#but i realized last night the reason was that because i've been sick

[sherlock-is-ace]

.

[pedroscurls]

in every lifetime

summary: you lost logan in this universe. logan lost you in his. what happens when you both see each other again, but realize that you're both from different worlds? pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader warnings: post deadpool & wolverine ("worst" logan!variant), angst (mentions of death, loss from both reader and logan), no use of y/n. word count: 2.1k a/n: this is my first logan fic, so if anything is ooc, i'm sorry in advanced! just like everyone else, i've been obsessed with hugh jackman / logan after watching deadpool & wolverine (if it isn't obvious lol)... i had the song 'unchained melody' in mind when writing this story because whenever i hear it, i think of logan for some reason lol (tried to embed it but it didn't work, but i'd highly recommend listening to the song while reading this!) anyway, hope you enjoy! next part.

“I’ll be back.”

“But what if–”

“I always come back, bub.” Logan’s looking down at you, hand cupping your cheek. In moments like this, you can see the age in his features. The crows feet at the corners of his eyes. The gray in his hair and beard. 

“Logan…” Tears sting your eyes. You know he has to leave, has to go help Charles, but there’s a feeling deep in your gut that knows that if he goes, he isn't coming back. 

“Wait for me, then.” He says, dipping down to gently peck your lips. “Okay? Wait for me.” 

“Logan,” you repeat. “What do I do if I– if I lose you?” 

There’s a feeling in the pit of Logan’s stomach, a sense of dread and fear that he’s only ever felt when you were concerned. This feels a lot like a goodbye… That maybe if he does go, he won’t come back. And the thought alone scares him. He never used to have to think about the possibility of dying, his regenerative powers always healing him in record time, but he knows that he doesn’t heal as quickly as before. He feels more pain now than he ever had. And he knows he’s sick, knows that the adamantium that once gave him strength is now slowly making him weaker.

But now, the thought of dying… It fucking scared him. It scared him to think that he’d leave you here, all alone, grieving him. He had never thought he’d be deserving of someone like you, to be loved and taken care of so gently, so sweetly, so patiently. Even with all of the baggage he carried, you never pushed. He knew, right off the bat, that you deserved someone so much better than him, but you stayed. 

Through it all, you stayed. 

And Logan would forever be grateful. After everything he’s been through, the things he’s seen, the things he had to do, the people he’s lost, you gave him a life that was finally worth living. 

“Then, you move on, darlin’.” Logan finally answers. 

“And if I can’t?” 

“You’ll have to.” 

“I don’t… I don’t want you to go, but I know that you have to. Charles needs you and–”

“I love you with every fiber of my being, baby,” Logan interjects. “And I will love you in every lifetime.” 

And that was almost a year ago. The moment he stopped calling, you knew that was it. That he either got into some real trouble or… Or that he was no longer here. It wasn’t until a young girl named Laura showed up on your doorstep, holding his dog tags that your assumptions were correct. 

You had fallen to your knees, a sob escaping your lips, as you felt your world come crashing down. Logan’s death had left a gaping hole in your heart, in your life, and everywhere you looked and everywhere you went, all you could see was him. 

You learned from Laura that during his last moments, he had told her to come and find you, that you would take care of her and give her a good life. Whenever you were around her, you tried to be strong, tried to put on a brave front, but behind closed doors, you were a complete mess. There were days where you didn’t want to get out of bed, didn’t want to eat; you just wanted the pain to stop. Every night, whenever you closed your eyes, you forced yourself to sleep because that was the only place where you could be with him. 

In your dreams, he was alive. 

In your dreams, he had made it back home.

In your dreams, he was here with you, helping raise Laura. 

And every time you woke up, you were welcomed with the sudden reality that he wasn’t alive. He wasn’t coming back home. He wasn’t ever going to be here with you to help raise Laura. 

Logan was dead and now, you had to try and learn how to move on. 

For yourself.

For Laura.

For Logan. 

—

He didn’t know what he was doing here, why he agreed to stay with Wade because it was driving him crazy. This wasn’t even his timeline; he wasn’t even meant to be here. Despite saving Wade’s timeline, Logan still found it hard to fit in. He tried to keep Wade and every single one of his friends at an arm's distance because he knows what happens to people he cares about. 

But the more time he spent around them, the more he felt at ease. Logan would be lying if he said he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, but when Laura mentioned your name at one of Wade’s family dinners, his heart skipped a beat. When he realized he would be able to stay in this timeline, you were all he could think about. 

Logan wondered if you existed in this world and what he would do if you did. So, when Laura casually said your name, his head turned around so quickly that he felt dizzy. There were so many things he regretted in his own timeline, but you were his biggest regret. 

Just like he failed the other X-men, Logan had failed you too. You had been there with the other X-men, trying to warn them of a planned attack and ended up getting caught in the crossfire. You had called out for him, just like Scott, like Charles, like Storm. 

He managed to get to you before you had taken your last breath, holding you in his arms. Logan begged and begged for you to fight, that he’d do things right from now on as long as you just held on, but you were losing so much blood and Logan couldn’t stop it. 

Even then, when you had every right to be angry with him, you gazed up at him with an understanding look on your face. You had always been so patient and kind, so sweet and considerate. You had made him so happy and it scared him, which ultimately ended in pushing you away because he didn’t think he was deserving of it. Of you. 

“I love you, Logan,” you had said, wincing at the pain. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m–” Logan felt a sob catch in his throat, tears stinging his eyes as he looked down at you. “Please, baby, please please please, don’t–”

“I–” you coughed, eyes fluttering as you felt the pain overcome your entire body. “I will love you in every lifetime, Logan.” And then, you took your last breath, eyes falling shut and body falling limp in his arms. 

Since then, Logan drank himself day after day, from dawn to dusk. The alcohol never truly helped, his regenerative powers sobering him so fast, but with every swig of liquor, it burned. And he spent years bringing pain unto others, including himself. 

That was, until he met Wade who had given him a chance, a reason to fight for something… To not turn his back on someone who relied on him. A chance for redemption, to finally make things right. 

“So, will you meet her?” Laura asks, holding Dogpool in her arms as she gazes up at Logan. “She– She used to be with this universe’s Logan and…”

“No chance, kid.” Logan interrupts, shaking his head. “I’m not him.” 

“Did you have someone like her in yours?” she asks. “She’s always put me first, always made sure I was taken care of even when she didn’t have to, when she was grieving. And I think–” Laura sighs. “I think if she knows that some version of you is alive, it would make her real happy.”

“I’m not him,” Logan growls, feeling his irritation spike. “‘Sides, she’s better off without me.” He stands from the table and walks out into Wade’s balcony to get some fresh air, shutting the door behind him as he leans against the railing.

“But she’s coming tonight,” Laura finally says, long after Logan’s walked away.

Throughout the rest of the dinner, Logan remains outside. He can hear the muffled laughter coming from inside and it only angered him because it was just another confirmation that he didn’t belong here. He’s already on his fourth bottle of beer when he hears a familiar voice, smells a recognizable scent. He turns slightly and catches you stepping into Wade’s apartment, an arm slinging over Laura’s shoulders so casually, so maternally. 

He feels his heart rate pick up. Your smile still lights up a room and he can’t help but his lips turning upwards at the sight. With his enhanced hearing, Logan can hear your voice and he shuts his eyes for a moment, tuning all of his attention on you until you’re the only one he hears. 

Then, he hears your laugh and he lets out a sigh. He never thought he’d be able to hear that again, but his eyes shoot open when he hears you say his name. There’s a shocked tone in your voice, laced with sadness and hope. It all but crushes him because he knows that you’re probably expecting someone else, expecting this world’s Logan and he doesn’t want to disappoint you. Not again. He doesn’t think he’d be able to handle it if he were to hurt you again. 

But when he looks at you, his breath catches in his throat when your eyes meet his. Logan notices the surprise look on your face, but before he could try and escape, you’re already walking towards him. When you open the door and step out with him, your scent fills his senses and it makes him dizzy, like he can’t fully concentrate. 

“You…” he hears you say, voice unsteady. “You’re not… I’m–” you sigh and shake your head. 

“I know who you are,” Logan finally says, his own voice shaky. 

Your hands reach out for him, but stopping halfway when you realize this isn’t your Logan. This is not the same man who died all those years ago. This is some version of him – much younger, less wrinkles and gray hairs in his hair and beard, but he still has that same look on his face. The scowl. 

“From Laura?” you ask hesitantly. 

“From my universe,” Logan answers. 

“There– There’s a version of me in your universe?” 

“There was.”

“And what happened to me?” 

Logan’s jaw tightens. “The same thing that happened to your Logan in this universe.”

“Oh.” Your face drops, eyes softening. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

Logan wants to run far from here, far from you because he feels himself yearning for more. He almost forgot how it felt like to be near you, to be inches away that he can just reach out and pull you into his arms. Your eyes captivate him, the kindness it expresses makes him feel like he matters. You had always made him feel that way that even through all of his anger, through all of the walls he put up, you showed him that he was deserving of something good. Even if he didn’t believe it himself. 

And you… You were the best thing to ever happen to him.

“Don’t know why you’re apologizin’,” Logan mutters. 

There’s an uncomfortable silence that engulfs the both of you. He can see the tears threatening to spill over, can see the way your lower lip is beginning to tremble and he has this sudden urge to console you, to wipe away the tears that have now fallen down your cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, bringing your hands up to wipe away the tears that seem to be trickling down your face nonstop. “I just– Losing my Logan just crushed me and I don’t think I’ve ever recovered.” 

My Logan. 

Logan can practically feel his heart beating in his chest. This isn’t a conversation that he thought he would be having and certainly not with someone he loved and died because of him. 

“That’s okay,” Logan responds quietly, his tone softening. “I don’t think it’s easy to recover from losing someone you love.”

“Did you– Did you love me in your universe?” 

Logan nods slowly, tightening his jaw as he gazes down at you. “With every fiber of my being.” 

Your eyes widen and stare up at him. This might be a different Logan, but hearing those words again just brings you back to the moment you last saw your Logan before he left to go take care of Charles. 

“Did you love me in yours?” Logan asks hesitantly.

You nod instantly, tears trickling down your cheek as you stare up at him. “I’d love you in every lifetime.” 

Logan feels his own set of tears pool at the corners of his eyes and he moves a hand to rest on the railing, fingers lightly brushing against yours as he stares into your eyes. 

“I’m not him,” he whispers. 

“I know,” you say quietly. “And I’m not her.” 

[turnfires-secret]

Kinich x top male reader? Imagine that Kinich limps a little after their night with reader, and while reader is trying to make amends, Ajaw makes fun of them in every possible way. That would be fun lmao😭

Anon ilysm i've been craving a reason to write ajaw for days now and I finally get my excuse!

This isn't really smut tho... sorry if I've disappointed anyone!

Payment Due | Kinich X Male Reader

It’s beyond hot inside your shared bedroom. How long had the two of you been at it? Neither you nor Kinich could recall. Kinich has buried his face into the crook of his arm again, trying to keep himself quiet. It doesn’t bring the Turnfire hunter any sort of mercy from the ruthless unending pleasure plaguing his mind, seeing as you just start fucking him harder fueled by the desire to listen to the whorish sounds that slipped from his mouth.

When Kinich wakens the next morning he’s met with a terrible sticky sensation and… as per usual, the most aggravating sound Kinich had heard in his whole life.

“Ew! You humans really are disgusting! I’d have never expect my own servant to engage in such… foul, vile, unholy, unsanitary acts of sacrilege in the close presence of the mighty dragon lord, Ku’hul Ajaw! “

Attempting to ignore Ajaw’s incessant yapping, Kinich takes a deep breath and gets up out of bed… Only to realize the pain and agony that came with such a task. Actually, phrasing it that way is abit too… dramatic. What he was actually facing was the aches and pains of post sex. Kinich is limping, and (to make the situation worse) Ajaw notices. 

“Oh? Did that puny human you drool over fuck you that hard to the point you can’t walk straight?! Wait- Meheheheh! maybe today’s my lucky day! You should go outside and try fight a pack of those idiotic tribal warriors and die!”

“I’m not that stupid, now leave me alone”

Kinich replied, taking yet another deep breath before going to the bathroom and taking a shower. The dendro user finishes his shower, feeling much more refreshed and awake despite the fact he’s still limping. Changing into some fresh clothes he feels your arms around his waist and your head nuzzle into his shoulder. 

“Well good morning to you too”

“Mhhh~ Kinichhh why are you up so early….?”

To Kinich, the sound of your voice was always the best part of his day.

“It’s far from early my love, Infact, it’s 11 am”

“Still too early…”

“EW, DISGUSTING LOVE BIRDS, YOU MAKE ME SICK!”

Theres a pause in the room before you and Kinich both decide to once more completely ignore the yelling pixelized projection. 

“Moving on, you, should be paying me compensation.”

Even though your voice was the best medicine for the aloof warrior, you were still not exempt from his habit of counting costs. To Kinich, it seems his aching grievance was enough to warrant payment.

“Wh- payment?!”

“Because of your prior actions i now find it hard to walk normally, so personally, i think you should pay the prince, no?”

“Personally i think you should charge them has much as you can, Kinich!” (Ajaw says, bardging into the conversation only to get ignored)

“Wh- Alright then~ For payment how about… we go another round?”

You respond, your voice now holding that seductive tone you seemed to enjoy using with him. 

His neck is sensitive after last night’s activities. You bite down, hard enough for him to feel it. Such an action’s associations mixed with such sensitivity forced a needy whine from Kinich’s throat, aswell as changes the Turnfire warrior’s mind. 

“... fine, i have time to spare… just… be abit more gentle this time, will you?”

[copperbadge]

One of the things I used to do when I was having creative difficulties was to declare a moratorium on creation -- say to myself, "Well, you're blocked or frustrated with everything. Maybe no more writing for the rest of the month," and then no matter what, I would commit to doing no more writing until the set date. I was just giving myself permission to take a little space without guilt, but once I'm not allowed to create, I tend to want to, so it's often been not just restful but rejuvenating. I have other coping methods that I've built, so I haven't had to do it in a long time, but apparently it still works.

