossibly further into him.

He grinned. Being wrapped in that embrace was the sweetest captivity he had ever known. He never wanted to escape. “I love you, too, Berdara.”

[morganaspendragonss]

holly's august extravaganza day 17: you and me (moving through this world as a two-man team)

for both my incredible birthday twin jenny (@laelipoo) and a little bit for myself! i hope you are having a wonderful, wonderful day and i wish you all the love in the world. i'm so glad we became friends and i cannot tell you how glad i am for our conversations 🥰🥰🥰

many, many, many thanks to jenny as well for helping me out with the plot!

ao3 | 3.1k | firefighter carlos, hurt/comfort, pining, developing relationship, major character injury (two of them 😌)

TK does not have a crush on the 126's latest hire.

Carlos Reyes: an Austin local, an incredible firefighter, and—objectively speaking—the most beautiful man TK has ever laid eyes on. Which is, in fact, the entire point; TK has eyes and, yes, he will use them to sneak a look or two when he’s suddenly sharing space with a man who looks like a Greek god.

That does not mean he has a crush, Paul.

(and, sure, maybe he does sometimes dream about how soft Carlos’s lips look and the soft blush he gets when he laughs and those little flecks of gold in his eyes, but he’s only human)

(how TK knows about the gold in Carlos’s eyes is none of anybody’s business)

The thing about Carlos Reyes is that he isn’t only stupidly hot; he’s also just plain nice. TK can’t even make up a flimsy excuse to keep his distance. Carlos is, quite literally, perfect.

He shares recipes and book recommendations with Paul, he spars with Marjan, he discusses superheroes with Mateo, and Judd has had nothing but good things to say since before Carlos even joined them. Apparently they’d worked together a lot before the explosion, when Carlos was with the 116, and he’s ‘one of the best damn firefighters’ Judd has ever seen.

He even makes time to hang with the paramedics, which...isn’t a new development, exactly. But it is recent, and TK is willing to bet they’d still be pretty divided if Tim hadn’t suddenly transferred back to Maryland and he hadn’t taken the leap to be a full paramedic.

Even after that… His friends were hardly going to abandon him after he switched, but Nancy had still only been semi-included at best. She’d called him out about it during their first week working together, but fixing it had been a slow process.

Until Carlos came along, that is. Excluding Judd, they all regularly hang out at his place now, and Nancy’s inclusion had never even been a question. Safe to say, Carlos has charmed everyone in the firehouse, including both captains, and the worst part is, he doesn’t seem to realise he’s doing it.

He’s perfect, from his freakishly toned body to his infuriatingly sweet personality to his incredible skills in the field, and TK does not have a crush, goddammit!

One morning about three weeks after Carlos’s arrival, TK is greeted in the firehouse by the sound of a long, beautiful laugh coming from the kitchen. Three weeks is an embarrassingly short amount of time to admit that he’s memorised everything about him, but he instantly recognises the noise as coming from Carlos, even if he can’t see him yet.

He saunters into the kitchen, where Carlos is standing with Paul, and leans up against the counter. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Carlos turns with a winning smile and holds out a steaming mug of coffee, clearly freshly made even though TK only got in two minutes ago.

He blinks. “How—” Then, taking in the slight pinkness to Carlos’s cheeks, “Are you seriously offering me your own coffee, Reyes?”

Carlos shrugs, forcing the mug into TK’s hands. “I only just made it so technically it belongs to anyone, and I can always make another,” he says. “Besides, you look like you could use it more than me.”

His grin has TK narrowing his eyes and stubbornly refusing to drink even though Carlos is right—he really, really needs it.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that was an insult.”

“Who says you do know better?”

TK splutters, momentarily left speechless in the face of Carlos’s smile and the twinkle in those goddamn eyes. He turns to Paul for help, but Paul...has disappeared. Huh. TK honestly hadn't noticed him go.

He shakes his head and looks back to Carlos, only to be stunned silent again by the way his smile has softened into something else, something more.

TK’s heart skips a beat or two and he swallows, staring down into Carlos’s coffee. “Whatever, Reyes,” he mutters.

It was too late for a witty comeback anyway.

