#This chapter made me have faith in this ship more

[seggbomb]

When I realize inumaki was clinging on yuuta I was like FR??. Bros protecting each other. The anti yuuta squad fr. Loved 262.5.

[emilibro]

Ughhh I'm so sorry to be an ass but I see so much popular art on tumblr and around the internet that really woobifies both Laios and Kabru and their relationship, especially when they're together.... You guys are aware that Laios eats monsters the way people would like. Eat animals, right? He's not crazy or stupid or sadistic or anything. He has a special interest and it's monsters.

Furthermore, his past having himself and his sister be shunned for their interests in the abnormal made him develop a distaste for humanity. Laios has just thought monsters were way cooler since he was a kid, and Falin really looked up for him for his dedication to his interests and personal code of moral ethics. He never loved his sister less for her abilities, he admired her for what made her different. Because he's fucking awesome and they're autistic as hell.... they both went through so damn much. Laios never fit into the military, into his hometown, he barely fit into most groups of adventurers since he met Marcille, chilchuck, and company, and two of the members of that original party didn't care enough to join him. His feeling of worthlessness to his friends in the beginning of the story are enough to make him imagine a whole scenario in between major chapters where he was the one who was eaten.. and he thought nobody except Falin would care enough to save him.

Point being Laios has a much richer character that goes ALONGSIDE his special interest in monsters. Which honestly is more comparable to, like. A fucking biologist. Not a monsterfucker, not a cannibal, none of that shit. Monsterfuckers are cool as a monsterfucker but he's not one.. he's more like a furry man.... And he's not stupid he's just. Autistic. Why are we making autistic characters with a silly side seem stupid? Everyone has dumb moments sure but like.. he's really smart guys... there's a reason he's such a good leader outside of his ability to listen to his party members. Don't fall for the mischaracterization of Laios that his party members originally set for him before major important arcs guys...

And Kabru. Oh my God. Kabru. Kabru is also autistic but for humans, social interactions and culture... he's a nerd for politics and the humanities, and I'll avoid saying much more to avoid spoilers for non-manga readers but you'll see more of that as time passes. But he's not the type to be easily flustered. Laios only gets to him, not even because he's that difficult to read, but because he catches him off guard. He's an interesting critter, bro. And Kabru definitely sees that. It takes time to respect that, but within a period of time he learns to see him as a relatively competent adventurer and places a lot of faith from him. On some level, this guy has learned to understand this very interesting autistic guy who is forward with his feelings that a very autistic Kabru hasn't learned to understand. That's what makes their relationship so cool, man. He's not cold in reality (though people may perceive him that way due to backstory motivations and attitude within the dungeon), but he's a lot more serious than this... c'mon guys.. let's be a little real here please.... at this point I barely like Labru anymore because they've been so like. Babied. Woobified. Whatever the word is man. I'm starting to appreciate their friendship more as a friendship now because I just think the beautiful qualities I saw in their romance have been sort of overlooked or misinterpreted. Nowadays I just think their platonic relationship is beautiful. Sighs.

Farcille is awesome though and these girls are awesome slay

-

Edit: hey guys, I wanna address a couple of things here! For one, this isn't intended to be ship hate. Labru is a perfectly valid ship - rather, I'm just not a fan of how deep the mischaracterization of both characters runs, and how it results in the subsequent babying of their relationship. While it's driven me personally away from the romance a bit, I have no problem with the ship itself. Additionally, Farcille has its own issues with woobification that could use some addressing, I just haven't had to see as much mischaracterization on my feeds. Maybe in a future post I'll address some of my personal peeves with many people's characterization of Farcille, ESPECIALLY Falin.

[paimonial-rage]

talks of the past - zhongli

ship: zhongli x reader

synopsis: in which the wangsheng funeral parlor’s consultant tries to restore your faith in rex lapis

notes: 1.7k words, chapter 7 of bookkeeping!verse; with ties to various chapters in the series

It was yet another day you found yourself traveling with Zhongli to Qingce Village. Objectively speaking, it was a beautiful morning. The sun was high in the sky without a cloud in sight, the birds were chirping, and the temperature was nice. Really, there shouldn’t have been anything there to get you down. And yet…

There you were walking with your head down and a faraway look in your eyes. Had you been more aware, you would’ve noticed your companion speaking a few times. You would’ve seen the concerned look in his eyes as he peered down at you. But you were lost in your thoughts, uncharacteristically troubled and insecure.

If you had noticed, you would’ve felt a bit of pity for your companion. It was not often that you were seen in such a depressed state. Really, despite your temperament, you were generally alert and sociable. He often enjoyed the banter that would come about between you two. Truly, you were a dear friend to him. That being said, it wasn’t often you shared your concerns with him. He wasn’t sure if you even would if asked.

He cleared his throat.

“First, is… there anything that’s bothering you?”

It took a few moments for you to respond, almost prompting him to ask again before you let out a long sigh.

“Zhongli,” you began, looking up to him imploringly, “Can I talk to you about something?”

He couldn’t deny the slight start of his heart that came with your question. You’ve brought up your concerns to him before, but those were often accompanied with glares and opinions regarding his financial decisions. This time, however, exhaustion was evident in your voice with dark bags under your eyes. He could not recall doing anything that’d result in your loss of sleep.

“Sure,” he began, careful to keep his wariness absent.

“It’s not a big deal,” you began in a way that implied the opposite. “I’m sure you know how much I revere Rex Lapis. Even though he passed, I still greatly respect the legacy he left behind.”

“Yes,” he replied with a nod. “You’ve mentioned this to me a few times in the past.”

A bit too many, he would add. And with your way with words, it never exactly was… pleasant. At the very least, he was relieved your lack of sleep wasn’t with anything he did as Zhongli.

“It’s just… Lately, I’ve been talking to Madam Ping in my free time, and… I feel like my faith is beginning to be shaken…”

He frowned.

“‘Shaken?’ In what way?”

“I…” You bit your lip as tears welled in your eyes. “Don’t hate me for saying this, but I…”

You hesitated.

“I’m beginning to think he was actually a complete weirdo.”

A… A weirdo?

He cleared his throat, feeling if not just a little attacked.

“In what way?”

You sighed, glancing away with your guilt-ridden eyes.

“In… in every way.”

‘Every way?’

“For instance, take into account Mora…”

Of course, it had to do with Mora.

“Well, I once heard a story that Rex Lapis created the first home out of Mora. I always thought it was metaphorical or just a silly children’s tale, but… Madame Ping confirmed it to be true. When I asked her why he chose Mora, she said it simply was because it was available. He didn’t have any deeper meaning to it.”

He frowned. Ignoring the sense of déjà vu he felt regarding this specific topic, he didn’t see any problem with his actions.

“Yes, it only makes sense. To the God of Wealth and Commerce, what material is easier to get than Mora?”

“Exactly!” You exclaimed suddenly, nearly causing him to flinch. “Only a simple-minded man would come up with such a simple-minded conclusion.”

“S-Simple-minded…”

You nodded.

“Just because he had all the access in the world to Mora didn’t mean the common folk did. Wouldn’t it have made more sense to make the first model home out of materials available to everyone?”

He coughed.

“Perhaps.”

You sniffled.

“It’d be fine if that was the only thing, but Shitou from the Jade Mystery told me that once Rex Lapis stopped by his family’s shop in the past and purchased a spoon made of fine Noctilucus Jade to sample the culinary delights of Liyue Harbor.” You buried your face in your hands. “Why would he spend that much Mora just for a simple spoon?”

“W-Well…”

“I know, I know. As the God of Wealth and Commerce, he had easy access to Mora. And I’m sure it made him happy to contribute to the wealth of Liyue Harbor’s commonfolk, but for someone who spent so much time around his people, it’s like he had no concept of his own creation’s worth! It’s shamelessly extravagant! I didn’t think he was such a wasteful person…”

In the back of his mind, Zhongli had the urge to disagree, to stand up for the good name of Rex Lapis. Really, he wasn’t so shameless as you made him out to be, at least he didn’t think he was. But before he could respond, you continued.

“That’s not all though…” you started again.

Oh no.

“A while ago, I told Meng and the Ferrylady that Rex Lapis wasn’t a self-absorbed narcissist, but…”

Oh no…

“I was talking to Sir Yun the other day of the Yun-Han Opera Troupe? I always knew that Rex Lapis enjoyed the troupe’s shows, but did you know he starred in a few of them? As a warrior, she said. And as you know, Rex Lapis is known as the Warrior God. So that means he basically played himself in operas singing songs about… himself. Can you imagine doing that? How…”

Tears came to your eyes.

“Cringe.”

He resisted the urge to clear his throat.

“Though records say he may have taken part in those operas, I can’t recall Miss Yun stating he starred as himself,” he began. “The assumption he did so is mere conjecture at best.”

That last part slipped from his tongue before he could rein it back in. You never took kindly when his opinions differed from yours, and yet… Well, perhaps he was feeling if not a little attacked. The Yun-Han Opera Troupe had a long history, after all. They certainly would not be more the wiser if some tales became embellished over the years. He thought out of all people you would be more aware of that than most.

Thankfully, much to his relief, you were. Instead of taking to anger like you usually did, you nodded obediently.

“That’s true. I hope you’re right,” you replied with a hopeful smile. “Madame Ping said that not even the great Cloud Retainer watches operas about herself. It’s too embarrassing.”

He did clear his throat that time.

“I suppose not everyone enjoys hearing tales of their past,” he finally let out.

You nodded.

“I’m glad at least she agrees with me that only weird and abnormal people do things like that,” you let out with a bit of relief. “I was getting worried I’m the only person that feels that way…”

He only smiled in response, ignoring the fact that Cloud Retainer only said that it was “embarrassing,” not “weird” or “abnormal.” You really did not hesitate to deal your blows, did you?

“You know what the worst thing is, though?” You asked, looking up at him imploringly. “Legend has it that the gods are able to change their physical forms. There are even tales of Rex Lapis taking a female form. But… out of all the records, there are no depictions of his female form, only that she had amber eyes.”

Zhongli frowned in thought. Though he heard and understood your words well, he didn’t know what was the wrong in what you said. The tales of Rex Lapis were often embellished, especially in the way they painted him as the type to change his form often. The truth of the matter was far from that. Not that he could tell you that, of course. But before he could respond in any way, your eyes became filled with tears.

“I mean, he obviously didn’t mind leaving evidence of his male visage. And as I told you before, he made sure he looked good in every one of them. So if he was narcissistic enough to do that, why not leave anything behind of his female form? You… You don’t think… she was UGLY, do you?” You cried in pain.

If his brain didn’t shut down before, it definitely did then. But not noticing, you continued on.

“That’s the only reason I can come up with. Rex Lapis shares his beauty with everyone, after all, so she must have been so ugly that a narcissist like him couldn’t bear for others to see!” You sobbed.

Every word that left your mouth felt like a blow to his ego. Was this truly what you thought about him?

“So do you see why my faith has been shaken? If we try to view him as a person, Rex Lapis was a simple-minded conceited weirdo that was so ashamed of his female form he wiped any and all traces of her depiction out of existence.”

He couldn’t do this anymore.

“While the tales of the past may be rooted in truth, it’s important to realize they are only that. Tales. Nothing more. As it is, we simply do not know how much we can take as fact. So I would not let it bother you too much, First,” he stated in a matter-of-fact manner.

Though you looked as if you had more to say, you slowly nodded once, then once again with more surety.

“You’re right. I guess I’m looking far too into this. Surely if the great Rex Lapis was revered by so many, even the adepti, he must have been worthy of the respect. I just need to remember that,” you replied bashfully. “I’m sorry to have piled this all on you, Zhongli.”

He shook his head with a chuckle.

“It is alright. I am glad to be your voice of reason.”

Laughing in return, you nodded.

“Yes, thank you. And well, I guess it could be worse, I suppose. Madame Ping was always respectful to Rex Lapis in her stories. She could’ve said that he was the kind of person with… I don’t know. No common sense or something. Like could you imagine if he was the type of person that thought it was a smart idea to bring square cups instead of circle to a party?” You asked with a laugh. “Now that would be horrifying.”

……

Yes, you certainly had a way with words.

[aethon-recs]

This Week in Tomarrymort (20 – 27 September 2024)

A lot of really amazing updates this week — I have so much reading to catch up on this weekend! Thank you to the talented, hard-working authors in this ship for their lovely contributions and amazing updates for us to feast on!

As with last week, please feel free to add some extra context to your fic update in the reblog, like a little bit about the chapter(s) updated. For this format of weekly list, there’s no space to add a summary or extra info about the fics (or else it’d be like 8 pages long), so I’ll rely on the authors to share a bit more about their updates, if you’re so inclined! 🤍

A recap of the author notes from last week:

These Fragments We've Shored by @rowena-rain (M, 23k, WIP) “This week on These Fragments We've Shored: Harry mental-gymnastics his way into trying the Stone again. You know, just in case it brings back someone besides Voldemort this time.”  The Dinner by @moontearpensfic (T, 3k, complete) “A crack treated seriously soulmark AU! Voldemort takes second-year Harry to meet his parents--Grindeldore a;lskjfasdf. Awkward family dynamics ensue over the course of dinner and dessert.”  Saint Harry by @alenablack @chaos-bear (E, 26k, WIP) “The moment Harry is struck by the killing curse, it’s not death that awaits him, but ascension. A story of faith, obsession, and the burden of divinity.” Dream a little dream (of me) by @cenedrariva (E, 13k, WIP) “Starts off with newly resurrected Voldemort suffering frequent migraines as a result of Harry's nightmares. He quickly discovers the best way to prevent the migraines is to turn the nightmares into good dreams, and in the process realises Harry is a fascinating and entertaining person. In an ideal world Voldemort would have made him a favoured Death Eater. Such a waste that Harry's destined to die!” Liquida Tenebris (Remastered) by @dymis (E, 499k, WIP) “Harry falls in love with Scarcrux (Standard). They share control of one body and are so smitten it's practically sickening; however ||SPOILERS|| the Dark Lord also carries Harry's sentient Horcrux (Not standard). Harrycrux--Crux for short--is the antithesis of Scarcrux, and I love him so much, your honour; he's an uncontrollable animal with dubious life goals.”

*

Tomarrymort Ongoing Fics and One Shots

Chapter 58 of No Glory by @obsidianpen

Chapter 13 of the stars, my destination by @milkandmoon-ao3

Chapters 12 and 13 of Sits the wind in that quarter by @mosiva

Chapter 8 of Ills of Murder by @shadow-of-the-eclipse

Chapter 22 of Paved With the Best Intentions by @perhaps-sunlight

Chapter 21 of What In Me Is Dark, Illumine by @telelli-writes

Chapters 124 and 125 of Liquida Tenebris (Remastered) by @dymis

Chapter 13 of Just Business by @holaolla1

Chapters 33 through 38 of Terrible, But Great by @isalisewrites

Chapter 35 of Part One - The Solitude of Suffering by @iseliljathedreamer

Chapter 3 of Forbidden Darkness by @neurowriter14

Chapters 9 and 10 of Saint Harry by @alenablack @chaos-bear

Chapter 1 of unfinished stories by @betweendisorders

Chapter 24 of would that i'd loved (long ago) by @sprst1tion

Chapter 2 of War Prize by @duplicitywrites @moontearpensfic 

Chapter 4 of Fetters of the Damned by @sc0rpiflow3r

Chapter 2 of Memories of a Killer by @chemfreak89

Chapter 18 of Learning to love by @l-archiduchesse

Part 3 of I need you to live well by @onehitpleb

Chapter 5 of Hole in the Wall by tomrddle

Chapter 9 of A Snake in the Grass by @teaandsweaters9

Chapter 3 of Dream a little dream (of me) by @cenedrariva

Chapter 1 of Touch of Death by @moontearpensfic

Chapter 3 of doublethink by confunded

Chapter 6 of midnight train by @girl-with-goats

One Shot | The Challenge by Disrespectful_Chinchilla

*

[mycadences]

Elain: I am not a child to be fought over. (Chapter 21 of ACOSF, Azriel was present when she said that and HE HEARD IT)

Azriel: (In an arrogant tone) I'll defeat him [Lucien] with little effort. (Azriel's ACOSF bonus chapter, after Elain said what she said, and referring to the Blood Duel)

(Here Elriels might bring up "but Lucien asked if Elain was worth fighting for!" but the difference is 1. Lucien had only met Elain once at that time (it was during ACOWAR) 2. he didn't know anything about her 3. she hadn't said the line I'm referring to 4. he didn't overhear the line I'm referring to 5. "fighting for" has a slightly different connotation from "fighting over".)

So it IS canon that Elain would hate the Blood Duel and would have a problem with Azriel killing Lucien... while Azriel doesn't. In ACOWAR, Nesta and Feyre were worried about Lucien going off to find Vassa in case harm befell him.

This was what Feyre thought: Even Nesta seemed relatively concerned. Not for him, no doubt, but the fact that if he were hurt, or killed … What would it do to Elain? The severing of the mating bond … I shut out the thought of what it’d do to me.

But Azriel didn't think of how devastating it would be for Elain if her mate were to die. No, in fact, he didn't think much of her "beyond the fantasies he pleasured himself to".

Wow. How romantic. If this is the "canon" that Elriels are so proud of, then I'm honestly glad that it wasn't written about my ship.

Also look at this scene:

Elain: You do not decide what I can and cannot do, Nesta. // Then I will find it [the Dread Trove]. // You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater. (This is also from Chapter 21 of ACOSF, and yes Azriel was present to hear it. Notice how the wording focused on Elain's agency, on her choice, on people making decisions for her.)

Azriel: (In response to Amren's suggestion that they let Elain track the Trove) There is an innate darkness to the Dread Trove that Elain should not be exposed to. (Chapter 29 of ACOSF)

Once again, he was doing something that Elain had explicitly mentioned she disliked, something that he KNEW because he HEARD IT. Despite hearing that Elain didn't like Nesta making the choice for her (not to scry for the Trove), Azriel STILL chose to throw in his unsolicited two cents and was essentially robbing her of her free will.

Compare this to when Gwyn got taken to the Blood Rite along with Emerie and Nesta.

Cassian: If I interfere, we’re both dead. And even if I did, Nesta would kill me if I jumped in to save her. She’d never forgive me for it. \\ And even if the laws had allowed it, he would never take that away from her: the chance to save herself.

Azriel: You—we—trained them well, Cassian. Trust in that. It’s all we can do.

Both Cassian and Azriel recognized the skills and abilities of the Valkyries. They trusted them to survive. And Cassian himself said that he wouldn't step in, NOT because he didn't care about Nesta, but he knew she would hate it (that he made the call for her) and that he was confident in her strength to overcome the Blood Rite. And they're mates.

(^ Those who say "Azriel and Gwyn cannot be mates because he didn't save her from the Blood Rite" must not have read SF at all lol. But anyway I digress.)

Azriel's line of thinking was similar to Cassian in that he believed in the Valkyries, and that's more than I can ever say about his faith in Elain. Or lack thereof.

Speaking of faith in Elain, you know who has it, though?

Lucien.

(I swear he's the solution to every Elain puzzle. He's linked to Papa Archeron whose death Elain was implied to feel guilty about, he's linked to the Courts that Elain would thrive in (Spring and Day) and he's linked to the central conflict in Elain's personal arc (their mating bond).)

He literally went to the Mortal Lands to find Vassa because Elain had a vision about it. THAT, is an example of trust. The only other person to argue for Elain's visions was Mor, and Cassian was busy rebuffing her while Azriel "looked inclined to agree [with Cassian, not Elain]". Lucien went on a possibly dangerous wild goose chase all because of his trust in Elain's visions -- in his mate's visions.

Finally, this is not a hate post against Azriel (in case it reads like one). I love him, but somehow when he's around Elain they give me Tamlin/Feyre vibes, which is why I believe SJM is actually intentionally dropping hints that their relationship won't work out. Already we see how toxic it is. I adore his interactions with Nesta, Feyre and of course our lovely Valkyrie-priestess, Gwyn ;)

[rea-grimm]

Hi, I hope you are well. Once again, one of your faithful followers (Luffy Dragon fan 💖) comes with a new request (if you can, obviously).

the last chapter of op made me realize that Sanji ignores and is less gentlemanly towards women who show signs of liking him. I wonder if we can get something where the reader is obviously in love with Sanji (corpse of the boyfriend) and he is completely indifferent or clueless about it, while following his behavior in love with other girls and being a great "dude, look what you have in front of you" "

xo ♥️ congratulations on the 2500 likes

Hi, I had quite tought week, but I’m better now. Hope you are well too. I’m happy to hear from you. You have really good request. ❤️

Hope you enjoy this.

Dude, look what you have in front of you- Corpse Sanji

You were head over heels in love with Sanji. Everyone on board knew it, but the only cook was completely blind to you. Yes, he treated you almost the same way he treated Nami or Robin. Although sometimes you had the impression that he took you more for granted. As a sidekick and nakama.

How you wished he felt for you the way you felt for him. To try to woo you like he tried to woo other girls who rejected him when they found out the truth.

You were sorry to see him melt over the other girls. How he got down on one knee and kept asking for their hand in marriage. You knew that was one of the main reasons he was among the living. His biggest regret.

When you saw him with other girls, it always made your heart skip a beat and you had to do everything you could to not let it show on yourself.

The new island was a new opportunity for the chef to find a new girl. You were out shopping and you passed a small square with a small group of beautiful girls among the people. 

As soon as Sanji saw the beauties, he dropped his shopping bags and headed towards them. He showered them with compliments before getting down on one knee and asking for their hand in marriage. The girls were just giggling.

You picked up your bags and walked to the side with them when the wind picked up out of nowhere. This wind was a bad omen for Sanji as it blew his bangs to the side, exposing his eye. Or rather an empty socket where the eye should have been.

The girls he had been focusing on until now ran away screaming and left him kneeling on the ground alone, with a completely broken expression.

The cook walked over to you brokenly, lit a cigarette and took your bags, saying he would take them on the ship. He hated these reactions. It reminded him so much that he was no longer alive. Just a corpse waiting for a miracle.

You wanted to somehow improve his mood, so you used this opportunity and went to the shop you passed on the way. To a shop that sold prosthetics. From limbs, dentures, and eyes. You knew what eye colour to choose for him. No one else you knew had eyes as blue as his.

On the boat you gave him your little gift, like a little thing, a souvenir you would call it. The others were there too and they all saw how happy Sanji was. Heart in his eyes, he hugged you on his knees.

You and everyone else had already started to think that this would make the cook notice you and see how you felt about him. Nothing could be further from the truth as nothing has changed at all. As soon as another girl flashed past him, or Nami and Robin, his head was in the clouds.

Despite all this, you had the impression that it would end like this and sighed in disappointment. You felt like you were chasing an even more impossible dream than your captain was chasing.

You saw that things with Sanji were difficult and apparently impossible and you slowly gave up. You didn't even know how, but you found your solace in the swordsman and the doctor. 

Both of them supported you and Zoro even offered to knock some sense into the cook. It sounded tempting, but you talked him out of it.

This small change didn't go unnoticed by Sanji and he got the impression that you had started something with the swordsman. He didn't understand at all what you saw in that mosshead. That's why he also went to see him, what was his problem, that you spent so much time with him.

Zoro didn't understand at all. It was the chef's bad luck, he had his chance with you. And even though you tried to act like you got over it, Zoro knew full well that you would do anything for a cook.

“Dude, look what you have in front of you,” he said instead, pointing over his shoulder at you. You stood with your back to them, playing the new board game he got in town with Chopper.

Sanji looked at you and he had no idea what mosshead was talking about. Robin, who heard everything, joined in. The two of them then explained it to him.

When Sanji finally saw through it, he made you a dinner with everything you liked as an apology and asked you out on a date. You could see in him that he was serious and so you decided to give him one more chance.

Sanji Masterlist

[fen-luciel]

The mistakes of a Acolyte

7

Chapters

Summary: You are pregnant with Qimir's child and the universe is not big enough to hide you from him

I hadn't felt this empty for a long time.

The sensation of dry skin from all the tears shed, the difficulty breathing through my nose, the shortness of breath that struggled to stabilize.

It was like watching a child have a hysterical crisis.

Except I wasn't a child.

I had only experienced a similar pain once before. My mind had erased most of that day, I remembered random images, the fire, the rubble, the smell of burnt flesh, the black hands... small. Still...

I took a deep breath with my mouth open, before focusing on regulating my breathing. I was alone in the cabin, having instructed Sam to check for any tracking devices on the ship and Yord's communicator. The one Sol had given me had already been destroyed, thrown to the bottom of the room in a outburst of rage.

I struggled to get up from the chair, moving slowly toward the small bedroom. At this point, my entire body was aching with a dull pain. I couldn't tell what was real or what was paranoia. At first, I even thought that all this stress might have been too much for the baby. A scan from Sam showed no severe damage, but he wasn’t a medical droid, and I needed to be checked before hiding again.

In the room, I reached the small bathroom with a shower. Sam had already prepared some clothes in a corner. The sight made me smile, yet my heart tightened in a painful grip.

There was nothing sweet about all this. I was miserable.

A wounded animal in need of care. Weak. Physically and mentally.

I turned on the faint lights above the mirror and looked at myself.

It was certainly an ironic scene. Just a few hours earlier, I had been in the same situation on the Jedi ship and then alone in this bathroom, which was very similar to the previous one, but everything was a hundred times worse.

Bloodshot eyes, a swollen, red face, dry skin, streaks of mucus on my chin, lips almost bleeding from how much I had rubbed them with my sleeve and bitten them. The vacant stare, the messy hair... I was ruined.

If I had been honest with myself, maybe I had never been healthy. Not as a Jedi, not alone, not as a Sith. But this was the bottom of the barrel.

The little dignity I thought I had, the pride, the faith... what had they led to?

I undressed slowly, my arms burning with pain, the marks on my skin evident and almost distinct in multiple colors—purple, black, red, blue, and lighter around the edges, the older ones starting to take on a greenish hue. I removed my pants and underwear, then took a deep breath. One hand gently caressing my belly, more tears threatened to fall from my eyes, but I held them back.

I needed to stop. I risked harming myself. Even Sam had reproached me for putting too much stress on my body. The last thing I wanted on my conscience was to harm my child before he was even born. It would be just another failure on my part, but I didn't think I would survive the psychological consequences.

I turned on the hot water and waited for the small bathroom to warm up. As soon as the steam began to fill the room, I stepped into the shower under the warm stream. I washed slowly, partly due to my aching body, partly to enjoy a moment of peace. There were many things to do. I couldn't immediately retreat to the farthest corner of the galaxy. I needed to gather healthier supplies, recover my credits from various accounts, ensure the ship was safe from tampering, and check that I had no one on my trail.

Yes, Sam was checking and had been keeping an eye on the ship the whole time, but I couldn’t know if Qimir had gotten his hands on it earlier. Hours had passed, and I was fairly certain he had managed to escape, but he hadn't sent me any messages or tried to contact me through the Force. Everything was too calm.

Maybe he was carefully planning his next moves. After all, now he had a more important reason to keep me close. Five months ago, he hadn't let go, even though he continued his objectives, and time had passed, maybe even with the belief that I would resurface alone. But now, things were completely different.

I knew what he wanted deep in his heart, in his raw and simple desires. Revenge against those who had hurt him. And me. And now our son was indirectly the perfect symbol of his dream, the product of us both as a family, alive and corporeal.

I needed to prepare myself psychologically for what would come next. Even though it was clear my body wasn’t capable of handling it, I struggled to react to his presence. My only option was to flee.

Or if things really went south... I wouldn’t care anymore. I would report him to the Jedi Order if it meant keeping him away from my son. It was already ridiculous trying to help him once, yes, even to protect myself, but everything that came after I could avoid.

I stepped out of the shower feeling somewhat better, though the pain had not subsided at all. Washing away the tears from my face had been therapeutic. I put on a pair of loose pants and a long black robe that reached my knees, deciding to skip the underwear. I had had enough of my miserable hours, feeling the underwire of my bra pressing against my flesh was the last thing I wanted, and no one would notice the lack of underwear.

I wanted to sleep. Lie down and forget everything for a while. But I knew that if I relaxed now, I would open my eyes hours later or worse, not want to get up at all. I couldn’t afford to waste any more time.

It took me at least five minutes to put on my shoes by myself.

When I finally managed, I opened the bedroom door, with Sam waiting outside.

"Did you check everything as I asked?" He gave a small affirmative nod while handing me the holo pad Yord had given me.

I should have destroyed it. What would I even do with it? Contact him? If he were interested, he would have called me earlier or... no, I was delirious.

A bitter laugh escaped me as I recalled Qimir's words. He was right, I was delirious.

I went back to the cockpit, my backpack waiting on the co-pilot's seat, and with a sigh, I slipped the communicator back in. I tidied up the things I needed, decided to tuck the lightsaber into the large pockets of my pants. Since I would be wearing a cloak, I doubted anyone would notice, but I preferred to carry something familiar. Even if I didn’t use it, it would be enough to scare almost anyone, though I preferred not to show it too much.

We arrived at our destination a few minutes later. The planet was a very popular docking destination, especially for those making long trips, as the surface didn’t offer much entertainment for the inhabitants. The docking area was the main commerce zone, legal or otherwise, with a financial flow so significant that even the Republic turned a blind eye to certain dealings.

