#aching looming numbing sadness

[discursivetacenda]

It's been 2 weeks since I said goodbye to my mother. This woman who made me who I am, both in how I communicate with the world and how broken I am with understanding boundaries.

I don't cry about this enough. I don't know if I can.

It's been 3 weeks since she sent me a message that sounded like she was dying -- that sense of dread and despair that heart attacks have? And I don't know who else she told but I think I knew then that she wasn't going to survive long. That anxious ball in my gut that said the luck we had since 2005 was at an end. You can only almost die and recover so many times before you finally lose the recovery.

The tracheotomy. The swine flu. The Stevens-Johnson. The broken leg. The multiple bouts of covid.

I felt like a vulture, picking over things in the house. Collecting clothes and jewelry and deciding who keeps what. I don't really know what to do with myself much anymore. Not with the promise of finishing this latest blanket for her by spring (when she didn't make it to spring). Not with no job on the horizon (and she was the one sending me money to keep me afloat). Not with my father at loose ends because they were together for 43 years (and he was only 17 when they married). Not with knowing that our relationship was simultaneously loving and incredibly abusive (financial control, guilt and parentifying, lies and fear-mongering).

I feel numb and distantly sad when I realize a hole in my routine.

She asked me to write her a poem before she died. And I did as she asked, even though I haven't written poetry in years for a number of reasons. My dad put it with some pictures he had and shared it out the day she was taken off the respirator. At least a part of me is glad I wrote it and she heard it before she died. Too many unfinished things, too many things I wish we'd known sooner.

My mother died 2 weeks ago and the world marches on.

[heleniad]

SAFE

the dark lord is after harry. james and lily write change of address cards for their closest friends while they think about the future.

writing for @jilymicrofics, using the prompt 'safe'. word count: 701.

Harry was asleep.

In the aftermath of it all, James sat cross-legged in front of the hearth, writing letter after letter until the scratching of his quill numbed his mind into quietude.

Due to unforeseen circumstances, I have recently moved. You can find me at Godric's Hollow, England. Please burn this message upon viewing it.

There was an ache threatening to spill from the edges of his skull, dull and thudding in its momentum. He pressed a thumb onto his temple - hard enough to mark - though it did little to assuage his pain. It was raining outside: the evening was transparent and quite still, suspended in moonlight. James hardly knew if he was grateful for the peace or fearful of it.

"Darling?"

Lily's voice echoed as if from a place faraway and distant, muffled by the thrumming of the rain.

He was tired, so terribly tired - words frothed then died at the corners of his lips. But Lily had called, and he was going, going, gone.

"Don't send those cards." She said, when James faltered at the porch, "It's not safe."

She was soaked to the bone, wearing nothing but a nightgown. There was rain on her hair and on her cupid's bow, glittering like dew or little gems - and James might have thought it beautiful if not for the looming darkness on the horizon. He stepped out onto the porch, then latched the door shut: today to the wind, tomorrow to the Dark Lord, but what did it matter? It was cold, out here. James wrapped his jacket around Lily's trembling form.

"The cards will only go to our friends."

"Friends?" Lily scoffed quietly, "Do you know how fast people switch sides? How fast they'll spit out our secrets if Voldemort presses a wand to their throat? They're coming after Harry. They're coming after our son. I don't trust a single person when it comes to this."

"I know. I know. I know that." James murmured, surprised at the ferocity of her statement, "But Lils - we're going into hiding, it doesn't mean we have to stop living. Dumbledore is doing everything he can to --"

"If it came down to it," Lily raised her head to the wind, let it sweep through her red hair like liquid, "I would die for Harry."

The silence rippled through the air. There was a soft, quiet sound, and when James turned to look at Lily, he found that she was crying.

"Lily, I won't - I won't send them if you don't want them sent. You don't have to worry." James brushed a finger across Lily's cheek, as if the movement alone could wipe away all her tension. Silently, he pulled her closer, then buried his head in her hair, breathing in the strawberry of her shampoo.

"It's not that," She whispered, each exhale a puff of white fog dispersing in the cold, "I just don't know if I can bear it. Hiding, and hiding, and hiding. Checking if the doors are locked, if the wards are up, if our wands are on the nightstand."

She paused, "I don't know if Harry can bear the weight of the world."

"He doesn't have to, yet." James said, "He's only a kid. We can't do anything but be there for him, for as long as we can. We can't do anything but be here for each other, Lily. You'll never bear it alone."

Lily looked away.

"Besides, if I have you, I think I could bear all the things in the world if I had to." There was the hint of a smile laced within James' words, "I've been telling myself that since I was in fifth year."

"True," Lily smiled a small, sad smile, "It mightn't be so bad if I have you, Potter."

She took his jaw in her palm, then pressed the sort of kiss onto his cheek that used to linger for months.

James couldn't forget how exciting the idea of her was to him still. With a sudden shiver, he noticed that the headache had escaped him without his noticing. "We'll make it work. We always do."

Upstairs, Harry woke up with a cry.

[hidden-snow]

𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚢

Summary // After moving far from home to join the Sully family, you develop depression. Luckily, you have Jake and Neteyam to cheer you up.

Warnings // Mentions of suicidal thoughts, SH, and depression. This fic may not be suitable for certain readers. Read at your own risk.

Word count // 1,009

Part 1 of 2 // Neteyam

(Side note from author; if you ever need an ear to listen, feel free to pm me or send an ask in anonymous <3 If you have suicidal thoughts or thoughts of harming yourself, please contact 988 or the suicide hotline in your country)

How long had you been laying around, no motivation to participate in normal day life? How long had your expression lacked the emotions you used to have? How long had you been so… numb?

It felt like you’ve been stuck in the blank, dull pit of your own depression. Your life revolved around that pit and you felt like you were trapped, unable to climb your way out. Jake and his family had been quick to notice your lack of interest in anything, had seen the way you curled up on your mat, a pale blue blanket pulled up over your head to hide away from the world and its problems.

They’d done their best to help you through this severe episode of depression, talking to you and trying to comfort you in any way they could. At times, Ronal would visit to check in on your mental health. When she did visit, she always brought a tonic to drink in an attempt to cure your mental pain.

It never worked.

You were desperate to feel anything other than empty and soulless, taking to extreme measures to find any spark of emotion deep in your aching heart.

The first time you’d slid your knife across your wrist, you’d felt a sliver of pain, the first emotion you’d felt in days. Of course, it was addicting and intoxicating, helping you to feel something other than numb. It sent a thrill through your body, adrenaline pumping hard and fast in your veins. Your hand shook as you added another cut in your skin.

You could see the blood from your self-inflicted wounds, and it only served to prove to you that you were still alive and not a walking, breathing, eating corpse. You couldn’t stop. The sharp burn of the knife against your flesh, the scarlet red that stained your skin.

The only reason you stopped was because a hand wrapped around your wrist, forcing you to drop the knife. A hand with long, slightly scarred fingers. A hand that felt warm against your cold, clammy skin.

You look up to see Neteyam looming over you, his non-existent eyebrows creased upwards in a concerned look. His lips were pursed, as if he were holding back a flood of questions and comments, and you couldn’t help but avoid his gaze. You looked everywhere but at his eyes, afraid that if you looked, you’d only see disappointment. Or worse - disgust.

He didn’t say anything, though. He just grabbed your shoulders, pulling you into a soft hug against his chest, fingers stroking through your braided locks.

You hadn’t realized how desperately you needed this until he was doing it, whispering soothing words of comfort, of promises that only he could keep.

With that simple physical contact that he was giving you, you felt your guards crumble and fall, the floodgates of your heart finally bursting open.

You sobbed softly into his shoulder, the numbness of your soul withering away as you finally began to feel the pain and anguish that you’d promised yourself that you’d never let in.

He drew back, grabbing a cloth from nearby to dab at your eyes, swiping it under your nose to wipe away the snot that had come with your ugly sobbing. Then he cupped your face gently between his hands, his thumb stroking your red cheek.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, smiling softly at you, and you faintly saw the glimmer of tears in his own eyes.

“I see you. I see your pain and your sadness. I am here. You’ll never be alone, y/n.”

You couldn’t help but smile back at him, a hesitant, weak smile that reflected the weakness you felt within.

“Now, let us tend to your wounds.”

You watched silently as he wiped the blood from your wrists, cleaning your skin with gentle care. Everything about his touch was gentle and careful, cautious as to not cause you further harm or pain. 

What did you do to deserve such gentle love and care?

“What brought this on, might I ask?”

You clear your throat, looking back up into his face, but he’s too focused on your wrists. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to confide in a friend, would it?

“I miss home,” you murmur softly and he pauses, looking back up at you in surprise. You flinch back from his expression, knowing that this could only end up in two ways; pity or anger. You didn’t want to witness either of them.

“You could always go back home?” he offered instead, returning to your wounds. You let out a sigh, so deep that it reflected the pain in your chest brought on by your sorrow and depression.

“No. You know that. Mother was very firm about what she wanted to happen. She didn’t want… she did not want me to live in the same land that my father and brother were killed in.”

He didn’t respond to that, knowing that your words rang with a truth that all of the Sullys knew. Your mother had been insistent that Jake take you with him, practically pleading that he keep you close to his side. After all, you needed a father figure to guide you as you grew. Or at least, that’s what she argued when he tried to refuse her request.

Separated from your only living relative, living in a land foreign to your soul and blood, it was hard to readjust. It was hard to grieve for your father and brother when you could not be near to sit over their graves or to lay flowers beside the tangled tree roots that grew over their bodies.

He thinned his lips for a moment, finishing the bandages on your wrists. Then he straightened, pulling you back into another warm hug, holding you close in that safe warmth that belonged to him.

“Don’t worry, y/n. We will return soon. Everything will be alright. From now on, come to me before you think of hurting yourself again, alright? I will make things better for you. I promise.”

[audaciousacolyte]

Could I request an Aradia x Troll!Fem!reader short comfort fic. Reader is having a breakdown. Relationship is queer platonic if i need to be more specific 🧐🥂

Comfort crowd

Aradia x Troll!Fem!reader comfort drabble

《|| Hello! I'm sorry this took a bit longer than usual, I was just having a bit of trouble writing something that matched what I was thinking. I do hope that you like this, dear anon!! ||》

The moment the door clicks behind you, the tears that you had been holding back began to well up in the corners of your eyes. Tonight had been, in as few words as possible, absolutely awful. Your hands clench into fists at your side as you desperately try to fend off the growing ache behind your eyes.

Thick, watery globs of liquid the same color as your blood stream down your face in a silent march as you stumble further into the hivestem, the tears blurring your vision.

You are tired.

You are sad.

But mostly? You are angry.

A low snarl rumbles from your throat, a grimace twisting your features as your temper rises to a boiling point. You are angry. And sad. And scared. Your vision flashes red around the edges and just like that, you snap.

The next few moments of your life are spent absolutely demolishing your hiveblock.

Time passes.

When you come back into yourself, you are looming over your husktop. Or, rather, what remains of it. Seems like you smashed the poor thing into oblivion with your bare hands, though you don't really remember why.

There's blood and oil all over your hands.

It hurts when you move your fingers.

Instead of skedaddling off to the bathroom to patch yourself up with a medkit, you shuffle over to the nearby wall and slump down onto the floor. Shuddering sniffles follow your collapse against the wall, your body exhausted by your mind's destructive impulses and sorrow.

Your respiteblock (when did you get in here?) is trashed, and you're sure that the rest of your hive is in a similar state. Thoughtlessly, you bring your knees up to your chest.

You sit there for a long time.

The moon begins to crawl towards the horizon when Aradia visits you.

You feel her presence before you see her. She steps into the room quietly, her shoes shuffling against the floor. She stands in the doorway for a moment when she spots you, but doesn't say anything. You don't look up at her.

A long moment passes.

You're almost certain that she left until she starts walking over to you and gently scoots herself down to sit with you. You spare a fleeting glance at her and consider speaking but, again, you say nothing.

Aradia sighs.

"Y0u kn0w that you can tell me anything, right?" She murmurs, just quiet enough to be called a whisper but loud enough for you to hear.

"I know." You reply, feeling numb.

She falls silent again, but reaches for your hands. You don't stop her. "I kn0w y0u feel like this will last f0rever..." she starts, "But it w0n't."

You watch as she uncaptchalogues a small medicine bag and begins to dress your bleeding (and probably broken) knuckles. "How do you know?" You ask, just as quiet as her.

Aradia's mouth twitches upwards into a small grin. "Very few things last forever. You're going to be hurt for a very long time, but you'll heal." Her eyes crinkle at the edges as she looks up at you. "And you'll have me here with you every step of the way."

For the first time tonight, you smile.

[endfght]

one did not have to peel back too many layers to find the truth of who spencer wolf really was ⸻ a sad, desperate shell of the person he once was, masked to perfection for so long now that it had begun to slip all together. hadn't quite made it to any kind of dependency just yet, but the numbness that came with a cold drink was a much welcome reprieve to the deafening, near-constant swarming of thoughts inside of spencer's head. memories he'd tried so hard to forget always at the front of his mind, mostly negative replays of that night, of his vulnerability, his inability to protect what mattered most to him : his failure as a husband. that they survived should have been enough ― not unscathed, but alive and capable of moving on ― but that it had happened at all was a fact that would linger in the forefront of spencer's head until the day that he died.

there haven't been many nights like these : he (thought) he had perfected the art of drunkenly stumbling through the house in the pitch black. at most he'd fallen asleep still wearing a shoe, left a package of cold cuts out on the counter after a late-night snack on more than one occasion ⸺ nothing substantial, nothing of note that would otherwise point towards a bigger problem. from the outside, at least. but for tamara at home ? who could see how he'd shifted from doting and loving to cold and distant, who was more than aware that while spencer had walked out of that cabin still breathing, he might as well have died that night. selfish in the worst of ways, @innocentsbled had every right to collapse in on herself, to do exactly what it was that spencer was doing, but she didn't in spite of a mind that was probably screaming at her to do so. spencer both admired and envied her resilience.

❝ i just ⸺ had too much tonight, tam. that's it. ❞ threat of looming tears stings the corners of his eyes, and in all his shame his gaze casts down to the tiled floor. head aches, whether from the beginnings of a hangover or the less-than-gentle smack it'd taken against the side of the cabinet when he fell ⸺ it was just one more thing to pile atop his overwhelming mountain of emotions, one more thing tipping him closer and closer to his breaking point. ❝ i don't ― i don't know. i⸻ ❞ words caught in his throat, the feel of wetness on his cheeks comes before he can process that they were falling. no attempt made to brush it away, his head turning towards their bedroom, still avoidant of her eye. ❝ i pretended things were okay for so long that i started to believe the lies i was telling myself . . . and then one day i woke up and it's like reality punched me in the face. i can't stop seeing that cabin and their faces and i just ⸺ i don't know what i'm supposed to do. ❞ (cont.)

[lightsiided]

i love you, goddamn it!

* refusing care prompts | accepting

     her head is throbbing. there is something warm and wet beneath it -- blood, she thinks. her blood, from where her head had smacked against the stone. distantly, she feels the IRRITATING brush of a loose lock of hair against her cheek.

farther away than that is the wash of breath over her skin. someone is speaking to her, desperately and frantically.

she should open her eyes. CAN she open her eyes?

no, rey realizes, they're too heavy to open. hopefully whoever is gripping her shoulder so tightly can forgive her for that.

there is a sudden flash of clear, bright warmth in the haze of her swimming head. she knows that feeling and who it belongs to; it hardly takes a second of searching. the squeeze of her HEART in her chest, the tug at the back of her mind -- the hand shaking her shoulder is thor's.

she wants to smile but finds herself unable to. now that she's identified it, rey feels him strongly, in every inch of her body. it's almost as prevalent as the searing pain that seems to go down to her bones, the exhaustion settling in under her skin. she is so tired she can't focus on what thor is trying to tell her, even though it sounds important, judging by the strain in his voice. it's been a long time since she's heard him talk like that.

maybe he has news about the fight -- but they won, didn't they? SHE DID IT, for all the victory she feels. there is no longer the looming presence of kylo ren in the force. no one in her head but herself.

he must be here for her, then. relief helps rey momentarily forget her aches, which are starting to hurt even WORSE, reaching a level that's nearly unbearable. if he's here, she's safe. he won't let anything happen to her. she did everything she was supposed to, and now that thor's found her, she can rest.

the realization is relaxing, though she still doesn't move an inch. as peace begins to blanket her mind, rey catches a word or two from thor, shaky and upset and distorted, like they're trying to have a conversation underwater. you're alright.

if only that were true. the longer she lies there, unmoving, barely breathing, the more rey starts to think his presence is one last gift from the force, a comfort provided by the jedi who came before her... so that she won't be ALONE when she dies.

it's bittersweet. the war is over, or it will be, soon. everyone but her is FINE. the man she loves is beside her, and even in this state, she is safe with him. she is loved by him, rey thinks, as numbness spreads through her. could she have heard right? there's a comfort in the possibility -- a comfort only thor can provide.

yet her last thought, before there is nothing, is of how sad she is to have to go back on her promise to NEVER leave him.

will he be able to forgive her for that?

@othunderous

[tartagliaxx]

# 0.00 - THE END.

╰ Prologue to 'The Five Wishes You Fulfilled For Me Before I Died'

ㅤㅤㅤ— join the taglist | masterpost | next chapter

ONCE UPON A TIME, you died but before you did, an angel with a solemn frown walked towards you in an empty cathedral. he had been slow with his footsteps, allowing his worn boots to echo against the newly polished tiles of this sacred space. you knew aether — by heart and mind — and you were just as much as a sibling to him as his lost one was. the bond you two shared from all the countless days of travel made it awfully easy to spot his hesitance and lousily hidden despair. funnily, his pain hurt you more than the silence ever could and the sight of paimon's trembling lips had caused you to laugh emptily.

"i'm dying," you whisper but your words had made them flinch as if you had just screamed at the top of your lungs, "i'm dying, right?"

they need not reply.

you nod subduedly in recognition, fingers tapping nervous patterns on your blanket-covered lap as you racked your head for something that would ease the suffocating tension that sullied the unmistakable comfort and security your newly found family used to bring. then again, a sad smile plagues your ashen face, how can anything make this devastating situation any better? perhaps it was too much for you to ask them to pretend to be happy for your comfort but it is what it was. you did not fear death, or at least, not as much as you fear what you would be leaving behind.

"how long?"

the traveler swallows, none of his usual silently mischievous persona as his raspy voice finally pierces the air, "a week at most."

"that's good... that's..." you coughed, hiding the emotions that resurfaced all at once as paimon snapped into the bloodcurdling sob she was trying to keep at bay, "that's enough..."

the truth was death is ever-looming. it was an unmistakable fact that everyone tries to ignore in favor of dubbing their 'live your life to the fullest' mantras with some better-sounding euphemism. the bold ones; the braver ones, however, call it as is. the living dies every day in every second and in every corner of this wretched earth. numbers dwindle on top of every small flower and sometimes, the grains of time's hourglass fall like springtime storms as opposed to its occasional light rain showers. that is the inevitable and surrounded by people who constantly rushed in and out of battle, it was a fact that you had readily accepted for yourself as well.

of course, you could spend the rest of your seven days drilling this inside your head to muffle the very mortal noise that buzzed inside it. death was inevitable, yes, but you were still a young kid dying. you were dying. it's the real deal because bless them, you don't think the nuns have it in them to play a godawful prank on you. regardless of the whens and hows that no one, not even the archons, could answer, you knew that the pins and needles that climbed from the depths of your stomach to the edges of your throat were dread. acceptance of reality was separate from finding the world to be unfair. you will die and there's nothing you can do about that but repeat it over and over again until its gravity settles on your numbing insides. whatever loosely planned future you had in mind can be easily thrown with the heap of regret and hope that you had strewn behind your contracted pupils.

"why?" aether mutters as he sinks into his knees with a muffled thud, "why must i lose you too?"

that, you cannot answer and your chest tightens until you were clawing at the linen sheets until your fingers ached. you didn't know. you couldn't have known. the last thing you remembered was the elegant descent of powder snow as they adorned your head before panicked calls of your name and pitch-black voids. it was nothing at first and soon it'll be permanently nothing again. if you had known that the inevitable would come so soon then maybe you would've run away to spare this poor kid another grieving. maybe you would've been desperate enough to throw yourself into some mad scientist's dubious experiments or maybe you could've devoted yourself to alchemy and produced an actual, working philosopher's stone for yourself. the what-ifs filled your brain the same way ideas for your snowman-making contest did just half an hour ago. you suddenly missed that version of you and you realized that for those whose death has been marked on the boatman's calendar, mourning starts while you're still breathing.

when distant relatives died, those that remain mostly spoke of their last wishes at their funeral. their eulogies denote the way they have lived and touched others and the tears begin to fall for those who were not lucky enough to say goodbye. that's the only silver lining in your situation, you supposed. you could bid your farewells to those that you held dear, maybe buy them a parting gift, and heck, you might as well plan your own funeral and order all the necessities so they wouldn't bear the burden of it all. you know you're loved and you know that you will be missed but the last thing that you wanted was for them to be stuck in a limbo of loss.

but... how do you even begin to say that the end has come? do you wait until kaeya's inebriated beyond belief? do you mutter it as you disinfect diluc's wounds? do you just leave a letter at jean's office and have her do the hard work for you? none of it felt right but maybe that's because none of this felt right to you in the first place. you can't even pinpoint which stage of grief you're at because so many and so few thoughts ran through your head at the same time. most of them were the typical 'i wish i told them how much they meant to me' and 'i wish i had done more of this than that' so it also posed the question of 'would i be a different person if i had?' probably. you might have turned out to be a words of affirmation over acts of service kind of person (or vice versa) and maybe you might've learned how to compose songs and play the lyre for your significant other. you might've set yourself up for an even earlier death by trying to beat your allergies or maybe you could've lived longer if you had chosen to do your daily ten thousand steps instead of lounging around the room you rented with your commission payments.

why did that even matter? it's all in the past and none of it can be altered. now though? you don't even have much of a future to find the answers. if it was all pointless, you might as well live life as how you had because at least, you knew it was fun even if it was far from being perfect. then again, you sighed, unable to stop yourself from scratching at your scalp in utter frustration, there was an unspoken pressure to do something different because this was the all-or-nothing deal for you. actually... it's more of an all-then-nothing situation now that you thought about it.

three, two, one.

one, two, three.

you breathed, in and out, following guuji yae's guidance when aether was the one in some deep-set delirium from whatever happened in that factory with the balladeer. you thought it would snap you out of yours but aether's trembling grip did you better than that.

"i-i'm sorry i—"

"i should be the one saying that," you interrupt him as you moved to wipe his tears as you would with klee or diona when they get injured over something except... this was aether. he has never cried before yet here he was, pouring his heart out as he buried his face into the flesh of your knees, hands cutting the circulation off of yours because he half-believed that you'd slip away the moment he loosens it even by just a little.

