#I turned on the light for this picture because i have an exhaustion headache

[bitchfitch]

I took a shuttle tatting class with my mother today, and it was a lot of fun! I'm still VERY early in the process of learning what the fuck I'm doing. But I thought y'all would enjoy This pattern, which is labeled in the booklet as being a heart

[lewkwoodnco]

Say Don't Go - Lockwood x Reader

A/N: So I think it's kind of clear that this is going to be a fairly angsty series hhehe I've tried to lighten a little at some parts and varying the type of angst (e.g. anger vs sadness) thank you to @mischivana for giving me the idea to turn this into a series! <3 wc 3.8k

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 3.5 | Ch 4 | Ch 5

They never spoke of that night ever again, or even acknowledged it. She had woken up the next morning, preparing herself for a pounding headache, but it never came. She spent the rest of the day driving herself crazy, waiting for snide remarks or to see the offending picture glaring at her at the newspaper stand down the street. From the looks of it, Lockwood seemed a little thrown off too, but maybe something about the situation shook some sense into him because he seemed more formal around her, and his smile never quite reached his eyes like before. She convinced herself that his aloofness didn't bother her. Why should it?

It's towards the end of a mildly harrowing case that she sees Lockwood again for the first time in two weeks. One of her teammates had dropped a magnesium flare which had disintegrated one of the load-bearing walls of the buiilding, causing a mini avalanche of wood and plaster which blocked them from the exit. After a few minutes of locating everyone and making sure no one was severely hurt, there was a crackle on her walkie talkie from Kipps, who was sending in backup.

Soon enough, insistent fingers were scrabbling at one of the largest planks of wood wedged in the door, and with some pushing on her side it eventually came free, allowing a thin strip of light to spill into the dark. Her breath hitched when she met Lockwood's eyes, which widened ever so slightly as he took in what he could of the dusty, bruised sight of her. It must have been a long night for them too, since George didn't have enough patience to wait for Lockwood to finish gaping and shoved him to the side.

With the additional help, they managed to clear a sliver of a path, just enough for her team to extract themselves from the rubble. Once the worst of the injured had been sent to the paramedics and it had been sufficiently determined that she was still in the right state of mind, Barnes became a lot more interested in what, or who, had caused the collapse. She wanted to point out how Lockwood didn't need to be there, and that his relentless staring was starting to irk her a little, but she was too exhausted to.

"It was an honest mistake, Inspector. Any of us could - will you relax? You're giving me a headache."

He had the decency to look a little apologetic, but he's Lockwood, so it wasn't much. "Are you sure you're completely - ?"

"Lockwood, if I start foaming at the mouth, you'll be the first to know."

She ignored his sulky mutterings and turned back to Barnes. "Can I go now?"

He sighs and awkwardly clears his throat in a way that makes her stomach sink. She's so tired and this day feels like it's never ending. "There is, er, one last issue. Your apartment's been flooded by a water pipe burst. DEPRAC can put up you up for about a week but it's looking to take up to a month."

She lets out a strangled wail, the closest she's been to tears all day, too upset to be even mildly amused by the look of alarm on Barnes' face as he tries to offer some words of comfort.

"At least you had insurance?"

"Not for water damage!"

She didn't want to drift around, trying to find a solid place to say. She wanted to go home to her warm, dry, bed. She vaguely registers some muffled conversation between Lockwood and Barnes, only gaining some clarity once Lockwood shakes her a little.

"You can stay at Portland Row, it's no trouble at all. We have a spare bed in the attic and everything."

"I remember," she murmurs, and the look on his face becomes a little awkward. She resists a little, mumbling something incoherent, but his arm feels too wonderfully solid and reassuring on her back for her to put up much of a fight. In her haze of exhaustion, she found herself thinking how much she'd like to dissolve into his arms. She'd be thinking much more sensibly after a good night's sleep.

Morning came, along with the clarity of thought she had anticipated, but so did the insistent forces that were George and Lucy. At one point, Lucy threatened to set her apartment on fire, and George said that, if controlled, it might be the most effective way to dry it out, which made Lockwood choke on his tea. As he coughed with watering eyes, she narrowed her eyes at him, wondering if this had been his plan all along.

And so began her stay at Portland Row. It made for a much more vibrant life, even though she had never considered herself to be social by any means. Somehow, the press had caught wind of her new living arrangements, even though she never even dared to share a cab with them, and slowly but surely started to set up camp outside 35 Portland Row. Eventually, Lockwood had had enough and after a chat with Barnes, the street outside their front door was once again miraculously empty.

It was little gestures like these which helped chip away at the ice between them, each glance and brush of the hand a little longer and a little more meaningful than the last. But every time he started to get close enough that his warmth started to pull her back to distracting memories of tangerine light reflecting off aquamarine waters, something in him would shrink away and his eyes would glaze over with cordial apathy.

On days when she didn't have any cases, she would sit by the window, watching life stir sleepily till the wee hours of the morning. Sometimes that would be until Lockwood reached home from his solo cases, and even through the frosted glass she could feel the weariness in his blurred silhouette. He would walk in and give her a hesitant smile, and she didn't understand him any better than from the other side of the window. There was this secretive air about him, like he was playing a hand that she could never see, yet one she lost to every time. Something in him was making him hold her at arm's length, and she couldn't figure out what it was, and as much as she tried to deny it, it was beginning to wear her down.

This is the unfortunate realisation she makes as she hears Lockwood trying to get her attention on a case - a realisation part of her had guessed from the very start. They're stuck in a basement together because the door won't give, and the others are too far away to hear them, though that doesn't stop Lockwood from trying to yell through the door. The quiet gives them time to ruminate in their thoughts, of which she has no shortage of.

"Y/N? You alright?"

"Yeah. You?"

There's a hint of a smile on his face. "Scared."

She scoffs. "Like you've ever been scared a day in your life."

He clenches his jaw like she's said something unpleasant, but she doesn't care enough to backtrack. "I get scared all the time."

"Like when?"

"Like when you go on cases with incompetent amateurs who blow up the roof over your head."

It might have been more touching if he didn't sound so petulant. She laughs, and he looks only slightly miffed.

"I'm serious, Y/N. I wish you didn't have to take the brunt for your teammates shortcomings. You could have died in there." A silence falls again. "What are you afraid of?"

Looking into your eyes and not finding what I'm looking for, she wants to say. "Nothing."

She looks at him, watching her concernedly, his body pulsing with adrenaline and action the way hers should have been. It was hardly the time to mope around when the imminent threat of being ghost-touched hung in the air. There was something reminiscent of her own propensity to shoulder pain or discomfort on her own in Lockwood's pleasant yet achingly impersonal attitude. Someone had to bend before they both broke, and her melancholy had softened her rigid nature into something more pliant.

"Lockwood," she says, as if she hadn't heard a single word of their conversation. "I'm cold."

It's difficult to say, and it makes her feel weak, but Lockwood and his understanding eyes had that kind of effect on her. But when he chivalrously drapes his coat around her, a vacancy fills her where warmth should have rushed in. She closes her eyes and wonders how she'll ever look him in the eye again.

When their friends pry them out, they're unnaturally quiet, and a few shifty glances tells her that they've picked up on something being off. While the paramedics take a look at their scrapes, her unseeing gaze drifts until it lands on Lockwood, and her thoughts center on him like a compass to a magnet. She watches him talk to Barnes with his forearm bandaged up, and she lets those feelings of frustration and yearning that she had been keeping at bay wash over her.

Later in the attic, when Lucy goes down to bring some tea up for them, she weeps over the futility of it all.

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

Lockwood & Co. and her team from Fittes were in an abandoned cinema which once belonged to their client's father, which they had to clear of more than a few unsightly visitors. George gives the rundown of his research and her team disperses. George hesitates before splitting up the four of them, peering at them over the top of his glasses, uncharacteristically apprehensive. She knows they're all thinking about the fight from last night, or what was more accurately this morning, and she wished they wouldn't.

"Both of you have your emotions in check?"

She doesn't give Lockwood the chance to reply. "Yes. Can we start now?"

George doesn't look happy, but he rarely is, so he lets it slide. She starts setting up her iron chains in the theater she's been assigned to, and as she lays down the last one, she feels rather than hears him.

"Are you okay?"

"George told you to stay near the popcorn machine."

Even in the dim light, she can make out Lockwood's peeved expression. Or maybe she was just imagining it. She wasn't sure anymore. "Yeah, well, George says a lot of things. He also told you to chase me out if you saw me, and I don't see you doing that."

She stays silent. He repeats his question. She ignores him again.

"Why'd you come?"

She had just come back from a case, and it was late, but there was still light peeking through the crack under the library door. She was thinking about Kipps and his knowing smirk as she irritably rifled through the kitchen drawers. Before leaving, he had asked her if she planned on staying on with Fittes, and then was annoyingly evasive when she didn't know what he was talking about. He asked her if she had checked her mail recently, and she realised she hadn't, even though Lucy had popped down to the post office to have her mail forwarded to Portland Row. It had to be somewhere in the house. She just about gives up when her knuckles knock against the back of the last drawer, producing a dull hollow sound.

“What are these?”

Lockwood glanced at the letters she’s holding carelessly and went unnaturally still. George had a resigned look of understanding in his eyes. Lockwood closed the case file slowly, as if any sudden movements would set her off, and she had to admire him for his gallant effort to keep his tone light.

“Where did you find them?”

“In your kitchen drawer. What are letters from out-of-town agencies addressed to me doing in your kitchen drawer? How long have they been there?”

He adjusted his stronger-than-necessary grip on the case file. “A while.”

She wanted to laugh incredulously. What was he playing at, acting so unnervingly stoic? “And you didn’t think to tell me about them?”

He lets out a huff of irritation, but there's a nervous twitch to his muscles. He opens his mouth to respond but she cuts him off with her hand. She turns around slowly, trying to keep track of the faint movie she hears playing in the background and the audience's laughter, but the screen behind her is blank. She hears Lockwood draw his rapier and she realises he feels it too: the visitor.

It all happens so fast. She feels a pulse of energy that sends her skittering to the side, knocking out her electrical lantern. She bumps into Lockwood who drops his torch, which also immediately goes out. She hears him frantically slamming it against his palm, trying to get it to work again as she fumbles for salt bombs. She's worked without light before, but something about this pitch-black darkness was viscous. She swears and before she realises what's happening, she fumbles for Lockwood's wrist. It only takes him a quick, if clumsy, rifling through her belt to realise what's wrong: she'd forgotten to restock her supplies.

"Wha - you always check your belt before a case!" He's cross, but he still pulls her out of the way, lobbing a salt bomb which makes the visitor shriek and hide. She’s still twisting wildly, trying to deal with the palpable fear threatening to burst her aorta, but he somehow manages to drop his lips to her ear. His whisper consumes her in the darkness.

“Don’t worry, I’m here.”

And for a minute, she listens, and her headache dies down a little. But Lockwood flinches, and she’s on high alert again, only now it’s getting harder to distinguish the visitor from reality.

"Most of my supplies are at the popcorn machine. We need to get out of here. Find George - or Luce - anyone."

“Y/N, you’ve had a lot on your plate recently.”

She thought about the false backing of the drawer. “So when were you going to tell me about them? Were you planning on ever showing them to me? Or only when it was too late?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He was mildly frowning now. “Besides, you’re holding them right now. Tell me you’re even remotely interested in any of them.”

She wanted to. She wanted to say it firmly with her whole chest, to watch the tension in his face dissolve, to go back to the quiet evening they were all having. Instead, she clutches the letters tighter and hesitates. Lockwood’s face darkens.

“Y/N. All these agencies are outside of London.”

She stays quiet. The silence infuriates him.

“Leave London? Your home is here.”

“Is it?”

He shoves her towards the door with little grace, but with enough force to have her wobbly legs somewhat cooperate. She doesn't remember where she stumbles to, her head is too dizzy, only the image of Lucy's stunned face swimming in front of her eyes as she clutched at her forearm.

When she somewhat comes to her senses, she hears footsteps running around, pausing only with the squeak of a door hinge. She pulls herself up from the floor, standing on shaky knees, leaning against the cool stone wall. She hears a door open much closer to her now, and she opens her eyes to see Lockwood, white as a sheet. His lips tremble but words fail him, and he closes the distance between them, cradling her face with slippery fingers.

There's blood on his face, but he isn't bleeding. She doesn't get much further than that because he's leaning down and kissing her hard and she's suddenly debilitatingly aware of the impermanence of his touch, the same touch that's knitted into every crease of her face. She was on the brink of making a decision, and now his lips sealed her fate. She feels the world hold its breath. She hates him for it. First he pushes her away and then he looks at her like a man starved and it's not fair.

She thought about her flooded house, and the upstairs attic where she still felt like a guest. She thought she might never feel like she belonged in a house that wasn’t her own. She answers her own question with unfocused eyes. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.” But it’s not enough for Lockwood.

“Think, Y/N. Do you honestly believe you’d survive a day without - “ he unsuccessfully grapples with his emotions. “Without us?”

A pressure builds in her ears as if all sound had been sucked into a vacuum. Lockwood was standing just a few metres in front of her, but now he felt miles away from her, as if she was screaming through water which threatened to asphyxiate her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

There was a hard set to his jaw that she didn’t like. “You know what it means.”

Memories ran through her mind like hot flashes. Lockwood’s careful eyes, ready smile, his gentle hands and the scarlet apple they held, tabloids spilling over the library floor, his fingers in her lap, the dizzying warmth of his coat, the relief over the salvation his kiss bestowed on her…she felt flayed in a way only the media had made her feel; grotesquely vulnerable and hopelessly defenceless. Of all the demons she took arms against, she never thought Lockwood would be one of them.

“Take it back. Take it back.”

He breaks the kiss but their foreheads rest against each other, and there's something deeply destabilising in the way's he's breathing. But even with this proximity she only feels a void where his heat should have been. He drags her eyes into his, searching for something with an urgent fever, and she feels his disappointment resonate in her bones. His fingers grip her wrists with an unfamiliar desperation she only distantly registers, somehow numb to the frantic energy that has possessed Lockwood. She hears a swish of fabric and feels a warmth settling over her shoulders, and she hears his shallow breathing slow down imperceptibly. But it is no use: she is not cold.

The rest of the case is relatively uneventful. The blood was from one of her teammates who had had a nasty fall. She sits by the side while the paramedic bandages her up, Lockwood sitting next to her. He doesn't need to be there. She still lets him hold her hand.

"Listen...Barnes still owes me a favour or two, so if you'd like me to ask him to put in a good word for you at any of those agencies..." In the eerie light of the ghost lamps, his face looks so much more smooth and uncomplicated. "Just say the word."

"It's alright. There's no need."

"Haven't decided which one yet?"

"I have."

She doesn't understand why her reply hits him like a ton of bricks when he was ready to send her on her way just a few minutes back. He was giving her whiplash.

"So...that's it? You're leaving?"

There was a flicker of something in his eyes, and for a moment she thought he might regret ripping her open by the maw, but the deadened look in his eyes told her he wasn’t going to budge.

“I won’t.”

She was gasping for air for sobs that wouldn’t come. She wanted to screech something ugly. “That’s a lie. It’s a lie and you know it. What does my life have to do with you? The world just has to revolve around Anthony fucking Lockwood -"

"That is enough - "

"You’re a selfish man and a lying traitor - "

“I only want what’s best for you!”

“And who the hell are you to decide what’s best for me?”

The ringing silence that followed made her painfully aware of his agitated breathing. If she didn’t know any better, she wouldn’t have been able to tell if he was panic-stricken or furious. The look on his face was wretched in a way that made her feel disfigured.

“I don’t know...I don’t know.”

Something in him had dared her to dream again, to dream of loving someone to have and to hold. And that had been fine. But then he started looking at her in ways that stole her breath and kissing her like the world was ending, and now she didn't want to have or hold anyone other than Anthony J Lockwood. The same Anthony J Lockwood who couldn't care less about her.

The dream was coming apart in her hands like snow.

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

No one is happy while she packs her things at Portland Row, and they all have their different ways of showing it. Lucy's too quiet and sits blankly at her vanity, not helping, and she broods enough to make her feel bad for leaving, but not bad enough to stay. George is making sniping remarks towards Lockwood who only manages terse, bad-tempered replies that only further aggravate an irate George.

Lucy gives her a fleeting hug once she's done, and walks with her down to the kitchen where George is having a cup of tea. She feels a twinge of regret when she sees how exhausted he looks, but maybe it's that same exhaustion that makes him pull her into a hug, though significantly less sentimental than Lucy's. She hears the two of them begin to murmur as soon as she steps out of the kitchen.

She sees him sitting in the living room in her peripheral vision. She thinks about his whisper in the dark, a dark not much unlike what she was stepping out into. It was all such a sham. Her hand is on the doorknob of the front door when a ragged part of her aches. She wasn't going to give up on him, not like this. She marches back to the kitchen and throws her bag down.

"Tell me to stay, Lockwood. Go on. Say the word," her voice takes on a strain, "and I'll stay. We don't have to talk about - about whatever this is. Just tell me to stay...and I will."

He stares at the case report in his lap, his eyes fixed at the top of the page, not even pretending to read it.

"I love you."

He looks up, and she sees his cruelly impassive expression. The silence stretches painfully in front of them. She feels like a child, begging for his affections when he won't even give her the time of day.

"Why won't you SAY anything?"

The scream barely makes him flinch. Lucy and George fall quiet. She waits, and waits, and waits, and waits. She wonders why she ever expected anything from him.

She walks to the front door again, and this time there's no stuttering lapse of cynicism to stop her. But once she's outside, she's momentarily paralysed and oh so alone. She hears George's muffled voice, and a resounding thud that makes the rapier stand fall over, followed by George's scolding voice.

With a heavy heart, she walks away from the only home she'd ever known.

[thetomorrowshow]

for a light

okay I PROMISE that comfort is coming I PROMISE

~

Scott stares Xornoth down from across the plateau, wind whipping the demon's hair and robes, black streaking out from him like some decaying flag.

They're alone, just the two of them, so far away (ndisu ndikitá'ána).

He's here.

It's time.

He sets the crown of antlers upon his head.

His fingers tighten on the thin grip of his sword.

-

Scott hisses as his finger bumps the pot, drops his hold and sticks the finger in his mouth. He was just trying to shift it to settle it better in the coals. Stupid cloth slipping.

Right. There's literally snow right there.

Scott removes his finger from his mouth, digs it into the snow beside him. The burn cools, eventually going numb.

That's one upside to living in a permanent winter. There's snow everywhere.

This little clearing in the woods that he took used to have a tent pitched in the center, grass and trees and wildflowers all around.

The tent is long gone, having collapsed under the weight of the snow and ice that collected upon it. Scott replaced it with an ice hut of sorts, which he thinks he created while asleep because he's not exactly sure how he did it. It's kind of ugly, but it has four walls and a roof and a little hole for a door, and it works.

The grass and plants aren't really visible anymore, the ground covered in a thick blanket of snow. Scott's not sure how, but someone had managed to get him a good pair of elven work boots, insulated and sturdy, so that he can tromp through the six or seven inches of snow without much issue. He's cold, this old, patched coat not quite enough to block out the chill, but the gloves keep his fingers from feeling too much like ice and the hand-knit hat prevents a majority of the headaches that his frozen ears cause. He's not too badly off, to be honest. There's just so much . . . cold.

And if he could get it to melt, that would be great.

He can make ice and snow appear just fine. There's plenty of snow, and he can point and ice spikes will shoot up out of the ground, and he can picture a cube of ice and watch as it forms in front of him, but that just means that now he has a little pile of ice cubes and a ludicrous amount of spikes the size of a tree. He can't get rid of anything.

And sure, he has a modicum of control. He can form ice cubes, and spikes, or whatever. But he can't turn off the way ice and snow just grows around him, or the freeze that blasts from him when he waves his arms.

He's been here for two weeks, figuring absolutely nothing out, and he doesn't have much hope for the future.

It feels like there's a wall in his head, a literal barrier keeping him from finding the way to draw back the ice. He's spent hours, days, even, pushing and shoving and just sitting against this wall, trying to force it to work.

It won't give. It's exhausting, day-in and day-out, to try again and again and again as the ice and snow just build up around him.

"Scott!"

Jimmy.

They haven't really . . . talked. Of course, Jimmy turns up every day without fail, bringing with him food and supplies. He always stands on the fringe of the clearing, shares news of the camp, of their latest excursion, of the fight they have planned.

Scott never really says much. He doesn't know how to respond, and Jimmy always leaves with his shoulders sagging the slightest bit.

What is he supposed to say?

I mourned you. I cried for you every day, because I knew I'd never see you again. I attended your funeral. I comforted your sister. I wore a depressing mimicry of what we once wore together, covering myself in the same darkness that took you. I lost you.

You didn't die, you survived, and I still lost you.

How is he supposed to tell Jimmy that what hurts more than anything about this situation is that he never tried to disabuse Scott of the notion that he was dead?

He thinks he still loves Jimmy. Their hearts were made for each other. They've been through too much together to just let go of everything they had.

But there were forty-two of the worst days of Scott's life, in which Scott believed his betrothed to be dead. He can't forget that. He can't pretend that Jimmy even attempted to contact him.

His mind always returns to that. Why didn't he? What reasons has he given, other than his ominous “it wasn't time yet”? Why?

And now they're here, in this horribly awkward phase where they haven't even discussed whether or not they're still an item (Scott's desperately in love with Jimmy but he isn't sure he can even stand to see him it hurts so much) or if that's even something they want to pursue right now (Scott wants so badly just to hold his hand but he can't let himself hurt Jimmy).

"Hey, Scott!"

Scott straightens (his wings shudder under the weight of the ice coating them, but none of it cracks), shakes the snow off his hands, and turns, stomach twisting.

Jimmy is standing there, a good ten feet away, leaning out from between the trees. 

It's just Jimmy. Hair still too long, beard still obstinately there, an anxious smile on his pockmarked face.

Doesn't he have anything better to do, rather than visit Scott every day?

Jimmy holds up a bundle of cloth.

"I brought some bread and . . . venison, I think? I forgot to ask what it was. Does that sound good?"

Scott tugs his scarf up a bit higher on his cheeks. "Sounds fine," he calls back, voice muffled by the fabric.

Jimmy tosses it; Scott catches the bundle, grimaces when it frosts over the moment it touches his hands.

"What are you cooking?" Jimmy asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Scott glances back at his little pot on the dying coals.

"Just porridge," he says. That's all Jimmy gave him yesterday, after all. The grain for whatever chunky porridge it is that they eat at the camp all the time.

"That's . . . that's cool," says Jimmy. Dear Aeor, he looks so unbearably awkward. What does he want?

Thankfully, Jimmy gets straight to the point, no more hobbling around small talk.

"We're going on a mission," he says, the words coming out in puffs of frozen air. "There's a village about a day's walk from here, the largest we've gone for yet. They're going to be a huge asset to our rebellion."