The logic was quite simple: there were multiple docking levels, marked with different colors or numbers. At first glance, it seemed just a normal numbering system, but each symbol provided specific information for dockers, and if you were ignorant of the matter, you just had to look at the colors.

Green = legal

Purple = illegal

I landed on a lower level, a purple platform with some tool symbols painted on the side. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and, accompanied by Sam, descended the ramp calmly. My feet cried out in pain, especially after resting for a few hours on the ship, but I ignored the discomfort. I would rest eventually.

From the landing area, there was a narrower path overlooking the void, with lights visible below on the artificial pillar. It made little sense to stop here if one wanted to visit the actual planet. Even though there were means to descend directly, it made more sense to land on solid ground.

As I moved away from the ship, I saw two Togruta approaching me with a tool cart in tow. I pulled my hood over my head and stopped a few steps from them.

“Ma’am” they greeted with a nod, which I returned. I then handed them a pouch with some credits, which they tucked into their pockets.

“I need to buy some supplies, but I have a few doubts. I would like you to check the ship internally and externally for any tracking devices or tampering. If you find something like this, please inform me immediately” They nodded before handing me a small device with two lights.

“If we find anything concerning, we will immediately trigger the red light. We assume that any external device will be destroyed if found...?”

I nodded. "Of course, I expect the utmost discretion" I said, and resumed walking. However, one of the two men called out to me, "Excuse me, if you need supplies, my brother runs a shop on the floor above. Right next to the elevator, yellow sign. He has a bit of everything... even some extras if you ask"

I nodded again, and we parted ways. I reached the elevator and decided to take a stroll to see if I could find anything useful. I gathered some credits in various pouches that I slipped to the bottom of my bag, careful not to be seen, and passed by the shop that had been suggested to me, paying a droid to bring the supplies directly to the ship until I decided to stop at a small restaurant.

A counter overlooked the kitchen, with a dozen neatly arranged tables outside. It had a slightly dated appearance, but it was nice and, above all, quiet.

I ordered something simple, and it arrived quickly since there weren't many customers. I ate while waiting for the signal from my ship. People and aliens of all kinds passed before my eyes, but I could barely focus. I was distracted, confused, and not hearing from Qimir was eating me alive. Was this his plan? To torture me with silence? To wait until I let my guard down or to drive me insane?

As I finished my meal, a female voice from a nearby table caught my attention. "Congratulations" a woman in her fifties smiled warmly at me. I immediately recognized her armor as part of one of the bounty hunter clans scattered throughout space. She gestured toward my stomach, and looking down, I noticed that seated, my belly was quite noticeable due to the shirt that had rolled up around my hips.

I placed a hand on my stomach in a small caress and forced a tight smile. "Thank you." I hoped the conversation would end there, but clearly, the woman wanted to chat. "How many months along are you?"

I held back a sigh. It wasn’t her fault I was irritated, I didn’t want to respond rudely, and it was better not to anger strangers—you never knew how they might react.

"Fifth... almost sixth"

I had also finished eating, so I couldn’t use that as an excuse. I could have gotten up and left, but I wanted to enjoy sitting there as long as I could, I still didn’t know how long it would be before I was called back.

"How lovely, you remind me of my first pregnancy. My husband and I were so happy..." She looked at me as she got lost in her story. She was a beautiful woman with copper-red hair tied up, a few gray strands in the middle, and wrinkles that showed her age, but she was so charming that it was barely noticeable. Not to mention she was clearly a trained woman.

But what was she doing here alone? I recognized the armor well, they were usually in small scattered groups. I didn’t recall seeing anyone else with the same clan symbol on the floor, nor had I seen her talking to anyone before...

A shiver of fear struck me.

She was here hunting someone. And now... she was talking to me... it couldn’t be true? Had Qimir put a bounty on my head so quickly? Or maybe he had contacted some private party he knew and...

"Hey, girl, are you okay? You look pale, do you need a hand? Is there someone with you?"

I gripped the edge of the table nervously, my other hand slowly reaching for the lightsaber in my pocket, Sam at my feet, ready to attack if necessary.

"Are you here for me?" I asked bluntly. If we were going to confront each other, it was better not to beat around the bush.

She looked at me puzzled for a moment, then her face lit up in realization. "Oh, no, sweetheart, believe me, I was just on a break before joining my people and... wait, are you in trouble? Who would send bounty hunters after you?" She gave me a closer look before seeing the glint in my pocket. I hid the lightsaber, but it was too late.

She looked taken aback for a moment before sitting in the empty chair at my table, leaning slightly forward. "Are you a Jedi?!" she whispered. "Oh, honey, how did you get into this mess? The cloak reminded me of something, but I didn’t think it was like this..."

I looked around nervously, but no one seemed to pay attention. "I... it’s complicated" I didn’t feel like correcting her, it was better not to reveal too much information, especially to a stranger. She didn’t seem to have bad intentions, but it was better not to risk exposing myself too much.

She sighed.

"This is what happens when you raise kids away from the world. Tsk. No offense, but I never liked your Order. What happens with kids and then... was it intentional at least?" She asked, indicating my belly.

I shrugged in response. I didn’t want to feel like I was being interrogated by a stranger or, worse, criticized for my choices. The idea of going down and waiting at the docking platform crossed my mind.

She exhaled slowly as she leaned back in her chair. "And him? Another Jedi?" I looked at her from under my hood and nodded. She rubbed her eyes. "Tell me you’re waiting for him here, please."

The indirect mention of Qimir by the woman at this point seemed like just another joke from the Force.

I held back a tear, quickly wiping it away, but the gesture didn’t go unnoticed by the woman. I continued nervously looking at my hands in my lap, Sam beside me, whistling sadly.

There was a few seconds of tense silence before she spoke again. "Listen. Let’s start over. I’m Eleena, and you?"

I told her my name in a faint voice.

"Alright, Sabrina. Do you have a plan? A place to stay? Do you know what to do?"

I nodded. "Do you think the Jedi are looking for you? They don’t seem like the type to chase a pregnant girl, despite everything..."

I sighed, distressed. The whole conversation made me uncomfortable, but I was glad to get a bit of understanding after all this time, especially from someone outside all the Order and the Force’s mess.

"It’s... a complicated matter" I started moving the plate in front of me with a finger in a nervous gesture, continuing not to look at her, afraid of feeling judged. "Okay. Then I’ll ask you another question. Have you had any check-ups recently?"

I cleared my throat. "Last month, I wanted to go here, but I saw I had to register at the counter and other procedures, so I didn’t feel up to it..."

She calmly got up from the chair, hands on her hips. "I know another place here. A man who helps bounty hunters. I’ll take you there, and you get checked out, okay?"

I looked at her in surprise.

Was she serious? Was she really helping me? Could I trust her?

"But why...?" She offered me a hand to help me up. "I told you, I’m a mother too. We should help each other, right? And besides, I’m always happy to stick it to the Jedi"

We walked through the market area, reached the elevator again, and went down two floors to the workers' private area. A guard stopped us, but as soon as he saw Eleena, he made a gesture and let us pass. The area looked more like a really disorganized warehouse, with a few tables scattered around and various people on break eating or dozing in chairs. We reached the end of the corridor and went through a side door. There was a small corridor with white walls and another door at the end.

Eleena knocked, and after a moment of silence, the door opened. A massive man, perhaps around two meters tall, welcomed us and let us in.

It was clear that they knew each other. They exchanged a few words while I looked around, still followed by a curious Sam. The place was a storage room cleaned and reorganized as a medical room. Despite the heavy air, it was... nice.

In the end, I managed to get the check-ups I needed. Fortunately, I was fine, although the droid that gave me a quick scan announced the few bruises on my arms and a high stress level in my body. Eleena gave me an intense look but said nothing. I tried to pay them for their trouble, but the man refused, saying, "Friends of my friends are my friends"... or something like that.

Just in time to receive the signal on the communicator, I could finally board the ship and leave. Eleena decided to accompany me to the landing area. I returned the device and paid extra for some minor repairs that had been done.

"I don’t know how to thank you. I didn’t know where else to go. I was thinking of buying a medical droid on the way home" I stopped in front of the ramp as Sam opened the hatch and boarded to check the supplies that had been loaded.

"It’s all right. I’m glad to help, really. The galaxy is already full of assholes, and doing a good deed every now and then doesn’t hurt" I held my hands under my stomach before giving a small bow with my head. "It doesn’t matter. Thank you for everything"

I started to board, but she stopped me. "Listen. I won’t ask for anything else, but I think I have an idea of what’s going on with you. Tell me the truth, it’s just you and the droid, right?"

I bit my lip before nodding.

"Then take this. I don’t care if you use it or not. I feel better knowing you can contact me" she handed me a holo-pad which I took hesitantly. "If you need to kick some Jedi ass, my people and I are here. Even for free, believe me, it would just make us happy"

I looked at her for a few more seconds before pulling off my hood and giving her a gentle smile, perhaps finally more at ease after all the tears shed. "I won’t forget this"

We said our goodbyes, and I finally boarded the ship, reached the controls, and started the engines. The holo-map was lit up next to me, with Sam asking where we wanted to go as he analyzed the various marked locations.

"I don’t know. Maybe somewhere it snows" I whispered more to myself than to him as we flew out of the atmosphere.

[thevoidscreams]

Request prompt for mating press March for you!

You have recently been assigned as a chapter serf for the black templars and have been trying your best but it’s tiring work and during one of your late shifts you have fallen asleep! You thought you’d gotten away with it and no one had noticed but the next day you are told the chaplain has asked for you. Turns out he spotted you whilst you were sleeping on the job when you should have been attending your sacred duties. Perhaps big stern dom chaplain will teach you a lesson to reaffirm your faith…

Day 19

Pairing: Chaplin Soren (oc)x reader

Warnings: mentions of religion, spanking, bondage, cumming inside, power imbalance (if you squint)

My head snapped up, and I shook it as I looked around, confused. I clenched a soft rag in my hand, and brushed a stray bit of drool from my lip. What was I doing here?

It came back to me as I smelled the smoke from the censer. I had been polishing the steps leading up to the altar inside one of the ship's many chapel.

I looked around in a panic. No one was around. How long had I drifted off for? A few minutes, a few hours.

Throne preserve me, I'd fallen asleep on the job. This was sure not to go over so well if I was seen. Hopefully, I could finish up quickly and be on my way. I didn't see anyone, and surely I would have been chastised for falling asleep in a place of worship. The chapel wasn't for napping. It was for giving praise and worship to the god emperor. I bowed my head and continued on with my task, ashamed. Finishing the task as swiftly as I could I hurried out. At least no one saw me.

Dark eyes watched from behind the visor of the skull. Disappointment and disapproval swelled in Soren's hearts. He had liked you as much as it was possible for an astartes of his station to like a serf. You'd done excellent work up until this point, so diligent, completing tasks without complaint. And your work in this very room meant that you'd built a good report. It was a shame you'd likely never see him the same after he decided your punishment.

His hands twitched as he reminded himself that you are only a human. You do not have his endurance. But still sleeping in the chapel could not be allowed to go without some form of penance being served.

He felt his body stirring at the idea. He'd have to punish you so you didn't do this again. He'd have to be..very thorough.

The next day I was assigned to the chapel again on orders of Soren, one of the kinder and more personable chaplins. I thought about him and the odd request as I ran my rag over the stone steps again. I wondered if there was a reason I was to clean it again at night. Probably as not to interfere with the worship during the day.

The sound of ceramite on stone made me look up sharply. I was almost done.

"Good evening, my lord." I spoke reverently, not looking up past his greaves. I knew who he was without having to look past that point.

I'd cleaned his armor enough times to know it by heart.

"It is rather late, little one." His rich voice greeted me from behind the skull.

"Yes, I am almost finished. This is the last step, it took me a bit longer last night as well. There’s much to do." I replied, heart beating a bit faster than normal. I liked the Chaplin, Soren. I found him insightful and he was often good company to have while I worked. He would tell me stories.

"Perhaps you would have finished sooner had you not been sleeping."

My body went cold, not like the room was chilly, but as if my blood had spontaneously frozen in my veins. My hand stopped over the step and my limbs locked up, tense as if readying to make a run for it.

"It would seem you understand just how unacceptable this action is. Perhaps it was merely a mistake. I wouldn't have taken you for someone who disrespects the god Emperor. But then again, I am no psyker, I cannot see a person's soul."

"It was an accident my lord. My body was weak, there was so much work...forgive me..." My voice came out quiet, like a mouse.

“That is no excuse. If you are not fit for the rigors of your station then perhaps you might better serve in another form.”

My chest tightened and I found tears of fright blurring my eyes.

“It will not happen again, I promise. Please my Lord. I do not wish to serve as a servitor.”

Soren laughed, it was a deep rolling sound that flowed over the stones around me and despite my fear I found the sound lifting my soul ever so slightly.

“Dry your tears serf. I will not tell anyone. You have served well until now and I, unlike many of my brothers, understand that your body has limits that you can not always fight.” So he’d been jesting, just to see me squirm. He wasn’t going to have me turned into a mindless robotic slave.

He grabbed my arm, I was going to drop to my knees and kiss his ceramite clad feet in thanks but I found myself up on my feet, his free hand tilting my face back to face his helm.

“But you will need to face some punishment for this. You have allowed yourself to falter in your duties to our Emperor. You must confess and repent for these sins. I will handle you and this event will stay between us. If I deem it satisfactory then no one else will need to know.”

I nodded, fresh tears of relief streaked down my cheeks.

“Thank you my lord. I am so very sorry.”

Soren still held my arm and forced me, much more gently than I had expected towards a room towards the back where I had never been before.

The door was heavy, an ornate carved wooden door. My body was pressed firmly against it by him as he reached for the knob. I felt a familiar heat in my belly as he grunted softly and forced it open on creaky hinges.

The room was dim, lit only by the candles on a desk.

“I will remove my armor and hear your confession.”

I tilted my head in confusion as he let me go. Take his armor off, why would he need to do that?

He began to pull away pieces of his plate, placing them carefully, almost lovingly on a stand. I averted my gaze as he began to remove his body glove, my cheeks were probably very pink.

His helm was the final thing he pulled away and I found myself mesmerized by him. He was younger than I’d thought. His hair was a deep brown, cut short and neat. His skin was pale and his features were sharp. Throne he was beautiful, I found myself unable to look away. His eyes were dark, so deep I’d thought they were black till he lit a match off one candle to light several more. The depth of that blue was entrancing. The blueness of his eyes grew more apparent.

I felt as though I could dive into those blue pools and never resurface.

Soren came towards me, I hadn’t realized that I’d been backing up until my back hit the wall. He looked good in nothing but light pants and a tabard.

“You will confess to me now.” His deep voice sounded so clear and precise without the filter of a helmet. It sent pleasant shivers through my body.

“Yes, my lord.”

He guided me to my knees and I bowed my head in shame. Remembering why I was here.

“Tell me. What have you done?”

“I fell asleep in the middle of my duties to the Emperor. Leaving them unfinished while I rested. And I did so in the chapel. I slept in a holy place of worship.”

“Good. You have made a good confession. Is there anything else you would like to confess?”

I shook my head earnestly, I was sure that that was all.

“Very well, I will administer your penance, and you will repent.”

He made a motion for me to stand. I did, he took my arm in his and slapped a black iron cuff around it.

I flinched in surprise, he only chuckled. “Do not fight me. And this will go quickly.”

He took another cuff and locked it around my other wrist.

They were heavy and linked with a thick iron chain just as dark in color.

“For your penance,” he began as he dragged me to the wall and hung my chain on a hook just high up enough that I had to stand on the tips of my toes. “You will have one lash for every ten minutes you lay on the emperor's steps.”

One for every ten minutes. How long had I slept, two hours? That was twelve! Twelve lashes!

I craned my head to try and get a look at whatever implement he'd chosen and was surprised again to see not a flail or whip, but a paddle.

His bulky hand gripped the hem of my light gown and lifted it until the dress was over my head.

I wiggle my face free of the fabric and gasped as his fingers tugged my panties down as well. Leaving me with no layers between myself and the lather paddle.

Soren moved to a place where I couldn't turn my head and see him.

Soren admired the soft skin of your ass as he looked for just the right spot to begin. Throne you were a stunning creature. He felt his own excitement at having you chained and helpless under him.

He ought to be the one on his knees confessing. He was a Chaplin after all. But the way you whined in discomfort as you tapped around on the tips of your toes and looked so meek made his body hot.

He ran calloused fingers over the leather and then reached out to touch your warm supple skin.

Beautiful. Magnificent. Gorgeous. All failed to express how perfect you looked right then.

Drawing the paddle along your rump he felt his manhood twitch at your gasp.

You were enjoying this too much, he decided. He came to your side, paddle in hand and pulled it back to deliver a hardy thwack against your skin and he drank in your cry with a stifled groan of his own.

The pain was sudden and hot. My right cheek stung as the paddle made contact. It hurt, so why did I not cry out in pain. And why was there a deep and sudden urge to feel more of that burn?

“Count.”

Soren demanded.

I drew in a shaky breath. “One.”

“Good.”

He brought the paddle down on the other cheek.

“Two.” I squeaked the number.

I felt strange, a certain anticipation for the next blow growing. I gasped as his next blow went a bit lower and I heard Soren grunt in satisfaction at something.

“Three.” I mewed.

It was much the same for four and five.

I felt something warm trickle down my thighs and thought for a moment that I was bleeding.

Soren brought the paddle down for six, his manhood was rock hard now. The sight of your excitement dripping down your thighs was simply splendid. “Six~”

He hung the paddle on the hook next to the one you were chained to.

He needed this, his rough hands brushed your rump.

“Chaplin?”

Your voice, your body, your everything. It drove him mad.

His hand came down causing an audible mewl of pleasure to pour from your lips.

He licked his parched lips.

“Number?” He growled.

“Seven.”

“Good..” He almost called you a good girl. “Five more.”

I nodded at his words.

His free hand held my hip as he brought the other down to clap against my ass.

“Mmm!~ E-eight!” This was meant to be a punishment, I shouldn't have been enjoying it.

His hand seemed to linger before he drew it away.

Bringing it back down, alternating which cheek he struck.

Soren was practically panting as you moaned the word “nine” . He looked down at your soaked thighs, licking his lips and closing his eyes as he took a steadying breath.

It only served to fill his nose with your heady and feminine scent.

The Chaplin swallowed and raised his hand, bringing it down again, you counted out and he watched a trickle of slick fluids course down from your wet lower lips.

My ass was on fire, but I'd never felt so high.

Only two more, I whined at the thought. After these next two he'd send me away. I didn't want that, I didn't want him to send me off into the world never to speak of this again.

I'd just have to savor this.

His hand came down, I gasped, and wantonly moaned the next number. “Eleven.”

Soren came around to my back again, I could hear his quiet panting. Was he as affected by this as I was?

“Just one more.”

“Yes, my lord. Give me my just punishment.” The words seemed to pour forth unbidden.

Soren tensed, his hand on the verge of delivering the final blow.

He gave it, in the center of your ass. His hands came away wet, a splotch of your juices on his fingers.

He barely registered your count as he raised his fingers to his lips, he needed this, but it was wrong. Wasn't it?

His tongue darted out and his cock jumped as your salty musk coated his tongue.

His eyes slid shut, it was a moment of pure indulgence. The flavor was unlike anything he'd ever tasted. Fertile with the promise of your body.

Soren could bear it no longer and dropped to his knees. His hands gripping your thighs, just as taste, it was all he needed. A taste.

I was shocked by his actions, my voice failing me as I waited for whatever it was he was going to do.

I felt his thumbs brush the softness of my lower lips as he pulled them apart. I moaned softly into the fabric that had been pulled up and over my neck.

“My lord? What-” My question died on my lips as his tongue ran up my thigh. Collecting the warm sticky fluids I'd been spilling since we began.

He stopped just below my cunt and I whimpered. His tongue then made the slow torturously slow path up my other thigh.

Throne I needed more, I needed him to do this properly.

Was this part of the punishment, teasing me with that hot muscle till I was half mad with need? I already felt close to that anyway. But I doubted it, none of this felt like it was calculated. A spur of the moment decision to indulge in a forbidden fruit.

I could feel his breath, hot and wet as he rubbed at the outer edges of my cunt. His fingers dug into the meat of my thighs and I felt him lean in, silently urging him to do it.

Soren's mind raced, his thoughts a jumble. The sweetness called to him. He watched as a fresh gush of arousal wetted your entrance, and his breathing hitched as he felt the desire to lap it up with his tongue.

He shook his head, his knees felt shaky aashe stood. It was an alien sensation, uncertainty.

“Your punishment has absolved you of your sins… but you still lack the strength you need to finish your tasks. I will..” He swallowed. “I will fill you with the strength you need.”

The raw excitement that I felt was like nothing I'd experienced before.

“Yes, please my Lord. I am weak.” I gasped, submitting to his will and judgment.

I felt something warm and solid hit my back and jolted in place. His hand grasped the thing and his fingers grazed against my back as he stroked himself.

“Beg.”

It was all he had to say.

“Please my Lord, I am so weak. So frail, I need you to lend me your strength, your certainty. So I may serve the emperor with the same fervor and will as you.”

I felt the tip of his cock catch at my entrance and shivered. Then there was a terrible burning as he pressed in his length, made only a fraction easier by my wetness. He was big, so, so big.

He filled me, leaving me breathless as I felt his tip somewhere near my stomach.

Soren leaned over me, a groan welling up from his lips as his hands found the walls for support.

Soren's eyes practically rolled back in his skull as he pushed in as far as he could go. Breathing a few words of adoration as he regained his senses.

His right hand remained on the wall as his left arm grabbed you around the waist. Lifting you just a bit off the floor as your hands grasped the chain making it rattle

“I will give you all that you need, you need only ask.” His hips pulled back, his cock slipping out a fraction, a groan of satisfaction at finally tending to his more human needs accompanied the action.

He wasn't going to stop till he was fully satisfied.

He set a hard even pace, his hips clapping against your tender backside.

I whined, the pain hadn’t lasted, as soon as he began his cock touched all the empty places inside me that I hadn’t known were there.

I cried out for him, begging, pleading, my desperation for his cock was almost shameful. But my shame was the farthest thing from my mind at that moment. I just wanted to cum on him, and feel him cum in me in return.

It was a greedy feeling. Wanting more than he was already giving me. His chest was a persistent heat on my back and he panted out each breath.

Though I knew his transhuman form was not winded.

“Does my body please my lord?”

He groaned, and I felt a smattering of drool hit my shoulder blade as his face lowered down to press into my neck.

“It is..” He grunted, “an excellent vessel to receive the grace of the emperor. I should keep you filled, so that you may never falter. I will have to see to this task.. personally.” He moaned the last word and I clenched around him involuntarily as I understood his meaning.

“I would be honored by my lord’s offer. I would cherish the feeling of being filled by his strength and light. Please my Lord.” I squeaked, pressing my cheek against him. “Please never let me be empty of you.”

He groaned, and picked up his pace, lifting me further till my chain came off the hook. Soren held me as he stumbled back into a chair with me in his lap. He grunted and the sudden change in position forced me down on his cock further. Soren fucked me with an almost mindless need. Mumbling under his breath as if he was praying.

“Never let you be empty. Keep you full of the light. Keep you.. full.”

His left hand went to my stomach and he touched it with such love. It made me shiver and made my head spin.

“Yes.. full.” I gasped and finally came undone on his cock.

Soren fucked me through it, his pace increasing unevenly as he worked his way up to his climax.

He held me down on his cock as he let loose all of his seed.

I felt the heat with every pulse of his cock as he continued to fill my womb with rope after rope.

It felt like he came forever, but really it could only have been a few seconds. Yet I was full by the time he was done.

Just as he promised.

Soren undid the cuff, setting them on his desk and fixing my dress.

Then he took me to a cot I hadn't noticed before, he sat us down and laid me across his lap. Picking up a small bottle from a box next to his bed.

I wasn't sure what he was doing until he lifted the dress again and poured a generous amount of oil onto my still reddened ass.

He set the bottle aside and his calloused hands set to work, massaging the oil into my sore cheeks.

“Thank you.” I broke the silence and he hummed.

“I.. I will not say that I am sorry for all that had transpired here. You took your punishment well..but afterwards.. I did not intend for that. You must forgive me.”

He urged and I did something I didn't expect. I laughed.

It was such an absurd circumstance I just couldn't help it.

“Why are you laughing?” His hand clenched around my ass cheek and I could hear the hurt in his voice.

“There’s nothing to forgive my lord. I would happily do that with you again. And besides, I believe you said you would keep me full right?”

I peek over my shoulders to see his face darken with a blush. It was very cute.

“I would not force that on you.” He told me as he kept rubbing.

“I figured.. but, I enjoyed it. Very much so, that was the best I've ever had.”

“Truely?”

“Yeah, if anything, I feel I should be thanking you. It was fun, even if it was meant to be a punishment.”

Soren met my gaze and held it.

“I will have you assigned to this chapel then.. you will see to its care and when you do a good job… I will keep you filled.”

I smiled at his words. “Thank you my lord.”

He finished and I was going to get up but he pulled me into him, laying down.

“The stairs-” I began but he cut me off.

“Will be there in the morning. Rest now.”

I nodded and laid my head on his chest, sleep came easy.

Soren held you close for hours, just brushing his hands over your form and watching you as you slept. It was good that you rested so easily in his arms. You were going to need all the strength you could get because he was already planning on fulfilling his promise when you woke up.

[cherryslyce]

Second Son (II) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Forbidden from contacting Harry over the summer, you opt to explore the eerie halls of Grimmauld Place where you stumble upon a lonely portrait of the House's second son.

— Chapter Synopsis: Getting acquainted with Regulus was inevitable, but your relationship only continues to grow as you figure out a way for your friendship to outlast the closing summer break.

Part I / Part III / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x GN!Reader

Notes: Harry's arrival. Regulus is warming up to Y/N. Little cliffhanger at the end.

It was an ingenious idea.

"That is certainly an idea."

Regulus was very much trying to be supportive of your plans, but you could see the veiled apprehension in his gaze.

Over the summer, you were able to bond with him over the traumas of your life. You were proudly on day 34 of friendship.

In a way, he had become your closest acquaintance in the absence of Harry.

Regulus was endlessly fascinated by Harry when you had explained the lore of the poor boy's life. You would pay a good sum of your inheritance to see the gobsmacked look on his face again after you told him Harry was famous for surviving the Killing Curse.

"Calm your horses, Reg. It will be fine. I wouldn't risk such a thing if I weren't confident."

"Oh, it's not your confidence I doubt," his curls bounced ever so slightly as he shook his head, "I'm just hoping that you aren't in over your head here."

"It will be fine. I have this thing where I am averse to killing friends."

"Friends?-"

Before Regulus could finish, you whipped out your wand and murmured a firm reducio.

His painting gave the faintest quake before quickly shrinking on the floor.

"Reg? Are you okay?"

"Fine. Everything is just humongous now. But I'm no more cramped than I was before."

You pick up the small frame, brushing your thumb over the gold edge. Regulus‘ painting was now quaint enough to fit in the palm of your hand, his shrunken figure gazing up at you in relief.

"See, I told you. Everything's fine. Now I can take you with me everywhere I go."

His eyes glimmer in pleasure at the prospect of actually be able to see the outside world.

"I concede, you were right. However, in the event that you die, what will happen to me? Merlin forbid they bury me with you."

Regulus made it a point to bring up your almost imminent demise at every chance he could, strongly disapproving of your close association with the Dark Lord's current greatest adversary.

It was funny to think the greatest threat to the Dark Lord's reign was a group of teenagers struggling in Arithmancy.

"Don't worry, I'll look up some kind of rune to transport you to a safe place in the event that I am slaughtered. Though, you should have more faith in me, Harry and I have managed to survive a lot of unimaginable things."

"None of which even scratch the surface of the Dark Lord's power."

"Yeah, yeah, but I'm less concerned about the Dark Lord and more concerned about the Ministry. They're completely defaming Harry and I have half the mind to march on in to Fudge's office and slap him."

Regulus let out a noise of amusement and you began to fiddle with your wand in contemplation.

"Hey Reg, do you know anything that could allow you to communicate with me without giving away your whole predicament? I think I'll be shipped off on the first carriage to St. Mungo's if someone catches me talking to myself."

You were hesitant to tell anyone about your summer discovery, but Regulus was vehemently against it. He told you that telling others of his existence would only give him a headache, and you had a creeping suspicion he wasn't on the best of terms with the Dark Lord and his followers or his brother.

"There might be something in my room. I was researching various concealment charms before I died. For now, I'll just remain silent until you address me first."

A warm feeling beat at your chest. Regulus had never outright told you, but you knew that he trusted you and even liked you enough to agree to stick around.

It was probably due to your unrelenting honesty and efforts to make it clear that you didn't hate him for his past juvenile decisions.

Though, he was still quite secretive about his past.

"Well, off we go then. And Reg?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks." For trusting me and for being my friend.

"Think nothing of it."

Brushing Reg's frame one last time, you slip the small item into a wide pocket inside your jacket.

You huff out a heavy sigh and make your way out of the room, slowly cracking the door open. As you peered out into the hall, you let relief wash over you as you realized the coast was clear.