"i don't— i can't— i—"

"hey... take your time... i'm here."

but not for long. eventually, he'd have to learn how to stand up alone all over again because neither you nor his sister would be there for him. he'd have to learn how to brush the knots off his hair and stitch the tears in his clothes together. he'd have to speak up more and be twice wary of strangers they encounter because you wouldn't be around to interpret his gaze or gauge other people's sincerity. aether would have to grow up again. he'd have to relearn how to live without someone to guide him along the way.

you carefully brush the stray hair strands off his face because suddenly, you were hyper-aware that in a few days' time, you wouldn't be able to do this anymore. the realization urged you to hug him tight and so you did. you tugged him up to sit by your side and wrapped your arms around him with a tenderness unknown even to you before this time. bones creaked in discomfort but you ignored it for the sake of aether who clung onto you desperately and paimon who had moved from her spot to nuzzle into the unoccupied crook of your neck.

there was this inazuman lullaby you loved when you were hanging out at gorou's camp during the rebellion. it was about a soldier coming home, battered and bruised and different because of the cruelties of war but he was alive and well enough to greet his family with a tender smile and a sincere 'i'm okay' or as you'd like to phrase it, 'i'll be okay with you by my side.' it was vaguely reminiscent of your situation, you think as you hum its soft melody to the traveler's ear. you can't outrun death and this war was not one you'll be able to win but it'll be okay. it'll be okay because you wouldn't be alone as you wait for your doomsday to come.

you will be okay and they will be too... with time.

a part of you was antsy as you sat unmoving, watching the clock's hand move from one to two-thirty. everything's too fast for someone with a ticking bomb for a lifetime and you were currently doing too little. you wanted to move — do something and not idle by, do something and not waste the time you didn't have. you wanted to move away but you can't find the strength to pry yourself out of aether's arms who had just cried himself to sleep. paimon has also settled into your lap instead, choosing to rest here instead of her mysterious pocket dimension. if you were her, you'd be scared to leave too. who knows if you'll pop back in only to find out that you're already a subject for condolences? for now... you decided to let them have this. you owe it to them while you still can.

when they wake up, you'll visit your favorite alchemist. maybe he'll have some answers for the questions that have left you at a loss.

╰ taglist

@dourpeep @justsidecharacterthings @nightfloweruponahill

© 2021 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐗𝐗. all rights reserved. do not copy, claim, repost or translate in any platforms but reblogs are appreciated.

[schmerzafte]

“Regret”

A.N: Thank you for reading this, thanks for the support given by my friends that helped me create this fic!

A.N. No.2: If you know the reference of this fic, you’re the best!

TW: Angst, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort

And if your broken heart’s heavy when you step on the scale,

You’ll be lighter than the air when they pull back the veil.

The thoughts lingers in your head, on and on. You can’t get rid of it, your pain has already begun to reach its peak, with nothing else to ease it.

How can you get rid of it?

Alcohol, smoking, thoughts of leaving this world be it’s too much for you. While the solution you can think of before is a quick getaway from it, it just won’t settle things, it can only worsen the pain and inflict it on another person.

“I don’t even have anyone that cares about me anymore” your brain tricks again.

You have someone, don’t you?

Well, let’s correct that.

You HAD someone.

It’s just that this “someone” is no longer with you.

The struggle you have to face, the pain you have to deal with, the despair you have to survive, all is stored inside your dying heart, facing nothing but looming darkness.

This person, the one that made you the way you are now, is no longer here. The sunshine that once melts your heart, the moon that once brightens your darkest thoughts, the planet that orbits you every day, 24/7.

You still remember her name, isn’t it?

As much as you try to forget about her, you just simply can’t.

Kim Jungeun.

Your everything.

The sudden remembrance gives you that pain again, the panic attack starts to occur, suddenly the world stops, leaving you alone.

Your heart starts to ache,

The tremor in your fingers begin to worsen,

The shortness of breath is leaving you tired,

You can’t think of anything.

“Relax…. take a deep breath”, you said to yourself, “leave those thoughts be, think of something beautiful”.

But that something beautiful, is Kim Jungeun herself. You can’t get rid of her, of course. She’s the one that encourages you to “live your best life, prove to everyone that you are not the person everyone thinks you are.”

You remember those kind words of encouragement, you remember it clearly, the day she decided to leave you alone in your own world.

You start to remember again.

That day, was the day your heart decided to leave your body and soul.

Your mind decided to abandon all hope.

Everything turns into a sinking ship.

I̴t̸’̶s̸ ̵o̷k̵a̴y̵…̴…

I̷͙͗t̷͙͋’̷̹̌s̴̫̉ ̶̲̓o̴͈͗k̴̺͐a̵̮͋ÿ̸̬́…̸̻͛

I̵̢̢̟̬͚̮̹̥̯͈͉̞͚̝͊̾̎́̔͆̂̓̽͘̕͜t̵̛͙̙̦̘̤̹͌̈́́̍̈́̀̀̓̀̒͑͜’̵̧̛̭̫̥̝̪̥͖̗͛͒̈̔͒͌̽͑͗̃͛́s̴͍̞͕̭̜̼͋͗̀̂̐͋͗̿̓̂̋ ̵̘̬̱͑͒̓͒̔̈́̂̾͒̾̊́͂̽͘͘o̶̧͇̻̺̮̙̹̬̹̭̠̿̾̒̐͊̓̚͜͜—̸̲̟̲̯͇̓

…

Ņ̸̙̻̰̩̗̞̠̹̭̣̈́ͅͅƠ̷̮̰̘̪̺̩̩͕̗͚̪̽̇̋͋̌͂̈́̽̚͜͜͝͝T̴̞͓͊H̴̡̥͚̊͋͌̉̽͘͜Į̸̦̱̦̔̍͘͜͠Ṅ̷̦͉͈̰͚͈͈͒G̷̡̫̗̘̰̔̓ ̷̧̹̦͚̻̠̫̣̽͂̇̎̎͛̍́͊̄̏̚I̴̥̣̣̜͉͌̏̀͐͗̔̇͆̅͆̆̍͘͝ͅS̵̯͓͎͙͔̝͓̎͛̐̐̽̌͑͌̿́̕͠ ̴̦̱̥̱̼̩͂̅͊O̴̢͓̯͔͔͍͐̀̀̾̏̑͜K̵̛̛͈̆̈́́̌̊̐̚͠ͅĄ̵̫̃̏̉̄̔̔̒̔̒̽͝͝͠Ÿ̴̬̝͚̫͇͎́

 The scream in your heart constantly repeating “I WANT THIS TO END” over and over, but you deny it, you don’t want to let it consumes you, although it has chipped your mind bit by bit, pieces by pieces. You know there’s nothing else you can do about it, except for accepting the tragedy as a “moments in life”.

But you can’t.

You still can’t accept it.

“Hey, everything’s going to be okay, alright? I believe that you are capable of facing this, it’s part of life, after all”, her words echoed, it has no volume, yet it sounds very loud that it may as well numb your ears, deafening everything this world has to offer.  “How can I get past this, Jungeun? I can’t, I just can’t…” your heart rejects the darkened reality, blinded by the sadness that you have stored inside. “I wish I can… I wish I can join you there, we could be ha ���” before your heart finishes its thoughts, you cut it with your own mind, rejecting it. Jungeun would’ve cried seeing you like this, and you know it, and so you decided to bury those thoughts deep, six feet under.

Literally.

And so those thoughts begin to fade away, the pain stopped, the tears dried out, and the heart stopped screaming. Instead, you’re being shown something, a vision? a dream? “What is this?”, you ask yourself. And as the vision reveals itself, you realized that Jungeun is still there, still smiling, still living her best life. You began to wonder, what is really going on? Where are you?

“Oh….”, your head starts to clear bit by bit.

“That’s right…”, you start to realize.

Your body starts to feel calm, the weight that rests heavily on both of your shoulders lifted itself, the pain that you always feel, fading away…

“I know where I am now….” The thoughts getting clearer.

Thanks for everything, Jungeun.

Thanks for letting me see the world from a new perspective.

Thanks for making me realize that there is happiness somewhere.

I can see it now…

And the tears in your eyes, finally gone, decided to open both of your eyes.

I’m in purgatory, after all.

[vanderlustwords]

Seasons Change & I Carry You With Me

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Please do not repost/translate anywhere. Reblogs/Comments are much welcomed ♥

Masterlist || Taglist

Summary: Bucky's aware he'll never really be the same again after everything he's been through. It's not a secret there's a looming shadow over him that will never go away. But not even he's aware that, sometimes, the shadow is darker during certain seasons.

Note: "We're falling apart and you don't even care!" - From this prompt list / someone got me into an angst mood so we all have to suffer now

Warnings: heavy angst [HEA], seasonal depression

Count: ~3.2k

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

Dating Bucky Barnes was not an easy feat.

It was something he told you from the very start as if to warn you away. But you persisted, something about him drawing you in and managing to keep you there.

Bucky Barnes was a broken man when you first met him. How could he not be? Even his time spent healing at Wakanda wasn't enough to keep the dark shadow that loomed over him away.

You think it was perhaps his sadness that called to you. It was his sadness that made you linger around him, to kiss his scars, his metal arm, and plead with your eyes to him to allow himself to have you.

Bucky was different. Knowing he had something so good made him different. He was more than just his sadness and nightmares. You got glimpses of the other sides of him.

You've seen Bucky, who could be grumpy and sarcastic. You've seen him playful and charming. You've seen him in love and yearning.

And now? It's possible you're seeing a Bucky who is falling out of love with you.

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

It's late into the night when Bucky finally returns home and crawls into bed with you. There are no words, no soft kisses pressed into your neck or hair like he used to, as if apologizing for waking you.

Because you've started to pretend the rustling or the dipping of the bed doesn't wake you. There's no point if you don't get those things. There's no point when all you get is a muffled 'sorry' before he settles in and falls asleep, facing away from you.

You lay on your side, facing away from Bucky as you look out the dark window. Your eyes are wide open, but you've kept your breathing light to avoid alerting Bucky you could be awake.

He doesn't check anymore, anyway.

You hear a light sigh beside you before his breathing starts to even out, and he's asleep too.

There's a heaviness that settles in your chest—makes your bones ache and your muscles numb because you miss Bucky.

You miss him so badly, and you're desperate to know why he doesn't miss you too.

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

This winter seems colder than the last as you stick your gloved hands to your face and breathe warmth into them.

Maybe it seems colder because you've come to know Bucky's warmth since March, and without it, everything seems colder.

Bucky walks beside you with the hood up as if to keep his ears warm while his hands are jammed into coat pockets. He's staring listlessly in the distance. You can see the tiny puffs of air coming from him every time he exhales.

"Do you want to go to that café on 4th? The one with the really good cheese Danish that you like?" You ask with hope in your tone, heart beating much faster like it had when you first spent time with Bucky, worried about his reaction and rejection.

That had been spring and disappeared in the summer and fall.

Bucky turns to you, eyes wide as if he forgot you had been there.

"No," he finally says after a moment of contemplation. "I'm actually kind of tired."

"Oh," you say, trying to not let the sting work its way too deep into you. "That's fine. We can head back and watch a movie for something."

"I think I'm actually gonna head to the training room," Bucky says with a shake of his head, his pace suddenly quickening. He takes long strides as if he can't wait to get back to the training room he's been in for hours on end every day.

As if he can't wait to get away from you.

You're sitting alone in the common room kitchen, holding a warm mug of hot chocolate that still somehow tastes bitter in your mouth.

"Hey."

You look up and find Steve walking through the door, freshly showered, as he opens the fridge and takes out the icy water, drinking it all down with ease.

The thought of its coldness makes you wince and makes Steve laugh.

"Never really feels cold with the serum amping up my body heat," Steve says with a grin. "Bucky's probably like that too. Winter actually feels kind of nice for us."

You try not to think back to Bucky with his hood up and hands crammed into his pockets.

"Yeah," you give him a weak smile and nod.

"Everything okay?" Steve asks, perceptive as he is as he walks around, leaning across the kitchen island and facing you.

You shrug. "I think so."

"That doesn't sound very confident," Steve tilts his head with a look of disapproval that gets you sighing.

"It's nothing. I guess Bucky's just been a little...distant, is all. I don't know what to make of it all since everything had been wonderful earlier in the year," you shrug again, tapping your index finger on the mug.

Steve nods, and you feel stupid because maybe Steve hasn't noticed, and he hasn't noticed because Bucky wasn't distant with him.

"Give him time," Steve starts. "This time of year isn't that great for him. Wasn't great in the 40s either."

The explanation makes you breathe easier, no matter how short it is.

A part of you knows as a rational adult, you should just talk to Bucky about it. But you're scared, and you don't even know how to bring up a conversation like that.

You'll just do what Steve says and give him time.

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

Time doesn't make anything better.

Maybe some things, but not this.

You find Bucky sitting on the couch, watching the TV blankly, and you're not even sure if he even knows what's going on in the show.

"Hey," you greet him as you come in, taking off your coat and boots.

Bucky turns to you with a tired smile and greets you back softly. You take a seat next to him, trying to lean against him, but he leans away, resting on the arm of the couch.

You try not to feel the itch in your throat, not feel your eyes getting hot.

You miss when he would put his arm around you and pull you close until you were practically in his lap.

But his touches were rare these days, and affectionate touches were even rarer.

It gets clearer to you that you don't want to talk to him about it because you're going to sound so insecure and insensitive if he's having a hard time.

You sit there, pinching your hand in your lap until you can't take it anymore.

"I'm just going to head out for a bit. Let me know if you need anything, okay? I'm here," you tell him, hoping it conveys that if he's hurting, he still has you.

But Bucky merely gives you another tired smile and he hummed as you left the apartment you shared together without your coat.

The cold biting your skin is relieving because you don't have to focus on the heavy pang of your heart.

You hail a cab to take you to the Compound, and when you get there, you distantly remember you didn't bring your wallet or your phone with you.

"Could you wait here?" You ask the cab driver, who looks in awe at the building before he nods.

You get up and walk into the building, and the first thing you bump into is Natasha, who looks like she's on her way out.

"Oh, shit—where's your jacket?" Natasha immediately says.

"Can I borrow $40?" You answer with instead, cheeks hot. "I don't have my wallet and I need to pay the cabbie outside..."

Natasha merely cocks her eyebrow at you before she pulls out her wallet from inside her jacket and pulls out a $50 for you.

"Thanks, I'll pay you back when I have my phone or wallet," you mutter.

"Don't bother," Natasha keeps her brow cocked. "You can pay me back by heading out with me to dinner. Grab a jacket from my room first, though."

You went and took a cab, borrowed $40 from Natasha only for her to drive you back to the restaurant that's three blocks away from your place with Bucky.

Natasha forces you to order food, despite you saying you ate two hours ago because she doesn't like eating alone if she's with someone, saying something about how it's weird.

So, you're pushing around your fries and chicken strips around on your plate. You idly eat the fries because even if you take those home, they won't be the same when you heat them up. You should've ordered soup, you think.

"Alright, I'm settled into my meal. You can now tell me why you've left your place with no jacket, phone, or wallet."

You mumble, but it's not anything coherent.

"Speak louder, I'm also paying for your meal," Natasha says as she scooped some food into her mouth.

"I told you I wasn't hungry!" You whine, but Natasha acts like she didn't even hear it and looks on at you.

You sigh. "I–Bucky's just been distant and I already talked to Steve about it and he said to just give Bucky time because this time of year is difficult for him. But nothing has gotten better and I—I feel really insecure," you say, your voice getting quieter at the end.

"You're going to take advice from Steve? The man who hasn't even worked up the courage to fuck Sharon's brains out yet?"

"How do you know they haven't slept together yet?"

"Please don't do this to yourself, you're above asking stupid questions."

You huff as you roll your eyes.

"Anyway, just talk to Bucky," Natasha tells you.

"I don't know what to say," you purse your lips. "'Hey, I think you might be going through it but I'm feeling really sad lately because you're not paying attention to me.' I would literally sound so insecure, insensitive, and selfish and I just—I can't. I don't want to push him or tell him how he should feel."

"It's not insensitive or selfish. You're his girlfriend. You're literally building a life with him and he should know if his behavior is hurting you too," Natasha puts down her spoon and reaches across the table to place her hand on top of yours. "You deserve his attention too."

The warmth from Natasha's hand nearly makes you cry because it reminds you of Bucky's warm hands and how they haven't held you in a long time.

"It's just—I don't remember the last time we went on a date. I don't remember when he last told me he loved me. I don't remember the last time he's touched me. Every time I touch him, he pulls away. And...and I know he's probably having a rough time but I can't help but wonder if he's falling out of love with me. Does he want to end it and he's just too afraid he'll hurt my feelings? I'm trying to tell him I'm there for him and give him space but it feels like it doesn't matter if I'm there or not and...and it's been so hard."

Suddenly, your eyes are welling up, and the tears spill over quickly, and you're choking on a sob.

"Oh, dear," Natasha pulls back as she grabs the attention of the waitress. "Could you please bring a bottle of the best red wine here? Just...keep it coming."

Natasha just looks at you with a sympathetic look.

"Listen, Bucky has been through so much...anyone in our line of work has been. But that doesn't mean that you can't ask for him to be there with you. Relationships aren't one-sided and if Bucky wants to make it work with you and build a life with you, then he'll need to know he can't keep taking without giving too."

You swallow, tears running down their path. "What if...what if he doesn't want to make it work?"

"Then I'll kill him."

You give her a blank stare that makes Natasha sigh.

"I'm just kidding. Mostly. Eat your kid's meal. It's not good to drink on an empty stomach."

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

When Natasha drops you off and helps you up to your steps because you've had way too many drinks, you find yourself in an empty home.

You hear yourself letting out a quiet laugh.

Of course, Bucky was out. It was only a little after 11PM, after all. He wouldn't be home until closer to 2AM.

Natasha said to talk to Bucky, but how could you talk to him when he was never here?!

He was probably at the Compound, in that stupid training room.

Your eyes feel hot, and you blink it away quickly.

Maybe it wasn't going to work after all. How was it supposed to work when you could barely work up the courage to tell Bucky you were insecure, and when you did, he was nowhere to be found?

You stumble slightly as you make your way to the bedroom and into the closet to pull out your duffle bag. You haphazardly begin to rip your clothes from the hangers and throw them in the bag before going to the washroom and gather your toiletries and make-up in your arms.

You try to stuff everything you can into this duffle bag, and when you can't zip it up, you begin to cry.

There was too much stuff. There was too much stuff because you were building a life with Bucky and got more things here.

Maybe some things you should leave here? Some things that Bucky should keep. You had brought face masks that were specifically for Bucky, so maybe you shouldn't take them. Some of the shirts were really Bucky's, even if he stopped wearing them because you were always sporting them.

As you unzip to throw some things out, you can't stop crying. Your brain is telling you you're being irrational and dramatic, but you can't stop.

You hear the front door opening, but it doesn't stop you from throwing out a couple of more things before you push everything down tightly to get the zipper started.

"Honey? What's going on?" Bucky cautiously asks as he comes into the bedroom, seeing you on the floor. You ignore him and continue struggling to zip the duffle bag.

He comes closer and frowns when he catches sight of your face. "What's wrong?" Bucky kneels next to you, and you sniffle.

He can smell the wine off of you, but he doesn't say anything about it.

"N—nothing. I just...I just can't get this stupid bag zipped—ugh!" You hiccup before you unzip the bag again and rip more things out of it.

Bucky watches as you throw out more of his shirts from your bag. He catches more contents like your face stuff and your toothbrush, and he's worried.

"Are you heading somewhere, hon?" He asks. "Mission or...or vacation? If it's work, I can ask to come too. Or if it's vacation, just tell me and I can get us a bigger suitcase."

You start sobbing even more as you close your eyes.

"I—I don't think I can keep doing this, Bucky," you mutter, trying to get a hold of yourself.

Bucky's breath hitches, and you feel your stomach drop.

"What does that mean?" Bucky asks as he stares at you straight on.

And you're not sure if it's the wine or just the fact that he's home earlier than ever tonight, and of course, it's when you want to give up.

"It means we're falling apart and you don't even care!" You loudly choke out. "I—I want to be there for you, Bucky. Steve says your probably having a rough time because this time of the year is hard for you but I don't know how to talk to you about it. And I don't want to make you feel bad and I don't want to be another thing you worry about or regret, but I feel so lonely even when you're here. Every time I try to touch you or spend time with you, you pull away and I—it really hurts and I can't keep doing that."

You wipe the tears away from your face before you resume trying to zip up the duffle bag to give your hands something to do. You hear Bucky trying to come up with something to say, but you shake your head.

"I know it's unfair of me to feel this way because I don't know exactly what you've gone through. I can't even fathom it, and I'll never understand it fully like you. I just...I'm really anxious. I don't know what to do, Bucky. Tell me what to do," you sniffle.

Suddenly, Bucky pulled you into his arms and between his legs as he held you to his chest.

"Don't do anythin'," he says into your hair. "Just don't go anywhere, honey. I'm sorry. I'm so fuckin' sorry, I didn't even realize I was hurtin' you."

You look up slightly and find Bucky's eyes are red around the edges and wet with moisture. He's holding your shoulder and drags his hand across your jaw and neck to keep you close.

Bucky sighs with a slight sniffle as he closes his legs a little more around you like he's worried you might bolt from his arms. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so distant. This time of year is hard for me. I mean, year-round is hard. It's not like The Winter Solider halted any activities during summer. But I don't know, winter is hard. I...I've been talking to my therapist and she was talking about seasonal depression. I'm sorry. I really missed you too but I didn't want to feel like I was dragging you into more of my problems when you've been the most amazing thing that's happened to me."

You feel Bucky's warmth seeping into you, and it's like that coldness you've felt since winter came starts to dissipate. You missed this. You missed him.

"Don't be sorry, it's not your fault," you mumble into him as you wrap your arms around him. "I'm sorry...I should've just talked to you but I was really, really scared of you realizing I'm insecure."

"I'm insecure too, honey," he tells you as he kisses the crown of your head. "I always worry you're gonna realize you're too good for me."

"Not gonna happen," you say, trying to snuggle closer. "You're the best thing that's happened to me too."

"Even when things like this happen?"

"Even when things like this happen," you confirm.

Bucky sighs with relief. "Is there anything else wrong that I can fix?"

"I don't think so. But I couldn't find my phone or wallet anywhere."

Bucky chuckles as he pulls his arm away without letting you go as he reaches into his pocket. He pulls out your phone and wallet together.

"I realized you left your stuff here an hour after you left and went 'round trying to find you. I went to the Compound first but Happy said you left with Natasha. Tried calling her a bunch of time but she wouldn't answer. I just kept going to places I thought you'd be until Natasha returned my call just a little ago saying she dropped you off at home." Bucky sets your things down before he returns to holding you as you let out a chuckle after being shocked.

"Don't go anywhere, hon, 'cause I'm not going anywhere," Bucky sighs once more as he rests his cheek on top of your head. "Seasons change and I'll carry you with me."

[actress4him]

12 Days of Whumpmas - Day 7

Fandom/universe: Generic Whumpee

Warnings: homeless whumpee, death mention, fear of hypothermia

.

.

There was supposed to be a Christmas party tonight. Christmas Eve. The whole team was gonna get together, gather at headquarters where there’s a blue and silver tree set up, twinkling with white lights, and relax for once. Laugh and talk and eat tons of warm, delicious food. Whumpee can’t exactly cook anything, but the team had let them get away with volunteering to bring the chips and drinks.