Scott nods a couple of times. "Okay. How long until you're back?"

Jimmy chews on his lip—the way he always does when he's anxious, or isn't sure how to approach a problem. "That's . . . well, I wanted to see if you would come, actually."

It takes Scott a few seconds to process that, but when he does, he almost laughs out loud.

He's out of his mind if he thinks Scott will risk something like that. He can't control this! He's had to separate himself from the rest of the camp because there's a ten foot radius of winter wonderland that appears around him!

He has to be joking.

"You have to be joking," Scott says.

Jimmy shrugs. "I talked about it with the others that are coming on the mission, and they're all fine with it. If it makes you feel better—"

"No, I'm dangerous—"

"—we can walk apart from you, and—"

"—you don't understand, I hurt Gem, I'll—"

"—was just thinking that it can't be good for you to—"

"Jimmy, I said no!"

And childishly, to emphasize his point, Scott stamps his foot.

Ice crackles along the ground like a whip, shooting up in little spikes, a ten-inch wall down the middle of his little clearing.

It stops just short of Jimmy, the last little spike rising just inches from his boots, and Scott almost wants to go and shove him out of the way because Jimmy doesn't even move!

Doesn't he have any sense of self-preservation?

Jimmy doesn't seem scared when he looks up at Scott. He just seems sad.

"That's why I can't," Scott bites out, wrapping his arms around himself. His scarf is slipping, nose exposed to the cold. "I'm not safe. I don't want to hurt someone."

"Okay. Can I explain myself, though?"

Before Scott can give an answer, Jimmy takes a small step forward, boot crunching on snow.

Scott takes a step back.

"We know how to keep ourselves safe," he says. "Most of the people here escaped terrible conditions where one wrong move could kill them. They know how to recognize threats and keep a safe distance. It wouldn't even be an issue to travel with you."

Scott wants to argue, but Jimmy takes another step. Scott quickly steps back, swallowing down the fear that rises in his throat, burning like bile.

"We would travel kind of separately, and it wouldn't even be a long journey. Two days at most, I think. So the main group would stick together, and you would stay within sight off to the side. We usually move quietly, so you wouldn't miss out on conversation or anything."

Okay, that's probably what Scott would do if they were forced to travel. He's pretty sure that he can cause ice issues outside of the ten foot radius, if he tries, but it doesn't automatically happen. Travel plans like that might actually work.

Which doesn't mean they're good. They aren't. They just might work.

"This village has a lot of soldiers, from what we can tell. Way more than there ought to be. They're beginning to figure out our game. We usually wouldn't go for someplace so risky, but there's so many people there. If we freed them, we could easily add two hundred to our able fighters."

Is Jimmy stupid?

"It's a trap," Scott says, pointing out what seems obvious. "Why would they have so many Mythlanders there if not to wait for you?"

Jimmy scoffs. "We know it's a trap," he says. "That's why we want you. We want to avoid fights if possible—and if you were there, we would have a really decent chance of getting in and out without losing anyone."

"You're forgetting that I can't really control this," Scott says icily, and as if to match his tone, it spontaneously begins to snow. "I'm just as likely to hurt one of you."

"We just need you to make it as cold as possible. The Cod will survive—we're pretty good with cold temperatures. But humans are a bit more sensitive to that kind of thing. So we thought—if you could freeze over the village, then all the guards would go inside and we could sneak everyone out!"

That. . . .

That is a monumentally idiotic plan.

Scott blinks several times, just to make sure it really is Jimmy in front of him and not some hallucination induced by so much time alone.

"Or we could not do that," he says. "Just a suggestion."

Jimmy laughs a little. "I kind of figured you'd say that," he says. "But it's worth a shot, right? And if it doesn't work, we can go back to camp and figure out something else. No harm done, right?"

"Other than the possible harm that my very presence could cause," Scott says. "Do you really think that staying ten feet away while traveling would work? Just because that's my snowglobe radius doesn't mean anyone is safe outside of it."

He re-crosses his arms, waits for Jimmy to meet his eyes.

Jimmy's quiet for a long time, looking around at the unintentional ice spikes and piles of snow. Long enough that Scott turns away, tosses the sack from Jimmy into his ice hut.

That's that, then. He and Jimmy aren't going to talk about any of their real issues. Jimmy's so focused on this inconsequential rebellion of his that he won't even think about the fact that Xornoth may be controlling the world by now. Gem might be dead—literally any of them could be dead, Lizzie or Shubble or Joel all could have fallen—and Xornoth has control of half of the empires or all of them. And the only way to stop him didn't work.

Yet all Jimmy will even give thought to is his stupid little rebellion.

"I know it's hard," Jimmy says, voice awkwardly too-loud, rousing Scott from his thoughts. "It's really, really hard. I know that you don't trust yourself, and that you're hurting, and there's so much tangled up between us that I don't really understand but I know isn't making any of this easier for you. But I know you want to get better. I know you, Scott. And I know you will do everything in your power to keep those people safe."

Scott doesn't say anything, blinks back the sudden tears. He doesn't need this. He doesn't need Jimmy telling him what he feels.

Even if he's right.

He would do everything to keep the others safe.

He just can't guarantee that it would work.

"I trust you," Jimmy says firmly. "We trust you. I wouldn't have even brought it up if I hadn't cleared it with everyone else. And if it doesn't work, I'll never ask you to do it again. But please, Scott. If not for the people suffering, do it for me."

He doesn't owe Jimmy anything.

As a ruler, he pledged to defend his people, and he failed. What about when he fails again? Will he even be able to live with himself?

Will he be able to live with himself if he doesn't try?

In the grand scheme of things, a rebel attack to evacuate citizens of a small town in the Codlands is absolutely nothing. It will likely not contribute at all to the ending of the war.

But it's somewhere to start. Jimmy's always talking about how if they're still alive after everything, they ought to be doing something good with it. If he wants to eventually try to launch some sort of hopeless attack on Xornoth, he has to start somewhere. He has to figure this ice stuff out.

"Okay," he says eventually, reluctantly. "I don't . . . I don't want to. I don't think it will go well."

"If you can't trust yourself, you can trust me," offers Jimmy, and Scott grimaces at the hope in his voice.

He doesn't respond. 

He wants to trust Jimmy. He wishes nothing had ever broken the trust that was there.

He isn't sure what did break it. He can't exactly blame Jimmy for not dying.

"I'll come get you tomorrow around midmorning, okay? We're hoping to arrive when it's dark the next day, then just have you freeze it overnight and get the Cod out before sunrise. Sound good?"

Scott shrugs. "It's your plan," he says. "Does it sound good to you?"

Jimmy doesn't respond, glancing over his shoulder. "I need to go finish prepping," he says when he turns back. "Take care. I . . . I'll see you tomorrow."

Scott doesn't move (frozen to the spot, he thinks idly), just watches Jimmy go, picking his way back between the trees.

What has he agreed to?

-

The journey goes exactly as Jimmy had laid out. Jimmy travels in a band of thirty-two people (Scott counts them during one of their fifteen minute rests), all able young Cod, some with cobbled-together armor or swords, others with nothing but the clothes on their back and improvised weapons. Scott sees two hand-made slings, one little hunting bow, and a couple of large branches shaped into clubs. All from afar, of course.

Scott walks a good thirty or forty feet away from the group, shying away whenever someone accidentally veers a little close. They always hurry back to the others, shivering and rubbing their arms.

Jimmy, of course, comes close on purpose. He keeps trailing along on the edges of the group, giving Scott terribly hopeful glances.

Scott just keeps his eyes on the snowy ground before him and wishes he could figure out how to talk to him.

Does he even want to talk to him?

Of course he does. Of course he wants to talk to his . . . to Jimmy.

He just can't. He can't risk hurting him. He can't risk getting hurt.

And soon enough, they've arrived at the town.

Scott has somehow managed to avoid hurting anyone, though one Cod only narrowly avoids getting stabbed by a flying ice spike when Scott gets startled by a bee.

He isn't sure how powerful he is, just that he's managed to tie it down and lash it to himself. But Scott, more often than not, feels like there's a thin door being battered and blown by a terrible snowstorm, ice seeping in through the cracks, and soon enough he'll have to try to open the door just a little bit. He can only imagine it blasting it open and sending bursts of unstoppable power out, forever unable to be closed.

Jimmy approaches him as Scott finishes up eating a cold supper, and even though it's dark Scott knows it's Jimmy because he knows Jimmy, he knows his habits and his tendencies and just weeks ago that had been painful, precious knowledge and now it means nothing significant.

"We're about ready," Jimmy says, not looking at Scott. He's looking out over the ridge that they're hidden behind, toward the town below. Scott wants to shake him, scream at him, drag him down to the ground. Doesn't he know he'll be seen? That his outline against the darkening sky will be obstinately visible?

"I'll take you down there in about a half hour. Then you just need to drop the temperatures to about freezing, all right? We'll do everything from there."

Scott doesn't answer. He doesn't have anything to say.

You left me you died to me I lost you and you were here. You were here this whole time and I've been hurting, and I'm still hurting and you just don't care. Why didn't you comfort me? Why aren't you helping me? Why won't you listen to everything I can't say?

Jimmy doesn't say anything, either, despite Scott's silent cries. He just stands there awkwardly, then gives Scott a nod and jogs back over to the main group.

Scott flexes his fingers in their gloves, blows on his hands, relishes the momentary warmth that brings him. He's always so cold these days. For good reason, of course—and despite all that, elves naturally run colder than humans, with the climate of their dwelling—, but he doesn't have to like it.

How is he meant to freeze an entire town without accidentally doing more damage than intended?

At this point, Scott has absolutely zero doubt that he'll be able to freeze the town. Piece of cake. The problem is drawing back the power after it's been extended.

It doesn't help that he doesn't know what he's doing. It doesn't help that all he's done for the past two weeks is try to not explode. He hasn't actually learned anything about control, or using the magic to his advantage.

And now he has to save a town. Use this untamable magic in moderation.

He's going to fail so badly.

And yet, when Jimmy returns not long later, Scott readjusts the little knapsack that hangs off his shoulder and sets off around the ridge, following Jimmy from a safe distance.

They skirt around their little camp on the side of the ridge, giving the refugees a wide berth so as to avoid getting any of them mixed up in Scott's personal snowstorm. That wouldn't help anything about this situation.

The ice hasn't been unfreezing behind him, either. That's been kind of concerning. He'd assumed, back in his little patch of the forest, that the ice hadn't gone away because he hadn't gone away. But now there's just a path of frost and snow through the long grasses of the outer Codlands, a trail leading directly to the rebel camp.

Scott really hopes it melts with time. It wouldn't be good to have one of fWhip's flying fish spies follow it and discover the camp.

He gets pulled from his thoughts by necessity as they approach the town, Jimmy making sure to keep them to the shadows, out of range of the torchlight from the perimeter guards. They crouch down behind some bushes (Jimmy beckons Scott closer, miming something about talking, and Scott reluctantly settles down close enough beside him—about five feet away, the closest to anyone he's been in weeks), peering between the brambles. Sure enough, there's more guards than a small border town ought to have—Scott counts at least four that patrol by the edge of town in the five minutes that they sit there and watch.

"We need to give my people a few more minutes, probably," Jimmy whispers, glancing up at the sky. The moon hasn't risen yet, so Scott's really not sure what he's checking. "But if you want to start the freeze, you can."

Right. Freezing an entire town.

Scott reaches inside himself for . . . for something. He isn't sure what. It's not like there's anything in there. Just his aching heart.

He legitimately feels fatigued from holding back the magic the best he can, but he doesn't know how to let go. He doesn't have any sort of point of reference for this. What is he supposed to do?

After several long minutes of indecision, of pulling at different parts of his mind to see if something just releases the switch, Scott gives up on figuring it out and just pushes.

He's not sure if the dam is broken, but a little flurry of snowflakes shoots out of his hands and he imagines the town, water in barrels and canals slowly freezing over, the temperatures dropping, the night air becoming frigid and biting.

Why does it have to be him?

"Nice," Jimmy whispers beside him. Scott blinks, looks up.

It's snowing. All across the town is snowing.

He didn't mean to make it snow. He only wanted to make it cold.

And it is cold. His fingers through their gloves are aching, the exposed skin on his face burns as a gust of freezing wind blows past.

"Was that too much?" he whispers, twisting his hands together. "I didn't mean for—"

Jimmy breathes out a near-silent laugh, gives him a grin. "I knew you could do it. I knew it!"

He made Jimmy happy.

Despite all the confusing hurt keeping them apart, that still makes Scott's heart squeeze in the best way possible.

The guards glance around at the fat flakes of snow, clearly confused. There's some shouting person to person, and within torchlight on the edge of town, a cluster of guards gather, rubbing their hands together and stamping their feet and pointing back to the center of town as they talk.

There's no way this will work. If his guards at Rivendell left their posts because it got a little cold, they would be in severe trouble with their captain.

But as Scott watches, one by one, the guards begin to trail away, heading toward what Scott assumes to be the inn.

There's no way. There's no way this is actually working. This can't be real.

Jimmy takes in a near-silent breath, lets it out in a low, loud, whoop/whistle. It sounds strikingly like the call of an owl that Scott has heard occasionally in these parts, late at night.

When did Jimmy learn bird calls?

It's a small thing. It's not even anything that matters. It's tiny and unimportant and Scott really shouldn't be close to tears right now.

It's like he doesn't even know Jimmy. He doesn't want to be upset, but he can't seem to stop it.

Jimmy still loves him and wants him; Jimmy wants them to be in love again.

How is it so hard?

Every guard has gone inside now, the town quiet.

The snow continues to fall, slow, drifting gently onto a peaceful street, becoming a picturesque winter scene.

Yet staring at it doesn't bring Scott peace. He only grows more and more anxious, eyes scanning from point to point, as though he might miss the operation entirely if he only watches the snow.

And after five or so minutes of waiting, Scott sees, past the falling snow, camouflaged people stealing through the streets, peering in windows, tapping lightly on doors.

The Cod residents are quick and quiet to answer, which is absolutely absurd.

It's actually working.

The other day, this was the most ridiculous plan Scott had ever heard. He never would have believed that any part of it would actually come to any sort of fruition.

And here they are.

He continues to watch as entire families sneak out of houses, glancing left and right before stepping out into the street, some bundled up in layers of clothing and others with nothing but a thin tunic protecting them from the weather.

The rebels move in phases, ushering out first this side street, then that one, making sure each sector of the town doesn't leave without instruction.

Scott watches, and something within him marvels.

This is the work. This had seemed so inconsequential to him just days ago—there are much larger things to worry about, after all—but now he can see how this had become Jimmy's whole world.

There's so many of them. They're moving house-by-house, sending one group before beckoning the next, but the streets are still close to packed.

There's a woman, hands covering her mouth as tears stream down her face, following a group into an alley. A shirtless man, carrying two children at once, his shirt draped over the both of them. A child—a tiny slip of a girl, surely not older than eight, clinging to her parent's leg, the torchlight from the abandoned guard posts illuminating her face just enough that Scott can see a hand-shaped bruise spanning her cheek.

The people are malnourished, injured, terrified. They’ve been desperately praying that someone will rescue them, someone will come along and deliver them from this darkness.

And here Jimmy is, a shining light, their once-dead king returned to save them specifically, as unimportant as they feel they are.

It makes sense. Jimmy's forces aren't strong enough to take on Xornoth, so why should he even focus on something so unattainable?

This, while not easy, is doable, and something that both strengthens his numbers and helps his people.

Scott gets it. It's about hope. It's about remembering the lost. It's about finding strength and life in this world of corruption.

"Scott," Jimmy whispers, pulling him from his realization.

Scott blinks, looks over at him. Jimmy's teeth are chattering, his nose pink, his lips pale of color. His arms are clutched around himself, doing nothing to hide the way his entire body trembles.

"You can reel it back in, a bit," Jimmy says, clearly going for humor, but the words fall flat when his lips can't even twitch up in some semblance of a smile.

Oh.

Scott looks back to the town, and now, he doesn't just see the wonder of it all. He sees how slowly everyone is moving, the way the rebels look up fearfully at the quickening snow, the way none of them are wearing any proper winter gear.

It's cold out. It's very, very cold out. It's definitely far below freezing, icicles already hanging from buildings, a thick layer of snow blanketing the ground.

It's too cold. He sees, all at once, three children collapse, and their caretakers pick them up but can barely keep going.

It's too much. It's too cold, so cold that a man stumbles and falls, and those around him are too cold to stop and help.

"Scott, make it stop," Jimmy whispers with increasing urgency. "It's too cold. Scott, stop."

He can't stop.

The door has been opened, and Scott doesn't know how to close it.

He can't make it warm up, he can't even stop it from getting colder. The night sky is growing steadily darker as more clouds roll in, the snow falling harder and faster—there's actual ice spreading, visibly spreading, crawling out from the bushes where he and Jimmy are crouched, heading toward the town and Scott can't stop it—

"Scott—"

"I can't stop it," breathes Scott, and it's nothing but the truth. He can't just turn it off, that isn't something he knows how to do—he doesn't know how to do anything, this is a curse and he hates it and nothing will ever be right again!

"I can't stop it," he says again, louder, voice shaking. "I can't—I can't do it, I told you I can't, I don't know how—"

"Just try," Jimmy says over him, hands held up. "I know you can do it, I trust you—"

"Just—just stop!" Scott bursts out, finally, all those terrible emotions rising to his tongue. "You keep saying—you keep—you were dead, you left me and you don't get to—you can't tell me what I can and can't do, I don't—"

"Scott," Jimmy says, something horribly placating in his voice, and it sounds just like the old Jimmy, just like the one who died—

Scott stumbles up, backing away from Jimmy. He can't—he doesn't want—this is all too much, too much, he's ruined everything and it's too much—

Jimmy stands as well, taking a couple of steps toward him. "Scott, I'm going to touch you, okay?"

"No!" Scott bites out. The wind is whistling in his ears, he can barely hear Jimmy over it—he can barely see Jimmy through the snow, there's so much of it, and Scott can't make it stop! He can't fix this! "Don't touch me, I don't—I don't even know you, I'll hurt you!"

"Scott—"

"Get—away—" Jimmy's just coming closer, one step at a time, and Scott doesn't want him, that's not his Jimmy, he doesn't want to hurt him—

The storm is rapidly getting worse, the snow beating down on his face with little pellets of ice, he had never meant to make it snow let alone storm, he's cursed, he's forever cursed, there's no way he can make things right, there's no way anything will ever be right again—!

And then there are arms around him.

Jimmy squeezes him tightly, good pressure and tightly enough that his brain is forced to settle into a more peaceful state, despite his surroundings.

His lover is warm against him, and Scott instinctively buries his face in the crook of Jimmy's shoulder where it belongs and perfectly fits.

Something inside doesn't really click into place. It doesn't quite work. It's close, but it's just not where it needs to be.

But it does slide together nicely, and Scott somehow finds a slippery grasp on the cold and tugs it back in.

He hadn't even been able to have this before. He hadn't even been able to feel a way to control it, let alone actually take hold.

But there's some kind of power positively radiating from Jimmy, something that Scott can feel and recognize in this entirely new world of magic that he never even knew existed.

It's got to be Jimmy's love.

Jimmy loves him so so much that it overpowers the curse.

And Scott, for the first time in weeks, feels warm.

He feels warm. Jimmy's here, his arms wrapped around Scott, and he feels warm.

A sob rises in his chest.

This is his Jimmy.

His Jimmy is holding him, and loves him, and is so very warm.

"There we go," Jimmy whispers into his hair, voice slightly muffled. "Not too much, now.  We still need a little bit of snow coming down."

Right.

Scott doesn't think he has the emotional capacity to pay attention to anything but Jimmy, but he loosens his grip on the ice just a little, enough that the snow doesn't stop.

The sob bursts out of his mouth, and Scott clutches Jimmy as close to him as possible.

His Jimmy is here. He's actually here.

And Scott can feel his fingers again, warmth washing over every part of his body.

They don't move for a long time. Jimmy watches the exodus over his shoulder as Scott cries into his chest, letting all of the emotions that he's been feeling for the past two months pour out onto Jimmy's coat.

They stand there, and Scott sobs.

After too long, long enough that the tears on Scott's face become more sticky than wet (they aren't freezing on his cheeks, like they've been doing, and isn't that just a miracle), Jimmy pulls away.

Scott feels his tenuous control slip from his grasp—too cold again, too cold—and he launches himself back into Jimmy's arms.

"Don't go," he chokes out.

"Okay."

"Please . . . I can't—I can't do this without you."

"Okay."

Scott takes in a shuddering breath. He's stronger than this. He can do this.

"Do you think you can stop the snow?"

Scott nods, his nose wiping across Jimmy's coat. Then, with a mustering of what little strength he has, he shuts that imaginary door.

It almost doesn't shut. Scott strains against it in his mind, inch by inch, but eventually it clicks shut.

He can't lock it. But holding to Jimmy keeps it shut, and Scott doesn't plan on letting go.

Jimmy's right here.

Jimmy is real.

He's alive.

"You died," Scott sniffles, tears burning at the corners of his eyes. "You died!"

"I know," Jimmy murmurs, sounding absolutely heartbroken. "I know. I'm here."

"You weren't there, though. You—you left me! I was so—so alone!"

"I know," Jimmy says again. "I'm so sorry, Scott. I'm so sorry."

Jimmy's crying too, Scott realizes. They're in snow up to their knees, in full view of the town, and they're both just standing here crying.

Scott. . . .

Scott doesn't really care.

His heart, broken by the weight of the grief hanging so heavily on it, is finally beginning to heal.

That's more important than anything else around.

-

Scott doesn't let go of Jimmy's hand the entire trip back.

They walk back to the camp, bringing up the rear of a long crowd of refugees. Scott's trail of frost is barely-there, and he never feels like he's a danger to anyone while Jimmy is at his side.

They arrive back at the camp almost three days later, the group slower-moving with the addition of a good three hundred people. The camp is thrown into chaos, more than doubled in size, and Jimmy's pulled every which way by every person possible as they try to make arrangements and adjustments on such a large scale.

Scott stays with him through it all. He presses himself into Jimmy's side during a hurried meeting about leadership for splitting into several camps; he clings to him while Jimmy directs new refugees to food; he holds his hand through long hours of pointing people this way and that.

Jimmy doesn't end up being forced to bed until past midnight, a young Cod practically pushing him and Scott to his tent. Jimmy goes reluctantly, walk stumbling and eyes bloodshot. Scott can't imagine that he looks any better—he can feel how oily his hair is, limp after being literally frozen for so long, his wings unkempt and dragging. He can barely stay upright, and relief floods him when they finally reach Jimmy's tent.

Jimmy collapses onto his bedroll without even taking off his boots or unbuckling the enchanted sword on his back, and Scott is just able to manage loosening the laces of his own boots and kicking them off before he falls down beside him.