Carlos’s laugh follows him out of the kitchen, and TK wonders when, exactly, he let himself fall this far.

*

“Earth to TK? Hello?”

TK is rudely snapped back to reality by one Nancy Gillian’s hand waving violently in his face. He scowls at her, to which she responds with an eye roll.

“Stop drooling over your man and come help me with inventory.”

“I’m not drooling,” TK argues, following her over to the rig. “And he’s not my man.”

“Right,” Nancy drawls, folding her arms over her chest as she leans against the ambulance. “So you’re just going to deny that weird energy around you two that makes the rest of us feel like we’re creeping on something?”

“Exactly.” TK nods emphatically, then frowns. “Wait, what?”

Nancy casts her eyes heavenward. “You know,” she says, “you’re a lot of things, Strand, but I hadn’t pegged you for oblivious.”

TK’s next words are reflexive, said without thought for the consequences—the story of his life, really.

“I’m not oblivious!”

The grin spreading over Nancy’s face rams home just how much he’s fucked up with those three words. TK drops his head in his hands and groans, unable and unwilling to look Nancy in the eye.

“Not a word,” he warns, which Nancy appears to respect, for now. TK is well aware that there will be words—several of them—later, whether he wants them or not.

The thing is, he really isn’t oblivious. He knows perfectly well what Nancy is talking about and he has often fantasised about all the things he’d do to Carlos given half a chance. TK likes Carlos, way more than just in the physical sense, and he’s pretty sure that Carlos likes him right back. It would be so easy to start something between them and, god, TK wants to. He just… He can’t.

One year—that’s what he promised himself back in New York. One year on his own to sort his head out and figure out how he fits back into the world after the overdose. Granted, his sobriety anniversary is only a couple of months away now, but he refuses to give up on his promise, especially when he’s so close.

Maybe in a couple months, if Carlos hasn’t gotten bored of something that’s clearly going nowhere.

But not now.

*

“He did not ask me out!”

“He totally did, dude, and you know it. You want to say yes, I can tell.”

“No, I don’t. I—”

“Children,” Tommy interrupts from the back of the ambulance. They’re heading to a callout, and Nancy has not let up the entire way about something TK is certain never actually happened. “Either of you want to enlighten me on what the argument is about this time?”

“TK’s too chicken to go out with Carlos,” Nancy jumps in, before TK can stop her.

“I am not!” he protests. “Plus, he wasn’t asking me out, he said we should go over to his place for dinner sometime, which Carlos does all the time. So there.”

“Strand, you are not this dense,” Nancy snarks, probably rolling her eyes. “His exact words were, ‘You should come over sometime’.”

“We were all there! It was obviously the plural you.”

“Oh my god—”

“Alright!” Tommy sighs wearily. “Nancy, can we keep from provoking TK until we’re back at the firehouse and he’s no longer driving?”

“Ha!” TK exclaims, but Tommy’s not done.

“TK, if I weren’t your captain, I’d be telling you that Nancy is right and you should pull your head out of your ass before it’s too late, understand?”

Now it’s Nancy’s turn to be triumphant as TK struggles to form a coherent response. Thankfully, he’s saved from further torment by them finally pulling up at the scene—a warehouse where one of the workers had become trapped after parts of the upper level walkway had broken and fallen. Apparently, the falling metal had caused some of the machinery to malfunction, turning the call from simple to beyond complicated in a matter of minutes.

“TK, grab your turnout gear and your bag; I’m sending you in with them,” Tommy informs him as soon as they’re out of the rig. “Normally, we’d just talk the firefighters through it over radio, but given your training it’ll be quicker and safer for you to deal with our patient.”

TK grins; he’s missed the adrenaline rush of running into emergencies more than he can say. “Got it, Cap.”

“Maybe try and look a little less happy about a serious injury, too.”

“Copy that.”

*

The noise when they enter the warehouse is deafening, an ugly screeching cutting right through TK’s skull.

“Shouldn’t they have shut the machines off?” he shouts, fighting to be heard.

“Apparently they can’t,” Judd calls back. “Something wrong with the control panel, I don’t know exactly what.”