But it’s been cancelled. Snow is coming, and Leader was worried about people getting trapped at the party, unable to get home. It’s the first snow of the season, and it’s supposed to be a big one. Headquarters is locked up tight now until next week - Whumpee checked earlier, just to be sure.

That’s okay. They were looking forward to the evening, but they understand. The last thing they want is for their teammates to miss out on spending Christmas with their loved ones.

Wandering into the park, they find themselves staring up at the giant tree the city set up, draped with gold and silver ribbons. The star on top shines like a beacon out into the growing darkness, so bright that Whumpee imagines they can feel a modicum of warmth coming from it.

The illusion is shattered when the wind cuts straight through their thin shirt. Shivering, they shuffle over to a nearby bench so that they can set down their grocery bags and wrap their arms around themself. Their phone vibrates in their pocket. Pulling it out with fingers that are unfortunately not yet numb enough to stop hurting, they check the screen.

Leader to group

Sorry again we had to miss out on the party tonight. I’m glad to know you’re all safe and warm at home, though!

A small, sad smile plays on Whumpee’s lips. Home. Such a simple little word. They don’t blame the rest of the team for taking it for granted. They had, too, once.

Rummaging in the bags, they pick a package of chips and pop it open with only a slight struggle against their stiff muscles. It’s not exactly the turkey and mashed potatoes they’d been expecting to eat tonight, but it’s food, and they spent a good chunk of the money they’d managed to save up on the chips and soda. They’re not going to let them go to waste.

Another shiver racks their body, and they pull their feet up onto the bench so that their legs can block the wind from their torso. It helps, a little. Tonight is going to be the coldest they’ve had so far this year. The possibility of actually not making it through the night is a cloud that looms over their head, but they refuse to acknowledge it. If they pretend the chance doesn’t exist, then they can pretend they aren’t scared, deep down.

A single snowflake twirls from the sky and lands on their knee, quickly melting away to nothing. For a moment they stare transfixed at the spot, then tear their focus away to look up at the sky. More snow is falling. Tiny snowflakes dance on the wind, reflecting the lights of the Christmas tree.

It’s mesmerizing.

It’s beautiful.

Despite the way their muscles are seizing up and their bare skin stings and their muscles ache from quivering, they smile. Their fingers fumble for their phone one more time, slowly and painstakingly typing out a message.

Whumpee to group

Hey guys, look. It’s snowing. :)

[lastxviolet]

Madripoor is for Lovers (Zemo x F!Reader - Ch. 4

Summary: Y/N is a SWORD agent recruited to help Sam and Bucky track down Karli and the super-soldiers. When Helmut Zemo joins the team, he takes a special interest in her. The friendly union is wrought for disaster, but then things take a turn for the worst when Y/N is taken as collateral. Will Zemo keep her forever? Does she even want to escape? And what happened in Madripoor that made the whole thing so complicated?

Warnings: mention of violence

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32878015/chapters/81589774

Madripoor was lovely until the shootout started.

It was difficult to appreciate the city views or even the night before as the shipyard collapsed around you.

One second you were running through fire and smoke, and the next, searing pain ripped through your bicep. The shrapnel and spewed toxic lab material were an afterthought as you hit the ground, clutching the place where a bullet grazed you.

The pain made it impossible to get up, open your eyes, or care about broken glass scraping your exposed skin. The smoke left you breathless, making the scream in your throat die before it could alert your friends of your location. You thought that maybe you heard Sam yell your name from somewhere far away — too far away.

Your lungs stopped fighting to scream and began the fight for air. Short puffs were all you could manage. Counting them held off the thoughts of your body behind left in Madripoor for only a little bit before your vision tunneled.

A familiar voice wafted through the chaos before darkness took you.

“There you are,” it had said as you felt strong arms lift you from the rubble.

That was all you could remember as you awoke from a hazy dream.

There was pressure on your arm and even with your eyes closed, you sensed the presence of people looming over you. They spoke but a harsh white noise filled your head, drowning out their words.

As the grogginess faded away, reality hit. You were on a plane. There was no mistaking the familiar rocking and engines rumble. A sickening thought hit you. Was this a military plane taking you back home, or Zemo’s private jet again. If your injurers were enough to land you in a hospital Sam would've called for backup, even in Madripoor.

You squeezed your eyes tight, unwilling to return to reality. This could be the moment you woke up and went back to your normal life.

The last week of your life had felt like a dream. Galavanting through Europe with super soldiers, uniting forces with a notorious villain, and forming a makeshift Avengers.

You still couldn’t decide if Zemo’s involvement made it more dream or nightmare. Either way, you didn’t feel ready to give it up. Opening your eyes meant coming to terms with what happened. This morning at breakfast, nerves had made it impossible to eat. You’d been sure that Zemo would make some mention of what the two of you had done. He could use the information against you, or worse, Bucky and Sam.

The thought of their eyes turning on you with disappointment almost made you keep your eyes closed for the rest of the ride but a sharp pain chose for you. The overwhelming throbbing of your arm shot you back into full consciousness. A guttural groan was all you could muster to alert the looming figures of your state.

“She’s back!”

Sam bent into view. From behind him, you saw the pristine accents of the private plane. Your heart fluttered.

They’d brought you with them.

Sam knelt next to the couch you’d been laid out on and placed a hand on your leg.

“How you feeling?”

Your mouth was too dry to speak so you nodded and took in more of your surroundings. The bathroom was near your feet, so you were facing backward.

A blanket weighed you down but you tried to sit up anyway. Sam’s arm shot out and knocked you back. He yanked the blanket up towards your neck and eyed the edge to make sure it reached your chin. The cool air on your back told you that someone had taken your shirt off to get to the wound.

“Nothing I have not seen before.”

The voice flooded your body with heat, making your cheeks burn. For the first time, you turned to see who was tending to your arm.

Zemo stared at Sam with a smile and continued. “From her dress last night, of course.”

That was the voice you’d heard. That was the voice that had saved you.

It wasn’t Sam or Bucky, it was the man they’d told you to hate. He’d come back through the flames, gunfire, and danger to pluck you out of the wreckage and bring you to safety. And now he healed you with his own two hands. He didn’t look you in the eye or acknowledge you at all as he bent his neck to focus on your wound.

You returned your gaze to Sam and spoke before Zemo made any more taunts or innuendos about last night. For now, you were partially certain that he hadn’t told anyone what happened. Sam’s demeanor might be quite different with you if he had.

“What happened?”

“I’ll tell you when we land, you need to rest.”

“I’m fine,” your voice came out as a croak. The room around you spun with the exertion of energy, proving your words false.

Sam chuckled and tapped your shin a few times while exchanging words that you couldn’t hear with Zemo. They leaned close and shared a worried glance before Sam entered the main cabin, closing the sliding door behind him.

You felt Zemo's hands at work but the pain subsided. Something had numbed your arm, or perhaps your brain had done you a favor and cut ties with the nerves there altogether.

Alone again, you stared at him, conscious of your hammering heartbeat and the fact that this was the second time you'd been topless in front of him in 24-hours.

“What are you doing?”

“Listen to your comrade. You need sleep.”

His eyebrows furrowed in concentration, sweat forming on his forehead and upper lip. His face was more flushed than normal, almost as if he’d been running but his breathing wasn’t heavy behind his firmly set jaw.

“Thank you,” you muttered. “For saving me.”

A frustrated sigh was all he responded with.

Of all the expressions you’d seen of his, you couldn’t understand this one. No smirk formed as he worked. And where his eyes usually told you everything you needed to know, all they communicated was his desperate need for sleep.

You choked a few words out to quell the tension and distract your mind.

“Were you a medic?”

He shook his head. “Our army did not have enough enlisted for such distinction. I was a commander but we had to learn everything.”

“Commander,” you repeated. “Baron. Quite the collection of titles.”

You smiled and raised your eyebrows in jest, noticing that you felt lighter than before. An odd giddy feeling bloomed in your chest, despite the dull pain. He must have given you some sort of pain medication before you woke up.

The drugs continued for you. “I’m just an anomaly investigator so I don’t know how to do all that.”

“I’m sure you could learn.”

“I’d need a teacher.”

He hung his head and you adverted your eyes. Even without the oncoming haziness from the drugs, you knew that this little game of flirtations should stop. You opened your mouth to change the subject but he beat you to it.

“I’m not sure we have enough time.” His voice had a twinge of sadness as he spoke the truth.

Eventually, you’d part ways and the world would be better for it. The mission would be over and he’d have less to worry about with the super-soldier serum destroyed.

“Well, who knows how long it will take to catch Karli and…”

He flashed you a somber look and your voice caught in your throat. He wasn’t talking about the mission. He was talking about the two of you.

That's right. Reality came back into full force then, knocking sense into your head.

He was a criminal who'd be locked up for the rest of his days and you would go back to your full-time job, fighting people like him.

It shouldn’t have been as big of a blow as it was, because you’d only known each other a few days. If the drugs and exhaustion weren’t keeping you firmly in place under the threat of passing out again, you’d run as far away from this man as you could.

He was a criminal. He was not to be trusted.

But he’d saved your life.

He didn’t have to, in fact, it didn’t make an iota of sense that he did. But the words he’d whispered on the balcony floated back to you.

Had he meant it all?

His strained voice invaded your pestering thoughts.

“Suffering by nature or chance never seems so painful as suffering inflicted on us by the arbitrary will of another,” he said, caressing your bare skin one last time before tucking your arm underneath the blanket. “Do you know who said that?”

You shook your head, ruffling your hair with the pillow.

“Arthur Schopenhauer. The philosopher of pessimism.”

The fresh stitches scratched against the fabric as you turned towards him.

“A terrible choice for a man in prison,” you whispered.

He played with a roll of gauze in his hands, turning it over and over. The muscles of his jaw flexed and clenched as he sorted through his thoughts before speaking.

“Is it surprising though? For a man with a life sentence?”

He met your eyes then. The hard glare almost made you flinch.

Your heart ached for him. You knew firsthand the harm the Avenger had caused, but you also knew it could’ve been worse. The eradication of Sokovia had been to avoid the destruction of the world. But that had been his family, his home, his world. You knew his vision had tunneled because of what he’d gone through. A smart, military man knew the cost of peace but resented who had to pay.

Did he not think that was what everyone who had to pull a trigger in the name of peace thought of? Did he think that made him different from the Avengers?

Again, the drugs moved your mouth before you could think better of your words.

“Maybe we can push for better arrangements? Your assistance to the US must count for something —“

He raised his hand to silence you before you could finish the thought.

“That opportunity passed as soon as you assisted my escape. You know, as well as I how this will end. It is not the United States that is most concerned with my sentence but those who are will insist upon a worse cell, where they do not negotiate for amenities or comfort.”

Your stomach dropped with the realization. “The Raft.”

He was right. You knew he was. In all the chaos, Wakanda hadn’t crossed your mind, but this was a betrayal of mass proportions. His life sentence was their revenge and they wouldn’t take his brief freedom lightly. You couldn’t blame them of course. He’d assassinated their king in cold blood, in front of the world.

Prison had seemed like a joke to him before. When you’d first spoken to him in his cell with Bucky, it almost seemed amusing. Now the weight of his reality seemed to have set in. You wondered what changed.

“Do you not think you deserve it…your sentence?”

He squinted and stared over your head towards the windows. “That is not the question.”

His words felt the same as the bullet that had hit your arm; sharp, and perfectly aimed.

Normally your banter felt like a dance. There was no point to get across, or set path. You simply swayed back and forth, feeling each other out. But this time, it felt like he had something to say but was unwilling to go through the elegant waltz that you usually did.

The realization struck like lightning.

“Whether you’ll serve it,” you asked hesitantly, hoping for the first time in your conversations with him that you were wrong. His eyes gave nothing away but the hint of a smirk ghosted his lips.

Warning bells rang in your head, overwhelming your thoughts and any willpower to be careful with your words.

“Helmut, you’d be insane to escape the raft and even crazier to tell me about it.”

His eyes widened at the sound of his name.

“But I am not in the raft, am I?”

You stared at him in silence, failing to hide your angry expression.

“Perhaps, I never will be,” he finished with a raise of his eyebrows.

There it was.

He flinched as you brought your good arm up to swat his leg.

“Why would you say that,” you hissed.

He caught your hand, lowering it back down to your side. His fingers lingered around yours, caressing the back of your hand in a random pattern. It was then his smirk reappeared. Whether it was because of how your fingers gravitated towards his, or your anger, was unclear.

“I thought you might like to know.”

You shook your head and dropped his hand. “You’re insane.”

The Zemo that everyone else knew returned right before your eyes. He lived to taunt everyone and everything. You’d only ever seen the mask drop for you but now it was back up.

“No heavy lifting for a while, yes?”

The change in his voice was a show for the others as he stood and spoke loud enough to fill the cabin.

To hell with the pain. You ripped off the blankets and sat up. Thankfully, you’d been mistaken before, you weren’t topless, a thin sports bra kept you from being exposed.

“Zemo —”

“I do think it will heal in a few days —”

“— that would get you killed.”

He busied himself with something and paid you no mind as he spoke.

“— so the hospital in Riga won’t be necessary.”

You used the rest of your energy to shove him. Hard. All your strength went into it. All your frustration with his past decisions that separated you and the future ones that might keep him from you still. There was no way for you to be together and so you put all the maddening anguish into his back.

He hardly registered the blow as he spun, bringing his face inches from yours.

“Do you plan to be a criminal for the rest of your life? Is being on the run better than serving time for something you did?”

His eyes kept his concerned doctor mask for a second and then you saw the damn break. His iris’s widened, making an angry abyss of his warm eyes. You had no choice but to sit back down as he marched forward and braced an arm on the back of the couch, hovering over you.

“Something I did?” He asked in a dangerous tone.

You held his gaze and sunk into the cushions. Fear. You should’ve felt fear but a familiar heat rose from between your legs. You willed it away and focused on his quirked mouth, almost quivering with anger.

“Was it I who destroyed a country — thousands of lives? I, who created that hellish serum that makes gods out of man? I, who unleashed them on the world without a leash?”

He paused and leaned closer, waiting for an answer.

“No,” you whispered.

“One man receives life in prison while a band of thugs runs free, wreaking havoc on earth and calling it justice. They are your friends, are they not? That is your side. So why would you, S.W.O.R.D agent, fighter for the United States, Avenger, care about my sentence?”

His nostrils flared as he hissed and anger burned in his eyes. You could’ve retreated from the accusation that you were the same as those you worked with. But it wasn’t true. It might have been foolish to think that you knew him but the delusion made you speak softy, and tame the beast.

“Because I know what you’re doing.”

He flinched at the words, offended by the meaning and delicate tone. Again, you wondered the last person to show him any kindness or regard him with gentle eyes.

“Enlighten me about what you think you know.”

His jaw was tense when you brought your face closer to his and spoke in nothing more than a whisper.

“You obsess over revenge in the hopes that it will fill the holes in your heart left by loss. I know that you think keeping yourself distracted will heal you but it’s not true. The harder you run away from all that pain, the worse it’ll be when it finally catches up.”

There was more anger in his face when you finished than there was when you started. He stood and straightened his jacket before clearing his throat, unwilling to let you finish.

You tried to get up and follow but blood rushed to your head as soon as you stood up. The room spun and your vision tunneled. The roar of white noise washed over you again, threatening to send you back into unconsciousness.

Steady hands were on you in an instant, making sure you didn’t fall. Despite everything, Zemo reached out and folded you into his chest. One arm looped around your waist, and the other tentatively held up your injury.

“Lie down, liebling,” he whispered, not looking you in the eye.

He laid you down and pulled the blanket back up to cover your torso. You tried to focus by counting your breaths and watching the man who made good on his promise to be sweet as he looked for something in his bag.

He came close again and silently helped you pull one of his sweaters over your head. You hissed in pain as he straightened your arm through the sleeve and he made a disapproving look as if it hurt him as well.

He stood to leave but you held onto his wrist.

“Distractions won’t heal you, Helmut. Nothing — no one can,” you said through the haze, searching for him in your clouded vision. “Only you.”

You meant it, deeply. Even though you longed to be someone that could put broken things back together. You meant it, despite knowing that it wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

Zemo withdrew from your space and sat the chair opposite, watching you from afar as the plane began its descent. The words he’d said when he’d found you played over and over in your head as you watched him too. His expression was thoughtful and less angry than before. He looked to be mulling something over, and you wondered if your words had made a difference but it was impossible to tell. Sleep threatened to take you again, but you fought it off, opting for a staring contest with the man you couldn’t ever seem to figure out.

It wasn’t until the plane was safely on the ground that Zemo moved.

He crossed the plane to you like a rubber band being flung across the room before tucking one arm underneath your shoulder blades and the other under your knees, scooping you into a bridal carry. Eyes level now, he drew in close and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“You underestimate yourself,” was all he said before walking out into the cabin, towards the exit.

The door opened before you could object and both Sam and Bucky’s faces fell immediately.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Zemo ignored Bucky’s protest and pushed through them to descend the stairs. The sun was too bright so you shut your eyes and leaned into the man holding you. The man who had admitted that you might be enough to heal him. Your heart ached at the impossibility of it but you let yourself live in the fantasy for a little longer.

“James, are you not a gentleman?”

“She hurt her arm, she can walk fine,” Bucky yelled from behind you, stomping down the stairs.

Zemo’s chest rumbled as he spoke. “The question is not can she do it, but whether she should have to.”

Sam piped up, his voice exhausted from the journey. “Put her down, Zemo.”

The man didn’t listen, of course, and crossed the tarmac before setting you down gently a step away from the opened car door. You hobbled in and looked him in the eyes a final time. He no longer looked to be mulling over his thoughts, but rather, like he’d decided something.

“Chivalry may not be dead but it does seem to have many enemies,” he said with a wink, before closing the door.

[writingsbychlo]

smoke and fire (11)

word count; 12,58

summary; following the tragic events of your last call, Vince has given the team a few days off, covered by other shift rotations, and coping alone can be hard.

notes; prepare for a few tears, but a lot of smiling and blushing.

warnings; reference to death, mentions of a funeral service, mentions of panic attacks, reference to injury, fire & arson.

The first tear fell the second your front door closed behind you. It was like a weight had been sitting on your chest, crushing you slowly for hours, from the very second you’d woken up this morning.

It had all been numb, seeming detached from who you really were, meeting members of Chuck’s family, introducing yourself, answering questions from the medical side of it all as they all stood confused as to what had happened to their son, and having to remind yourself on a mantra that you hadn't been at blame, as the unwarranted guilt threatened to topple over you at any given moment.

A beautiful ceremony of life, words that made the back of your throat sting as you sat in the church pews and listened to tributes, and the slight smudge of mascara under your eyes that you’d tried to clean up as your eyes watered, but you’d held strong throughout the entirety of the funeral. The dress sticking to your body felt too tight, like it was clinging to every inch of your skin, pushing in on you and crushing you from the outside.

He’d had a fireman’s funeral, the team deciding that despite never getting the chance to pass his exams, he would be sent off the proper way, and Vince had offered no argument. The morning started at the firehouse, nine o’clock sharp, the lights on the van flashing silently with the sirens turned off. The hurst had guided the pathway, lines of firemen along the edges of the cemetery as his family had arrived, and Newt’s hand had found your own to squeeze tightly as the black car had rolled to a stop.

His father, his uncle, his brother, a childhood friend, his best friend, and Thomas. Those six men carried the wooden box holding your friend to the front of the church for the gathering, respectful and calm, his mother offering a speech dedicated to the team, and you’d almost broken on the spot. There was something mentioned about all of you, about how proud Chuck made them all every day, and how much he loved what he did. Apparently, he spoke about you all to his family, at every chance he got. You felt like they were an extension of the team by the end of it.

Your social battery was drained; the simple small talk and polite exchanges you’d shared with everyone, but it had been overwhelming. You were no stranger to funerals or death, but you’d never lost someone so close to you before. It was utterly terrifying, to care so deeply for a group of people, to allow your walls to come down and let them in, only for the ever-looming threat of losing them to always be hanging over your head, and yet, somehow, it only made you stronger.

You suspected Chuck himself had something to do with that.

You’d placed a rose the same shade of red as the fire engines down on the top of his coffin, and whispered your thanks to him, for being your first friend in firehouse ‘21. You wouldn’t be who you were without him, you weren’t even sure whether you would have been able to stick it out there without his support, and without him, you certainly wouldn’t have the family you did today. You had him to thank for all of it, and you’d never be able to repay him.

You were invited out with them all, the family had booked a small conference room to go to, to share memories and chat, but the idea of it seemed like it might throw you over the edge, and you didn’t feel like having any more public breakdowns for a while. Your team had seen enough of you crying in recent weeks, and you felt like you’d done enough of that. You knew that Chuck wouldn’t want you to cry, he’d want you to make a cup of herbal tea - something stolen from Gally - and to watch a movie with Adam Sandler in or a rerun of Brooklyn 99, and he’d want you to smile, because that’s what he’d encouraged every other time you’d been sad.

He had never wanted anyone to do anything but smile, he was a ray of pure sunshine, warm and friendly and enough to light up any room or mood. You’d been sure to tell his mother that, and she’d held you in a tight hug that left you feeling weak, like you were being pulled down to the ground, the emotions overwhelming.

And so, you’d denied their request to join them as respectfully as you could, because you didn’t want to mourn surrounded by people. You didn’t want to do your mourning in a formal black dress that was smart enough for the occasion and heels that made your feet ache, watching as Newt pulled at the collar of his dress shirt, and the rest of your team wander around in the formal firemen’s uniform that was usually reserved for special occasions with a happier undertone, breaching on being tarnished, and you wouldn't let that happen.

So, you’d driven yourself home, eyes blurring a little and the clock tickling just past midday before the dam finally broke and you were slamming the front door shut a little harder than necessary. One gasping breath as you stood still, a second to follow, and then you were kicking off your shoes. The tears fell freely, hot and salty and unending as you sobbed, shoes abandoned and soles aching as you reached up to try and roughly jerk the zipper on the back of your dress down.

As you peeled it away from your body, you felt like you could breathe again, the pressure having been the opposite of soothing and you worry you were going to tear it in your haste to get it gone. It was chucked across the room, haphazardly into the laundry basket in the corner, and your stockings did rip as you tried to shed them from your skin. Elegant and professional, your appearance had been perfect, but you had felt the opposite. You felt broken, damaged and wounded and messy, like your emotions and inner feelings were leaking out for everyone to see, your deepest and darkest fears on display to be gawked at, your innermost worries open for public viewing.

It was a churning pool in your stomach, one that chilled you from the core, blood running cold in your veins, and you shivered a little. The smell of your perfume felt wrong where it lingered on the air from where you had sprayed it before, and you collapsed down in the seat at your dresser, hating the face that was staring back at you in the mirror.

It was wrong, you looked so professional, pointed eyeliner and a flick of lipstick, more makeup than you’d worn in a long time, but it was a mask, a shield to hide behind as you put up your defences against the pain you were experiencing, armour to wear to hold the pain at bay for long enough, but now it felt heavy. You grabbed for a makeup wipe, two coming loose and then a third, before you were scrubbing at your face. Flawless skin and artful designs were scrubbed away, your flesh blotchy underneath and flushed from the day’s events already, and it was only growing sorer as you scrubbed your skin clean.