The last two weeks have been a lot of travel, socializing and work, and I haven't had a ton of time or space to myself. It's been for good reasons, and overall very positive, but I've done essentially no fiction writing, especially since before that I was getting Royals/Ramblers out the door and pulling the Omnibus V2 together. But this morning I sat down before the day really began and realized I did actually want to write. I didn't get to actually do much because R and baby U woke up and I wanted to cook breakfast and hang out with them, but at least I wanted to write, and had a vague idea of how to attack it.

Life keeps feeling unreal -- I keep thinking something's profoundly off, and then realizing yeah, I've been putting my entire normal existence on hold for weeks on end. Even when I've been in Chicago I've been sick and work's had some unusual challenges, and there have been a few novel personal life events. A lot of what I have done has also been laced with an anxiety I don't normally have to deal with, for one reason or another.

Tomorrow are the last few hurdles -- I have to get to the airport and I have a non-direct flight to Chicago for the first time in over a decade, which are always stressful. Once I'm home, it's just the usual travel recovery: laundry, cooking, reassuring kitties. I have to get through the rest of the week's work, but at least there's nothing too intensive. The weekend is mainly free, though I'm going to try and see if I can see a few people socially and do some shopping for a party I'm throwing the following weekend.

It does feel like the hits keep coming, like this hectic pace is just my life now, but I know that I'll be home, with time and resources I haven't had in a while, and things will slowly ease up. I was telling myself I had to hold on until April 10th, and really it's going to be more like the end of April before silence truly descends, but at least after tomorrow I'll have time to write and finally the motivation as well.

I do feel sometimes like there was a "normal" that I had established which started slowly vanishing after the ADHD diagnosis, and I'm not sure I'm equipped to build a new one in the same way. That said, I'm sure I'll settle back into a groove once I'm sleeping in my own bed for more than two nights running.

It feels like the space I had carved in the world for myself now doesn't quite fit me anymore. It's a neutral kind of sensation -- not comfortable, but not painful, and equally not very productive. But it's not like I evaporate if I don't figure it out immediately, I suppose.

[canonicallyobserving911]

Buddie: Two hopes for episode 8x6

I've waited for more than 24 hours to post this because I'm still in utter disbelief after Tuesday night. Yesterday, I hoped I'd wake up from the nightmare and realize it was all a dream but it wasn't and it will continue for who knows how long. I'm trying to find silver linings in the one TV show I consistently watch, therefore I'm finally ready to share the only two hopes I have for 9-1-1's season 8 episode 6.

I won't watch live and the truth is I haven't this season because if it's full of more retcons and other nonsensical BS, I need to be able to fast forward through the scenes I don't want to see. Furthermore, my expectations for 8x6 are below the ground and honestly, after Tuesday's election here in the U.S., I have no idea how TM (showrunner) and the network will react or if they'll even try to course correct.

IYKYK there will be challenges ahead for network TV and it's the MAIN reason why Buddie should have gone CANON last season. Also, I've posted before that hiatues don't do them any favors (seasons 6 and 7 are perfect examples of this and that's why they both ended ridiculously), therefore, I'm only hoping for two things.

Buck needs to end whatever the f~ck he's doing with Tonsillitis because 8x5 clearly showed they aren't compatible. There's no need to drag it out any longer and I for one do NOT want to sit through a déjà vu moment that's reminiscent of BT 1.0 only for this BS to last until 8x18. It was exhausting in season 5 and if TM does it, then it'll be history repeating itself. We're literally 5 episodes in and I'm already tired of this season because of the lack of movement with Eddie’s storyline and all this focus on BT instead of it being focused on Buck and his individual journey. It's not ok and it's really pissing me off. Buck needs to stand up for himself and stop clinging to relationships that aren't working. He already wasn't allowed to breakup with T.K. 1.0 because he wasn’t happy, so can he please finally get off the damn hamster wheel? OS deserves better than this and TM (showrunner) should be ashamed at how poorly he's handled Buck’s arc.

Eddie hasn't had a GOOD episode that's been solely about him in YEARS! And I'm disappointed in the fact that 8x6 was supposed to be his time to shine but once again it appears his scene(s) will be relegated to the last 5 minutes of the episode the same way his PTSD arc was handled in 5x13. Therefore, I hope whatever is going to happen with him shaving his mustache will be emotional and meaningful instead of it being handled in a way that's comical like the show spent the majority of the preseason promoting it. TM already spilled the beans about it which minimized the anticipation of it when he told everyone during an interview that it was going to happen only to not speak of it again for the last few weeks. Furthermore, whatever Eddie has to say about his failed marriage to Shannon, it needs to be the last time so it can be wrapped up tonight because there are only so many times she should be mentioned because she's been dead for 6 years and it's time for her to R.I.P. Now, he SHOULD talk about her when he's ready to have an open and honest conversation with Chris like he should have been allowed to do in 7x1. Also, a mention of how Eddie’s going to fix things with Chris needs to be included too because Eddie’s a great dad and I'm sick and tired of them not letting their father and son relationship move forward. Chris has been in El Paso long enough, therefore Eddie needs to travel there to see him and so that he can read his mother the riot act. RG is a fabulous actor and he deserves better. He already had to put up with that raggedy ass "Vertigo" and doppelgänger storyline BS, so can the audience please see some progress in 8x6? The show needs to turn the page on Eddie’s failed marriage once and for all.

Here's the thing, with the Madney storyline, three emergency calls, Buck's conversations with Maddie and Josh and possibly Bobby, all the BT foolishness, Eddie shaving his mustache and Eddie’s conversation(s) with the priest, it’s unlikely there will be enough time for everything and I'd rather see the stuff that matters and that will move both Buddie's and Madney's arcs forward.

Time is of the essence and there are only two weeks left before the show goes on hiatus for who knows how long. Therefore, waiting to make Buddie CANON could backfire and it’s possible they won't get the chance if they wait until 8B.

Just saying.

I'M TIRED AND I WON'T DEAL WITH ANYONE'S BS COMMENTS ABOUT BT BREAKING UP SO, DON'T REBLOG THIS WITH AN OPPOSING OPINION. IF ANYONE DISAGREES THAT’S FINE BUT THEY SHOULDN'T ATTACH IT TO MY POST. THEY SHOULD DO IT ON THEIR OWN BLOG OR GET BLOCKED LIKE EVERY BT STAN. I'M A PROACTIVE BLOCKER AND I DO IT BASED ON FILTERED TAGS! I'VE ALREADY BLOCKED THE VAST MAJORITY OF THEM BUT EVERY NOW AND THEN ONE WILL FOLLOW ME AND I IMMEDIATELY BLOCK THEM TOO.

[deiaiko]

#20.5 Care

"Agni…" Grace shook him awake.

Agni stirred on the bed, a little displeased. Grace was being a little rough today. Ever since they started living together in this new timeline, Agni usually woke up to Grace kissing his cheek, not an urgent grip on his shoulder. It would have raised his awareness, but for some reason, his body was refusing to do so.

"Please, wake up." Grace begged, voice a little wet.

Agni forced himself to open his eyes, squinting at the blinding light that made his head ache. Once his vision adjusted to the room, he saw that Grace was close to tears. He visibly deflated once Agni managed to lock gazes with him and finally let the dam break free. "Oh thank goodness. I've been trying to wake you a few times but you didn't respond so I thought–" Grace wiped his tears off and tried to regain himself.

"Wh-" Agni coughed weakly, his throat was so dry. What happened?

Grace began explaining anyway. "When I woke up I noticed that you had a fever. So I tried to check on you, but you were more sluggish than your normal sick days. So I was afraid that you were–"

Grace stopped mid-ramble as Agni found and squeezed Grace's hand, trying to stop him from panicking. Waiting for Grace to recollect himself, Agni pushed himself up to sit to make himself more awake. The world spun and a wave of nausea hit him full force. Agni pushed himself off the bed and stumbled a little when his knee tingled uncomfortably. Realizing this, Grace swooped him off his feet and carried him down to the bathroom.

Soon Agni found himself sitting down on the floor next to the toilet bowl. Grace draped a blanket over him before Agni realized he was shivering. Agni noticed that his breath was hot and his shirt clung to his skin from cold sweat. 

Because their bedroom and the bathroom were quite a hassle to go back and forth from, Grace prepared the water bed in the bathroom for them to use later, and Agni was thankful for his thoughtfulness. Grace then sat next to him and mindlessly rubbed on Agni's hunched back, up and down along his spine comfortingly.

As Agni emptied his stomach in the toilet, he hazily recalled taking a little more sleeping pills than he should have last night, plus drinking a few cups of wine beforehand. Though given the circumstances, he didn't know whether he could've stopped himself from doing so. In that case, he must've had a hangover, on top of the chills that he usually got after using his ice shinsu, which often developed into fever.

The room was quiet after the wave of nausea passed, and the silence was nice against his foggy mind. His breath was still slow and uneven, and his throat felt arid and sore. Grace didn't look like he was faring any better, with his eyes red and swollen, movement sluggish as if he was working on autopilot. Still, Grace tended to him patiently until Agni felt okay enough to lay back down on the bed.

However, Grace didn't join him as Agni thought he would, and instead made his way to the door. "I will get you some medicine."

"Do you know which to get?" Agni rasped out. When Grace didn't answer right away, Agni typed the answer in his pocket. "There, sent." Only then did Agni notice the time, so he added, "You should get breakfast as well, if you have not."

"Maybe. I won't leave for long." And Grace closed the door after saying that.

Agni was just hoping that Grace could have a breather from being cooped up to take care of him, but deep down he was relieved with that promise. After all, the thought of being left alone when his body felt like it was chained to the ground spiked his anxiety. His stomach churned as bad memories replayed in his mind from the reminder. He dragged his heavy feet and kneeled beside the toilet bowl for the second time, already missing the comfort of the bed. He retched to try getting rid of the awful feeling, but it wasn't effective when he had nothing else to empty.

As the sleep medication wore off, his thoughts also returned louder, and Agni was reminded again of why he decided to take another dose last night. It wasn't like him to do something so impulsive, but after Grace fell asleep crying, everything seemed too much to bear alone. He needed something to help him quiet all the guilt that he had piled up.

All the events leading up to that tragedy replayed vividly over and over. Each time he tried to think of ways it could've ended differently, but only a few seemed to have played in their favor. But of course, what good would it do him anyway? Because he couldn't change what had happened, even if he went back to the past. And the fact that they were gone was the reality he had to live with from now on.

Grace returned quicker than he had anticipated, with the food tray and all. But his complexion did look much better than before he left, so Agni felt somewhat relieved.

"Bam is outside," was what Grace said as a greeting. And yeah, it did explain a lot for his better mood.

"You should spend time with him." Because Grace needed someone to cheer him up, and who else knew how to do it better than himself? "Don't worry about me."

"How could I not?" Grace sat next to him, putting the food tray on the floor, completely ignoring Agni's former suggestion. Grace brushed his palm on Agni's forehead, the clear temperature difference made his eyebrows knit together in concern. "Your fever rose."

"It's not usually this stubborn." Agni exhaled some of his frustration, and began coughing as his body reminded him of how dry his throat was. He took a careful sip of the water that Grace offered and waited for it to settle before taking the medicine, swallowing it dry out of habit. 

"You should eat something." Grace pulled the tray so it was within Agni's reach. "Or drink some water, you're dehydrated."

Agni groaned, though he knew he needed to get something in his system to make his body focus on recovering. He nibbled on the crackers and drank the water little by little, deciding to take his time rather than risk it. Grace looked very satisfied when Agni managed to get everything down, which in turn also made Agni feel somewhat accomplished.

Not long afterward, Agni yawned, tired after being kept awake by the nausea and his loud thoughts. Grace had pulled Agni to sit on his lap, body facing each other to share as much warmth while keeping Agni upright, or else he might have an upset stomach later.

The way Grace's breath brushed past his neck grounded him, as it was an easy thing to focus on. Time passed slowly, and it would've lulled him to sleep if Grace didn't let the silence linger. There was a tenseness in Grace's shoulders, and the way Grace hugged him a little tighter than usual was enough to tell him not to leave his wave controller alone drowning in his thoughts. The moment Grace's breathing started to get uneven, Agni knew that Grace was crying. Absentmindedly, he began rubbing and patting Grace's back, earning him some sniffles. It was pathetic that this was the only thing Agni could offer to support Grace, but he couldn't think of anything better that he was able to give as of the moment.

Agni didn't cry, though he wished he could, so his chest could relieve some of the pressure and stop aching. To think that they were willing to save him without thinking of the consequences, was something Agni still had a hard time believing. That he was able to hold Grace like this was all thanks to them. He could've died that day if Rak didn't protect him, or he could've lost his mind by living in that damned place if Isu and Hatz didn't come for him. He missed his old team, both dead and alive, and all that he left behind in that war time. He never admitted it out loud, but god he missed them.

Eventually, Grace pulled away. His eyes were red and puffy, but his movements were no longer on autopilot. He tucked Agni back to bed after checking his temperature, saying that it had gone lower, and evidently it ceased some of his worry.

Agni snuggled closer to Grace, finding comfort at the thought of him. Alive, real and close by. "Thank you, for being here." 

The corner of Grace's lips pulled upwards in a gentle smile, "You too." His free hand ran through Agni's hair and massaged his scalp. "Get better soon."

Agni started to drift off to sleep then, comfortably tucked up under a blanket and safe in Grace's embrace. He remembered the way Grace placed a lingering kiss on his forehead before Agni was out completely.

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[beautifulfuckup99]

Request is simple

Alpha JK * Chubby Girl 🫠

Babes, you know I got you! Gonna make this a bit of a part 2 to "I Can Handle It", which has reached 390 hearts so far. I'm so glad ya'll enjoyed it! Lol

Title: A Little Reminder...

Warning(s): SMUT! (Obviously), Body image issues, pregnancy S!X, And, yes, fluff too! Lol

Author's Note: This is for my beautiful Big/Curvy Girls. Love ya'll!

***************************************

Jungkook's POV:

My phone rang out as I waited for the light to turn green. I looked down at my phone expecting to see my wife calling, but it wasn't her number. I picked up the call and put the phone on speaker so I could talk without getting a ticket for it.

"Hello?" I asked and quickly heard a sigh of relief come from the other side.

"Finally. What the hell are you doing out there?" Namjoon's deep voice came out in an angry tone, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes at the conversation I know he'll be having with me soon. Even on hiatuses, he was still my Hyung...