"There's still so much to do," mumbles Jimmy, and instinctively, they wrap around each other, knees slotting perfectly and arms weaving just right.

It's like nothing changed.

It's like everything is right again.

"I missed you," Scott whispers, though his throat threatens to choke on the words.

He lost Jimmy. Forty-two days of mourning, of the worst torture he's ever been subjected to.

He lost him, and it still hurts. Everything still feels so terribly hopeless, so dark, and Jimmy forsook him for so long.

But he's back. He's here, and alive, and through his thin tunic under the hilt of the sword Scott can feel a new scar just below the nape of his neck (Jimmy shudders as his fingers trace it, but doesn't pull away) but he's alive and in Scott's arms.

He died. Jimmy died, and it must have been terribly traumatic for him in ways that Scott hasn't even considered.

But by some miracle, he's here. He's okay.

He is, isn't he?

"Are you all right?" Scott asks quietly, seized by the need to know that his love is well. He doesn't know the specifics, not really—but Jimmy said he'd been stabbed several times, and that can't have been easy to recover from—and Scott had made it awfully cold earlier, and he knows that some of the refugees suffered because of it, and Jimmy only had that thin coat on.

Jimmy doesn't respond, though, breathing slow and even, and Scott eventually relaxes, assuming that he's asleep. He can get his answer tomorrow, after all. He can fuss over him all he wants.

Scott honestly can't believe that he let himself drift so far from Jimmy. He let his feelings of abandonment and despair and everything else get in the way of being here, holding his beloved, giving him comfort and receiving it in bucketloads.

He was so wrapped up in losing Jimmy the first time, he almost lost him again.

Then Jimmy shifts in his arms, sighs a little bit. "I'm okay," he finally replies. "That's what you asked, right?"

Scott nods against his shoulder, and Jimmy lets out a low chuckle. "My good ear is pressed to the pillow, sorry," he says by way of explanation. "Couldn't quite hear you. Are you okay?"

Is he okay?

He's not physically injured. And he's not quite so cold—with Jimmy's love warming him, he can keep a lid on the ice magic, stopping it from spreading beyond his fingertips.

Everything about this situation still hurts. Everything's still so terrible, and there's no way to overcome it.

But Jimmy's here now, and he loves Scott.

And Scott loves him.

"I'm all right," he says eventually, before burying his face deeper into Jimmy's shoulder.

And he thinks, for the moment, that it's true.

-

Scott dreams that night.

He dreams of a plateau, ice, wind whipping dark robes every which way.

He dreams of his hand tightening around a sword hilt.

He dreams of a crown upon his head.

Inka kuuna ndikitá'ána.

-

It's just barely past dawn, and a young girl with mousy brown hair and scales smattered across her face like freckles is wandering down to the river to collect water.

It's a bit of a long walk, but Lithi doesn't mind—it's preferable to the walk back, when the empty waterskin strapped to her back will be filled with water.

She's a girl forced to grow up too fast, barely in her teens, yet made to take up her mother's armor and flee into exile.

But she doesn't cry. Lithi never cries, and it's a point of pride for her. Her peers seem to be constantly crying, after all. She isn't going to let herself be perceived as a weak little girl. Not after everything her people have been through.

The ground beneath her bare feet becomes squishy, pockmarked with little puddles of water, and she veers right. Her course has taken her too near the slow, swampy portion of the river, and while she longs to go splash about in the swamp, she knows that the water there isn't clear enough to use back at camp. Not to mention, the Codfather wants them to avoid the swamps, for some reason.

She misses the marshes of home. They all do—Cod aren't made to spend all their lives on land.

She knows the swamp misses them, too.

And that reminds her of the folk song that her mother taught her, and her mother's parents taught her, and their parents taught them.

So, while the girl walks, she sings.

The sun is brighting,

Children, come home!

The grass is sighing,

Children, come home!

Where the water's dark and deep

There her children will find sleep

The marsh is calling,

Children, come home!

The frogs are croaking,

Children, come home!

The critters woken,

Children, come home!

Where the water's dark and deep

There her children will find sleep

The marsh is calling,

Children, come home!

The birds are singing,

Children, come home!

The trees are ringing

Children, come home!

Where the water's dark and deep

There her children will find sleep

The marsh is calling,

Children, come home!

The fries are playing,

Children, come home!

The wind is saying,

Children, come home!

Where the water's dark and deep

There her children will find sleep

The marsh is calling,

Children, come home!

The marsh is calling,

Children, come home!

The night is falling,

Children, come home!

Where the water's dark and deep

There her children will find sleep

The marsh is crying,

Children, come home!

She reaches the riverbank as the song comes to a close, singing the last line over and over again, in a myriad of styles and keys.

She shrugs the waterskin off her shoulders, clumsily dips it into the water. The riverbank is uncomfortably dry and sandy between her toes, which long for the mud of home.

Why can't they go to the swamp? Not that she would ever rebel against their Codfather, but she just wants to feel at peace again.

The waterskin isn't totally full, but she draws it up out of the water and ties it closed, arms shaking, straining to hold it up. And now she has to make the long walk back to camp with this heavy load, the leather straps cutting into her shoulder blades with every step.

So maybe she dawdles by the river. Maybe she dips her fingers into the water, swishes it around.

It's that distraction, perhaps, that changes everything.

Because had Lithi not lingered, she wouldn't have seen the glimpse of bright green caught under a rock in the water. She wouldn't have levied up the rock, pulled loose the thing. She wouldn't have held up the sodden leather bag, beautifully embroidered with a bright green cod and a sky blue stag.

And most importantly of all, she wouldn't have opened the bag to find a thin, Oceanic book, nor caught a glimpse of gold shimmering in the silty mud beneath where the bag had lain.

[daughterofthequeen]

Contribution

Pairings: Ezra Bridger x gn!reader

Requested by: @theriseofshin

A/N: I added a little more to the story I hope that's ok. And omg look at the gif I found, Eman is so Ezra coded. THE SHOULDER BOUNCE WHEN THEY SMILE. Ok so this based on season 3 episode 11 of Rebels and also somewhere in between S3 E11 and S3 E13. The idea just popped up in my head, we'll see how it goes. Reader is force sensitive. This is also unedited btw.

Summary: When you, Sabine, and Kanan followed Maul and Ezra to Dathomir, the witches somehow took away your powers. Which should've been impossible, but ever since that incident you've felt like you brought nothing to the team. You felt like you were in the way. Seeing this Ezra quickly took these thoughts from your mind reminding you of who you are.

Translation: kokipa- fear

You were laying on your bed enjoying having the room to yourself for once. I mean don't get me wrong, you and Sabine get along really well as roommates as well as sisters can be anyway, but lately in your spare time you'd ather be alone. After what happened on Dathomir, you rather not be around anyone.

EDIT: I accidentally deleted this when I was trying to make a correction. You guys don’t know how stressed I was.

And HUGE shout to @nubimera for reblogging this story because not only were you the first reblog of this fic but you are the reason I was able to get pictures of my fic so I wouldn’t have to rewrite it. THANK YOU SO MUCH YOURE SO AMAZING🥰❤️🥰❤️🥰❤️🥰❤️🥰❤️🥰and a big thanks to everyone who like my fic in the short amount of time of me posting before I accidentally deleted it🤦‍♀️🫣🤦‍♀️

Few weeks ago on Dathomir

After Ezra threw you out of the cave the spirit left your body, giving you back control of your limbs.

"Why is it every time we work with Maul, weird force stuff happens and I'm always hurt trying to save you?" You said with a small smile while trying to rub away your migraine.

"Wait you're hurt? Where?" Ezra responded reaching towards you looking for any injuries.

“I'm hurt mentally, these experiences take a toll on a person you know." You smirked and Ezra rolled his eyes at your teasing.

"I thought you were injured."

"I do have a heck of a headache if that makes you feel any better." You said as you stood up.

"No, you stay here. I'm going to go get Sabine and Kanan."

"Then I want to help."

"They'll just posses you again."

"And what about you?"

"I have a plan."

"Great, then I can help with that. I'll take Sabine and you can take Kanan." You said walking back into the cave.

Ezra sighed at your stubbornness and followed you in.

"You know you're pretty stubborn." Ezra says.

"I've been told that before."

Sensing something behind you, you quickly ignited your light saber and blocked the one aimed at you. You called out and told Ezra to go help Kanan before focusing back on your best friend.

"Sabine if you can hear me, I'm sorry." You said as you broke the hold of the lightsabers and kicked Sabine in her stomach sending her backwards. Seeing her getting up you pressed on slowly but surely backing Sabine towards the entrance of the cave before a force knocked you over. You opened your eyes to see the spirit that came after you the first time. You quickly dodged it and turned back around towards Sabine and when you did you felt a pair of fingers on your forehead and you hear one word before blacking out.

"Kokipa."

The Next Day

The next thing you knew you were waking up in your bed with Ezra sitting next to you, and it didn't take long to realize the damage that had been done. Once you had woken up completely everything felt quiet. You couldn't feel anything around you. You went to Kanan to ask him about it and he said it could just be fatigue, but you didn't believe it. You have been way more exhausted before and it never affected your powers. It wasn't until a few days later during a mission briefing when you realized your powers were gone. Hera was explaining the mission when you seen one of the cute hermit crab things that were all around chopper base. It was sitting next to your hand on the edge of the holo-table. Smiling softly you reached out to it with the force, well you tried anyway. It was something you would do all the time, but this time you couldn't feel its emotions or its presence. Trying not to panic you looked around trying to connect with any living thing you had seen, but felt nothing. Now it was time to panic. You looked towards Ezra and Kanan. Ezra must've felt your worry and unease because he looked up directly at you seeing your panicked eyes. A few seconds of the two of you staring at each other, he gave you a confused look. That's when you realized he was trying to talk to you through the force link only the two of you shared.

When the two of you met you both instantly created a bond that grew stronger every day. About a month into your friendship you both realized you could use the force to connect your minds and talk to each other telepathically. Kanan explained that it was because of the bond you two share and that it was a rare occurrence and could be dangerous if the two of you weren't careful with your emotions. Over time you both mastered the skill, only this time you couldn't hear Ezra thoughts at all or even feel him through the force. That's when you started to panic. You didn't even hear Hera when she asked if you were ok, or notice Kanan quickly moving to your side while Ezra made his way to the other. All you could hear was your body trying to catch its breath. You couldn't breath, and you could barely hear Ezra trying to walk you through slowing your breathing, but you couldn't. Every thing sounded like it was under water.

Kanan and Ezra walked you to the common room of the Ghost as the others followed, watching worriedly as Ezra was slowly able to calm you down.

"So, you gonna tell us what's going on?" Kanan said.

"Somethings wrong with me." You replied.

"What do you mean?"

"I think I've lost my powers."

Everyone was silent at first, a Jedi losing their connection to the force was so rare it was basically unheard of during the times of old. The only way for a force user to lose their powers was if they stopped using it completely.

"(Y/n), that's not possible."

"Then tell me what it is Kanan! It's not exhaustion, it's something else! It's like everything has gone quiet, if I wasn't looking at all of you right now, I wouldn't even know you were here! Tell me what to do Kanan.”

"I-I haven't seen anything like this before (Y/n). I'm not sure there is anything we can do. Let me think on it, we'll figure it out I promise." You could hear the sadness in Kanan's voice which only worries you more. You said nothing else as you stood up went to your room. You were anxious, angry, sad, and scared.

"What would my contribution to the team be now?" You asked yourself before the sound of the door opening caught your attention. It was Ezra.

"Hey." He said softly.

"Hey."

"How you doin'?" Ezra asked as he sat next to you on your bunk.

"How do you think I'm doing?" The pause that followed was uncomfortable and the guilt you felt caused you to sigh.

"I'm sorry, Ezra. I'm just- I don't know why I’m going to do.”

"Don't worry, we'll figure this out, (N/ n)."

"It's not just that."

"Then what is it?"

"How am I supposed to help the team?"

"What?"

"Without the force, I'm useless to the team."

"That's not true! You are more than just your powers (N/n)."

"Am I? I'm not skilled in mechanics like Sabine, I'm not as good a shot as Zeb, and I definitely don't even come close to flying as good a Hera. You and Kanan, even you guys come up with really good plans when needed. I can't do any of that stuff. I knew how to fight, but now that my powers are gone how am I supposed to do that well." You said looking away from Ezra.

"Woah, woah, woah, let me stop you right there. You are a vital part of this team, this family. And just because you think you don't contribute anything other than your lightsaber doesn't make it true. I can't tell you how many messes you've gotten us out of with your quick thinking, how many problems your creative mind help fix for everybody on this ship, constantly. And you're a fierce warrior with and without your saber."

"Ezra." You sighed.

"You are needed here, and I won't let you think otherwise. And I will repeat myself everyday until you believe it, if I have to." Ezra finished as he softly cups your cheek and turn your head back towards him to look you in the eyes.

"Thanks, Ezra. But-"

"No buts." He said leaning forward pressing a soft kiss on your cheek, then another on your lips. "Now, let's forgive this out. Start from the beginning." And you did. You told him about everything that happened yesterday, and retracing your steps helped you realize the reason your powers are gone. You were still anxious and afraid, but with Ezra there you knew everything was going to turn out fine.

————————————————————

A/N: Finally finished I hope this isn't to cringe or anything. And hopefully this fulfilled your request. Thank you so much for sending in your request, and giving me a chance to bring your idea to life. I will now be heading to bed. Good night, guys.

Edit: But I did discover something from this mistake if you have a iPad and an iPhone you can copy something from said iPad and all you have to do is click ast on your iPhone and it’ll paste whatever it was from your iPad to your phone. I’m late Ik BUT it was such a life saver because I promise if I had to rewrite this whole fic out again without a reference (not that I didn’t enjoy writing it the first time) this fic was going to be my 13th reason. Hope you guys enjoy, toodles👋.

[listofwhyyouloveher]

Hi!!! I’ve been loving your work and I’m in desperate need of more Bob on this hellsite

Bob Hughes dating again after/during rehab and bro is just- not used to being treated kindly. Not that Diane was the worst of the worst, or unloving, but he and her weren’t the “let me kiss your bruised elbow” type. So when you offer to help rebandage a small injury from work, or thank him profusely for making a simple dinner, or offer to massage his back with no sexual intention just because you love him, bro is aghast. Like. Jeez.

I need to love on him so bad

Summary: Bob's new girl treats him better than anyone and he doesn't know how to feel.

Warnings: none

Authors Note: I love bob ♥️ 😍

It took quite a while before Bob was ready to fully date again. He'd been running round with Diane since he was a kid, which made the break off being painless odd. He thought about it for a while and chalked it up to the fact that he didn't love her anymore. He loved drugs.

Secretly, the fact that he didn't love his own wife aided his attempt to heal. He wanted to get better for Diane. Of course, Diane didn't want to get better, and she up and left him with Rick. Bob merely brushed it off and continued to work, even after the whole thing with the hat coming to get him. He just picked up right where he left off.

There wasn't anything that would make him falter until he met you. You were a fresh hire at the diner he went to. Everything about you was refreshing, your silky hair, your smooth and soft face, and your composure that exuded a royal aura. You weren't strict and sharp tongued like Diane. You were curved and dynamic, something that had angles and personalities that he could study.

He wrote his number down on the receipt and made sure you got it before he walked out. And just like that, you had a boyfriend. Bob was not accustomed to loving like you. He was used to fronting the charge, keeping things in line, like he was a teacher at a daycare full of kooky junkies. You had in some sort of chokehold, a push and pull relationship where you gave as much as you got.

Bob came home from work exhausted, gripping his head because of a terrible headache. The pains of withdrawal was puncturing his heart like a knife. He unlocked his door and found you there, reading a small book, lounging on his bed.

"Hi, Bob," you smiled, putting your book down. He always found himself comparing you to his previous wife. Not in a rude way, just thinking about how you cared for him. Diane, when she did read, would've sat there in silence until she either finished the book, needed something, or Bob said something to her first.

He pictured how different his life was from then before dimming the lights to stop them from hurting his eyes.

"Something wrong?" You asked him, vaguely concerned. He sighed.

"Just a headache, doll," he flopped down on the bed, leaning his head onto your lap. You stroked hi hair gingerly before getting up.

"Let me get you a water and some aspirin." You hummed, silently moving towards the kitchen. He watched you from the bed, eyes observing every outline, sharp curve, flaw, and perfection that you could offer him. When you turned around, he looked at you with such vulnerability that you nearly burst into tears. You sat back down, lifted his head, and slid back into your original position, his head on your lap and your fingers in his hair.

He qusickly swallowed the aspirin and a big sip of the cool water, it calmed his burning tongue from saying what he really wanted to.

"I love you," "I don't ever want to be away from you,"

You didn't have to hear it. You could see it in his eyes. He looked up at your face watched every emotion and feeling and thought flicker across your face before you reached for your book again. Bob reached out and grabbed your hand, pressing a kiss to your soft palm.

"Read it out loud for me, would you, doll?"

[sinkat-arts]

“That’s the last of them…” Daichi announced, “Everyone’s gone… Asahi wanted me to tell you to have a glass of water or three before bed if you don’t want a headache tomorrow.” Daichi grinned, looking down to where Koushi had sprawled out on a blanket someone had spread out under the giant tree in their backyard. His eyes were closed, hair mussed, clothes rumpled. It had been a night to remember, for sure. 

The fairy lights they’d hung together the day before lit Koushi’s face with a soft golden glow, and in that light, the man was almost angelic with his fair hair and pink cheeks. Daichi had questioned the need for so damn many of the little lights - wouldn’t a few bigger lights have made more sense? - but as soon as the sun had set, he understood. There really was something magical in those lights. Koushi had been right, as he was about a great many things. 

“Suga,” he prompted, and then shook his head. How many years had they been together now? How many times had he been gently - and not so gently - reminded to call him Koushi? Habits were hard to break, and Daichi didn’t miss the furrow that drew a vertical line between Koushi’s brows.

“Nuh uh,” Koushi murmured without opening his eyes, fighting the heaviness of alcohol or the exhaustion of the day. Probably both. “Not anymore, sir.” He paused and let a smile spread across his face. A picture of pure content, illuminated in gold. “For real. For keeps.” 

And it hit him. Not anymore. As of 5:37 that evening, while the sun was setting, Sugawara Koushi had become Sawamura Koushi. Right here in their backyard. Under this very tree. In front of all their friends and family.  

“Sawamura-san?” Daichi offered, mostly as a joke, though that was…

Koushi’s eyes opened and he sat up, propped on his elbows. His nose wrinkled as the wheels in his head whirred. “Well, that’s just weird,” he finally decided. 

Half a heartbeat passed as they looked at one another in silence. Koushi was the first to break, giggling in that infectious way he had, and it wasn’t long before Daichi joined in and the two of them were laughing in earnest. 

“You’re gonna have to get used to it…” Daichi finally rebuffed. 

“I will, I will,” Koushi sniffed, making the first futile attempt to get to his feet, “But from you, just all of a sudden like that… it’s weird!”

“Uh huh,” Daichi deadpanned, taking the few steps needed to reach his new husband, “weird.”

“It is! And it’s your name, too! So maybe you’re just talking to yourself. How will I know?” 

“Right, because that’s something I do. Address myself in third person. By name. Formally.”

“I don’t know all your secrets. Maybe you do,” Koushi answered, indignantly thrusting his hand up at Daichi, “I’m gonna need some help here…” 

“Maybe I do… and maaaaybe that’s the champagne talking,” Daichi laughed, hauling Koushi up to his feet, “Do I need to carry you inside? That’s the tradition, right? A bridal carry over the threshold…” 

“No, you big dummy,” came the reply. Koushi’s tone was sullen, but after so many years, Daichi knew the difference between real pouting and play. He waited, only smirking a little.

The flush on Koushi’s cheeks deepened as he looked at Daichi from under thick lashes, suddenly bashful. That look took Daichi by surprise, wiped the smirk off his face and made something in his chest twist. He knew, of course he knew, but sometimes… sometimes the fact that Koushi was so damn… beautiful… knocked Daichi flat on his ass.

“I think… maybe that would be nice,” Koushi said, fiddling with a button on his vest, “I only get the one chance, right?” 

Daichi hummed thoughtfully as tucked a stray bit of hair behind Koushi’s ear and let his hand settle to cup his jaw, lifting the other man’s face so their eyes met. “Maybe just the one chance on your wedding night,” he agreed, and it was his turn to blush as he continued, “But I’ll carry you as much as you need now. For the rest of your life. As long as you’ll have me.” 

Koushi’s eyes snapped open. Daichi felt the muscles in his jaw work as a flash of emotion passed across his face in an instant. Eyes wide and glassy, there were tears welling there, moments from spilling out. “Same,” Koushi managed to choke out. "For the rest of... forever."

Maybe it was the damn fairy lights casting some kind of romance spell - though probably it was the reality of the word forever sinking in - but that exchange felt like their real vows, treasures spoken in secret and just for them. He felt the sting of tears in his own eyes, hot and urgent, but decidedly good. They were smiling at each other, after all. Unguarded and happy because they both knew there wasn’t a single lie in those words. 

“Dummy,” Koushi finally said, as he rapped Daichi’s chest with the back of his hand. “Come here.” He tugged at Daichi’s tie, pulling him closer, and their lips met for a kiss that tasted like champagne and promises. 

They stayed that way for a long while, wrapped up in themselves and lost in the new world they shared. In the end, neither was steady enough for the bridal carry experience, so they compromised. After Daichi lifted Koushi onto his back and adjusted his center of gravity so they were steady, Koushi leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

“I was right,” he said, “This is nice.”

[bitchin-and-bustin]

Operation Demogorgon 2.0

Eddie Munson x fem!oc

Summary; with Will's new vision, the party becomes panicked with the possibility of Vecna returning. Previously unbelieving, you begin experiencing the exact symptoms as someone about to fall under Vecna's curse.

Warnings; blood, nosebleeds, obsessive behavior, mentions of obsessive!eddie, mentions of pervert!eddie, mentions of stalking, reader gets Vecna'd, Neil is out of the picture/Billy's been taken in by Hopper, dead bodies, death, traumatic memories, PTSD, angst

Author's Note; this got way longer than I planned. Apologies in advance for angst, but your welcome in advance for Eddie and Billy being soft with dogs :)

PART ONE | PART TWO

"Okay, Will, start it again, from the top. You lost me at migraines. " Said Steve, holding his hands out to stop Will.

After Will's episode at the Arcade, Eddie and Dustin wasted no time in rushing him to the Hopper-Byer's household. It was a decently sized house - about as big as the Byers' old one in Lenora - that was secluded off into the woods as before. In a lot of aspects, it was just a larger version of Hopper's cabin.

Upon ushering a still shaken Will through the door, they were met with a very concerned Eleven Hopper and a semi-confused Billy Hargrove.

"What's going on?" Eleven asked, seeing Will's state.

"El, get the phone, call the others." Dustin said hurriedly.