The tears kept running, silent and slow as they flowed, and you struggled to even find the strength to push yourself back to standing up. The cold air in your apartment made you shiver, the simple but comfortable underwear was already feeling uncomfortable on your skin, everything did, now. Your fingers were shaking as they turned on the tap, trembling as you washed your face free of any remaining grime until you felt fresh, and you managed to get a handle on your tears.

They stopped somewhere between brushing your hair up out of your face and rubbing some moisturising cream onto the skin that was red and raw from salty tears. Tugging on your sweats and rolling them at the ankle away from your feet. Unclipping the bra from behind your back, it felt like the final restricting garment that was binding you to the pain of the day. It was left dropped to the floor, alongside torn stockings, kicked into the corner. You were fishing out a long-sleeved shirt from your dresser, the comfortable maroon coloured one with the hole in one sleeve for your thumb to slip through, when there was a knock at the door.

Nothing too startling, it wasn’t too quiet with the traffic outside, neither was it dark as light poured in from the sun outside, but you were one edge, and so the sudden intrusion on your quiet was shocking. Tugging the fabric over your head as you walked, and adjusting it across your front, you stuck your thumb through the hole and wiggled your fingers a little to grow comfortable, before you were opening the front door.

You were a little surprised to see who was on the other side. You had expected a neighbour, possibly the grumpy woman that lived a floor below, but you hadn't expected the towering frame of a familiar firefighter. He’d changed too, smart navy uniform swapped out for some jeans and an oversized jumper that would make him look smaller than he was if it wasn’t for broad shoulders and tall stature you knew lived underneath. Soft brown hair was freed from a white cap, and his face held equally as much sorrow as yours did.

“Thomas.. what are you doing here? How did you even know..?”

“I remembered. From the night we went to the vets. You pointed out which window was yours, I counted the floors, and tried to work it out. The resident two doors down told me where to find you.” Pink tinged his cheeks at the confession, and you laughed lightly, his hands rubbing together as he moved to stand up fully from where he’d been leaning a shoulder against the doorframe. “I thought you might need a friend right now.”

“You didn’t want to go to the little get together his family arranged?”

“Absolutely not.” He grimaced, shoulders sagging a little more. “I loved Chuck, I did, but I don’t think he’d be mad at me for not being able to handle another few hours of his crying relatives looking at me like I was the one who failed them, because I was supposed to be his lieutenant.”

“You’re not allowed to blame yourself if I’m not.” You whispered, his eyes sparkling a little in amusement as he let out a soft huff of a laugh, before his gaze was dropping down again.

“Look, I know my presence is unannounced, and that I am crossing all kinds of boundaries right now, but you were the first person I thought of when I got home and started feeling alone, and so I got changed and drove here without really thinking about it. I know it’s wrong, and you probably need time for yourself, and so I can go if you want me to, b-”

“Don’t go.”

He let out a relieved sound as you cut off his rambling, rubbing a hand over his forehead, and daring to look you in the eye. “Are you sure? I mean, my company right now, are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure about ninety-nine percent of the things going on in my life right now, but I’m pretty sure you’re one thing I’m absolutely certain of.” He smiled a little at your words, something soft and adoring flickering over his features, and he held his arms out a little wider for you.

“C’mere, sweetheart.”

You didn’t wait, letting yourself topple forwards into his grip as your hold on the door to keep you steady and upright in your weakened state moved to him, letting him support you as your arms wrapped around his neck, his around your waist to pull you flush up to his body for support, and you felt like you’d finally found your comfort as his warm breath washed over your cheek, before his face was burying in your neck, and a sweet kiss was being pressed to the skin there briefly.

His hands dipped a little lower, no doubt feeling you tremble against his hold, knees buckling as you relinquished the last of your self-control and stability to him, to hook under your ass, and lift you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist, feeling him hold you a little tighter as he stepped blindly into your apartment, kicking the door shut and leaning back against it as he held you, and the presence of wet tears and muffled sniffles against your shoulder wasn’t missed.

You raised a hand, brushing through his hair gently, and taking the time to comfort him this time. You pressed a kiss to his temple, and again, before squeezing yourself around him a little tighter and letting him reciprocate the actions in silent acknowledgement of your comfort, as he let himself break down now he was behind closed doors, much like you had.

Your feet slipped back to the floor a few minutes later, when his heart had slowed and breathing calmed, and the moment of insure weakness had passed, leaving you to lean against him, staring up at red-rimmed eyes as his hands rubbed circles onto your hips, silence being all that was needed.

“Thanks for letting me in.”

“Thanks for coming over.” Your words were barely even audible, shared into the space between you both, and he nodded his head, licking over dry lips, and clearing his throat slightly.

“It was really no trouble. Like, at all.” You smiled, forehead bumping against his chin as you leaned forward, before your cheek was pressing to his shoulder, and his arms were circling more fully around you for the hushed conversation. “I was hoping you’d let me take you to lunch, or something? We could hang out, try not to think about it all for a few hours.”

“God, it is lunchtime, isn’t it?” You rubbed at your eyes, gaze flickering to the clock on the wall overhead the open-plan kitchen counter. “I haven’t even had breakfast, yet, I felt too nauseous this morning to even consider eating something.”

“You’ve not eaten yet?” He pulled back a little further, his hands coming up to sit over your jaw, allowing his thumbs to sweep gently over your cheeks as he directed your eyes back to meet his own, and you shrugged, a smile on your lips.

“Oh, c’mon, Tommy. It’s not exactly anything new for us to miss meals in our line of work. I swear, that siren waits until I make something to eat to ring.” He chuckled, nodding his head, before pulling you forwards to press a kiss to your forehead, your hands bunching up in the fabric of his jumper around his waist, holding onto him tightly and hoping it conveyed what you couldn't say with words, a silent offering in gratitude for simply having his presence. “My body would probably be more shocked at a regular eating and sleeping schedule than it would one missed meal and a day without needing to nap to get through it.”

“Well, I guess we’d better start with breakfast, then.”

“You haven’t had breakfast?” You questioned, hopping up onto one of the bar stools beside the kitchen counter, and you watched with some form of amusement as Thomas moved across the room to open your fridge, clearly making himself comfortably at home in your home as he rooted through the contents.

“No, I’ve had breakfast.” He hummed, beginning to pull things out and stack them on the counter. “Well, kinda’. I picked up coffee on the way to the.. on the way, and I got a couple of muffins to go, too.”

“Muffins do not count. I bet they were chocolate chip ones, too.”

“Only one of them was chocolate chip!” He defended himself, the fridge rattling a little as the door closed and he turned to stare at you from the other side of the counter, eyes narrowing a little, before a teasing smirk was appearing on his face once again. “They only had one chocolate one left, the other was blueberry, which is fruit, so it’s basically like eating an apple.”

“You’re so full of shit, I can’t even begin to tell you how wrong that is, and how unhealthy that is, for a lieutenant of a fire station, no less.”

“Yeah, well, I have to live life a little unhealthily. If I didn’t how would I get cute paramedics to fuss over me?” He winked, the moment slipping away from you both for just a second as you gaped at him, feeling a warm blush race over your skin to find a home on your cheeks, and he chuckled to himself cheekily at his ability to make you so flustered, your eyes rolling but it was out of fondness as your head dipped. “So, pancakes? I’m really good at making pancakes.”

“You sure? Something about you just screams ‘I-cannot-cook-for-shit’.”

“I take that as a raging insult. I’m an excellent chef. An excellent and usually healthy chef, actually. I mean, I’m a lieutenant at a fire station, I’ve gotta’ stay in shape.” You scoffed, your words used against you again, and your eyes trailed along broad shoulders and arms for a second, taking in the muscles you knew to exist there that were hidden under a baggy jumper. “Are you checking me out right now?”

“No.”

“You totally are, you’re checking me out.” He gasped the words, reaching up to grab at his pecs like a woman would grab her tits, and you grinned at his actions, lips pursed together to try and contain it as your heels ached, and his jaw dropped, as though he was utterly modified and disgusted at the idea. “I feel so violated right now. Take your eyes off of me, this is disrespectful, my eyes are up here, you know.” He pointed up to his face, and you raised a brow, hopping down from your seat to around the counter, his gaze following you as you moved past him.

Pressing the button on the small countertop coffee machine and placing a mug underneath, you turned back to him, hands wrapping around his wrist to bring them down, your eyes dragging purposefully slowly over his chest, up to his face, and he there was a more serious look on his face as you did this time. Leaning up a little, his breathing hitched, eyes fluttering to sit hooded as he leaned in enough to bump his nose against your own, and you let out a breathy laugh. “It ain’t nothing I haven’t already seen, big boy.”

You pulled back, laughing at the shocked look on his face as he blinked to clear his mind, and you turned away to face the coffee machine, the man behind you stuttering a little bit. “You little tease.”

“Not a tease, maybe I’m just playing hard to get.”

You replaced the mug, making him a freshly brewed coffee too as soon as yours was finished, and Thomas was rooting through your cupboards to find the equipment he wanted. “I don’t know whether to be insulted or excited. Insulted, because, after all we’ve been through, I figured I’d at least have a place in the runnings, but excited, because you just admitted that I at least have a shot.”

“I thought you already knew you did.” You blew the steam from your coffee mug gently, and he found the mixing jugs he was looking for, his eyes twinkling a little as he glanced at you, turning back to the pile of ingredients he had made.

“Yeah, maybe, but it’s nice to hear you say it.”

“Hm.” You took a sip, settling yourself back in your seat, and watched as he began to crack eggs, clearly working on mental estimates rather than an actual recipe as he created a batter. “Well, for the record, you have a really great shot. Good ranking in the runnings, or whatever. Go for the gold.”

“Are you my top prize?”

“I could be.” You tried to convince yourself the blush on your cheeks was simply a bodily reaction to the heat steaming from the mug.

“Then I’m in it to win.”

“I hope so.” You whispered, the coffee machine beeping again as another cycle came to an end, and you nodded towards it, letting the moment be carried away, left on a high note, and not allowing yourself to overthink it or start to become doubtful of your decisions. “That coffee is for you, I made you a cappuccino.”

“I love cappuccinos.”

“I know, you like the foam on top so you can lick it off your upper lip.” He paused, glancing up at you, something you were unfamiliar with flickering across his features, before he was nodding his head.

He didn’t say anything, and for a second, you worried you had messed up somehow, that you’d done something wrong or freaked him out, or made an error, but you were certain you were right, you remembered Thomas telling you about his love for the frothy drink a few months ago when the station coffee machine had broke and you’d all had to make coffee from a kettle, and you’d seen him lick the froth from his upper lip with a grin every time he had one of the drink, when he thought nobody was looking, and he could be a child again for just a few seconds.

Then, though, you caught sight of the smile he was trying to hide, the way his face was lit up a little as he stared into the recipe, beating the eggs with a fork, a variety of other utensils laid out before him. He turned, placing a pan over the hob and starting it up on it’s lowest flame, before dropping a large wedge of butter into the pan to start melting, the lump sliding across the metal surface slowly as it began to heat up.

“So, these pancakes might be a little off. I normally use protein powder instead of flour, so, go easy on me.”

He added a large scoop of flour to the mix, milk being splashed in by eye-measurement only and some butter added, the pan popping a little behind him as it heated up, and you raised a single and slightly judgey brow at the unusual mix of quantities he was adding before mixing it. It seemed to work out for him, because somewhere along the line, it had formed a decent batter, and he was scooping out enough to slowly drop into the pan.

It sizzled at it cooked, his back to you as he worked at the hob, and you twisted a little more in your seat, facing forwards to the counter and resting your elbows on it, to be able to balance your chin on the top of your hands. Scanning your eyes over Thomas slowly, your cheeks flushed with heat a little as you realised you were very definitely checking him out, but you couldn’t help it.

His broad shoulders couldn't be hidden, no matter how big his jumper was, filling his frame widely. The muscles of his back became evident occasionally as he moved, the soft cotton of his jumper pressing to them but never becoming stained, and he’d rolled his sleeves up to cook as butter and oil in the pan popped, the veins along his forearms becoming a little more prominent each time he flipped a pancake over, or served it up onto a plate.

He was humming a song to himself, hips swaying a little as he occasionally mumbled a word or two, barley even audible to you as you listened in and you didn’t recognise the song but it sounded like something that would have been made in the 70s, your lips sneaking up into a soft smile. It was unusually domestic, it had been years since you’d ever had anyone to cook for in your own home, and you couldn't remember ever having anyone cook for you.

Well, bar when you’d been living at home, and a child, but that didn't count.

You weren’t blind to how attractive Thomas was; he was attractive in a beautiful kind of way. Soft chocolate-coloured locks and golden eyes that seemed to change shade with his mood, skin imperfect with constellations of pretty moles that only made him seem more like a piece of art. Of course, being the lieutenant of a firehouse team had its perks, he was often fitting in workouts at the firehouse on slow days between calls and you’d seen the stretch of his shirt across biceps and lean pectorals, and you’d been caught staring when he had comforted you after Chuck’s death. You’d been close enough to him so many times now that you were no stranger to the hard muscle under his clothes and soft but warm skin to cover it, or the long fingers on calloused palms that often found their way to you.

You’d just never really allowed yourself to be affected by any of it before now, putting up walls meant shutting out anything that might cause you to connect to someone, including physical attraction. Now, though, you’d been forced to take those walls down. You were happy about it, even if you weren’t happy today, but it meant noticing the more intimate things. It meant you noticed the scar on the side of his nose, almost indistinguishable until you’d been allowed close enough to see it, or the way the moles on his face continued all the way down along his flesh, but were more heavily grouped on his left side.

He turned, a plate for both of you in hand as the heat had been turned off, pan sitting there to cool, and he wandered over, pushing the condiments he’d assembled from your cupboards into the middle of the table, and you chuckled at the small collection of fruits he’d chopped on a separate plate; strawberries and apples, all you had, but he’d slipped something healthy in there.

“You want me to get the cutlery?”

“I found it. Third drawer across from the fridge.” He smiled, turning, and grabbing a matching set of knives and forks for each of you, before settling himself on the opposite side of the kitchen island, and you were already reaching for the syrup as he placed a piece of apple into his mouth, a satisfyingly loud crunch sounding out as he chewed it. Grabbing the knife and fork from the counter, your hands hovered over the plates, holding in mid-air before your first cut, and you could feel Thomas’ eyes on you. “Is it okay? I can make something else.”

“It’s perfect. Nobody has ever really cooked for me before.”

“You and Fry cook at the house all the time! He’s always making you meals.” He looked confused, brows pulling together and he sliced off a piece of pancake, stabbing it through a strawberry and sweeping it through some syrup, before chewing happily, and waiting for you to explain.

“No, that’s different. I mean, nobody has ever cooked for me before. Just made me food, in my own kitchen, for the sake of it. When I cook with Fry at the firehouse, that's cool, but we’re making lunch for everyone and he’s testing recipes. This is different. You didn’t have to come over and see me, or cook for me, or comfort me, but here you are.”

“Here I am.” He whispered, a sweet expression on his face as he chewed, eyes flicking between you and his food, and you finally chopped off your first piece, bringing it to your mouth.

You didn’t need to thank him, he already knew, just from your words, how much it meant and the message you’d been trying to convey had been shared. Every experience you made with Thomas was like something entirely new, you weren’t sure why or how it had happened, he was never someone you thought you’d end up in such a situation with, and if someone had told you six months ago that he was the person you’d be turning to in your grief, you’d have laughed.

It was good food, the two of you sitting quietly for a few moments, a grin on his face as you approved of his cooking, warmth spreading over his cheeks at the compliment, and it was well-deserved. You wondered why he didn’t cook at the house more often. The fruit between you was dwindling, though he had eaten the majority of it, and you were at least a third of the way through your food before he spoke again, this time, his eyes fixed on his plate, voice barely above a whisper, but it seemed to fit the delicate mood. “You looked beautiful today.”

You paused, swallowing your mouthful thickly, and Thomas’s fingers were tapping at the counter as the other one navigated his fork around his plate, watching it intensely as though it was the most intense action in the world, but he seems to sense your gaze, his lips pursed as he looked up, one shoulder rising and falling in a shrug.

“I think you always look beautiful, even right now when you want to cry, but you looked really beautiful today. Sad, heartbroken, but beautiful, too. In an epic Ancient Greek tragedy kind of way.”

“So did you.” You murmured, heat washing over your face and burning at you as his brows raised a little, and you let out a frustrated exhale through your nose. “Handsome, I mean. You looked really smart. And good. In your formal suit.” The word vomit was starting again, the beginnings of a smirk forming on his lips as he stared at you, but the hole was already being dug and you were just falling deeper, unable to stop it. “Not that your normal fireman stuff doesn’t look good, you look really good in that, too. Fuck, are you going to shut me up any time soon or are you just going to let me continue embarrassing myself?”

He grinned, toothy and wide, a sight that made your guts twist a little, and your stomach feel like you’d lost gravity for a second, his eyes sparkling as he looked at you. “I think it’s cute when you ramble.”

You were even more flustered now, cursing a little under your breath, and staring back down at your half-eaten meal, poking the top pancake angrily with your fork like it was to blame for your embarrassment.

“I also think it’s pretty cute when you get embarrassed about rambling, and you blush, and you get all flustered because of me. I like knowing I can make you flustered.”

“Shut up.” You scowled, and he chuckled, but gave in, quieting his laughter with another mouthful of his food, and silence took over again.

It was a few more minutes before the heat bled away, and you were able to look back up to meet his eye, finding the amusement in the situation now that it had passed, but the dark cloud of the day was still hanging over you both.

You poked at your food, stirring it around the plate for a while, and eventually, you had finished your meal, moving on to snacking on what was left of the fruit in the middle of the table. You appreciated the gesture, because you were certain that had you been left to your own devices you wouldn’t have eaten, you probably would have spent the whole day moving around in some kind of daze, wallowing in your pity before eventually dropping into bed. Tomorrow would have been a mess, and yet, it was looking a little more promising now.

“So, do you want to talk about how you’re doing?”

You paused mid-chew, looking up to face him as you felt more like you were choking down the bite of apple, rather than swallowing it, and you sighed, your bottom lip finding itself being worried between your teeth as you thought about it, before eventually shrugging. “There’s not much to say.”

You stood, moving around him, breaking away from the bubble you had created together in order to start loading up the dishwasher, any kind of menial task to avert yourself from the conversation, but he clearly wasn’t letting it go that easily. He stood, his empty plate following, slipping it onto the rack beside your things, and reaching for the pan next. “I know you’re not okay, but you’re not alone, because I’m not really okay either.”

“Tommy, it’s different.”

“No, it’s not. Don’t shut me out.” You closed the machine, loading it up with a capsule and pressing a series of buttons, the machine humming to life, and you turned around, leaning against it, arms crossed as you stared at the floor. It was more like a glare, as though the tiles of the kitchen had personally offended you, but it softened considerably when a finger hooked under your chin, dirty sneakers filling your vision as he stepped in front of you, forcing you to look up at him. “Stop blaming yourself, sweetheart. You can’t, because it’s not your fault. It was a whole load of unfortunate incidents that all came together, and you couldn't have known any of them. You did your best, you did everything you could, and sometimes even when you try your hardest, bad things still happen, but that's not your fault.”

You sniffed lightly, a soft sob leaving you before tears were beginning to slip free, and he wiped them away gently with his thumbs, both hands now cupping your cheeks, and you allowed yourself to once again be weak with him. Your hands were shaking, finding his forearms, smoothing along until you reached his wrists, the back of his hands, pulling his touch away from your face until you could wrap his arms around yourself and press your face into his chest.

He didn’t resist, instead, he lifted a hand to cup the back of your head, his cheek coming down to press softly to your crown as the other slipped around your waist to hold you close, and your cries were muffled as you clung to him. As you did, as you sought comfort from him and let your pain out, you couldn’t help but settle, decide that you were far too comfortable in his arms and with this team, too comfortable at this house to ever let it go. You’d always wanted a family, the bond that came with finding a group of people you could bare your very soul to, to find someone who would see you in your worst state as well as your best and still stick by your side, and you’d found it all.

Holding him a little tighter, you found the tears were slowing, misery was still weighing heavy on your heart, but it was a little easier to carry when you let them help you.

“Can you stay?”

“Stay?” He echoed, letting you pull back to wipe at damp cheeks, before you were nodding, and giving him the best smile that you could muster in that moment.

“Like, here, with me. If you don’t have anything else to do today.”

“Only thing I have to do today is you.” He smiled, and you knew there wasn’t supposed to be an innuendo in the words, but he seemed to realise the same moment you did, a laugh breaking free from your lips as his face flushed with a pink blush, sitting up on his cheekbones and spreading right to his ears, a shocked look forming. “That didn’t come out the way I wanted it to.”

“I gathered that.”

“What I meant to say, is that I don’t have any plans except being with you, for as long as you want me to be here.” You smiled, letting the moment go rather than teasing further, because the colour on his cheeks was already too much.

“Wanna’ watch a movie? I’m pretty sure we could get all the way through one without any distractions, there’s no alarm going off today. Hopefully.”

“Knowing our luck, your building's fire alarm will go off.” He teased, his arm lifting up to tuck you into his side and settle back over your shoulders, guiding you through the space to the couch and living room only a few metres away.

“Well, if it does, I know that I’m the safest I could possibly be since I’m here with you.” You tapped the tips of his nose as you settled down, Thomas slumping into the cushions and spreading out a little as you sat beside him, legs crossed under yourself as you reached for the remotes, trying to reset your emotions as you scrolled through the comedy section, deciding that it was definitely the time for something light-hearted and fun. “What are you in the mood for?”

“Whatever you want is fine by me.” His hand found a place on your thigh, just above your knee, casual and relaxed, and you paused for a second. Glancing down at it, you realised your pause hadn't been from insecurity or anything unsure, but simply from the overwhelming shock of being so comfortable in the action. You didn’t feel put on edge, or tense, it just felt right, and you rested your hand over the top of his, his fingers spreading out to lace loosely with your own, and turning over to hold onto you properly. Pulling the appendage a little closer, your joint hands sat connected in your lap as you scrolled the movies.

You settled on something easy, something with a lot of laughs and giggles, and enough to boost your mood without even having to think about it. You shifted, spending a while sitting up, playing with the fingers of a hand that didn’t belong to you, before he’d seemingly had enough of that. Thomas lifted that arm about thirty minutes in, forcing you to settle back into the couch but wrapping that arm around your shoulders and pulling you backwards, tucking you into his side.

His fingers played with your hair, and you let a hand splay out over his stomach, and he felt like he was a permanent part of your life. It wasn’t a comparison to a piece of furniture, he wasn’t an essential but taken-for-granted piece of house-ware like a frying pan or a kettle, but instead, he was a comfortable addition that you didn’t feel like letting go of.