"Joon please, I have enough people mad at me for tonight." I muttered softly, hoping for some mercy after the week I've been dragged through.

"Well, someone's gotta figure out where your damn head is at. Y/N says you're cheating on her?" He asks and I want to yell out. 'I'M NOT CHEATING!', but I hold in the frustration. Married. Married, living together, and expecting our first child, and Y/N's insecurities had found a way right back to us.

"She called me crying after you walked out tonight? Didn't I teach you to never leave just leave a fight unresolved?" He lectures and I hit my forehead on the steering wheel before looking back at the road as I drive around the city streets of Soeul. "She said you never touch her and that-" I finally cut Namjoon off from his worried rant.

"I know what she said! I hear it all the damn time. That's why I left. I'm sick and tired of her always accusing me of looking at different women when we're out together or saying that she's not attractive anymore. She's having my child, Joon! We're married for crying out loud! What more should I do to prove I'm not going anywhere?" I asked in pure exhaustion. I'd even taken this break for her, and it seems like nothing was working. This was honestly worse than when we were dating. I hear my Hyung sigh before he begins speaking again.

"You need to understand that she's very sensitive right now, Jungkook. Any and every little thing will find a way to set her off. Especially since you guys haven't been doing much-" I cut him off again.

"That's none of your business." I say fast and then pause. "I-I'm sorry, Joon..." I sigh, just angry that Y/N would even tell him all of this. He hums.

"Jungkook. Y/N said that she believes the reason you won't touch her is because you think she's getting fat." He says, and I huff in annoyance as I stop at another red light.

"Joon..." I whispered while shaking my head. "I still, and will always, look at Y/N like I did the night we met. I've told her how much I love her body!" I try and defend. Namjoon hums again.

"But her body has changed, Jungkook." He points out. "Have you given her a reminder?" He asks and I nod my head before realizing that he can't see me.

"Not a day has gone by where I didn't tell her that..." I stated before remembering the last few weeks. "I... Well, I mean... Work has been busy lately... And... Shit!" I groaned as I hit my head on the steering wheel again before quickly focusing back on the road.

"'Shit' is right." Namjoon sighs. "You know what you've gotta do now right?" He asks and I stay silent, secretly needing this advice. Even as a grown man with a kid on the way, I knew I'll always need the insight of my Hyung.

"You gotta go home and remind your wife why you wanted a ring on that finger." He stats and I chuckle softly before sighing and pulling over on some random street.

"You're right. I gotta go. Thanks, Hyung." I mumbled and heard Namjoon say a small 'goodnight' and also 'good luck' before hanging up.

I had to make this up to my wife, and fast.

**************************************

I get home just as the clock shows 2:30am, but I'm not tired at all. I close the door behind me and hear the stairs creak a bit as someone comes downstairs. Turning around, I see my beautiful wife standing at the bottom of the staircase, hands crossed over her chest as she bit the corner of her bottom lip as if waiting for the right words to come to mind... So was I.

I had everything I was gonna say ready in the back of my mind, yet now, seeing her there with her hair a mess, her cute little nose red, and her gorgeous eyes puffy, all from crying... I just felt shame for even putting her through this.

"Baby..." I begin as I started walking over to her, flowers in hand, her favorite. "I am so sorry for everything-" She cuts me off with a shake of her head.

"No... I-It's my fault." She states. "I should've known that you would never cheat on me and I'm sorry I accused you. I-It's just everyone talking about you having 'so much chemistry' with that actress in your new music video... I-I guess I just kinda... Kinda lost it." She whispers with her head going down in shame.

I open my mouth to speak again but my voice gets caught in my throat. What good are words at a point like this? I walk over to my wife and grab her chin, tilting her head up to look at me. "I want you Y/N..." I whisper as I look her in the eyes. She pauses and I grab her by the waist, pulling her against me, her curves working as amazing place holders for my arms.

"You don't have to-" I cut her off by picking her up bridal style so I could take her up the stairs to our bedroom.

"I thought I told you back when we were dating. I can handle you just fine. I think you need a little reminder." I whisper in her ear.

As soon as we get through the doorway of the bedroom, I pinned her up against the first wall I could. I didn't mean to be rough with her, but it's been so long since we've even made out... Lust clouded my mind when she moaned into the kiss because of the sting my hand had just left on her plump ass. I kissed her, my tongue shooting into her mouth so I could taste her for the first-time in... I don't know how long.

I pushed her up against the wall harder as my hands reached down to her legs so she could get the hint to jump up and wrap them around me. My hands went to the hem of my shirt she'd been wearing, basically ripping it off of her. I moved away to get a better look at her and moaned. She was wearing red lace. "You were prepared." I pant and she blushes. "I don't know what you're talking about..." She taunts quietly. I put her down to get a better view of her and her body.

Her gorgeous body...

With a spin of my index finger, I motioned for her to turn for me. She slowly and hesitantly did. She turned her back towards me and I slowly grabbed her hips and squeezed. Fuck, I love this view the most...

"I'd be insane to get tired of a body like this." I whisper in her ear, causing her to turn to look at me from over her shoulder. Her bright eyes made my heart flutter like always.

"You mean that?" She whispers softly, as if challenging my sweet words. Our relationship was always a tug of war, and I loved it. She always kept me on my toes, kept me sharp. I smile before cupping her face, the pad of my thumb stroking her cheek.

"With every fiber in my being." I whisper back before leaning in to kiss her, this time more slowly. Our lips move like butter on a hot pan, the motion is slow and consistent, her tongue licking at my lower lip makes me shiver. I pull away from her lips though as my hands pull her closer to my body.

"How did I get so lucky?" I ask as I eye her, and Y/N blushes slightly, thrusting her butt against me to bump me away a bit before turning fully towards me.

"You make it sound like I'm some goddess..." She tries to taunt but I notice how little sarcasm is in her voice, like now she truly believes that she isn't. It makes an anger spark inside me that is quickly replaced with a need to make her believe me.

"Y/N..." I whisper as I make her look at me. "You are a goddess." I state.

"No, I'm not..." She begins, but I lean in and kiss her again. She puts her hands on my shoulders to probably push me back, but I know what she likes. My lips wrap around her bottom lip to suck on softly, my arms wrapping around her waist to hold her as close as her stomach would let me.

As we make out, my hands move to grip her ass, loving the feel of it in my hands. I loved the feel of her cellulite, the stretch marks, how soft it felt when I squeezed. Like dough. I especially loved the noise it made when I...

Smack!

Y/n gasps against my mouth as I rub the ass cheek I'd just smacked. "Get on the bed. I fucking missed this body." I whisper, tonguing my lip ring as I eye her bashful state. She was always so cute...

"Jungkook-" I cut her off.

"Don't 'Jungkook' me. This is what you wanted, right? Why you've been so fussy? It's cause I haven't been giving it to you lately. I'm gonna make up for that right now." I say as I grab her chin firmly, loving how she breathes unevenly at the promise. "Now get on the fucking bed." I order, not in a mood to repeat myself. Not when all I wanted was her withering under me...

Y/N is quick to get on the bed and I drop my jacket finally before walking over while undoing my belt. I yank it off and use it on her wrists, not needing her hands wondering. "Let me take care of this body." I smirk as my hands roam her half naked body now.

I grope her breasts as she gently moans and it's music to my ears. I kiss the tops of her breasts as I squeeze them. Her back aches so I can reach behind her and take her bra off. I slip her bra off of her perfect body and take time to really look at her again. Her hair's a mess, her cheeks are flushed, and she's never looked better. 

"I am so fucking lucky." I begin. "I get to wake up next to you every morning," I kiss the middle of her chest. "Come home to you every afternoon," I kiss down her stomach. "And make love to you every night. I'm in heaven..." I whispered softly before I pull her underwear all the way off and throw it over my shoulder, not caring where it lands. I spread her legs and get comfy between them.

I focus on her inner thighs, wanting to mark them up, biting and leaving hickeys on her perfect skin. "P-Please... Kookie, please!" Y/N begs in need, and it makes me smirk. Being pregnant made her more sensitive. She was practically leaking on the bed already. My breath brushes over her soaked pussy as I tease her more.

"You want it? Hm?" I taunt quietly as she shivers. I smirk and move to face her. "You know what I wanna hear." I say.

"I-I'm a pretty girl..." She whimpers softly. "Please. Please give it to me..." She whines softly. I hum and cup her pussy in one hand, rubbing my palm against her clit. It makes her moan louder and makes me smirk.

"Fuck, you're so wet, I can hear it..." I say happily as I slide two fingers into her at once cause I know she can take it. And she does. She always takes my fingers so easily. Almost as easy as she takes my cock...

"Oh my god..." She whines as her hips hump against my hand. I move to lay next to her as I focus on finger fucking her, eyes almost rolling every time her walls milked my fingers.

"Look at me. Look at me." I order between pants, and her eyes are half shut as she does, forcing herself to stay focused and not lose it to the pleasure yet. "My pretty girl. You like it?" I whisper against her lips, her hands moving against the belt tied around her wrists.

"Yes! Yes! Please, faster. Please, I love-" I cut her off by adding a third finger and rapidly thrusting them in and out, making her head roll back, and I wasn't letting up. The gushing sound coming from her pussy as I finger fucked her was egging me on too much to let up.

"Baby! Baby!" She gasps in pleasure, hips halting as I get to her sweet spot. I relentlessly hit that spot, over and over again as she says my name and my ego grows. I always thought hearing my name from ARMY was music to my ears, but having my wife chant it as I hold her shaking body with my fingers buried deep inside her? It was just a better use of my name...

"Take me baby... Please. Please, fuck me." She whimpers and I feel completely lightheaded at her pleas. I pull my fingers out, making her groan at the loss.

"Don't worry, baby. I'm gonna give you something much bigger." I assure in her ear, making her squeal. I roll her on to her side with me behind her.

"My hands! Please!" She pants as I kiss and bite along her neck. I groan softly and kiss her ear before releasing her wrists. My hands roam her body before I finally undo my jeans that were acting as a prison for my cock. I moan at the relief of my bulge finally being free from it's trap.

Her hand is on my cock before I can even guide it between her legs myself. I smirk as I watch her eyes stay glued to the mirror by our bed. "You know exactly where to look. Good girl..." I praise as I help push into her.

She sucks in some air fast and I grab her leg to hold over my hip so I can push in deeper. "Fuck..." I groan as I feel my cock instantly become surrounded by her warm and wet walls that squeeze around my length in need. "Treat my cock so good, baby..." I pant.

"Give me..." She whines and it makes me smirk. So needy...

I start fucking her faster and her hand goes to mine that's around her waist. Her nails dig into my arm and the burn of her nails going up my forearm only makes me thrust faster. "Oh... Fuck, baby!" I groaned as I move my hips so I can find her sweet spot.

"Jungkook!" She moans out loudly and I smirk. Found it.

Y/N throws her head back, her hair everywhere and her chest moving rapidly up and down. My head moves to the cork of her neck so naturally. This was so natural. I could never experience this with anyone else. And if I had to fuck her speechless to get it through her head that she was my one and only, then so be it.

"So perfect..." I breathed out against her ear as I watch het through the mirror before slowing down. I wanted her to feel every fucking inch of my cock. I wanted to feel just how tight her walls wrap around my cock with need to keep me in.

"Look at me." I whispered and grab Y/N by her chin before she can move, making her whimper loudly. She locks eyes with me.

"Please. Please, fuck me. I have to cum..." She shivers and I smirk as I move my forehead, so it's pressed to hers. She gasps loudly as I give her hard and slow thrusts.

"You are so perfect." I breathed out and she just whispers my name shakily. I smile at her reaction, eyes rolling shut and mouth dropping open. My firm hand moves to her clit to rub it. The look on her face was one of pure need. Pure beauty...

"I love you. I love your body. I love your mind, baby. Fuck..." I pant. "I fucking love everything about you..." I ramble on as she blushes more, whining how much she loves me.

"Kookie... I... Oh god... H-Harder... I-I love you! Please, baby, harder." Y/N cries out, and I move harder. Her hand moves down to hold mine that's rubbing at her clit faster now. I kiss along her face as she trembles.

"Let go, baby." I breathe out. "Come on, beautiful... Cum for me." I continue and Y/N presses her lips against mine hard, but she barely kisses me, too lost in pleasure. I don't mind though. I swallow all of her moans as she cums hard, her whole body shaking as she throws her head back against my shoulder blade, breaking our kiss. I continue through her orgasm and after a few more thrusts, I cum just as hard inside of her.

We don't move after such an intense session. The silence in the room is loud as we try to catch our breaths. I do, however, spend time kissing all over her face, neck, and shoulder as she softly begins giggling, something she does when fully satisfied, and it's always enough to make me fall all over again.

"I love you." The voice is weak and shaky, but it belongs to the woman I love. So, it's perfect...

"I love you too, baby." I say back, my voice hoarse. I slowly move out of her, making her gasp softly at the loss. I pull her into my side to cuddle.

"I'm sorry. For being a handful." She mutters quietly and I chuckle softly.

"Don't be. I'll always be ready to remind you just how amazing you are. I can handle you, baby. Never forget it." I smirk before kissing her tenderly.

**************************************

Also, can we talk about the fact that I've reached 300 followers! Love you all!

[melanieph321]

heyy i love your writing and just wanted to say i appreciate your work💖

my request is something like you are best friends with fermin (or gavi) and he’s madly in love with you but you don’t know about it so when you start seeing someone (possibly another footballer) he gets jealous and does something outrageous like posts a story with a photo of yours which is odd considering he’s never done it before and the person you’re seeing gets mad and you also get mad because it’s obvious he’s doing it for another reason and have an argument with him when he confesses his true feelings in a moment of weakness which causes you to take a step back but you soon realize you’re actually more into him than you knew and go to him late at night and make out

i don’t know if this is something you’d be interested in but i’d love to read it

SEVEN DAYS OF REQUEST (DAY 2)

Ugh, I hate you for making such a good request. Took me all day to finish this. And I had to make it a four part series since I put my own spin on it. Hope that's okay.

Fermin Lopez x Reader - You or Me Part 1/4

Part 2 part 3 part 4

Enjoy!

It was just a silly youth camp for all the Barca Academy's boys and girls. How it turned out so ugly, you had no idea.