"Dustin-"

"EL! We need everyone here, now!"

They all went silent and stared at each other with wide eyes for a moment before Billy came up behind Eleven.

"Go get the phone, El." Billy said. Reluctantly, Eleven ran into the kitchen.

Twenty minutes later, their livingroom was filled with an uneasy atmosphere as Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, Nancy Wheeler and her brother Mike, Will's brother Jonathan, Max Maxfield, and Lucas Sinclair and his sister Erika arrived and crowded together.

Will had done his best to explain what had happened in his episode, but apparently a majority of them were completely lost. They all nodded their heads in agreement when Steve told Will to slow down and explain his episode in more simpler terms.

The younger boy sighed and crossed his arms, slightly frustrated. "Vecna is planning something." Will said. "When I had my vision, he wasn't actually in it - I never saw him. But I could feel him. It was like he was there, hiding somewhere."

"Like he was waiting for someone?" Suggested Robin.

Will glanced over at her. "More like...something." He said. "But the whole time, I wasn't really there either. I mean, I was, but I was...invisible, i guess."

"Will-" Said Nancy, sounding impatient. Will snapped his eyes toward her. "What happened. Did Vecna tell you anything?"

Will stared at her for a moment. "Not verbally. He showed me things. "

"What did he show you?"

"He showed me Y/n." Will quickly glanced at Eddie. "She was in her house, alone. She was looking through her cabinets and she pulled out a bottle of pills; pain killers. Tylenol."

Max's eyes widened. "She's having migraines."

Will nodded. "I watched her take them and she braced herself against her counter. She had this look on her face...she looked like she was going to pass out. She seemed so exhausted."

"If she's been having headaches non stop, then of course she's exhausted." Steve said matter-of-factly. Both Max and Nancy shot him a look.

"There was more though." Will said. "There was a noise from somewhere in her house. Y/n heard it too, because she looked up. At first I thought it was the doorbell, but then I heard it again, and I realized it was a chime. Y/n started following it. She was walking so slowly, though. Like she was moving through honey. Or maybe she was scared. But she followed it to the basement, and the third chime went off as she was going down the steps. It was completely dark until she turned the lights on, but then that's when she saw the clock from Henry's house. It was in the floor - like inside the floor. The concrete was cracked around it, almost like the clock had been forcing it's way out of the ground. Y/n walked to it, and she stood over it - I could see her reflection in the glass staring back. Then a drop of something red suddenly fell onto it ,and then another, and another. I couldn't tell what it was at first, but then Y/n brought her hand up and touched her nose, and her fingers were covered in blood.

"She's been having nosebleeds too." Max whispered.

"That's when the fourth chime went off. I could hear Y/n breathing really heavily - she was scared. I could tell. She sort of stumbled away from the clock after that, and she ran back up the stairs to leave the basement. When she slammed the door, I was back in the arcade."

Everyone was silent for a moment once Will finished. They were all trying to process what he'd told them, and what it all meant.

"Max was right." Eleven finally said. Eveeyone turned their heads to her as she looked up. "One is after Y/n."

She was the only one brave enough to admit out loud.

"We've got to do something." Lucas said.

Steve turned to him. "Like what? We don't know how long she's been under the curse, we don't know when he's going to strike!"

"We need to tell her about it! The Upsidedown, what happened to Will - everything."

Suddenly, Dustin cleared his throat. "She already knows." Everyone that wasn't Eddie, Will, Steve and Nancy stopped their arguing to turn to Dustin with aghast expressions. "We kinda told her...today..." Mike was perhaps the most furious of them all.

"You what?!" Mike gasped.

"We had too!" Dustin exclaimed in defense. "If we didn't, Y/n would've gone her whole life thinking Eddie was a pervert!"

"She believed you?!"

"I mean, no, but-"

"JESUS CHRIST-" Eddie suddenly shouted, causing Dustin and Mike to go silent. "Can the two of you please stop your petty, childish arguing? It doesn't matter, not important. What does matter is finding a way to stop Vecna. Alright?" Dustin and Mike both mumbled quiet agreements. Eddie now turned to Will. "Byers, was there anything else you saw? Any hints or something that would tell you when Vecna's going to make his move?"

Will was silent while he thought. There wasn't anything, really. He thought back to what you been wearing; the brown corduroy sweater you had over your blue arcade shirt that day. But you wore that all the time. But if Will really thought, he could remember the glimpse of the calendar he was able to catch as you left the kitchen. The last day that had been marked off with a red X was June 5th. The current date was June 6th.

"I don't think that my vision has happened yet." Will finally said after a few moments. Everyone gave him questioning looks. "She had a calendar in her kitchen. All the days were marked off up until today." Will paused. "I think I saw the future, and I think that future was later today."

Everyone exchanged looks."Wait, are you sure?" Eddie asked. "On Saturday's her shift doesn't end 'til 9."

"If she's been having constant migraines, Keith might've let her leave early." Robin said quickly.

"Yeah." Steve nodded in agreement.

"Okay, we have to assume Vecna is making his move today, and that he's making it soon." Nancy stated.

"Will, do you know what time this is supposed to happen?" Jonathan asked his brother.

Will furrowed his eyebrows as he tried to remember any sign he'd noticed in his vision that would give him his answer. Then it came to him; the light flooding in from your kitchen windows had been a golden orange - the color of the sunset.

"The sun was setting." Will said quickly.

"Its completely dark in an hour and a half." Billy said. The other's all turned to where he was standing up against the wall behind them all, previously having been completely silent. "Her house is almost forty minutes away. If we're gonna do something, we need to leave now."

"Billy's right." Steve said, surprising everyone with that fact that he'd just agreed with Billy Hargrove. The other boy raised his eyebrows, seeming surprised as well.

"El," said Jonathan. The girl turned to her brother. "Go get your Walkman. Just in case." As the teenager quickly ran to her room, Jonathan turned to Eddie. "Do you know Y/n's favorite song?"

Eddie nodded. "Yeah. 'Mr. Sandman'."

Billy scoffed. "Basic."

"Right? She's obsessed with the Chordettes."

Eleven came running back to the room with her Walkman in hand, and handed it to Jonathan, who stood up from where he was sitting on the sofa with Nancy.

"Someone's gotta stay here with the kids." Said Steve. "And it's not gonna be me this time."

Before the teenagers could attempt to cause an arguement about being left behind, Robin raised a hand. "I'll stay. I don't wanna chance getting possessed as well."

Nancy glanced over at her. "I'll stay with Robin. You boys can go."

"Hey!" Said Dustin, standing up. "Why can't we come with you guys?"

"Because we don't need twenty people to go." Steve said simply. "Besides, this isn't a 'party' thing. Four people is enough."

"But why do we need babysitters-"

"DUSTIN! We don't have time for this! Stop!" Steve interrupted, impatiently. Dustin quickly closed his mouth. Steve sighed and looked up at Billy. "Your car?" He asked.

"Yeah." The blonde pulled his keys out of his pocket. "C'mon."

Eddie exhaled as he stood up to follow Billy, Steve and Jonathan. "Well, looks like it's time for Operation Demogorgon 2.0"

The four men filed out the front door, and Will watched solemnly out the window as they climbed into Billy's Camaro and started pulling out of the long driveway. Will glanced at the sun. The sky was turning yellow.

They didn't have much time.

It was easy to say you hadn't had the best day.

For starters, you gotten locked in a room with your stalker, who proceeded to try and convince you that there was an alternate dimension full of monsters that wanted you dead. Then, your headaches - which you thought had finally gone away - had come back, and you didn't have any pain killers with you. You'd tried your best to ignore the pounding in your head for the rest of your shift, but eventually it got to the point where it felt like you had a horrible hangover. Thankfully, Keith had let you go home a few hours early, so when you got home as the sun was just beginning to set, the first thing you did was change out of your ugly shirt and stumble into the kitchen to find the Tylenol.

Your golden retriever - Louis - sat a little ways away, watching as you shuffled through the dozens of bottles of pills in the cabinets above your sink, before pulling out the bottle of Tylenol. You popped two of the pills onto your mouth before swallowing them try. You sighed heavily after that, and leaned against your counter, closing your eyes.

You were so tired - you had been for a week. And you didn't have a single clue why. Yeah, you were stressed out, but it wasn't anything you weren't used to. Something had been really off the past week, though. You spaced out more often, and these headaches seemed to be making everything much worse.

As you stood there, braced under your arms, you heard something loud and echoing come up through your house. You raised your head, and looked around. Had it been your doorbell? You looked out the window, not seeing a silhouette behind the blinds. You furrowed your eyebrows and stood up straight.

Slowly, you moved into the hallway, and looked down it, your eyes set on the basement door at the very end. The chime sounded again, almost louder than before, as if you were getting closer to it's source. In the kitchen, Louis whined quietly and cowered under the table.

You began walking down the hallway towards the door. It was as if there was some force drawing you to it - like an imaginary string tied to your waist, slowly pulling you along. You didn't blink once as you advanced on the door, too focused on reaching whatever this was.

The doorknob was cold as you set your hand upon it, which was unusual, considering was the middle of summer. You slowly opened the door to your basement, and began moving down the steps, almost robotically. It didn't feel like you were the one walking. It was incredibly chilly in the basement, but you didn't shiver. You couldn't. You were far too lost in this mysterious trance.

As you reached the bottom of the stairs, you heard the third chime. Then you saw the exact source of the noise.

There was a large grandfather clock in your basement. It was brown and expensive looking - probably made of dark oak or mahogany. But this clock definitely wasn't a normal clock. The give away was how it was embedded into the concrete floor of the basement. Around its shape, the floor was cracked outward, like the clock had forced it's way up from under the cement.

You felt fear now as you continued to walk towards it. You walked to turn around and flee, but something wouldn't let you. You were physically drawn towards the timepiece.

Standing beside it, you slowly moved to lean over it and stare. You could see your reflection in the glass - you could see the fear in your eyes.

Then suddenly, something dark red and watery fell from above and landed on the glass. This was followed by another drop, and another, until there was a collection of red droplets on the glass, almost like an evil mosaic. You could feel something hot and sticky dripping down your nose and lip. Shakily, you lifted a hand and felt something wet when you touched your nose. When you brought your hand down, you widened your eyes to see blood.

You almost jumped in your skin when the  clock chimed for a fourth time beneath you.

Along with fear, panic quickly found a way into your chest. Breathing heavily, you stumbled away from the clock and ran up the stairs faster than you ever remembered doing. When you reached the door, you fumbled with the doorknob before swinging it open and turning around to slam it closed.

You were left the sound of your beating heart and heavy breathing after that. You stared at the basement door with wide eyes before taking your hand away and turning around.

You expected to be standing in your hallway, but you were instead met with the sight of a grimy white hallway and dim, blown out lights above you.

You looked around frantically, and you realized if you loked past the way it was degraded, you recognized this place.

At the sound of a loud knock on the door behind you, you gasped and jumped in shock you spun around, and found that this was no longer your basement door, and was white and scratched with weather and age.

"Ms. L/n?" Said a strange voice from behind the door. "I have unfortunate news, I'm afraid. It's your parents...they aren't expected to make it through the night." Your breath caught in your throat. You'd heard those words before. "Will you open the door, Ms. L/n?" Asked the voice, only this time, in sounded different, it sounded warped, and deep, and evil. "Hey! Open the door! OPEN THE DOOR!"

You gave a dry sob as you listened to the horrible screaming. Then you were startled as something start pounding on the door. You backed away, and watched as the door started to shake and come free of its hinges.

This time, you were able to run. And you ran.

As you fled down the hallway, the lights that did work started to flicker. Many times you almost tripped over discarded wheelchairs and broken, toppled over stretchers in the way.

"OPEN THE DOOR! OPEN THE DOOOOR!"

The demotic screaming and banging only continued to get louder as you ran away. Tears had started streaming down your face.

"OPEN THE DOOOOR!"

Gasping, you flung open a door to a room on the left side of the hallway, and rushed inside, locking yourself inside it.

As soon as the door was close, the banging and the screaming ceased. Once again, you were left with nothing but your breathing and quiet sobbing.

Almost relieved, you slid down the wall next to the door, and covered your mouth to stifle your cries. You closed your eyes and you'd attempted to control your breathing and clam your heartrate.

But at the eerie screeching sound of something in the room, your eyes shot open.

On the wall to the left, there was a row of ominous black freezers. But theses freezers didn't hold food, they held dead bodies - you had stumbled into a morgue.

You watched with wide eyes and a heavily heaving chest as one of the freezers slowly slid open on its rusty hinges, revealing that the body inside was a woman's - one side of her face was heavily charred from a fire and her eyes were open and empty and stared at the ceiling above her. Silent tears streamed down your face and you pressed yourself further against the wall as if to stay away from the freezer.

Then with a gasp from you, the woman's head turned. Her dead eyes landed on yours, and her charred lips moved as she spoke in a warped, evil voice.

"Y/n..."

By the time Billy's Camaro pulled into the driveway of your house, the sun was almost set, leaving only a small strip of red able to be seen through the trees.

As soon as the car was off, the four boys jumped out and walked to the front door of the small house - Jonathan with Eleven's Walkman in hand. Anxiety practically filled the air surrounding them.

Eddie was the one to reach the door first. He rang the bell, and waited anxiously for you to answer. But he was waiting for nothing. You never answered. So he rang the doorbell again, and again, hoping you had just fallen alseep.

"Shit." Eddie muttered to himself. He started banging his fist on the door. "Y/n! Are you there?!"

Jonathan put a hand on his arm. "Hey, stop. We didn't make it here in time. See if the doors unlocked."

Eddie glanced at him before reaching for the doorknob. Sure enough, it was unlocked. He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

They were met with darkness. The lights in the living room were off, but there was a yellow glow coming from the kitchen and hallway.

Being the last to enter, Steve closed the door behind them, and found the switch to a lamp, turning it on so they could see their way around.

"Y/n?" Eddie called into the house. "Where you?! Y/n?"

He didn't get a response, and he wasn't expecting one of course, but he did hear a quiet canine whine. He looked around, and saw a fluffy looking golden retriever poking his snout out of the kitchen door way.

Eddie smiled just slightly. "Hey, buddy." He took a step forward, but the dog, whined and shrank back. "Hey, hey, it's alright. I'm not gonna hurtcha." He crouched down to be level with the dog, and held out his hand. Hesitantly, the golden retriever padded towards him, and cautiously sniffed the boy's hand. "Hi, its Louis, right?" The dog looked up at his face, as if responding to the name. Eddie's smile grew slightly and he started rubbing the soft fur on the dog's head. "I'm Eddie."

"Munson, what are you doing?" Billy asked as he stared at Eddie and the dog with a deadpan look.

Eddie glanced back at him. "Shut up." He turned back to Louis the dog and continued petting. "Hey, Louis, I need you to help me out, buddy. Can you do that?" Louis just stared up at him with dilated pupils. "Where's Y/n? Do you know where she is, boy? Huh?"

The dog turned his head towards the hallway entrance, and a low growl built up in his throat, his lips raising in a snarl. Eddie turned his head that was as well.

"She in there?" He asked.Louis just growled louder, but it ended in a whine when Eddie gave his head another soothing pet.

Eddie stood up and turned to the other three, who had been watching him silently. "She's in the hallway." He said. Jonathan held out the Walkman to Eddie as the four of them crept towards the hallway, and he took it and held onto it tightly.

The boys stopped in their tracks almost immediately when they were met with the sight of Y/n L/n standing at the end of the hallway with your head staring straight at them, and your eyes rolled into the back of your head, white and glazed over as if you were blind. A thick stream of blood flowed from your nose and down your lips.

Billy's mouth curved in a repulsed way. "Well that's unsettling."

"Shit." Eddie muttered, and quickly rushed down the hallway, stopping in front of your tranced form. He waved an hand in front of your face - you were unresponsive. "Shit!" He turned around and shoved the Walkman into Steve's chest. "Get these on her, I've gotta find Mr. Sandman."

Steve nodded. "Hurry."

"Y/n..."

You sobbed loudly behind your mouth as the charred corpse of your mother spewed your name in a voice that wasn't hers.

Then you jumped as a new bodies sat up from where it had been laying out on one of the metal tables in the center of the room. This was the body of a man with a burnt face and bleeding eyes. His broken arm shot toward you.

"Y/n..."

You let out a muffled scream into your hand. Shaking, you clawed at the wall as your scrambled to your feet. You jerked the door handle and flung it open, fleeing from the room with frantic sobs.

Once again you were running down the disarrayed hallways, only now you were running the calling of your dead parents.

"Y/n...Y/n...Y/n..."

As you ran, you glanced back, expecting to see the burnt, black bodies for you parents standing behind you, but there was nothing. Before you could turn around, you let out a scream as the floor beneath you snapped like wood and you fell through flames and smoke.

You landed hard on your back and found the wind knocked out of you. As you coughed and gasped for air, you felt your lungs burn as they filled with smoke instead of oxygen. Sitting up, you coughed more. You covered your mouth with your hand to prevent the inhale of ash again, and your eyes widened as you took in your surroundings.

It was your old house, the one that had caught fire and burnt your parents alive.

As the flames flickered and cackled around you, you could hear a new sound rise up over it all. It was the scream of a woman - the scream of a woman being consumed by flames.

Tears streaming from your eyes, you clamped your hands over you ears and closed your eyes. You didn't want to relive this.

"Y/n..."

Your eyes shot open. Something called your name, and you heard it despite your hands covering your ears. This wasn't the warped voice of the doctor and your parents, but this was still voice of something evil.

Taking you hands down, you looked up, and saw that in the fire-illuminated darkness, something was emerging.

It wasn't exactly human, but you didn't know what else it could be considered. It had horribly slimey and mutated looking skin - vines almost seemed to make it up. It had a hole of cartilage where its nose should have been, and its eyes were big and threatening. One of its hands had long, claw like fingers that looked as though they could tear so easily through skin.

Somehow - you didn't know why - you knew this creature was what had been causing your migraines and nosebleeds and your horrible nightmares. You knew it was the one causing this nightmare.

Shaking, you called out to it in an unsettlingly meager voice. "What do you want?!"

The creature emerged from the flames fully, revealing it's hideousness to you. "I want you...to join me."

"EDDIE!"

Eddie ignored Steve shouting his name from the hallway as he stood in your room, frantically going through your drawers in search of Mr. Sandman by The Chordettes.

He cursed to himself as each drawer he pulled open contained nothing but clothes.

"EDDIE! What are you doing?!"

"I'M LOOKING!" Eddie finally shouted back. Closing the drawer that contained pajamas, he moved to the one above it and pulled it open, only for his face to pale when he saw it was full of your underwear.

"LOOK FASTER!"

Eddie cursed and quickly closed that drawer, moving to the next one. He nearly screamed in happiness when he saw the cassettes it was filled with. He frantically shifted through them until he found the one with "Mr. Sandman - The Chordettes" written on the label in curly handwriting.

"I've got it!" Eddie said, out of breath from his panic as he came running back into the hallway.

Steve, Jonathan and Billy turned to him from where they surrounded you. Steve had gotten the headphones of Eleven's Walkman on your hand and over your ears, and held the cassette reader in his hand.

Eddie handed Mr. Sandman to Steve, who slipped it into the case and immediately hit play.

Everyone stood around you, waiting anxiously for something to happen, for you to open your eyes and gasp and show them you were alive and alright.

But they didn't get that. When they got was pure panic when your feet started to leave the ground and your body slowly rose toward the ceiling.

"What the fuck..." Billy whispered as they all stared up at your levitating body. He glanced at Eddie and Steve, whose eyes were wide with fear. "Harrington, what's happening?"

"Its Vecna." Steve said thickly. "We were too late."

"I want you...to join me."

You pushed your back against the charred wall behind you, silently crying as what you began to realize was the other-dimensional creature crowned Vecna advanced toward you through the flames.

You wanted to run, but there was no where to go. Everything around you was on fire.

Vecna stopped walking when he stood in front of you. Even as you weakly got to your feet, he was still a good three feet taller than you. As you stared up at him, he stared down at you, almost like he was studying your tear-stained face.

You grit you teeth as you spat up at him. "Leave me alone."

Vecna smirked, if that was possible. "I'm afraid that's not an option, Y/n. I cannot leave you alone, not until you've joined me. Not until my plan is complete."

Then you took a shakey inhale as the creature raised his clawed hand and held it above you. Some invisible force caused your bead to crane upward at look at the claws. New tears ran hot down your face.

Just as Vecna's hand started to lower itself towards your skin, he was interrupted by a echoing, strangely cheerful - and very familiar to you - noise.

"Bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum

Bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum"

Vecna's hand moved away just slightly as he looked around, trying to find the source of the noise. You'd already found it though.

"Mr. Sandman,

Bring me a dream

Make him the cutest that I've ever seen"

Behind Vecna, in the dark void he'd walked out of, you could see a spot the dream that had faded away, showing you a view of four familiar boys; Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Jonathan Byers, and Billy Hargrove. All four of them were shouting your name as they stared up at your body, which was seven feet up in the air, unmoving.

"Give him two lips like roses and clover

And tell him that his lonesome nights are over"

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a spike of wood that was miraculously not yet touched by the fire. With as much speed as you could muster, you snatched the spike and let out a cry as you drove it through the slimey abdomen of the demon in front of you.

Vecna grunted it pain and jerked away from you, releasing you from whatever powerly hold his claws had on you. You fell against the wall, gasping for breath.

You didn't waste a second before you were running towards the tear of reality in front of you.

"Sandman, I'm so alone

Don't have nobody to call my own"

Through the smoke and the flames you ran through, you could hear Vecna's cries of anger. Above you, burning ceiling beams fell and attempted to stop you. But you kept running. You didn't stop until you were upon the panicking boys in your hallway, crying their names as they were yours.

"Please turn on your magic beam

Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream"

The first thing you heard wasn't even the next lyrics of the song. It was Jonathan Byers screaming "Oh, shit!"

You let out your own scream once you realized you were falling. Thankfully, you were caught by someone before you hit the floor.

Disoriented, you couldn't tell you was holding you until they pulled the headphones of a Walkman off your head and started calling your name.

"Y/n? Hey, Y/n? Can you hear me?"

Rapidly blinking away tears whatever after affect was left of your trance, you slowly came to realize you were on the floor with a familiar long haired brunette.

You sniffed, almost choking on the taste of copper it brought go your mouth due to your heavy nosebleed. You looked up at the face of the boy holding you above his lap.

"Ed-Eddie?" You said, your voice cracking.

He stared down at you, concern coating his features. "Yeah, its me." He said, careful not to be loud.

You let out a choppy exhale. "You goon-fuck," your voice was thick as it cracked. "I believe your story. I believe you now." You started crying for what felt like the hundredth time that day, and buried your face into Eddie's chest, your fists balling around his shirt.

Eddie held you a little closer, letting you stain his clothes with blood and tears. "You're okay now, Y/n. It's okay." He told you. He glanced up at the other three boys before speaking again. "Hey, I'm gonna pick you up now, alright? We're gonna get you out of here."