Slowly shutting the door behind you, letting it warp and disappear, you bound down the staircase and towards the end of the hall on the second floor.

You stopped a few paces away from your destination, taking in the sight of the worn door. It felt almost like you were about to cross the threshold into somewhere sacred.

"Y/N! There you are, we've been looking for you! What are you doing?" You curse silently under your breath, spinning on your heel and away from Regulus‘ bedroom door.

Hermione and Ron were looking at you expectantly, confusion flitting in their eyes at your recent reclusiveness and secrecy.

"I was just exploring."

"Near that door?" Ron's voice was coated in a mixture of disbelief and pride, approving of your sudden mischievous nature.

"Yeah, I mean I've always liked a good mystery. Though...keep it a secret for me? I don't want to sit through Sirius‘ lecturing."

This time it was Hermione who spoke, a sudden glint of excitement sharpening in her gaze, "No matter about that! We heard from the adults that Harry should be arriving soon!"

You broke out into a grin at the news, though your eyebrows began to furrow as you let the information stew in your head.

"Wait. Why now? Did something happen? Dumbledore would never allow it unless something urgent occurred."

Hermione and Ron exchange a serious look and a sinking feeling drags down your middle.

It is not until they drag you into your shared room that you're informed of the news, and you honestly could not be less surprised.

Chaos followed Harry everywhere, and a Dementor attack happened to fall into the ‘shit that only happens to Harry‘ category of life.

Harry arrived less than an hour after you received the news, and you could see the relief flood into his eyes as he realized you were all there waiting for him.

You let Hermione and Ron smother him in their hugs before you're up on your feet and gently patting his back, his face shoved into your shoulder as his whole body sagged.

"I'm glad you're here now, Harry. Dumbledore forbade all methods of communication with you, and he's unfortunately methodical. I tried just about everything to reach you."

The tired boy nods at your explanation, clearly still in shock at the events that unfolded to properly react.

You were beginning to relax against Harry until a sudden pop had you gripping your chest painfully.

The bloody twins and their bloody apparition.

"Fred! George! I swear I'm going to castrate you one of these days!"

You were still quite irked with the twins even after they apologized to you and formulated a plan to make up for the scare.

They thought it would be lightwork to use an extendable ear product of theirs to listen in on the meeting going on in the kitchen downstairs.

"As lovely as that sounds, I have to finish reading up for the summer."

"Blimey, Y/N. Don't tell me you're turning into Hermione."

"Well I think that's great, Y/N. And if you bothered to do what we were doing, Ronald, maybe you wouldn't have to ask for our notes every year."

You quickly flee the scene as the others were distracted, shutting the door quietly and striding towards Regulus‘ room down the hall.

Without hesitating like last time, you hurriedly twist the creaky knob and fling yourself into the room, not giving anyone the opportunity to catch you sneaking around.

"Okay, Reg. We're alone now. Sorry I couldn't leave sooner, I'm sure it was a bore for you."

You fetch the portrait from the inside of your jacket, grinning down at the pretty boy who was looking back at you passively.

"It was quite entertaining. It's better than the usual empty silence I'm used to."

"Right...I'm glad. Well, where do you keep your charms books at?"

"Left trunk underneath the bed. The green one."

You place the small painting down on the tableside next to his bed, propping it up against a dust-coated lamp. You heave the trunk out and let out a small exhale from the effort, nimbly unclasping it and flipping it open.

The sight of rows of books greeted you and you had to hold in a gasp at the wide collection and their near pristine quality.

Advanced Charm Casting

Chadwick's Charms Vol. III

Charms and Their Origins

The Dark Forces: Praesidium Carmina and Spells

"Wow. You have quite the selection. Praesidium Carmina?"

"It's latin for protection charms. There should be a few handy charms in there, but I didn't get to finish it so you'll have to read it thoroughly yourself."

You run a finger down the spine of the book appreciatively, grinning at the boy like a child finding a chest of candy.

"Reg, you are truly amazing."

"You can keep it. You can take all of them if you wish."

Your mouth falls open at his words, a pleased expression falling over your face. Regulus, for the most part, looked unaffected by your touched demeanor, but you could see a self-satisfied smile tug at his lips.

"Are you sure, Reg? These look precious."

"They are. But I have no use for them nor does Sirius. Besides, I can trust that you'll use them well."

"Wow. This is the first gift you've given me. You know this means that our friendship has entered the next level, right?"

Regulus shakes his head in amusement, smiling at your enthusiasm.

"And how would you define this new level of friendship, dear Y/N?"

"Well, we're like a couple secrets away from being best friends. Sorry though, I don't really know how I could give you an actual gift."

Regulus seems to consider this for a few moments, merely opting to shake his head in response.

"Getting me out of that room is already a debt I'm unable to repay."

"I'm glad you said that because now you're really stuck with me forever."

And it could have been the trick of the light, but you swear he didn't look totally bothered by the idea.

After shrinking down Regulus‘ trunk and a small pouch he insisted on you taking as well, you made your way down towards the kitchen, pockets full and feeling satisfied from your mission.

As you entered the kitchen, you stop in your tracks as everyone's attention darts to you.

Isn't that fun.

Suddenly, Sirius stands up and gestures for you to come sit, his mouth set in a firm line instead of his usual playful smirk.

"Y/N, there you are. We need to have a talk."

Relax. There's no way he knows anything.

Was what you would have thought, but Hermione and Ron couldn't quite look you in the eyes. You were superbly fucked.

tag list: @krazyk99 @venomsvl

[ginnsbaker]

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (20/23)

Chapter summary: You and Wanda go back for another couple's therapy session where Wanda reveals her abandonment issues; Afterwards, you and Wanda arrive in LA for Christmas with her family.

Chapter word count: 6.5k+ | Tags: Therapy, Healing, Comfort | Ship: Wanda x Female Reader

Author's note: Christmas part one. Can't believe there's only three more chapters and the epilogue. Enjoy!

AO3 | Masterlist 

Next part: Twenty-One

--

Twenty

As the second therapy session with Calliope gets underway, she opens with a warm smile, “Let's start with the assignment from our previous meeting. Were you both able to write and share your letters?”

You and Wanda share a quick glance before you respond with an enthusiastic, “Yeah, we did.”

You both can't help but beam, a sense of accomplishment clearly reflected in your faces.

“That's great to hear,” Calliope says warmly, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Tell me about the experience. How did it feel to be so open with each other?”

You glance at Wanda, who gives a small nod to signal she'll take the lead. She inhales deeply, her gaze momentarily darting to you before returning to Calliope.

“It was, you know... really special. Romantic,” Wanda confesses, a soft blush creeping onto her cheeks as she feels a bit silly, like a teenager raving about a crush. Her fingers absentmindedly twirl in loops on her knees. “I mean, it wasn't a promise or anything, but being able to understand just how deeply she cares for me... it made my heart feel full, in the best way.”

Calliope's attention then shifts to you, her body language encouraging and patient as she waits for you to share your thoughts.

After a thoughtful pause, you answer, “It felt like unshackling myself. Putting all my feelings into words, it was like shedding some weight off my shoulders. And reading what Wanda wrote…” You pause, turning to look at Wanda, a gentle warmth lighting up your eyes. “It... It grounded me. Reminded me of why we are doing this, why we're trying to fix things in the middle of all this confusion... It's because we love each other.”

“I must say, I'm incredibly moved by the strides you both have made,” Calliope says. She then subtly changes her posture, turning to focus more directly on Wanda. 

“Now that we've started delving into Y/N's trust issues, it's only fair that we address your feelings too, Wanda. So, let's talk about your trust in Y/N. How are you feeling about that?” Calliope asks.

A flicker of surprise crosses your face, reflected in Wanda's as well. The room falls into a hushed pause as Wanda processes the question, her brow creased in deep thought. The possibility of Wanda having her own trust issues hadn't even crossed your mind. You've been so focused on your own sense of betrayal and the need to rebuild trust, you didn't consider that she might be struggling too. As you wait for Wanda's response, a knot tightens in your stomach, making you realize just how much her answer matters to you.

For a brief moment, Wanda looks at Calliope with a blank expression. “I... I'm not quite certain how to answer that,” she concedes, her fingers subconsciously toying with a loose thread on her sleeve. 

You find yourself hanging onto her every word. 

“Does it count that I was jealous of Yelena even before she and Y/N got together? There was an entire history between Y/N and Yelena that we never really discussed... that I was never really a part of.”

“Lack of trust can often sow seeds of insecurity, Wanda, which in turn leads to feelings of jealousy. Trust doesn't only involve a faith in someone's actions, but also in their words and their shared history.” Calliope explains, and then she turns to you. “Y/N, this is something you need to take into account. It's not only about how your actions impact Wanda's trust in you, but also how much you're willing to share and be transparent about your past and your feelings.”

You swallow dryly and nod at Calliope’s words. It's not easy, admitting this. But it's something you realize you need to say.

“Wanda, I wasn't being completely truthful with you back then,” you start, feeling the weight of the words as they leave your lips. “When I told you I didn't think it was worth mentioning… The truth is, it made me uncomfortable to talk about her.”

Wanda's brow furrows slightly, but she doesn't interrupt. You take that as a sign to continue.

“Yelena was... she was important to me. At some point, before you and I met, I thought she was the one. And when that love was ripped away from me because she moved to another country, it hurt. It hurt a lot. So when we reconnected while we were married, it was... it was complicated. Especially because you never knew about her. I didn't know how to bring it up. How to explain it to you. So I avoided it. And I realize now that was wrong. It wasn't fair to you.” you say.

Wanda studies you intently, her hands clasped tightly together as she works up the courage to voice her question. “And what...what did you feel when you saw Yelena again that time after all those years?”

You take a deep breath. This honestly thing is harder than you thought.

“When I saw Yelena again,” you begin, your voice low and steady. “It was like being transported back in time. There was this rush of old memories, some good, some painful. It was a little unsettling.”

“Did you… realize anything?” Wanda asks slowly. She doesn't spell it out, but you can read between the lines: Did you feel a spark between you two?

You don’t think you can answer that without telling Wanda something first.

“When Yelena and I broke up, our story ended on an open note. There was no closure and part of me always wondered 'what if'. But then you happened, Wanda. You walked into my life and turned it upside down in the most beautiful way.”

You take a deep breath, looking at Wanda, her wide eyes locked onto yours, filled with anticipation. “Before I asked you to marry me, I thought about Yelena. I wondered what it meant to still have an open chapter with her. But in that moment, I knew with absolute certainty, you were the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.”

Wanda visibly relaxes at this, which makes you regret the next words to come out of your mouth. 

“But when I found out what really happened, it just floored me,” you say. “Our trust was broken, our marriage ended, and I was left feeling totally confused and hurt. I had to question everything we ever had together.”

Your voice drops to a softer tone, “After our divorce, my history with Yelena seemed like something unfinished that I needed to explore. I was just trying to make sense of everything, looking for a way to move on. I let myself think about 'what if' with her, and even gave a relationship with Yelena a chance. But we both know how that turned out, don't we?”

You give a small shake of your head, smiling sadly, “But to directly answer your question: No, it didn't spark any old romantic feelings when I ran into her in Soho. I didn't feel the same butterflies that I felt when I fell in love with her back then, or the ones I felt when I fell for you. And I realized recently that what we had for the second time around was more about seeking a familiar comfort, a way for me to move from you.”

Wanda nods as she takes everything in. It suddenly feels like a funeral setting, mourning a series of losses.

“I think I’m just realizing now more clearly, the magnitude of what I’ve done,” Wanda begins. Her gaze is steady, albeit heavy with a kind of self-awareness that only comes after a period of reflection and growth. “When I messed up, it wasn't just about you and me. It hurt people we care about. The fallout wasn't contained to just us, it spread to almost everyone we really care about.”

Wanda inhales a deep, shuddering breath, visibly collecting herself. “I can't erase what I did. I can't change the past. But I can learn from it. That huge mistake I made... it's a part of me now. I have to live with it, not as a source of shame, but as a constant reminder of where I went wrong.”

Calliope listens, her expression softening with understanding as Wanda speaks. When Wanda finishes, she nods, thoughtful.

After a brief pause to let her words sink in, Calliope segues into the next subject. “Is there anything else that has strained your trust in Y/N, or have we covered everything?” 

Wanda, after a thoughtful silence, finally murmurs, “There's something else…”

You turn to your ex-wife, surprised by her admission. You brace yourself for whatever comes next, even though a nagging feeling at the back of your mind tells you that you're about to be blindsided once again by something in your relationship with Wanda.

Wanda bites the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. Her voice is a bit shaky as she starts, “I... I'm afraid that one day you'll just... leave. Without a word, without a trace. Just like my mother did to me and my brother when we were young.”

She looks directly at you, vulnerability written all over her face. You can see the fear that grips her in those beautiful eyes, a fear that you've unknowingly contributed to.

“That night, when I asked you to stay... when I overdosed... it was that fear. That feeling of abandonment, it just... it just became too much,” she whispers, her voice trailing off.

You’re stunned into silence at the enormity of her confession. You had no idea that she carried such deep-rooted fears. It makes you view your actions and decisions in a new light. You may have unknowingly triggered her worst fear, exacerbating the pain she felt from your separation.

You reach across the couch to take her hand in yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. 

“I... I didn't realize that night what I was doing to you,” you say, looking down at your hands, now entwined. “I should've stayed. Maybe then things would've been different. If I'd understood...” Your voice trails off, choked with regret.

Wanda’s overdose, her hospitalization, it really was your fault. “Y/N,” Calliope's gentle voice cuts through your self-recrimination, “I see that you're blaming yourself, but it's crucial to recognize that we are all responsible for our own actions. Wanda's overdose was her response to the pain, a decision driven by her emotional state at the time. While you did play a role in her life, you didn't dictate her choices. There were other ways for her to cope, other people she could have reached out to. The path she took, as desperate as it may have been, was her decision. Our challenge now is to understand why she felt that was her only option, rather than assigning blame.”

Action and reaction. You understand that these are the things you can control if they are your own, but that doesn't negate the fact that other factors can influence them. Calliope's words don't quite alleviate the guilt threatening to engulf you.

“Y/N, would you care to share your intentions that night when you left Wanda? Did you plan to sever all communication with her?” Calliope gently prods.

“Calliope, can we–” Wanda begins, her voice breaking as if the words are lodged in her throat. “Can we not talk about this anymore?”

“No, Wanda, it’s okay,” you say softly. Your eyes lock with Wanda's, holding her gaze as if trying to communicate a silent promise. You then turn to Calliope, drawing a deep breath.

“I... I don't know," you admit, your voice low. “I was so hurt and angry... I couldn't think straight. But I never intended to... to abandon her like that. I just... I needed some space. I needed time to process everything that happened. And I thought she needed it too.”

Wanda cuts in to support your statement, “We were hurting each other... every day, every moment. It was as if we were stuck in a loop of anger, pain, and... meaningless sex. That week... it was like we were poisoning each other.” 

Wanda's voice softens, reaching out to you with a heartfelt plea, “I understand now why you had to leave then. But this time, if we're trying... if we're really committed to this, can I count on you to communicate with me if you ever feel like you need space?”

As Calliope turns to you for an answer, you feel an immediate sense of calmness washing over you. 

“Of course, Wanda,” you assure her with a small smile.

With a satisfied nod, Calliope wraps up the joint part of your therapy session, “That's a good place to pause for now.” She looks over at both of you, a proud smile on her face.

She then turns to you specifically, “Y/N, would you still be okay to proceed with your individual session after a short 30-minute break?”

You nod quickly. You want nothing more than to proceed and talk to Calliope about some things that have made it difficult for you to sleep in recent days.

“Alright, then. I'll see you shortly,” Calliope remarks, retreating to her desk, her pen already dancing across her notebook.

You and Wanda rise from your seats, and she mentions that she needs to rush back to the cafe to work on potential recipes for the “Cup-off”. You've only heard about this competition in passing one evening, but you nod supportively, thankful for her patience and engagement throughout these therapy sessions. She rewards you with a kiss on the cheek, and a promise to call you later.

“Okay, Y/N, let's begin,” Calliope starts, taking a deep and grounding breath. You find yourself silently admiring her resilience and strength. Her job seems like more of an emotional balancing act than you initially thought, bearing witness to all sorts of personal burdens day in and day out. Yet here she is, prepared to cross another emotional minefield. You briefly wonder if it ever gets to her–the burden of other people's problems.

“So, Y/N, how are you doing right now?”

You chuckle lightly, shaking your head as you settle back into the same spot you occupied just thirty minutes ago. “You were in the room with us,” you say with a wry smile. “You know how it went.”

Calliope grins slightly, responding patiently, “Yes, I was there. But a lot can shift in thirty minutes. It's fascinating, isn't it? The fluidity of human emotions. They can change, sometimes so rapidly.”

You smile good-naturedly, feeling the warmth from the coffee cup still lingering in your hands. Glancing out onto the balcony of the reception area had given you a moment to breathe, to reflect.

“Actually, I'm doing alright,” you tell Calliope, your voice steadier than before. “The quick break helped me calm down. I was upset, I won't lie, after hearing about the impact of my leaving on Wanda. And the thought of almost losing her without even realizing it... I would never be able to forgive myself if something had happened to her.”

“It won't be easy, but you need to forgive yourself. Wanda has,” Calliope says.

You take a deep breath, trying to absorb her words. It's one thing to hear Wanda say she forgives you, but to actually forgive yourself? That's a more complicated matter.

“Thank you, Calliope. I'll try.” You pause, collecting your thoughts, before adding, “There is actually something else on my mind.”

“What is it, Y/N?”

“Natasha,” you say, the name echoing in the room, fraught with significance. “She's my best friend. Well, was, I guess. And she's Yelena's sister.”

A brief understanding flashes across Calliope's face. “Ah,” she murmurs, leaning back in her chair. “That's a complex dynamic.”

“To say the least,” you reply, a hollow laugh escaping your lips. “I messed up with Yelena, right? I...I kissed Wanda while we were still together. And after Yelena broke up with me, Natasha and I had a big fight. She's refused to talk to me since. So, I’m just gonna go straight to it and ask you: How do I fix it?”

Calliope studies you for a moment, her gaze steady. “Y/N,” she begins, leaning further back in her chair, “A common misconception about therapy is that therapists are the 'fixers', that we hold all the answers to people's problems. But the truth is, we're here just to guide, to help you look at situations in a healthier way.”

You find yourself nodding, even though a part of you yearns for a simple solution.

Calliope pauses, letting you digest her words. “As for your situation with Natasha, you must understand that your control is limited. You cannot control her reactions or feelings. What you can control are your actions and intentions.”

She sees the understanding dawning in your eyes. “Your desire to fix the situation is natural, especially when you've caused hurt. But apologies can't be rushed, and forgiveness can't be demanded. However, there are steps you can take to start the process of healing.”

It's not an immediate solution, but it's a direction to follow. “I see,” you mutter, feeling a glimmer of hope. “Can you share with me what these steps are?”

Calliope smiles at your willingness to learn the process. “First, acknowledge what you've done wrong. In your case, it seems like you've done that. You've recognized that your actions with Wanda while being with Yelena caused you to hurt Natasha,” she starts.

“Second, reflect. Why did you do it? From what I’ve gathered, it’s because of your intense feelings for Wanda, which you have acknowledged in our previous sessions. Next, and most critically, how can you prevent such actions in the future?” she continues.

“Third, make the apology, but make sure it's sincere. People can tell when you're not genuinely sorry. Don't just say it to make yourself feel better, but rather to acknowledge the hurt you've caused," she advises, her gaze fixed on yours, driving home the importance of the words.

“I tried when I could,” you respond, frustration seeping into your voice. “But now, I don't even know how or when I could get another chance to…”

“Well, you’ve done your part, Y/N. Maybe you were sincere, but it wasn’t the right time for her yet. Maybe she wasn’t ready to hear it.” Calliope says.

You rub your face, feeling the weariness creeping in. “I just... I hope she knows how deeply sorry I am.”

“She will, Y/N, in her own time. Which brings us to the last advice I can give you,” Calliope says. “Give them time and space. It's crucial to understand that they may need time to process your apology and decide how they feel about it. They may not forgive you immediately, or even at all. That's something you'll have to accept.”

That's something you'll have to accept.

You went to kindergarten with Natasha. You shared birthdays together and even a funeral. 

If Natasha never forgives you, then you permanently lose a piece of your life.

A piece of yourself.

***

The persistent drone of the plane engines always unsettled you, making you hesitant about leaving the familiarity of solid ground. This feeling has you rooted in one city, avoiding globe-trotting adventures or cross-country escapades.

But when Wanda asked you to go with her to Los Angeles to celebrate Christmas with her family, you couldn't say no. The way her eyes lit up when she asked you was irresistible, and with your mom planning to spend the holidays with her friends in Europe, you faced the prospect of being alone in Manhattan. Despite your discomfort with planes, you decided to put your fears aside and join her on the trip. 

Wanda, otherwise the perfect companion, is now constantly on her phone, taking calls every five minutes, and when she's not on a call, she's texting. You overhear snippets about delayed orders and maintenance contracts, so it's probably her suppliers, but the incessant buzzing and clicking of her phone still gnaws at your attention.

Who are they, these people reaching out to her? Even if it's just business, what are all these conversations about? Wanda happens to be a very attractive woman, and people aren't blind to it. 

She takes wind of your unease eventually, her hand reaching over to squeeze yours, a reassuring smile on her face. “It's just the suppliers and the maintenance people for the shop,” she explains, but the phone still rests in her other hand, a barrier that you can't quite overcome.

Before you can respond, the pilot's voice echoes through the cabin, signaling take-off, you instinctively brace yourself, your knuckles whitening as you clutch the armrests tightly. Noticing your visible discomfort, Wanda gently peels your rigid fingers away from the armrest and threads them through hers. A soft gasp escapes her as your grip tightens around her fingers instinctively, harder than you mean to. Sparky, comfortably nestled in Wanda's lap, looks considerably more at ease than you.

“Sorry,” you mumble, eyes squeezed shut as you brace for the sensation of the accelerating plane.

“It's okay, love,” Wanda reassures you. Her thumb traces comforting circles over the back of your hand, and you cling to the calming rhythm.

The plane picks up speed, the familiar pressure building in your chest. You suck in a quick breath, your free hand gripping the armrest on your other side.

Suddenly, Sparky lifts his head from Wanda's lap and turns to you, his furry face full of concern. His soft whimpering and puppy eyes manage to pull a small smile from you. Somehow, his innocent worry makes the tension ebb away slightly.

With one last reassuring squeeze of your hand, Wanda whispers, “We're about to lift off. Just remember to breathe.”

As the plane ascends, your heart flutters in response to the shift in gravity. The world outside the window begins to shrink, the vast expanse of the city transforming into a model town. You keep your eyes shut, focusing on the steady rhythm of Wanda's thumb on your hand. If you’re going to die from a plane crash today, you find comfort in having Wanda’s assurances against your ear as the last sound you’ll ever hear. 

“See, we're okay,” Wanda says after a moment, a note of triumph in her voice.

You open your eyes slowly, the cabin steady around you. As you look out of the window, the sight of the sprawling city below is enough to take your breath away. 

“Do I get a reward for doing a great job?” you ask with a smirk.

A playful grin takes over her features as she leans in, pressing a light kiss to your lips. She then whispers in your ear, her voice low and sweet, “You’ll get the rest of your reward tonight, baby.”

The sound of her voice makes you tingle in all the right (wrong) places and it effectively distracts you enough from your fear of flying, allowing for some much-needed conversation.

“How’s the cup competition coming along?”

“Cup-off,” Wanda corrects you with a chuckle, her chin coming to rest on your shoulder, her breath fanning against your neck as she speaks. “It’s been fun coming up with different flavors, but I don’t know…” she trails off. “But, let's face it. I'm just a home cook who loves her espresso machine, not a seasoned barista. I'll be up against real coffee connoisseurs who've been perfecting their brews for years.”

“And that's what makes it so interesting, don't you think?” You turn your head slightly to meet her eyes. “You bring something different to the table, Wanda. You have a passion and creativity that they might not have.”

She gives you a thoughtful look, clearly mulling over your words. Her lips curve into a small, appreciative smile, and she snuggles closer to you. “You always know how to make me feel better,” she murmurs, her voice dropping an octave, and you know she's doing it on purpose, trying to rile you up. But there's just plenty of things on your mind right now, and her phone buzzing with notifications again isn't helping. 

“It's easy when it's the truth,” you say, stirring the topic back to coffee. “But how about you approach it from a different angle?”

“What do you mean?” Wanda asks, tilting her head and looking at you with apt interest.

“Instead of flavors, return to the basics. Use single origin coffee for your brew and make sure to source only the best stuff. I don’t know. Maybe I’m not making sense. But… sometimes people just really appreciate quality ingredients, you know?”

Wanda's eyes widen, and you notice a spark of excitement in her expression. She leans closer, her attention fully on you, the phone momentarily forgotten. “You may be onto something,” she says slowly.

“Really?” Your eyebrows shoot up, surprised and delighted at her interest.

“Really,” Wanda's expression turns thoughtful, her gaze fixated on some distant point as she mulls over your idea some more. “In fact, that's actually a great idea, Y/N. It emphasizes the true essence of coffee, rather than masking it with a variety of flavors. It's raw, it's honest, and it's authentic... Just like you.”

Feeling a rush of warmth, you give her a teasing nudge. "Are you comparing me to a coffee now?"

She chuckles, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Maybe I am,” she says playfully, tightening her hold on your hand.

You roll your eyes, but your heart flutters at her words, and you find yourself leaning into her touch. 

The idea of coming to LA with her just keeps getting better and better.

***

The flight to California feels endless, the hours stretching on. But the moment the plane touches down and the doors open, Wanda's face transforms with anticipation. As soon as she steps into the arrival lounge, her eyes lock onto a familiar figure. Her brother, standing a little taller than her but with the same striking features, waves energetically in her direction.

Without hesitation, Wanda breaks into a light run, her face lighting up with pure, unadulterated joy.  She launches herself into his embrace. Their arms wrap around each other, the distance and time apart melting away. “Piet,” she murmurs into his shoulder, her voice thick with emotion.

He ruffles her hair, his grin matching hers. "Been too long, little sis," he teases, before turning his attention to you. 

“And Y/N,” Pietro greets you, his eyes scanning your face for a moment before he extends his hand. The handshake is civil, firm but noticeably cool. His polite smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, and in that brief contact, you feel a lingering tension that serves as a reminder that not all is forgotten.

You grab Pietro's hand, giving it a quick shake. “Pietro.” 

He quickly shifts his focus back to Wanda, bombarding her with questions you can't keep up with. As Wanda and Pietro chat and laugh, you feel a bit left out.

Pietro's cool demeanor makes it clear he knows about the issues between you and Wanda. You can't help but feel like you're on the outside looking in. Tugging on Sparky's leash and pulling your suitcase, you trail behind them, feeling like you're not really part of this little family reunion. 

With Sparky trotting faithfully at your side, you traverse the bustling airport, lagging slightly behind Wanda and Pietro. Suddenly, Wanda seems to realize that you've fallen behind. She slows her pace and glances back at you with a soft smile. “Sorry,” she says, a slight flush to her cheeks as if she's only just remembered you're there too. “Got caught up with all the catching up.”

You offer her a small, understanding smile, grateful for the effort she's making to include you. “It's okay,” you reassure her. “It's been a while since you two last saw each other. Catch up all you want.”

Her smile widens at your words, and she squeezes your hand lightly in appreciation. The simple action is enough to wash away your earlier discomfort, reminding you that even if the situation isn't perfect, you're here for Wanda. 

And that's all that matters.

To call Pietro's home in Sherman Oaks 'big' feels almost like an understatement. It's a sprawling, two-story house, complete with a wide, beautifully maintained front lawn and a driveway big enough to accommodate several cars. The house itself, painted in a warm, welcoming shade of beige, feels incredibly homely despite its size. The large windows and well-manicured garden make it clear that whoever lives here puts a lot of effort into maintaining it. For a brief moment, you feel a pang of intimidation; this is a far cry from the apartments and small houses back in New York. 

Wanda's eyes widen in astonishment as they scan the surroundings. It seems she's just as impressed as you are. You lean towards her, whispering so that only she can hear, “Does Pietro really rake in that much cash?”

She gives you a sidelong glance, her eyes sparkling with amusement before shrugging her shoulders lightly. “I think it's his wife,” she responds in the same hushed tone.

“He got married again?” you ask, remembering the last time you heard about Pietro's personal life, he was going through a messy divorce.

Wanda nods, a small smile playing on her lips. “Yeah, he did. And from what I can tell, I think it's really for keeps this time.”

Before you can comment further, a woman appears in the doorway. She's pregnant, very much so, at about six months based on her huge, round belly. 

“Welcome to my humble abode,” she exclaims, approaching Wanda with open arms. Wanda rolls her eyes, clearly finding the grandiosity of the mansion anything but modest. She kisses each of Wanda's cheeks, and her warm smile is genuine and infectious.

However, as you watch her, you can't help but gasp softly. You recognize her. Your mind instantly takes you back to the day of your job interview at Stark Industries, and it was her–Shannon–who interviewed you.