It was a Friday morning when all of the players were put on a bus to a Boot Camp four hours outside of Barcelona. You were thankful that the academy boys did not share the same bus as the girls, but trailed in their own vehicle not too far behind. However it was bound to get messy at the camp grounds since the girls and boys were sharing the same hotel.

"Who are you texting?" Camilla asked.

"No one." You muttered, but nudged your phone out of her view.

"Come on, don't be shy, tell me who you're texting."

You perked up, peering over your seat to make sure that none of the other players could hear you. "Okay but promise not to tell anyone." 

"I promise." She grinned, giddy with excitement.

"Alejandro Garnacho."

"What! You little…"

"Shhhhh!" You exclaimed, slapping your hand against Camilla's mouth. However, 

that did not stop her from running her mouth behind the palm of your hand.  

"Huh?" You frowned, her mumbles inaudible. You removed your hand.

"I said, doesn't he have a girlfriend now?"

"And a baby." You nodded.

Camila gasped. "You slut!" 

"Relax." You said, leaning back in your seat. "We're just friends and you know that. We've been friends forever."

"Yes, but before that you had the biggest crush on him, no?"

"Yes, but that's in the past. He's happy in England with his new family. I told you about last summer, didn't I? Garnacho and his girlfriend let me stay with them while I was over there trying out for Manchester United's U21 youth team. Garnacho and I have become really close since then. Close friends." You added, before Camilla could call you a slut again. 

The two of you sat back in silence. The road ahead was bumpy and almost made you car sick. Good thing you and Camilla were seated up front where you could see the road. You dreaded sitting in the back, since some of the girls thought it would be funny to make faces at the boys bus trailing behind you. They were having a laugh, however you found it very annoying.

"Did you hear that Fermin and Gavi are joining us on Saturday?" Camilla said.

"Hurray….." You mumbled and kept scrolling through your phone.

"I know." She snorted. "They've gotten pretty stuck up since they started playing for the first team, but I've heard that they're holding a seminar on mental health. It could be fun?"

"Mental health?" You put down your phone to glance at Camilla. Her lips twitched into a smile seeing your not-so-convinced expression. "I know Fermin Lopez of all people is not holding a seminar on mental health." you laughed. "That boy has caused me nothing but severe anxiety and depression and now he wants to talk about mental health? I guess pigs do fly."

"I dunno." Camilla shrugged. "Don't you think he has matured since he started playing for the first team? I know Gavi has."

"Please, don't get me started on Pablo Gavi." You sighed. "Fermin and Gavi were the worst of the worst when they were playing for the academy. Don't you remember Boot Camp 2019?"

Camilla chuckled. "Whatever you say. I for one am excited."

And she had the right to be. No one enjoyed drama more than Camilla. This year's Boot Camp had nothing but drama.

Part 2

Part 3

part 4

[latibvles]

AND — [ jacket ] sender takes their jacket off and hangs it on receiver's shoulders WITH viv and bucky because i need to see the tender side of bucky hehe 🤭🤭🤭🤭 THANK U POET !!!!!!!

jacket.

u ask for soft Bucky I give you soft Bucky . another post-bremen thing because for some reason if I write June and willie coping then I've gotta write Viv too. Anita (Rivera) is another character of who gets name dropped here — another pilot, woohoo! As is Ellie Harris. That in mind: soft tender Viv/Bucky feelings will be the end of me personally.

—

If there was one thing that’s been nailed into their heads, one thing Bucky learned the hard way, was that it rained in England. A lot. It came down hard and heavy and seemed to never end once it started. Tonight is no different: it’s raining cats and dogs and forcing everyone to stay in the Officer’s Club longer than they already do. No one wants to make the trek back to their huts and get soaked in the process, their shoes and socks filling with mud. So they order another round and take their time on sipping those drinks until the ice melts and dilutes the whiskey.

Bucky doesn’t hate nights like this, shitty weather aside, but for the first time in a while he eyes the door frequently, silently willing for her to show up. Or rather, to come back.

It wasn’t like Viv to be the first one out — more often the last one, rounding the stragglers of her crew up like a shepherd, giving him a playful promise to come by his hut and tuck him and Curt in. But instead, she exchanged quiet conversation with Willie, her co-pilot clapped her on the shoulder in a silent see you later, and then Viv bid them all goodnight with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. No jokes, no fanfare, no shepherding.

It is one of the only things that Bucky realizes he can’t quite shake with drinking and dancing — the rain started coming down a little after she left and his first thought was the unshakeable worry about her getting caught in it; slipping in the mud and hurting herself, or getting soaked through her clothes and getting sick.

It is this unshakeable worry of his that has him slipping out early — polishing off his drink to save face with an excuse about seeing if he could pull Buck from his cot tonight to join them. It’s not much, but it buys him what he hopes is enough time to poke his head in, make sure Viv is still up and kicking and possibly get a real smile out of her. Part of him wholly wanted to believe she was as unbreakable as the war goddess emblazoned on her old PT shirt, but Bucky wasn’t counting on that fact.

He’s never been more thankful for the hard leather of his sheepskin and how the rain slides off it, but he still wastes no time in jumping into his jeep and making his way down the road. It wasn’t coming down hard enough yet to completely obscure his vision; Bucky keeps glancing to the side in case he catches that tall silhouette of hers making its way back to the huts on the side of the gravel road.

But he doesn’t and Bucky’s slightly imbued with the small hope that she’s beat out the rain, that she could walk just as fast as she flew.

It doesn’t do much to shake the feeling though. His jacket might’ve been doing a good job keeping the rain out, but concern is already embedding itself deep in his bones like a chill he can’t shake, urging him to press on the gas in spite of the wheel’s trembling protests. He just curls his fists tighter until he rounds the corner — and then it’s a straight shot to her quarters from there.

Warm light pours from the two windows sandwiching the door to the hut, and Bucky doesn’t realize he’s hesitating until a fat droplet plinks onto his nose and he’s yet to knock on the door.

Lines were drawn pretty quick once the women joined them, this being one of them. Anita laid them out for him pretty plainly when he dared to ask: you don’t go with a guy to check out the inside of his fort, they have to wait outside the Hut, don’t bring any of them into our forts — they’d figured out all the ways the rules about fraternization could bite them in the ass and then filled in the holes before they even learned anybody’s names. Bucky, for all the trouble he liked to find himself in, was not in the business of dragging Viv or any of her girls into it.

But he can’t help it — the way his jaw clenches and his fists furl in undeniable frustration.

Fraternization be damned, is she not one of his to look out for?! They were a group, a team. He couldn’t shake that feeling of distance between himself and his guys after they’d gone up and he wasn’t there — and little else mattered to him than closing it before it got too wide. He’d be an idiot to act like there couldn’t be a gap there between himself and the girls too, now that they’ve been up. He’d never really asked her how she was holding up, did he?

Internalized guilt aside: she’d do the same for him; that much, Bucky is sure of.

So he opens the door quickly, stepping inside all at once and not letting the door slam behind him, because if he’s going to invade their space he might as well try to have some manners about the whole thing. Nothing could really prepare him for the sight before him, though.

One footlocker she uses as a desk, the other she uses as a chair. Her hair’s all saturated from the rain, stringy and sticking to the sides of her face. Her uniform’s a wet, crumpled pile on the floor. And he really doesn’t know what he was expecting, coming in unannounced, but it wasn’t pale yellow pajama shorts, Viv’s lips pulled into a concentrated pout, and her cheeks and nose pinkened from frigid summer rain. There’s something tentative about the whole thing, vulnerable.

The Vivian he knows is teasing and sharp-tongued; all smiles and quick remarks and quicker actions. Maybe it’s the fact that they’re the only two people in here, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s not used to her quiet; but he suddenly feels like he’s intruding in a way that he hasn’t really felt with anybody else. He whips his head to the side and starts sweeping droplets off the hard leather of his jacket, but he can see her lifting her head to look at him.

Unfortunately, it’s Viv, who is his friend, so he kind of has to look at her when she speaks — lest he make this all about him and his newfound sensibilities when it comes to women in their pajamas, apparently.

“Hey, you,” she tilts her head to the side, curious. “Didn’t know I was getting visitors.”

“Wanted to see if you beat out the rain,” he starts walking towards her and she tilts her head up to look at him, the flickering overhead lighting up her pretty features. Viv smiles, before letting it fall and giving him a half-hearted shrug.

“It caught me,” she admits dismissively, as if he couldn’t see it already. “Guess I should’ve invested in one of these, then. You got extra lying around?” She reaches up to pat his arm.

“You tryna match with me, Savorre?”

“Well if you’re gonna be my ball and chain we might as well,” She counters, swivelling on her makeshift chair and turning her back to him. “Was that it, though?”

To his credit, Bucky doesn’t mean to be nosey — Viv’s just got tragically neat handwriting and it’s something to look at that isn’t wet hair clinging to a lithe neck. But he pauses all the same, his brows knitting together, and the reason for her early absence hitting him all at once.

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Harris, you may not remember me… starts off what looks to be a letter. And Bucky remembers the name like he remembers the burn of alcohol in his throat and that feeling of elation he got three days ago when Harding decided to graciously bump him back down from Air Exec.

Ellie Harris was a part of the only female crew that went down — no chutes. He met her, just like he met Viv and Anita: out on the runway in Utah, all chapped faces and pigtails, suspicious eyes. Nice girl, honey-haired and quieter than the other two. He didn’t know her as well as he knew Viv, or even Anita, but he knew her. He poured one out for her crew, too — Adams, Schmalenbach, Petrich, Harris, and all their brave men.

“Bucky? Did you need something?” Viv asks again, turning to look at him. Likely reading the expression on his face, she looks back at the letter, and then to him. She takes her lip between her teeth once his eyes resettle on her. “I know that this is… Kidd’s job or yours, technically, but I just figured…”

There’s a heavy silence that hangs in the air, a brief moment of guilt shared between them. Him, for not thinking of asking about Ellie when he realized she’d gone down — and Viv for probably something small. Like writing her family a letter. He doesn’t want to share this feeling with her but on all levels but physical: he’s effectively scrambling for a means to rid her of it. He comes up empty-handed.

“Her folks sent me and ‘Nita Christmas cards. I figured I owed it to them to at least give some personal condolences.” Her words feel like rain pelting against his skin, the way she avoids his stare turning it frigid. But it’s that imperceptible, barely there shiver of hers that nearly does him in. If he could take the pen and write the whole thing himself, he would, but she’d never let him do that and it’d defeat the purpose of writing at all.

Her back turns to him and he watches a droplet fall from the ends of her hair and run down her back, turning that flimsy yellow material translucent. His jaw clenches involuntarily. He’s shrugging his jacket off without a second thought.

She’d do the same, he rationalizes, if it were me, she’d do the same.

Viv almost seems to freeze entirely as he puts the sheepskin over her shoulders, thankful that the inside was still dry, that the worst of the rain was yet to come. It’s warm, he knows it is because now he’s realizing just how damn cold this hut is right now. Granted, it probably wouldn’t be so awful if his hair wasn’t wet.

She hardly even needs to turn her head much — Bucky hasn’t exactly straightened himself out yet, still slightly hunched over, fixing the collar to keep it out of her way. He’s close enough now to notice some gold in the brown of her eyes. She wants some type of explanation, a what’s all this for likely posed on her tongue and he knows that ‘just felt right’ is a piss-poor excuse.

“You were shakin’ like a leaf over here. Can’t have my wife catching a flu, not on my watch.”

“Uh huh. Right.” Viv retorts sarcastically, and Bucky can’t help the smile on his face as she rolls her eyes at him. Even as he stands up straight again, he doesn’t back away much.

Her fingers ghost over the collar of his jacket, doing little more than softly exhaling — Bucky can’t help it, he lingers in her space and she smiles up at him. Something full and appreciative of what he’s done — she’s given him that look a couple times now and everytime she does, Bucky can’t help but feel like he’s won something. She doesn’t even put her arms through the sleeves, content to let it hang off her shoulders. He likes the way it envelopes her all the same, at least two sizes too big.

There’s a thought that his smell might cling to her skin, and something about that makes him grin a little more.

“You know you’re gonna need this back, right?”

“Jesus, Viv, can you just let me do my marital duty?” He complains, melodramatically, and she laughs, a full sound as her fingers curl over his jacket to keep it on her shoulders.

“That’s not…” Her voice trails off, then she rolls her eyes and Bucky really can’t help how his smile grows at the sight of her. “Fine. Sure. Do your duty. You gonna tuck me in, too? Read me a bedtime story?”

“Depends. You like Guys and Dolls?” He retorts as he takes a seat at the edge of her cot. Viv reaches over to swat at him and he can’t help the chuckle that escapes.

“Don’t make me kick you out of here, Egan,” she threatens half-heartedly, before turning back to her letter. Ten minutes. He’ll let himself linger for ten minutes and let her keep the jacket just for tonight. It suits her better anyways. He can’t help his staring and he knows she feels it because she’s glancing at him from the corner of her eye and chuckling to herself. “What?” He has no excuse this time, so he shrugs and she laughs and mutters something about him being ridiculous.

The sound and the sight of her make him hope that these ten minutes go by slow.

[thevioletcaptain]

So I've been quiet on here a lot longer than planned.

The reasons are many. The reasons are varied.

The reasons are mostly fucking horrible.

Under a cut because it's long. Check tags for content warnings.

First was the expected absence: my parents came to visit me in Los Angeles over my birthday, so I spent the first half of October showing them around whenever I wasn't working a shift at my shitty department store day-job, or in class at UCLA.

Then, almost immediately after they went back to Australia, I got a second job working as a personal assistant for a composer. This was (and is) an extremely fun and rewarding job, but meant having one more thing on my weekly schedule, which was an adjustment.

Given that until halfway through last year, I'd been out of work since I immigrated in 2019, it took a while for me to get used to having so many concurrent responsibilities, and I'd just started to get a handle on things when I got sick right before the holidays. I took many covid tests -- all negative -- and eventually determined that it was just last year's strain of flu, which I hadn't managed to find time to get the shot for due to the aforementioned super busy schedule. I'm almost positive it was thanks to a particular customer at the aforementioned shitty department store job who coughed hard enough in my direction for their germs to get through my n95.