You didn't respond, but that was okay. You didn't need to.

Taking a deep breath, Eddie slipped his right arm under your knees and carefully got to his feet with Steve's help. He let you cling to his shoulder as they walked out of the hallway, towards the front door. Steve and Jonathan made sure to turn the hallway and kitchen lights off before they held the door open for Eddie.

As he was about to walk out with you, he turned back when he heard a quiet yelp behind him he turned around, seeing that Louis the golden retriever was standing in the kitchen doorway again, watching them almost sadly.

Eddie turned to Billy. "Hey, bring the dog."

Billy glanced at Louis skeptically. "What? Jim's got a pet fur allergy-"

"Just do it." Eddie said before walking out the doorway with you half-asleep in his arms.

Billy sighed to himself and looked down at Louis, who had taken a few pads toward the boy, and was looking up at him curiously.

Billy stared down at him. "You're lucky you're cute." He mumbled, before kneeling down and picking the golden retriever up in his arms, clicking the livingroom lamp off, and closing the front door as he walked out.

Eddie had carefully set you down inside the Camaro in the seat directly behind the driver's. After making sure you were alright, he closed the door softly and walked around to the passenger's seat. Steve and Jonathan were the ones who joined you in the backseat, and Billy set Louis back there with you, where your dog sensed your emotions and curled up in your lap.

As Billy pulled out of your driveway, Eddie looked up in the mirror to see you in the back, hand idly resting on Louis's fur, and head leaning against the headrest with your eyes staring straight forward with a ghosted, far off expression. Dried blood still covered your nose and lips.

Eddie sighed to himself, and looked down at the cassette in his hand. He slipped it inside the Camaro's stereo, glanced at you once more, and then hit play.

"Bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum

Bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum"

As you all left your house, you found yourself slipping out of consciousness and into sleep, no longer worrying that you would wake up screaming of your Vecna induced nightmares.

"Mr. Sandman,

Bring me a dream

Make him the cutest that I've ever seen

Give him two lips like roses and clover

And tell him that his lonesome nights are over

Sandman, I'm so alone

Don't have nobody to call my own

Please turn on your magic beam

Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream"

Please like if you enjoyed! Reblogs are appreciated! Comment to be tagged in future parts!

-- bitchin n bustin

Taglist!

@sadbitchfangirl @toobsessedsstuff

@silky-luxes @manyfandomsfanvergent

[firespirited]

Today was a naf day

Did my walk, completely ran out of steam 600 yards from home. I didn't feel in pain or exhausted, it was more vague. The sense that I just could not do a single step more. So I went single step by single step and about a minute from home realised I was in pain and it was so overwhelming it wasn't registering.

Got home and horizontal. And the picture got clearer. Swollen feet, sore joints but mostly a searing pain in my shoulder blade leading to a strong dull ache in the head. Somehow the headache turned all the pain signals blurry just like my vision and hearing. So I put myself in the dark with a fan as noise machine and waited. Needed to eat and felt slightly better so put on the computer to watch an episode of tv. while I waited for it to load, heard the sound of our traditional rainwatch and the roommates getting hailed on! Then the lights flickered, computer restarted then power cut out.

So I went back to bed.

M asked me to print something so I start up the computer and it goes into restart loop. Boot missing. Bootrec.exe fixboot access denied

Bootrec scanOS: no windows installations?

I do the regback registry backup but it's empty because windows 10 has disabled it.

I've finally found a (complex) potential fix and the computer beeps three times and won't display.

Youtube has a minute long fix, it means your ram is fried.

Tomorrow is a huge day, I've been preparing for weeks to test the limits of my social anxiety, how to not damage my neck in a car, how long I can be out before a POTS episode.

I'm also going to have to decide whether to buy new ram or replace my computer and stick my harddrive in a new one. Because that computer is my accessibility device. My throbbing head wants to hibernate for a month (well not hibernate since hiber is winter but you know what I mean) and not have to google how to test the ram sticks one by one, not have to look at specs for computers. Absolutely not have to deal with windows 11 privacy nightmare edition.

Never rains but it pours (and hails!)

I have my darling dog, I've been putting money aside for computer or phone replacement as both have shown signs of age. I've got a supportive family. But tomorrow I need to smile through a stiff headache and hope I'm home before light and sound become unbearable. With worry about the work involved in repairing or getting a new computer asap: compulsively on the brain (it's one of those things I can't be without so saying I'll handle it Thursday won't work, this stupid brain is going through the flowchart of fixing and if not what is my budget despite my efforts to say we can manage for a few days.)

Being able to set priorities on thoughts is a highly underrated feature. I'm so grateful it works half the time.

Said beloved dog:

[meditating-dog-lover]

My weight

Growing up I really struggled with my health and weight.

I recently took photos of myself and compared them to older photos from 2021, 2023, and my Cyprus trip and I've lost a lot of weight with intermittent fasting.

It's just IF and walking (nothing intense or long distant, just at work, with my dogs, and my own walks). Also an overall healthy diet. I never counted a calorie, don't eat diet foods, eat junk and treats here and there, etc... All I really do is skip breakfast. I never felt deprived at all. I still eat carbs, chicken tenders, pizza, pasta, and chocolate. Now my diet and portion control are really good, which is why I dropped weight rapidly, without feeling exhausted, hungry, or out of it. Since January the most psychologically and physically demanding thing I struggled with was my eczema, not my hunger.

I'm pretty thin now and even thinner than I was in late 2021 based on my pictures. I can't tell for sure as I never weighed myself or got my body composition assessed. But I'm slimmer now and can even go further. I'm back to my 2018 body for the looks of it (give or take). 

For fat loss, portion control is way more important than exercise.

I see exercise as a tool that can help me with my insulin resistance, and it really did in 2021 when I did my bloodwork and had a pretty healthy fasting blood glucose. It never hurts to ask my PCP about this during my next annual checkup. I do want to do more than just walk for increasing my insulin sensitivity, but I want a go-to workout that doesn't feel like a challenge or a chore and something I can enjoy and do without thinking or worrying, just like how I approach IF and walking. And it has to increase my insulin sensitivity, that's a must.

Overall just growing up with poor dieting, excess weight, excess laziness, insulin resistance, dental problems, feeling bigger than everyone else, bloating issues, etc... is psychologically damaging. My diet is better and IF helped me lose a lot of weight, and my dental health is a lot better, I'm just working on my gut health still and plan on finding a go-to workout that will help increase my insulin sensitivity.

I want a healthy insulin/blood sugar profile, I want a healthy body fat percentage and weight, I want good teeth, I want to feel lighter, I want to eat healthy, I want to feel light and not bloated, all without feeling deprived. I've done so much for my health since 2022/early 2023. All this "holistic healing" stuff may seem like a headache or a lot of effort and worrying, but it's helping me so much towards improving my health. My diet got better since I started supplementing, so have my teeth along with my new dental care routine and nasal breathing, and the continuous IF should help with additional fat loss, exercising will help with insulin sensitivity/laziness, and my gut health protocol should help with any bloating or heaviness I feel here and there.

I'm going to keep the IF up. I'm so happy it made me lose fat rapidly without feeling any pain, discomfort, deprivation, dizziness or hunger. All while working full-time and being pretty busy and occupied in general. My dog is my fitness coach because he encourages me to walk a lot. My supplements help me with my cravings and prevent me from eating a lot of junk. I still don't deprive myself and don't eat diet food like sugar free or fat free or low calorie or low carb variants.

I'll go towards exercising to help with insulin sensitivity, though at my own pace because I'm happy this new goal of IF I started helped me a lot with my body fat. I'm going to celebrate this and make this a habit and solidify it before turning to a new habit. But becoming more insulin-sensitive is definitely a goal of mine, I just want to do an exercise I know I'll enjoy and not have to worry and think a lot about.

Also it's a good idea to have good posture. And worth noting my cholesterol/lipid profile is pretty good.

Overall I just want to feel healthy and light - low body fat, high insulin sensitivity, feeling small/light/not bloated, great teeth, and a healthy diet.

It will all work out. One step at a time, gut/skin health and then exercise.

[kwanamikaela]

SOLAR LIGHT WAVE IS VERY FELT

Solar Light Wave is very felt (March 16 - 21); Plasma explosions ⚡are taking place (already in last few hours (EET), and those explosions will repeat. Picture yourself a living Plasma fabric, where similar like on the sun is bursting out solar fire, the same is happening in the field around us, in planetary level.

In physical level: nausea, full head, 'taste' in mouth/throat, headache, temple areas, exhaustion&uplift.

Sun Light can seems changed its brightness, or even pulsating.

Pay attention to own observations about the energy you are experiencing in body/head, and surrounding. It will tell you a lot more than it can be said in the word form.

Very discern, what you are allowing in your individual field, and, how you respond.

In the global scale, corrupt Timeline and puppets are acting like a crazy, because Light is pressing them. Literally. From there comes insane measures (look at, what guidlines are followed). It's always has been interconected; it's not sudden insanity.

Have your highest choices and vibrations during March 20, because in grand scale, it is changing everything.

This is our turn, Creators ☀️

Note: All spots to meditation for Self Love (March 20-21) are booked. Thank You 💛

If you still are interested, please, send me a message. Starting with Tuesday, I will open a new spots.

Kwana Mikaela

Photo by hosokawatakuya33

March 19, 2021

[strangesmouth]

Shower

ONESHOT} You and Stephen end up taking a shower together. 

PAIRING} Stephen Strange x Female!Reader 

WARNINGS}  SMUT!18+, angst, fluff, lots of filth, fingering, blowjob, unprotected sex, PRAISE 

WORD COUNT} 4,888

-}This fanart (credit to OWNER!!!) inspired THIS absolute filth, which this could have gone a lot of ways but you will see how it is soon.  

-} This piece is dedicated to Strange Cult. this picture has lit this amazing, funny, extremely horny, chaotic chat up more times than can be counted at this point. I sincerely hope this itches some brains the right way. Enjoy you horny bitches. 

It was late, and you were just tired of it all. You were exhausted because of all the people you’d been around lately. There were so many fake smiles, “How are you, hon?”’s, and glared exchanges. It’s not unusual, it’s not even rare for it to happen in your guys’ line of work, but it has been getting to be a lot lately. It was even worse when you tried to talk to Stephen about it because it felt like he didn’t exactly understand it. He was used to people, especially people he had to be around and didn’t exactly like. You understood why he has that power; he used to be a surgeon. He had to do his due diligence and be the best, knowing those people wouldn’t think of him much past a signature on a document. It  felt like he just wanted you to have tougher skin, when really, you just wanted to talk to the one person in this world you could trust. You just wanted him to listen. 

“Are you okay?” His voice rang in your ear as you sat in the passenger's seat with your head laid on the window, hand covering your forehead so the lights on the street wouldn’t give you a headache, another pain to have for the night. You turned to him and saw a concerned look, but he was trying to keep his eyes on the road. He seemed worried about looking over at you at all.

“I’ll be fine. It’s just been a long night. I just want to go home and go to bed.” You barely spoke. He still heard you, judging by the way his face softens when you start speaking. 

“That bad today?” He tried to poke at your brain. His left hand was on the wheel, his right elbow leaning on the center console and his hand rested comfortably on the shifter.  “I can see that you’re tired, and I’m tired, too. I’m sorry, but we still have a 15 minute drive left. Humor me, YN.” He moved his right hand to rest on your thigh. It makes you close your eyes for a second as you feel the warmth of his hand settle into it. His hands and movements seem so genuine, but his words seem harsh. 

“The party seemed like it was a bit much for a week filled with meetings and strategies, and fighting involved.” You muttered. This past week really has worn you down. Tonight’s party was not in the least bit relaxing, either. About 30 minutes into the party, you were already begging Stephen to bring you back home. 

“You know how they like to celebrate that they didn’t die. They like you! They wanted you there! You’re a part of the team. Plus, I'm a little bit guilty of the same need for celebration.” He looks at you for a split second to see what your face reads. He sees your smile. You gave a silly chuckle, and it prompted him to laugh with one of the goofiest laughs you’d ever heard out of him. It was very nice to hear that side of him. 

“Yeah okay, I guess you’re right. It is pretty good you came back.” You said with a little more energy. His company is all you missed. You were excited to be home and alone with him.

“It’s good you came back, too. I’m glad we’re both safe and not fighting anything for the time being.” 

“With our jobs, Stephen? I don’t think our break will last very long.” 

“So, I'm hearing you would like to spend whatever amount of time we have until our vacation gets cut short to just have fun? No expectations?” He asked. His grip on your thigh tightened, ever so slightly, and you could see his eyes widen as he looked at the road. His stupid smile formed, as you could imagine in his head he was trying to hold it at bay. It really was a sweet gesture, but you also know that you guys haven't been on the smoothest of roads lately. The stupid fights you would have, the big fights that would happen at the most inconvenient times. It angers and saddens you, the waves of it sinking your heart into your stomach as you remember it all. It sucked but it happens. We do have high-stress occupancies. It’s not that you two don’t like each other. You guys are just humans with tendencies to bottle things up, which leads to both of your guys’ explosive moods. 

You honestly didn’t take kindly to his suggestion. It wasn’t because he was trying to be suave and avoid talking about anything, it just hurts you when he doesn’t listen to you. You weren’t trying to take it personally, but it was late, and the wonders that being tired does to your reflexes is a little bit unfair. You scoffed lightly and turned your head to the window for a second, and then back.  “There are never any expectations with you, Stephen.” The seat warmer makes you melt a little lower.

“What is that supposed to mean? ” His demeanor changes. He looks a little angry. It looks as though he’s going to take his hand away. His sweet, warm, soft hand. You don’t want him to move his fingers from their position. Not even an inch. It’s been a very long week. 

“Nothing, I'm sorry. Please, let’s just get home.” You placed your palm on top of his delicately placed hand. His posture shifts, as if he doesn’t know or fully understand what has just happened. He relaxes his hand under yours on your thigh and turns down the final street.  “Are you sure, YN?” He asked in a monotone voice. You can tell he’s upset. His driving slows down, as he pulls up to your driveway. “Yes, it’s fine. I’m just really tired.” You replied. He started to rub your thigh as he turned off the car. You can’t seem to stop focusing on his hands. 

Warm, cloud-like fingers. Sweet and delicate shapes being drawn. The heat of his body being absorbed by your cold skin.

 The feeling warms your stomach up in a way you haven’t felt in a while. You and Stephen were just so busy this week, there was barely time for you guys. It feels like a phantom feeling inside of you.

“You do realize I could have used my ring to portal us here, right?” He asks, trying to break the tension in the air. It works. 

“Yes, I will never forget that you can. On the other hand, you still do know that I prefer we do things normally rather than just take shortcuts. It’s good for us.” You say sweetly. A faint smile grows as your sleepiness hits harder. 

“A fair point, my darling. Now come on, sleepyhead. Let’s go get ready for bed.” He lifted his right hand up from your thigh, and lightly caressed your chin. He carefully placed a kiss on your cheek. You notice that he sounds ready to get out of the car. 

“That doesn’t sound like a bad plan.” You say weakly, the exhaustion seeps in. You manage to crawl out of the car and get to the door with Stephen, he unlocks the door and leads you in by holding the small of your back. You revel in the feeling. 

“Would you like me to make you a snack?” He asks. “No, thank you. I just want a bath and some sleep. In our own bed.” You whined sweetly. He smiles and pulls you in for a hug. His scent floods your senses. You missed him so much. You started to tear up. He hears a sniffle on his shirt and he immediately starts asking what happened. 

“I’m just really tired and I want to go to bed already.” You said, and this time he doesn’t believe it. 

“YN, What is wrong?” He pulls you away from his chest to see your puffy eyes. “What’s really going on?” He finished. 

“I’m frustrated.” You said as a few tears fell down your cheeks. 

“About what?” He begs for more. His eyes are concerned, and squinted. His stare makes you blank for a moment. 

“About you.” You confessed. Tonight was not going how you wanted it to. “I’m also upset that I've been undercut and dismissed lately. I just don’t want to fight about this right now. Can we just get ready for bed?” You pulled away from him and started walking to the bedroom.

“What? No, we should talk about this.” He followed. You exhaled, obviously just wanting to slip into the bedsheets and reset. 

“Stephen, just drop it, please. I'm just moody and tired. Getting some sleep-” You walked up to the dresser and opened a drawer to pull out some pj’s. 

“No! You don’t get to walk away! YN, please. Let me help.” He pleads. You were getting heated up. 

“There’s nothing that we can do about it right now. Stephen, please. Forget about it.” You finished. You wished you’d never said anything. You wished you guys could go back to being cuddly and sweet. 

“Yes, there is! I can help you, I can make you comfortable-” 

“No! You can’t just make me comfortable! You can’t just go get my favorite things and come back after we fight! You can’t just draw my baths or prep anything for me, Stephen. It’s not about comfortability! You just don’t listen sometimes! I just want you to listen to my issues, even if it goes away in 30 minutes. Please! Please, hon.” You stopped to take a few breaths. “I just wanted to go to bed. I didn’t want to do this tonight.” You walked towards the bathroom. 

“YN…” He whispers as he reaches for your shoulder. His touch reverberates throughout your body, and it makes you stop in your tracks. “I’m sorry.” He utters. 

“No, we don’t-” He ends your sentence by just bringing his tall frame against your back. “We do. What don’t I listen to, my love?” His right hand trails down your upper arm, and finds its place in your hand. He rubs your back with his other hand as he feels you breathe. He can tell you’re still tense. You hesitate for a moment, but decide to speak about it so it isn’t something he can pester you for hours about, because you know he will. 

“About the people. And our appearances, and egos the size of Texas, and not to mention yours in that mixture. It’s a lot. It was a lot for me. I don’t take kindly to the fake sh*t. You know that. I don’t have grievances. I tried to talk to you about this multiple times this week and you just told me that I need to calm down, that they’re just a day of my life and I won’t have to worry about them ever again in a few days.” You told him, finally.  As you spoke, his hands would continue to rub you, trying to make you feel better. “I knew I would feel better in a few days because we’d be here. But I just wanted you to listen to me about it.” There's silence before he replied to your confession. 

“Egos the size of Texas?” He asked in your ear. It made you a little mad again. 

“Stephen Strange-” He could hear the seething in your voice. 

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I was just trying to make you laugh. I’m sorry I didn’t listen this week. I really am.” He spinned you around to make you face him. “I am sorry, and I'm sorry that egos the size of Texas were a part of it. Including making you straddle mine, as well. I can sympathize with you for not liking it. It wasn’t just a skill I magically had, and it was a skill I had to learn, and sharpen. So I'm extremely sorry I couldn’t be sympathetic before, when you needed me to be.” He apologized and cupped your face. You leaned into it. His touch is all that’s holding you together right now. 

“Thank you, baby, I really appreciate it.” You playfully sighed. “Now can I get ready for bed?” He gave you a kiss and you went to get ready for a soak in the bathroom. He followed behind you.

“We’re just good now?” He asked. He felt like he should walk on eggshells.

“Yes, that’s how this works, we talk, someone apologizes and we move on. We’re fine, my darling. Thank you.” You say softly with a smile as you try to prepare yourself for a plunge into the tub. 

“Really? Everything is okay? You're really okay?” He probed one last time to make sure. 

“Yes, my love. That’s all I wanted. Plus, you 're wrong about one thing. I do like to straddle you.” You start to slowly take off your jacket and shorts, leaving you in your shirt and some underwear. 

“No.” He says bluntly. You look at him, brows furrowed, wondering why he answered his own question, and his smile makes you chuckle. “No? What is there to ‘No.’ about, darling?” You wondered as you sat on the side of the tub and turned the faucet on. 

“I meant, ‘No’,. But not about you straddling me, I believe you’re telling the truth. I just don’t think our time would be best spent taking a bath, my love.” He says as he moves to quickly turn off the faucet you’d just turned on. 

You had become annoyed with him, now. “Stephen, I’ve been waiting all week to get home and take a ba-” He grabbed your face once more as he stood in front of your body.   

He kissed you. Fiercely, intensely, passionately. You relax, no longer annoyed at him. Your body melted underneath his as he continued to allow his tongue to sloppily slip into your mouth at any given chance he’d get. His mouth was warm and wet, persuading you to not care about whatever he’d just done to piss you off. 

You didn’t know where it came from. He lifted you up so that you were standing again. He manages to undress himself and remove the clothes you had left on your body with a quickness. He could feel your lack of strength to keep yourself upright anymore and he wrapped your arms around his neck. All you could do was keep kissing him until you both couldn’t breathe.

He takes hold of your thighs once he takes a deep breath, and picks you up. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and your arms tighten around his neck . You’re now being held by Stephen with your forehead connected to his as he walks to the shower to turn it on. He lays you against the cold, marbled wall, and kisses you again. His lips envelop yours in another exceptional, face numbing kiss.

The water very quickly starts to run hotter and hotter over you two. It doesn’t bother you, if anything it makes you want him more. The steam that starts to build, the feeling of his body holding you up against a wall so you could do absolutely nothing but whatever he wanted. It sends a shock to your stomach in anticipation of what’s next. You couldn’t help yourself, your left hand traveled from being held behind his head, to resting against his chest as he started to nibble down the right side of your jaw. The sounds he could evoke out of you were music to his ears, and he wasn’t even inside of you yet. You grew needier to feel him. 

“You’re breathing heavy, my love.” He whispered into your ear as you moaned out to his nibbles. 

“Stephen-” You pleaded weakly. He just wanted to tease you. He wanted to drive you crazy. 

“God, YN, your skin is perfect.” He continued to kiss you down your neck. He bit your neck harshly and it made you groan out loud. “What, baby?” He beams with a cocky smile.

“I… I want you.” You said breathlessly. 

“What? I couldn’t hear you. What did you say, my love?” The smile that took over his face was dangerous. 

“I want you.” You said as sternly as you could, given that your body had the same characteristics of a puddle right now, that wasn’t saying much. Stephen could understand you, though. You could feel it because his eyes had grown darker, his breathing had gotten deeper but sharper, his face had turned more animalistic. He wanted to make you feel good. Every nip, kiss and touch makes you jump and gasp. 

Soon, Stephen’s lips had made their way down to your nipple, and with one of his hands he began to massage your breast. As he works his magic on you, Stephen began to think of everything he could do to you tonight, and he had to take a moment to think about what he would like to do with you first. 

But you couldn’t think about the thoughts he might be having anymore. All you could think about was the immense pleasure you’d felt of his tongue warming your chest up. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about him just placing his fingertips on your most sensitive area. At this point, he knows that that is exactly what you were waiting for. He let go of your nipples and focused on your face. 

“Why’d you stop?” You whined. He was far from over. He just wanted to look at your face as he dipped his hand down below to feel the slippery mess he’d gotten a head start at making the moment that he started kissing you over the tub. You looked shocked as his hand began to work. This was even more intense. You were like the main dish on the menu, and he was just tasting everything on his plate. He connected his forehead to yours as he moved his fingers along your folds and to tease the sensitive bundle of nerves above your entrance. Every time he moved his fingers, it made you groan or plead out loud in pleasure.