You're so shell-shocked by the sudden realization that you just stand there, momentarily frozen.

Wanda nudges you gently, a knowing look in her eyes. “You recognize Shannon, don't you?” she asks, not bothering to lower her voice. 

Shannon turns to you and her smile widens, “I see you remember our meeting.”

You manage to stammer out a surprised, “Yes,” while trying to regain your composure. 

Wanda seems to sense your anxiety. She wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. “I knew about the interview. Shannon told me,” she confesses, her voice just a whisper in your ear. “She was the one who gave me your new address.”

“She did what?”

“I think she did it to amuse herself because I was–I wasn’t clearly getting over you and she sort of nudged me in your direction. But I didn’t contact you until a month later, when Sparky had to be taken to the vet.”

“But my getting hired–that had nothing to do with you, right?”

“Absolutely not,” Wanda assures you, quickly dispelling your worry. “She only mentioned it to me over a month after we... after we had cut off communication. She did mention talking to Scott before hiring you.”

The mention of Scott's name brings a genuine smile to your face, tugging at the corner of your lips. You make a mental note to call him on Christmas Day.

“Why am I here hunting for a tree again?” Wanda grumbles, glancing back at the shrinking figure of you through Pietro's pickup truck window.

“Because you love me?” Pietro shoots back with a shrug.

“And Y/N, she'll be okay back there, right?”

“Y/N this, Y/N that,” Pietro mimics, feigning exasperation. “She’ll be fine.”

“You say that as if Shannon’s the loveliest host.”

“Well, she's been a lot nicer since she got pregnant.”

With a small sigh, Wanda leans back in her seat. The earlier excitement of seeing her brother at the airport is starting to fade. Now, without you or Sparky around, she feels a bit uneasy being alone with Pietro.

“I can hear the gears turning in your head, sis. What’s up?”

Wanda takes a steadying breath, searching for the right words. “It's Y/N,” she begins. “Piet, I'm... I'm nervous. With Y/N here, with everything that happened, I don't know how…” She trails off, biting her lower lip.

Pietro is quiet for a moment. “And mom?” he prompts gently.

Wanda nods, her eyes distant. “And mom,” she echoes. “I wrote back to her, you know?”

Pietro raises his eyebrows in surprise. "You did?" 

Wanda had always been more hesitant to reopen old wounds, especially when it came to their mother.

Wanda nods. “I did. I... I wrote about Dad. About how much it hurt when she left. I told her that I understand we don't really have a relationship right now, but... I want to try. I want to start fixing things.”

Pietro doesn't respond immediately. He keeps his eyes on the road, but the grip on his steering wheel tightens just a bit. When he finally speaks, his tone is softer than usual. “And what did she say?”

“I only sent it recently, just before we left for this trip,” Wanda admits. “I'm not sure whether she's received it yet or if she wrote me back.”

“So, does that mean you've forgiven her?” Pietro asks.

“I can't say for sure,” Wanda confesses. “But I'm hoping to, as I get to know this new version of her–the one you seem to have bonded with so well.”

“Wanda, she's really changed,” Pietro insists. “I've been telling you this.”

“I know, I know,” Wanda says, sounding a bit apologetic. “I'm sorry it's taken me this long to pay attention.”

“Hey, no worries,” Pietro says, giving her a gentle look. “You know what they say, right? Everything happens in its own time.”

After a beat, Pietro asks, “How are you and Y/N?”

“We're doing well, actually,” Wanda says, surprise softening her voice as if she's just realizing it herself. “Y/N has been... different. More open. More like the person I fell in love with. We're communicating more, which helps.”

“That's great to hear, Wanda. Really.”

“But,” she adds, her voice dropping to a murmur, “I still feel like there's a part of Y/N holding back. Like she’s still not fully trusting me... and I get it. I just... I hope that with time, that changes.”

Pietro smiles at her, nodding, then returns his attention to the road. 

“And you and Shannon?” Wanda asks after it gets too quiet again. “How are things going?”

A shadow passes over Pietro's features, and he takes a deep breath before answering. “Actually... something happened. It's not bad, per se. But…”

“What did you do, Piet?” Wanda asks, her brows already pulled together into a frown.

“Why do you automatically assume it was me who did something?” Pietro retorts with a hint of amusement.

“Didn't you?”

Pietro hesitates for a moment before finally relenting, “...Yeah, I did.”

“So?”

“Well, about a week ago, I went out to a bar with a few friends from my old college football team, and I–”

“Tell me you did not cheat again on your pregnant wife!��� Wanda exclaims, her voice rife with disbelief and anger.

With her sudden outburst, Pietro slams on the brakes, the vehicle screeching to a halt in the middle of the road. His arm aches sharply from the force of Wanda's indignant punch.

“Ow! Hey, stop,” Pietro shields himself from Wanda’s onslaught. “Jesus, Wands, I didn’t cheat on her, okay?”

Hearing this, Wanda pulls back, sinking back into her seat with a wary look on her face. She waits for him to explain further. He starts steering the car back into the highway again. 

“I was just…” Pietro grapples for the right words, his expression troubled. “The therapy sessions with Dr. Williams... they've been beneficial, right? I mean, they've definitely helped you. And Shannon says they're making a difference for me too, but I…”

“But you still doubt yourself,” Wanda finishes his sentence, her voice laced with understanding.

Pietro affirms her statement with a heavy nod. “So that night, I thought I'd try a little experiment–see if I've really made as much progress as everyone says. I struck up a conversation with a woman at the bar, and before I knew it, we were flirting. It was like slipping back into an old rhythm–and it didn't matter to her that I was a married man.” 

A bitter edge creeps into his voice as he pauses, gazing absently at the road ahead. “Then I offered to drive her home...that's usually when things take a turn, isn't it?”

Wanda recoils slightly, her nose scrunching up in distaste. The direction this story is taking leaves a sour taste in her mouth. She's uncomfortable, disturbed even, by the idea of Pietro willingly steering himself towards temptation like that. It feels too real, too human–a crisp reminder that making progress doesn't mean you're immune to setbacks.

“Right as she put her hand on my lap,” Pietro recounts, his throat tightening slightly as he swallows. “I understood that time spent in therapy doesn't just automatically make you a better person. It's the choices you make, every single day. Loving someone, being true to them...it's a conscious effort, day in and day out. You have to continuously choose them, especially when the sailing's smooth.”

Wanda absorbs his words, feeling the truth in them echo within her. She doesn't entertain any illusions about the two of you riding off blissfully into the sunset without a care in the world. Reality is far from that. Both you and her would always have to remain vigilant. Complacency, she knows, can be her worst enemy.

Wanda waits with bated breath. “What happened next?” she whispers.

He turns his gaze back to the road. “I moved her hand away from my lap and took her home, just like I said I would. Nothing more.”

“And did you tell Shannon about this?” Wanda asks, her voice steady, almost clinical.

Pietro’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. “Yeah, I did. The morning after. I didn’t want to keep it from her.”

Wanda's heart aches for her brother. Maybe he's truly attempting to become a better person, even if his methods are foolish at times. 

“And how did she react?”

Pietro shrugs, attempting to mask his apprehension with a nonchalant demeanor. “She was... understandably upset. But she appreciated the honesty, I think. We're still working through it.”

Wanda silently reflects on his words. She can't imagine herself taking such a risk, not after everything that's happened. It isn't about doubting her own commitment or strength of character, but she feels it's a mark of respect to you not to willingly tread near the edge of temptation.

With a soft sigh, she turns her attention to the road ahead as they pull into the Christmas tree farm. The task of picking out a tree seems almost trivial in comparison to what they had just discussed, yet it also feels grounding—a joyful tradition amidst the complexities of life. For now, they have a Christmas tree to pick out.

Taglist: @canvascoloredin | @justgotlizzied , @casquinhaa | @marvelwomen-simp | @sunsol-22 | @wandanatlov3r | @kyaraderuwez | @justyourwritter69 | @stanolsevans | @aliherreraaa | @diaryoflife| @justagurlwholikes | @lizziesplant | @cowxpoke | @sokovianbaby| @swiftie1-0-1 | @scarlettbitchx | @tercerspirit-22

[bradshawsbaby]

Letters to My Love // Part I

The Night We Met

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: When you signed up to volunteer with the USO, you never anticipated that you would meet a man like Ensign Robert Floyd. Fate brings you together one balmy spring evening in Charleston—the night before Bob is set to ship off across the Atlantic. Pen and paper become your only means of sharing your heart with the naval aviator who’s captivated it, igniting a correspondence that spans the distance between you. Can love blossom even as war rages and thousands of miles keep you apart?

Word Count: 20k

Author’s Note: This story feels like it’s been living in my head for so long, and I’m so excited to finally have Part I up and ready! It’s a long one, I admit. The majority of the story is going to be told through letters, so I wanted to take the time early on to set up the narrative and introduce you to the major characters. I suggest curling up with a nice cup of tea and a cozy blanket. I hope you enjoy!

Set the Mood: If you’re looking for some 1940s vibes, check out the playlist I made to pair with the story!

Songs specifically featured in this chapter: Sandman // Tuxedo Junction // The Way You Look Tonight // Someone to Watch Over Me // Moonglow // A Nightingale Sang In Berkeley Square

Dedication: This story is dedicated to my sweet friend, Clara, also known as @luminousnotmatter​! Her support and input have been invaluable, and she’s a big reason why this story got off the ground. Thank you, Clara! Love you!

Warnings: Alternating POV, allusions to social anxiety, references to war, extremely subtle innuendos brought up in conversations between friends, fluff.

May 9, 1942

Bob’s POV

Naval Air Station Charleston

Goose Creek, South Carolina

“Come on, Floyd, it’s our last night stateside!”

“Don’t be a killjoy!”

“Come with us to the dance!”

“There’ll be lots of pretty girls!”

Sighing softly, Bob lifted his head and lowered the pen he’d been using to compose a letter to his parents back home in Iowa. He wasn’t sure when he’d be able to send another one, so he’d been trying to concentrate on getting everything down on paper that he wanted to tell them. But his fellow officers were evidently determined to distract him.

Sliding his glasses up his nose, Bob’s gaze shifted from face to face, taking in the group of men who had stealthily surrounded his bunk while he’d been focused on assuring his mother he would keep safe and see her soon. They were all dressed to the nines, decked in their dress blues and looking as eager as anything to get off base.

He couldn’t say he blamed them. Tonight was their last night stateside, as Andrews had pointed out, and who knew when the next time they’d have an opportunity to go to a dance or talk to a pretty girl would be? Of course, based on the conversations he’d heard buzzing around base all day, talking wasn’t the only thing the boys had on their minds for tonight.

He couldn’t say he blamed them for that either. Most of the guys in his squadron were young officers like him, recent graduates of Annapolis who’d finished school just in time for the United States to plunge itself into another world war. They’d barely had a moment to celebrate their commissioning into the United States Navy before Uncle Sam was calling them up to the frontlines. Some of the boys had sweethearts back home, pretty young things whose pictures served as talismans and whose letters promised that they’d be faithful and true. But most of them, like Bob, had no one but Mom and Pop to write letters to. And they were more than happy to seek out a little bit of tender loving care, if only for a night, in the arms of pretty volunteers at the USO dances.

Well, they were. Bob wasn’t. Sure, he’d gone to plenty of dances the USO had graciously hosted in an attempt to boost the morale of boys who were shipping out, knowing in the back of their minds that there was a good chance they’d never be coming home again. And he’d even danced with a few lovely girls. But he found that he always got tongue tied around them, always said the wrong thing or got too flustered to be smooth and suave the way his fellow officers were. He also wasn’t one for dancing, as many an unfortunate partner had learned.

So even though tonight was his last night on American soil, and the USO was hosting a dance just thirty minutes away in Charleston, Bob had made the decision to stay behind. He’d finish his letter to his parents and try to get some shuteye so that he’d be well rested for their deployment come tomorrow morning.

The thought was apparently inconceivable to the rest of his squadron.

“What are you gonna do? Stay here by yourself and rot?” Andrews demanded, flicking a bit of lint off the sleeve of his uniform. Thomas Andrews, or Tommy Boy as everyone referred to him, was the sort of good-natured guy who always had a beautiful woman on his arm, but wanted to make sure that all his buddies did, too.

“I don’t think I’d rot in just a few hours,” Bob replied, shaking his head as he turned over the page of the letter he’d been writing, not necessarily needing all the guys to see the message he’d been penning for his mother.

“That’s Floyd for you. Always taking things too literally,” Johnston grinned, plopping down beside Bob on his bunk and slinging an arm around him. Benjamin Johnston—Benny, as he preferred to be called—had been one of Bob’s roommates at Annapolis. He was as good a guy and dependable a friend as you could come by, but that didn’t mean he didn’t love to rib Bob, and anybody else, whenever he got the opportunity.

“We leave tomorrow, boys. I’ve got a few loose ends to tie up here, letters to write and things to see to before we leave. You go have fun at the dance. You won’t even notice I’m not there,” Bob insisted, clearing his throat and adjusting his glasses once more.

“Trace, would you come talk some sense into your rear-seater?” Tommy Boy scoffed, hooking his thumb in Bob’s direction with a shake of his head.

A familiar chuckle rippled across the space between them as Paul made his way into the room, clearly wondering where everyone had gone, considering they were supposed to be leaving soon for the dance.

Paul Trace was not only a fellow Annapolis graduate and Bob’s front seat pilot, but his best friend. The two of them had grown up together in Linn County, just outside Cedar Rapids. With both their fathers being officers in the Navy, and veterans of the Great War to boot, it hadn’t exactly come as a surprise to anyone when the two of them had ended up at the Naval Academy.

“Come on, fellas, leave Bob alone,” Paul said, smirking knowingly in Bob’s direction as he approached the group of them. 

The rest of the guys shifted instantly, making room for him. Paul had always had that way about him, that quality that made everyone else in the room pay attention to him and listen to whatever he had to say. Bob had always admired that about him. He knew it was certainly a quality he didn’t possess. Even on his best days, he never seemed to be able to do more than fade into the background, unnoticed by almost everyone around him. But Paul never made him feel small for that, and that was something for which Bob had always been grateful. He was a good friend, and an even better pilot, and Bob thanked his lucky stars every day that they’d managed to be paired together.

“It’s hopeless, Trace. We’ve tried everything. Talk some sense into this best buddy of yours and convince him to come to the dance with us tonight,” Benny begged, clasping his hands in a pleading fashion and shooting Paul his best wounded puppy expression.

“And convince him soon,” Tommy Boy added, glancing down at his watch. “We’ve got to get a move on soon if we want to make it to Charleston in time for the dance.”

“Gotta get there early if you want to dance with the prettiest girls,” Benny added with a wink, rising from Bob’s bunk and straightening out his uniform. “We’ll wait for you outside, Trace,” he said, lightly slapping Paul’s arm. “And you better be with him, Floyd!” he called out as the group of them started to walk away, pointing at Bob before ducking out of the room.

Bob chuckled softly, shaking his head once again and rubbing the back of his neck.

Paul sat down at the end of the bed, clasping his hands in his lap and lounging comfortably. “You know you’ll never hear the end of it if you don’t come with us, right?” he grinned.

“I really am busy,” Bob told him, gesturing at the papers he had scattered across his bed and picking his pen up once more.

“One last letter home?” Paul asked, peering over at the papers without prying.

“One last letter home,” Bob nodded, sighing softly as his eyes quickly skimmed what he’d already written. “I’m just not sure when I’ll get an opportunity to write to them again. They know we’re shipping out tomorrow, but I just want to give them a few more updates before we leave.”

“I understand, Robby,” he replied, using the nickname he’d had for him since childhood. And he did. That was the great thing about Paul. He was the kind of guy who meant what he said. And Bob knew that he understood better than most.

“Did you write any last letters home for Natasha and the kids?” Bob asked, lowering his pen to focus on his friend.

Paul smiled, a touch of sadness in his eyes as he nodded. “Just yesterday. Promised them I’d write as often as I’m able. Nat gave me this before I left,” he murmured, reaching into the breast pocket of his uniform and pulling out a small photograph. It looked to be new, though the edges were already starting to fade from where Paul had obviously been clutching it tightly. He handed it off to Bob with a proud grin.

Taking the photo from Paul’s grasp, Bob smiled at the sight. It was taken at Christmas, Paul and Natasha smiling brightly for the camera, their three-year-old daughter, Clara holding up her baby doll proudly, while their newborn son, Paul, Jr. lay nestled in his mother’s arms.

“It’s a beautiful picture, Paul,” Bob said sincerely, handing it back to him.

“That’s all Natasha and the kids,” Paul beamed, pressing a kiss to the photograph before slipping it back into the pocket right above his heart, patting it as if for security. “Certainly doesn’t have anything to do with this ugly mug,” he laughed self-deprecatingly.

Bob laughed as well, knowing from the way girls had always ogled his best friend that that couldn’t be further from the truth. “Speaking of Natasha, how’s she going to feel about you going to this USO dance tonight, huh?” he teased, lifting an eyebrow.

Natasha and Paul were childhood sweethearts. Bob couldn’t recall a single memory growing up that didn’t involve both of them. He’d been proud to stand beside Paul as his best man when the two of them had gotten hitched the summer before they left for Annapolis, and even prouder when his friends had asked him to be their daughter’s godfather.

“Nat knows she’s the only one for me,” Paul replied with a wave of his hand, as if the thought of him having eyes for any woman but his wife was preposterous. And that’s because it was. “She told me she’s more concerned with finding you a nice girl, and she’s tasked me with making it happen,” he went on, waggling his eyebrows.

Bob groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Not you, too, Paul. Weren’t you just telling the other guys to leave me alone about the dance tonight?”

“That was the other guys,” Paul smirked, his eyes sparkling mischievously. “Now this is me asking. Your very best friend in the whole world. You’re not gonna let me down, are you, Robby?”

Bob groaned again in response, pulling his glasses off and pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know how I get at these things, Paul. I can’t get through a dance without stomping all over some poor girl’s feet, and I can’t flirt worth a lick. What’s the point?”

“The point is that this is your last night stateside, buddy o’ mine. You’re about to get shipped off halfway around the world, risking your neck to defend your country and all those pretty girls you’re so convinced you can’t talk to. You deserve one last night of fun,” Paul insisted, his expression serious even as his lips turned up in a cajoling smile. “Who cares if you can’t dance? Just come and have some drinks with me and the fellas. Let’s celebrate our last night together in the land of the free, home of the brave,” he grinned.

Bob’s eyes flickered down to his unfinished letter, hesitation written all over his face as he mentally debated what to do.

“Come on, Robby, do it for me! And for Natasha! She’ll never let me hear the end of it if I let you stay in tonight,” Paul pleaded, nudging him teasingly.

How could he argue with that? Shoulders slumping in defeat, Bob felt his resolve crumble as he mumbled. “Alright, fine. I’ll come with you.”

Paul let out a whoop of victory. “Break out those dress blues, pal. What girl in her right mind will be able to resist?”

Bob chuckled softly at that, organizing the pages of his letter and slipping them into his trunk before moving to get changed. “You better not make me regret this decision,” he joked.

Paul just smirked, leaning against the wall as he waited for Bob to get ready. “Nah, you won’t regret it. I have a good feeling about tonight.”

Your POV

Charleston, South Carolina

“Stop fidgeting,” Dottie chided, poking you playfully in the side. “I’m nearly done,” she hummed, applying a light coating of rouge to the apples of your cheeks and then brushing it up along your cheekbones with a practiced hand.

“I can’t help but fidget. It feels like we’ve been at this for hours,” you laughed softly, dutifully keeping your eyes closed and your chin tilted upward as your older sister finished up her careful ministrations.

“Well, perfection takes time,” came Dottie’s quick retort. Even with your eyes closed, you could hear the smile in her voice. “And perfect you look, my darling,” she added gleefully, tapping the tip of your nose with affection. “Open your eyes and take a look.”

Slowly opening your eyes, you swiveled on the vanity chair in your sister’s bedroom and faced the mirror. Your breath caught slightly in your throat and your eyes widened, something that Dottie didn’t fail to notice.

“You look stunning, sweetheart,” she grinned, wrapping her arms around you and bringing her face down to your level, beaming at your dual reflections.

Normally, you would have shyly brushed off the compliment, deflecting by pointing out something lovelier about Dottie or changing the subject altogether. But gazing at your reflection in the mirror tonight, you found it hard to deny that your sister had certainly worked wonders. You felt like a movie star. Between the victory rolls that Dottie had spent hours setting, ensuring your hair fell in the softest, sleekest ringlets imaginable, the light pink rouge that accentuated your cheeks, and the dark black mascara that framed your eyes, you had never felt more beautiful or grown up in all your life.

“Oh, Sissy,” you breathed out, unconsciously reverting to the affectionate childhood nickname you’d had for your older sister when the two of you were growing up.

“You’re gonna knock ’em dead tonight, kid! The boys are going to be lining up for the chance at a dance with you,” Dottie told you, with that air of cool confidence that she had always seemed to possess, even when you were little girls.

“Oh, no, I don’t think—”

“Hush,” Dottie silenced you immediately with a finger to your lips. “None of that now. You’re going to be the prettiest girl in the room, I just know it. Not to mention the sweetest,” she smiled with a wink, chucking you under the chin.

You knew there was no point in arguing with her, so you just smiled and kept your mouth shut. You did look pretty. You felt pretty, too. But you knew that would only get you so far when your own painful shyness kept you from being able to string two sentences together.

Dottie was the social butterfly. She was the one who could carry on a conversation with anyone about anything. You’d always admired that about her, and looked up to her in every way imaginable. But you’d also come to accept long ago that you were never going to be like your big sister. You panicked at the mere thought of holding a conversation with someone you’d just met, and when you threw handsome men into the mix, it turned you into an awkward fool who fumbled over the few words you managed to squeak out.

Yet, despite all that, you’d somehow allowed your very persuasive older sister to talk you into volunteering with the USO.

“It’ll be a good opportunity for you to get out of your shell a little bit! Meet new people. Including handsome men,” Dottie had told you with a wink and a playful nudge. “Plus you’ll be doing your part for the war effort!”

You knew Dottie would never let you hear the end of it if you didn’t agree, so you had. And the truth was that you did enjoy helping out at events, offering refreshments and kind smiles to the men who were leaving everything behind to serve on the frontlines of the war. But there had been no love connections, much to your sister’s chagrin.

Dottie was certain that the dance tonight was going to change that.

“Here, sweetheart, can’t forget this,” she told you, holding out a gold tube of red lipstick. “It’ll match your nails perfectly.”

“You’ve really thought of every detail, hm?” you asked teasingly, smiling as you leaned in closer to the mirror to carefully apply the lipstick. It was bright and flashy, just like the polish that Dottie had insisted on painting your nails with yesterday.

“Of course,” Dottie giggled, disappearing into her spacious closet for a moment. “Including this!” she exclaimed a moment later, reappearing with her most stunning party dress in hand. It was cream-colored and covered in a design of delicate pink flowers, with pearl buttons adorning the back.

“Oh, Dottie, I couldn’t!” you gasped, nearly dropping the tube of lipstick in your rush to rise from the vanity seat.

“You absolutely could,” your sister insisted, laying the dress out on her bed and smoothing it with gentle fingers. “It doesn’t even fit me anymore after the baby. My hips are stretched beyond repair,” she laughed, sliding her hands down her curvy figure. “You’ll be doing me a favor by wearing it. At least then I’ll have the satisfaction of knowing it’s being enjoyed by someone.”

“You’re too good to me, you know that?” you murmured, stepping beside your sister and wrapping her in a tight hug.

“Says the angel who dropped everything back home to come to Charleston and help me keep my head on straight,” Dottie smiled, hugging you back and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I love being here with you and Paddy and Frankie,” you told her, taking her hand in yours and giving it a light squeeze.

“Not as much as we love having you,” Dottie replied, cupping your face in her hands and smiling warmly. “Oh, but look at me! I’m going to muss your makeup! And we have to finish getting you ready!”

Five minutes later, you were twirling dutifully in front of the mirror in the prettiest dress you’d ever worn, Dottie eyeing you carefully from every angle to make sure everything was perfect.

“Oh, I’m just sad I’m going to miss you being the belle of the ball tonight!” she sighed dramatically, eyes twinkling with humor when you rolled your eyes at her. “Come on, let’s show you off to the boys,” she beamed, taking your hand and practically dragging you out of her bedroom and down the stairs.

“Dottie, I’m going to twist my ankle and then I won’t be able to go to the dance at all,” you laughed breathlessly, straightening out the dress as the two of you bounded into the living room.

“Paddy, look!” Dottie announced, holding out her arms to show you off as if you were one of Hollywood’s newest starlets.

Your brother-in-law let out a loud whistle, grinning jovially as he looked you up and down. “Hey, look at you, kid! I think you might be a little lost. The MGM lot is over in Hollywood,” he teased.

Blushing slightly at the compliment, you waved it off. “Oh, stop,” you smiled, walking over to him and lifting your soon-to-be five month old nephew out of his arms, nuzzling his soft head.

Frankie babbled happily in your arms, reaching up to tug at the pearl necklace you were wearing, the one your parents had bought you for your sixteenth birthday.

“Oh no you don’t, little monster,” Dottie laughed, taking her son out of your arms and pressing an affectionate kiss to the top of his head. “Auntie’s going out tonight, so there will be no pulling on her jewelry or tugging on her hair.”

“Or spitting up on her dress,” Paddy sighed, indicating a large stain on his shirt.

“Yes, none of that either,” Dottie gasped, looking horrified at the prospect.

You laughed, gazing with love at your family. “You act as if I’m off to be crowned Queen of England. It’s hardly so serious as all that, Sissy,” you winked.

Dottie just shook her head, bouncing her baby boy in her arms. “You’re going to break so many hearts tonight, baby doll. Don’t you agree, Paddy?”

“Don’t indulge her,” you laughed, reaching for your purse and making sure that your wallet and house keys were inside.

“Listen to me, kiddo,” Paddy said, moving beside you and wrapping a brotherly arm around your shoulders. “None of these lugheads are worthy of you, you hear me? And if even one of them looks at you the wrong way, or hurts you, I’ll give him a knuckle sandwich, okay?”

“Oh, Paddy!” Dottie huffed in exasperation, lowering Frankie into his bassinet and crossing her arms over her chest. “Shush! Don’t listen to him!”

You just laughed softly, shaking your head. “Thank you, Paddy, I appreciate it,” you grinned, pressing a kiss to your brother-in-law’s cheek.

“You sure you don’t need me to give you a ride over to the dance, kid?” Paddy asked, resting his hands on his hips. He was in a jolly mood, like he always was, but you could tell from the pinched look around his eyes that he was exhausted from a long day of work.

“It’s alright, don’t worry about me,” you insisted, reaching for the white sweater you’d left sitting on the back of the armchair. “I’m walking over with some of the other girls. And the community center isn’t far. Plus, it’s a nice night.”

“Mhm, it is. A perfect night, in fact,” Dottie nodded innocently, slipping her arm around her husband’s waist. “Perfect for a little evening stroll with a handsome fella, wouldn’t you say so, Paddy?”

“Why, Dot, are you proposing to take me on an evening stroll? Or are you just hoping your baby sister comes home with a marriage proposal tonight?” Paddy smirked, loud laughter booming from his chest when his wife smacked his arm.

“Oh, shut up, you idiot,” Dottie laughed as well, a huge smile breaking out across her face as Paddy bent his head to press a kiss to her cheek.

Even as you smiled, you felt that familiar ache bloom in your chest as you witnessed the easy affection and love that your sister and her husband shared with one another. You’d always desired a relationship like that, a marriage like that. You’d just never seemed to find the right man.

Maybe Dottie was right. Maybe he would be at the dance tonight. As improbable as it felt, crazier things had surely happened. And evidently your sister had given you permission to stay out as long as you wanted, taking moonlit strolls with perfect strangers.

“We’ll be here, kid, if you need anything,” Paddy told you, resting a protective hand on your shoulder. “Don’t hesitate to call.”

“But also don’t hesitate to spend all the time you need with whatever handsome man happens to catch your eye,” Dottie winked, shooting both you and Paddy an impish grin.

“Okay, on that note, I think it’s time I took my leave,” you giggled, draping your sweater over your arm and checking your purse one more time as you headed towards the front door, Paddy and Dottie following behind you.

“Have fun, kiddo. Be safe,” Paddy murmured as you turned to give him a hug goodbye.

“I will,” you promised, moving to wrap your sister in a tight hug. “Thanks for everything, Sissy,” you whispered to her, squeezing her hand before slipping out the front door.

“Have fun! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Dottie called after you with a laugh, waving you off excitedly.

A block away from your sister’s house, you met up with a few of the other girls who were volunteering with the USO, including your friend, Emily. The two of you met at the first USO event you’d volunteered at, and had become fast friends.

“You look beautiful!” Emily exclaimed brightly, slipping her arm through yours as your group began strolling in the direction of the community center, all the other girls chirping and babbling excitedly.

“So do you,” you smiled, knowing the boys wouldn’t be able to keep their eyes off your friend. She never had a shortage of dance partners at these sorts of events.

“Oh, I’m so excited!” she giggled, beaming up at you. “Tonight is going to be special. I can just feel it.”

You hoped Emily and Dottie were right.