Anyway, last year's flu was a monster, and I spent a week in bed with a fever, then several more weeks being utterly drained and with a horrendous cough to match. It took a full month for me to recover, and then in mid-January, almost as soon as I started to catch up on all the things that had fallen behind while I was sick, things got bad, then good, then worse, then better, then much, much, much worse.

Basically, it starts with my dad being diagnosed with prostate cancer. He'd told me in October when they came to see me, but the surgery was scheduled for the tail end of January.

The surgery happened on a Monday, and it was a complete success. They got it all in one go. No chemo or radiation or further treatment needed at all. I spoke to him on the phone after he woke up, and he was in good spirits. Happy to have been given the all clear by his doctors.

I told him to watch Star Trek: Strange New Worlds & Evil while he rested up at home, because I'm writing specs for both this year and wanted him to be able to read them and know what was going on. He's the one who got me into sci-fi and horror, after all.

He went home.

He was home for two days.

He started feeling a bit rough on the Thursday. Short of breath. No appetite. Mum took him back to the hospital, just to be safe.

Turns out he'd had a mild heart attack. They couldn't figure out why. The echocardiogram didn't show any issues with his heart.

Then over the next couple of days, his breathing got worse. They took a scan of his lungs, and found that they were extremely inflamed. They'd given him covid tests but they came back negative. We told them about a work accident he had about 20 years ago, where a switchboard he'd been working on exploded in his face, and he'd suffered from inhalation burns among other things.

They thought that maybe something during the prostate surgery had caused irritation in his already damaged lungs, which put stress on his heart and caused the mild heart attack. He's never had any issues with his lungs since that accident, but they thought that maybe he'd just adapted to the damage over the years without realizing.

They kept trying different treatments to help his lungs heal. Nothing seemed to work. His breathing kept getting worse. They had him on as much oxygen as possible without intubating him, but it wasn't enough, so over that weekend they decided that they'd need to move him to another hospital with a more specialized lung unit.

When they were preparing to do that on the Monday night, he crashed. Another heart attack. Bigger, this time. They intubated him. Sedated him. Called my mum and told her to come in right away because things looked so bad.

But then he rallied. By the morning, though he was still sedated and intubated, the doctors were confident that with the right treatment at the specialized lung unit at the other hospital, he'd be okay. He was still in a rough condition, but stable. They transferred him to the other hospital.

He was given another covid test. This one came back positive.

My mum and brother called me once it was a reasonable time in Los Angeles to let me know what was going on, and the next day my brother booked me a flight back to Australia. I had to leave for the airport about five hours after my ticket was booked.

I got to Melbourne on February 1st.

For the next two weeks, dad was intubated, sedated, and in an isolation room. Every few days, they scanned his lungs again, and they were slowly improving.

Finally, he stopped testing positive, and was moved to a regular room in the ICU. Then he healed enough for them to extubate him and wake him up.

On February 13th, he was conscious enough to squeeze my hand when we went in to see him. On February 14th, he was conscious and capable of talking enough to ask a nurse in his ward to bring him his phone, and called mum first thing in the morning to wish her a happy Valentines Day.

Two days later, on Friday 16th, his lungs looked good enough on scans that they felt it was safe to do an angiogram, which they wanted to do just to double check that there weren't any issues with his heart that they missed with the echo.

They did the test. They found massive blockages. 90% blockage in one artery; significant blockages in two others.

Even though he'd barely recovered from covid, the blockages were bad enough that they scheduled him for open heart surgery on Monday 19th. They said without surgery there was a 100% chance that the blockages would cause another massive heart attack that he would not survive. They said there was about a 20% chance that he'd have complications, but only about 4% that they'd be serious/life threatening.

Like before, the surgery went well. Triple bypass, in the end. We got a call late on Monday afternoon to say that he was in recovery and looking good. His heart was functioning perfectly. They'd bring him out of sedation that night. Keep him in the ICU one or two days just as the standard post-op procedure. He'd spend a week or so in a cardiac ward after that, then head to a physical rehab ward for a couple of weeks until he could build back the muscle mass he'd lost while sedated.

We went in to see him the next day. Tuesday 20th. His 66th birthday.

He was tired, but looked good. Color in his cheeks. He made a couple of jokes. We left after about 45 minutes because he was pretty worn out, and we wanted to let him get some rest.

But then after, that his breathing started to get bad again. By Wednesday morning, they'd switched out the oxygen prongs in his nose for a big, high-pressure mask again. They called to let us know they were going to intubate him again so he could rest while his lungs recovered a bit more.

They struggled to get the tube in.

His lungs were deteriorating badly. He kept getting worse. We couldn't go in to see him because they were working on him all day.

At 9pm we got a call to say that he was just getting worse. They had him on 100% oxygen. He just wasn't absorbing it. His entire body was under massive strain. They were doing everything they could, but he just wasn't improving.

They said we should go in right away.

We got there by 10pm. My brother and his wife arrived about the same time. We went in to see him. He didn't look good. He looked pale. But he was warm, and he'd come back from the brink before, and we were sure he could do it again. We stayed with him for about an hour, and left not long after 11pm. Went back to my brother's place because they live closer to the hospital.

We were there about half an hour before they called us again. Just after midnight. He was gone.

That was about a week and a half ago, now. It still doesn't feel real. He was only 66. He hadn't even retired yet. He was working full time up until the week before Christmas, and had planned on going back to work a few days a week after he'd recovered from surgery. He never had any heart trouble, or lung trouble. He was active. He was fine.

My wife Zel and her mom flew in a couple of days after it happened. I barely remember anything from the past two weeks. Everything just feels fake.

I've been trying to write something to say at the funeral, which we've finally been able to arrange for next week -- it was delayed because we had to wait for dad to be released by the coroner. I don't think I'll be able to do it.

Anyway. That's where I've been.

It'll probably be a little while longer before I'm around here much, let alone posting with any regularity, because I'll be in Australia helping my mum & and my brother sort everything out. I have no idea how long I'll be dealing with stuff, or when I'll be able to make words cooperate enough to post anything, but I'll be back eventually.

I'm trying to keep an eye on Discord (I'm violetmatter over there) so you can find me there if you want. But yeah, I just wanted to let you guys know why I've been so quiet.

[ryverbind]

Faceless Fixation (Sal Fisher): High Ground [27]

"Woah," A hand catches my elbow, clutching tightly to support my weight so I don't fall-- like my body was clearly planning to do. "Careful."

I sigh shakily, trying to ignore the raspy, mumbled words and the touch of his skin on mine-- especially the reminder of his first remorseful words to me months ago.

Sal releases my arm, lets his hand hover near my body for a moment before returning to helping me and Larry put my drum kit back together.

I bite down on my lips as I tighten a couple things and decide that Larry will take over the job of situating the kick drum because I clearly can't do it myself without threatening to fall on my ass. And given the fact that I'm being forced into close proximity with Sal right now, I'd prefer to not give him any reasons to touch me.

It doesn't help at all that I barely managed to stuff the necklace he gave Lexi into my pocket before he could see. He passed right by it while we were packing at my old apartment-- I thought I'd fucking faint. 

After Nate left that night, I tried to throw it away, forget about the damn guitar pick, but... I just couldn't. Something about it felt so sacred. It was the one good moment I had with him and some sick part of me wanted to hold onto that.

But now I regret ever tucking it away under a ton of clothes in my dresser drawer. I should've chucked it into the fuck it bucket. I don't want reminders of the person he never truly was.

I don't like Sal. I don't know what I was thinking the other night. Nate's insane.

I've had time to think about it and to grow absolutely petrified by the concept. How can I feel something if I'm terrified of it? That's proof enough for me. I was just too high that night.

And it's definitely not like I'm avoiding Sal now or anything. I'm doing great! He's helping with unpacking my things... even though I was the one who begged Ash not to invite him.

She offered up the idea last night after we finally finished unpacking everything in Larry and Sal's home. I was hoping that, since we finished our part, I would finally be able to catch a break from his presence. I can't explain the way my heart dropped when she said the boys would get here in the morning.

Given how difficult setting up this kit is though, maybe she realized what I couldn't. And maybe I just need to suck up all of these difficult emotions and just... get over it.

Ash had frowned at me last night and said something that made me realize I'm probably going insane.

"You know he thinks of you as a friend, right?" She'd said, putting her phone down to talk to me seriously. "You two still bicker, but I think it's because that's your dynamic. Other than that, he's changed around you and that alone says he cares to some degree."

I hadn't responded. I still don't know how I'd respond.

But given that Sal mentioned just a couple days ago, as we were packing up my things, something about us being friends... I've been thinking that Ash may be right. I considered him my friend up until that moment too. I had been thinking about how much our relationship had changed, especially during our trip to Nockfell.

Now, though, I feel like I've reverted backward. Even farther back than when we were constantly arguing. I've gone back to how things were before I even met him. I haven't said a word to him all day today.

There's an ominous crack beneath my fingers that makes me pause. I suddenly realize that I've tightened something way too much... a bolt. and I've damaged it in the process. Great.

Larry appears through the gaps in the instrument in front of me, his brows drawn together. "Damn, y/n. You good?" He asks, deep voice filled with concern.

Sighing, I plop into a sitting position, giving my calves a rest after leaning on my haunches for so long. "Yea, just distracted," I murmur, pinching the bridge of my nose. "I'm going run to a store to buy a new bolt. This one's fucked."

"Maybe you should rest first," Larry offers. I look up at him, noting a raised eyebrow this time and a small frown adorning his lips. "Seems like you have a lot on your mind."

I swallow thickly, knowing Sal is hearing every second of this being that he's just three feet away from me.

"Yea," I try to agree in a spritely manner, but my voice comes out hoarse instead. I clear my throat and try again. "Yea, I guess I'll... rest. You guys should, um, take a break too."

Larry waves me off, his face moving a way from the gap and being replaced by the top of his chest. "Nah, we've got this! Your task for now is to chill. No if's, and's, or but's."

I roll my eyes, my lips twitching in a smile that I try to stomp down. "Yes, sir," I reply sarcastically before standing to my feet. Damn, my back aches.

I try to stop myself, my mind and heart trapped in an endless, opposing battle as my gaze snaps to Sal. He's on one knee, the other propped up and his head tilted at what seems like an awkward, uncomfortable angle to look at something underneath my snare.

I squeeze my eyes shut and speed-walk to the door when a dull flutter lights up my chest at the sight of him. "Thanks, guys," I say quickly before slipping out of the room.

I walk leisurely down the hallway, trying to rid myself of the tingling sensation on my skin where Sal held me. As much as I love the hidden, forbidden moments when he touches me, the remnants make me itch. There's some part of me that's cowering in a corner, captured by fear and I don't know how to conquer it.

Sal already has his own issues going on with this woman who hurt him. It feels cruel to put a rift between us because I have my own problems too now. I don't know what to do, which causes my mind to drift to darker places, think different things. Like... maybe I should end things between us.

When I walk past our kitchen and into the living room, the first thing I see is Ash sitting criss-cross on the floor with a building manual beside her, a half-put together IKEA TV stand, and, funny enough, Nate's screw drive limply hanging from her hand as she reads.

The warm, afternoon light splashes onto Ash's angelic form from our large windows that cover a huge portion of our living room, allowing plenty of natural sunlight in. The sun's rays cascade down Ash's hair, illuminating the brown strands and causing a deep, sparkling red undertone to shine through.

She's just so pretty. Every one of her angles is the right one.

I walk over to her and look down at the manual. "How's the building going?" I ask. My voice makes her snap her head up to look at me. The light catches her viridian eyes and I can't help but marvel at the beauty captured in he gaze. "Need any help?"

She smiles at me, her expression softening upon realizing it's me beside her. "Nah, I think I've got it!" She says cheerily, flipping the screwdriver in her hand. "Why aren't you setting up your drums with the boys."

I purse my lips at the reminder. "I broke something," I murmur bashfully. "Need to get a new part, so that's where I'm headed. Probably."

Ash's brows furrow in surprise and she reels back to look at me better. "You broke something? You, of all people?" She blinks, eyebrows raising now as the confirmation settles. "Well, that would make sense. We're all stressed with the move and whatnot." She waves the screwdriver and moves to return to her building, but she pauses.

Unease boils deep inside my skin as I watch the gears begin to turn in her mind. She turns back to me with her eyes narrowed and continues, suspicion and disbelief tainting her voice. "Unless..." she starts, tilting her head. "You're avoiding Sal."

I cringe, pressing a finger to my lips to hopefully silence my friend. Gosh, this genuinely could not be worse. I feel like I'm gonna puke.

"I'm not avoiding him!" I whisper-yell to Ash, eyes practically bulging out of my head.

"Says the one who asked me not to invite him over this morning." She puts her hands on her hips and gives me a no-bullshit look.

I sigh deeply, scrunch up my nose in complete distaste-- in myself, of course. I shouldn't have been so obvious. Arguing about it isn't going to convince Ash otherwise and it won't change that her assumption is true either.

I open my mouth to tell her that that's not what matters, but she beats me to it.

The woman leans her head back and screams Sal's name at the top of her lungs.

I nearly jump out of my skin, my eyes widening when the impending doom of Ash making Sal and I talk or-- worse-- spend time together settles into my bones.

I hear a muffled curse, a laugh to follow, and then a door shutting down the hall. For fuck's sake.

Sal walks into the living room, stopping at the threshold with his arms gestured offensively at Ash. "What?" he scowls.

The beauty beside me rolls her eyes at Sal's attitude while I turn away from him, my cheeks catching fire. I hate all of this.

"You should go shopping with y/n," Ash chirps, ignoring the fact that she just summoned Sal with some kind of death call.

I spin to her, mouth gaping as I fight to bite down the resounding 'no' that desperately wants to leave my soul. Why would she suggest something like that?

"Why?" Sal asks the question I didn't have the voice to. "She seems more than capable of doing that on her own."

Aw, that's kind of sweet.

"Because," Ash shrugs. "You're..." she seems to think to herself, trying to find a good excuse. This is preposterous. "You're the only person that knows instruments like she does. Forceful bonding!"

Sal sighs deeply. I don't have it in me to look at him as he walks over to us. "What about Larry? He--"

"Yea, Sal," Ash says, her voice loud and reverberating around the room. "What about Larry?" Her tone is aggressive, suggestive. Like she knows she's about to shut him down.

Sal goes quiet.