He was like a throw pillow or a blanket that went on the end of your bed, something for comfort and accessorising, something you could live without but would fight to have taken away if someone tried. He’d wormed his way in, you weren’t sure when or how, but he’d gone from hating you, to tolerating you, to accepting you, to caring for you, to something else. His nose brushed along your hairline every so often, soft smiles and muffled laughter as he kept his voice low, like the comments he made would shatter the mood if spoken above the whisper.

You never moved away from him. He never made you.

Rather, he held you close, and if there were a few times when the emotions all became a little too much, when the tears came again, when the crushing guilt you were working on dismantling threatening itself again, you would let the edge of his jumper soak up the tears and he wouldn't say anything, simple holding you close, and tracing patterns onto your skin as his fingers ran up and down your arm or held onto your shoulder, and if he got a little emotional partway through, or if at the only point in the movie when his arm unwrapped itself from around you, it was to wipe at his cheeks, or cover his face as he tried to protect what he had left of his emotional stability, you only squeezed him a little tighter.

You watched a second movie, one that you assumed was supposed to be a sequel to the first one you had watched, but you hadn't been able to follow the plot that much. Your mind was spinning, your thoughts like a tornado, ricocheting from every side of your brain.

You wondered how Newt was doing, whether he was still with Chuck’s family, whether he was sick of having his cheeks pinched and shoulders squeezed in a tight hug by older family members and swooning relatives. He had a way with words, he had a way with charming people; charismatic and cheeky. He was able to find a joke or a story for any situation, and something about him put you at ease just to be around. He was like medicine for the soul, patching you up from the inside out and making flowers bloom in spaces that had been cold and frozen. Maybe he’d had enough, maybe he’d gone home, or perhaps he’d called Derek for support. You hoped it was the latter, you had high hopes for the two of them.

Your mind also brushed over Brenda and Minho. You had no doubt that the two of them were together, that they were comforting each other. You would see her soon, you made a note of it. Calling people up and asking them to hang out wasn’t something you were used to, but you’d make the effort for her. You’d take her for coffee, or lunch, or simply show up with a bottle of wine and her favourite snacks, and take a girl’s night that you were in desperate need of.

You were picking at a loose thread that was dangling from the inside of his hoodie, a different colour to the pal jumper, it was more of a khaki green shade, and you suspected it wasn’t a thread from his jumper but from the t-shirt he wore underneath, and you jumped a little as you realised that there was a voice in your ear, closer and sharper than the television, which seemed or have been turned down and had become muffled, and you startled slightly, a chuckle following it as you moved to sit up.

Your eyes had been drooping a little, you’d been close to nodding off, not having even realised it as you absentmindedly toyed with a loose thread and let your thoughts take over.

“You haven’t heard a single thing I’ve said, have you?”

“Not even one.” You mumbled, glancing around, before rubbing a hand over your eyes, and noting the late-afternoon sun that was beginning to lower towards the horizon, fading light as the hours ticked on, and you sighed, shaking yourself down a little and his arm slipped free from around you to let you stand as you wobbled a little on legs that hadn't been used in a while. “I was thinking. I got wrapped up in my thoughts.”

“That’s okay, I wasn’t saying anything important, I was talking about the movie.”

“I’ll be right back, just, hit rewind. And pause. I’ll focus, I swear.” He nodded, legs popped up on your coffee table and you weren’t aware of just when he’d made himself at home, an air of domesticity that he seemed comfortable in. The image was burned into your mind as you wandered away, closing the bathroom door and taking a deep breath. The cushions were spread out around him, he was nestled among them, head lolled back against the edge of the couch, feet popped up on the table, shoes kicked off by the couch somewhere and an obviously wrinkled patch on his jumper where you’d been leaning.

You didn’t want to let it go.

You flushed, the sound drowning out the occasional shuffling noises Thomas made as he adjusted himself, the squeaky springs in your couch, and then the sound of the tap to follow, lavender overwhelming your senses as your hand wash flooded the room with the pleasant scent.

You caught sight of yourself in the mirror, red-rimmed eyes and cheeks a little raw from salt, and you switched hot water to cold, cupping your hands under the faucet and bringing your hands up to your face as you leaned over, trying to ease sensitive skin and wash your eyes, wash away where eyelashes were still clumped together, washing away the residual pain. Like a cold shock, waking you up from the hazy slumber you were threatening to fall into once again, and the emotional turmoil of the day had been just too exhausting.

You snapped the scrunchie from your hair to sit around your wrist instead, the dull ache on your scalp eased as you ran your fingers over it, your hair sitting in odd shapes that only a hairbrush would be able to truly tame, and Thomas was looking at you already. “I want to take a nap.”

“I can head out.” He rubbed his hands along his jeans, reaching from the remotes as he lifted his feet down from the coffee table to the floor and switching the television off. You padded your way across the polished wood towards him, taking his hands in your own, and his brows furrowed a little. “What?”

“I want us to take a nap.”

A myriad of emotions moved across his features. He started with confusion, before he was moving to something between bashful and shy, a sweet smile following that and his expression smoothed over until he was simply staring at you, nodding his head slowly and twisting his hands more to lace the fingers of one hand together, and letting you guide him through the halls.

He followed after you, feet scuffing on the floors, and sliding in his socks, and he paused outside of the bedroom door as your fingers found the handle, pulling you to a slight stop, and there was a nervous look on his face.

“Are you sure?” You weren’t sure what he meant, and he seemed to sense it from the shifting in your expression, because his eyes left yours, flicking up to the closed bedroom door long enough to signal what he meant. “I just, well, I mean.. your bedroom. It’s a private space, y’know, and I know there’s this thing between us, but I just want to be sure you really want it.”

You only pushed the door open, stepping into it backwards and taking him with you, and his lips inched up at the edges into a fuller smile, gaze leaving yours to take in the room. It was still a little messy, you hadn't bothered to properly tidy up from before when he’d arrived and the blankets on your bed were still pulled haphazardly tidily from when you had crawled out of bed this morning with barely enough energy to face the day. He took it all in, observing the space that was so intimate to you, taking in every detail, and he watched as you pulled the curtains shut, blocking out some of the light to cast a darker atmosphere over the room.

His fingers were running over the books on your shelf, and you settled down onto the bed, edging your way up it and tucking yourself down underneath cold blankets, shuddering a little and peeling them back to make a space for him when he was finished observing. He took the hint, turning to see you, and stepping a little closer to the bed.

He rested a knee on the edge of the mattress, a hand reaching behind his head to peel his jumper up and over his head, and you didn't even bother to hide the lingering of your eyes on the skin that was revealed, before you were watching him shake his hair free and throwing his jumper away to rest on your dresser chair.

He crawled his way up towards you, pressed a prolonged kiss to your forehead, before flopping down onto the mattress beside you. You lifted the blankets up, tucking them around him as he made himself comfortable, one hand resting under his pillow beneath his head, and facing you as his legs crooked, and he adjusted the blankets more securely around himself. His eyes found yours once he was settled, something that was both awkward and comfortable at the same time, and he sighed as the feeling washed over you both.

You waited a moment longer, his other hand resting just above the edge of the covers that were sitting around your middle, before you gave in to the temptation swelling within you, and you reached out. Smoothing your hand over the top of his own tentatively, he smiles, turning his hand to weave your fingers together once again, like magnets, your hand now only having a home as long as it was wrapped with his own.

“Was Chuck your first loss?” His words barely reached your ears; they were spoken so quietly, and you were certain that in the entirety of the day, you’d yet to actually use your voice at the volume it usually was, in fear of damaging an already fragile aura.

“No.” You mumbled, swallowing thickly, your eyes sliding shut to hold back fresh tears that may threaten to rise, his hand squeezing yours a little tighter in support. “He was the first friend I lost, though.”

It went silent for a moment after that, enough time for you to get a handle on your emotions, before you were opening your eyes back up to meet swirling honey-brown that were watching you through a somewhat sleepy gaze. “The first loss of someone I really cared about was hard. His name was Ben.”

His voice cracked a little as he spoke, and you dared to shuffle an inch closer across your pillow towards his, the bedding barely even making a sound as you moved minutely. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

“I want to. I want you to know about me.” He let out a shaky breath, and you realised that this was perhaps the first time he’d spoken about it since it had ever happened, and so it was just as therapeutic for him as talking about Chuck was for you, even if you didn’t want to. “It hit hard, I liked him, he seemed like a cool guy. He was a lieutenant candidate with me, we were training together. It was competitive but all in fun and games, nothing serious. He was better than I was, he’d been preparing longer, he was definitely going to get the promotion when our house lieutenant retired. He’d been there years, I’d only been there for three months, but it felt like three days.”

You chuckled a little at his words, his expression brightening a little at the sound, seeming to perk up just slightly, and he tugged you a little closer, your cheek pressing to the end of your pillow as his own head remained firmly planted in the centre of the opposite one.

“We got trapped, burning building, it was all coming down. Nothing new. I was trained for the situation, and I tried so hard to get to him, but I couldn’t, he took a piece of debris straight into his abdomen, he was dead before I’d even made it across the room.” He choked down a lump in his throat, and your heart cracked a little in your chest at the broken look that flicked across his features. “I blamed myself for so long. I kept going over the moment, so sure there was something I could have done, that I could have run faster, asking myself if I hesitated just because of the job I wanted that he would have gotten.”

“Tommy..”

“I did all I could. I did my best. I know that now, and I don’t feel guilty, but sometimes it just hurts to think about it.”

“Thank you for telling me.” You could see that it was hard for him, and that he was reopening old wounds just to make you feel better, and it was a silent promise, something more permanent and solid, a confirmation that he was here for you, and that he wouldn't let you fall. That he was inside of those walls now and that he didn’t plan on leaving any time soon, his thumb playing gently with your own as you fell quiet once again.

“Newt’s first loss was a guy called Alby.” He eventually spoke, and you looked up to him again, brows raising slightly. “Before I even joined this firehouse. I remember Newt telling me about him, though. It took Newt a long time to get over it. He was new, basically a candidate, if they have that thing for paramedics. Do you? Have that kinda’ thing for paramedics?”

“We call ‘me greenies. Because on their first few cases, they usually look a little green, and throw up.”

“I like that. Greenies. That’s good.” He chuckled, and you shrugged one shoulder, letting him continue when he was ready. “He was the greenie, I guess, and Alby was the house chief. He took Newt under his wing, fresh outta’ the academy, early graduate at just twenty, and they became good friends. About a year in, they got in some trouble, Newt never really told me the full story, but Alby died on the stretcher to the hospital. Newt tried to pump his heart all the way there, he was sure that if he just kept pumping, his heart would start beating on its own again. It didn’t.”

You didn’t have anything to say to that, a pang of sadness for your best friend racing through your veins, and your eyes flicked over the edge of his pillow, contemplating getting a little closer, but he seemed to make that decision for you, shuffling himself up further toward you until his face was balanced on the edge of his pillow like yours, the soft pants he let out occasionally able to felt against the tip of your nose.

“Then, of course, there’s Brenda.” Your heart sank at the mention, and you knew she had to have lost someone along the line somewhere, but you hated the tone in his voice. “Arguably, the worst of them all. She really was the candidate, at a firehouse a few miles over, with her brother. He was a couple of years older, his name was George, he inspired her to become a firefighter. Apparently, they played firemen together ever since they were little, she followed in his footsteps.”

“I never even knew she has a brother.”

He lifted your hands up, instead of stretched out between your bodies, they were folded up near your faces between you both, resting on the mattress and holding tightly. “He was on Squad, she was on Truck - of course - and the Squad team got trapped on an upper floor. Everyone but her brother made it out. She finished her candidacy, passed her exams, and transferred to a new house, our house, she needed a fresh start.”

“Not that I don’t want to know, but, why are you telling me all of this?”

“Because I want you to know that you’re not to blame, and that everybody blamed themselves after a loss, but we all moved on, because we found each other and we let ourselves grieve without holding onto it.” He lifted your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, and you watched his lips move slowly along your hand, dragging along your skin.

“My first-ever loss on the job was a patient, in my first month. A stab wound victim, he died on the way to the hospital, while I was trying to hold the wound shut. I considered quitting, it hurt, not like this does, but it hurt because I felt like a failure.” Your smile only widened as his kisses moved as far as your wrist, his face inching ever closer to your own, able to taste the sweet syrup still on his breath from your shared late-breakfast hours ago.

“I’m glad you didn’t, because if you had then I wouldn’t get you now.”

His nose bumped against your own, his lashes tickling your cheek as lids lay closed and your own followed, darkness surrounding you as every other sense went into overdrive on him. The smell of his cologne, the feel of his nose brushing against yours and his breath tickling your lips, the tingle that shot along you at the barely present brush of his lips that you wondered if you were imagining it as so light when he adjusted himself on the cushion, but the connection you were waiting for never came.

Instead, you caught the sound of a soft sigh, and his hand squeezing a little tighter around yours, before he was letting go, and begging his hand up to sit over your waist under the covers, fingers spreading out until they reached your spine.

“Tommy?”

He hummed, nose nudging a little more roughly against yours as he’d begun to fall away. “Yeah, angel?”

“You’re not gonna’ kiss me?” Something breathy resembling a chuckle left him, and the hand from your waist ran up along your body, evading goosebumps in his wake until he was cupping your cheeks. When your eyes opened, it was to find he had already taken that step, watching you fondly, pulling away enough to rest on his pillow once again.

“No.” He eventually gave in, seeming to be lost in thoughts, and you felt your features rumple with confusion and disappointment. “Oh, sweetheart, I want to. I really, really want to. Have for a while, actually, but not now and not like this. You’re sad and I’m sad. Every moment we’ve had so far that brought up the chance to kiss you has been stressed, depressed and near-death.”

“But you are going to kiss me, at some point?”

A sleepy smirk, that had way more of an effect on you than it should be allowed to have, and he seemed to know it too, because it only got wider. “Oh, definitely. But when I kiss you, it’ll be amazing, and breathtaking. When I kiss you, you’re going to feel it. It’ll make you a little weak in the knees, but that’s okay, because I’ll hold you up. It’s going to be perfect, it’ll be a kiss you’re never gonna’ forget, so I don’t want our first kiss to be when we’re sad.”

You didn’t know what to say, a long beat passing, before your lips were pressing together, and you were unable to contain your grin. “Well, okay, then.”

You moved forwards, his laughter only increasing as your face pressed into his neck, rolling him onto his back as you let your full body weight fall against him, his arms wrapping tightly around your back. You pressed a kiss to his neck, any spot you could reach, and the deep and rumbling laughter he let out was replaced with something softer and cracking, lighter pitch as he bordered on giggling, squirming a little as you kissed just above the patch, sensing a weakness in him.

You moved up, before eventually, he was giggling without restraint, squirming at the tickling feeling over the featherlight kisses you pressed to his jaw.

“Alright, alright, cut it out, before I lose all of my masculinity.” He was pink along his cheeks when you propped yourself up over him to get a better look at his flushed face, sparkling eyes peering up at you with messy hair and a dopey smile to match, and that sight was definitely something you could get used to seeing.

This was all new to you, it was ever-changing and constantly evolving, it was unsteady and unsure and it made you feel nauseously anxious and yet ecstatically excited all in one, and you leaned down, the promises he’d made were you giving you the confidence to so so as your forehead pressed to his. “Nap?”

“Cuddle?”

“Yes.” He beamed, twisting his body like you weighed nothing until you were on your side against the mattress again. He pulled you over, adjusting you on your side to face away from him, before pulling you back into his body.

His arm wrapped around you, one spread out under the pillow to support your head, and you weaved your fingers with the other, bringing it up to your mouth to kiss the back of his hand like he’d done for you. He was resting behind you, legs tangled together as your bodies sat snugly to one another and he held you tight in a gripping hug, and you were able to drift off to the steady beat of his heart against your back and the feel of his body surrounding you.

“You know, it’s rude to text when you’re having dinner with someone.” you jibed, his gaze flicking up from his phone as his elbows rested over the empty plate on the counter, lamps making his skin look more golden and highlights in his hair seeming to stand out as the light outside had faded, the evening meal being the next thing the two of you shared; chicken nuggets from the bottom freezer drawer and homemade wedges as he refused to eat curly fries.

“It’s not my fault you’re taking ages to eat.” You scoffed, swiping another nugget through some of your tomato ketchup, and lifting it on your fork to take a bite. He picked up his discarded fork, stabbing it into one of your nuggets, stealing a smear of ketchup that left a mess on the plate, and putting the whole thing into his mouth at once, winking as you protested weakly. “Besides, I’m talking to the group.”

“How are they all doing?”

“They’re good. As good as they can be. They want to meet up for drinks in a little bit, they’re headed down to the bar we like.” You finished your food, placing your knife and fork down to match his, and chewing the rest of your mouthful, considering it all, and his attention was back on his screen as he typed away.

“Can I come?”

He paused, looking at you over the device, before turning it off and putting it down on the counter, the buzzing and lighting up going ignored as he stared for a second. “Seriously? I just, I mean, you’re up for it?”

He stumbled over his words a little, he didn’t mean to come off as rude and you knew it, and so you let it slide, shrugging and smiling a little as you hopped down from your seat to put the plates in the sink to be washed later. “You said that everyone else got past their sadness by being together. I’ve never had anyone before, but I would like to be with you all now.” His seat scraped along the floor, and a second later, arms were wrapping around your waist from behind in a tight squeeze, shocking you a little as he did, and you straightened up, twisting in his hold to face him. “Is that really so shocking?”

“A little bit. We’re kinda’ used to being shut out. They’re all going to be surprised.” He tapped the end of your nose. “A good surprise, though.”

“Well, I can go change into something that isn’t sweatpants, and we can go.”

His eyes dropped down, taking in your outfit as he let you go, seeming like he’d only just noticed your attire, and you wandered away, leaving him to whatever he was going to do, confirming his arrival to the rest and getting his shoes on, while you tried to find some suitable clothes.

Once you had pulled on a pair of jeans and a more comfortable and bar appropriate top to replace your pyjamas, you folded them, resting them on pillows that had only just gone cold, before straightening the sheets out, erasing all evidence of the nap you’d taken as your bed was reset. A pair of shoes came next, hopping about a little bit to get them on, before running a brush through your hair and checking you looked presentable enough to go out. There was no doubt that Brenda would look like a supermodel, she always did, grieving a friend or attending movie night, she could put everyone else to shame, but it was just another thing you loved about her.

As soon as you stepped out of the room, there was a whistle meeting your ears. Thomas had found his jumper again and pulled it back on, his shoes too, phone tucked into his pocket as he beamed at you, and you rolled your eyes, walking straight past him to the coat rack to find your belongings as you got ready to go.

“Oh, shut it.”

“Why? You gonna’ get all cute and flustered, blush for me a little bit? Sweet and shy?” He was teasing now, and you scowled, pulling on your coat and hiding your face from him as you grabbed your keys, batting yourself down for everything you’d need and finding it already in your pockets.

“I’m kicking you out.”

He laughed, wandering past you and into the halls of the building, letting you flick the lights off before locking up, and he offered his arm to you for you to link your own through, before guiding you down the corridors to the elevator.

A short car ride, Thomas holding the door of his car for you to let you in before opening it for you again when you arrived, commenting both times about something gentlemanly, before his hand was finding yours as the car lights flashed to signal it’s locking, and a fresh wave of anxiety was washing over you.

You wanted to see your friends and be with them, you truly did, but that didn’t make it any easier to take yourself into a crowded place when you were in such a vulnerable place. The opening of the door made muffled snap into sharp surroundings, the bar filled with people, crowds weaving among one another, and Thomas took the lead, shouldering through the people milling around the entrance politely. The cold air of the outside was overwhelmingly different from the stuffy inside, the smell of liquor and sweat overwhelming your senses, but it wasn’t a smell you were unfamiliar with. The music pumping through the floor was vibrating right up along your bones, pooling in your gut, and you squeezed Thomas’ hand a little tighter as the crowds cleared once you passed the high tables and the dance floor.

You could just about see your friends, gathered around the largest booth with extra chairs pulled up, bodies constantly weaving in and out of your sights, blocking them from your view. Lips brushed your ear, a jolt of electricity making you jump, before you turned to find Thomas, his head ducked to speak to you but eyes flittering over the scene.

“I’m going to go buy everyone another round. What d’you want to drink?”

“Uh..” Your words died out, a little overwhelmed at the sight before you, and he squeezed your hand reassuringly. “Just something cold and refreshing, maybe fruity. I don’t know.”

“I got you, don’t worry. Why don’t you head over to the table?” He gave you a final lingering stare as you nodded, before the two of you were parting, and you were left to try and make your way toward the table. Luckily for you, it was only a few metres upon leaving Thomas’ side that Brenda spotted you, her entire face lighting up and glass slamming down onto the table, before she was practically climbing over the men to get out of the booth, and all but pushing people out of the way to get to you.

A tight hug as she rocked you from side to side, clearly tipsy as she spoke faster than she normally would while mumbling into your ear about how happy she was to see you. The story Thomas had told you came back to mind, and you didn’t mention it, but you wrapped your arms around her just as tight and held her to you, a show of your love for her, belated sympathy for the tragedy, and comforting her as she needed it, weak inside even if she didn’t show it right now.

Newt followed, cheering a little, hair messy and cheeks flushed with warmth from the drinks he’d had and the temperature in the bar, and you were already beginning to grow overheated. He hugged you next, walking you backwards to the table as you giggled, and settling back into his seat as several other welcomes and greetings echoed in their place. You couldn't help it, the smile that broke free, the way you fitted in so perfectly, your anxiety melting away just from being with them.

“You’re here!”

“Is that okay?” You teased, Brenda shuffling back into her seat at the back of the booth, nodding avidly as she sipped at a glass of gin through a thin straw.

“Of course! We just didn’t expect you, you haven’t been answering your phone all day.” Your brows furrowed, hands digging into your pockets to find it. “I was worried about you.”

You located it, metal cold to the touch from where it had been abandoned for so long, and you realised that the last time you’d checked it had been before turning it off as you entered Chuck’s service, not having a chance to turn it back on before Thomas had arrived, and stole all of your attention solely and unwilling to share.

Turning it on at the side, the device flashed back to life, and you waited a few moments, before it reset itself, and all the notification you had missed began to flash through one by one. Multiple missed calls from various members of the team, the oldest of which begging Thomas, probably calling to let you know he was coming over, before alerts from only a  few minutes ago, the groupchat you all had with recent notifications, and you chuckled at the volume of them all.

“Sorry, my phone had been turned off all day. I wasn’t ignoring you, I swear.”

She shrugged it off, and you placed your phone down to be able to shuck yourself of your coat, the heat growing stifling with the extra layer on.

“How’d you know where to find us? How’d you know we were here?” Newt piped up, and you let your cat hang over your arms, turning to face him.

“I, um, Thomas. He told me you’d all be here.”

“But I thought your phone was turned off, so-” He cut himself off, brain seeming to catch up in his slightly inebriated state, and you were grateful that the heat in the room would hide your blush as your skin was already flushed. “Were you with Tommy today? All day?”

An undeniably cocky grin split his face open, matching expressions following gasps that echoed around the table, and you scoffed, placing your coat down on the heap that had been built. “Maybe. It’s not a big deal.”

“He told me he was going to check up on you. I figured he meant, like, call you or something. He came to see you?”