Bob’s POV

“Here we are, boys!” Tommy Boy grinned as the squadron pulled up in front of the Charleston Community Center, the red, white, and blue balloons and streamers floating in the warm spring breeze a good sign that they were in the right place. “Our last night stateside,” he announced loudly, rubbing his hands together with a cheeky smirk. “Better make it count!”

The rest of the guys let out a loud whoop of agreement, laughing and shoving each other as they each hurried up the stairs, hoping to be the first inside and the first in the arms of the prettiest volunteers.

“What do you say, Bobby Boy?” Benny beamed, squeezing Bob’s shoulders as he came up behind him. “Gonna get yourself a girl tonight?”

“Oh, I just—I don’t think that I—” Bob stuttered, his ears burning red as he adjusted his glasses, pushing them up firmly onto the bridge of his nose.

Benny guffawed amicably, not actually possessing a mean bone in his body. “Aw, c’mon, Floyd,” he coaxed, slinging a friendly arm around his shoulders. “Think of it as a little ‘going away’ present for yourself. Lots of pretty girls who can’t resist a man in uniform—especially an officer’s uniform,” he winked, nudging Bob with a devilish expression.

When Bob just continued to stammer and blush, Paul stepped in smoothly, giving Benny a teasing punch to the arm. “C’mon, Benny, leave him alone. He’s here, isn’t he? Let the man have a drink in peace. We haven’t even gotten inside yet.”

“Trace here is the perfect wingman, Bob,” Benny went on, clearly determined to get his old classmate a girl before the night was through. “He’s already got himself a pretty girl—”

“The prettiest,” Paul cut in, grinning.

“Alright, the prettiest girl,” Benny amended, smirking. “So he’s not on the prowl like the rest of us lugheads. Let him help you find a nice girl to give you a proper sendoff.”

“If I say I will, will you let us go inside?” Bob asked, smiling ruefully.

Benny laughed at that, smacking Bob on the back. “You crack me up, Floyd. You really do. Fine, fine. Let’s go inside. I’m getting myself a girl, even if you aren’t,” he insisted, waggling his eyebrows suggestively before hurrying up the stairs with a shameless grin.

“Just have fun tonight, pal,” Paul smiled, patting Bob on the back. “Our last night stateside. Let’s make it one to remember, huh?” He held out his hand for Bob to shake, the way they’d always done as kids before embarking on some grand adventure.

“Yeah,” Bob grinned, nodding as he reached out and clasped Paul’s hand, shaking firmly. “Let’s make it count.”

Chuckling, the two friends shook their heads in amusement and followed the path their fellow officers had already disappeared along, their long legs carrying them up the stairs and into the central foyer, the sound of music and raucous laughter drawing them in the right direction.

Pushing open the doors to the main hall, Bob and Paul were instantly met by a sea of uniformed men from all branches of the service and pretty girls in all their finery whirling across the dance floor. The band was enthusiastically giving their best rendition of Benny Goodman’s “Sandman,” the music reverberating throughout the room and setting a jovial atmosphere that almost made them forget they were shipping off to war tomorrow morning.

“At least we know the men we’re flying with are true to their word,” Paul called out over the din, grinning as he pointed in the direction of Tommy Boy, Benny, and the rest of their friends, who were already chatting away with a group of giggling girls, each one more dolled up than the last.

Bob grinned as well, shoving his hands into his pockets nervously. “I never doubted for a minute they’d find the girls they were after,” he shouted back, finding it difficult to make himself heard over the music and loud conversations buzzing around them.

“C’mon, let’s go grab a drink,” Paul suggested, nodding his head in the direction of the punch table that was situated across the room.

Bob trailed behind his best friend, keeping his head down as he passed by flirtatious couples and older volunteers who were trying to maintain an ounce of decorum in the dance hall. It was a difficult job that he didn’t envy. With the war on, and the majority of the men in the room tonight deploying within the next few days, there was a sense of urgency pulsating in the air—a desperate, hungry need to cling to anything and anyone that reminded them, if only for this moment, that they were alive. Lingering glances from across the room, longing touches on the dance floor, stolen kisses in the shadows—they would all be traded soon for bitter nights in the trenches and the deafening boom of gunfire and the stench of death. So tonight, they had to squeeze every last drop out of life. Because who knew when it would be their last?

Bob was jolted out of his silent musings when he realized that Paul had come to a halt in front of him, joining the ring of men waiting for a glass of punch. Clearing his throat and trying to shake all dire thoughts from his mind, Bob raised his head and fixed his gaze straight ahead.

And suddenly he forgot how to breathe.

There, standing behind the punch table with a couple other volunteers, was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in all his life. Hollywood could keep their Judy Garland, Rita Hayworth, Joan Fontaine, and all the rest—she outshone them all. She wasn’t looking in his direction, but he couldn’t help but stare as she handed a small glass of punch to a young sailor, her lips curving in the sweetest smile and her eyes sparkling brightly in the loveliest face he had ever beheld. The pink flowers on her dress brought out the rosiness in her cheeks, and Bob was certain that she had to be an angel sent down from heaven. She just had to be.

He only became aware of the sound of Paul loudly clearing his throat when his friend nudged him sharply in the ribcage, bringing him back down to earth. He tore his gaze away from the lovely angel hesitantly, half afraid she’d disappear forever if he lost sight of her.

“Welcome back to earth, pal,” Paul laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. “See something you like? Or, should I say, someone?” he winked, craning his neck to seek out the object of Bob’s intense focus. “Ah, yes,” he murmured, nodding sagely. “A very pretty someone. I think Nat would approve of her for you.”

“Paul, no,” Bob stammered, his cheeks flaming red in embarrassment as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I—I was just—”

“You were just what? Hm?” Paul demanded, smiling knowingly. “Are you really going to stand here and tell me—me—that you weren’t just looking at that girl like she hung the moon and stars?”

“Well—I just—I mean—” Bob fumbled hopelessly, scuffing one of his newly polished shoes across the hardwood floor.

“Robby,” Paul cut him off, grinning as he grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him once for good measure. “Go talk to her.”

“Me? T-talk to her? Oh no, I couldn’t,” Bob insisted, shaking his head determinedly.

“It’s the perfect opportunity! She’s handing out punch to all the guys,” Paul said, indicating the table just a few feet away from them. “Just say something nice to her—compliment her dress or her hair or that string of pearls around her neck. Anything. C’mon, Robby, you can do it. I have faith in you,” he encouraged.

“I—I—” Bob turned his head to look at her again. Maybe he’d just been feeling lightheaded and she wouldn’t have so much of an effect on him this time. But as soon as he caught sight of her once more, his stomach promptly performed an Olympic-style somersault, his mouth suddenly feeling as dry as Iowa farmland in the middle of a summer drought.

She was so beautiful. A girl that beautiful would never want to talk to him. Not when she could have any man in the room that she wanted.

“I—I’m actually not thirsty,” Bob declared, turning quickly on his heel and making a beeline as far away from the punch table as possible.

“Bob!”

He could hear Paul calling after him, but he had to get as far away from the angel in the dress with the pink flowers as possible.

God, he was a coward. He could ship off halfway across the world to face the Nazis in Europe, but he couldn’t talk to a girl at a dance? Pathetic.

Why had he let the guys talk him into coming tonight?

Your POV

“Emily, why don’t you go dance? I can handle things here,” you offered, not failing to notice the wistful glances your friend kept tossing towards the center of the room—most notably in the direction of a cluster of handsome officers.

“Oh, no!” Emily exclaimed, pulling her attention back round towards the task at hand and shaking her head. “I wouldn’t leave you and Marilyn all alone,” she insisted, referring to the bubbly redhead who’d been put on punch table duty with the two of you this evening.

“It’s not such a hard job,” you laughed softly, ladling some of the fruity drink into a set of fresh glasses. “And I don’t mind. Really. I can tell how much you’re itching to get out there,” you smiled, shooting her a knowing look.

Emily bit her lip, seemingly contemplating your offer for a moment, but then shook her head once, firmly. “No, I’ll stay here. Some of the other volunteers will rotate in soon, and then we’ll both get a chance to dance,” she chittered brightly.

Your smile waned somewhat at that, and it was your turn to shake your head. “Oh, I don’t think so. I’m not much for dancing,” you admitted quietly, chewing on your lower lip. It took you a moment to recall the red lipstick Dottie had given you, and you flushed, hoping you hadn’t gotten it all over your teeth.

“Oh, don’t be silly! You volunteered for a dance and you don’t want to dance?” Emily teased gently, nudging your arm as she handed a glass of punch to a soldier who looked like he couldn’t possibly be a day older than eighteen. “I’m sure the fellas will be lining up to dance with you!”

Emily was so sweet and earnest that you didn’t have the heart to tell her that the boys would be lining up to dance with her, not with you. So you just smiled tightly and offered her a small nod in response, handing off a couple glasses of punch to a young couple who looked wholly out of breath after a few turns on the dance floor.

“The men look so handsome, don’t you think so?” Emily chattered excitedly, carefully setting out a new stack of napkins on the table. “And so many officers are here tonight!” she giggled, blushing prettily.

Marilyn suddenly leaned over at that, lowering her voice conspiratorially. She always was one to know the latest gossip. “I heard there’s a whole squadron of naval officers here tonight who are shipping out first thing tomorrow morning. It’s their last night in town, so you know what that means,” she finished with a wink.

You just blushed furiously at her innuendo, but Emily’s eyes widened innocently.

“No,” she murmured, admitting to her naivete. “What does that mean?”

Marilyn giggled in a way that indicated she had rather intimate experience with servicemen who were spending their last night stateside. Covering her mouth with her hand, she leaned in closer and whispered, “They’re looking for girls to give them a fun sendoff, if you catch my meaning.” She winked, flipping her red curls over her shoulder.

If possible, Emily’s eyes widened even further, looking like a pair of light blue china saucers. “Oh,” was all she managed to squeak out, her cheeks turning bright red.

Giggling some more, Marilyn turned away to resume her punch table duties, while Emily turned to gape at you.

“I never—well, I mean, I’ve flirted with a few boys and even kissed one or two,” Emily confessed, her blush extending down her throat and up to the tips of her ears. “But I never—did you know that? About their last night in town, I mean?”

You shrugged a little bit in embarrassment, thinking of the things you’d heard from Dottie and Paddy. “Well, I’ve heard. But I wouldn’t know from personal experience,” you hastily amended, clearing your throat shyly.

“Hm,” Emily murmured, more to herself than anybody else, turning to look out at the sea of eligible men with fresh eyes. “Well a dance and maybe a kiss is all they’re getting from me,” she announced firmly, her expression so serious that you couldn’t help but giggle slightly.

“I mean it!” she laughed, playfully slapping you on the arm. “Oh, there are a lot of cute ones out there though, aren’t there?” she simpered, her eyes turning big and doe-like once more. “Do you have your eye on any of them?” she asked curiously.

“Me? Oh, no,” you replied, shaking your head. “I’ve found that I’m much better off keeping to myself and doing my job at events like these,” you explained, biting down on your lower lip again.

“That’s nonsense!” Emily scoffed, almost looking offended on your behalf. “You’re beautiful! The boys here can’t stop looking at you!”

You grimaced slightly at that, face flushing in awkward embarrassment. The boys might be looking, but as soon as any of them tried to strike up a conversation, they quickly discovered what a shy, nervous little churchmouse you were, and their interest quickly faded.

You’d already fumbled clumsily over three flirtatious interactions with a sailor, a soldier, and a pilot. One poor Marine had even ended up with bright red punch spilled down the front of his uniform. You’d been mortified, and he’d been gracious, but you could tell he planned to stay as far away from you as possible for the rest of the night.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to meet somebody. In fact, you wanted that more than anything. Living with your sister and brother-in-law for these past few months had only solidified the yearning that had long since taken up residence in your heart, the aching desire to find someone to love and cherish—someone who would love and cherish you in return. But as soon as any nice, handsome, eligible man approached you, you suddenly found yourself wishing the earth would swallow you whole. Dottie was always telling you how smart and funny and sweet you were, but you never seemed to be able to show that to any man who talked to you. Instead, you clammed up like an oyster and stammered and stuttered over all your words. It was humiliating.

You’d learned to accept long ago that you weren’t the kind of girl who got asked to dance. You were the girl who handed out punch and offered kind smiles and volunteered to man the table alone so that the other girls could dance. Even your big sister’s prettiest party dress wouldn’t change that.

But you didn’t mind. It made you smile to see how excited all the other girls, like Emily and Marilyn, got when they were pulled out onto the dance floor, swept up in the arms of handsome strangers. You might not get to experience it yourself, but you enjoyed living vicariously through them.

Lost in your private reverie, you almost didn’t notice the handsome gentleman who approached you, his dark gaze fixed on you as opposed to Marilyn or Emily.

“Evenin’,” he smiled, tipping his hat respectfully. He looked to be an officer in the Navy, judging by his uniform.

“H-hello,” you stuttered shyly, mentally kicking yourself. All he’d done was wish you a good evening. There was no need to be nervous about that.

Your nervousness didn’t seem to be off-putting to him, however. In fact, he smiled even wider.

“Ensign Paul Trace,” he introduced himself, offering you his hand in a gentlemanly manner. Again, he didn’t seem to be disconcerted by the fact that you just stared dumbly at him for a moment.

Coming to your senses, you reached out and slipped your hand into his, shaking gently and telling him your name.

“A very pretty name,” he told you with a smile, which had you staring at your shoes and avoiding all eye contact. “And that’s a very pretty necklace you’ve got there,” he added. You could tell from your peripheral vision that he was indicating the pearls strung around your neck.

“Oh, th-thank you,” you murmured, tripping slightly over your words. You wanted to mention that they were a gift from your parents—anything to keep the conversation moving forward, as Dottie often reminded you—but the words got stuck in your throat.

“I’ve been meaning to buy my wife a necklace like that,” Ensign Trace said kindly, his smile friendly and warm.

Oh, thank goodness, you thought to yourself. He’s married. Strangely enough, the revelation was a relief. Knowing that he was a married man instantly put you at ease. He wasn’t trying to flirt or make time with you. He was just being nice. And that you could handle much more easily.

“I’m sure she would love that very much,” you smiled, lifting your chin slightly so that you could meet his gaze once more.

He grinned in a way that seemed to indicate that he was aware the pronouncement of his marital status had made you more comfortable. “I think she would, too. Maybe for her birthday,” he mused, tapping his chin thoughtfully and shooting you another good-natured grin.

“That sounds nice,” you nodded, feeling the familiar tug of anxiety that the conversation would lag. “Oh, would you like some punch?” you asked. As you reached out to grab him a glass, however, you accidentally tipped one over with your hand, spilling the sticky liquid across the table.

Ensign Trace immediately jumped to grab some napkins as you gasped, cheeks flaming as you rushed to fix the mess you’d made.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” you exclaimed, soaking up the punch with a handful of napkins. You felt the tips of your ears burning and you wanted nothing more than to flee the dance hall at that moment. “Did any of it get on you? I can go get some more napkins,” you stammered, trying to look anywhere but directly at him.

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” he insisted, shaking his head as he helped you sop up the juice. “I’m right as rain. Accidents happen,” he told you with a comforting smile.

“They should probably take me off punch duty,” you mumbled, tossing the soaked napkins into a garbage pail. “That’s the second glass I’ve spilled tonight.”

Ensign Trace just chuckled at that, gazing at you thoughtfully.

You grew even more self-conscious under his scrutiny, brushing your hair behind your ear and shifting nervously from foot to foot. He seemed to become aware of this, and held up a hand in atonement.

“I’m sorry, miss, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he apologized, taking a step back to put you more at ease. “I just—I just can’t help but think how perfect you’d be for a buddy of mine,” he laughed, grinning again. The man seemed incapable of going more than a few seconds without smiling.

Your heart plummeted at his comment, however. After your foolish display, you couldn’t help but suddenly feel like the butt of a joke. Why would this handsome officer’s friend have any interest in a klutz like you?

Your face must have given away your inner turmoil because Ensign Trace’s grin suddenly faltered and his eyes filled with a glow of compassionate awareness. “Oh, I’m not trying to make a joke, miss,” he told you earnestly, placing his hand over his heart. “I would never insult a lady like that.” His expression was open and sincere. “I really do have a friend who I think you’d get on with real well. He’s here tonight, too! He just—” He turned at that moment, peering around the room. “Well, he’s here somewhere!”

“It’s alright, Ensign Trace,” you told him with a small smile, holding out a fresh cup of punch for him.

“No, no, he really is here. Darn fool’s just gone off and—”

“If you find him, you can send him over for a glass of punch,” you suggested, having a feeling his friend would probably be much more interested in Emily or Marilyn anyway.

The naval officer looked at you seriously, nodding his head. “I’ll do that, miss. Have a nice night,” he said, tipping his hat once more before taking his punch and walking away, a rather determined look in his gait.

Sighing softly to yourself, you turned and went back to replenishing the glasses of punch, putting all thoughts of Ensign Trace’s mysterious buddy out of your mind.

Bob’s POV

“Where the hell did you go?” Paul demanded, punching Bob in the arm when he finally found him in the main foyer, near the front doors of the community center.

“Ow,” Bob frowned, rubbing his arm with a slight scowl. For all his congeniality, Paul also had one hell of a right hook and he wasn’t afraid to use it. “What was that for?”

“For being an idiot!” Paul exclaimed, shaking his head. The severity of his words was softened by the reluctant grin that slowly spread across his face. Natasha had always joked that Paul couldn’t stay mad at anyone for longer than the span of two breaths.

“I was just…getting some air,” Bob said lamely, giving his sore bicep one last quick rub and adjusting his glasses. Though he’d worn them for most of his life, the darn things never seemed to want to sit correctly on his face.

“Sure,” Paul shot back skeptically. He was the best, most supportive buddy a guy could ask for, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t quick to call Bob out when he felt he needed a swift kick in the pants.

“I—I was just—I said I’m not thirsty,” Bob explained, knowing before the words even left his mouth that it was a paltry excuse. “What does it matter?” he asked, trying hard not to conjure up in his mind’s eye the image of that vision of loveliness standing behind the punch table.

“What does it matter? I’ll tell you what it matters,” Paul declared, shoving his untouched glass of punch into Bob’s hand. “The girl who gave me that may very well be your future wife, Robert Floyd. And as your best friend and wingman, I’m not going to stand by and let you throw an opportunity like that away!”

Bob’s blue eyes widened at his friend’s impassioned speech and he stood silent for a moment or two, too dumbfounded to speak. Gazing down at the glass of punch in his hand, he cleared his throat and stammered, “You—you talked to her?”

“Yes, I talked to her,” Paul nodded emphatically. “Since you were too scared to do it,” he added with a teasing grin, nudging Bob’s other arm—the one he hadn’t punched. “Aw, she’s a doll, Robby. A real doll. Sweet as apple pie and timid as a rabbit. I know you’re scared to talk to her, but you’ve got no reason to be. Trust me when I say she’s probably more scared to talk to you,” he said gently, resting a hand on his shoulder.

Bob’s jaw fell open at that, flabbergasted. “She’s more—are you sure you talked to the right girl? The one in the dress with the pink flowers?” he questioned, hardly daring to believe a girl that beautiful would be scared to talk to anyone, least of all him.

“The very one,” Paul beamed. “You’ve got a good eye, Bobby Boy, because I’ve never met a girl more perfect for you in all my life,” he insisted, slapping Bob on the chest for good measure. “Go talk to her! Ask her to dance!”

“Aw, gosh, I don’t know, Paul,” Bob faltered, shaking his head and staring down at his feet. “She’s just so—and I’m so—and, well, we leave tomorrow,” he reminded him plaintively, as if it wasn’t something his best friend was already keenly aware of. “What’s the point in trying to get tangled up in something when we ship out in less than twelve hours?” He deflated slightly, tugging nervously on the cuff of his uniform jacket.

Paul sighed softly, nodding his head in understanding. “I get where you’re coming from, pal. I really do,” he said sincerely, lowering his voice as their conversation took a more serious turn. “Look, I don’t know what tomorrow’s gonna bring. I don’t know what the weeks and months and—hell—years ahead are gonna bring. And I’m not telling you to walk back in there and marry the girl. But if there’s anything we’ve learned these past few months, Robby, it’s that life turns on a damn dime. Not one of us knows when everything will go to hell. So we might as well enjoy the bits of heaven while we’ve got ’em, huh? Who’s to say that girl in there isn’t your little slice of heaven?”

Bob looked up and met his best friend’s dark gaze, seeing the sincerity shining there. Paul truly believed every word he said. And Bob couldn’t deny the way his words had stirred something deep inside his heart, a desire to make this night count—to make his life count—before he lost the chance forever.

“Go talk to her, Robby,” Paul told him encouragingly, patting his back with a firm hand. “At the very least, she’ll be a nice girl to dance with the night before we ship off. And who knows? At most, maybe she’s the girl who’ll turn your world upside down,” he grinned, winking pointedly.

“Well…” Bob stammered, the tips of his ears turning pink.

Paul chuckled, taking the glass of punch out of his hand. “Go,” he said again, lightly pushing his best friend in the direction of the dance hall.

Doing his very best not to stumble over his own two feet, Bob adjusted his uniform and straightened his tie, clearing his throat once, twice, three times before pushing open the doors, the brassy instruments of the band slamming him in the face once more as he reentered the hall. The notes blended together in a familiar fashion as Bob nervously crossed the room—he recognized it as ”Tuxedo Junction.” He’d always liked that one. His mother was a big fan of Glenn Miller and played his records all the time back home. Maybe he should take that as a good sign.

“Hello,” he murmured softly under his breath, ducking as he moved across the dance floor to avoid bumping into twirling couples. “My name’s Robert Floyd. Would you like to dance with me?” He scoffed at himself in frustration. “No, too stiff,” he decided. “Hiya, my name’s Bob. Care to dance?” he tried again. “No,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Too…stupid. Oh, God, I can’t do this,” he moaned, nearly turning on his heel right then and hightailing it out of there.

He was halted in his second attempt to flee, however, when he thought once more of Paul’s words.

“Gotta enjoy the bits of heaven while we’ve got ’em,” Bob echoed, taking a deep breath. “You can do this, Floyd. Quit being such a coward,” he chastised himself. He blushed crimson when he realized a couple of the older volunteers were staring at him, obviously having overheard his one-sided argument “Uh, ’scuse me,” he mumbled, hurrying off.

Craning his neck, he tried to scan the crowd, wondering if maybe the angel from the punch table had been relieved of her shift in the time he’d been hiding out like a scared little boy. But as his eyes alighted on the refreshment table, his heart squeezed painfully inside his chest.

There she was.

He wanted so badly to ask her to dance.

He was going to ask her to dance.

Oh, God, no. He couldn’t.

No, he could.

He couldn’t.

He stood there like a fool, floundering as he frantically went back and forth in his mind, wanting so desperately to overcome his fears and go talk to her.

She was right there.

If he could only muster up the nerve… 

Your POV

“That Navy man you were chatting with was a real looker,” Marilyn grinned, sidling up beside you and nudging you surreptitiously as you fanned out a new stack of napkins on the refreshment table with nimble fingers.

“Yes, I suppose he was,” you nodded in agreement, cheeks warming slightly, as they were wont to do whenever discussions of attractive men took place.

“You suppose?” Marilyn teased, smirking salaciously. “He was gorgeous. I couldn’t take my eyes off him! Lucky you. I wish he’d asked me for some punch,” she pouted, fluffing her red locks.

“He’s married,” you clarified, feeling strangely defensive of the kind naval officer you’d just met, even after you’d made a fool of yourself in front of him.

“So?” the redhead asked, her eyes twinkling wickedly.

“Marilyn!” you gasped, horrified at her implication.

Marilyn threw back her head, laughing. “Oh, don’t get your nylons in a twist, I’m just teasing,” she told you, resting a hand on her slender waist. “Besides, there’s plenty of unmarried fish in this sea,” she dimpled, nodding towards the massive congregation of servicemen. “And I think it’s time I found myself one! You and Emily don’t mind keeping an eye on the table without me, do you?” she asked expectantly.

“Um, well, I don’t, but—”

“Great! Thanks, doll!” Marilyn beamed, blowing a kiss in your general direction and flouncing off towards the dance floor without a backwards glance.

“Where’s she going?” Emily asked, reappearing at your elbow with a new stack of punch glasses.

“Off to dance, it would seem,” you sighed softly, sharing a knowing glance with your friend. “I told her that I didn’t mind, but I’m sorry if you—”

“Don’t apologize,” Emily said, waving off your concern. “I don’t think anyone can stop Marilyn once she has her mind made up about something,” she added with a giggle.

“No, that’s true,” you agreed, smiling ruefully. Helping your friend fill the new glasses, you glanced over at her. “You can go dance, too. Emily. Really. It’s like I told you before—I don’t mind.”

“I’m not going to leave you here all by yourself!” Emily exclaimed, relentless in her determination not to abandon you. She was a good friend.

The crowd around the refreshment table slowly began to thin out as more and more couples made their way onto the dance floor, allured by the heady beat of the music and the intoxicating possibilities of what they might discover in one another’s arms.

Emily sighed softly as she tapped her feet along to the swing music. You were tempted to try to nudge her towards the dance floor for the third time, but you knew she’d just refuse, so you kept quiet. The two of you chatted softly, handing out glasses of punch to anyone who walked by and offering sweet words of thanks to the men.

“Oh, I love this song!” Emily cried out, clapping her hands excitedly as a young singer stepped up to the microphone and began crooning “The Way You Look Tonight,” wrapping her hands around the mic stand and accentuating each word.

The couples that had been kicking their feet frenetically and swinging their arms wildly on the dance floor gradually shifted into a slower, gentler rhythm, hands pressing against waists and cheeks resting upon shoulders as their bodies intertwined, allowing the romantic lyrics to wrap around them like a cozy shawl.

Emily began softly singing along, caught up in a dreamy haze as she watched the couples dancing with a gentle grin curving her lips.

You just smiled at how much your friend seemed to be enjoying herself, wiping up a small spill as you hummed quietly under your breath. You also loved this song.

“Excuse me, miss?” a masculine voice cut through the hazy silence, catching you off guard. Your head snapped up in surprise, and you found yourself looking into the eyes of a young Army corporal. He looked a little nervous, which only ratcheted up your own anxious feelings.

“Yes?” you murmured softly, cheeks growing warm despite yourself.

“I—” He cleared his throat slightly, shifting from foot to foot. “Well, um, I was just wondering if—”

Oh my goodness, you thought to yourself, butterflies batting their wings violently in your stomach. Is he going to ask me to dance?

The thought terrified you, but also filled you with a kind of giddy excitement. You’d never been asked to dance at any of the USO events. Was this finally your chance? Maybe Dottie had been right about tonight.

The soldier rubbed the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. He looked so nervous, and you couldn’t help but find it endearing. “I was wondering if—do you think your friend would like to dance with me?” he finally asked, his gaze moving away from your face and landing on Emily.

You felt your heart sink like a stone.

Turning slightly, you caught sight of your friend, who was still swaying to the music, lost in her own little world. Of course this handsome soldier wanted to dance with Emily, your sweet, bubbly, extroverted friend. It shouldn’t have necessarily come as a surprise that he saw you as more of a gatekeeper than a viable dancer partner, but that didn’t make the reality of it hurt any less.

Pasting a bright smile on your face, you nodded your head, not missing the way the young man’s eyes lit up excitedly. “I’m sure she would love to,” you assured him, swallowing past the lump that had suddenly formed in your throat. “Her name is Emily,” you told him, fisting your hands in the folds of your dress and watching as he shyly approached her.

Emily looked surprised when the corporal tapped her on the shoulder, but she beamed immediately, offering him one of her megawatt smiles. You couldn’t hear their conversation from the angle where you were standing, but you saw him offer his hand to her, which she eagerly accepted. Seconds later, however, she tilted her head to catch your eye, a questioning look on her face.

“Go have fun,” you told her, waving her off with a delicate hand.

“Thank you!” she mouthed back, grinning happily as her new partner whisked her off onto the dance floor.

Lifting your chin and straightening your back, you did your best to focus on the tasks that were in front of you—rearranging the napkins, replenishing the punch bowl, filling the glasses. Never mind the fact that you were crumbling inside, feeling near tears.

Dottie was going to be so disappointed. The thought made you sad. Despite your big sister’s best efforts with your hair and make-up—even lending you her prettiest dress—it didn’t change the fact that her baby sister was a wilting wallflower, too shy to earn anyone’s attention.

It shouldn’t have bothered you as much as it did. You were used to remaining on the sidelines during dances. You always told everyone you were more comfortable that way.

You had just hoped tonight would be different.

Bob’s POV

Bob generally considered himself to be a pretty mild-mannered, level-headed guy. There wasn’t much that got his temper flaring, but as he watched that corporal waltz off towards the dance floor with one of the other girls who’d been working behind the punch table, he felt his hand instinctively curl into an angry fist, his nails biting sharply into his palm.

He’d been pacing back and forth a few feet away from the refreshment table, anxiously trying to work up the nerve to finally approach the angel in the pink and white dress, when he spotted the Army officer making his way straight towards her.

That’s what you get, Floyd, he thought to himself. You waited too long, like a coward, and now someone else is seizing the opportunity you missed.