"So," Ash's chipper voice slices through the tension rising around the three of us. I turn to her, noting the grin splitting her face. "See you later, guys!"

My gaze cuts to Sal. He's already watching me, his eyes portraying a multitude of emotions and thoughts that I couldn't even begin to decipher. He's so him-- he feels things so differently compared to me.

"Shoo." Ash hisses. I watch her hand wave us off in my peripheral.

There's no use fighting her. I should just get it over with. If we go quickly, it shouldn't take that long, right?

Not to mention, I'm the queen of avoiding absolutely anything and everything. My three identities says it all. If I can do that, I can do this. Sal won't even know what's hit him! We can let my awkwardness and issues fizzle out, let the silence consume until I'm better and then it can all go back to the way it was... unless it doesn't. Unless my sobering up takes weeks and Sal gets tired of me. Or worse, he starts asking questions.

With my luck, the latter will happen.

I run my tongue over the surface of my teeth then speedwalk to me and Ash's kitchen. Grab my phone, my keys to the apartment, and my wallet then I head to the door. My mind buzzes the entire way, especially as I skim past Sal both times. I hold my breath each time as if being in his proximity drags me into the depths of the ocean. He's the equivalent to Leviathan in his watery, dark home and I'm doing everything I can to evade his monstrous presence.

Though, he isn't the true monster in this story.

I open the door and leave it open for Sal to follow, which he does. The door shuts softly once I'm a few steps away and toward the elevator.

It's maddening. The silence. It encases the two of us in a mourning veil that's already become a safe haven for the tears, lies, and grief of what's been lost. It's poetic in a sick and sadistic way-- watching everything that was carefully built up teeter on the edge of what could be-- all to fall apart. Crafted and mastered by hands more skilled than a Roman sculptor; a musical antagonist and his chaotic protagonist.

I suppose, if I'm a protagonist at all, I'm not doing much good by shredding our agreement.

I pick up my pace and whirl toward the elevator, not giving Sal time to percolate in our tense disquiet. I put my hand against the sliding door and wait for his presence with bated breath.

The moment I see his fluffy azure hair pop up beside the door, I move. I press my knuckle into the lobby button and burrow into a corner of the elevator.

To pass the time and fill the silence that echoes around in my head, also to ignore the way his scent infects every one of my senses, I pull my phone out to search for a music store.

He smells the way he always does-- clean, a little minty, and some kind of hypnotizing cologne. I can never think straight when he's so close. Which, speaking of, he's very close to my safety corner. Maybe a foot away from me.

He knows what he's doing, the bastard.

But the scenario is becoming easier for me to work through. There's a shop that specializes in equipment for instruments only about 10 minutes away from us, so they should have what I need.

The elevator dings, comes to a sickeningly slow halt that makes my skin crawl with nervous anticipation. The moment the door slides open, I blast past the threshold like an inmate awaiting their release. Don't have to tell me twice; green means go.

By this point, Sal must realize I'm either in a rush or want nothing to do with him. My neurons are misfiring, ensnared in a battle of good and bad. I feel terrible for what I'm doing, but even more so, I'm horrified of addressing this entire issue.

I skitter through a door and nearly kick myself when the better half of my mind reminds me to wait for Sal before I take off down the road.

The man himself lets the door to our apartment building shut as he joins me in the hot, dry air of Los Angeles.

He glances at me, hair a perfect mess and a twinge of apprehension and curiosity in his oceanic gaze.

I dare to glance back.

"You're avoiding me?" He asks, tilting his head, hands in his pockets. The spitting image of confrontation.

Yea, the glance back could only last so long before I regretted it.

I hold my breath and spin on my heel. Fuck, he heard Ash.

"I looked up directions for a music shop. It should be a little ways down the road," I say instead of answering his question, pointing a finger downtown.

"Vi."

I don't look.

"I think a 10 minute walk maybe?"

"Y/n, you—"

"Let's get going before they close— for lunch." I cut him off, jutting my chin toward the bustling sidewalk. I take a step forward— one that's so uncoordinated that I just know I look like I'm scrambling away.

Then his hand catches my wrist. And everything moves in slow motion; you know, hearts surrounding the two of us, smooth jazz playing and a pink tint to our bodies.

I send a glare at the invisible cameras just in time for my body to jolt to a stop.

His fingers squeeze gently around my skin and I suck in a breath of air, too terrified to look at him.

"Look," he says, tone shockingly tender to match the way his skin rubs against mine. I swallow past the thoughts. Bolt. Bolt. Drums. Must get bolt. "I don't know why you're avoiding me, but if you want this thing to continue between us... we're going to have to talk." I hear his scuffed footsteps grow closer to me right until his voice is just an inch or two above my head. "I can't fuck you if you won't even look at me."

I do my best to suppress a shiver. He whispered those filthy words, laid a path of roses and sin with his voice alone to lead me back to him. And, God, I can't stand that I slowly start tiptoeing along the path.

I have to think about a lot of things. Most importantly, what he's just said. Sal is a man of very few words— when he isn't screwing me into next week, that is. But I can tell by his diction of choice that... maybe he thinks he did something wrong. He's caught on to the fact that I can't bring myself to look at him. And this is Sal. The first thing he's going to assume is that I've finally started to think he's ugly. If that wasn't a worry of his, he wouldn't still be wearing the prosthetic. Frenemies with frenefits or not, it isn't hard to get a read on his insecurities.

Second, Nate prepped me for this. We talked about what happened between Sal and me the other night, about trusting him. So shouldn't I fess up and tell him why I can't look at him? That it's because, secretly, somewhere deep down, I've been squashing this overwhelming urge to rip that prosthetic off him and kiss him until we're both breathless?

I can hardly even admit the last bit to myself.

You know what, in fact, I'm not interested in kissing him at all.

No. I'm just avoiding my feelings.

If I had a coin right now, and Heads was labeled as "I won't kiss Sal" and Tails was called "I will kiss Sal," I would flip it. And the moment it would land on Heads, the "I won't kiss Sal option," I'd realize that I've been lying to myself. Because I would be disappointed to know that I didn't get Tails instead.

Sighing, I squeeze my eyes shut, absolutely raving over the minute physical contact between us. This is turning into a problem for me. An obsession. I can't recall the last time I was so taken by a mere touch.

I turn to face Sal, my fingers quaking as I finally meet his pretty eyes. They watch me, narrowed and waiting.

"It's about the other night," I begrudgingly admit, my voice catching in my throat. "I— yea. We should talk."

Sal's eyes return to normal, no longer narrowed as realization settles upon him. "When you used our safe word?" He asks, but doesn't give me a moment to respond. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. If you want me to keep the prosthetic on or a safe distance between us, just tell me."

There's a pang in my chest again. This one isn't as dull as the others have been though— this one hits deep and it's raw and real and so pitiful because Sal thinks it's his face. Thinks he's the cause for this.

What have I done?

His fingers loosen around my wrist, hand beginning to fall away.

I reach forward quickly, grabbing onto his index and middle fingers. "No—" I rush to say. "It's not you. You're..." I don't know how to word what's going through my head. I don't know how to explain that the problem was never him— it's me. "I'm shockingly always comfortable with you. You know, despite the blood lust and arguments. You take care of me. It's not you," I can't help but repeat.

Sal looks down at our partially linked hands and that's when I realize that maybe I reacted a bit too passionately. Quickly, I release his fingers as a wave of heat rushes across my face. This is so embarrassing. Annnnd now I can't look at him again.

"Okay," Sal says, the word low and muffled. He sounds nervous. Awkward. "Then let's talk. My statement still stands."

I nod my agreement, voice caught in my throat.

If anything, he's open to communication. As scary as it all is, I owe him an explanation, right? The worst that can happen is he realizes I'm just insane and he wants nothing to do with me anymore. It could be so much worse.

The two of us begin leisurely walking down the street toward the shop. He falls into step beside me, eyes on the pavement beneath his feet. He doesn't say a word, simply waits for me to find my thoughts and my voice.

If I'd go this entire trip without speaking, he still wouldn't push me to explain. I both adore and abhor every inch of that generous ideal of his.

But the issue still remains-- I have no idea where to start. I don't know how to even comprehend my own emotions and problems, so how can I correctly portray them to Sal?

"I don't know how to start," I admit at some point, chewing on my bottom lip while my entire body freezes over with embarrassment and shame. Who knew communicating was so hard?

"I understand," Sal says comfortingly. What the fuck happened to him? Is this his serious voice? "I had the same issue. My therapist told me that not understanding your feelings is part of understanding them, confusing as that is. Give it to me in pieces and we'll figure out the rest."

Wow. Two weeks ago, he would have pounced on the opportunity to see me crumble beneath my instability. Now, he's coaching me through it. How much changed in Nockfell?

You know, the truth of the matter is that the change began long before we went to Nockfell. I just have a hard time accepting that. Change is terrifying to me-- that's no secret, so acknowledging that it's there in the first place is hard enough. But in all honesty, the shift between him and I began the moment he apologized to me in the bar where Dark Autumn Complex played.

That's where my downfall was born.

Instead of focusing on the root of the problem, I pay close attention to the sprouting leaves. The present. We can't change the past, we can only work on what's happening now.

"Change makes me very uncomfortable," I tell him, painfully aware of how emotionally bare I am to him right now. I'm the first to know that putting my heart in this man's disastrous hands can make all the difference in how things proceed. But if I want a positive outcome, this is my only choice. "And we've changed a lot."

Sal nods beside me. "We have," he agrees.

I suck in a breath, the perfectly timed scuffing of our feet vibrating through my body. He knows how our relationship has done a complete three-sixty too.

"And I think it's scared me. The other day-- in my room. That scared me," I continue, quaking fingers twining into the fabric of my shirt.

"I remember you saying you were scared," Sal builds on my words. This turned into the tensest therapy session I've ever endured. But, he's surprisingly good at this. "What is it that scared you, exactly?"

"Um," I start awkwardly, tilting my head as I backtrack to the events of that night. I relive it all, every single step. And where my heart seems to seize is when I recall the look in his eyes as they fixated on my mouth. "It was the way you looked at me." The words burst past my lips as the realization settles. "I thought you were going to kiss me."

A quick, muffled sound from Sal reaches me. I turn to look at him, seeing his head still bent toward the ground, but a hand covering the mouth of his prosthetic this time. Is he... laughing?

I lean forward a bit and see that his eyes are scrunched closed as his chest vibrates with laughter that I can tell he's trying his best to hold at bay. Whether it's to prevent embarrassing me further or to hold up the genuine part of our conversation, I can't tell.

I don't know why he's holding back, but, damn, am I relieved.

"Are you laughing at me, you asshat?" I pick at him, amusement making my voice waver with giggles.

"Sorry." He chokes on a short, wild laugh before holding a hand up to me. "I know it's serious, I just--" He chuckles a bit more.

A smile blooms on my lips at his reaction. I'd give anything to see his handsome face right about now-- to watch the way his full, scarred lips curl into a bewitching smile. To see his sharp canines and slightly crooked teeth on display. To watch the dimple form next to his mouth, his nose scrunch up, his marred cheeks lift with happiness, his brows furrow as he tries to contain himself.

I blink when Sal looks over at me, his eyes squinted with obvious amusement. My smile softens, so as not to give the true extent of my reaction away to him.

"That's not something you have to worry about," he says, catching his breath. He straightens himself a bit but stops his walking, fully turning toward me. "I won't kiss you. It's something..." He tilts his head contemplatively. "It's rare for me. I've only ever kissed Ash and, funny enough, your damn cousin."

How do I unpack that? Easy-- I don't. The first words out of my mouth are, "You kissed Ash?"

Sal nods, the action a tad reserved as he averts his gaze. "We were young. Both had a lot to drink and Larry's favorite kind of dare is one that no one wants to do-- he dared me to kiss Ash. So I did. Travis was much different though. It was a lot more..." He trails off and that's fine by me. I don't need to know anymore.

"Got it," I continue for him, the words clipped to tell him he doesn't have to say more. He snickers lightly.

"I wasn't going to kiss you. I just think..." he trails off again and that's when I notice he still hasn't looked back to me. He's biting his tongue. There's something he doesn't want to say. But, "I think you're pretty."

My heart stutters in my chest as I watch him, toss his words around in my head a bit.

"Everything that I don't have, you do. Your face is so... symmetrical, lovely. I can't help but watch how you do things sometimes. I was being honest— it fascinates me." Nothing but honesty in his tone. Dripping with honey and all things sweet. I didn't peg him as a sentimental guy, but when I'm wrong, it works out. I don't think anyone's ever said something so kind to me before.

How the fuck am I supposed to sleep tonight?

I don't quite know how to work through or accept what he's just told me. He thinks I'm so pretty that he can't help but watch me? That's a line out of a Disney movie. No, even better, it's Twilight. A Hallmark romance.

But I appreciate his honesty. He told me the same thing when I said our safe word-- that I fascinated him. That it wasn't what it looked like. He was never going to kiss me, he was just admiring me.

I can't tell if that makes me feel better or worse. His words were the coin and the side that landed is unfortunately the 'I won't kiss Sal' option. Maybe it's better this way. I don't have to worry about things becoming something they aren't.

I suck in a shaky breath and nod my head to show him that I hear him. That I believe him. There's this nagging in my head right now though. A little sliver of my brain that's fighting to get to my frontal lobe, begging for me to compliment him the same way he did me. And that sliver manages to work its way to where it needs to be because I start saying way too much.

"I hope you know," I start softly-- I can't speak louder or my voice will waver. I'm so nervous, I feel like I've done blood work without breakfast. "That you're very pretty. I was thinking to myself earlier that I'd like to see your smile."

Y/n, you're off the show. Pack your bags. Go home.

Sal's head snaps to me in a moments notice, the action so quick that I feel like he's given both of us whiplash. I definitely shouldn't have said that.

"So you get it then," is what he says, the words mumbled. "We both fascinate each other. We wouldn't have this arrangement otherwise, so that's settled, at least." He pushes a hand through his hair, ruffles his fringe. "Was anything else bothering you?"

Nope. That was about it. But I am curious. "You asked if we were friends?" I throw the question into the air, refusing to look at him as the sign for the shop becomes visible in the distance.

Sal hums in a disbelieving way. "I would never. Did you hit your head?"

My mouth drops open. "You literally told me, 'aren't we friends?' That's asking if we're friends."