TK groans—just what they need. The sound is lost in the din, but Carlos still looks over and gives him a sympathetic grin, shrugging in a ‘what can you do’ motion. TK can’t help but grin back, the mere sight of Carlos easing the annoyance he feels and the headache already beginning to build behind his eyes.

Their patient, when they reach him, is pinned under a large, heavy-looking sheet of metal. He’s bleeding from a gash on his temple and his skin is worryingly pale, to the extent that TK can tell even from a distance. He jogs to the patient’s side and kneels down, pressing his fingers against his neck.

“Cap, I have a pulse,” he reports into his radio after a few seconds. “But he’s unconscious with a head wound, and I think there are probably injuries I can’t see yet. Possible spinal damage, but I can’t tell until we’ve got this metal off him.”

“Copy that,” Captain Vega says. “Get ready to run a line; he’s gonna need it as soon as he’s free.”

TK nods and moves to secure a c-collar around his neck. “We need to cut this thing off of him,” he says, addressing the team. “Quickly, but carefully.”

Judd steps forward, brandishing the saw. He hands TK a couple of spare turnouts and kneels on the patient’s other side. “Couple of you need to cover him, and yourselves.”

TK doesn’t even have to ask before Carlos appears next to him, taking one of the turnouts from him. He smiles gratefully before arranging himself to provide maximum protection to all three of them as Judd starts working on the metal. The vibrations from the saw are unpleasant, and TK dreads to think what effect it’s having on the already unstable machinery, but it’s the only option they have to get their patient free.

Fortunately, everything seems to go off without a hitch, and soon the team are able to remove the metal. TK immediately gets to work, feeling for any damage. As he suspected, there’s a pretty large gash on the man’s leg which is bleeding badly, though thankfully it seems to have missed any arteries. He also seems to have a broken wrist, but he should heal.

TK quickly wraps his leg, then gets Carlos and Judd to help move him onto the spine board. It feels like, for once, the call has gone as smoothly as possible, and TK allows himself a breath of relief as they prep to get the guy outside to the ambulance.

Naturally, that’s when everything goes to hell.

The machine closest to them lets out a threatening groan and shudders before there’s a loud roar and it explodes. On instinct, TK folds himself over the patient as shrapnel rains down on them, and he sees Carlos doing the same in his periphery.

The downpour seems to last forever, but eventually it slows and comes to a stop. TK cautiously lifts his head, his heart pounding, and sags in relief as it seems that the worst is over.

They need to get out of here, now.

He stands, a brief stab of pain running through his back—probably because of his awkward position over the patient—and turns to Carlos, reaching to offer him a hand up.

Only to see Carlos’s face tight with agony, and then the cause—a jagged piece of shrapnel running right through his hand.

“Carlos,” TK breathes, horrified. Carlos looks up at him, his breathing carefully measured and his eyes wide, and TK drops back to his knees, reaching out for him. “It’s okay, I’ve got you, don’t worry.”

Carlos swallows and nods, his eyes squeezing tight. TK’s heart rate skyrockets, and he’s barely able to keep his cool as he signals to the others to get their first patient out of the warehouse.

“Cap, the team are bringing him out, but we have a problem.”

“Talk to me, Strand, what’s going on?”

“It—It’s Carlos.” TK breathes out shakily and takes a moment to steady himself before continuing, “It’s not serious, but some of the machinery broke apart and some shrapnel impaled his hand. I’ve got to stabilise the shard before we come out to you.”

“Alright, but hurry. I don’t want you guys in there for longer than necessary.”

“Copy.”

Stabilising the shrapnel with rolls of gauze and wrapping Carlos’s hand should be a matter of course—it’s an easy process that TK could probably do in his sleep. But this is Carlos, so his damn hands won’t stop shaking and he almost fumbles and drops his supplies.

He manages though, and soon he’s helping Carlos up, instructing him to hold his injured hand above his heart. Carlos sends him a wobbly smile, which ends up turning out to be more of a grimace, but it’s a comfort nonetheless. Things could have gone so much worse today; TK could have even lost him, and he would have never been able to—

But that’s not important. Carlos is okay, or he will be, and they still have plenty of time to figure out whatever this is between them.

Everything will be okay.