You shrugged, the questions suddenly being shot at you, among teases and winks that made you stare at the floor, bombarded with gentle humour from your team. Newt was through the roof, Brenda was yelling louder than all of them about her ‘ship’, some gazes being given over to her from strangers, and Minho was trying to shush her while laughing. Gally was simply grinning like the Cheshire Cat into his beer, and your head was spinning too much to even process anybody else’s questions or remarks.

“Alright, well, I’m not drunk enough to start this conversation with you all.”

“Well, where is lover boy, anyway?” You rolled your eyes at Newt, before tipping your head back towards the bar.

“He’s getting you all a fresh round of drinks.” Your retort resulted in a cheer from them all, hands banging on the table in excitement; empty bottles, glasses, and cans rattling as the surface shook. “I’m going to go and see if he needs any help.”

“You spent the whole day with him, can’t we keep you for a little while?” Newt pouted, and you stepped away, sticking your lower lip out to mock him a little, before flipping him off, and making sure to wave the gesture at the rest of them for good measure, chuckles taking up all around.

“No, because you’re teasing me, and I need at least two shots to handle that.” He raised a brow, a mumble of ‘touché’ spoken into his beer and he smirked, before you were turning and weaving to the bar.

He wasn’t hard to find, tall and messy hair unmissable once you were set on him, and as you got closer, you realised it wasn’t the bartender he was talking to. A woman, not too far from your own height, dark curly hair and tight jeans, a blue eyes that were piercing as she spoke to him, and it seemed to be a hushed conversation as she leaned on the bar against him, two trays of drinks stacking up beside Thomas, his wallet sitting out on the bar.

You considered turning back, letting him have his privacy with whoever he was speaking to, and you paused in your path, ready to turn before his eyes were moving from her face to you, lighting up a little as he smiled, and there was no way you could backtrack now. He’d seen you, you had to at least go over and explain yourself, his attention moving back to the woman.

Her words went silent as you approached, and you smiled politely, her gaze dragging over you, before she was offering a polite smile herself upon realising you were stopping by their sides, and not just passing by.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, I just realised you might need a hand with the drinks.” You pointed to the two trays building, an empty laugh leaving you all, but the atmosphere was still tense. “You want me to come back in a few minutes, instead?”

“Yeah-”

“No, now’s fine, we’re pretty much ready,” Thomas promised, the woman by his side frowning, and you grimaced at the tension continuing to rise, gaze moving between them for a second. Thomas turned, paying for the drinks with a swipe of his card, and nudging a try toward you, while picking up the other himself. “I appreciate the help.” He mumbled, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple as you tried to balance the drinks, and you smiled softly, eyes catching his, hoping the affection was returned without you having to lean up and actually return it, risking toppling all the drinks you were holding. “I gotta’ go. I’m sure we’ll catch up or something another time.”

You stepped away from the pair, at least trying to give them a second's privacy without lingering, slow steps away from them and back to the table. “My number is the same, still. Call me, alright?”

He didn't reply, not verbally at least, Thomas falling into step with you a second later, and you couldn't bite back the curiosity on the tip of your tongue as no introductions had been made. You didn't know many other people in town, and if you were going to stay, it was probably wide that you got to know your neighbourhood; “She seemed polite. Who was she?”

He glanced at you, a complicated look on his face, and you realised it must be deeper than you thought, a list of names and suspicions moving through your mind, before he sighed away his worries and shook his head lightly. “Nobody important.”

You placed the drinks down on the table, accepting his answer, and the group shuffled up to make room for you all, greeting their lieutenant and thanking him for the refills as they grabbed their drinks. A bottle of something fruity and fizzy was placed in front of you, and it seemed satisfying enough, you weren’t overly picky about it, and it tasted fine as you took a sip. Perching on the leather booth, an arm you had grown familiar with throughout the day returned to sitting over your shoulders, and you settled into him without hesitation.

Resting your head on his shoulder, you couldn’t help but smile, feeling at home as you sought comfort with your friends, moving on together, and letting your burdens be carried by friends and not just yourself for the first time in a long, long time.

[maliceinborderland]

From Here, to the Moon, and Back

Summary: A collection of moments in Niragi’s journey raising his daughter alone.

Word Count: 7,066

Warnings: brief mentions of character death(reader is deceased), mentions of depression, bit of swearing

Genre: Single Dad Niragi AU, oofc Niragi, slight angst, slice of life, fluff, some crack ig?

**oofc : out of character

A/N: this took me FOREVER to post. I wanted to make this MUCH longer and go more into detail as well as provide more dialogue but this new post restrictions are killing me. I might turn this into a mini series in which y’all give me prompts and I write more extensive scenarios depicting those situations/prompts. ALSO: the depiction of Niragi in this fic is akin to what I believe his behavior outside of the borderlands. **spoiler** he is nothing like his borderlands self in the real world, and he doesn’t even remember his action that took place there nor did they actually happen as they occurred in a different plane of existence **end of spoiler**

A soft, whimper snapped Niragi out of his slumber. He slowly sat up in bed, strands of his unruly hair falling over his eyes. The whimpering continued as he got up and walked to the crib by the window.

He stared at Tsuki as she wriggled about, her cheeks bright pink and small droplets forming at the brims of her wide eyes. She stared up at him, her lip quivering, not yet crying.

“What gives?” he said, quietly, more to himself than to her.

Niragi checked her diaper to see if she needed changing. Clean and dry.

He went to the changing station next to the dresser, fetching a clean bottle, formula, and a bottle of water. Already second nature, he prepared a bottle for her. He made his way back to the crib, nudging the bottle’s nipple against Tsuki’s mouth, to no avail.

“Come on, kid.” he mumbled. “We both need to sleep and you’re not exactly helping me out here.” He sighed and found her pacifier somewhere by her feet. Oddly enough, she suckled on it no problem.

What a weird kid, he thought, shaking his head. 

He let her lay there, hoping she’d end up falling asleep. He made his way back to his own bed, throwing himself face down onto the mattress, releasing a deep breath.

A few minutes later, having felt like seconds, Tsuki began to softly whimper again. 

Niragi groaned into his pillow. Just one night of peace and quiet. That’s all he wanted.

He debated on letting Tsuki cry it out as he had been. Deep down he knew it was wrong, but he just didn’t know how to go about this parenting business. 

Tsuki’s whimpers rose in volume, her whimpering becoming full fledged cries, and hopelessness began to overwhelm him.

Niragi crawled out of bed once again, and loomed over her crib, his breath heavy, teeth clenched. His fingers curled over the rails of the crib, his knuckles white. Tsuki’s cries continued, and Niragi felt himself starting to completely lose it. His breathing became shallow and heavy, and he felt lightheaded. 

He sunk to the floor, his back against the railing of the crib, tired out of his mind. His eyes ached and throbbed from lack of sleep, eyelids heavy, and his body felt like it was being weighed down from exhaustion.

He just wanted to rest. Just a little bit. 

He wanted to go numb. 

He wanted to feel nothing.

He wanted everything to stop.

Just a few moments of peace and quiet was all he wanted. He just wanted to sleep and forget the reality he was condemned to live in.

He didn’t know what he did to deserve this, what sins he committed that he was atoning for now.

Stop… just stop… be quiet…. he thought.

He pressed the palms of his hands against his ears, covering them.

Be quiet, he begged silently. Please just be quiet.

Tears began to threaten to fall from his own eyes.

If she was here, she’d know what to do, he thought. She should be here.

Tsuki’s cries became piercing and impossible to drown out.

Niragi stood up almost too quickly, stumbling slightly over his own feet, and leaned over the crib railing.

“What? What?! WHAT?!” He asked, a little too loudly. “You’re not messy. You’re not hungry. You won’t sleep. Just what the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Tsuki’s cries hushed, and the baby girl looked up at him eyes wide, her lip quivering.

Whether she stopped crying to listen to him or because she was afraid of him, Niragi couldn’t tell.

Tears began to spill down his face.

“I’m trying. I’m fucking trying.” He cried. “I don’t know what to do. Do you think I wanted this? No! I wasn’t even ready for kids! But your mom…” his voice broke, “your mom wanted you so bad. And I went along with what she wanted. Mommy always got what she wanted, and now look! She’s not even here! How fucked is that?!” Sobs began to bubble up from his throat. “How could she leave like that?” He rested his head against the railing, allowing himself to let it all out. He didn’t care how loudly the sobs ripped out of his throat, he just couldn’t hold back.

The whimpering began again, and he looked at the baby girl with his piercing eyes.

“What? What do you want?!” He yelled, and Tsuki became silent once more as she stared up at her father, their gazes connecting.

He looked over her. She’d grown quite a bit in the past few weeks. Her downy hair had thickened, and was nearly a full head of dark, raven colored hair. Her milky skin was tinged bright pink from her crying, especially near her eyes and cheeks. But his heartstrings tugged as he looked deep into her eyes. Your eyes. Sure, they resembled his eye shape more, but the gaze, color, lashes, and depth… that was all you. 

She stared up at him so intently and after what seemed like an eternity, Niragi felt like he understood.

“You just want someone to hold you, huh?” A stray tear fell from his right eye. Carefully, he did his best to lift Tsuki out of the crib, her whimpers shushing altogether. “That’s all you wanted, huh? It’s what you needed?” He felt a knot form in his throat again, and more tears began to fall. “Me, too.” He gingerly caressed her cheek, his scarred hands a huge contrast compared to her soft, unblemished skin.

How could he have been so careless?

He hadn’t been the only one hurting.

He wasn’t the only one who missed you.

Slowly, Niragi began to softly rock her back and forth in his arms as he paced around the room.

“You wanna know how Mommy and I met? Hm?” He asked her. “We met at a support group. There was an accident a few years ago in Shibuya, and your mommy and I got caught in the middle of it. That’s how I got all these scars, you know? Your mommy had some, too, but she was still the most beautiful person in the room. Always.” He smiled down at Tsuki, who had begun to coo quietly. “She asked me out first, too. I thought she wasn’t serious, but she was. My scars aren’t so bad right now, but they were back then. She still saw something in me, though. Something worth loving. We loved each other a lot.” Tsuki took hold of Niragi’s finger, squeezing it tightly. Niragi went on to tell her several stories of how he and you started off your relationship, your milestones as a couple, and even your wedding. “When your mom told me she was pregnant, I was scared shitless, but you know what? We loved each other. And it’s because we loved each other that you exist. You were made out of love, Tsuki.” Niragi stood by Tsuki’s crib, where moonlight from the window began to pour in.

He shifted the curtain open a bit more, the moon coming more into view. “You see the moon? That’s where mommy is, along with all the stars in the sky. And you wanna know what else? There’s a famous quote about it. ‘月が綺麗ですね(Tsuki ga kirei desu ne?).’ You know what it means? It means ‘the moon is beautiful, isn’t it?’ But you know something really cool? It’s that some people use this phrase to tell each other they love each other. Like their love is so true and obvious just like how there’s no doubt in the moon being beautiful. That’s why we named you ‘Tsuki,’ you know?” 

Tsuki cooed curiously at the repetition of her name, but her eyelids began to flutter with sleepiness. 

“For us, your mom and I, nothing was more certain than our love for each other and our love for you.” He gave her a sad smile, shifting his weight as he lay himself on the bed, with her resting on his chest. Tsuki wriggled a bit as she settled into the unfamiliar position but ultimately sighed with content. 

Niragi did his best to find a position ideal for the both of them without jostling her too much and being as gently as he could, so as to not disturb Tsuki. He looked down at her and he was met with her tired gaze. Tsuki sighed deeply, bewildering Niragi completely, because frankly, he didn’t know babies could make such deep gestures. The corner of his mouth lifted. She was a weird baby, indeed.

He felt her muzzle up against his chest, cooing quietly. He chuckled softly, his fingers twitched and he reached his hand up to place the palm of his hand over her small back, lightly patting. He’d seen people do it in movies to try and coax babies to sleep, but he’d only ever done this action when trying to burp her, so he figured he ought to give using it to put her to sleep a shot. Niragi watched Tsuki’s eyelids flutter shut with a deep exhale.

She had been tired, too.

Niragi felt his heart swell at how Tsuki looked as she slept. The way her lashes lay flat against her cheeks, how her lower lip pouted out in her sleep. If he focused hard enough, he could feel the light thrumming of heart against his chest.

This little girl was his world.

“I love you, you know? I love you so much, Tsuki.” he hummed, as he gently rubbed circles on her back. “From here, to the moon, and back.”

Niragi had done his best to figure out how to manage on his own, doing his best to limit the amount of phone calls he made to either Usagi or Arisu with panicked parenting questions.

Tsuki was a relatively easy baby to take care of. She was quiet for the most part, only becoming fussy when she was hungry or sleepy. Her sleep schedule seemed to have adjusted to Niragi’s, as he had found that the kid could only really fully fall asleep if she slept on his chest. Sometimes he took advantage of her midday nap to catch a few Zs himself.

Niragi also found that she didn’t particularly like not having him where she could see him. She was a clingy little freak. He didn’t mind having her around though, and would often sit her on his lap while he worked at his desk. Sometimes he’d offer commentary as to what he was doing to the games he was working on, or what he’d fixed to make them run smoother. He knew Tsuki didn’t understand, but when she’d gurgle or make baby noises while he talked, he almost felt like she was responding to his conversation. Whenever he’d play video games himself, he’d still keep her on his lap and he found it amusing how entranced she’d become by all the colors and flashing lights coming from the monitor. Cutely, she’d giggle and kick her feet whenever Niragi would voice his excitement in the games he was playing. Clearly she found him entertaining.

When it came to eating, there wasn’t anything Tsuki wouldn’t eat. Except peas. She really hated peas. The one time he tried feeding her pea Gerber, she ate it just fine, only to spit it all back up on one of his only white t shirts. He assumed the experience of having to eat such an atrocious mash traumatized the poor kid because when he tried feeding them to her again, she just about slapped the pack out of his hand and refused to open her mouth to accept the spoon, even if he made airplane noises. She usually got a kick out of those.

Still. Niragi learned quickly.

He had come across a baby book you had put together with spaces left blank for pictures and writing, meant to document Tsuki’s milestones. He’d made sure to keep it up to date as much as he could. He’d managed to capture pictures of the first time she tried solid food(which was really just a piece of fruit she tried sucking on), the stunned look on her face when she’d gone to get her vaccines and to his surprise she did not cry, he also captured the first time she sat up on her own, and another where she was midway to rolling on to her back, one where she was aggressively nibbling on her foot, he also included a few selfies in which he’d caught her tugging on his nose ring or one of his many ear rings. The kid liked shiny things. He knew that you’d have gone crazy trying to fill the book up, wanting to capture every moment.

At 9 months old, Tsuki learned how to crawl. The way Niragi found this out was rather unconventional.

He could have sworn he set her down in the living room. On the carpet right in front of the TV. He knew exactly. Why was there no baby there? All he’d done was leave her there for 5 minutes while he answered the door to receive and sign for a package and as soon as he’d come back she was gone. There was no one else in the house. She couldn’t have moved on her own.

Could she?

“Tsuki?” He began to call out.

Nearly tripping over his own feet, Niragi ran through the kitchen, checking under the table, inside the pantry, nothing. He continued to call out to her, staying quiet enough to try and listen for a response, but nothing ever came. His socks slid across the floor as he ran into the nursery. A few toys were laying on the floor but no baby in sight. He poked his head into the bathroom, checking behind the clothes hamper, and inside the bathtub, with no luck. He checked the laundry room, inside the clothes baskets, inside the washer and dryer, hoping she hadn’t crawled in there.

Thankfully, she did not, but still he had not found her.

“Listen, kid, your papa’s not really into hide and seek, so if you’re hiding, you best come on out before I totally lose my shit.”

He ran to his room, this time stumbling onto his knees before running into it only to see that it was perfectly empty. He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and dialed.

“Hello? Niragi?” Her voice sounded tired, almost as if she was just waking up.

“KUINA! I NEED YOUR HELP!” He was beginning to panic.

“Sheesh! Not so loud, you’re gonna busy my eardrums!”

“It’s Tsuki! I can’t find her anywhere.”

“Where’d you leave her? Are you sure your mom or Yuzuha didn’t pick her up?” Her tone was a little too cavalier for his taste, especially in the situation he found himself in.

“I left her in the living room, and I left to answer the door, and when I came back she was gone! I looked everywhere! The kitchen, the bathroom, my bedroom, her bedroom, the laundry room, the fucking closets.”

“Did you leave your back door open? Could anyone have gone inside at any point?” Her voice sounded more awake, now assessing the situation.

“Yes! It’s locked and dead bolted. No one’s been in here other than me and her, so unless someone climbed through a fucking window-“

“Okay, smartass, just check the rooms again. UNDER the furniture this time. Maybe she crawled under somewhere.”

“I told you I checked everywhere!” He checked under his bed, just in case, to find nothing. He walked through the rooms again, looking under furniture, to no avail. “The kid’s gone! I’ve got to call the police and make a report-“ he got to the end of the hallway and noticed the door to his study was slightly ajar, a faint glow coming from the dark room. No...

“What are they gonna do? You said no one’s been in or out of your house. God, how irresponsible could you have been to leave a baby on her own, Niragi?”

“Kuina, I’ll call you right back.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOULL CALL ME BA-” he hung up, cutting her off.

He walked into his dimly lit office, the faint glow of the tv he kept in there lightly lighting up the room.“Tsuki?”

He heard a soft mumbling coming from the room, and as he moved further inside, he saw his daughter on standing while holding on to the couch. She turned her little head to face him, his game controller in her hands, before letting herself fall back on her behind to sit on the floor.

“Uhhuh banana pplllbt,” she mused in her baby speak. Without so much as a glance his way, she began to chomp down on the controller with her gums.

“God damn it, kid!” He groaned in frustration. And relief. He sunk to the floor, running his hands through his hair, breathing shakily. “Holy shit.”

This caught Tsuki’s attention, and she released the controller to crawl his way. Despite his racing heart and frustrations, Niragi watched in awe as his little girl crawled his way. She giggled and squealed as she did so, clearly excited that she had learned something new. As soon as she got to where his legs were, she sat up and outstretched her little arms up at him, asking to be picked up, to which Niragi obliged. He held his little girl close to him, gently combing down her unruly hair. “You really had me scared for a minute, kid.” Tsuki cooed up at him. “Yeah. How’d you learn to move around like that, huh?”

He knew she was around the right age to start moving around, but he hadn’t really mentally prepared for it to actually happen. He did his best to read all the books and guide her so that she stayed at the same pace as other babies, but he still found himself in awe when she succeeded. All of the reading in the world, however, didn’t prepare him for what she did next. She bounced on his lap, reaching up to touch her baby hands up to his face. “Paaa... paaa... baba..”

His eyes widened. She mumbled things all the time. Ma, ba, ga, goo, all sorts of noises. But that felt a little too... smart. She had looked right at him, pointed at him and everything, and said what sounded like papa. That was too much of a coincidence. “Kid, you can’t play with Papa’s emotions like that. I’m not ready.”

“Papapa?” She repeated, smacking her little hand on his face.

“Are you seriously saying what I think you’re saying? Or am I crazy? I’m crazy aren’t I?”

“Papa!” She called out, giggling.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” He held his little girl close, doing all he could to not cry.

Niragi learned that Tsuki didn’t like strangers. She wouldn’t get too fussy, but she hid in the crook of his neck whenever they were out and she didn’t recognize the people that approached them.

She also got visibly excited when she did recognize people. Especially Kuina, or “koo” as she managed to say. Y/N had told her early on in the pregnancy that she hoped Kuina would be the baby’s godmother, and this was a role she took very seriously, always coming to visit with tons of toys and clothes. Kuina’s mother also deeply grew to love Tsuki, often sending food and side dishes with Kuina for them. Tsuki wasn’t particularly fond of her doctor, Dr. Chishiya. Matter of fact, she often kicked or smacked his hands away whenever he tried checking her, and only really let him do anything if he bribed her with candy. One time, he tried carrying her to put her on the baby scale, and pulled on his hair right at the root, causing him hand her over back to Niragi and say “I don’t need to check. She’s healthy enough,” whilst rubbing at his head.” Niragi noticed that the doctors and nurses made a point of tying their hair up whenever Tsuki was around for an appointment.

“Serves him right for prancing around with that mane of his. He reminded you of one of your dolls, didn’t he, Tsuki?” Niragi didn’t quite like him either at first, but the doctor had understood their situation and made himself available 24/7, which led to Niragi considering him as a family friend, much to the doctor’s chagrin.

“She can call me Uncle Shuntaro.” He had said whilst visiting the Niragi home after Tsuki had a late night fever. Despite her little attitude, Dr. Chishiya had developed a sort of liking to the kid. She had character, he thought.

“She can barely say Papa, and you expect her to say that mouthful, Shuntaro?” Niragi asked, incredulously.

Chishiya eyed him coldly with his feline eyes. “I said SHE could call me that. Not you.”

As Tsuki’s first birthday approached, no one really knew how to ask Niragi on whether they’d be having a birthday party for her. After all, it wasn’t just Tsuki’s birthday. It also marked the first year anniversary of you being gone. He had done his best to not think about it, even with the lack of prompting from the others, but this was something he still kept in mind. Birthdays only came once in a lifetime, but then again, so did a love like the one you and he had shared. How could he celebrate one while ignoring the other, or have a service for you and not doing anything for his daughter. He loved you both more than life itself.

He came up with a plan to try and do both. He wanted to make it a day for you both. So, Niragi had packed a bag for Tsuki and taken her on a tour of all the places the two of you frequented as a couple.

He took her to the arcade the two of you had gone on your first date, telling her of how you’d kissed his cheek when he managed to get the high score on the Alien FPS game. He took her to the cafe the two of you had often gone to during your lunch hours, and even fed her a bit of the filling from the egg sandwich you used to like so much. He found that Tsuki liked it a lot too. He took her to the botanical gardens. You had absolutely loved flowers and the two of you had gone almost every weekend. He took her to the zoo and made a point to take her to the aquatic exhibits and tell her how much you loved water animals, especially how “mama loved how cute the seals looked when they bounced all over the place.” He made sure to buy Tsuki a white seal plush at the gift store. He took her to an old video store, where the two of you often found yourselves on boring nights without much to do and had filled the void with movies. He bought copies of a few of your favorites, along with a few of his, making a mental note to watch them with Tsuki when she was old enough. Lastly, he took her to the carnival. He didn’t play any games, but he walked by them and told Tsuki all about which ones the two of you would play together. He told her about how he couldn’t explain how, but the two of you had always been drawn to this place and how free you both felt being here, almost as if you’d been there together in another life. He showed her the old swinging pirate ship and he told Tsuki about how it was your favorite ride and how one time you rode it so many times that you ended up puking cherry icee all over the side of the ride. He’d never seen so many people run away screaming. Niragi took Tsuki to the photo booth, and told her about how you had both gotten the idea to kiss each other on the cheek at the same time and ended up kissing each other for the first time on accident. The second one that came after wasn’t. He took her on a ride on the Ferris wheel, doing his best to hold her tightly and show her the view. He told her about after 3 years of dating, he had asked you to marry him at the very top.