"You know I didn't mean it that way. Can't you tell when I'm fucking with you?" Sal counters, scratching at his chipping nail polish.

I pinch my lips together, a flair of frustration painting my insides red. "So what are we then?"

Famous last words. This is exactly what MCR wrote about before they broke up. I'm fated to a chemical demise and, jeez, why would I ask that question? I'm making all the mistakes today.

The answer is that we're nothing. We didn't even start as something.

To my surprise though, Sal's quiet. He doesn't laugh, he doesn't freak out, doesn't argue. Like he's genuinely pondering my question.

"I'd say we're definitely past the enemies part, right?" He asks, looking toward me for agreement. His bright eyes that capture the suffocating sunlight meet mine and my body goes rigid on instinct. I give him a stiff nod and he faces forward, continuing. "We aren't quite friends though. To me, friends are people who know my secrets and still choose to stick around. Ash, Todd, Larry. Chug and Maple back home. I mean, The Faces are more like family to me, but you get what I mean." He cuts himself off for a moment before continuing. "I'd call us acquaintances. And you don't have to worry about there being any more change because you're the last person I'd ever tell a secret to."

I narrow my eyes at him. This dumbass. "I've seen your face. Isn't that a secret?"

Sal slowly turns his head to me, blinks. "You really want to talk about faces right now, sweetheart?"

I swallow, slapping a hand onto my mask as I realize what he's hinting toward. Fuck. And he called me sweetheart-- I need him to stop... I don't know. I just need him to stop existing or something.

This is the first time he's ever said anything about my face. I knew I wouldn't be able to escape it forever, but I wish it could have held off for a little longer. This is dangerous territory he's walked us into.

I'm openly gaping at him, I realize, with wide eyes and my fingers gripping onto my mask. His brows furrow a bit before he looks away. "Don't look at me like I stole your cat," he murmurs, aggravated. "I'd never ask you to take it off."

He wouldn't? "You wouldn't?"

He shakes his head, strands of hair falling onto the cheeks of his prosthetic. "Would you have asked me to take mine off if you hadn't seen my face by accident?"

As curious as I had been of what he looked like, he has a point. I never would have pressured him or even asked for him to show me his face. If I'd have discovered his face in another way, it would have been on Sal's terms. It would have been if he wanted to show me.

"No," I whisper, gazing up at the store sign that's just a few doors ahead now. "I wouldn't have."

"Exactly," he says matter-of-factly. "Do you feel better now? Are you done avoiding me or am I going to have a couple more days to relish in the fact that I made you fold?"

I purse my lips, desperately resisting the urge to punch him in the gut. "No one folded, dickhead. I was just confused." I spin to him, point an accusatory finger at his chest. "You switch up quick, don't you?"

A mischievous smile that's hidden from me makes his pretty eyes squint as he grabs onto my wrist, gently shoves it away from his chest. "You love it, don't you?" He counters playfully, though there's still some bite in the way he speaks.

I scoff, grabbing the door of the store and damn thankful for the distraction. "You are the ground I walk on, Fisher," I murmur.

"Mmm," Sal hums, a seductive edge to his tone. "Kinky."

A smile works onto my lips at the familiarity of our bickering. I don't know if he's started this up for my sake or simply because it's so natural, but I'm thankful either way. Things feel normal. There's still an overwhelming, underlying desire to have every inch of him I can get, but not having all of him is okay so long as the rest stays the same.

This entire situation was selfish of me. Sal's battling his own demons right now; I mean, part of why he came to LA was to escape his past. Who am I to take away the one thing that gives him a little bit of comfort? I can't help him much, but being a happily willing accomplice to his most sadistic desires is something, right?

I don't reply to him, especially since we've reached the store. So instead of entertaining his bad behavior, I pull the door open and hold it for Sal as he follows me inside.

As tiny and insignificant as the store looks from the outside, it sure has a lot of personality inside. The aisle's stretch as far as the eye can see and suddenly I'm intimidated by a little bit of stacked metal.

I chew on the inside of my cheek, thinking through my options and settling on the only one I've really got-- I need to go ask someone for help.

"I'll be right back," I murmur to Sal, distracted by the looming towers of racks and displays. Yuck, this is my worst nightmare, but it's for the sake of music. "I'm going to ask someone where to find the bolts."

"Why be social when you have signs?" Sal replies with logic. I look over at his skeleton-tatted hand when he lifts it to point at the aisle signs hanging from the ceiling. "Thought you were smarter than this."

"Shut up," I gripe shamelessly, pursing my lips as I navigate my way to an aisle that has something to do with drums. I pause though and throw an insult over my shoulder-- one I've been holding back for a while. "Repaint your nails before you take another jab at me."

Sal scoffs, a little miffed but not as offended as I'd hoped. "Never thought you'd be the one complaining about my fingers," he replies, snarky and proud. I hold my breath as heat travels through my entire body. Embarrassment and lust and everything in between. He knows just how to manipulate every situation to benefit him.

I wet my lips and slow my steps a bit, just for Sal to catch up with me before I can think better of my action. His fingers brush along the small of my back, just over the waistband of my jeans. "I have the high ground, Anakin," he whispers in my ear, voice muffled and raspy.

Dammit, not the Star Wars reference. It's even worse that he's right. I dug this grave.

Doesn't change the fact he's a nerd.

He passes me up, head tilted back so he can look at the signs, showing off the lovely tattoo on his neck. It doesn't help that he's in a black tank top due to his and Larry's working on my drum kit. The flower vines and geometric tattoos on his arms are burrowing into my soul the same way they wind around his skin.

He's so pretty. I hate him.

"Look," he calls a bit farther ahead, his head turning to see if I'm near. "You needed bolts right?"

I pick up my pace to meet him, looking toward the area where he's standing. Bolts and bolts drum covers and directions of how to assemble drum kits, all that lovely jazz.

"Perfect," I purr in complete delight, grabbing onto the size I need. "Maybe you aren't good for nothing, Sally Face," I chirp for good measure even if it is sort of a low blow.

"You could just say 'thank you' like a normal person, you know?" Sal throws the words at me, tossing his hands up in a shrug that all but baits me to fight back.

"To you?" I ask, tilting my head down to give him my best incredulous look. I turn away from him and begin walking to the cash registers at the front of the store. "Never."

I think I'm imagining it, but I swear I hear Sal chuckle a bit.

I ignore it, grinning as I pay for my beloved bolts. Sal is suspiciously quiet by the time I get my receipt so I spin around, expecting to see him behind me. But he's not there. I glance around only to find him hovering near the front door, his phone pressed to his ear and a hand on his hip.

Probably Ash.

I walk over, choosing not to say anything so he can finish his call.

His eyes meet mine when I get close enough and he holds a hand out toward me, distracted as he says a quick, "Okay. Yea."

I raise a brow even if he can't see it. What is he waiting for? Does he expect me to hold his hand or something?

Oh shit, what if he does?

He wouldn't, would he? Regardless, my heart races as I gaze down at his hand and wait for further instruction. My brain is short-circuiting and I don't know what to do—

Sal folds his fingers toward his palm, pushing his hand closer to the bag I'm carrying.

Oh, that's what he wants.

Still a little confused and hocked up on adrenaline, I pass the bag to him. His fingers graze mine and suddenly I have to fight off a shiver.

Now that he has the bag, he looks away from me to finish his call, fingers gripping the plastic handles of the bag.

"We'll be back soon," he says a tad monotonously. I can faintly hear a high pitched voice reply to him— yep, Ash. Then, he snacks his lips frustratedly and says, "No, I'm not getting vodka for you and Larry. You two make me play babysitter enough." Nothing but animosity dripping from his pretty voice.

I snicker, covering my mouth with a hand in an attempt to stop myself. Sal hears anyway and he throws me a dirty look. Mmm, kinky.

Sal grumbles a couple unintelligible words, then snaps out an irritated "Bye, Ashley."

He pulls the phone away from his ear and I hiss. "Yikes," I say sarcastically, watching as he levels his dead stare at me. Whatever Ash called him for, it's set him off for the next couple hours. I wonder how much I can fuck with him within that time range?

Sal releases an exasperated sigh and pockets his phone, gripping the bag tighter. I feel my eye twitch when the muscles in his arms flex with the tightening of his fingers. I should have directed that 'yikes' at myself.

"We're picking up lunch," he tells me, shaking his head disapprovingly.

"Oh," I whisper, the word barely audible. I swallow and try speaking again, using the power of God and anime to peel my gaze away from his bare arms. I am no better than a man. "What do they want?"

"Good question," he answers, opening the door for me. How... gentlemanly. I pass through quickly, watching as he follows me out before jutting his chin toward me. "Can you look up the directions? It's some Greek place that just opened up around here apparently."

My brows furrow. "Uh, is it called Ambrosia?" I ask, thinking back on the news update I got weeks ago about a new restaurant coming to my side of Los Angeles.

Sal glances to me, eyes narrowed inquisitively. "How'd you know?"

I slowly look toward him, keeping my stare as vacant as possible. "I'm psychic," I say, deadpan. Sal has the audacity to look even more suspicious of me, so I roll my eyes and pull out my phone, searching up the directions. "Because I live here, dummy. I heard something about it when we got back from Vegas."

"For your information," Sal starts up, elbowing my arm. "I'm pretty smart."

"Okay, Todd Morrison," I scoff, smiling down at my phone. Restaurant's about a mile from here. That could be a problem. The food would be cold by the time we made it home.

"I'm serious," Sal says passionately in a pathetic attempt to defend his supposed high IQ (which, I'm sure he'd say something about that too). His voice sounds a bit higher-pitched. It's no where near Ash's shrill, but there's competition. "Before The Faces took off, I wanted to work for NASA."

That's interesting.

I look over at him, choosing to pretend the early afternoon light isn't beating down on him perfectly right now. "Really? So, you're into science?"

Sal shrugs, watching his feet the same way he did on our walk here. "Sort of. I wanted to do more of the mathematical work, though. Since there's so much we don't know about space, I figured a space station would be interested in someone who knew how to code or was familiar with physics."

I blink, eyebrows raising so high that I'm concerned they may hit the back of my skull. Sal is so reserved, never talks about his interests. I'm thankful for even the awkward beginning of this trip with him because at least I'm able to hear this about him. Had I never broken that bolt, I wouldn't be standing here having the craziest conversation of my life.

"I never would have guessed that about you," I tell him honestly. I can imagine him in a white lab coat, surrounded by other NASA scientists as he stands in front of a whiteboard full of math equations that I'd never begin to understand. He'd probably be a great teacher; animatedly explaining his work with his hands, a deep understanding and passion for the logistics of space. It's sweet to think about. Maybe he'd have been happier working for NASA, maybe he never would have had so much issues with this mystery woman. Maybe he wouldn't have had to bother with me.

Sal looks at me again and the shape of his eyes shows that he's smiling softly. I feel bewitched in the moment, captured by the beauty of him opening up to someone. Watching someone learn to trust is even more captivating than lust.

"Wanna hear something crazier?" He asks, leaning toward me. He tries to hide it, but the tone he speaks with practically screams that he's excited.

I don't fight off my smile this time as I answer him with an enthusiastic, "Sure."

"I have a degree in Mathematical Physics and Relativity, and I minored in Astrophysics."

I gape at him, thoroughly shocked and amazed. This man has a college degree? In fucking physics? "You what?" The words explode out of my mouth and Sal laughs heartily at my reaction.

This absolute lanky tank of a freak walking next to me knows more about space and math than I know about my own body. This is tragic and terrifying and so amazing. I think I could listen to him talk about astrophysics for hours.

Yea, I think I'd really like that.

I shake my head in disbelief-- at myself, at him, at the fact that I never would have guessed this about him. This goes to show just how much I don't know about Sal Fisher. "Where did you have the time for this?" I ask, fighting past my braincells who rush to figure out the mind fuck going on right now.

"I graduated last summer," he provides me with the answer I wanted, but goes into more detail. I never knew I'd appreciate an explanation so much in my life. "I was advanced in math, so I started taking college classes during my senior year in high school. After that, I went to our local college and finished everything out there. Four year degree-- I finished at 22. Here I am."

He holds his arms out as if to show me all of him, like he's proud. I nearly gush at the sight, watching his eyes light up with excitement to talk about something he enjoys. I know our relationship is the opposite of perfect, but damn, do I admire him. I had no idea of the genius hiding behind that hard exterior of his-- but it's there.

I regret talking shit about his IQ. I probably have the brainpower of a limp spaghetti noodle compared to him.

I pause my walking, forcing myself to focus on the food issue for a moment. "Okay," I tell him seriously, holding my hands out to him in a 'stop' motion. "Ambrosia is a mile walk. I doubt you want to do that, so let's catch an Uber or a cab or something. I definitely want to hear more about physics though." I didn't think his expression could lift even more, but it does. I did that. And for once, his prosthetic doesn't look so expressionless. "Hey, side note," I continue, subtly cringing. "What's your IQ?"

"Ahh," he voices, looking upward as he thinks. Oh, that's terrifying. "I think a 133 the last time I took the test. But IQ's are an inefficient way to measure someone's knowledge, so I don't like to introduce myself with that kind of insignificant number."

Yea, his explanation said everything about how fucking smart he is. I turn my head away and keep a hand up to stop him. "Don't talk to me anymore," I grumble, and I can't tell if I'm being serious or messing with him because this information really is horrifying.

"Come on," he chuckles, taking a step toward me as his head bobs with laughter. He is thoroughly amused. "I need to talk to you if we're going to get to that restaurant. And not talking is the entire reason we got into this mess in the first place."

I shake my head ferociously. "Uh-uh," I tell him, pushing against him when he walks right into my awaiting palm. I can feel his heart beating calmly against my hand. "I've been fucking a dude with a higher IQ than James Franco."

"So what?" Sal feeds into this whole charade happily. "That just means I'm hotter than him. Case closed."

"Not another word from you," I hiss, cheeks heating up from his relentless flirting. He chooses the worst times to do this-- it's always when I'm about as unstable as a failed egg drop project... now I'm making physics references. Oh, this is bad.

And Sal's interest in space explains his Star Wars reference from earlier, so I guess that's something.

"I'll leave you alone," he laughs softly. "Just this once," he adds. I can't look at him. "But we're going to walk back to the apartments and grab my car. To hell with spending more money when I can just drive."