TK’s back and side twinge again as they make their way out, but he brushes it off, too focused on getting Carlos to the hospital as fast as possible. Tommy shakes her head as they make their way over, her eyebrows raised despite the concern clearly in her expression.

“Never a peaceful moment with you, Strand, is it?” she asks dryly, hissing as she inspects Carlos’s wound.

“In my defence, Cap,” he says, more at ease now that they’re safe, “it’s not me who’s injured this time.”

Tommy hums, then directs Carlos into the back of the rig, jumping in after him. “Get back here, TK. Nancy’s driving.”

She has a teasing look in her eyes that instantly makes TK suspicious, but he moves to comply, shrugging off his turnout coat as he does. The movement hurts, which is weird, but he thinks nothing of it.

At least, until Tommy’s eyes go wide and she stands from her seat, holding her hands out towards him. “TK, do not move,” she instructs, her eyes firmly fixed on his right side.

TK frowns, then follows her gaze down, and— Oh.

His grey undershirt is stained with blood, and it’s difficult to miss the large piece of metal sticking out of his side. He has no idea how he missed it, but now that he knows, the pain slams into him full force, causing him to stagger.

“Oh,” he gasps, eloquently.

Then, his legs buckle and the world goes black.

*

TK wakes up to a steady beeping sound, which only exacerbates his pounding headache. He groans, scrunching his face up, before slowly peeling his eyes open, almost slamming them shut again after getting an eyeful of obnoxiously bright fluorescents.

“You’re awake,” a voice says, sounding surprised, then the lights suddenly dim, the room lit by the gentle glow of a lamp. TK sighs in relief and shifts to look at his saviour.

It’s Carlos.

“You… You’re here,” TK states, confused. His gaze drifts down Carlos’s body and lands on the white bandages around his hand, the memories of the warehouse suddenly hitting him all at once. “Shit, you— How are you?”

Carlos shakes his head and comes to sit in the chair by TK’s bed. “I can’t believe you’re the one asking me that.”

“I’m a paramedic, it’s my job.”

“Not when you’re the one in the hospital bed,” Carlos counters, sighing. “If you must know, I’m fine. They gave me some pretty good drugs, so…” He shrugs, and TK can’t help but laugh, which proves to be a very bad idea.

His side lights up, an unnecessary reminder that TK is very much not on the good drugs, and he moans softly, slowly settling back in the bed. “I hate you,” he mumbles, eyes closed.

“You love me,” Carlos says, and TK’s heart seizes in his chest.

The silence after his words is deafening, so TK forces himself to crack his eyes open enough to look at him. Carlos is frozen in his chair, biting his lip hard, and he looks like he either wants to bolt or be swallowed by the earth.

TK thinks he should probably be feeling the same. They’ve been dancing around this issue for weeks now, and he’d thought he had it under control. That he could last that little bit longer until his one year was up; that he could ignore these feelings that have been steadily growing since he first laid eyes on Carlos.

It was a hopeless endeavour; he recognises that now. TK remembers the fear he felt when Carlos was injured back at the warehouse, the desperation for him to be better, and now with his own injury…

He could have lost this chance before he ever got it, and TK isn’t about to let it slip through his fingers now. He reaches out and takes Carlos’s good hand, startling him into meeting TK’s eyes.

“Yeah,” TK whispers, just loud enough for Carlos to hear him. “I think I do.”

The smile Carlos gives him lights up the room, and he doesn’t waste any time in leaning down to kiss TK. And it’s… It’s everything TK had hoped and imagined it would be and more. It’s soft and sweet and gentle and perfect, and he never wants it to end.

But end it does, though Carlos doesn’t go far. TK smiles at him, squeezing his hand with all the strength he can muster.

“That’s a yes, by the way,” he says.

Carlos frowns. “What?”

TK’s smile widens and he flicks his eyebrows at Carlos. “To dinner. Or were you not asking me out after all?”

Carlos huffs a laugh, and the look in his eyes when they lock back onto TK’s melts his heart and makes his entire chest ache. “Does Friday work for you?”

He nods, tugging Carlos down for another kiss. “It’s a date.”