Shoulders sagging in disappointment, Bob was about to turn and go find Paul to tell him that he was heading out early. There didn’t seem any point in staying any longer. He’d just return to base and finish the letter he’d been writing for his parents, then get some sleep and try to avoid dreaming about the reality that he’d be on his way to Europe tomorrow morning—and not for the Grand Tour, either.

Just as he’d determined to walk away without a backwards glance, however, a lull in the music allowed him to catch a snatch of the conversation happening behind him. He froze. He couldn’t have heard that right.

“I was wondering if—do you think your friend would like to dance with me?”

Bob’s mouth hung agape as he swung back around, certain he would find the soldier talking to some other girl. But no! He was talking to her!

He was talking to her and asking if he could dance with some other girl? What was wrong with him?!

“I’m sure she would love to,” came the soft reply, so soft, in fact, that Bob was surprised he could hear it at all. It was the first time he’d heard her speak—God, she even had a beautiful voice.

A beautiful voice that was very clearly trying to hold back tears.

Bob’s eyes narrowed behind his square, wire-framed glasses and he felt his pulse begin racing in his veins, a dark flush creeping up his neck and staining his cheeks. How big of an idiot could one guy be? How could that corporal see the stunning treasure that was standing before him and just toss her aside like yesterday’s newspaper? How could he be so unfeeling, to get a girl’s hopes up like that, only to choose her friend over her?

Taking a deep breath, Bob unclenched his fist and tore his gaze away from the moronic Army officer, turning his attention back to the one person who really deserved it.

He felt his heart sink like a stone.

She looked so sad. So crushed and defeated. He ached as he watched her put on a brave face and attend to the tasks set before her. Anyone else might have walked right by her and not even realized that anything was wrong, but not Bob. He knew. He could see it in her eyes, read it in her body language—the woundedness of being overlooked. Disregarded. Forgotten.

He knew what that felt like, and he hated to think that she did, too. He hated to think that she had spent one moment wondering what she could have done differently to make people take notice of her; that she had spent even a fraction of a second thinking that there was something wrong with her, something she needed to change. He hated to think that anyone had failed to make her feel as beautiful and special as he knew she was.

Maybe Paul had been right. Maybe she really was the one for him—his little slice of heaven right in the middle of hell.

Somewhere in the back of his consciousness, he became aware of the fact that the band was striking up another song. Keeping his blue gaze fixed on the beauty before him, he observed her lift her head and stare out at the dance floor, an honest and painful expression of yearning crossing her lovely features.

Bob actually had to look away in that moment, feeling like he was intruding upon her in her most private, intimate moment. Obviously she believed herself to be alone, he was sure of it. When he looked up again a few seconds later, too weak to tear his eyes away for long, he caught her brushing at one of her eyes.

He couldn’t stand there and let her hurt like that.

As nervous as he was to approach her, as terrified as he was to ask her to dance, Robert Floyd would never leave a lady all alone on the sidelines. No one deserved that, least of all her.

Breathing in a lungful of air, Bob started moving before his brain could try to stop him again, placing one foot in front of the other until he was finally standing right in front of the refreshment table.

She lifted her head in surprise and he cleared his throat nervously, trying not to get thrown by those gorgeous eyes staring up at him.

“Hello,” he smiled shyly.

Some opening, Floyd.

Your POV

You wanted to go home.

As much as you were trying not to let your interaction with the corporal get to you, the truth was that your feelings had been hurt and you weren’t sure how much more your battered pride could take. At the same time, however, you knew you were being ridiculous.

You came here tonight to volunteer, not to meet a husband, you mentally chided yourself. You can’t just up and leave now because your ego was wounded.

Clenching your jaw determinedly, you doubled down on your efforts to continue performing the duty you’d been tasked with for the night. As you wiped away sticky stains, straightened the tablecloth, and set out fresh glasses of punch, you forcibly quashed any feelings of self-pity that threatened to bubble to the surface against your will.

You were here in a strictly professional capacity. You were a volunteer, not some serviceman’s date.

So why had you allowed your hopes to peak when it seemed as though you might finally receive an invitation to dance? That had been a foolish mistake on your part.

Sighing softly under your breath, you nervously fidgeted with your hands, realizing there wasn’t much more you could do at the refreshment table until someone actually approached in search of some punch. Lifting your head, you took in the sight of all the happy couples on the dance floor with a broken smile. You didn’t begrudge a single one of them their excitement and joy, but oh, how you wished you could be out there among them, twirling around in the arms of a man who thought you were the bee’s knees.

Your heart yearned so acutely in that moment that it was almost a palpable ache, your body practically vibrating with a need that you couldn’t quite put into words. You pressed your hands to your chest, as if that could somehow stanch the desire that was throbbing in your heart—the desire to be seen, known, and loved exactly as you were.

Oh, stop it, you scolded yourself when you felt one fat, hot tear roll down your cheek unbidden. There’s certainly no need for tears.

Reaching up with delicate fingers, you carefully brushed away the tears that were pooling against your bottom lashes, not wanting to make a mess of the make-up Dottie had worked so diligently on.

So caught up in your own thoughts were you that you didn’t even notice the man who was approaching the table until he was suddenly standing before you, clearing his throat and smiling shyly.

A little startled, you looked up at him and felt your heart flutter softly against your ribcage. For some reason, the feeling reminded you of the pretty yellow canary that your family had kept when you were a little girl, its soft, delicate wings flapping gently within the confines of its gilded cage.

“Hello,” the young man—another officer in the Navy from the looks of it—greeted you. Was it your imagination that his voice trembled slightly? Even if it had, it didn’t matter. He had a nice voice, one that somehow managed to make you feel comfortable and at ease, even though he had only uttered one word.

“Hello,” you smiled back, your cheeks growing warm when you realized you were staring at him. You couldn’t help it. He had the most breathtaking blue eyes you had ever seen. It wasn’t just the color of his eyes that drew you in, however. It was the kindness and gentleness that you saw residing there, something that struck you as so utterly paradoxical in a man about to ship out to war. They were the most captivating eyes you had ever seen.

He just stood there for a moment, not saying anything, and you felt yourself start to grow nervous once more. You realized, at that moment, that he’d probably just come over to the table because he was thirsty. Not wanting to make the same mistake you’d made with the corporal in getting your hopes up, you quickly reached for a glass of punch and held it out to him, expecting him to thank you and be on his way.

“Oh,” he murmured, those blue eyes widening slightly behind his glasses. He shook his head, removing his hat and playing with it in his hands. “Oh, no, I didn’t—I mean to say that I wasn’t—I mean, I’m not thirsty,” he stammered, sounding a bit unsure of himself.

Not quite knowing what to say in response to that, you lowered the cup of punch back to the table, unable to tear your eyes away from him for more than a few seconds at a time. You noticed, as you gazed at him, that the tips of his ears were turning pink, as were his cheeks and the tip of his nose. Your heart did that strange little flutter once again, and you felt yourself drawn to him in the most inexplicable of ways.

You didn’t even know his name, and yet you knew this man was different from all the rest.

“I–I’m sorry, that must have sounded terribly rude,” he apologized, clearing his throat and putting his hat back on. “What I meant to say was—well, the reason I came over here was—would you, um, like to dance with me?”

It was your eyes that widened now, your heart fluttering more rapidly in your chest. You were reminded again of that tiny yellow canary, the one that had seemed to yearn so ardently for freedom from its little gilded cage.

“M-me?” you asked softly, pointing to yourself as if there was anyone else around for him to be talking about instead. “You want to dance with me?”

“I do,” he nodded, his cheeks growing even more pink, which you found incredibly endearing. “Very much so. I mean—um—only if you want to, that is,” he added hastily, seeming even more unsure of himself than before.

Never in your life had you ever seen your own shy heart so clearly reflected in the heart of another.

“I—I want to,” you told him with a little nod, a soft smile curving your lips. You couldn’t help but notice the look of relief that washed over his face, and it almost made you want to giggle with giddiness. But you didn’t want him to think you were laughing at him, so you swallowed it down. You hesitated for a moment, then shyly asked, “May I ask who’s asking?”

The young officer nearly smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. “I’m sorry, miss, where have my manners gone?” he asked, his voice lilting in a sweet midwestern accent. “I’m Robert Floyd. Um, Ensign Robert Floyd,” he amended, seeming to remember his rank at the last second. He held out his hand to you and you couldn’t help but notice how large and well-shaped it was. Was it odd to admire how lovely a man’s hands were? You’d have to ask Dottie about that.

Ensign. The same rank as the kindhearted Paul Trace. You suddenly recalled Ensign Trace’s comments about his friend who’d slipped away, the one he claimed you would be perfect for. This couldn’t possibly be—could it?

You told him your name as you slipped your hand into his warm, surprisingly soft palm, and shook gently. He echoed it, almost reverently, and it made you shiver in delight and feel your skin grow warm.

“I’m not normally one for dancing,” he confessed sheepishly, looking a bit embarrassed.

Feeling an almost instantaneous urge to comfort him, you hurried to reassure him. “Don’t worry. That makes two of us then,” you confided, offering him a bashful smile.

His face lit up at your words in one of the most beautiful, charming smiles you’d ever seen. “Should we give it a try then? They do say practice makes perfect,” he murmured with a soft chuckle, holding out his hand to you, this time with his palm upturned in an invitation to lead you out onto the dance floor.

Your heart fluttered in your chest for the third time, reminding you once again of the precious little canary from your girlhood—the canary that had wanted nothing more than to be free. One night, watching the pretty yellow bird flap its wings desperately against the bars of its cage, you made the choice to grant it the freedom it so desired, carrying it outside into the backyard and opening the cage, allowing it to spread its wings and soar.

Maybe tonight, you could let your heart be just as free as that yellow canary.

Lightly resting your hand in Ensign Floyd’s, you let out a hushed laugh and nodded shyly.

“Yes. Let’s give it a try.”

Bob’s POV

She said yes!

He could scarcely believe it, the whole thing feeling like a dream. It couldn’t possibly be real.

And yet, when she placed her hand in his, her hand so delicate and soft and solid against his palm, it dawned on him that their conversation had not just been a figment of his fantasy after all. This beautiful girl—sweet as apple pie and timid as a rabbit, just as Paul had described her—had really agreed to dance with him.

He felt like the luckiest man in the world.

Fingers closing gently over hers, he held her hand as she made her away around the refreshment table, the manicured fingers of her other hand brushing at an invisible wrinkle in her dress. He recognized it as a nervous tick. He did the same thing all the time when he was feeling shy or anxious—picking at an imaginary piece of lint or rubbing at a stain that wasn’t there; anything to make himself small and avoid feeling like people’s eyes were on him.

In that instant, he felt a deep sense of kindred connectedness to her. He’d met her only moments before, but he felt he knew her better than some people he’d known his whole life. Paul had seen it, too, and Bob was immediately flooded with a sense of gratitude that he’d listened to his bullheaded best friend.

Suddenly remembering Paul’s advice from earlier in the evening, he looked down at the lovely young woman whose fingers were intertwined with his and opened his mouth to say something, just as his glasses started to slide down his nose.

She looked up at that moment, and he could swear that the smile that lit up her face could stop traffic. Maybe if the War Department had used her likeness instead of Uncle Sam’s on their recruitment posters, more men would have been lining up to serve.

“You have a beautiful smile,” he told her, the words slipping out of his mouth before he could stop himself. Blushing, he pushed his glasses back up his nose, shoving them firmly against his face. The darn things refused to stay in place.

He heard her slight intake of breath, saw the way she ducked her head at his words, and for a moment he panicked that he’d said the wrong thing and turned her off. But then he spotted the shy, almost tentative smile touching her lips and he relaxed slightly. His words seemed to have more of an impact on her than he could have imagined.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice so sweet and light. It reminded him of the soft summer breezes back home. “So do you,” she added, blurting the words out just as he had done and then looking flustered.

Bob chuckled at that, pleasantly surprised by the compliment. He squeezed her hand ever so slightly, wordlessly letting her know that she had no reason to be embarrassed about what she’d said.

Just as they made their way onto the dance floor, Bob making sure to find them a spot that wasn’t too crowded, the singer in the blue gown made her way back up to the microphone, smiling out at the sea of couples as the band struck up a familiar Gershwin tune.

“Oh, I love this song,” she breathed out, looking up at him with bright eyes. She had the most gorgeous eyes he had ever seen, rimmed in dark lashes that kissed the tops of her cheeks whenever she blinked or lowered her gaze.

“I’m glad,” Bob murmured softly in response, his voice almost a whisper as he drank in the sight of her, standing so close to him that he thought his heart might jump straight out of his chest.

“There’s a saying old, says that love is blind,” the singer crooned, closing her eyes as she began warbling “Someone to Watch Over Me,” a song that Bob had heard many times without ever really listening to. After tonight, he thought it might just be his new favorite song.

She fidgeted subtly as she stood before him, twisting her hands in the folds of her dress, and it struck him that she was just as nervous as he was. She had, after all, admitted that she wasn’t much for dancing herself.

“Still we’re often told, seek and ye shall find. So I’m going to seek a certain lad I’ve had in mind…”

Clearing his throat and adjusting his glasses for what felt like the millionth time, Bob held out a hand to her, wanting to make her feel comfortable and at ease. His pulse hammered as she smiled at him again and gratefully slipped her hand into his, lifting her chin and meeting his eye.

“Looking everywhere, haven't found him yet. He's the big affair I cannot forget. Only man I ever think of with regret…”

Trying to quell the butterflies exploding in his stomach, Bob slowly reached out and placed his other hand on her waist, keeping his touch light and almost stiff. He didn’t want to presume any intimacies with her or scare her off.

“I'd like to add his initial to my monogram. Tell me, where is the shepherd for this lost lamb?”

After a moment’s hesitation, she raised her free hand and rested it on his shoulder, her touch just as sheepish and reticent as his. Anyone looking on might think that they looked tense and even a tad bit uncomfortable, their body language stiff and fumbling. But they were each dipping a toe into the water, trying to wade across the chasm and safely find a way to one another.

“There's a somebody I'm longin' to see. I hope that he turns out to be…someone who'll watch over me…”

As the chorus of the song reverberated throughout the room, they began slowly moving in rhythm with the music, swaying side to side as they gazed silently at one another. It wasn’t the anxious silence Bob so often experienced when he was trying to talk to someone new—it was the comfortable silence of two people who knew that words weren’t always what was most important.

“I'm a little lamb who's lost in the wood. I know I could always be good…to one who'll watch over me…”

It took him a second to realize that she was softly humming underneath her breath, her body relaxing in increments as the song went on. His was, too, he realized with some surprise. And he hadn’t stepped on her foot once. As he felt her hand start to melt into his shoulder, becoming almost an extension of his own body, his hand slowly slid around to her lower back, instinctively pulling her closer.

She followed his lead without hesitation.

“Although he may not be the man some girls think of as handsome, to my heart, he carries the key…”

“You have a real pretty voice,” he said softly, gazing down at her with a look of awe etched into his features.

Her eyes widened and she grinned sheepishly, as if a little embarrassed to have been caught humming. “How can you be sure? I wasn’t even singing,” she giggled, a sound that would be seared into his brain and his heart for the rest of his days, he was sure of it.

“Oh, I can tell,” Bob nodded sagely, grinning in return. “It’s lovely.” Just like you.

“Thank you,” she murmured, beaming. He felt a rush of pride that he’d been the one to put that smile on her face.

“Won't you tell him please to put on some speed. Follow my lead. Oh, how I need…someone to watch over me…”

As the song reached a crescendo, she suddenly leaned closer and rested her cheek against his shoulder, her eyes closing as they continued to sway to the beat of the music.

Bob had never wished for anything in his life the way he suddenly wished that time could stand still, his pulse stuttering in his veins as he held her close, resting his cheek against the top of her head as they moved almost in slow motion.

“Someone to watch over me.”

The music came to an end and the crowd burst into applause, but neither of them moved, holding onto one another even as the band struck up a new song.

Bob never wanted to let her go.

Your POV

You never wanted to let him go.

You had always considered “Someone to Watch Over Me” to be a perfect song, but now you realized it had one flaw—it was too short.

Though you’d admittedly been filled with trepidation when Ensign Floyd had first led you out onto the dance floor, you’d been shocked at the speed in which you found yourself growing more relaxed in his arms. The chivalry of his gestures, the gentleness of his touch, the kindness in his eyes and smile—you’d never felt more at ease with a man in your life, especially one you’d just met. Towards the end of the song, you’d even felt brave enough to rest against his chest, which somehow felt warm and comforting, even within the confines of his austere officer’s uniform.

So when the song sadly reached its conclusion, you found that you weren’t quite ready to let him go.

Much to your pleasant surprise, he seemed to feel the same way. Even as the band struck up a rendition of “Moonglow,” his hand remained resting firmly against the small of your back, holding you close to his chest in a way that set your heart racing faster than a freight train.

“I’ve always liked this song,” he murmured quietly as the two of you swayed from side to side, hardly moving at all as the music washed over you.

“Me, too,” you nodded with a smile, lifting your head off his shoulder so that you could gaze up into his piercing cerulean eyes once more. “My sister has a Jack Teagarden record, and this one has always been one of my favorites.”

“I had a feeling you were a girl with good taste,” he replied with a grin that made your stomach do a couple quick flips.

You giggled shyly at that, biting down on your lower lip. You’d always been terrible at flirting. Dottie always tried to give you tips, but you never knew what coquettish, cute things to say to gain and keep a man’s attention. If you were as witty as girls like Marilyn or Emily, you might be able to come up with some little quip to volley back at him, but as it was, you just smiled and rested your head on his shoulder once more.

Thankfully, Ensign Robert Floyd didn’t seem to be a man who minded. In fact, he didn’t seem to be a man who needed many words at all. The two of you were perfectly content to dance in companionable silence for the rest of “Moonglow,” and then for the next couple songs after that.

You knew the room was packed to the rafters with couples, but for a while, it felt like it was only the two of you, lost in your own blissful bubble. It was only when you felt someone bumping into you from behind that you were startled back to reality, turning your head to see another naval officer grinning at you. You instantly recognized the redhead in his arms. It looked like Marilyn had found herself one of those unmarried fish after all.

“Hey, buddy boy! Looks like you did find yourself a pretty girl after all,” the officer guffawed, winking at Robert and then smiling at you. “Has Floyd here been treating you well?” he asked teasingly. “I’ll have to report him to our superiors otherwise.”

Obviously the men were friends, but you still felt your cheeks growing warm as you lowered your gaze and stammered softly, “Oh, yes, very well.”

At the feel of Robert squeezing your hand gently, you looked up and caught his eye. He was smiling at you warmly, comfortingly.

“Good, good,” the other man went on, his expression open and friendly. “You know, this guy—”

“Okay, Benny,” Robert cut his fellow officer off, smiling sheepishly. “Good to see you. We’ll talk later, okay?”

“Okay, pal, okay. I can take a hint,” the man—Benny—nodded, winking over at Marilyn. “Come on, doll, we’ll give the kids some privacy,” he chuckled, twirling her away from you and your dance partner.

“Sorry about that,” Robert chuckled, shaking his head and flushing slightly. His glasses started to slide down his nose, and he quickly pushed them back up. You noticed that it was something that seemed to keep happening, and you thought it was adorable.

“I don’t mind,” you told him, smiling. “Friend of yours, obviously?”

“Yes,” he nodded, grinning fondly. “Former classmate, too. We went to Annapolis together. Commissioned at the same time,” he explained, spinning you gently in time with the music.

“Ah,” you nodded in understanding, glancing down at his uniform jacket before looking back up at his face again. “So you always wanted to be in the Navy then?” you asked curiously.

“Oh, yes,” he replied without missing a beat, the tilt of his head confident and firm. It was clear that this was something that meant a great deal to him. “My father is a captain in the Navy. He went to Annapolis, too, and served during the Great War. Or, I suppose I should call it the first world war now,” he said with a grimace. He cleared his throat slightly before continuing. “Anyway, I’ve always been proud of my father. He was awarded the Navy Cross for his service in the war, and he’s always been the most stand-up guy that I know. I guess I always just wanted to follow in his footsteps.”

You smiled warmly at that, touched by the obvious love that he felt for his father. “I’m sure he’s very proud of you,” you told him.

“I think so. I hope so, at least,” he laughed softly, his blue eyes settling on your face in an expression so soft that it made your heart ache slightly.

“My father served in the Army during the first world war,” you said, finding it easier and easier to make conversation as the moments slipped by. “He doesn’t like to talk about it much.”

“That’s fair,” Robert replied solemnly, his eyes glowing with understanding. “I don’t think it’s an easy thing for anyone to talk about.” A pregnant silence fell between the two of you for a few moments, unspoken words hanging delicately in the air. He finally broke the silence with a bashful grin. “Army, huh? Maybe we shouldn’t be seen together then. The Army and the Navy are notorious rivals,” he joked.

A surprised laugh burst from your mouth at his words, your eyes crinkling in the corners as you smiled wide. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” you teased in return.

The two of you stood there, no longer swaying with the music, but simply smiling at one another, still wrapped together in each other’s arms.

A thought seemed to strike him as he gazed down at you, but whatever it was must have made him nervous, because he suddenly averted his eyes and started clearing his throat again, looking as shy as he had when he first approached you.

“Um, say,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck and staring at a point just over your shoulder, as if too afraid to look directly in your eyes. “I hope this doesn’t seem too forward or anything, but I was just wondering—do you think you’d maybe like to take a walk with me?”

“Tonight?” you asked, raising your eyebrows as you looked up at him. Your pulse quickened at the notion.

“Um, well, yes,” he nodded, his cheeks turning a dark shade of red. His glasses even seemed to be fogging up slightly.

You bit your lower lip, glancing around the room. “Well, it’s just that I’m a volunteer with the USO. I don’t think I can leave until my shift is over,” you explained, stepping back and twisting your fingers together.

“Oh, of course,” Robert mumbled, deflating slightly. You hated the look of defeat in his expression. “I understand. Thank you for the dances. I’m sorry if I—”

“My shift is over at ten o’ clock,” you hastened to interject, not wanting him to get the impression that you weren’t interested. You had never been more interested in your life. “I know you’ll have to be getting back to your base, but maybe—”

“Oh, that’s perfect,” he cut in, the two of you pausing and laughing bashfully at his enthusiasm. “Ten o’clock works just fine,” he grinned.

“Okay,” you beamed, feeling your own cheeks grow warm as he smiled at you. “I’ll just go help clean up a little bit. Should I meet you by the front doors at ten?”

“That sounds perfect,” he agreed, his expression bright and uplifted once more.

“Okay,” you said again, finding it hard to get your feet to move in the direction you needed them to.

“Okay,” he echoed, continuing to stand there as well, a foot or two away from you.

The both of you laughed sheepishly when you realized neither of you had moved, each of you looking away shyly.

“Alright, I’ll see you soon then, Ensign Floyd,” you murmured, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear.

“Please, it’s Robert. Or Bob. Lots of people call me Bob,” he amended.

“What about Bobby?” The question popped out of your mouth before the thought had even been fully formed in your mind. You had no idea what on earth had possessed you to ask it.

He smiled at your question. “No, no one really calls me that. It’s usually either Bob or Robby, depending on who it is,” he explained. He paused for a moment, thoughtful, then added, “But you can call me Bobby.”

Your cheeks, which had just been starting to cool down, grew instantly hot at his words, which gave you more of a rush than they had any right to.

“Okay,” you nodded, the tiniest of smiles curving your lips. “I’ll see you soon then, Bobby.”

Bob’s POV

Bob felt like he was floating on air as he made his way across the dance floor, spotting his friends near the doors through which they’d entered the large hall.

She was without a doubt the most extraordinary woman he had ever met. Beautiful, sweet, kind, thoughtful—an angel, just as he had thought from the very beginning. And she actually seemed to like him! What kind of lucky star had he fallen under tonight? Whatever it was, he hoped that the pixie dust from it didn’t wear off anytime soon.

As he got closer to the gathered members of his squadron, he noticed that the redhead Benny had been dancing with was still firmly attached to his side. Tommy Boy had a stunning blonde on his arm—though Bob would argue she was nowhere near as gorgeous as his girl—and most of the other guys had pretty young things draped around them as well.

The only member of the group, in fact, who was standing on his own was Paul. Bob could tell that behind his best friend’s happy-go-lucky smile, there was a tinge of sadness. He knew that Paul wished more than anything that he could be holding Natasha right now. That was, Bob realized with painful clarity, the cost of loving someone so much.

“Hey, there he is!” Benny exclaimed with a cheerful grin when he turned and caught sight of Bob. “Floyd! The man of the hour! Where’s your pretty date?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows and ignoring the way the redhead smacked his chest with a huff.

Bob blushed at Benny’s choice of words, pushing his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose with his pointer finger.

He was saved from answering Benny’s question directly when Tommy Boy cut in, grinning smugly. “See? I told you it was a good idea for you to come to the dance with us tonight, didn’t I?” He chuckled, slapping Bob good-naturedly on the arm. “We’re all getting ready to head out to The Tropicana Room,” he went on, referring to a nightclub downtown that their squadron had frequented a couple times in the past. “You’ll come with us, won’t you? Bring your pretty date,” he added with a knowing smirk.

“Oh, well, um, actually I was just coming to let you guys know that I’m going to be going for a walk with, um—with my—”

“Your date?” Benny drawled slowly, grinning impishly. “A walk, huh? Is that what they’re calling it now?” he teased with a mischievous laugh.

“Oh, shut up, Benny,” Paul interjected, his tone friendly, but firm enough to let Benny know that he meant it. Their fellow officer put a lid on it immediately.

“That sounds real nice, Bob,” Tommy Boy jumped back in, nodding at him with an encouraging smile. For a guy as popular and handsome as Tom, a guy who could have any woman he wanted without lifting a finger, he really was one of the nicest and most supportive friends a guy like Bob could ask for. “So we’ll see you back at base then?”

Bob nodded, having a feeling some of his friends would be out much later than he expected to be. “I’ll see you back at base. Have fun at The Tropicana Room,” he told them all with a little wave.

Paul hung back as the rest of their group began making their way out of the dance hall, loudly laughing and letting out whoops of excitement as they headed into the final stretch of their last night stateside. At his knowing smile, which teetered right on the edge of being smug, Bob chuckled and held up his hands in surrender.

“Alright, alright. I can admit when you’re right,” Bob said, shaking his head with a good-humored smile. “Thank you for pushing me to go talk to her. She’s—she’s amazing, Paul,” he gushed, still in awe. “What you said—you know, about her maybe being the girl for me? I—I don’t know, Paul. I think you might have actually been right.”

“When am I not right?” Paul smirked, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Ah, I’m just kidding. But I am happy for you, Robby,” he told him sincerely. “You deserve a nice girl. And wait until I write and tell Nat that it was me who helped you find her,” he grinned.

Bob laughed, jokingly pushing his friend away from him. “Okay, sure, take all the credit. I am the one who asked her to dance, you know,” he playfully shot back.

“At my insistence,” Paul emphasized, winking. He glanced over his shoulder for a moment, then asked, “Leaving soon then?”

“At ten, when her volunteer shift ends,” Bob explained, glancing across the room and spotting her helping to clean up at the refreshment table where he’d first spotted her. His heart warmed at the sight.

“Have fun, buddy. I mean it. You really do deserve it,” Paul said, more seriously this time.

“Thank you, Paul,” Bob replied. “Are you going to The Tropicana Room with the others?”

“I’ll probably swing by for a quick drink,” Paul told him with a shrug. “Maybe it’ll take my mind off how much I miss Nat and the kids, at least for a little while,” he added, a touch of melancholy in his voice.

“You’ll see them again soon,” Bob said quietly, patting his friend’s shoulder. “And they’re always with you,” he added comfortingly, tapping the pocket where he knew Paul was carrying his family photograph.

“Yeah,” Paul nodded, forcing himself to smile once more. “You’re right. Have fun, Robby. I’ll see you back at base,” he said, holding his hand out to give Bob a quick shake.

“See you later,” Bob nodded, firmly shaking Paul’s hand before he, too, slipped out of the dance hall.

Figuring a little fresh air would do him some good, and since there had been an arrangement to meet by the front doors anyway, Bob slipped out of the dance hall and made his way through the foyer of the community center. Evidently some of the USO volunteers had also determined that some fresh spring air would do everyone some good, for some of them had propped the front doors open, revealing an inky black Charleston sky peppered with stars.

Stepping up to the doorway, Bob dragged in a lungful of the balmy air, grinning up at the sky. Not for the first time in the past hour or so, he found himself eternally grateful that he’d listened to his friends, particularly Paul, and come to the dance tonight. The reality of his deployment still hung heavy in the back of his mind, but for this brief, blissful moment in time, he was giving himself over to the joy he felt bubbling up inside his chest.

So enamored was he of the warm southern air and the happy thoughts filling his mind that he lost all sense of time until he felt a gentle finger tapping him on the shoulder. Turning around, he felt his heart squeeze inside his chest when he took in the sight of her standing before him, a sweater draped over her arm and her purse in her hand.

“Ready, Bobby?” she asked with a shy grin.

With her, he felt ready for anything.