“Does it feel good, my love?” He asks. He’s leaving pecks on your cheeks as he draws a line to your gorgeous, panting mouth, and he can’t resist kissing you as you yelp and whine in pleasure. His eyes were wide as he watched you drown yourself in him, and he found it to be the perfect time to force his tongue into your mouth to keep your throat from going hoarse at the unexpected dip of his fingers into your core. 

“Y-Yes…” You stuttered. Your face turned warm as the realization set in about what just happened, your voice became nothing but a bit of a squeak. Your face changed from relaxed and foggy to begging and pleading. The sensation of his thumb on your clit, and your g-spot being stimulated every time he flexes his middle and ring finger against the most sensitive part of your walls. It shook your entire body against the wall.

“Please! Please, Stephen!” You screamed out. He knew what you wanted, and he took his time before he gave it to you. 

“No. You’ll wait.” The message sends shivers up your spine, his tone jolted something awake in you, and you feel fluttering in your lower abdomen. Something started to build. There’s a knot that you have to break. You pant hard. Your throat becomes too tired to try coherent words anymore, instead your moans, groans, yelps and squeaks turn into a jumble of sounds and catches in your throat. 

“Such pretty noises, my sweet girl.” His fingers try to feel even deeper inside of you as he listens to your sinful, delightful noises.  Your body gives up and shakes while a guttural wail escapes your lungs. You felt a complete wave of pleasure and vibration wash over your entire body. 

He pulled his digits out of you. You cried out in protest as he brought the hand he used on you to the wall next to your head. His head began to hang lowly between his shoulder blades as he stared you down. “Why?” You pleaded for an answer. 

“I didn’t tell you that you could cum, did I? You didn’t even ask, my love.” He growls. Your cheeks felt even hotter than the water that ran from the showerhead. 

He let you down slowly, making sure your feet hit the ground before he let go of you completely. 

“Only good girls get rewarded with pleasure.” He said into your ear. It sends a jolt like lighting up your spine. You shudder under his gaze as you prepare yourself for whatever else he has planned. He grabbed your shoulders, and he repositioned you both so that you were in opposite positions now. 

“Stephen, please I-” He cupped his hand delicately on your face and shut you up with another kiss. The feeling of the water continues to ignite the wants you ached for in your core. 

“Bad girls don’t get to speak unless spoken to.” He said as he pulled away from the kiss, seeing the airhead look you made when you begin to lose yourself under his touch. You kept your mouth shut by biting your lower lip. He looked at your lips and quickly scanned your body up and down with his heavy hand rested on your waist. “Get on your knees, my love.” He demands. You happily obliged, hoping this punishment would reward you with more. 

“Yes, my darling.” You replied. 

It wasn’t that he couldn’t fuck you up against the wall. In fact, he was more than advanced at it. He intentionally lifted you higher above his waist so he could tease you. All you could’ve felt at this point was the faint pokes of his member under your ass, otherwise, you would’ve sheathed his cock immediately as he settled you into his touch. He planned this. He planned to make you a writhing, frustrated mess. 

You settled onto your knees, a platter served right in front of Stephen. You looked at his member, and then up at him. You waited for instructions. 

“Are you waiting for an invitation, YN?” He questioned as he brought a hand to rest on your head. You gasp slightly, his words more than enough motivation for you. 

Starting slowly, you enveloped the tip of his cock. He groans at the action. You swirl your tongue along the slit to collect the precum that had been slowly leaking out. It’s delicious. Then, you start to slide more of him into your mouth. He hissed as you tried to take as much of him as you could in your throat. “Fuck” He huffed. You couldn’t bottom out yet. He sat in your mouth without moving for a few seconds.

“Open your eyes, my angel.” He ordered, and you slowly bat them open, trying not to let any water in. 

You couldn't describe the feeling of being so powerless beneath him. He loved the way you looked right now, mouth expanded with his cock, the water that falls on you both as you continue to try and take more of him in. You gagged a bit, and it creates a mess of saliva at his base. 

After you got used to the feeling of him in your throat, you bobbed your head on him. He moaned loudly and leaned his head back, and then his entire body against the wall. You felt proud knowing you were the only person that could touch him and make him feel this way, so you laid a hand on his happy trail and closed your eyes. You continued to bob your head for him as his moans and grunts flooded the echoey bathroom. 

“Your mouth is so good, YN. So… warm…” Stephen mutters through groans. 

This went on for quite a while before he took a hold of your hair and pulled you off of his now glistening cock. 

You marvel at the sight of it. It made you exhale and your chest began to tighten with excitement. 

Stephen pulled you up into his embrace. 

“You can’t be too tired, already, my love. I haven’t even gotten to paint your insides with my dick.” 

You gasped and your knees buckled beneath you to his words faster than you could beg him to. He caught you by hooking his arm around your waist and pulling your chest into his. 

“It’s okay, sweet girl. You don’t need to do anything, just let me.” He finished, breathing heavy, you could see the lust in his eyes, too tired to even mention it before he picked you back up. This time, he lined his cock up with your entrance, so when you instinctively wrap your legs around him, you inadvertently cause his thickness to glide in a little too quickly. It causes you to yelp in ecstasy. Stephen heard this sinful sound escape your lips and turned while walking with you perched on his dick to lay your upper back against the wall to his right. You were just a bundle of arms and legs that moved as he moved in this moment. His length began to move inside of you and you took your hands and cupped his face in pure bliss.

“Stephen, I missed you…” You breathed out against his lips. He groans at your words, and his pace quickens. You leaned your head in towards him to give him a kiss, and he accepted it greedily, biting your lip. You moaned at the gesture, and it made Stephen buck his hips harshly into your core. It makes you gasp and cry out, knowing that he is not about to slow down on any account.  

“YN, You look so amazing like this. Wet, desperate, heaving. You’re doing such a good job taking it, my love. You feel so good  around me.” He praises you. And with that, you start to unravel. You can feel yourself within reach of orgasm again. His hips snapped with every inhuman thrust. You could feel yourself clench around his member, not wanting him to stop. 

You began to yelp and scream uncontrollably in Stephen’s grasp. His cock was pounding you at such an intense rate, you could barely hold yourself together. 

“Good girl, holding it for me.” He whispered. 

“Fuck.” You groaned. “Please. Please, just let me.” You begged.

 He chuckled lightly as he beams at the sight of your impending closeness.

“I’m sorry, my love. I can’t understand you. Let you do what?” 

“Let me cum! Please! Please!” Your eyes 

“Cum, my love.” He allowed it. Your orgasm immediately washed over you. A string of Stephen’s name and a few curse words escape your lips as you clench hard around his member, and come undone between him and the wall, leaving you a limp mess. Stephen continues to chase his high, and as his thrusts became sloppy right before you reached yours, you suspected him to be close as well. You watched him use your cunt as a way to relieve himself. It was a gorgeous sight. His eyes were closed shut, his mouth was parted open slightly, and his grunts and moans are an absolute melody to your ears. 

You can see and feel the moment where he reached his high. His eyes widened, showing the shock on his face as his seed fills you up. You kissed him once again, and revelled in the feeling of being full of his cum. You two sat there for a minute, and he slowly pulled out of you, a sight he drools at as his seed flows out. He then brought you slowly back to your feet. 

“I could watch that happen over and over again, my love. Now come here, let me wash you up.” He breathed heavily as he pulled your short stature into his chest for a hug. You take short breaths as his hands explore and wash your body. You both washed up the best you could in your tired states, the definition of taking a shower meant something completely different to the both of you now. 

“I want to go to sleep,” You sighed. “Let’s go lay our heads on our pillows, please.” You suggested.

“I don’t think I could come up with a better idea.” He smiles. His soft lips find yours once again. 

He picked you up bridal style, and walked out of the bathroom to place you on the bed comfortably. Your body sinks into the mattress, the softness of the covers hits your skin and you relax. Stephen makes his way around the bed to climb in with you. He invites you to nestle up to his right side with his arm around you. Your legs intertwined together as you both settled for sleep. 

“Goodnight, my love. Sweet dreams.” He whispers into the apex of your head and gives it a kiss. His fingers traced more shapes and lines into your skin to help lull you to sleep.

“Goodnight, my darling. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

[mindninjax]

Fleeting Moments, Love Everlasting

Pairing: Bakugo x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ minors do not interact)

Warnings: Smut, Lactation, Daddy Kink, Breeding, Creampie

Word Count: 2.9K

a/n: Yoooo It’s my first entry for my own self indulgent Domestic Daydream Collab. If you'd like to read more domestic bliss please check out the masterlist with a bunch of amazing pieces. I’m so very happy that you all have signed up and wanted to participate. I literally can’t wait to read all of your pieces! I hope y'all enjoy this soft Daddy Baku. He is in fact, the love of my life and this was so fucking fun to write.

It’s not the throbbing, seemingly never ending ache in your head from lack of sleep that rouses you from precious slumber. Nor is it the surprisingly quiet baby monitor next to your bed displaying your tiny little bundle snoozing peacefully in her crib. It’s the lack of a warm body next to you that makes you rise from bed and head into the nursery.

You tiptoe down the moonlit hallway and into the painted room, little honey bees zipping around in pictures on the wall and the mobile above your daughter’s head twirling lightly. The honeycomb night light plugged in in the corner illuminates the room, hexagonal shadows dancing on the wall.

And there you see the giant lumbering statue that is your husband, standing and gazing intently down into the crib. His brows are furrowed in frustration, his crimson eyes are locked onto her fluttering eyelids and when she babbles a bit in her sleep you can hear him hold his breath. You don’t think he hears you pad up behind him but he grunts when you wrap your arms around his waist and bury your face into the muscles of his back.

“What’s up Papa Bear?” you whisper, squeezing him lightly. He doesn’t turn around to face you when he gruffly whispers a response, but he puts his large hand over yours situated on his abs.

“She made a noise,” he grunts. You smile against his back and place a kiss on his shoulder blade.

“She’s a baby Katsu, she’s gonna make noise,” you say simply.

He doesn’t move, the only things that shifts are his eyes to flit quickly to you as you shuffle underneath his arm and meld into his side. He’s warm like always and smells of his usual smoky scent with a hint of his pine fresh body wash which soothes your headache instantly.

“Sounded like she was gonna cry.” He gestures like he’s going to reach down to put his finger in her chubby fist but then promptly decides not to.

You chuckle again, “And if she does we will hear her on the baby monitor. Until then, you need to rest. You were out on patrol all day today,” Your tone shifts to serious and responsible when you mention him resting.

You know you’re right, he does too. He has to be just as exhausted as you, staying up late because the baby couldn’t get to sleep and still having to go out and protect the world from villains?

When you've moved his arm to wrap it around your waist, his fingers subconsciously fiddle with a stray thread in your short silk gown.

“I’m fine. Just want to make sure I’m here for her,” he mutters, frowning again.

That grabs your immediate attention. You gaze up at him worriedly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

When he doesn’t answer you lift up on the tips of your toes to grab his face and turn it to look at you. You activate your “mom” voice, the voice he joked and said he knows you mean business when you use it.

“Katsuki,” you say, raising an eyebrow and pursing your lips. He looks at you for the first time tonight, crimson eyes boring into yours as he sticks out his bottom lip and pouts—yes, actually pouts—before he grumbles.

“Shitty journalist said Pros never make time for their kids and miss out on big moments in their lives.“ He rolls his eyes as he speaks, trying very hard to act like he thinks it’s silly, but years of marriage let you know it definitely got to him.

“Is that what this is about?” You ask him.

He huffs in frustration, fingers digging into your side now as the anxiety settles deep in his gut. You put your hands on his hips now and attempt to turn his huge body toward you. He takes the hint and turns to stand in front of you.

“Katsu, since she came into the world she’s been your number one priority. You’re not going to be able to be there for every moment and neither am I. That’s just not realistic,” you explain in a gentle voice.

You see his frown deepen, clearly this isn’t what he wanted to hear. You put a finger under his chin, like he does whenever he’s assuring you that the nasty voices in your head aren’t true.

“However, that doesn’t make you a terrible father. I don’t think when she’s 16 she’ll hold the fact that you weren’t in the room when she took her first step, against you. There’s no doubt in my mind that she won’t know that you’ll always be there for her. That you’ll always be there to protect her, and love her, and let her know that she’s the best little girl the world will ever know because she’s the daughter of the best man the world will ever know,” you say smiling up at him.

You see the corners of his mouth twitch and you know he’s letting the “best man the world has ever known” inflate his ego. He still looks bothered though, the vein in his neck is still pulsing against his skin and his fist is clenched at his side.

“What else is bothering you?” you ask softly. “And don’t lie and say it's nothing,” you quickly add when you see him open and close his mouth quickly.

Classic Katsuki, he never answers that quickly when it comes to talking about his feelings. So when he does try to answer quickly, you know it’s him attempting to cover them up.

He struggles for a bit, clearly trying to think of how to word his frustrations before he gives up and spills it in a rush of words.

“What if she doesn’t fucking like me? What if I curse too much? What if she fucking prefers Eijirou over me like everyone else does! That b—“ he pauses, looks down at your daughter and then back up to you and changes the word. “That woman even mentioned it. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if his kid ended up preferring Red Riot over him anyway’.” He quotes.

You can’t help but laugh and he quiets you by slapping a large hand over your mouth and turning quickly to the crib to check and see if your daughter is still sleeping peacefully.

“You’ll wake her dumb ass,” he hisses. He glares when you put your hand over his, tap it twice and playfully waggle your eyebrows.

“Katsu, I didn’t know that article got to you this much,” you reply pulling his hand from your lips. The look on his face makes you a little sad.

That stupid journalist had the nerve to put out the article a few months after you’d given birth. She was a crappy gossip writer who thrived off of riling up heroes and keeping all of their mistakes in the media for people to shame.

You smirk up at your husband in an attempt to cheer him up. “Want me to beat her ass? I'll fuck her up, you know I will,” you say, nudging him in the gut with your elbow. That makes him snort and you know the picture of you and the stupid woman in an all out brawl cheers him up instantly.

“Yeah, you could take her easily. She wouldn’t stand a chance against you,” he says smirking. He wraps his arm around your waist to pull you close to his chest and uses his other hand to grasp the back of your neck tenderly.

You switch to a serious expression then, making sure he’s looking at you and he’s actually hearing what you say next. You hold his cheek, “No one else matters Katsuki. All that matters is you, me, and our baby. Fuck everyone else and their unwanted opinions,” you say. He grins at you and bites his lip, he likes when you talk like this. It’s one—amongst many—reason he married you.

“And as for her not loving you?” you continue, grabbing his arm from around your neck and grasping his hand. You guide his hand into the crib to caress your daughter’s soft chubby cheek. You hear Katsuki gasp and he pulls back hesitantly before you tighten your grip and guide his hand back toward her precious little face.

You release his hand and he moves on his own, brushing his knuckles gently against her cheek. She rustles in her crib, whines a little then smiles a big bright smile, eyes still closed as she leans into her father’s gentle touch.

”Literally impossible because she already adores you,” you finish, smiling up at him. He chokes out a relieved sigh that could be mistaken for a sob. He watches her for a little while, moving to stroke her hair softly and gaze at her with more love in his eyes than you’ve ever witnessed.

“She’s gonna grow up to be the strongest, hottest, bossiest woman the world has ever seen. Just like her fucking mother. She’ll have your bad-assness,” he whispers, turning to look at you now. He bends down to place a chaste kiss on your lips.

You smile against his lips and reach up to run your fingers through his undercut. When he grunts, you deepen the kiss and press your body harder against him. It’s been a while since the two of you had sex, both way too busy with the baby and pro hero work. With his arm wrapped around your waist, and his fingers slowly pawing at the edge of your gown to grasp your ass, the tiredness you felt earlier all but disappears.

Your lips smack against each other in the darkness as you part your lips and welcome his tongue into your mouth. He licks your tongue playfully and you mewl in desperation. He pulls back from you, breath stolen and staring into your lidded eyes. He tries to use his “responsible” voice but you can tell it’s littered with reluctance as he speaks.

“It’s late. You need to rest. Shouldn’t have woken you,” he grunts as his fingers dance up and down your arms.

You smile and bite your lip, running a finger down his exposed chest and stopping right where the tie in his sweatpants sits above a tiny tuft of blonde hair.

“I’m not tired. Maybe you can help me?” you purr. Katsuki chuckles and flashes you a naughty grin. His gums peek from beneath his lips as your hand slips down to rub the bulge growing in his pants. He hisses and scoops you up in his arms to carry you back into the bedroom.

He places you on the bed then crawls over your body to kiss you passionately, a hulking hand fondling your breasts. Your nipples immediately harden, still sensitive from breastfeeding and you whimper as his teeth move down your jaw and brush against the sensitive skin of your neck.

Your back is arched as you grind against his erection and he chuckles, blowing hot breath on your neck and making you shiver.

“You’re needy tonight, aren’t cha?” he teases.

He slips the straps of your gown down your arms and gazes at your darkened raised nipples. The plump flesh feels soft and malleable underneath his grasp and he pushes them together, plunges his face between them and sighs.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he whispers.

He flicks one of your nipples with his tongue and you jolt up and cry out at the teasing little action. He chuckles and repeats the action on the other one before you grit your teeth in frustration.

“Don’t be a goddamn tease,” you say through your teeth and he kisses between your breasts and looks up at you.

“I like it when you get frustrated. Tell me what you want baby,” he grunts in a husky voice. He continues kissing up your chest and licking your neck. He grinds against your inner thigh and you moan when you feel his fat cock rub against you.

“Mmm…p...please…” you pant. Your slick is quickly dampening your panties and the way he bites on the skin right above your clavicle and licks to soothe the pain clouds your mind entirely.

He grins mischievously, palming your tits again and pinching the nipple as you squeeze your eyes shut and moan wildly. Your eyes shoot open when you feel the familiar pressure drop in your chest and beads of cloudy milk form on the tips. Katsuki doesn’t shrink away and your eyes grow wide when he bends down to lick it without hesitation.

You’re a little ashamed at the way you moan long and loud when he pops your nipple into his mouth and sucks with gusto. And fuck is he sexy groaning and grunting as milk drips down his chin and his bobbing Adam’s Apple. You pull at his thick coarse hair as his name drips from your lips and he releases you with a pop.

He stares into your eyes and licks the droplets leftover on his chin before he kisses you again. You don’t think you’ve ever seen anything sexier than your husband licking your breast milk from his lips like an alcoholic who’s tasting rum again in three months.

You’re ready for him. You want him. Now. You unloosen his sweatpants and bite your lip, plunging your hand down his pants and pulling his cock free. You stroke up and down his length slowly, stopping only to swirl the tip of your finger over his leaking tip to coat the rest of his cock in his own precum.

He grunts again loudly and to pay him back for being a teasing little shit earlier you playfully chastise him, “Shhh, you don’t wanna wake the baby, do you Daddy?”

You know you’re fucked as soon as the word leaves your lips. You know what that word does to him, but you don’t care. You desperately want to be ravaged by him tonight and you’re sick of all the teasing.

His eyes ignite, his nostrils flare and he growls like a feral bear before tearing your panties down your legs and tossing them over his shoulder. He doesn’t even get his pants all the way down his legs before he’s rubbing the head of his hard dick on your clit. He slaps it a few times, moaning at the way you yelp with every slap before he pushes into your cunt slowly.

The stretch of his girth still feels absolutely mind blowing, even after giving birth and you can’t help crying out loudly before he slaps a hand over your mouth again.

He shushes you, getting real close to your face and whispering, “Who’s the loud one now?” before he continues plunging into you. You clench around him and you’re not the only one who has to bite their tongue to keep quiet. His fingers dig into your cheeks as he slowly bottoms out and when he does, he releases your mouth.

You’re both panting and you give him a cheeky smile.

“The fuck are you smiling about?” he asks through his teeth as you clench around him again.

“Heh, having a baby didn’t change anything. You still have to concentrate on not immediately coming when you fuck me,” you say, smiling big and raising an eyebrow.

He rolls his eyes and quips, “Fuck you,” before he pulls out and snaps his hips back into you.

There are no words to describe how much you missed being fucked by your Pro-Hero husband. His dick touches all the right places and makes your body shiver in pleasure. He grinds his hips into you, fucking you deep and slow and passionate, but just rough enough to earn you the sweet sound of his balls clapping loudly against your ass.

Wet sloppy squelches set the mood for the passionate love scene between the two of you. You reach up to wrap your arms around his back and pull him close to you. He falls on top of you, never breaking the rhythm. He’s speaking sweetly in your ear, telling you how much he loves you, how beautiful you are, how amazing of a mother you are.

“Fuck I want to fill you up babe. I wanna have another. I want you to give me a son,” he mutters and the idea drives you over the edge.

Your nails dig into his back as he pumps once, twice, three more times before spilling ropes of cum into your womb. He holds you close, biting into your shoulder as you milk him dry, then he thrusts in and out again making sure it all stays embedded in your welcoming womb.

When you both have caught your breath, he pulls out of you and you shiver in his absence. He rolls over and kicks his sweatpants off before pulling the gown all the way down your body and pulling you into his arms. Your body is flush against his, tits squashed against his chest as he pulls the blanket around the two of you and buries his nose into your hair.

You sigh and snuggle into his warmth, and he kisses your forehead. He runs his fingers up and down your spine before he commands you to sleep and closes his eyes to fall into a deep slumber with you.

--

Thanks for reading!

[whirlybirbs]

         (  chapter 6′s gif by @buckysbarnes​​ from this lovely set !  )

✪   —   VACANT MIRRORS  ;  B.B.  |  6/?

summary: gunshot wounds, panic attacks, and evil next door neighbors.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 5.3k, a filler before the real sexual tension.

a/n: be warned, this chapter has a diy medical procedure where bucky removes the slug from rabbit’s shoulder. it’s nothing too graphic, but keep that in mind! also, i wanted to say thank you to everyone who has rec’d, reblogged, commented, kudos, liked, looked at this fic. the response to every chapter has been so overwhelmingly kind and i’m so thankful that i have the oppurtunity to share this fic with you all. that being said, i broke this chapter up. next week has some spice. ;-)

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Bucky wakes up with a headache that feels like someone’s tapped an icepick between his eyes. A fire-bright burn radiates under his ribs.

It’s a slow creep back to reality — he just lays there and stares at the peeling wallpaper that meets the corner of the ceiling for a while, knowing deep in the back of his muddled, confused thoughts that he most likely has a nasty concussion, maybe a few broken ribs.

How? Hm. Fighting. Music? The club.

Rabbit.