Tsuki had smiled a lot throughout the day, notably whenever he used the words “mama” and “papa,” this didn’t go unnoticed by Niragi, and he felt partially guilty. He felt like maybe he should be talking to her about you more, but some days it was too much.

The ride home was a quiet one, other than for Tsuki’s babbling in the backseat as she tried to sing along to the faint music from the radio. He peeked at her through the rear view mirror. She was really starting to look like you. As she grew, her hair had gotten longer, and aside from his hair color, the texture resembled yours. Her eyes, although the shape resembling his, were the same color as yours. She had his nose, but her lips were yours. She was the perfect combination of you both with just the right amount of your features to ease his mind that the image of you wasn’t totally lost. He missed you. A lot. You had blessed him with a daughter, and he knew she was not meant to fill the void he had in his heart, but having her around really eased some of his pain.

As he approached the dark house, he spoke. “You know,” he began, Tsuki’s face perking up to look at him. “Back when Mama was around... I used to come home and the lights would be on.” She gurgled in response. “I’d go in and tell her I was home, and she’d always be there to welcome me. She always had dinner just about done by the time I came home from the office.” Tsuki hummed. “This is a house. But your Mama made it feel like a home.” Niragi pulled into the driveway, and with a heavy sigh gathered Tsuki out of her car seat and her souvenirs. He fumbled with his keys only to find that the door was unlocked. “That’s fucking weird,” he thought out loud. “I could have sworn I locked it...” He stepped inside, feeling the wall for the light-switch, only for his hand to touch someone else’s. Before he could react, the lights came on.

“SURPRISE!”

Niragi jumped back in shock, holding Tsuki protectively.

The room was filled with all of your close friends, all of which were wearing ridiculous party hats, and the living room was decorated with pink balloons and a sign that read “Happy Birthday Tsuki.” Dr. Chishiya aka Uncle Shuntaro. Kuina and her mother. Yuzuha and Arisu. Mr. Aguni the landlord. A few of your workplace coworkers were there too.

“What’s all of this?” He asked, stunned.

“We couldn’t let Tsuki’s birthday pass without a proper celebration.” Kuina explained. “No birthday is a birthday without a cake.”

“She’s right,” said Chishiya. “You celebrated the day your way, but we wanted to celebrate, too.”

“She’s such a precious baby, we just wanted to do something special for her.” Kuina’s mother chimed in.

“We know how much you’ve through...” Yuzuha began.

“We just wanted to show our support.” Arisu continued.

“For the both of you.” Yuzuha agreed.

“You’re both real fine kids, so all of us got together and put a little something together for ya.” said Aguni.

“I can’t... I can’t even begin to express how thankful I am to you. All of you.” Niragi began, “the past year... really hasn’t been the easiest. With Y/N gone, and having to raise Tsuki on my own, trying to get my life together for the both of us... all of you have been such a big help to me. I can’t thank you enough. I’ll never be able to repay you for all you’ve done for me and Tsuki.”

“There’s no need,” Aguni waved his hand, dismissively.

“He’s right.” Kuina smiled. “Everything we’ve done is because we wanted to.”

“You’re our friend.” nodded Yuzuha.

“You’re like family.” Arisu corrected.

And Niragi agreed. All these friends had become like an extended family of his. Always there.

His knees were shaking, a cold sweat formed on his brow. He felt queasy and on the brink of throwing up. He wasn’t ready for this. Quite frankly, he’d never be.

“You know, if you want to wait another year, I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Papa, I’m five. I gotta go to school.”

They said the first day was the hardest. Niragi had held the slightest hope that Tsuki would throw a tantrum and outright refuse to go to school, but to his disappointment she had been rather excited. She was incredibly bright for her age, already knowing how to count to one hundred, knowing her colors, as well as all the letters of the alphabet. She even knew how to write her name in Kanji, Hiragana, and Katakana.

“I know you do, but still, Papa will be lonely without you.”

“But you’ve got work stuff to do.”

“But you’re my little helper.”

“I’m a kid, papa.”

“Since when are you a little smartass?”

She shrugged. “If I’m smart, that means I gotta go to school.”

“I- Now where the fu-”

“Papa, hurry up! I’m gonna be late!” Tsuki grabbed on to his hand and dragged him away from the parking lot and closer to the school gates. He could feel the eyes of others burning holes into his figure. This was another reason he worried about her coming to school. The prying eyes of others. Even though the surgeries he’d gotten had managed to make him look relatively normal, upon closer inspection, there was still visible scarring. He’d never forgive himself if he became the cause of Tsuki being bullied.

He signed in at the front desk and gathered all the paperwork for Tsuki’s schedule, class directory, and list of school supplies.

“You’ve got art class.” He mused.

“Really?” The corners of her eyes perked up in curiosity.

“I didn’t think kids could learn art.”

“Aunt Yuzuha’s kids draw on the walls. Uncle Arisu calls that art.” She said. “I think it’s messy.”

“Well aren’t you a little critic.” He chuckled.

“It’s true. What kind of dummy makes grass red?”

“Tsuki, you can’t call other kids a dummy.”

“But you call other people things, too.”

“I’m a grown up.”

“Then can i call them dummy when I’m a grown up, too?”

“For sure.”

Tsuki nodded in understanding.

The two reached her classroom and while Tsuki was led to her seat by the teacher, Niragi stood to the side with all the other parents, most of them being moms. If he was being honest, he felt awkward and out of place. Compared to the other parents, he was sure he was the youngest parent there. Chills ran down his neck, as he looked around and saw the other parents throwing side glances at him, and a soft hum of whispers surrounded him. He tried to shrug it off and focus on Tsuki, who was now chatting away with her classmates. He noticed that the other kids say something and pointed in his direction, to which Tsuki would shrug and and answer like it was no big deal. Oh no, he thought. It’s starting.

“First time?” A voice said behind him.

Niragi turned to see an older man with shaggy black hair covered in a beige fedora, his eyes hidden behind big dark sunglasses. What kind of a freak wears a hat and shades indoors? Niragi thought, but nonetheless, he nodded. The older man patted him on the back. “It’s never easy.” He said with a smile. “Which ones yours?”

“Umm, the little girl over there. The one with the silver clips in her hair.” Niragi described. “Her name is Tsuki.”

“Oh, she’s absolutely precious!” The older man gushed.

“What about you?”

“Oh, I’ve got two. The boy and the girl on either side of your girl. Twins.” He said proudly. “Nara and Naoki. Little devils, those two.”

“Is this your first time here, too?”

“Me? No. I’m an old timer. My oldest, Nanase, is a second year at the middle school nearby.” He sighed with a smile. “But just looking at your face I can tell this is your first time.”

“Really? You can tell?”

“Don’t worry about it.” He wove his hand up and down, dismissively. “We’ve all been there. Ain’t that right, Mrs. Kobayashi?” He nudged the lady next to him, who gave him nothing more than an awkward side eye. “Don’t mind her. She’s a hoot at PTA meetings.”

The teacher interrupted the parents’ chatter and asked them to bid farewell to the children so that they could commence the first day of school. Niragi panicked and looked at Tsuki who flashed him a dimply grin. He took a deep breath. She’s fine. She wants to be here. The two shared one last look before he walked out of the classroom with the other parents.

“Hey, kid.” He heard the strange man call out, causing Niragi to look back at him once more. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Niragi. Suguru. I’m Niragi Suguru.” He bowed politely.

“Nice to meet you, Niragi.” He tipped his hat in acknowledgement. “I’m Danma Takeru.”

The two chatted for a bit more and exchanged numbers with Mr. Danma, or Hatter as he liked to be called due to his profession, saying the kids just had to get together for play dates sometime.

The day passed by horribly slow, with Niragi getting virtually no work done. His thoughts consumed with how Tsuki must be doing at school. 3 o clock couldn’t come soon enough and be just about sped to the school. Tsuki waited for him by the gate, holding several papers in her hands.

“Papa!” She exclaimed, running excitedly up to her dad.

“Hey, kid!” Niragi crouched to pick her up in his arms. “How’d it go?” He asked as he walked them back to his car.

“It was kind of boring.” She admitted. “But that’s cuz I already know all the stuff.”

“Really!”

“Uh huh.” She nodded.

“Whatcha got there?”

“Oh!” She held up the papers. “I made these! Ms. Nobuo let us use paints to draw shapes! And the art teacher lady Ms. Osaki let me use pastel thingies!” She held up her work for him to see.

“Wow! You did great, kiddo.” He took the papers from her hands as he ser her into her car seat and buckled her in. As he got into his own, he looked over the papers, smiling at her work. She really had a knack for creativity. Tsuki chatted away about her day on the ride home, and Niragi felt at slightly at ease that her school experience had gone better than his.

“Oh my goodness! Papa, I almost forgot!”

“What’s up?”

“Papa, all the kids kept asking me about you.”

His eyebrows shot up, a bit concerned. “Me?”

“Uh huh. All the kids said your hair and the shiny thingies on your face make you look like a rockstar.”

“Huh.” He chuckled, dryly. “They said that?”

“Uh huh! And then all the boys went all crazy cuz I told them you work on video games and that you and Mama helped make that Borderland game.”

He smiled at her through the rear view mirror. “You told them about Mama?” He felt his heart tug a bit. Kids always said what they thought, so he could imagine what kind of responses they might have at Tsuki’s... situation.

“Yup! They think you guys are so cool and that they wished their parents were like you guys.”

“Is that so, kid?” He chuckled, relieved she had managed to get positive attention. “Did you make friends?”

“Not really... all the kids were kinda noisy... I talked a lot with these kids... what were their names? Naka and Naori!”

“You mean Nara and Naoki?” Niragi laughed.

Tsuki gasped. “How did you know?!”

“I met their dad. He’s kind of...”

“Weird?” Tsuki answered. “They’re weird, too.” She giggled.

Tsuki’s school years came and went, and she had grown quite a lot. She had become taller, and her hair had become longer and fell down to her waist. Unfortunately, she’d inherited his eyesight and needed to wear glasses, but she didn’t seem to mind. Some time in her early teens she had asked him if she could get her ears pierced, to which he was a it stunned she felt she needed to ask, since he had gotten his without permission from anyone and just cuz he’d felt like it. He agreed, and went along with her. What he didn’t expect was her wanting to get four done on each ear on the first sitting, and had been slightly proud at his daughter’s determination. However... Niragi wasn’t too happy when he found out she’d gotten her belly button pierced while on a school trip to a beach resort.

She did well in school, she participated in school clubs, and never complained about doing her chores around the house. She even had a handful of friends, for which Niragi was thankful for. On one occasion, he’d overheard one of them refer to him as a dilf, which he didn’t understand, and when he asked Tsuki about it, she became flustered and urgently changed the subject, and when he asked Kuina, she laughed in his face. He didn’t dare look up the meaning online.

They say parents are never prepared for their children’s milestones, but when Tsuki graduated high school with honors, he really couldn’t believe it. 18 years had gone by quickly right before his eyes, and the little girl 

25 years had passed in the blink of an eye. Tsuki had graduated from university, having pursued a degree as a software engineer specializing in AI development. During her internship, she’d met someone special and developed a friendship which blossomed into romance. Of all the things Niragi had never given much thought to doing, giving his daughter away was at the very top.

Tsuki had shook nervously as Niragi walked her down the aisle, whispering to him “Please, don’t let me fall, Papa.” To which he replied that even if she did, he’d be right there to pick her up. He was thankful her groom came from a large family, believing it to be a far less lonely atmosphere. Nonetheless, he was happy that he had been lucky enough to amass a good deal of close friends to accompany him on this journey.

At the reception, Kuina and Yuzuha had just about shoved Niragi on the dance floor for his father daughter dance with Tsuki, who had taken it upon herself to choose the song. With the lyrics of “When She Loved Me,” matched to the scene of Niragi and Tsuki, rest assured, there was not a single dry eye in the house.

During the dinner, somewhere within him, Niragi felt the courage to stand and tap his spoon against his champagne glass. “I’d like to say a few words. I didn’t prepare anything, but... I’d like to speak from the heart.” He announced, to which everyone in the hall suddenly hushed in respect. “The last time I went to a wedding,” Niragi began, “was about 26 years ago. And just like the bride and groom, I was marrying the love of my life.” He looked down at his glass of champagne, briefly, before continuing. “Love is a crazy thing, really. It’s having this connection with someone that you just can’t explain and you really don’t have to because they already understand. Love is scary. It’s finding someone that accepts you, flaws and all, whether they be physical, emotions, psychological, metaphorical, what have you. Love is pretending to lose at a video game you’ve cleared at least 20 times just so you can watch them be happy.” He chuckled as the crowd quietly laughed. “It’s about getting a call at three in the morning asking you if you want to go out and get donuts at the 24/7 donut shop downtown. Love is... not being able to hear anyone say your given name because no one else says it as beautifully as that one person. Love is hating rainy days all your life but learning to love them when they drag you under the rain to dance. It’s when you’re driving and she reaches out to hold your hand. It’s about holding each other after nightmares and reminding each other that none of it’s real, even when reality sometimes feels like it’s a nightmare. It’s about treasuring every single moment because you’ll never know when it will be the last.” At this point, everyone who wasn’t crying already was tearing up at the realization of Niragi’s words. “It’s about being scared together. When your plans change and suddenly you’re getting ready to bring another life into the world together. That look between the two of you when you feel your baby kick for the first time at the sound of you voice. Staying up until dawn figuring out baby names because your child deserves something totally unique. Love is when you hold your baby girl and you realize that you really can love someone just as much, if not more, than the love of your life because... she is your life. As some of you know, Y/N isn’t with us today, but I know better than anyone that she would have loved to be here, and even though we can’t see her, she’s still with us.” He smiled. “the love she and I had... I like to think of it as something that only happens once in a lifetime, because to me, there really was no one else I could see myself with that wasn’t Y/N. But the way I see you two kids with each other... this is YOUR once in a lifetime. Treasure it. Always.” He looked directly into his new son-in-law’s eyes. “My life is in your hands now.”

[tarithenurse]

In the eyes

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: Uchiha Itachi x fem!reader Content: Feels. Angst. Loss. Love. Reference to killing (war and murder). Captivity. Sorrow. Hope. Anger. You name it, it’s there. A/N: I just want to say in my defence that this story isn’t my fault. Blame @maladaptive-ninja-returns​...it’s her birthday present (yes, I’m late)!

In the eyes

The steam is long gone together with your interest in the drink when you drain the cup of tea as the black-haired man gets up to leave. The cape hides what he’s missing – if only it was his leg instead – that way you wouldn’t have to keep the distance to the bare minimum, constantly risking him discovering that you’re following him. It doesn’t help to complain, though: he’s alive and mobile...and you have to watch your every move.

Volunteering for the assignment has probably been one of the more masochistic choices you’ve made, but you just couldn’t let the last Uchiha go yet.

For years, watching the kid grow older had kept a wound alive that no one knew about. It festered, saturating you with a sickening, rotten, sadness that never washed off but wasn’t detected by your peers. You should have let it heal. Should have moved on. But there had always been something keeping you from accepting what everyone else had decided must be true.

You weren’t the only one dealing with grief, of course. The life of a Leaf ninja was to say goodbye too soon and then to live with the numbing ache, renewed each time memories stirred.

Before the fourth war, the newfangled gossip of the dead returning was treated as ghost stories by most people until the climax of it all, when too many stood face to face with loved ones. Lost ones. And you were too weak to prevent the hope from being rekindled, so once peace was a reality and all the shinobis prepared to celebrate in the chaotic haze of the aftermath, you made a decision.

That is why, three seconds after the door closes behind Uchiha Sasuke, you get up...

...and sit right down again to avoid pressing against the sharp blade of the person suddenly appearing beside you.

The newcomer’s face is hidden partially under the wide-rimmed hat and the rest behind a dark and tattered cloak. Glancing down, a hand with purple-painted nails slips the kunai into the darkness of the cloak, leaving you with the knowledge that it’s there.

There’s no doubt in your mind that this is a shinobi. Where did you come from? Admittedly, there are others frequenting the little tea house because it’s a popular stop at a major crossroads...even if it mainly services those without national affiliations. None of the rest of the clientele reacts to the scene unfolding discreetly and you have no wish to catch their attention before you know what and who you’re dealing with.

“What do you want?”

It takes a second before you realize the question isn’t asked by you. Another one to recover from the smooth dusk that is the stranger’s voice. A voice with a hint of familiarity in the timbre which you decide must be your mind playing games.

“Nothing. I’m no enemy of yours,” you try to placate them, silently counting the seconds worth of head start separating you from Sasuke, “and I hold nothing of value...you should let me go.”

The tickle of a laugh surprises you. “If I’d wanted your possessions, they’d already be mine. I want answers, Konoha-girl.”

The headband you carry is hidden under your clothes, well out of sight from any prying eyes. Finally giving up on stalking your initial target, you turn your undivided attention to the person who has seated them-self before you.

The little skin you can see is pale, and a few black strands have escaped the slack ponytail and fallen in front of the face where only chin and jawline is visible. As if knowing your annoyance, the head is tipped slightly, allowing you to glimpse soft, gently smiling lips. Kissable. The thought jars you.

“I recommend you give up that wish.” No one should be able to hear the nervousness in your voice...but the stranger smirks. “My business is my own.”

“Not when it involves him,” they says, inclining the hat towards the door where Uchiha left.

You’re out to get him? You almost feel sorry for this fool who clearly doesn’t have a clue about the one-armed ninja’s identity.

“Don’t be mistaken,” the person smiles as if reading your thoughts, “I know who he is and what he’s capable of, after all...he’s my brother.”

Calmly meeting your gaze, the eyes meeting you flash red.

...

“Don’t look an Uchiha in the eyes”. It was the warning that was whispered into your ears as soon as you were big enough to run errands on your own. Naturally, you had to do it, and what met you was not as demonic as the warning stories had made you think – rather, they were kind, and wiser than the smooth face hinted at – although you never looked another Uchiha in the eyes just to be on the safe side.

It was impossible to discern the colour. Some days, they seemed leaden as if the rain clouds were gathered inside the boy too. A few times, in the morning when he watched where his fists struck the wood, the sparks from the cozy fire of the evening before still lingered in the warmest of black. What you loved the most, though, was when the gaze was locked onto infinity and they were soft like liquid.

...

Everything is different: the stuffy tea room with its noisy patrons has been replaced by somewhere deserted that seems to be carved out of grey stone.

How did I get here? Careful to move as little as possible, you take in the new surroundings only to find the place empty and with only one way in and out. A dull cold has already seeped into your feet as you stand there, lost as your bearings have nothing to latch on to – the only light is a torch in a wall sconce to your left.

Feet. They are bare, and a quick pat-down reveals that all of your weapons, your belt, and your headband have been stripped from you too. The sensation is uncanny, akin to nakedness. The logic behind it is obvious as it reduces the chances of a successful escape even if you were to make it out and establish a route.

On the other hand: you’re unharmed and unbound.

Turning, you have no doubt that the wooden door is locked but of course you go over to try, heart frozen near your throat when you push against it with your shoulder. Surprisingly, it does open and the screaming hinges sets the tiniest hairs on your body on end.

“Not wasting any time, Konoha-girl.”

You recognize the voice and the decorated nails on the hand that appears to pull open the door completely, and not just from the rest stop but from years of aching recollections that have been warped by watching Sasuke grow up with this man’s shadow lingering over his life. Over your life.

No. There’s no way. He died. Now your heart jackhammers a frenzied rhythm.

It’s a fool’s hope that powers the jab towards his neck. An idiot’s dream urging you to sprint past him. At least I tried, a bitter thought comments the moment both attempts are thwarted as a rib-crushing kick sends your tumbling backwards and you land sprawled in the middle of the room.

The ceiling is still spinning, it seems, when you sense the man’s presence loom over you. The fingers are cool (and surprisingly gentle) as the curl around the back of your skull, fingers digging into your hair to grant a tight grip to pull you closer by. Very close. A hand’s length separates the tips of your noses and you want to be oblivious to the way his mouth curves softly.

“You’re not leaving,” he whispers, “until I say so.”

Feeling and strength are beginning to return to your arms, including a sharp ache in your chest that grows with every shallow breath which you try to ignore. Should have restrained me, fool...and the thought dies there as everything shifts and the ground swallows your limbs.

“N-no...how...? No!”

He watches your struggles lazily before releasing his grip and sitting down next to you on the hard floor. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

But you did. Wait...no! You haven’t...it wasn’t you...it can’t have been...

“You lie about your identity,” you scoff, regretting the outburst immediately as pain stabs coldly into your side, “so excuse me for not trusting you on this either.” There is a little smile there on his lips, full of sadness and regret that makes your insides cringe momentarily until you have the breath to explain to him (or yourself) why it can’t be true: “Uchiha Itachi has been killed!”

“Yes...and then I was brought back.” He’s impossibly calm as though he’s simply discussing the weather. “Twice.”

Double reanimated? As if! The war had been a horror to live through and would have been without people facing their deceased comrades and family members on the battlefield. However, once destroyed or sealed, none of the animated dead had walked again and all of them had been dealt with properly in the end.

Looking at the ninja, none of the signs of reanimation are prominent. On the other hand...even if they had been, you might not even notice it now that you meet the man’s gaze and the liquid infinity there.

“I could show you...but I’m afraid your mind can’t take the strain in your current state,” the so-called Itachi explains.

Mind, your aching heart still reels from fear of being broken once more, this is all in my mind.

Zoning out everything else, you focus on the flow of chakra within. Calming it, soothing it, until abruptly forcing the flow to revert. It feels as if your very soul drops for a second but the moment it returns to its place, the world is no longer made up of lies and imaginary sensations...and you’re still lying on the ground in a room made of stone, your ribs feeling as if they’re speared by frost. The only improvement is that at least your limbs are free.

And Itachi? Yes, you have to call him that because deep within you can’t deny it any longer.

The official reports hadn’t been released by the time you left Konoha and you’re not high enough up in the ranks as a shinobi to get the juicy information unless it’s necessary for a mission – and since your missions tend to be B or simpler A rank...well, I guess my current mission’s a bust but this is an important discovery!

A silky chuckle refocuses your attention. “Very good...I suppose I must strengthen my genjutsu against you.”

He’s so close, you could touch him. Shifting to lean against the wall, he rests his arms casually on the knees and begins to pick at the chapping nail polish.

“No need to,” you bite back a groan as you roll over to sit up, “I take it that’s how you got me here?” Pretty eyes are watching your every move as he nods in agreement. “Hm. It’ll probably be useless to ask where we are, so...why? Why show yourself now?”

Sitting cross legged, you find the pain lessens if you pull your clothes and arms tightly around your torso, restricting the depth of your breathing. Broken or bent ribs? Not that it really matters. First of all, he would be able to beat you in a fight anyways; secondly, even if you got out of here you wouldn’t know where “here” is; and third (but not least), you don’t really want to run from him.

Rather than answer, Itachi stands up and holds out his left hand for you. Puzzled, you take it. Soft fingers curl around yours and he pulls you to your feet, studying your movements and the twisting facial expressions.

He doesn’t let go.

Not when he guides you out the door and into a hallway shaped of the same kind of stone as the room was made of. Carved from.