[hb-writes]

Everything Mia Cullen

Mia is the youngest Cullen, the adoptive daughter Carlisle brought home from the hospital years ago. She’s human for now, but as she nears the age of the Volturi’s decree, she finds herself struggling not only with whether or not to become a vampire, but with typical human dilemmas as well.

Mia Cullen Character Development Masterlist

CARLISLE:

✨ Thank you but no: When the Cullen siblings continue pushing their human sister to play baseball with them even after she’s said no, Mia grows frustrated and storms off. Carlisle helps his daughter explore the feelings behind her outburst. 

✨ There's Room Enough: Mia is struggling to accept her brother's new relationship and what it means for their family. When she shuts everyone out, Carlisle steps in to offer a bit of wisdom.

✨ Aesthetically Pleasing: In a house full of vampires, Mia insists on rearranging her own furniture. Thankfully, Carlisle is close by to clean up the mess.

✨ It’ s Almost Over: Mia’s recovering from an illness and wishes nothing more than to have a father who doesn’t care about antibiotic resistance.

✨ The Language of Flowers: When words don’t work, Mia and Carlisle find another way to communicate.

✨ Under Wraps: When Mia stubbornly tries to prove herself to her siblings, she earns herself a sleepless night. Thankfully, her parents are willing to keep her secret and help her get some rest.

✨ Drifting: Set in New Moon. Now that her family has drifted apart, Mia is having nightmares.

✨ Doting: When Mia's sudden stomach pain turns out to be appendicitis, the Cullen family's doting nature comes out. Takes place pre-Twilight/ Bella, but not by much (it's the same school year). *Also featuring Esme and Edward.

EDWARD:

✨ Told You So: Edward told his sister not to leave Señora Goff’s midterm assignment to the last minute, but when does Mia ever listen to her brother?

✨ For the Best: They had given Mia three-thousand miles to process all that had happened with Edward, Bella, and the Volturi. The road trip from Forks to Ithaca with Jasper was planned for her benefit, to allow her time to think, time to sort herself, while the rest of the family was already back in their old home and getting resettled within the familiar walls they’d left less than a year before. It hadn't been enough. Mia still didn't feel sorted or settled or ready to forgive her brother for all that had passed between them, for all of the things that hurt, but had nothing to do with her.

✨ Checkmate: Edward and Mia play a game of chess.

EMMETT:

✨ Just Because You Can, Doesn’t Mean You Should: After a few rainy days stuck inside during spring break, the whole Cullen clan is feeling restless and resort to pranking to pass the time. (Carlisle is also in this one).

ESME:

✨ Just This Once: Mia’s sick and while Esme would prefer her child to be feeling well, she’s more than happy for the opportunity to dote. 

✨ Just a Joke: When Mia gets hungry and tries to make herself dinner, her clumsy nature gets the best of her causing Edward and Esme to step in.

JASPER: 

✨ Just Because: Mia usually puts up a wall when it comes to Jasper’s mood-sensing abilities, but when tensions are high, Mia lets down her guard.

✨ A Fine Lie: Set in New Moon after Alice, Bella, and Edward return from Volterra. While the rest of the family has returned to Forks, Mia and Jasper stay behind in Ithaca, NY.

✨ Below the Anger: Mia hasn't heard from Jacob and makes a plan to travel back to Forks to check on him. Alice sees a blip of a vision before Mia can get away and the ensuing tension brings Jasper and Mia to the brink as Jasper feels the need to protect his mate.

ROSALIE:

✨ What Matters: While Mia’s learning to drive, she gets in a car accident resulting in damage to her sister’s car and the death of a deer in the wrong place at the wrong time. Rosalie and Mia both make some assumptions about one another in the wake of the accident before finding some common ground and understanding.

✨ Closing the Chasm: When Mia and Rosalie fight, they fight. If Carlisle wasn’t so familiar with the beauty that was the two of them making up, the way they were always brought just a bit closer after a chasm was closed, he would just let it go. But Carlisle had watched them fight and then grow closer over the years, the resolution of each argument repairing a crack, healing and correcting something after they’d been opened wide and allowed to reset. Eventually, he knew they’d understand each other well enough to be whole.