Your POV

When Bob informed you that he was originally from Iowa and that this was his first time being in Charleston, you immediately suggested taking your stroll down King Street, one of the most historic and lively streets in the whole city. 

The street was bustling and busy almost every night of the week, but this Saturday night in particular, it was practically bursting at the seams. Servicemen from all branches of the military took to the streets in droves, most with a girl or two on each arm, all of them looking for a good time as the reality of a global war loomed heavily over everyone.

Robert—or Bobby, as you were giddily becoming accustomed to calling him—had been a perfect gentleman when you’d left the community center, carefully draping your sweater over your shoulders and offering you his arm, which you’d happily accepted. As the two of you walked along, you pointed out different sites and interesting spots to him, all of which he drank in eagerly, as if every word that fell from your lips was a fascinating treasure. No one had ever made you feel that way before—it was a heady sensation.

“So you’ve lived in Charleston all your life then?” Bobby asked interestedly, his warm fingers coming to rest over yours where they lay in the crook of his elbow.

“Oh, no,” you told him, shaking your head with a smile. “I’ve actually only been living here for the last five months,” you confessed, which seemed to surprise him. “I’m originally from Georgia.”

“You don’t say!” he exclaimed, smiling down at you. “They’re known for their peaches down in Georgia, aren’t they?”

“They are,” you giggled, nodding your head. “We have very sweet peaches back home.”

“Makes sense that you’d be from there then” he mused softly. When you looked up at him with a curious expression, he explained, “You’re as sweet and pretty as a Georgia peach.” He blushed at his own words, perhaps worried that you’d find his comment too hokey.

You thought it was wonderful. Just like him.

“Thank you, Bobby,” you smiled, lowering your eyes demurely.

He smiled in return, and you heard the soft sigh of relief he let out under his breath. “So what brought you to Charleston from Georgia then? If you don’t mind me asking,” he added quickly.

“My sister,” you replied with a smile. “Her name is Dorothy, but everyone calls her Dottie. She and her husband moved to Charleston after they got married, and she just had her first baby back in December. My nephew,” you added with a proud and affectionate grin. “His name is Frankie—well, Francis, but we call him Frankie. He’ll be five months old in just a few days.” You could scarcely believe it. “To answer your question, I moved to Charleston not long after Frankie was born. He came just a week after the attack at Pearl Harbor,” you explained, sobering slightly.

Bobby let out a soft hum in response to your words, his eyes flickering with emotion. Pearl Harbor had been a naval base, which must have made the attack feel all the more personal to him.

“My brother-in-law is a naval engineer,” you went on, eyes twinkling softly. “So I do have a connection to the Navy after all,” you told him teasingly. “When we entered the war, his work hours doubled overnight, and it became really tough for Dottie, trying to care for Frankie and the house all on her own. So I offered to come stay with her to help out.”

“I’m not surprised by that at all,” Bobby said with a tender smile, squeezing your fingers lightly. “You seem to be a very good volunteer.”

You flushed at his compliment, sheepishly trying to brush off his words of praise. “I’m afraid it was purely selfish on my part. I missed my sister terribly, and was desperate to spend time with my new nephew,” you laughed.

“Sounds like it was a win-win for all of you,” Bobby chuckled. He gazed down at you curiously. “Where does your brother-in-law work?”

“He works mainly at the naval air station in Goose Creek. It’s only about thirty minutes away from here,” you replied.

“That’s where I’ve been stationed!” Bobby said brightly. “What’s his name? Not to say that I know him, but it’s always possible.”

“What a small world!” you noted. It made sense that Bobby would be stationed in Goose Creek, so you weren’t sure why you were so surprised, but it was a funny coincidence all the same. “His name is Patrick Sheridan, but everyone calls him Paddy.”

“No kidding!” Bobby gaped, eyes wide. “You’re Paddy Sheridan’s sister-in-law?”

“You do know him?” you gasped, your eyes widening as well. Then you laughed. “I shouldn’t be surprised. Everyone knows Paddy,” you grinned, your heart warming at the thought of your jovial brother-in-law, who had become more like a big brother to you over the years.

“Aw, he’s a great guy,” Bobby insisted, smiling from ear to ear. “He’s played cards with us fellas a few times on our lunch breaks. What a personality. Your sister must be some firecracker to put up with him,” he joked. Then his smile faltered slightly. “Oh, I didn’t mean to offend—”

You cut him off with a wave of your hand, laughing. “No, you’re right. Trust me, if you think Paddy is a handful, your head would spin if you met Dottie. They’re quite the pair,” you giggled, covering your mouth with your hand.

Bobby laughed, grinning thoughtfully down at you. He was quiet for a moment before saying, “I can tell how much you love them from the way you talk about them. Your whole face lights up.”

You smiled warmly at that, your eyes meeting his. “I do love them. Very much. I’m glad to have this time with them.”

“I’m glad for you. Family is important,” Bobby nodded, pressing himself a little bit closer to you as a cool evening breeze passed by.

“Would you tell me about your family?” you asked shyly, not wanting to press him.

He did. As you continued your peaceful stroll down King Street, he told you all about his life back in Iowa, about his family’s farm and his hardworking parents and his two little brothers who were still in grade school. He told you about all the things he missed from home—home cooked meals with his family around the dinner table his great-grandfather had made, his mother’s sweet tea, long chats with his father on the porch in the evening, playing with his brothers and their family dog.

“I can tell you love your family, too,” you told him, echoing his words from earlier. “They sound very special.”

“They are,” Bobby nodded, a soft, almost faraway smile on his face. “It’s nice having Paul with me at least. Feels like a little piece of home,” he said.

“Paul?” you asked curiously.

“Paul Trace,” he explained. “He and I have been best friends since we were kids. We went to the Naval Academy together, and now we’re flying together, too.”

“Oh!” you gasped, eyes sparking in remembrance. So you had been right about his connection to Ensign Paul Trace! “I met him earlier tonight. He seems very kind. He was talking to me about buying his wife a set of pearls like mine,” you said, fingering your necklace.

Bobby grinned at that. “Sounds about right. He adores his wife, Natasha. She grew up with us, too. They’re childhood sweethearts.”

“How romantic,” you sighed softly, smiling at the thought.

“They have two children. Clara is three and Paul, Jr. is only about a month older than your nephew, Frankie,” he told you.

“Oh, I’m sure he must miss them all terribly,” you murmured sympathetically.

“He does,” Bobby nodded, his smile slipping. “I try to remind him that it’ll all be alright in the end. That he’ll see them again soon. But I know I’m one to talk. No wife, no kids.”

“But that doesn’t mean you don’t have people you love. People you’ll miss,” you assured him, squeezing his arm gently. “I’m sure he appreciates you very much, and is just as grateful to be stationed with you as you are to be stationed with him.”

“Thank you,” Bobby whispered, looking touched by your words. “I know he’ll always have my back, and I’ll always have his. Literally. I’m his rear-seater,” he chuckled.

You grinned. “And what does that mean exactly, in layman’s terms?” you asked with a giggle.

Bobby laughed sheepishly. “Of course. I’m sorry. We’re fighter pilots for the Navy. Paul and I fly together in a double-seat aircraft—he sits up front and I sit in the rear, handling the radio and the guns.”

“Sounds dangerous,” you murmured, suddenly feeling frightened for him. You’d known since you met him that he was going off to war, but somehow hearing a description of what his job actually entailed had your stomach turning sour.

“It is,” Bobby admitted, the smile gone from his face as he looked down at you. “But we’ve been well-trained. And I trust Paul with my life.”

You nodded, not saying anything as you lowered your head.

“Hey,” Bobby said suddenly, drawing your attention upwards once more as he pointed to a storefront across the street. “What do you say to some ice cream?”

Smiling slowly, you nodded in response.

Ten minutes later, the two of you resumed your stroll down King Street, two large ice cream cones in hand. Bobby had opted for classic vanilla with chocolate sprinkles, while you’d gone with chocolate ice cream and rainbow sprinkles.

“Wait, wait, so why do you all call him Tommy Boy?” you asked with a laugh. Bobby had started telling you about his other friends from his squadron while you were in the ice cream parlor, and you were still seeking some clarification.

Bobby laughed as well, licking up the ice cream that was starting to melt down the side of his cone. “Honestly? I can’t even remember. His name is Thomas, so we all naturally started calling him Tom. Then Tom turned into Tommy. And somewhere along the line it transformed into Tommy Boy. Now that’s what everyone calls him, and I guess we’ve never thought much of it,” he admitted with a grin.

“And Benny is the one we bumped into on the dance floor?” you questioned, licking your ice cream quickly so that it wouldn’t drip onto Dottie’s dress.

“Yes. Loudmouth Benny. One of my roommates at Annapolis,” Bobby chortled, shaking his head with obvious affection for his friend.

“I know the girl he was dancing with,” you said, glancing up at him. “She’s a talker, too, so they’re very well matched,” you giggled.

“Oh, good,” Bobby grinned. “A perfect way for Benny to spend his last night stateside.”

“Last night?” you repeated, startled. Suddenly, in the back of your mind, you recalled something Marilyn had been saying about a squadron of officers who were spending their last night on American soil at the USO dance. You felt your stomach drop.

Bobby sobered immediately, realizing what he’d said. “I–I’m sorry,” he apologized instantaneously, lowering his ice cream cone. “I should have said something earlier. I just—would you like to sit down for a minute?” he asked, indicating an open bench just a few feet away.

Nodding wordlessly, you followed him over to the wrought iron bench and took a seat, the blood rushing in your ears and your heart suddenly pounding painfully in your chest.

He said your name softly, waiting until you turned your head and looked up at him. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you tonight was my last night in town. I don’t know why I didn’t. I guess I just…didn’t know how,” he admitted slowly. “We’ve been having such a wonderful time—or at least, I have—and I guess I didn’t want to ruin that. But that was selfish of me. I’m sorry.”

You were quiet for a moment, absorbing his words. “You don’t have to be sorry, Bobby,” you said softly, staring down at your lap. “I’m not upset that you didn’t say anything about it. I just—I wasn’t expecting you to have to leave already,” you murmured, feeling tears pricking the backs of your eyes.

Oh, how embarrassing. You couldn’t cry in front of him. You’d just met him! He’d think you were insane if you started crying over losing him already.

But you were losing him. The first man you’d ever met who made you feel safe enough to come out of your shell, and he would be gone by morning light. Fate could be so unkind sometimes.

“I’m—I’m so sorry,” he said again, reaching out with a tentative hand and lightly brushing his thumb across your cheek. His touch was so gentle that it made you want to weep. “I’ve been preparing to ship out for weeks now. And I thought I was ready. I really did. But now—meeting you tonight—now I wish I didn’t have to go,” he whispered, leaning in closer to you.

A soft sob caught in your throat at his words. “I know it sounds so silly, but I feel as if I’ve known you for longer than just one night,” you confessed, biting down on your lower lip.

“I feel the same way,” Bobby breathed out, making your heart ache all the more. “I—I don’t want to presume anything, and I probably don’t deserve it after not even telling you the whole truth, but do you think—would it be alright if I wrote to you?”

You let out a soft little gasp at his words, eyes widening. He wanted to write to you? You?

“You don’t have to say yes,” Bobby stammered, blushing furiously. “I understand if you don’t want me to. I just—I’ve enjoyed getting to know you so much, and I hate thinking that I’ll never get to talk to you again after tonight and I was just hoping that maybe, if you don’t mind, we could maybe write to each other sometimes while I’m away,” he rambled, growing breathless.

“Yes,” you told him, nodding your head vigorously.

“Y-yes?” he asked, blue eyes widening behind his square glasses.

“Yes,” you repeated, laughing softly. “Yes, I would like that very much, Bobby.”

He looked as if he might fall over, his eyes as wide as saucers and his mouth hanging open. You had to bite back a laugh as the butterflies danced in your stomach.

“I’ll be staying with Dottie and Paddy for the foreseeable future, so I’ll give you their address, if that’s alright?” you asked, biting your lip.

“Of course! Of course that’s alright,” Bob agreed enthusiastically. “I just need to get you some—oh, gosh, I need some paper,” he scrambled, searching in his pockets with the hand that wasn’t holding his ice cream cone. The look on his face told you that he was coming up empty.

“Wait a second,” you told him, an idea suddenly sparking in your mind. You carefully tore off the paper that was wrapped around your ice cream cone, spreading it out on your lap. “Would you mind holding this for a moment?” you asked, holding your cone up to him. He took it instantly without complaint.

Reaching into your purse, you found the short little pencil stub that you thankfully hadn’t taken out. Flattening out the ice cream cone wrapper with your fingertips, you carefully wrote out your full name, as well as your sister’s address, in a clear hand.

“Here you go,” you told him with a smile, holding out the paper and taking your ice cream cone back from him.

Bobby looked down at that little piece of paper as if it was a priceless treasure map, carefully slipping it into the breast pocket of his uniform jacket. “Thank you,” he murmured, putting his hand over it. “As soon as I get to where I’m going, I’ll write you and let you know how you can get in touch with me. If you still want to, that is,” he hastily added.

“I’ll want to,” you assured him with a smile, scooting a little closer to him on the bench.

The two of you sat side by side, eating the rest of your ice cream in comfortable silence. You rested your free hand down on the edge of the bench between the two of you, your manicured fingers curling around the wrought iron. A few seconds later, Bobby’s hand was resting next to yours, his pinky finger brushing lightly against yours, which caused goosebumps to rise on your skin.

Suddenly, the sound of either a radio or someone’s record player began trickling down onto the street from one of the open windows above. You recognized the tune almost instantly as Glenn Miller and his orchestra’s version of “A Nightingale Sang In Berkeley Square.”

“I love Glenn Miller,” you said aloud, smiling.

Bobby smiled, turning his head to look at you. “So does my mom. She plays his records all the time.” At that, he stood from his spot on the bench, brushing the remnants of crumbs from his ice cream cone off his hands and pants. Then he held his hand out to you. “Would you like to dance?”

You looked up in surprise, your heart fluttering. “I thought you said you weren’t much for dancing,” you smiled.

“I’m not,” Bobby shrugged. “But for you, I’m happy to make an exception,” he beamed brightly.

With a bashful giggle, you rose and accepted his proffered hand, allowing him to hold you close as the two of you finished your evening together the same way you’d begun it—dancing in each other’s arms. It didn’t matter to you that you were swaying in the middle of the sidewalk to the muted sound of someone’s record player as opposed to on the dance floor to the accompaniment of a big band. All that mattered was the way he made you feel and the way you felt your heart blazing to life inside your chest.

All too soon, the song came to an end and Bobby pulled back slightly, gazing down at you.

“I should get you home,” he whispered, a tinge of regret coloring his voice.

You nodded, biting back a sigh as you slipped your arm through his once more, pointing him in the direction of your sister’s house.

There was still so much more to be said, so much more to be learned, but you and Bobby opted for a peaceful silence instead. You knew he wouldn’t have much peace and quiet in the weeks and months ahead, so you wanted to give that to him on his last night.

All too soon, you were standing outside Dottie and Paddy’s house, the lights still on in the front room. Your sister had given you full license to stay out, but you knew that didn’t mean that she and Paddy weren’t going to be sitting up waiting for you.

“This is me,” you murmured, a little sadly. You looked up at him, wanting to get to memorize his face one last time, especially those beautiful blue eyes. “I had such a wonderful time tonight. Thank you, Bobby.”

“No, thank you,” he replied, reaching out and taking one of your hands in his. “Thank you for everything. This was the best last night I ever could have hoped for.”

You smiled wistfully at that, wanting to hug him or give him some proper goodbye, but not wanting to come across as too forward. The two of you just stood staring at each other for a few minutes, both of you too shy to move or say anything.

“I promise I’ll write,” he finally told you, patting the pocket where he’d slipped your address.

“And I promise I’ll write back,” you vowed, twisting your hand in the pleats of your dress.

“Good night” he breathed softly, reaching out to lightly touch your cheek.

“Good night, Bobby,” you whispered back, feeling a small crack form in the crevice of your heart.

He hesitated a moment, looking as if there was something more he wanted to say—or do. “Can—c-can I kiss you?” he asked shyly, his blush evident even in the moonlight.

When you nodded slowly, he leaned in close and brushed his lips against your cheek in a kiss so soft and chaste that you felt tears forming against your lashes. “Goodbye,” he murmured against your ear, pulling back respectfully.

Thinking of the words he said he often shared with Paul, you smiled at him. “We’ll see each other again, Bobby.”

He smiled at that. “I certainly hope so.”

Bobby watched as you made your way to the front of the house, pulling your keys out of your purse and unlocking the door. You turned and waved. He waved back.

Stepping inside and closing the door behind you suddenly felt like the hardest thing you’d ever had to do.

Before you even had time to process any of what had just happened, Dottie suddenly came bounding in from the family room, looking like a cat who got the cream.

“Who was that?” she demanded eagerly, wrapping her arms around you and squeezing tightly.

“Dottie! Were you spying on me?” you gaped, your cheeks growing hot in embarrassment.

Your older sister threw back her head, laughing. “Of course I was!” she told you. “Paddy!” she called over her shoulder. “Put on a kettle for some tea!” Turning back to you, she grinned excitedly and cupped your face in her hands. “I want to hear all about your night!”

For once, you finally had a story to tell.

Bob’s POV

Bob had never quite known what it was to both ache and rejoice in equal measure, but now he did. As he strolled away from the Sheridan residence, hands in his pockets, his heart ached at the possibility of never getting to see that beautiful face again. Yet at the same time, he rejoiced at the wonder of getting to meet her, of getting to hear her laugh and make her smile.

Even more, he rejoiced at the little scrap of paper pressed against his heart, the paper that reminded him of the endless possibilities that lay ahead. He was leaving her, that was true, but maybe, just maybe, there was a chance that he could carry her with him through it all—a little slice of heaven in the midst of hell.

Smiling brightly as he strolled the streets of Charleston for the last time, Bob began penning his first letter to her in his heart.

[anonymousewrites]

Pearl of the Sea Chapter Seventeen

Found Family! PoTC Cast x Teen! Reader

Platonic! Will Turner, Elizabeth Swann, Jack Sparrow, Tia Dalma x Reader

Chapter Seventeen: Sacrificing for Escape

Summary: Jack returns to the Pearl to fight against the Kraken.

            “You—You came back,” said (Y/N), getting to their feet.

            Jack walked down the stairs and faced them. “I did.”

            (Y/N) hugged him. Jack froze and looked down at them. Then, hesitating as if they would retreat, Jack returned the hug.

            “Thank you,” whispered (Y/N).

            “Maybe you weren’t so wrong about me,” said Jack, smiling slightly. The words teased (Y/N), but they were for him. They were to say that he was someone who deserved to have (Y/N)’s faith, their trust. He couldn’t, he refused, to lose that.

            “I guess not,” said (Y/N). They stepped back.

            “Did we kill it?” said Marty, the first pirate to address the kraken issue again. He peered over the side of the Pearl.

            “No,” said Gibbs grimly. “We just made it angry. We’re not out of this yet.” He turned to look at Jack. “Captain, orders.”

            (Y/N) suspected only they and perhaps Elizabeth and Will had noticed his near-abandonment. All the remaining pirates rushed out to face Jack. (Y/N) frowned. A bare handful had made it out alive. It was Ragetti, Pintel, Cotton, Gibbs, and Marty left of the pirates. Well, (Y/N), Elizabeth, and Will were definitely pirates now, too.

            “Abandon ship,” said Jack. “Into the longboat.” The boat he had nearly left them with would now be their escape.

            “Jack. The Pearl,” said Gibbs incredulously.

            “She’s only a ship, mate,” said Jack sadly. He had more important people to get to safety. He guided (Y/N) to the side of the ship.

            “He’s right. We have to head for land,” said Elizabeth.

            “It’s a lot of open water,” said Pintel.

            “It’s a lot of water,” said Ragetti nervously.

            “We have to try,” said Will. “We can get away as it takes down the Pearl.”

            “It’s our only chance,” said (Y/N). They touched the rail of the Black Pearl, a silent apology to the ship that had carried them so far.

            Gibbs had to nod. He could see it was the only option. “Abandon ship.”

            Jack squeezed (Y/N)’s shoulder and pushed them towards the ladder. “Go, laddie.”

            (Y/N) nodded and climbed down. Pintel, Ragetti, Marty, Cotton, and Gibbs went down next. Will clambered down after.

            Jack paused to look around at the Black Pearl, the ship he’d sacrificed so much for, the ship he loved. The ship he was abandoning. Elizabeth lagged behind the others and looked at him.

            “Thank you, Jack,” she said.

            “We’re not free yet,” said Jack.

            “You came back,” said Elizabeth. She stepped forward. “I always knew you were a good man.” She leaned forward and kissed him. She pushed him back to the past, ensuring he was distracted.

            Click

            She tightened the handcuffs. Jack leaned away and moved his wrist. It was tightly connected to the mast. He was trapped. He looked at Elizabeth, who gazed back at him.

            “It’s after you, not the ship,” said Elizabeth. “It’s not us. This is the only way, you see?” She swallowed. “I’m not sorry. I’m protecting the crew. I’m protecting Will.” She looked directly into Jack’s eyes. “I’m protecting (Y/N).”

            That barb hurt, and Jack swallowed as his heart ached. Still, he met Elizabeth’s eyes evenly. He understood what she was doing, though his own death caused him fear. “Pirate,” he said, equal parts derision and understanding.

            Elizabeth searched his gaze as the truth of her action settled in. She swallowed and turned away. She couldn’t keep looking at Jack. She had condemned him to death.

            But she had done it to protect her family.

            Elizabeth climbed down into the longboat and refused to feel guilty.

            “Where’s Jack?” asked (Y/N).

            “He elected to stay behind to give us a chance,” said Elizabeth, not looking them in the eyes. She kept her gaze firmly on the sea.

            “What?” breathed (Y/N), eyes widening. They tried to stand. “No! We can’t leave him—”

            Elizabeth pulled (Y/N) back down and held them close. She looked at Pintel and Ragetti. “Go,” she ordered.

            Marty pushed them from the ship, and the pair began rowing. (Y/N) pushed against Elizabeth.

            “Why—Why is he doing that?” said (Y/N), throat constricting.

            “Because…it’s the right thing,” said Elizabeth. That was why she was doing it.

            (Y/N) watched helplessly from the rowboat as the kraken rose out of the water. Its head rose above the Pearl, and its roar reverberated through the air. Jack stood facing it beside the mast, and (Y/N)’s heart clenched.

            “Jack!” they shouted.

            The Black Pearl cracked in half, and the maw of the kraken smashed down around Jack. Tentacles reached up and curled around the masts of the sails. They cracked and fell. The Pearl snapped and crunched into two pieces. Underneath the power of the kraken, the Black Pearl capsized. It and Jack’s soul were dragged beneath the waves, deep down to Davy Jones’s Locker.

            And as the final mast disappeared into the sea, (Y/N) felt their own heart crack. Jack had become family. They loved him. He had given them freedom and come back to help them, cared and watched out for them just as Will and Elizabeth always had.

            And he was gone.

            (Y/N) let out a sob, and even as Will and Elizabeth held them tight, their sorrow wouldn’t be calmed. The ocean rippled with waves, matching the ebb and flow of their cries.

l

            “Jack Sparrow, our debt is settled,” said Jones, snapping his spyglass closed. “The captain goes down with his ship.”

            “Turns out not even Jack Sparrow can best the devil,” said his first mate.

            Jones gazed out over the sea at the empty spot the Pearl used to take up. It had taken longer than usual to destroy his enemies. The kraken had been hurt by the explosions, the cannons.

            The water.

            Jones gritted his teeth. He had seen from his ship that the very ocean turned on the kraken, and memories of the one being he despised more than any other had returned to him. However, she hadn’t been there. No, a teenager just as comfortable with the ocean was present.

            And Jones knew that he despised whatever they were. But he had won. He had destroyed Jack and the Black Pearl.

            He turned away to face his first mate. “Open the chest.” The crew stared, afraid to touch the chest. “Open the chest! I need to see it!” Jones stormed to the chest and turned the key, still stuck in the keyhole. He opened it.

            Empty.

            “Damn you, Jack Sparrow!”

l

            Beckett’s brow furrowed.

            “The last of our ships has returned,” reported Mercer.

            “Is there any news on the chest?” said Beckett.

            “None. But one of the ships did pick up a man adrift at sea,” said Mercer. He lifted a familiar bundle of letters. “He had these.”

            Beckett picked the up letters.

            “I took the liberty of filling in my name.” Norrington stepped into the room.

            Beckett waved a hand, and Norrington approached.

            “If you intend to claim these, then you must have something to trade,” drawled Beckett. “Do you have the compass?”

            “Better,” said Norrington. He dropped a sack on the desk.

            Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

            Beckett’s eyes widened as he leaned forward to hear the heartbeat.

            “The heart of Davy Jones,” said Norrington.

            Beckett smiled, and the expression was as sinister as they came. “The seas are mine.” He smirked. “Davy Jones’s power of the seas will bend to me, and no one will be able to challenge me.”

            Norrington’s gaze flicked down. “Except for the pirates.”

            Beckett scoffed and leaned back in his chair. “My ships will be more than a match for a couple of pirates.” He picked up the bag. “And in a world of civilization, I have the only bit of magic—” he scoffed derisively “—tamed.”

            Norrington hesitated. Beckett’s gaze flicked to him, easily reading him. Beckett knew how to use every minute reaction of a man to his advantage, and he would do so here. Norrington wanted his honor back, and Beckett could provide him with it and more, but he would have him under his thumb as well.

            “Is there something you wish to report, Commodore?” Beckett nearly smirked at how easy it was to use Norrington. He straightened as his old title, his mark of honor and service to the crown. He was like a dog looking for praise from his master. Beckett would take up that mantel with satisfaction.

            “There was a strange incident with the sea. It—” Norrington straightened “—appeared to be magic.”

            Beckett’s gaze darkened. “What?” He couldn’t have anyone other than him controlling the oceans. They were the key to the world, and now he held it. “What do you mean, magic?”

            “A pirate seemed to manipulate water,” said Norrington.

            “Who?” snapped Beckett. No one else could have the power of the sea. He tamed Davy Jones. He would tame anyone else.

            Norrington suddenly felt the anger in Beckett’s voice, and he hesitated. He shouldn’t put (Y/N) in danger.

            Beckett stood from behind his deck, fists holding the edge tightly. “Who, Admiral Norrington?” The new title would be an easy lure.

            “…(Y/N) Swann.”

            Beckett let go of his desk, composed now that he had the information. Inside, though, he remained on edge. He needed to maintain his control over people, the sea, the world.

            “Mr. Mercer,” said Beckett.

            “Lord Beckett,” said Mercer.

            “It seems we have someone to watch out for.” Beckett strolled to him and spoke quietly. “I want that child handled.”

            “In what way, sir?” said Mercer. He had no scruples about whatever orders Beckett gave him.

            “Controlled or killed,” said Beckett.

l

            (Y/N) sat at the front of the rowboat as it drifted through the forest of Tia Dalma’s domain. She had sensed their approach, and villagers from the surrounding town stood with candles in vigil. They hummed a low, solemn tune. Jack’s sacrifice was honored. (Y/N) swallowed and closed their eyes. Their hands drifted through the water, and they felt the warmth of the candles. They sensed the energy of the waters, and it rippled beneath their touch. (Y/N) felt the same ripples of grief still pulsing through them at Jack’s loss.

            The boat arrived at Tia Dalma’s hut, and the remaining Pearl crew went inside. It was the only safe port for them. They sat listlessly, unsure what to do with themselves. (Y/N) sat by the stairs and stared at the water.

            Tia Dalma walked through the group and offered each a drink. They all felt listless. Her eyes went to (Y/N). She could feel a shift in the energy around them. The energy that had been trapped inside was filtering out. The wildness was rearing its head, and Jack’s death had only caused it to grow.

            Tia Dalma’s eyes softened as she approached (Y/N). “I’m sorry, my dear.” She handed them a drink.

            (Y/N)’s gaze flicked up to meet hers before returning to the river.

            “The world already seems a bit less bright,” said Gibbs. “He fooled us right until the end, but I guess that honest streak finally won out.”

            (Y/N)’s heart clenched. Jack had come back for them and paid the price.

            “To Jack Sparrow,” said Gibbs.

            “Nevet another like Captain Jack,” said Ragetti.

            “He was a gentleman of fortune, he was,” said Pintel.

            “He was a good man,” said Elizabeth, swallowing.

            They all raised their glasses and took a long drink.

            “If there was anything we could do to bring him back…” (Y/N) held the glass tightly.

            “Would you do anything? Truly?” said Tia Dalma.

            (Y/N) looked at her, and the storm of emotions in their gaze was stronger than ever. “Yes.”

            “You would sail to the ends of the Earth and beyond to fetch back witty Jack and him precious Pearl?” said Tia Dalma.

            “I would,” said (Y/N).

            A beat.

            “Aye,” agreed Gibbs.

            “Aye,” said Pintel.

            “Aye.” Ragetti.

            “Aye.” Cotton’s parrot.

            “Aye.” Marty.

            “Aye.” Will.

            All eyes went to Elizabeth.

            She nodded, teary eyed. “Yes.”

            Tia Dalma looked at (Y/N) once more. “Alright. But if you go and brave the weird and haunted shores at world’s end…then you will need a captain who knows those waters.” She turned to the stairs to the second floor and whistled.