Not when he slows down at the sound of the squeaky breathing the pace forces from you.

There doesn’t seem to be many rooms along the winding path. Here and there a door bars the way or you catch a glimpse of a dead-end that looks as though the excavation was abandoned or even disrupted by cave-ins.

You do your best to memorize the path, but frankly, your mind is getting fuzzy from pain and exhaustion. You have no sense of time, just hunger and tiredness weighing you down to indicate the loss of many hours.

“Just a bit longer, [Y/N],” Itachi soothes.

When did I tell him my name? You want to ask or at least protest, but it would be a choice between talking or getting to wherever he’s leading you...and you doubt he’ll let you pause.

A few dozen steps later and a short flight of stairs up, he ushers you through a door into a room that looks like a mix between a kitchen and work station. A fire is the only light and heat source (the smoke venting up through a chimney too narrow to be an escape route), casting a warm glow over the solid wooden table and chairs. Everything else is hewn from whatever mountain you’re inside.

“Sit,” your captor finally releases the grip and points at a chair near the fire and you obediently do as you’re told.

There are shelves and niches almost hidden in the dancing shadows at first holding with boxes, bundles, and various utensils. He knows where everything is, grabbing a few items before returning and laying it out in the light. Bandages. His movements are fluid and elegant, just like you remembered.

He motions towards your upper body, then turns to tend to the fire. “Strip.”

“That’s really not -”

“Some of your ribs are broken. Restraining them will minimize the pain.”

He’s right. Of course he is.

With clipped movements, you pull off the layers until you hesitate at the poor excuse of a bra. Despite the now roaring fire, the cold from the stone still seeps into your body and raises waves of goosebumps and tightens your nipples. It would be easier to apply the bandages correctly without the last bit of clothing in the way, but right now it feels like the only shield left at your disposal as Itachi turns back to you.

“We’ll work around that,” the man offers softly.

He works quietly at first. Hands winding the linen bandages around you adeptly, pausing each time the ministration intensifies the pain and causes the discomfort to escape as stubborn hisses. The purple nail polish is mesmerizing – simultaneously a contrast to the horrific stories of a killer and perfectly fitting the pretty, nearly feminine, traits you see. Especially the eyes. Sure, they’re filled with a bottomless sadness that you don’t feel comfortable acknowledging, but they’re beautiful. Haunting.

“You’re staring,” he hums without looking up.

Shit. “No. I just -...let’s say you’re who you claim to be,” you try to recover, “why’re you back?”

“To be his watcher.”

“Says who?”

This time, he stops and looks you dead in the eyes. “Otsutsuki Hagoromo, the Sage of Six Paths.” There are very few proper comebacks to that, so your captor continues without giving you a chance to think of something, “Otsutsuki told me about the bonds of families and that it can transcend blood. He knows hatred can cause – and has caused – too much harm...but something rekindled his hope that it can be overcome.“

I don’t have an eye on Uchiha constantly, but... “Does Sasuke know?” Returning to his work, Itachi avoids your gaze. “He doesn’t...”

“He’s finally found peace and is on the right path...I can’t risk undoing it.”

Bullshit! “Or you’re a coward who doesn’t have the guts to fa-” the rest is cut off as soft fingers tighten around your throat.

Blood-red eyes pierce your mind, numbing you for an eternity or a millisecond.

...

They were a means to reach the goal but their words still hurt as you followed meekly in their footsteps. Snobbery. Disdain. Considering how proud your two team members clearly felt, they had very little to show for their reputation as Uchihas and frankly, it was your skills rather than theirs that ensured successful missions and still, you never once looked them in their face. Instead, you kept an eye out for two other of the clan.

Where one was, so would the other be. Thick as thieves, the boys had found a companionship that complemented their differences in the same manner as the sun and the moon. But as opposed to your teammates who swooned at the brightness of the sun, you were drawn to the night and the calmness it brought whenever that boy was near – each time he met your eyes, time became meaningless.

...

The two of you sit in silence as the steam from the soup caresses your face. Your mind is blank, slowly starting to pick up on the absence of stone walls – wood has replaced the cold surfaces, making it almost unbearably warm with the bandages underneath your layers of clothes – and a plethora of questions begin to press against your conscious only to be held back as most of your thoughts get derailed whenever you look at the man before you.

Without the hat and cloak to conceal him, it’s impossible to ignore all the details you’ve nurtured in your memory for ages, such as the slight pull of his lips as he thinks or the elegance of his movements now that he gets up and refills his bowl from the pot hanging over the fire.

“Why are you following Sasuke?”

You should be diplomatic. “I could ask you the same.” You’re not.

“I already told you,” Itachi shrugs.

“Well I...I don’t believe you.”

But you do. There’s no denying anymore that this man is who he claims to be and so, why would he lie about his purpose? The sad smile. The quiet mannerisms. The idea that Itachi would somehow transcend death to watch over his little brother? That’s a mysterious intricacy that fits with your memories of him from before that night.

“You do...but something else is bothering you.” It’s a statement, not a question. “Am I not what you expected?”

No, you’re not. However, he’s what you remember with a layer of sorrow added on top. He doesn’t get to be sad. The little spark of anger is what you need. You nurse it, feed it until it flares up hot and bright and consumes your regrets and self-pity.

“Expected? I don’t know what I expected from someone like you!” Your voice is rising, shaking with years of frustration. “Clan killer. Murderer. I never told anyone but I was in love with an Uchiha! That night, I’d gone to bed, finally sure that I was gonna tell him but when I woke up...” Something inside you had broken that day and it still hurts now. “They told me how you’d left Sasuke alive...but the boy I loved was gone and no one knew I was mourning. Each time I saw him -” you can’t hold back a strangled sound and you realize, you’re crying -”I saw the ghost of...” The bowl of floating vegetables looks blurry until you blink angrily. “Ugh! But what does a teenager know of love, right? They’ll grow up. Get over it. Except I knew you were out there still and that you had all the answers. Why? The Itachi I remember wasn’t a mindless monster! I was told a story, but it doesn’t make any sense. If all the monster wanted was power then why spare Sasuke? Why did everyone else have to die?”

The inhalations are shallow and rapid, making you dizzy as you cling to the table and the spoon. It burns in your lungs and cheeks.

“I am sorry for the pain, I’ve caused you.”

Your gaze snaps to his face and you know he’s speaking the truth but it doesn’t matter right now.

“Sorry? Sorry?! You don’t get to be sorry! I missed y-...the boy, I loved was gone and it took ages before I could let go and stop mourning, finally accepting the truth had died with you and now...now you’re here? And it’s all back and I don’t understand! How could you?” Itachi doesn’t flinch as you launch the bowl towards him – he doesn’t have to because your aim is off and it clatters to the floor in a shower of shards and wasted food after hitting the wall behind him. “How? The boy I loved was not a monster! He wouldn’t do what they s-”

The echoes of your wheezing shouts ring through the room after the abrupt stop. Holding your breath, you wait for the ground to swallow you whole or for the man at the other end of the table to react and the fear is colder than the burning in your chest.

“Things aren’t always what they seem,” Itachi eventually whispers, “they were just people who had been wronged and misguided until their arrogance made them blind.”

What? That’s not exactly what you had expected. Without explaining further, your captor gets up, handing you his bowl of food before beginning to clean the mess you’ve made.

“Don’t...I’ll get tha-” you begin.

He only has to look at you.

...

The dew had soaked your toes, cooling and soothing them after each kick that you landed on the wood stump. Pine. The new splinters refreshed the scent as they fell to the ground and you knew that birds would rummage through them in the hope of finding a morning snack once the training grounds were free of people again – they were already gathering at the edge of the clearing except for where Itachi stood.

The realization made you stop mid-kick, gaze locked with his and heart fluttering in your chest. How long had he stood there?

“They’re wrong.” You could barely believe he was talking to you. “Your teammates...don’t listen to what they say.”

Before you could ask what he meant, Itachi was gone and maybe it had all been your imagination running free.

...

Sitting up abruptly, it takes a few seconds for your eyes to get used to the low light of the dying embers. Where am I?

Salt and drying seaweed is heavy in the air, somehow worming its way into what appears to be yet another room of stone. No...it’s a cave. You’re sitting on a bedroll splayed out onto the sand filling the place and you have no memory of arriving.

The dark form on the other side of the fire pit makes no move as you slip a hand underneath your shirt to confirm what you already know: the bandages are gone and there’s only a muted tenderness as you prod at the ribs. How long has it been?

“You’re safe,” Itachi’s gentle voice assures, and you feel your pulse slow despite the ominous situation, “go back to sleep.”

Yes. Sleep...hang on! Shaking your head, you fight the urge to succumb to the fuzziness that weighs your thoughts. “Why’re you doing this?” you mumble.

It doesn’t make sense why the man wouldn’t simply get the answers he want and then dispose of you or at the very least leave you locked up somewhere while he keeps following Sasuke from the shadows. Instead, your captor has put an effort into keeping you comfortable. Feeding you.

“I remember you.” His eyes reflect the red coals as they burn into your soul all over again. “Memories don’t do your justice, though.”

...

There is no world beyond the walls of the garden but a red sheet of sky dotted with storm clouds. The sliding doors have been pushed aside, opening the hallway to the view, and you know the wood beneath your bare feet should be silky from decades of use. You can’t feel it. There are no scents either, no breeze to toy with the soft fabric of your yukata, nor insects clicking from the rhododendron.

“This isn’t real.”

“No,” Itachi confirms from behind you, “but here I can create what you need. Who you need.”

Turning at last, there’s no reason to shy away from meeting his gaze even if it matches the fake sky. He looks real – as opposed to the familiarity of the home of your childhood that surrounds the two of you – and the ghost of a smile kindly tries to hide the sadness.

“...need. For what?”

The black strands falling into his face are strangely dull in the nightmarish light. “Closure.”

“That’s not possible.”

Wanting to leave, to run away and avoid what Itachi intends, you find yourself rooted in place by an invisible force. Even turning your face away is impossible and you pray that he doesn’t understand the well of emotions he must be able to see in your eyes.

“This is a chance for you to say goodbye to the one I killed. The one you...love,” he pauses to scrutinize your expression and you try to remain neutral, “because you do. You still love him.”

“You have no right...” swallowing hard, you fight to keep the words back, “no right t-to claim to know what I need!” Finally, you manage to close your eyes but they snap open again at the touch of his fingertips on your forehead. “This isn’t something you get to fix like -”

...

The world has shifted again and you’re back in the ocean side cave. You can feel how uneven the sand is under your knees and shins even with the bedroll to soften the press and some some the grains have found their way in between your toes...but none of that matters because Itachi is still right before you, his fingers gently resting on your brow.

A pop-and-crackle from the fire pit is the only sound other than your shallow breathing. You know, he knows. Eyes widened in nigh-comedic understanding, it’s as if he sees you for the first time.

“I’m sorry, [Y/N].”

You barely manage to whisper, “for what?”

His fingertips send shivers along your spine as they trace a path, allowing him to cradle the back of your neck in his palm.

“Everything” Itachi’s lips brush your cheek, “for breaking your heart in so many ways and for making you think your love was unrequited.”

[ateezinmymind]

Numb

Rocker! Hongjoong x reader

angst, fluff ending

tw: smoking, drugs, alcohol, foul language, vomit, depressive symptoms, sexual harassment and toxic behavior—please don’t read if sensitive!! I don’t condone these acts <3

~you wanted to be more like him and less like you

~“fuck off! I don’t want to see that shit-face of yours again!!” ~

Tears streaming down your face, staining the flesh with a trail of black from your running eyeliner. You can’t get those last words out of your head, taking in a breath of smoke, and exhaling through your nose. Trying to ease the pain of abandonment—you contemplate what you’re going to do now.

Standing up from the concrete staircase you’ve been sulking on for the past 15 minutes,, burning out your cigarette—you make your way down to the only place you can think of..

The blaring sounds of screams and cries piercing your ears—the smell of alcohol and smoke,, bodies together,, this...this was it. This was where you could let go...let loose..and live.

“I am a cancer. I am a creep. I am the black sheep”

Hearing those booming lyrics-you look up to the stage. Finding the lead singer screaming into the mic—and bouncing with his guitar. From the eyeliner to his ripped-chained pants..you were sucked into a void. Eyes burning from the atmosphere,, head pounding—now heart aching. You couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Hey baby..can I get you something?” —snapping out of your self destructing trance, you look up to the raspy voice speaking to you.

~“Let me buy you a drink...you here alone?” ~

The buzzing effect in your body-taking you away..you felt numb. You didn’t feel right,, blurred vision, limp body—you were useless. Feeling your head being shook and lightly slapped, trying to blink your way to clear sight—you started to fade..

hearing the lone sounds of laughter and booms—everything felt underwater. You couldn’t quite see, hear or breathe. Maybe this was what you needed..no one loved you anyway. For fucks sake-you got kicked to the curb tonight—by your shitty once called boyfriend. Who which you caught cheating—and to which led to you being pushed out the door-with nothing but a pack of cigarettes and a twenty dollar bill.

You were drowning,, choking, needing air. Desperate..everything turning black,, it was what you deserved... until—

“Hey bitch!!”

jerking conscious from the ice water—wet, cold and vulnerable..you’re surrounded by big figures. Your body finally awake, the smell of the place hits you like a truck. Only causing your body to respond naturally—meaning dry heaving. Choking—you weakly stand up to be towered by the looming men. Clutching your stomach—you needed the bathroom, slapping your hand over your mouth to control the potential mess. You wobble forward..clearing a path to your destination— All while the lead singer watches you from afar....

Barging into the bathroom you’re met with a couple making out by the sinks, and the stench of regurgitated essence. Only causing the feeling in your stomach and throat to worsen..abdomen convulsing you knock through the stall—and spill your guts. Face flushing from the lack of air—your nose and throat burn, and your stomach churns with sickness. Flushing your vomit down the toilet—your mind hazes once again...and soon enough you black out against the stall wall—helpless.

———

Hongjoong hasn’t seen you come out of the bathroom for the past 20 minutes..he was starting to get anxious himself. But he still had to finish his last song before ending tonight’s show-

“You crack the whip, shape-shift and trick”

The bright lights—beaming all different tones of red and blue. He lived for the stage, the rush of adrenaline when the whistles and screams came. Hongjoong was meant for the spotlight—his soul voice, talent for the guitar-and his aura in all. He was a performer,, meant to please his audience—and when he saw you come in tonight, all ragged, sad and helpless. He couldn’t stop watching you, you were everything he wasn’t. And when those men spiked your drink—he wanted to kill them so badly, but he didn’t want to risk his place.

Sweat pooling down his face, hongjoong finishes the last song—

“Everyone wants a ride. pulls away, ooh—from you”

The screams from people lungs, the jumping of bodies close together, and the sweet sweet feeling of glory—all lasts for a second....

Jogging down the hall towards the women’s bathroom, Hongjoong gets stopped in his tracks. A girl extremely tipsy, reeking of alcohol puts her hand on his chest. “Heyyy..youurrr, yyou’re that s..singer guy...” trying to push her away—she only falls to her knees. “Excuse me—move” not understanding his words she squeezes hongjoongs thighs, then wraps her dirty fingers around his pants chain and pulls him forward. “S..Stop being sooO difficult..lemmeee make youu feel g..GOood” rubbing him she fiddles with his zipper

“What the fuck! Get off me bitch!” Pushing her head back she lands on her ass, and hongjoong steps over her with disgust. “Go give some other fucker a blow” taking a deep breath, he tries calming his raging thoughts of the drunk woman. Speed walking to the bathroom, barging through the door he screams at the couple grinding on each other “GET THE FUCK OUT!!-“

sending them running away, he sees your bare legs from under the stall. Pushing it open-he wants to hurl, but seeing you unconscious he swallows the urge down. “Hey-babe?” Shaking your limp body, causing your head to slide off the wall and hang down. Quickly hongjoong holds your neck in place and examines your face and body.

Your damp hair and top-makes him curse under his breath...how dare someone put something so fragile through hell? Why did he feel the need to help you so bad? Was it because of your differences...that he felt the need to protect you. And harm all the people who decided to put you down, and treat you like shit..

Trailing his eyes down, hongjoong sees your legs-scraped, cut and bruised, then he can’t help but notice your attire. The big T-shirt dress wasn’t doing its job in covering your lower half well, when sprawled on the bathroom floor, so he decided to help,,picking you up and taking you to somewhere safe...

———

The shooting feeling of your head pulsing caused you to wake finally conscious.. not knowing where the hell you were. Under the sheets of an unknown bed, surrounded by band equipment-you started to panic. Breath staggering-heart racing, eyes tearing up you quietly sobbed.

What did you do?? You’re in a strangers bed, and who knows what they did to you. Wiping your eyes you look down—dressed in a loose navy shirt, and boxer shorts...definitely not what you wore yesterday. Sniffles fill the empty room, and the smell of your hair comes to realization. Shit..someone really cleaned you up..

Heaving in a sharp breath—you feel your heart speed up..shit~not now..you can’t lose your mind right now. Someone can come get you-and you’ll be defenseless and weak against them. Ripping at your legs—trying to feel your way back to yourself through pain..you just whimper. Taking your head between your hands, hanging low—tears fall on the bed covers. The sounds of your sniffling cancel out the foot steps advancing your way through the hall-

“Hey~you’re awake”—jerking your head up to the mans voice..you immediately regret it, because your skull jolts in a jabbing pain. Making you cry out and curl in a ball, holding your head. “Wo..woah,, you okay babe?!” Hongjoong speeds to your suffering self. He didn’t know what to do..looking at the sheets and seeing your tear droplets..he can’t help but scoff. You have problems, it’s unreal...how can someone be so destroyed—physically and mentally??

Unscrewing the lid to the cool water bottle he brought in, he sits himself next to your hunched self. Placing his hand on your soft hair, he gently brushes strands out of the way..so he can see your face. “I know you probably have a million things on your mind right now..but I need you to drink some water-please” the mans voice somehow soothing the tightness in your chest, you open your eyes

His damp hair covering his eyes, his gentle hands gripping the water—you weakly slowly started to make your body lift.. eyes continuously leaking tears, you gently reach for the bottle. Slightly grazing his hand, you quickly look into his brown orbs in apology. “Sorry—” Just from talking to him out loud you feel pressure coming up again. Heaving in a deep breath-trying not to crumble again already just in the span of minutes, “what am I doing here?”

As Hongjoong watched you take a swig of water he softly reached his hand with nails painted black to wipe your cheek of tears. “Well...you were unconscious—so I wasn’t just going to leave you there like a shithead..” gulping, and putting the cap back on the empty bottle you take in his words. Your body being overwhelmed with awkwardness, you cover your face and whine. “You b-bathed me..and put me into n-new clothes..”

hearing Hongjoong chuckle out, you quickly uncover your face with shock. Why was he laughing at you?!! What did he do?? “Don’t worry~ I didn’t do anything to you,, just cleaned you up...I wouldn’t make moves on a someone not aware of their own decisions..” looking back down to your legs your mind begins to turn against you once again...

~Of course he wouldn’t do anything to you..no one would want to anyways. You don’t deserve anything, because you’re no good for anything.~

“Are you okay??” Cupping your head, you slowly give him a nod..eyes pooling with warm fresh tears. You blink away the blurriness, trying to calm down and speak again. But all you do is choke out a broken cry, “I s-shouldn’t be here...I don’t even know you, I don’t know where I am...and I-“ looking away from him, staring at your bandaged legs. Droplets falling onto your skin, you sniffle and realize your once broken skin that was decorated with cuts and bruises were now covered and protected.

“I understand..please forgive me, I’m hongjoong..I’m the lead singer and guitarist from the band you heard playing last night-“ lifting your head by your chin, he gives you the softest look. “y-yes I recognize you..I’m y-y/n-“ finally giving you a bright smile, and taking the bottle from your grip Hongjoong slides off the bed. “So what’s your story?-“

———

Walls broken down—exposed to the male you only just met a week ago...you’re starting to feel not so drifted from the world. Slowly regaining and healing...all thanks to him, all thanks to the person who is the complete opposite of you. He’s given so much to your little self, and you took the time, to breathe....take in the good and actually find meaning to live. Overcoming cruelty that fed the blazing fire which spiraled your self valuing into the pits of hell..

he saw you when you were drowning, in need of help.. and made you feel worth living for. With Hongjoong, there would be no more doubt, he..the man in the spotlight, chose you....

Who would’ve thought you’d turn up here.

Where this new beginning started....

But only this time, you weren’t in it alone....

“Before we start up tonight, I want to introduce an important person.” adrenaline coursing, blinding lights, aggressive shouting and screaming filled the hall... “Everyone, this is Y/n...”

————————————————————————

tagging my wife @hongjoong-a-holic 🥺

~this is kinda a mess...don’t really know what I was doing....I’m sorry

lyrics from: black sheep by palaye royale + black sheep by kailee morgue!!⭐️

[childotkw]

Count your teeth snippets if you please. 🙈I love making albus bewildered & sad. Well, not me, you making. 🤣 Only if you feel like it ofc. I love pet names & I live for gellert calling Harry Leibling.

PS. R u writing Dig two graves? If so, is it gonna be a long project?

“It’s considered impolite to stare,” the young man - boy, really - commented evenly as he took a sip from his teacup. “If you’re going to do it at least sit down and stop looming. You’re blocking the light.”

Gellert slid into the seat across from the young man, nose wrinkling lightly at their surroundings. It had taken over a month to track him down, and in that time Gellert had imagined a great many ways their encounter would go. 

Sitting in a rundown muggle café in the middle of Salvador had not been high on the list.

He adjusted his coat jacket so that he was not touching more of the furniture than necessary, and looked up in time to catch the amused smirk slipping across the boy’s face.

He frowned. “Why are you here?” he demanded, derision colouring his tone.

The boy snorted, green eyes darting from his paper to Gellert’s face. A biting smile overtook his features. “If you have a problem, leave,” he said sweetly, gesturing at the window with his teacup. “this is my first chance to relax in three weeks, and I don’t exactly want to spend it in bad company.”

“You think I’m bad company?” Gellert asked, tilting his head.

“Dark Lord,” the boy replied pointedly, his tone heavy with some kind of censure. It grated. “There are few people that would be worse.”

“Careful, boy,” Gellert warned, his magic sparking dangerously. Weeks of chasing after this child had not done well for his patience. He stood, leaning over the table as his anger rose. “I don’t tolerate disrespect.”

The full weight of the other’s attention landed on him, and Gellert’s skin prickled at being at the sole recipient of that frigid focus. He felt seen, his layers stripped back with delicate nails, and he wasn’t sure he liked it.

A sudden chill filled the air, accompanied by a swell of power that numbed his fingers and made his teeth ache. It was like being at the nexus of ley lines. It felt cosmic.

The boy stared at him, unimpressed and oozing a sinister, cold, ancient kind of magic. “And I don’t take threats well,” he whispered, “so before you do something I’ll make you regret, I suggest you sit back down and let me finish my tea in peace.”

Gellert sat.

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

Yes, I will be writing Dig Two Graves. No, I don't know how long it’ll be just yet. Maybe 10 chapters.