He sits up fast and Bucky’s blue eyes struggle to adjust in the low-light of the scarcely furnished apartment. The searing pang of his headache is enough to make his stomach churn, but he’s had worse. So much worse. This is manageable. So, he swallows down the nausea and looks around the room like a wounded animal — and almost immediately, relief greets him at the sight of you in the armchair across from the couch.

Your hair is a mess, falling from it’s previous style that you’d proudly worn to The Glass Cannon. Your lipstick is smeared, there’s glitter on your cheeks, and your make-up has transitioned from starlet beauty to broken-hearted bombshell. Bucky notices, with a bit of dismay, that you’re even missing an earring. There’s a nasty bruise forming along the peak of your cheekbone and a gash there from when Alexei had cracked you across the face with the pistol — and even despite all this, Bucky can feel his heart clench at the sight of you. A good clench. The sort that makes his heart kick into a stutter step.

You look… well, you look like someone who’d had the shit choked out of them and then was shot.

Shot.

Your jacket, punched clean through with the single bullet hole, is hanging over the back of the chair and there’s gauze taped to your shoulder. You’re leaning your good cheek in your hand, attention turned totally to Bucky, where you’ve fallen asleep. From here, you’re a picture of exhaustion.

Anxiety flashes in his heart and he swings his legs over the edge of the couch.

Suddenly, there’s a hand on his shoulder.

“Take it easy.”

It’s the woman from before, Kiwi, and she’s got an ice pack in her hands. It’s wrapped in a ratty, green dish towel, and she hands it off to Bucky with a pitiful little look. Rounding the couch, Bucky finally gets a better look at her.

She’s older than you, maybe by a handful of years, but sharp and beautiful nonetheless. Her hair is dark as night and the tips are drenched in a lime colored dye. Her eyes are dark, too, ringed by kohl and glitter, and Bucky wonders if he’s ever seen her before.

“You heal quick,” she says quietly as she plops down into the chair across the room. On a makeshift desk, there’s a laptop, “Care to explain how you know our dear friend Rabbit here?”

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. Again, his eyes fall on your sleeping form.

He maneuvers the ice pack in his hands, then gently presses it to his ribs. He melts a bit, ignoring the evident tears in the silk shirt. He feels bad — he’d busted some of the seams in the midst of the brutal scuffle and it seems like this artifact of Jaimie’s was most likely beyond salvation.

His dog tags jingle against his chest.

“Therapy,” Bucky croaks, “We, uh, we met in therapy.”

A new voice comes into the picture now, one that’s muffled by a mouthful of food.

“That’s cute.”

It’s the other one, Climber. He’s traded in his all-black, all-polyurethane outfit for an expensive looking t-shirt. Without the strobes, without the tunnel vision, Bucky can now see the intricate buzz cut that sits beneath the mountain of blue curls on his head. There are patterns buzzed into his tight-shave. He’s got a smile, too, the glimmers a little too artificially. Bucky spies crystals inset on his incisors between bites of what looks like a bowl of cereal with no milk. Spoon and all.

“I don’t think we’ve properly met,” Climber says as he plops down next to Bucky on the couch, “What’d you say your name was?”

A hand is jutted his way. Bucky blinks. He shakes it with his vibranium hand.

“I’m Bucky.”

“Well, I’m gay and you’re gorgeous,” he says candidly, giving it a good shake, “So, if that’s of any interest—”

“Can you please shut up, Climber?” comes an irritated rasp from you in your armchair. Bucky turns to watch as you raise your head and rub your eyes, “Christ, I just fell asleep.”

“And your little supersoldier just woke up,” Kiwi chirps from her preoccupation with the laptop and contents on it, “So why don’t you stop being a little baby and let him look at that gunshot wound.”

Bucky’s face falls flat. He drops the ice pack to the coffee table with a thwunk.

You sit up, gingerly trying to maneuver yourself so as to not bother both your ribs and your shoulder. It takes a moment, but finally you’re sitting up with only a dull ache of pain throbbing beneath your skin. Now, the real sting comes from the bitter look Bucky has pinned you with.

“You haven’t cleaned it yet?”

“The shits in the kitchen,” Kiwi waves at Bucky, as if to say told you so, “She fuckin’ refused to let me take care of it.”

“You’re going to get an infection if it stays in you any longer,” he snaps, standing to his feet, “Get up.”

“Kiwi isn’t exactly the most gentle person I know,” you manage to supply as an excuse as you move through the room, “And I know that thing isn’t coming out without a fight.”

He can feel the grey hairs coming in already.

You stand slowly, and Bucky looms behind you as you weave into the small apartment’s kitchen.

It’s barely lived in, but a few years ago it most definitely had life. Now, it’s mostly abandoned save for a few necessities. Kiwi had told you, a long time ago, about this spot — it was her parent’s place before the Snap. After the Blip, they ended up moving back to Massachusetts. Now abandoned by anyone seeking to really live in the one bedroom, it sits collecting dust until Kiwi inevitably needs it.

Like now.

“Up on the counter.”

You wince at his tone, but still thankful to be away from Kiwi and Climber’s prying eyes.

For the entire time Bucky had been out, you’d been subjected to a myriad of questions — all were fair, really, since Bucky did just bust out the Avenger-level super-moves on some Russian mafiosos for your sake, vibranium arm and all. The arm was really the biggest stuck point in the conversation as you tried your best to explain the nature of your relationship with the unconscious supersoldier on the couch. It was met with plenty of looks, both curious and skeptical.

You’re slow to hop up on the dusty marble countertop. From there, you watch Bucky poke through the kit that Kiwi had pulled from under the sink.

Then, with the calculated process of a man who has pulled one too many bullets from himself, Bucky slams the kit shut and wanders into the bathroom.

He returns with a pair of large tweezers. He’s silent as the dead as he rummages for a pan, fills it with water, and sets the gas burner on. He stares, watching the pot boil, as his foot taps against the floor.

You swallow down any comments.

There’s a clean towel beside you, and Bucky casually reached into the boiling water with his vibranium hand to retrieve the tweezers — whether or not he purposely ignored the pain is lost on you. You’re too busy anxiously spiraling into silence.

(He’s trying to ground himself, to feel something other than panic. It’s a mild spike, but it’s still panic. Because you’re hurt. Because you still have a fucking casing lodged in your shoulder and he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you. Ever. Because he saw it happen and then it was black, and now that anxiousness is creeping in.)

Rubbing alcohol, tweezers, gauze, tape, and… Jack Daniel’s.

It’s from the top of the fridge. It’s got a layer of dust on it — and it’s unopened.

Bucky unceremoniously pops the cap and hands the open bottle to you.

You take it and pause.

Bucky’s gaze is cold.

“You’re gonna want to take a few swigs, Doll.”

You almost snarl. You take a long drink then, ignoring the burn of the whiskey down your throat. It’s only when you’ve had enough to nearly gag that you hand the bottle back and then hiss:

“Don’t call me Doll.”

He takes the bottle and unceremoniously slams it down on the counter.

His movements are rough as he washes his hands — and if Bucky was a better person, maybe he’d take a second and parse through why he was feeling so damn irritable. But, no, no, he could figure out that he was angry at himself and you and Alexei Gardzov and Innessa Sidrova and fucking… everyone because he can’t have any normal relationships in his life without there being bloodshed or pain or suffering. That was enough, and he didn’t want to dig deeper into the nipping fear of losing you, not now, not when he had a job to do—

You suck in a sharp breath when his fingers brush your collarbone. He gently moves the delicate strap of your bodysuit, ignoring the soft skin beneath, and pulls the gauze away from your shoulder.

Your jacket had taken most of the impact it seems. Bucky frowns deeply at the pink fibers clinging to the entry wound. It’s a nasty puckered bit of flesh, smeared with blood, right in the soft muscle of your left shoulder. The hole is a little smaller than a quarter — Bucky recognizes it as shot from a 9mm almost immediately. He’s taken a few of these in his days. He’s glad it wasn’t close range. The burns from the muzzle flash make for nasty scars. He’d know. He has one on his back, right above his hip.

Bucky’s jaw is tight. He’s gritting his back teeth. His headache throbs angrily behind his eyes.

Bucky leans, eyeing the wound carefully. His limited reaction is enough to spark a little light of bravery in your gut, and you move to look at the hole — only to find a vibranium hand rooting your jaw in place. It’s gentle enough as it recorrects the line of your gaze straight ahead. His thumb rests on the curve of your chin as his index climbs your jaw, and the vibranium is warm and cold all at once. It’s an odd sensation. Not bad, but not flesh.

You like it.

(You find your mind quickly flashing with the thought of what that hand would feel like in other places. You ignore it.)

Your eyes are stuck on Bucky.

He’s clearly upset — the pinch between his brows and the evident scowl on his lips is enough of an indication. The bridge of his nose is busted and there’s a bruise crawling under his left eye. The shirt you’d given him is a wreck, and as he bends to snatch up a rubbing alcohol soaked pad, the feeling of shame creeps up on you. The anxiousness that’s settled in the pit of your stomach doesn’t help.

Arguably, it exacerbates the symptom.

The whiskey is slow to make an impact.

But, when Bucky finally swipes the gauze across the wound, your ankles have begun to tingle and it isn’t blinding white pain you feel — not yet. It’s sharp and it feels like he’s touching your shoulder blade when he presses his fingers into the holes to clean the immediate area. That has you grimacing tightly.

His obsidian-hued hand holds your face still through it.

So, you opt to stare.

His arm reminds you of some pottery you’d seen back at the Museum of Modern Art once, on a school trip. In a dimly lit room, spotlights lit up a row of vases that had been gilded back together with gold-dusted sap. You’d sat there for nearly an hour, staring at those things. You can’t remember the name now, not while Bucky does one more pass across the wound. It started with a ‘k’. It was beautiful. You loved that exhibit. Why can’t you — fuck — remember the name? Kinsi… kinsigumi? Gumi. Kintsi —

You grit your teeth and grip the counter tightly. He pauses. You exhale.

You inhale.

Kintsugi.

The seams of his arm remind you of Kintsugi.

It’s beautiful.

Bucky’s eyes flit to yours. He sees your stare.

Maybe it’s the pain, or the half-cocked daze, but the look in your eyes is enough to spur an immediate reaction. Bucky scowls. He yanks his hand back, retreating to the supplies on the counter. He’s pulled, hard and fast, and now he seems miles away.

Quietly, and with a bit more chill than he intended, he speaks. “If it was making you nervous, you should have said something.”

It.

Your head snaps to him.

“What?” you ask, nearly incredulously.

He’s silent. He has the tweezers in his hand now.

Your eyes narrow critically — and instead of shame and anxiety, it’s hurt that flies off your tongue. It’s drenched in enough pain that Bucky hears it in the waver of your voice.

“You think I’m afraid of you?”

It’s nearly a whisper.

He swallows.

He ignores it. He has to. He doesn’t want to know the answer. Either way that conversation goes is enough to drag him into territory he can’t handle right now. Not when he needs to do this without his hands shaking.

“This is going to hurt.”

Your mouth is open — be it shock or anger, he’s not sure. Bucky, however, makes a point of ignoring your expression and your reaction by handing over the whiskey once more. You snatch it from his hands quickly. There’s a look on your face that makes his chest ache. With one last pass over him with your eyes, you take a long swig.

You feel like crying.

You won’t, though. Not now. Not while he does this.

You deserve this.

And holy fucking hell does it hurt. It’s like someone’s taken a hot poker and punctured your skin, then rotated it around and around and around. You can feel every time the tweezers touch the bullet because the metallic little click echoes in your chest. It’s enough to make your head spin, and you grit your teeth and close your eyes and try to breathe — but even after a handful of minutes, when Bucky finally retrieves the slug, there’s no relief. Just a desperate throb.

Your hands are shaking when you reach for the whiskey once more.

You do cry, finally, when Bucky packs the hole.

He rolls the gauze up tightly into a cylinder and, as gently as he can, pushes it in.

It’s a horrible choke of pain that you smother into your palm and pant through. It reminds you to breathe, and while you stare up at the water damage on the kitchen ceiling, Bucky tapes a square piece of gauze over the bruised wound and wraps your shoulder tightly. He takes his time, but there’s a curtness to his actions.

Finally, when he begins to clean up the mess of bloodied gauze, you speak.

“If you’re mad at me, then just say it.”

He snaps almost immediately, like a kicked dog. “And say what, Rabbit? That I almost lost you?”

Your mouth slips shut.

Bucky pauses what he’s doing. He drops the gauze onto the towel and he bares both hands against the counter top. He leans and exhales and drops his own head back — then, you can see his own waves of anxiety knocking him against the shore of composure. His eyes move back and forth, he inhales, and then after a long while he speaks.

It’s calmer. Not so horribly mean.

“You should have told me about Alexei.”

You go to speak — but he stops you.

“I mean really, really told me,” he explains, “Had I known he wanted your fucking head mounted on a spike, I would have kept you far away from that place.”

“We had to—”

“No,” he says sternly, standing up full height, “No, we didn’t. We never have to do anything that’s going to put you in danger. Never. I won’t do it again. You should have fuckin’ told me.”

You’re quiet.

“A few more inches to the right,” he says, gesturing to your throat with his finger. His eyes are expressive and he’s speaking like he’s lived this experience, “You’d be dead. Cold and dead and I’d be here, carrying the fucking guilt around with me because I wouldn’t have been able to do anything.”

His voice splinters at the end — but he’s moved to throw away the gauze and dump the tweezers in the sink. He can’t look at you as he says it, and you know that. Because, just like before, people like you and him have a hard time looking the truth in the eyes.

You slide off the counter.

Your heart is sad. It’s heavy and mournful and weighed down with guilt.

“Bucky.”

It’s soft. He’s scrubbing your blood from his hands.

He doesn’t turn around. He can’t. He can feel the prick of an anxious breakdown beginning to climb into his eyes. Instead, he scrubs and scrubs and scrubs and your blood is stuck in the plating of his hand and it’s not going to come out—

Think of what could have happened if it had been a few inches to the right. The arched spray. Blood everywhere. She can’t speak through the gargle, she’s going cold, she’s gone. And, like always, you’re alone again, Bucky.

Then, your hands are on his.

The touch is enough to stop him. It’s enough for him to move aside at the large, inset kitchen sink. You exhale slowly as you run the water a little warmer and gingerly run his hands under the tap. Your hands are smaller than his, a bit more delicate, and he’s stunned into a sharp silence at the feeling of your fingertips gently washing away the crimson blood.

You grab another dish towel from a drawer beside the stove.

Then, in the dim light of the kitchen, you take both his hands and dry them.

It’s the vibranium hand that you pay special attention to, though. And Bucky feels like a fucking idiot — just standing there, just watching as you run the rag between the gilded plating and use gentle pressure to get into the harder to reach spots. You turn it over, and you dry his knuckles.

You take your time.

You don’t look up when you speak. You’re focused. Almost reverent.

He doesn’t deserve this.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you say sternly.

His mouth is dry. “Rabbit…”

Bucky shifts on his feet and takes a deep inhale. He feels lightheaded.

The whiskey, and the closeness of the two of you, makes your skin warm. His whole nervous system feels like it’s on fire.

“I didn’t mean to stare, I don’t ever mean to,” you apologize as your hands still over his arm. He watches your irises trace the plating above his wrist. The rag is forgotten, its purpose null. Your words are heavy, and Bucky can hear a little shake in them as you swallow, “I just… think it’s beautiful.”

You’re beautiful.

Even now, blood-soaked and sweat-stained. With makeup running down your cheeks and your composure in shambles. Even now, on the run and apparently wanted, you’re incredibly beautiful. Bucky hates how easy it is to admit and how hard it is to keep off his tongue. It nearly gets the better of him. He watches your eyelashes flutter. When you look up at him, the world is suddenly drowned in honey.

“I’m sorry.”

You mean it.

Your bottom lip wobbles.

Bucky, immediately, regrets being so goddamn cold.

You were just trying to help — you were just trying to do the right thing.

“Stop it. Come here.”

The hug is the first time you can remember touching him like this. You think you’ll always remember it, too. It’s sturdy and warm and gentle and honest and you bury your face into the shoulder as his arms come up around your neck. He’s careful of your own injured shoulder, and his fingers find the base of your neck. Around his waist, your fingers dig into the back of his shirt. Both of you ground yourselves in the other’s arms, and for the first time in a handful of hours, you both find peace.

Quiet, sturdy, lovely peace.

And the two of you stay like that for a while in the quiet little kitchen.

It’s not until Climber’s voice rises from the living room that you’re pulled away from Bucky — and even then, your face linger inches from one another for a moment too long. Neither of you say a word, only swallow down confessions that could have been, and move on.

“Oh, girlie, you’re gonna wanna see this.”

Bucky frowns. With your brows knotted tightly together, you weave through the kitchen and back into the living room.

Kiwi has sat up and both her and Climber have their eyes on the bulky flat screen on the dust-covered entertainment center. It’s cable news, and as Climber leans to turn the television up, a picture of you flashes across the screen.

It’s a photo from your arrest six months ago.

“Local authorities are asking that anyone with information on the whereabouts of this young woman call the FBI’s anonymous tip line—”

“Is there a reward?” Climber whispers almost excitedly, eyes on the screen.

“—Authorities are offering $100,000 dollars to the person who provides enough information to lead up to this dangerous fugitive’s capture.”

“Dangerous fugitive?” hisses Bucky.

“A hundred thousand dollars?” cries Kiwi, “Who the fuck did you piss off?”

You inhale deeply as you wave your hands. “The bigger question is who the fuck knew I was going to The Glass Cannon last night. Because they’re looking for me — not you.”

You point at Bucky and the gears are turning in your head.

The pacing is almost immediate, and Bucky crosses his arms tightly as you begin to walk back and forth behind the full length couch that Climber is currently spread out on.

It’s cut short, though, by Kiwi’s laptop chiming successfully.

“Well,” she stands quickly, “I have a feeling that someone knows you’re onto them. And the facial recognition software just got a match. A three point one, too.”

Your eyes brighten.

You’d given Kiwi the photo of the young Innessa, with all her decorated furs and blonde curls. She’s laughing and she’s young and she’s in love and it’s hard for you to imagine a woman like her to be dangerous. While you’d made sure Bucky was propped up comfortably on the couch and then finally calmed down from the adrenaline high enough to get comfortable yourself, Kiwi had dug out the hard-drive she kept on her at all times and began pulling data from the Alexandria Library files.

It had been a handful of hours, so it was clear that Innessa had hid herself well in the vast, expansive database SHIELD kept for all those years while it was in operation.

Bucky is quick to gather behind Kiwi, eyes scanning the screen.

Sure enough, when you come to look at the photos pulled up on Kiwi’s screen, there’s a hit. There’s an identification card photo of an older woman, maybe in her forties, pulled up alongside the photo Bucky had given you. Her hair is no longer blonde, but deep auburn color. She’s marked as having worked with Rumlow — a supervisor of some sort. Makes sense. You didn’t need to see a picture of Crossbones to remember Brock. Even when you’d interned, he’d been infamous.

And that was when he was one of the good guys.

There’s a handful of other photos of her — candids, professional photos, and even one where she is shaking Tony Stark’s hand.

And in all of them, you see your next door neighbor Bonnie McLayne.

“Fuck.”

Bucky blinks. Kiwi turns to look at you over her shoulder.

Again, you speak. Your eyes are wide. You can’t look away from the screen.

“Fuck, fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

“Rabbit…?”

“Fuck.”

Bucky’s face narrows considerably, confusion melting to make room for realization.

His voice is quiet.

“Do you know her?”

“Oh my god,” you say loudly, shaking your head and blinking, “Oh my fucking god, that’s my neighbor.”

Bucky can feel his whole face go clammy.

“The neighbor who—”

“—Who I showed your fucking picture to,” you nearly shriek, “Like it was some cute little matchmaking game!”

Immediately both hands are over your face as you throw your head back. Now, the pacing has begun, and like you’re being carried on autopilot, you begin to move back and forth and back and forth and—

“You don’t think she’d hurt Poke, do you?”

“Rabbit.”

“Oh god, oh god—”

Oh.

Oh, you’re having a panic attack.

Oh, that was quick. Brutally fast. Nearly immediate.

After all, she knows where your family lives. She gets Holiday cards from mom to give to you. She’s been your closest friend for nearly six years. But she’s not Bonnie, she’s Innessa fucking Sidrova. She’s seen you with Bucky. She knows — she knows a lot and you don’t know anything and you’re miles from home, from Poke, from Mom, from Ana… Oh, god, the baby. The baby.

“The baby.”

Bucky’s voice is level. “Rabbit, you gotta calm down.”

“I have to call my mom.”

“No,” Kiwi snaps immediately, “They’re going to be watching for your cell phone pings. No calls, no texting, none of it. And god forbid this woman is one step ahead of the FBI—”

“Oh, god.”

You gasp like a fish out of water, paralyzing fear sending you to lean against the back of the couch.

You claw at your chest and try to remember what Dr. Hart said about these sorts of moments. Square breathing. In and hold and out and hold. Again and again.  

“Sit down,” Bucky says as he returns to your side, nearly sweeping you up long enough to plop you down into the armchair from before, “And do me a favor and breathe.”

The whiskey isn’t helping right now.

“I’m trying.”

Another gasped breath.

Climber and Kiwi watch.

Bucky shakes his head sternly, kneeling on one knee and snagging your hands. “Don’t try. Just do it. You can do it. Just follow my lead — you’re the sidekick, after all. Remember? C’mon. There’s the smile. Breathe.”

So you do.

In, hold. Out, hold. You draw a square with one hand on your jeans and hold onto Bucky’s with the other.

Again, in and hold. Out and hold.

And again.

And then, you just listen to Bucky’s breathing.

You’re not sure how long it takes — half an hour, ten minutes, who knows — but finally you’re able to calm the spiraling thoughts in your head. Finally, the loudness quiets down, you catch your breath, and the world isn’t falling apart. The bite of anxiety still remains in the hollow of your chest and Bucky can see that when you finally open your eyes and squeeze his hand.

There’s that look again between the two of you. The one from before, in the kitchen.

“Good?” he asks quietly, blue eyes swimming with some sort of emotion you can’t really pin down. Not now. Maybe, if you’d been a bit more collected, you would have seen it as infatuation. But, no. It’s just… nice.

You swallow and nod.

“Damn, girl,” says Climber from his spot on the couch, “Now I’m starting to get the whole therapy thing.”

“Thanks, dickhead.”

“That’s recent, isn’t it?” he asks, genuine worry crossing his face as he stands to gently pass a hand over your back, “I don’t remember it ever being this bad.”

Your face is sad. “I was just partying through it back then. Distraction was always the best method and then… When I had no more distractions and it was just me? Alone? And, psh, the accident with Jaimie? It got worse. So much worse.”

Climber’s eyes soften. “I’m sorry, bunny.”

You try to put on a brave face.

Bucky stands from in front of you and begins his own pacing. This one isn’t so much born out of anxious nature — but more of a tactical logic born out of keeping you safe.

This wasn’t exactly the turn he was expecting.