            Footsteps sounded as a new figure walked down.

            “So, tell me, what’s become of my ship?”

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened. Barbossa grinned.

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[my-head-is-an-animal]

The Climb

Summary: You're a scientist, an engineer to be exact. Called to a meeting you had no real right to be at, Optimus Prime takes an exclusive interest in you, but you can't help but ask yourself at every turn, Why?

Rating: 18+ 🌹🩸🍆

Story Masterlist

Chapter 13

I couldn’t get enough oxygen into my body, even with the mask. The air pressure gun had recharged and I was able to aim it at the ship, swinging myself back against it and take a moment to calm down.

     It was so quiet, the Earth from this high up was almost peaceful and I was using it to focus, but if I had another set back like that, I would never make it to my destination.

     The sky was starting to get darker as night was falling in, the eight hours was nearly up. Lennox would have no choice but to assume I didn’t make it. It didn’t matter. I looked up to see the previous five thousand feet I had left to climb had just become eight.

     ‘You can do this, you’ve done this bit before, it’ll be a breeze now.’ The echo of Lennox’s words from the climbing wall on that first day, it was the only thing telling me that everything might have been okay.

     ‘I have to do this.’ I said.

     ‘Yes, you do.’

     I turned to see Lennox strapped into his climbing gear, the same way he was on the wall, he smiled at me.

     ‘You wanna quit? There’s no shame in not making it.’ He said.

     I felt a surge of anger rise in my chest. ‘No.’ I told him, pulling out another syringe and jabbing my leg.

     I climbed hard, I wasn’t going to quit now, I was closer than I was at the start, no one thought I could do this, but they would always be wrong and all I ever had to do was prove it. I pulled the gun out and shot straight upwards, pulling myself up the next sixty feet. I couldn’t stop.

---

The eight hours was up, and Lennox could barely lift his gun anymore. He looked over at Epps who was the same. No one else was coming to save them and it looked like Harding had failed.

     ‘Bee!’ He shouted, Bumblebee was being repaired by Ratchet who was struggling to keep up. ‘Can you see her? She should be at least twenty eight thousand feet up by now!’

     Bumblebee looked up at the ship, his eyes searching. He looked down at Lennox and shook his head.

     Lennox nodded, again looking over at Epps. ‘We did our best.’ He said, Epps deflating in disappointment. They failed. ‘Optimus!’ Lennox managed to get to his feet, the great Autobot turned to him, firing off rockets and slicing through the creatures where he could. ‘I’m calling it. It’s been over eight hours and no one can see her. Harding failed.’

     Optimus looked down at him surprised. ‘You are leaving?’

     ‘I have to call in everything we have to try and take that ship down.’ Lennox reasoned with him. ‘If she hasn’t made it by now, she probably won’t.’

     Optimus kneeled down and gave him a firm look. ‘Dr Harding believed the climb was possible, she has given everything to saving your planet. And you made a promise.’ He pointed at Lennox. ‘Her prediction of eight hours was always harboured by the lack of knowledge about what she would encounter.’

     ‘That’s my point!’ Lennox shot back. ‘If she has run into the enemy up there, there is every chance she has been killed on sight.’ He watched the usually stoic Autobot’s eyes widen. ‘I’m sorry, I know you put a lot of faith in her, but we need to look at the bigger picture here.’

     Optimus looked up at the ship. ‘I believe she is still making the climb.’ He said.

     ‘You can’t know that.’

     ‘You cannot know she has failed.’ Optimus countered. ‘I will continue on until I know for certain either way.’

     He didn’t wait for a response from Lennox, he just stood up and ran into battle once again.

     Lennox let a breath go and looked over at Epps.

     ‘He’s right, you know.’ Epps called over. ‘She might be inside that ship right now, we have to give her more time.’

     Lennox let his eyes close, he was so tired. It was nothing compared to what Harding had to endure, but it was still agony to continue on.

---

I could see the opening, it was only another twenty feet, but I couldn’t take the long strides I had been taking. My legs just couldn’t push me up like that anymore. I was shaking and even deeper breaths couldn’t steady my hands anymore.

     I pulled out my fourth syringe filled with adrenaline, I hadn’t wanted to use it, but I was so close, and every sacrifice was for the safety of the planet. It was worth it.

     It was enough to get me up to the opening and pull myself inside the ship.

     I could see what looked like a mechanical beehive, it was like a factory, pumps, pipes, caverns and steam surrounded me. More of those creatures were being made, probably quicker than they could be destroyed on the ground. It only made me realise that Optimus and Lennox were in a losing fight no matter what. They could have fallen already.

     I searched around the immediate area, resting against the cool metal of the cavern that led into the open area of the lower part of the ship, and deciding that any energy used needed to be sure. I just didn’t have anything left to waste.

     I managed to pull myself across the floor just enough to see a corridor. The creatures didn’t seem to notice me, or if they did, they didn’t think I posed much of a threat. They were probably right.

     Something occurred to me quite suddenly. These were hive creatures. They had one leader and one mind, it meant I needed to be careful. I couldn’t pose even the slightest bit of a threat, otherwise it would have been a wasted trip.

     It was closing in on ten hours, I wondered why Lennox hadn’t called in for a full frontal attack by now. Of course, there was every chance I was the last one standing, and standing was a kind way of putting it. Crawling across the floor of an alien ship just because my body wouldn’t allow for anything else, was the reality of the situation.

     Finally, I found what I was looking for. It was a station close to the massive door where hundreds of wasp creatures were being deployed, it also linked up to the ship’s harvesting capabilities. If I could blow that, the ship would be rendered incapable of destroying planet Earth, but able to fly away. It looked exactly the way Ironhide and Optimus had described it.

     The only problem was it was in an awkward place that meant I would have to leave via the same doors the wasps were flying out of. There was no way I would be able to climb back up the caverns again. The only way was down.

---

For the first time in his life, Optimus wasn’t sure whether he could continue the fight. He was exhausted, some of his Autobots had fallen and the humans were right, it had been over eleven hours that Jane had been climbing. No human could survive such a test. It was too much to ask one person.

     He fell to his knee, taking a moment to rest while Ironhide protected his position, giving him the breather he needed.

     The problem with his doubts about Jane’s survival was that everything he had seen of her, everything he desired and everything that told him she was the one worth devoting his life to, told him she would save the world no matter the cost. But by the same logic, it angered him to no end to think the last time he saw her, was the last time he would ever see her.

     Even just the temptation of thinking that he would never see her again, forced him to his feet and back into battle. He made a promise.

---

The dynamite was in place. I needed a minute to breathe, the oxygen mask was still attached to my face, but it didn’t feel like enough.

     I unravelled the coil, attaching it to my belt and prayed it didn’t come loose. I did everything I could to make sure I didn’t have to go back, but even through my exhaustion, I knew it wasn’t perfect.

     I managed to get down towards the doors beneath, the creatures were still flying out and probably taking over the earth. I knew it had been nearly twelve hours after I began the climb and I was certain I wouldn’t make it home, but at least every one else would be safe.

     There was only one syringe left and my chest was already aching, I wasn’t sure if I could take another shot, but I needed it to complete the mission and steady my hands just enough to light the match and blow the console.

     I found a small space where the wind wasn’t as harsh and pulled out the box of matches and some scissors. The coil was cut. I took a moment to breathe and jag my leg with the last adrenaline shot I had.

     It was so painful, my joints were like glass and my muscles felt like they’d faded away, but the familiar burn of the chemical surging through me was the only thing making me continue on regardless.

     I lit the match, the only real light in the dark of the ship, and the coil began burning. The creatures still hadn’t noticed me, and I counted myself lucky, but suddenly my chest was in agony, like my heart was about to burst. The flame had almost reached the dynamite and I needed to leave.

     The last of my energy was devoted to rolling off the ledge and plunging towards a darkened Earth. It was over. My mission was complete and there was nothing more to be done, except fall into blackness.

     ‘Rest now, Dr Harding.’ Optimus’s voice rang out in my mind, and I felt all will and determination leave me. My eyes closed and the only thing I saw was the bright blue eyes of the Autobot I fell in love with.

---

An explosion. The wasp creatures stopped on the battlefield, all of their attention turning to the ship. It was like a chain reaction being set off, one explosion led to another and to another.

     ‘Harding did it.’ Lennox whispered. ‘Harding did it!’ He yelled, the soldiers and Autobots around him cheering as the creature began a full retreat.

     Optimus was the only one not cheering. His attention was firmly in the sky, trying to locate Harding.

     ‘There.’ He said, directing everyone’s attention to the bulk of where the wasps were flying towards. ‘She must have had no choice by to exit on the other side.’

     Lennox and his men all raised their binoculars, finding Harding in their sights. ‘Something’s wrong.’ He said, watching her body rotate and flay about aimlessly. ‘Oh my God.’ He said, quietly to himself.

     ‘What?’ Optimus asked, worriedly.

     ‘I don’t think she’s conscious.’ He shook his head. ‘She can’t pull her chute.’

      Optimus turned back to see her body still falling. There was no choice. He ran back towards his gear, strapping his flight tech on his back.

     ‘Optimus, you cannot reach her in your state.’ Ratchet tried to stop him.

     ‘I made a promise.’ He growled again. ‘If it costs my life, then so be it.’

     Optimus didn’t wait for anyone else to try and argue. He took flight, feeling his own body’s weight much more clearly than before. The only thing on his mind was to get to Jane’s body before she hit the ground.

     He swung his sword around him, catching the occasional straggling creature, they were zooming past Jane, trying to get back to their ship which was now beginning to take flight once again.

     The ship exploded again close to the bottom and a pulse emitted from it, nothing harmful to him and the creatures were still racing back towards it, but it did knock him off course. He lost Jane for a moment, before looking down to see her heading straight towards the ground.

     Optimus turned around and flew as fast as he could towards her.

     He reached out as he got closer, curling his hand around her fragile frame and bringing her close to his chest, she wasn’t moving.

     Optimus landed hard on the ground, damaging his knee once again as he fell against a building that was almost entirely decimated. Ironhide carried Lennox, Epps and some human medical personnel towards his position. The damage stopped him from standing, but he could gently place Jane on the ground for the doctors to attend to her.

     Lennox stood over them as Ratchet made it over to Optimus, beginning work on his knee immediately.

     Optimus watched as her equipment was stripped off, her pale face just about visible, but she still wasn’t moving.

     The doctors pulled out a machine, unzipping her jacket to get at her chest, they cleared the area and Lennox just stepped back, his hands going to his head as he began to realise what might have happened.

     Optimus looked to Ratchet for an answer.

     ‘It’s a machine humans use to restart their hearts. A defibrillator.’ He said, quietly.

     ‘Her heart?’ Optimus was confused.

     ‘I’m sorry, old friend.’ Ironhide came around to comfort his friend.

     Optimus’s mind wouldn’t allow him to fully understand what was happening to Jane, but at some point, the doctors stopped. Jane still hadn’t moved.

     ‘What are you doing?’ He asked. ‘You must restart her heart.’

     ‘Optimus.’ Lennox stepped forward to calm the Autobot leader. ‘She’s gone. I’m sorry.’

     Optimus looked around him, searching for a different answer, but no one was providing it for him. He looked down at her body, her fragile, soft body and edged towards it. She made a promise to survive, to fight for tomorrow, she would want to keep it if she could.

     ‘No.’ Optimus whispered. ‘She isn’t.’

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[etoilesombre]

Fic Master List

I got tired of having to decide which fic post to keep pinned, so I made this. Proper summaries, tags and warnings all on AO3.

Black Sails

Another Way - Silverflint, E, 29,399 words, complete. Dubcon! But in a very old-school fanfic trope fuck or die way. It diverges from the scene where they get captured taking the warship. They do work through everything in the aftermath, and the end is very sweet actually.

By Faith of my Body - Silverflintmadi in various combinations, but emphasis on the flintmadi relationship. E, Chapter 1/4 posted. Flint and Madi bond over books, the weight of leadership, and being in love with John Silver. FealtySub!Flint, shameless use of literature for my own nefarious purposes, and so much pining.

Another Troy to Burn - Series. Silverflint longfic series, my special precious baby and literally the first thing I ever wrote. It's canon where they're fucking the whole time but it doesn't change anything. There is a moodboard (thanks @jaynovz) and also a playlist.

A Composite Unity - E, 20,366 words, complete. The first two seasons, Flint pov. He is not having a great time.

The Salt and the Sea - E, 60,495 words, complete. Set during the season 2-3 break, how Silver decided to stay and what happened with the gold. He is also not having a great time.

It Only Made Me Real- E, chapters 4/? posted. Silver adjusting to his role as quartermaster, Flint being Flint during the raids. I swear upon everything holy that I WILL finish this series if its the last thing I do, but, it has been on hiatus for a while.

for to fight the cold - Silverflint, E, 11,283 words, complete. Flint arrives to rescue Silver while he is still being held captive on the beach after the failed attack on Nassau. The cathartic murder of Israel Hands, followed by angst, caretaking, and a sexual tension filled camping trip.

If It Was You - Silverflint, E, 17,430 words, complete. Free use gangbang porn that got out of control and also grew a lot of feelings. The boys spend the night in port on a mission. There is only one bed. Flint freaks out and makes questionable choices, Silver walks in on the whole thing, they have to work through it. Cathartic happy ending. The very Most dirty talk.

I'll Carry You Home Tonight - Silverflint, E, 6,604 words, complete. This one is just porn. Season 3-4 break, the guys are newly in a relationship, they get Pirate Date Night. It's working title was 'impact play and 5 phases of ass stuff'.

Kinkmeme-Verse - Series of prompt fills for 2024 Black Sails kinkmeme. I wrote the first two, saw the prompt for the third, and had a Vision of how they could all be connected, so here we are.

As a Boy - James Flint|McGraw/Admiral Hennessey, E, 5,121 words, complete. Young James McGraw is caught with a boy, and punished. Big content warning for CSA, which I tried to treat seriously.

Pressure - Silverflint, E, 4,504 words, complete. More watersports are we all shocked? This is kind of the ultimate expression of that, but really its an exploration of pain and grief and healing through BDSM.

Make Sail for the Dawn - Silverflint, E, 12,504 words, complete. Flint uses submission as catharsis amidst his grief and pain over Miranda, but Silver accidentally reminds him of past history, which he then has to confront. They work through it, because Silver really has to do everything on this ship, including being his captain's therapist. Also Flint gets fucked with his pistol. Just by the way. This is the one prompter hated! Go see for yourself if it is, in fact, Too Awful For Kinkmeme XD.

long as amber of ember glows - Silverflint, E, 7,933 words, complete. If 3.10 ended the way it should have. There are love confessions, and they fuck on the gold. No literally, on it. It's very sweet honestly.

Our Feast is But Beginning - Series. Silverflint Cookingverse! Flint teaches Silver to cook.

Spit-Roasted - M, 5,821 words, complete. The one where Flint shows Silver how to roast a pig. It's canon! Flint is very weird about sex.

Gentille Alouette - E, 11,618 words, complete. Late night cooking dates on the Walrus, continuing intense sexual tension, Flint is basically edging himself. He sure is a way.

Princes of the New World - E, 38,145 words, complete. This one got a little out of hand, it has many things in it, including lots of hurt comfort and caretaking, the guys finally getting together and also not hiding their relationship, some intense gender vibes (Silver gets to be a pampered pretty princess) and yes, even some cooking.

Our Shadows That Are Bold - Silverflint, E, 4,912 words, complete. Dom Silver. The first little iteration of fealty sub Flint, he sure has some feelings about Silver coming into his own as king.

So We Begin - Silverflint, E, 4,038 words, complete. 3.7 missing scene fic that is exactly what you would expect after stomp stomp and the "how good it feels" conversation.

The Soft Animal of Your Body - Silverflint, E, 3,398 words, complete. The watersports one. Yep sure is, omorashi style, with a good side of hurt comfort stuff and also Flint telling a weird dirty story. Set during warship recovery time. This is basically an outtake of longfic because it doesn't quite work there but wouldn't leave my brain.

the sound that you found for me - T, background silverflintmadi, but its really about Silver and Betsy the cat. Yep. 5,699 words, complete. Kittenfic!! Written for the Beach Blanket Black Sails Ficfest, the prompt was 'Betsy has kittens and Silver wants to keep them on Maroon Island.' It's really about Silver and trauma and there are sad parts but nothing bad happens to any cats and there is a happy ending.

stitched with its color - G, silverflintmadi sort of, 1,344 words, complete. The conversation where Madi tells Flint that Silver is alive.

Such Terrible Hungers - E, Flintvane, 3,357 words, complete. Instead of fuck buddies, they're fuck enemies. Fight sex and Flint angst, that's basically the fic.

to pull me from myself again - E, Silverflint, 7,419 words, complete. Written in response to a Tumblr prompt asking for s1 dynamics softe silverflint, Silver's first time with a man. That is indeed it, that's the fic

What Lies Beneath - E, Silverflint, 3 chapters, complete. 11,031 words. Demon Flint AU! Basically make the demon in Flint literal. Silver is fascinated of course.

The Fetch Phillips Archives (aka Luke Arnold's books, go read them!)

announcing your place in the family of things - E, Fetch/Satyr, 6,865 words, complete. The first creature Fetch meets when he leaves the human city is that unnamed Satyr, and that feels like a conscious choice to me. Coulda said 'faun' and we wouldn't be here Luke. Anyway monsterfucking, but in a lovely way.

The Exorcist (tv)

The Smoke of Their Torment - M, Marcus/Tomas, 572 words, complete. A snippet of Marcus angst and pining and also jerking off in a shared hotel room there may be more someday.

[aihoshiino]

Do you feel like aka and mengo actually having aqua and ruby kiss is a step too far as in it ruined all meaningful discussions about this series as well as any message it was trying to say, because from an outsiders perspective, alot of people are just thinking its just another manga that could have been great but decided to go with the incest route

anon this is such a eerily prescient question because i was rolling more or less this exact issue around in my head all morning lol. is that you, god???

But yeah, while I don't think the kiss has ruined things to any meaningful degree, I think it highlights why this drawn out focus on incest has been such a problem. Not because incest is Le Problematique or whatever but because it's SUCH a loaded topic that people's kneejerk emotional reactions to its inclusion have essentially smokescreened the real issue at play. The AquRuby stuff isn't bad because Incest Is Morally Bad, it's bad because the writing supporting it absolutely sucks shit.

Like, even if we lived in a world where everything that made AquRuby Problematic™ was a nonfactor, this is still a ship whose foundation is 120 chapters of an undercooked dynamic followed by Ruby flipping on a dime and becoming obsessed with Aqua to the point of being reduced to a gag character in his presence for like 20 more chapters. 143 marks the only remotely serious talk the two of them have had in almost a year of real world time and it's STILL absolutely overloaded with gags and totally lacking in any meaningful examination of Ruby's feelings and interiority. Pretty much everything about AQRB's dynamic since 123 has been stuff you have to really dig for and infer. As @akane-kurokawa has described it, this arc in general has been plagued with 'all subtext, no text' and this is no different.

Not only that, but everything to do with AquRuby has essentially overwritten and completely superseded everything to do with Ruby and Marina Tendouji that we were being set up to deal with prior to 123. Ruby's lingering abandonment issues and the trauma she'd carried from living as Sarina was given such incredible weight in those chapters leading up to 122 and then as soon as Aqua revealed himself to her... poof! All gone. I don't even have any faith that we're going to loop back around to it at any point because it hasn't come up again even once even in places where addressing it should've been braindead obvious.

There's way more I could say about why Ruby's writing in this arc falls so flat but conveniently for me and all of you, U/Visual_Law4025 has already made an excellent post on the OnK subreddit that pretty much lays out everything I've been feeling to such a degree that I'd just be poorly paraphrasing them if I tried to re-explain it myself.

Now, take all that and once again factor in that AquRuby is built on not one but two extremely emotionally charged taboos and you see where the problem is. AquRuby shippers are seeing themselves as the victors and crowing about it, while also getting overly defensive in response to any pushback, insisting that the only reason that you would dislike AquRuby is if you're a dumb tourist who can't tell fiction from reality. But like... they're getting overly defensive on that front because of the people frothing at the mouth and insisting that Akasaka is a sicko pervert freak for writing about incest in any capacity whatsoever, regardless of the framing and context in story, and everyone who likes AquRuby is a morally abhorrent degenerate who is Dangerous And Sick In Real Life. It's absolutely fucking biohazardous and it becomes that much harder to have a remotely nuanced discussion about the good and bad parts of the arc as a result.

To be clear, I think using your own kneejerk revulsion reaction to something as the foundation for moral judgement and condemnation is an EXTREEEEEEEEEMELY dangerous pipeline to start down, even over something as seemingly low stakes as 'this wonky mystery manga where those twins kissed' and is a deeply unhelpful place to start a discussion from. On the other hand, it's both disingenuous and frankly a little callous to act as though someone wanting to avoid a fictional depiction of something they find upsetting is somehow stupid or immature or unable to tell fiction from reality as a result. Like... if someone decided they didn't want to watch [Insert Movie Here] because it contains animal death or photorealistic spiders or anything else that could really press their buttons, would you smugly tell them UM ACKSHULLY TOURIST IT'S JUST FICTION WHY SO UPSET KEK? No, because it'd made you sound completely fucking detached from reality and more importantly, like an asshole.

Ultimately I think things will be a lot easier to properly discuss once we know for sure how this whole plotline resolves, but while we're still playing around with Schroedinger's Incest and the fandom is this high on fumes about the whole thing. But I think it's a bit doomery to say things are totally Hoshinover just yet when there's still plenty of runway and imo, still enough things about the manga to enjoy even with this malformed albatross around its neck. You just have to find likeminded people to discuss it with. And just... be fucking nice to people online! It costs zero dollars to not act like a cunt!

[she-karev]

Birth (Andrew DeLuca x Alex Karev’s Sister Imagine)

Previous Part Here

Age Rating: 12+

Chapters: Two of Two

Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy

Head canon Ship: Andrew DeLuca x Amber Karev (Alex Karev’s Sister)

AN: Here’s the final chapter for the story you guys and I will try to post the next one as soon as I can and until then enjoy and I always appreciate and like and a reblog!

Editors Note: Hey guys so I just learned how to make GIF’s and decided to reblog this beautiful chapter with a GIF I made myself. Let me know what you think.

Summary: Amber gives birth to a girl with Andrew by her side and Dr. Montgomery delivering.

Words: 1441

October 20th, 2022

Simone Griffith stands outside Amber DeLuca’s delivery room peeking through the transom on the closed door. It’s been six hours since she and DeLuca found out Amber was in labor. She was curious on how her chief resident was after her water broke causing Dr. DeLuca to have her close after his surgery and couldn’t help but go up and see how they are.

Also, after witnessing her grandmother have an Alzheimer’s episode, she wanted a reminder that there were good things in this world too, like babies being born. Alex Karev walks down the hall with a welcome home baby girl gift basket from him and Jo to give to Amber. He spots Griffith outside the room and clears his throat causing her to stand back and look at him.

“Dr. Karev hi I-I was just uh-”

“Spying on my sister while she’s trying to bring a new life into this world right this second?”

“…It looks weird, doesn’t it?”

“Yes!” Alex confirms causing her to look down in shame, “Is there a reason you’re doing this very weird thing?”

“I just…I just needed a reminder that there’s good things in this world too. And watching a birth happen in real time works more effectively than faith in humanity videos.”

Alex grins at that understanding where she’s coming from, “Yeah there is something magical about my baby sister becoming a mother.”

“That is all I am saying sir.” He motions for her to step aside and she does so. He walks inside the room to find Amber lying on her side in her bed with Dr. Montgomery behind her inserting the epidural catheter. Andrew is standing by her side and holding her hand as she groans at the needle insertion.

“Hey kid how are we doing?”

“Terrible! You’re lucky your ex-girlfriend knows what she’s doing otherwise I would judge her based on her poor choices from sleeping with you.” Alexs eyes widen at his sister’s knowledge of his and Addison’s past relationship. Andrew looks at him in shock as well just learning about this.

“Is this true or is it the hormones talking?”

Addison finishes the insertion and looks up at Alex in disgust, “You told her?”

“No! I swear I didn’t.”

Amber groans and lays on her back on the bed, “Oh please the nurses keep tabs on your love lives and they love to gush with me. They could write romance best sellers with Alex’s disaster of a love life. I mean I’m still at the Ava/Rebecca chapter and it is a doozy.” She turns to Addison, “For the record you could’ve done way better back then.”

“You know I’m in the room, right?” Alex points out before putting the pink basket on the table.

“I’m gonna check how dilated you are.” Addison sighs and feels the need to clarify to Amber while she does her cervix exam, “And for the record I didn’t date him. I found him attractive, I was horny and he was there. It was one time and I judge myself for it enough as it is.”

“I’m his sister I know how shameful you’d feel sleeping with him when he was an intern and an asshat.”

Addison grins at that and looks back at Alex who averts his eyes from the exam looking at the wall instead, “I like her.”

Andrew asks trying to comprehend it, “Wait you slept with your sister’s OB and you didn’t think to mention it?”

“You slept with my sister and I had to find out after the fact.” Alex bitterly points out.

“I didn’t even know she was your sister man.”

“And I didn’t think my ex was gonna be delivering my sister’s baby over ten years later but here we are.”

Amber inhales and exhales in annoyance at their petty squabble, “Hey boys?” They turn to her and she looks disheveled while Addison checks her cervix, “I need you two to read the room because I have enough on my plate right now, I don’t need to mediate an argument between my husband and brother.” They quiet and look at her concerned as she continues, “I am just trying to squeeze a giant Escalada out of a compact FUCKING PARKING SPOT!” The boys look scared by her last exclamation.

“Very good.” Addison calmly says, “Swearing helps a lot, you’re at 7 centimeters.” Addison stands back up covering Amber with a blanket.

“Ugh I hate you tell me when I can start pushing this sucker out. Speaking of suckers exiting, Alex get out.” He looks offended by that as Amber continues, “You dropped off the gift and unless you can transport my daughter out of my body you are useless to me. And do me a favor. Let it be known that the only people allowed in this room are Dr. Montgomery and the people who provided genetic material to this baby otherwise they are gonna be in a world of hurt, now out!” Amber points at the door causing Alex to nod and pat Andrew on the back seeing the road ahead of him.

“God speed.”

Andrew nods, “Yeah.” Alex gets out of the room and closes the door behind him.

TWO HOURS LATER

I scream out loud as the next contraction comes and push per Dr. Montgomery’s instructions. While this happens, Andrew is by my side holding me encouraging me. My lower region is covered by blue tarps with Addison behind the curtain delivering my daughter, out of all of us I think she has the easiest job in the room because Andrew is no doubt in pain from me holding his hand with monster strength that’s coming from being in labor.

“Good Dr. DeLuca! Okay at the next contraction I’m gonna need you to really bear down but not until I tell you.”

I whimper at the never-ending cycle, “Oh god come on! I know my brother rejected you but don’t take it out on me!”

Andrew rubs my arm to soothe me, “It’s gonna be okay, you’re doing great, it’ll be over soon.”

I am too in pain and too mad at him to take in his soothing words, “If you think we’re having sex again after this you got another thing coming Andrew DeLuca!”

He chuckles at that and kisses the top of my head wiping the sweat off my forehead, “I think we’re stalled in the sex department until this kid goes off to college.”

I chuckle lightly at that but then I stop and gasp as I feel another contraction coming, “Oh god not again!” I scream as the pain courses through my body.

“Okay one last push Amber!” Dr. Montgomery instructed me and even though it hurts I do as she says, pushing with all my might. Andrew is holding me and encouraging me to push through my piercing screams. After what seems like forever, I feel relief in my body and slump back down on the bed panting for breath. I hear a baby crying and I felt my heart stop as I look down to see Dr. Montgomery holding our small, wriggling and bloody daughter already crying her lungs out. Addison is smiling and laughing in joy, “There she is!”

I’m so shocked by what’s happening I’m laughing and crying at the same time, “Oh my god.”

I can see Andrew laughing in joy too with tears glistening in his eyes, “Look at her oh my god you did that.”

“You helped.” I remind him. He takes the scissors from Dr. Montgomery and cuts the umbilical cord. After that Addison takes the baby to get her cleaned up and comes back a few moments later with our baby daughter wrapped in a baby blanket. She’s crying on the way until she reaches my arms and I hold her shocked at how tiny she is. I smile down at her still overcome with so much love and awe over this tiny human that made the last eight hours of pain I’ve endured so worth it, “Hi. Oh my god she’s…she’s…”

“She’s perfect.” Andrew finishes and I nod as he smiles. I can see the love in his eyes and grin at him.

“Here let’s go to daddy.” I carefully place the baby in Andrew’s arms and he handles her so carefully, no doubt shocked at how light she is too. He croons at the baby speaking words of affection in Italian cradling her head, “Ciao bambina, sono tua mamma e tuo papà.”

I sniffle and grin at the sight of both of them before cooing at our daughter, “Hi welcome to the world. Right now your the only pure and innocent thing in it at this very moment. And I promise we are gonna name you by the time you come home.” Andrew chuckles at that and we just enjoy this moment together as a family.

The Babys Name Here