“You didn’t recognize her?” he asks after a moment, voice high and tight.

“I’m sorry,” you wave a hand, exasperated, “She doesn’t exactly look the same as she did in the 70s.”

Kiwi frowns at the screen. “Definitely botox.”

Bucky squints. He looks to you for an explanation.

You vaguely gesture to your face.

His brow lifts, he closes his eyes, and he sighs.

Kiwi is next to pipe up. “It explains why the feds are looking for you, especially if she saw you with the one man she knows is looking to hunt her down — so, I think it’s best the both of you lay low for a couple of days.”

“Not to mention,” Climber wags a finger, “Bucky the Babe over here did just piss off one the smaller Russian crime families in New York. So, there’s always that ontop of the evil Nazi-HYDRA-woman-next-door.”

You groan.

“Poke has enough food for a week,” Bucky says nearly reading your mind, “He’ll be fine.”

“So, what? We just wait here? Until something happens?”

“Sidrova is going to try and bait us out,” Bucky mutters, “She knows she can’t just disappear. She’s been settled for too long and we know too much. Engaging us in an altercation is how she’ll do it. Plus, I have a feeling she wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to shoot me in the knees after a few decades. So, we wait.”

“Few decades?” Kiwi whispers.

“How old are you?” Climber asks.

“Hundred and six.”

Both of them just blink at an unphased Bucky.

You sigh, finally standing on wobbly legs. “This feels like a bad idea. I’m just stating that for the record.”

“Better than her hunting the both of you down,” Kiwi supplies, “You can stay here. There’s cable, there’s booze, and there’s plenty of instant ramen to last you until winter.”

“Stale cereal, too.”

“Wait— where are you two going?” you ask, narrowing your eyes, “You’re leaving?”

“Keeping our hands clean,” Kiwi says, closing her laptop, “And letting you be the sidekick, bunny.”

The sadness in your heart grows a little heavier at those words, but there’s a little bit of pride in Kiwi’s tone. As she stands, she moves to wrap her arms around you in a gentle hug. Quietly, she murmurs into your hair.

“Your dad would be proud of you, y’know.”

Bucky watches.

Climber is next, and that hug is bigger, more brotherly, more like sunshine and less like autumn.

“Don’t be a stranger, Rabbit.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out as the two of them gather their belongings, “For dragging you both into this. But, thank you. You didn’t have to help me—”

“Yeah, we did,” Kiwi chirps as she knocks Bucky on the arm three times, “Keep her safe, aakarshak purush.”

The Hindi rolls off her tongue with ease.

Bucky laughs. “Bahut lamba.”

Kiwi pauses mid-step. She narrows her eyes. There’s a smile on her lips. “Your pronunciation isn’t bad.”

He shrugs plainly. “I get lunch almost everyday at the Indian place below my apartment, so. The owner has been teaching me some stuff on the side.”

An approving nod.

Kiwi hucks you the keys across the room.

She points at Bucky.

“I like him. Try not to fuck that up, eh?”

And then, the two of them are gone.

And it’s just you and Bucky in the empty apartment.

[ventya]

the mystery of the universe - Harringrove WIP

a/n: i hope u guys like it, this is my FIRST harringrove piece (and it’s a WIP sorry i could not miss out on harringrove week)

tags/warnings: fluff, angst, UNEDITED

AU idea where canon! Steve gets thrown into a parallel universe at end of S3 where Billy is alive and he gets the chance to befriend him to falls deeply in love with him. It feels right to be here, to be with Billy to be in this universe that was in the future where they could be together and could celebrate each other, where they could marry each other. Life was great, there was no upside down and Billy seemed less angry, less haunted and when Steve met Billy’s mother it all made so much sense. 

But Steve’s body can’t handle being there for much longer and it breaks Steve’s heart, he’s dreaded this because in his universe Billy is dead. His Billy is dead he didn’t want to go back to that universe. He couldn’t and when he cried to Billy about it Billy laughs:

“The stars were aligned for us, Harrington, the universe brought us together the day I died and now it’s ready to take you back.” They’d look up at the stars, the humbling stars. “And I don’t know if it’s cruel or a blessing.” Steve put his head on Billy’s shoulder, tears have dried and he gripped tighter into his hand.

“Both,” he mumbled pressing a kiss on his warm skin. “Can we pretend for the rest of the week that it isn’t happening? That it’s not taking me back?”

“I don’t think you can handle that.”

“What why?” Sure Steve was a bit of a cry baby but he wasn’t always like that. He could pretend, he wanted to pretend and be happy again like the last 8 months.

“I wanted to purpose to you.” Steve’s heart stills. “I even brought a ring.” Billy laughs at himself fishing out a small box out of his pocket. “I know it’s silly, even mom said that but she still got all excited about it. So I thought maybe it’s not crazy and I knew college was an issue and-but now this whole universe thing too so I-”

“Yes.”

Billy raises a brow.

“Yes, I want to marry you.”

Billy stares at him, eyes burning. “Steve you can’t I-”

“I want to marry you Billy,” Steve holds out his hand, so Billy puts on the ring and they pretend for this whole week that Steve wasn’t going to disappear at the end of it. It might have been the best week of them all. They spent it around town, driving through the state, celebrating, swimming, skinny dipping even at night, kissed every moment they wanted to, made love, in the car, in bed, in the bathroom, in the kitchen, at the lake. Everything they did felt magical. They pictures every chance they got.

“Billy!!” Steve wanted to hide away when Billy had the camera out right after he stepped out the shower. “I need as many pictures of you as possible or I will think I’ve went crazy and imagined this hot guy.” They took pictures together, so many pictures.

“So I’m just some hot guy.” Steve challenged.

“Hot guy who happens to be the love of my life.” Billy said back looking at the pictures. Steve’s heart fluttered and he jumps at him to kiss him. When they day finally came Steve’s body felt exhausted, tired out and had a nose bleed. Billy hovered over him when he puked, rubbing his back.

They drove back to the mall where it all started, where they had met that fateful day months ago. Steve looked down at the golden band around his finger. Billy had Jimi Hendrix playing softly. Steve felt at ease, the headaches might still be there but his heart felt at ease, complete. He wouldn’t spending the rest of his life like this.

When they walked through the mall he felt light headed almost stumbled on his own feet. Billy wrapped his arm around his waist to help him. They came to the spot where Steve came from on his first day in this universe. It was the same spot he was in when the mall was a complete wreck. It was a small janitor room, they got into it.

“I remember I turned on the lights on and off 3 times.” Steve reaches out for the light and Billy stops him.

“Wait I...” Billy had difficulty to find his next words. “I want you to promise me something.” Steve blinks.

“Of course,”

“Can you promise me that you’ll move on? That you’ll be happy and not cry so much. Because I can’t- I don't want to think of you crying over there.” Steve’s aches.

“Billy-“

“You’re too pretty to be crying over me,” Billy cracks a grin creasing Steve’s soft cheeks. “You deserve to be happy. You will be happy, you will be able to move on and have a good life, yeah?” Because Billy saw the heartbreak in Steve’s eyes when he realized that he had to go back, he heard Steve crying in the bathroom, he calmed him down when Steve woke up crying because of the nightmares and he watched Steve scream his lungs out in the rain when the realization that he had to go back. Billy didn’t want Steve to live his life like this. 

“And you?”

“I will move on too, okay?”

“Don’t forget me,” Steve feels selfish, but Billy just grins widely amused.

“How can I ever forget the love of my life?” Billy whispers leaning forward to kiss Steve. “I’ll be grateful that I got this weird out of my universe boyfriend that fights monsters in his.” Billy said tapping his chin. “I think I have the coolest boyfriend of all time.” Steve looks down at their hands, both of them wearing the golden bands. Steve smiles, with tears in his eyes but he smiles so Billy smiles too. Together they count down the number of times Steve presses the light.

“Don’t forget me, you’re boring boyfriend.” Billy says going in for one last kiss.

“Never.” Steve promises. Billy smiles and Steve saw the tears in his eyes. This was their goodbye. Three. It was pitch black and suddenly it wasn’t, but Steve  was alone. He was in bloody sailor outfit and his face ached. He stumbled out of the janitor’s room.

“Hey, kid we need you to get out of here!” A man in uniform helped him the ruined Starcourt mall and he stumbled into the cold, ambulances everywhere.

“Steve!” It’s Robin with concerned eyes.

“How long have I been gone?” Steve asks.

“I think like 10 minutes.” She replies with a shrug and Steve feels sick. He was gone for months, he was with Billy for 8 months but apparently he was just gone 10 minutes. 8 months of his life were reduced 10 minutes of in this universe.

“Billy…?” He asked he couldn’t bring himself.

“Max hasn’t stopped crying.” Robin said sympathetically. Steve’s heart aches fingers reaching out to his ring finger but then he looks down. His heart drops. His ring wasn’t there. Steve turns around to the mall pushing through the officers and running away back inside ignoring Robin’s calls for him and the avoiding the officers. He runs to the janitor’s room again and turns the light looking around widely before dropping to his knees to look around the floor more closely. 

“Steve?! What’s wrong??” Robin had come to him. He looks up to her and Robin was surprised at how distraught Steve looked.

“My ring, my ring.” The one thing that he thought he could keep from his lover as a memory of their love. Steve pulled on his hair, his head dropping to the floor tears hitting the tiles, “My ring.”

Billy was in the janitor's room alone suddenly, he turns on the light and he feels eyes sting and his heartbreak slowly. He looks down at his shoes when he spots the golden ring that he had given Steve on the floor. He got on his knees grabbing the ring with shaking hands and Billy sits on the floor body leaning against the door. Holding into the ring in his hands, he cries by himself. Nothing had ever hurt Billy like this, it felt like his heart has been ripped out and shed into pieces. He curls into himself and cries, and cries and cries for his lost lover.

Funny that Steve said Billy died in his universe because it feels like Steve has died here too.

[shingia]

i’m not sure if you’ve gotten this request before (feel free to ignore if u have loll) but could i request how hq boys would help u when ur hungover.... cause i am big time rn LMAO please and thanks <33

✗ HQ BOYS WHEN YOU’RE HUNGOVER ✗

the way i ran to my drafts to start writing this omg 🏃🏻‍♀️ ngl it almost made me miss being hungover <\33 anyways- hope you’ll feel better v soon and are taking care of your poor hungover self 😽

-> timeskip! kita, kuroo, tsukishima, suna, oikawa

-> warnings : mentions of alcohol (for obvious reasons), mentions of throwing up and mentions of food

— KITA

• this man knows how to handle a hangover better than anyone

• he’s a moderate drinker, but his grandmother’s books contain the cure to everything and he’s more than willing to make you benefit from his knowledge

• he will make you drink these three bottles of water, that bowl of tomato soup and that banana milkshake with a tablespoon of honey. dehydration ? he doesn’t know her

• but kita also knows how important it is to not stay in bed all day, so he’ll insist on having you spend at least thirty minutes outside in the fresh air, most probably in your backyard

• you can refuse, of course. but he’ll take away your cuddle privilege immediately, so~ your choice

• also expect a lot a few disapproving looks,,, because as much as he loves to pamper you, he can’t help but remember the dozens of times he told you you’d had enough to drink last night. obviously you didn’t listen

• i think would disapprovingly care : like- lecturing you under his breath as he sprays essential oils on your bedsheets or tests the temperature of the bath water before letting you in

• remember the cuddle privilege i talked about? yeah, that’s going to be your reward at the end of the day for not being stubborn and docilely following his instructions

• with freshly perfumed bedsheets and his natural body warmth, you’re likely to fall asleep in five second tops. but that doesn’t mean he’s going to leave you, quite the contrary. no, this man will continue to take care of you in your sleep

• and by that i mean belly rubs to make sure your nausea is gone when you wake up, or gentle head massages to make your migraine go away. he might even brush your hair so that you won’t wake up with knots

• he doesn’t even expect you to thank him, because « isn’t that what all husbands are supposed to do ? »

— KUROO

• he’s probably hungover too because he had to finish half of your drinks,,, yet it still wasn’t enough to prevent you from waking up with the biggest headache

• in other words : dimmed lights all day. he might not even open the blinds. and to be honest he likes these kind of vibes

• sure, it feels like your brains are about to explode, and every single part of your body is aching (eyelashes included), but it’s cozy and your minds are too fogged to worry about anything other than getting better- so it’s self care and self care only today

• it’s likely that none of you will feel like eating something, but kuroo’s an athlete : he knows better than to skip a meal, especially when you both feel so weak

• so he’ll sacrifice himself and make the grueling effort of leaving the bed to cook you a little something, nothing extravagant but still enough to reinvigorate the two of you

• and since you don’t have anything better to do, you guys decide to watch the videos you took during the party,,, and slowly come to the realization that you have very few memories of what happened

• « is that you dancing on that table ? » you ask him, pointing at the man who is just a second away from tripping on a napkin

• lifting his shorts, kuroo glances at the bruise on the upper part of his thigh : « ohh- well that explains a lot »

• chances are that, because of his built, kuroo will feel better before you. so the true pampering will come later in the evening

• he’s got vitamins, ibuprofens, blankets, and his arms ready for you. you’re in for the deepest sleep of your life

— TSUKISHIMA

• « i told you so »™️

• you would wake up feeling like absolute crap and he would be eyeing you, standing next to the bed with his arms crossed and eyebrows raised : « how are we feeling ? », even though the answer is pretty obvious

• but he knows that sarcasm won’t get him anywhere so he tries to tone it down (try to)

• you might think he’s not going to do much, but as soon as you step out of the shower he forced you to take (even though you were exhausted), you realize that he did do much

• the clothes you wore last night are already in the washing machine, your new ones (most probably his) are neatly folded on your bed, waiting for you, and he’s cooking an anti-hungover meal that he looked up on the internet

• if he has to study while you’re getting some rest in the bedroom he will put reminders on his phone every 15mn to come and check on you

• and he never leaves the room without lifting the covers up to your shoulders to make sure you won’t get cold

• he also wets a towel and gives it to you to place over your eyes if they’re sore

• but as soon as he’s done studying, he joins you in bed with greatest pleasure. and it’s a good thing that tsukki loves comfortable silences, because neither of you feel like saying anything

• you’re just laying there, letting him keep track of time since you’re too busy enjoying being pampered that much

— SUNA

• blackmail material for YEARS (in addition to the videos and pictures he took of you during the party)

• he turns this into a vlog, you could be half-asleep on the couch and hear him talk to the camera from the kitchen like « so here i am making pasta for this lightweight who threw up all night... i’m still waiting for my boyfriend of the year’s award... »

• but really, he’s just being dramatic. deep down he loves to take care of you when you’re hungover because you get much clingier,,, so he allows himself to be clingier too

• as much as he loves to lay down on top of you, the roles are reversed this time. because being crushed by a 6’3 tall man while you’re hungover is probably not a very good idea

• but before these lazy cuddles, he wants to make sure you’re comfortable : so he’ll remove your makeup (if you wore any) and give you his clothes because he knows you like how oversize they are

• so yes, naps and water are definitely the keywords of the day, but tell him once that you crave one specific food and he’ll immediately go get it for you

• he’s also surprisingly careful with any possible headache, so he’ll keep his earphones on while scrolling on his phone to make sure you can rest in complete silence

• however, at some point he will hand you his phone and have you record a video for your future self. something along the lines of : « hi y/n, this is you from the past. i feel like absolute shit right now so please be more reasonable next time... and don’t let rin get more embarrassing pictures of us »

• and you can be sure that he’ll use this video as a threat next time you’re partying. he would just have to point at his phone from the other side of the room and you would understand what he means

— OIKAWA

• he’s not the person to call if you want to be talked out of partying ever again

• because not only does he spend the entire day praising you highly for the way you looked yesterday, but you also realize that he loves your drunk self (as long as he’s here to watch over you)

• he doesn’t mind you complaining because he’s had a few hangovers of his own,, so feel free to whine about your stomachache/headache all you want

• and if you throw up ? it’s ok, he’s got you. and he’s not leaving your side unless you ask him to

• literally, he spends the entire day babying you. you’re feeling too tired to brush your teeth ? no problem, he’ll have you sit on the edge of the bathtub and do it for you

• same goes for washing your hair or getting dressed : there’s nothing he’ll refuse

• if your head doesn’t hurt too much, he’ll offer to watch a stupid tv show in front of which you can fall asleep without missing anything important

• and he’ll make sure to get the right cuddle position right away because he knows you’ll probably fall asleep very quickly and he doesn’t want to wake you up by fidgeting under you

• also: expect many many scalp massages. and his hands are the softest so they feel absolutely divine

• i think oikawa knows a lot about hydration so he’ll probably make you drink something like sugary water to give you a little boost. and if you don’t trust this drink, he’ll try again with another one until you’re completely hydrated

• and as i said, he’s very supportive,, almost too much : « you finished your glass ! i’m proud of you baby! »

taglist : @toworuu @catwithangerissues @miyumiya @livy384 @k0u-minamo2 @fullsundear @hsjvwq @kelsuuki @hiraeth-z @velvetvirgos @kirishimas-manly-eyeliner @47meow @japanesevenom @geektastic84 @noir-blanches-blog @idontlikeyourjob @seiri-ami @atiny-grl-with-luv @admiringlove @nachotrash @kellesvt @aintyourholy @Moonlaeli @catchmewiddershins @duhsies @devilgirlcrybabiey @crystal-lilac @ijustwantfreenetflix @mimaki @maitenight

[twinklelilstarkey]

cuddling with jamie oleksiak, or just him making the narrator feel safe bacause he looked so cuddly in his last interview

A/N: You are so right, baby anon. Oh, to held by this man! (interview in question)

Warnings: Working from home (due to the pandemic).

You stir the food on the pot, over the stove, while scrolling through your phone, staring at the uncountable notifications. It's unbelievable how even when you're on your day off, your coworkers just don't seem to understand that you're not going to be by your computer today.

You had a horrible past few days at work. Your usual team had been separated to work on all different projects and you were left to deal with complete pumpkin heads. You knew right off the bat, on your first online meeting with them, who you were really going to work with.

It's the type of people that just make others work for them and whenever there's absolutely no one to do it for them, they panic and blame it on others. Lucky for you, you're superior over them in the company, so they can't mess with you - or at least shouldn't. But you've heard a few good stories with their names sprinkled on there and it's not all that pleasant.

Yet that still does not protect you from having to deal with them in this project. Which, by the way, is supposed to be done by thursday, and today’s tuesday. You did your part already, but... they’re stuck and unable to contact anyone at the office due to it being lunch hours.

Funny how that only happens on your off days, uh?

If they hadn’t been such asses with you last week and refused all of your help, you would be, right now, helping them out. No problem. But... no. They should’ve thought of that before.

Is that a little psycho of you? Sure, but that’s what working from home with this type of people does to a person. 

If there's anything working from home actually gave you was just a bigger headache and an inhumane way to always exhaust you.

Off days are truly a blessing. Or should be.

You put down your phone over the counter letting out a loud tired sigh with how many notifications you're getting in just a few minutes and stare back at the stove.

They're seriously going to drive you insane.

"Hey." You hear from behind you.

You look over your shoulder and find Jamie walking into the kitchen, wearing this morning's grey hoodie and sweatpants.

"Hi." You say with a small smile.

He walks over to you, sneaky grin over his lips, and when close enough, he plants a kiss on to the top of your head, over your hair.

"What are you making?" He asks as his eyes drift over to the stove.

You follow his gaze and give him a little shrug.

"Some recipe I found on the internet. Can't really pronounce it, but it looked good in the picture." You tell him and he exhales out a laugh through his nose.

Jamie wraps one of his arms around you and leans his cheek against the side of your head. You lay your hand over his arm on your waist and lean back against him while continuing to stare down at the food and silently praying that it comes out well.

"You okay?" He asks in almost a whisper, close to your ear.

You nod a bit and he lays another kiss over the side of your head, knowing that there's absolutely something behind that little slow nod.

"Do I need to beat someone up?" He asks before planting another kiss over your ear.

You smile at his words and shake your head.

"No." You say with a chuckle, "Just stressed with work."

You feel him nod understandably and pull you closer to him.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" He asks and you shake your head with a small smile.

You lay your hand over his bearded cheek and turn your head over to meet his gaze.

"I'm afraid not. But thank you for worrying." You tell him.

You peck his lips and his soft grin reappears, making your chest swell up with familiar love and warmth. You wrap your arm over his neck and lay a kiss over his cheek.

"Now," You start, "How was your interview?"

(...)

“They’re all assholes.” Jamie comments out loud and you can’t help but let out a giggle.

“Not all of them.” You say, trying to defend your coworkers.

He looks at you with glance that just makes you smile brightly at him, complete ‘who are you trying to trick here’ behind his eyes.

“I’m serious, Jam, not all of them are bad.” You say before laying your head back on his chest.

“Oh really?” He asks and you nod, still smiling, “Name one person in your team, right now, that is not bad.”

You think for a bit and his chest starts moving as he starts to laugh over your silence. You smack him and he presses a kiss onto your forehead.

“Just admit it,” He says, “They’re all trash.”

You roll your eyes and pull the blanket up to your shoulder, ignoring him.

You’re both sitting in your balcony, away from any of your phones and computers. It’s cold out, but you’re both sitting in the same chair under a huge fluffy blanket, while you sit between Jamie’s legs sideways - with yours legs over the arm of the chair.

“Are you cold?” He asks while laying a hand over your leg, under the blanket.

You shake your head yet lean closer to his chest.

“We can go back in-”

“Nooo.” You whine, wrapping your vacant arm around his torso to emphasize that you don’t want him to move, “I like it here.”

“Alright.” He says, lifting his hand from your leg onto the air defensively.

He wraps one of his arms around your shoulders and you close your eyes as he pulls you closer to him. His hand then moves and starts to run up and down on your back as if to warm you - even though you just said that you aren’t cold.

To your surprise, your mind is completely out of its usual black hole from work. You’re enjoying the sounds of the city around you, the harsh cold wind hitting your face and exposed legs, and, of course, the human furnace that Jamie is. You’re calm and not even close to being stressed.

It’s almost like all your worries evaporated.

You feel Jamie lean his chin over the top of your head and his hand finally stops moving on your back, pausing right over your shoulder. He adjusts the blanket so it can cover your legs slightly better, and his attention is quickly stolen when he looks down at you one more time.

Even with closed eyes he can tell you’re tired. He assumes you probably haven’t even slept that well lately, all because of your job and that damned project. And with that, he decides to not even move an inch and just stay seated, letting you rest over his lap, with your head on his chest, away from all your worries. 

He doesn’t care how long he will have to wait for you to wake up and let him move. He’ll stay for as long as you need.

Soon, your breathing starts to slow and your hold on Jamie becomes light. You’ve fallen asleep. Jamie’s lips curl into a small smile and he lays his head against yours again while wrapping his arms around you securely.

The both of you need a nap, and there’s no better time than now.

Hope you liked this!!!