"Aren't you a famous streamer? How is money a worry? And what happened to you not driving in LA?" I hit him with so many questions that I start to wonder if his science is rubbing off on me.

"To answer in order: yes, it's not-- I just like to save, and California is a lot more open about disabilities than small town Nockfell. Are you ready to go now?" He grabs onto my wrist for the third time today and uses his hold to force me to face him.

I pinch my lips into a thin line and warily watch him. Though, I think my nerves are needless. I don't think I've ever seen him look so light before. He seems happy for once, the emotion reflected in the brighter color of his eyes.

Maybe Nate was right. Maybe I do like Sal and it's time to stop denying it.

"...Fine," I mumble, gently pulling my arm away from him. He releases me then spins toward the way we came, gesturing to the path.

On our walk back to our apartment building, I make the best decision ever and ask Sal about black holes. The entire ten minute walk goes quickly. He tells me about all kinds of math and physics things that I don't quite understand, but it doesn't bother me much because he's so excited to talk about it. The way he animatedly explains gravity and density reminds me of the time he recited Annabelle Lee by Edgar Allan Poe. There was so much passion in his voice then, but now it's amplified to the max.

By the time we get to the parking lot for the apartments, Sal is still explaining parts of a black hole to me. I'm enraptured more by his voice than the explanation, but I try my best to follow along.

He unlocks the car, lets me get in.

"-- and there's this point at the center of a black hole, called Singularity. It's badass-- compresses matter down to the equivalent of a needle point. Actually, infinitely smaller than that. But that's where all time and space is completely broken down. Everything you are, everything you know becomes nothing the moment you face the Singularity point."

He goes quiet and shuts his door, staring at me.

I blink, beating down the butterflies in my stomach with a bat. "Damn," I murmur. "Singularity would be a badass name for a song. Such a simple name for a terrifying concept. Imagine being completely erased from existence."

"Exactly!" Sal exclaims, turning his key in the ignition, making the car roar to life. "Funny that you mention music. There's a song called Singularity by a band that Larry introduced me to when we were younger. Ever heard of Sanity's Fall?"

I recognize that name. Larry's told me about them a number of times too. "I heard about them from Larry as well," I laugh softly. "Think it's related to physics?" I ask with a tilt of my head.

Sal snorts. "Probably not." He glances toward me, a smile still present in those pretty eyes. "But we can pretend it is."

He looks away and begins backing out of the parking lot, hand on the back of my headrest. I thought asking about his interest was my best decision today, but letting him drive us to Ambrosia definitely takes the cake. The hand-headrest move will always be my favorite.

But, as Sal began driving to the restaurant, an uncomfortable awkwardness settles over us. I don't say a word, he doesn't even glance my way. I realize almost immediately that we connected today-- after saying we wouldn't connect. I think Sal's realized it, too, given his abrupt silence after going on and on about black holes for so long.

We order and pick up the food quickly. Despite me arguing with Sal about how I can pay for my own food, he bought it anyway, claiming that, "Ash told me to get food, not you."

I hate it. I hate every second. Things were so nice earlier and now it's taken a complete turn because we've realized what's going on.

Making friends sucks.

We return to our new apartments, silent the entire way up to mine and Ash's apartment. We stand as far apart as possible, too wary to even share the same air. 

Everything is unbearable to the point that I start counting the steps until we make it through the door. Even Sal in his sleeveless shirt can't entice me to spare him a glance right now. The weight of our day is just too heavy.

I burst through my front door with a relieved sigh, heaving a bag of food onto the kitchen counter. I shed a bit of my anxiety when Ash and Larry flock to the food, Larry ripping into the bag that Sal's still holding.

The man hisses when the food threatens to fall through the hole in the bag. Sal impressively chucks his keys onto the counter then grabs the containers before they can hit the ground, holding them up with a hand beneath them.

I watch him with pursed lips, turning away when his head turns toward me-- I won't wait for eye contact.

"Oh, sweetness," Ash chirps beside me in her sing-song voice, poking my arm. I turn to her with a pleasant smile to encourage her to continue. "Friday, I'm leaving for Anaheim. Got a meeting with some streaming execs. I'll be back Saturday afternoon."

I blink, letting her words marinate. "I'm gonna be here alone?" I ask to clarify.

Ash doesn't quite understand that the question was asked out of fear because she answers with an excited little, "Yep! You get to do whatever questionable shit you'd like-- just as long as you clean up."

I gulp. I don't have the heart or the lack of dignity to admit that being alone in this huge apartment seems terrifying. I mean, I should be fine. There's nothing to be scared of, especially knowing that people have to check in at the lobby to even make it into the elevators.

Yea, I'll be fine.

So I hesitantly nod, giving her a not-so-confident smile in return.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, a welcome distraction from the internalized terror that's yet to come.

I pull the device out, holding it in front of me to look while my friends flock around me to get their food.

@violove keep tagging our mother she needs to know that her bf has betrayed her @toddslefttoe @VIOLETVIOLENCE @VIOLETVIOLENCE @VIOLETVIOLENCE MOM NORTH IS A NO-GO GET OUT WHILE YOU CAN @veeveehehe he only ever wanted to hurt you bb, go fuck his bsf @ashers10 i knew he'd hurt her, i just KNEW ITTT @larbearrrr bruh i thought they were just rumors bffr???

I gape at my phone screen, quickly scrolling to see the hundreds of comments on my most recent Instagram post. They all consist of the same thing-- something about North betraying me. 

With furrowed brows, I look up at my friends. 

"Uh, guys?" I start, tilting my head as the gears turn in my head. What the fuck is going on? "People are freaking out in my comments saying that North betrayed me. Do any of you know anything about this?"

Ash mimics my expression. "I have no idea. That's... weird? Maybe someone spotted him in another girl's comments."

Oh, well, that's not bad. I don't care about him going after another girl. He and I haven't spoken in weeks. Still, I jokingly tut and reply, "Guess I'll have to start planning a SpeedBump Grave." I groan. "Men."

I smile a bit, ignoring Sal's gaze as I look down at my phone again. I'l just ask everyone to fill me in.

@VIOLETVIOLENCE guys i'm lost-- what's going on????

It takes about .5 seconds to start getting some replies in.

@lerryberryuwu @VIOLETVIOLENCE omfg you haven't heard? @toodswithoutthed MOM oh thank god you're here we need to do damage control @ashypoo99 ur never gonna guess @veeveehehe STOP BEATING AROUND THE BUSH EVERYONE OMFG. some fan leaked that sally face and DAC are working together-- THEY'RE GONNA BLACKMAIL YOU AND GET REVENGE @violove @veeveehehe no one said anything abt blackmail? they're just working on music.

Oh. So that's what it is. Maybe Sal is going to be playing guitar for a song. But this is also a leak, according to my lovely sources.

Begrudgingly, I look up at Sal who has his prosthetic lifted enough to show the bottom of his chin while he eats. For a brief moment, I wonder why he didn't just take it off, but I have to remember that it's his life. Just because I want to see him doesn't mean that he wants me to see him.

"Sal," I call out to him to distract myself.

He looks up, eyebrows risen as he situates his prosthetic back into place to listen to me.

I wet my lips and look down at my phone again, feeling my cheeks warm. "Figured I'd let you know. Everyone's freaking out in my comments because, apparently, someone leaked that you and Dark Autumn Complex are working on music together."

He curses lowly, the word full of malice. I hear his fork drop and that's when I look up-- but he's already rushing to our apartment door, ripping it open and slamming it behind him.

I watch the spot he was in just moments ago, letting the odd scene replay for a second before I address Ash and Larry.

Larry looks rattled, Ash just looks confused. 

"I'm gonna go check on him." Lar says, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "I don't think he wanted anyone to know about that."

And then Larry's gone with him.

It's not much of a shock that they're working together. They're friends; I know that. What's shocking to me though is all of my fans coming to defend me, and then Sal's reaction.

For now though, I hope that the situation gets figured out for Sal's sake. As much of an asshole as he is, no one deserves that. Least of all him.

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A/N:::: y'all i'm tired as FUCKKKKKK

i have no words. i honestly really fucking love this chapter FUCCCKKKKKKKKK x2

as always, leave some recommendations of things i can improve! i appreciate you all so much and i'm sending so much love! have a wonderful morning/day/evening/night! I LOVE MY POOKIES <3333

[eddiemunsonw]

Your presence is a gift

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: After announcing your engagement to your boyfriend at Steve's birthday party, Eddie quite literally vanishes from your life. Just yours, though. You miss him terribly and when you run into him again two years later yet again at Steve's birthday party, you ask him for clarity.

CW/Disclaimer: A bit of angst with a happy ending I suppose?

Author's note: This fic came to life after seeing a silly text. I've put the image at the end. :)

Words: 4209

Time flies when you’re having fun, right? That’s what they say. Well, time also flies when you’re not having fun. Unless you’re in an excruciatingly painful disaster, then it’ll feel like you can feel every second painfully ticking by. For you, it felt like a combination of both. 

Every day, he was on your mind. Eddie Munson. Someone you used to consider one of your closest friends. Up until two years ago, you used to hang out several days a week, a little less once you got a boyfriend but you never thought it would change this drastically. To think you hadn’t seen his face in so long felt impossible to you. 

The last time you had seen him had been at Steve’s birthday party two years ago. Since you were sitting on the same stool you sat back then, you couldn’t help but think of him. Honestly, the whole environment reminded you of him. After all, you spent many nights with him, Steve and others here. Playing games, watching movies, talking until the sun came peeking through the trees again. You watched absentmindedly as Steve busied himself with entertaining his guests, occasionally glancing at you with mild concern. You told him you were fine, he just didn’t buy it. Oh well.

You knew it had been quick when you announced your engagement, you had only been dating Trent for about… four months? But he went down on one knee and you were always bad at saying no. Trent insisted on sharing it at Steve’s birthday party. You didn’t exactly want to take the attention away from Steve, but Trent… Well, sometimes it was just easier to agree than not to. Steve had been shocked, but happy for you. Eddie had been… Eddie. And yet he had been nothing like him at all. From being the life of the party he had gone instantly silent, gazing into his glass that he never ended up finishing. He congratulated you eventually, after asking you if you loved him, Trent. And you told him yes. Because who would marry someone who they didn’t love, right? Right.

The year after that, Eddie hadn’t attended Steve’s birthday. Supposedly he was sick but you knew he was simply avoiding you. Steve’s face never held many secrets from you and you could tell that the reason he gave you wasn’t a real one. Your husband had been sitting next to you, indifferent to it all. He frankly found it a little annoying that you were still so hung up over Eddie no longer being your… friend? Was that what it was? It felt like you had lost much more than a friend. 

And that was that. No sign of Eddie since. He canceled on your get togethers, even the group ones, always claimed he was busy with the band which, for some time, seemed like a valid reason considering they were doing pretty well nowadays. However, all of that belief went out the window when you discovered that he did in fact still meet up with his friends. With Steve. Just not with you. Steve didn’t want to meddle, told you that you two should probably talk but Eddie made it impossible. Even when Steve tried to create an ‘accidental run-in’ between you two, Eddie figured it out before you even could arrive and had already bolted. 

You forced yourself to accept that Eddie, for whatever reason, had decided he didn’t want to see you anymore. Maybe he needed time… or something. You couldn’t fathom why, not even when Trent exclaimed that ‘that weirdo’ had probably been waiting to get into your pants and when he realized he couldn’t, he had no more interest in being your ‘friend’. That remark had probably resulted in the biggest fight between you and Trent. Things had felt different after. Though looking back on it, things had never felt good in the first place. It had all just felt… expected and how it should be.

Despite everything, despite Trent’s obvious annoyance, you still sent Eddie a wedding invite. You missed him, you missed your friend more than you thought you could ever miss him. Sometimes, when you had a little too much to drink, you wondered whether there had been more. What if Eddie in fact did have… a desire to get into your pants. What if it wasn’t just a sexual desire. What if Eddie…

It never went much further than that. Eddie being in love with you was such a foreign concept to your brain that you couldn’t even entertain the thought. Not after dealing with your one-sided feelings for him for years. Not after seeing him kiss and take home whoever he felt like over and over and never once looking in your direction. Surely he would have considered you an option if it had been like that.

So, you had invited your friend. Asked Steve whether Eddie had brought it up with him or not. To which Steve responded that Eddie no longer wanted to talk about you. Yet you couldn’t help but hold on to hope. 

It drove Trent insane when you insisted on adding banana flavored ice cream to the dessert options. He told you no one liked banana ice cream because it was rank and that it didn’t even taste like banana. Of course, he figured out who in your social circle did like it. Trent had gotten angry about a lot of trivial things and somehow Eddie was often wedged into the subject. If you were honest, you hadn’t really known Trent all that well before you said yes to his proposal. It was as if the moment he knew he had you, he slowly started to change or rather, be more himself.

Eddie never came to the wedding. No one ordered banana ice cream for dessert.

“Y/N, refill?” Steve interrupted your thoughts. You blinked and quickly propped a smile on your face before meeting his gaze.

“Oh, yes, thank you,” you handed your glass to him and moments later he handed it back to you containing an orange-red liquid. You gazed at it for a moment before addressing him. “Sex on the beach?”

Steve smirked. “That’s the one.” His hand squeezed your shoulder kindly before he joined the others again. He knew it was futile to ask if you wanted to join them, knew you sometimes preferred to just listen along from a distance far enough where you wouldn’t be expected to engage. 

You never could have expected that about an hour later, you would be sharing the balcony space with no other than Eddie Munson. In silence. You went there for some fresh air, he went there to pollute it with his smoke filled exhales. Neither of you acknowledged the other. When you heard the door open you hadn’t even turned around. You had been there a while, so lost in thought that you barely registered it. It hadn’t even occurred to you that he was at the party, that’s how long you had been there. You had never seen him arrive.

However, you didn’t even have to look as much in his direction to know it was him. It was the mix of Old Spice, cigarettes and mint and something entirely Eddie that gave it away. A combination of scents that had quickly become your favorite when you first started to hang out with him. You felt it when he rested his arms on the railing just like you were. You wondered if his heartbeat felt as deafening to him as yours did to you. He could have said something. After everything that you tried, it felt painful to be ignored like that even when you were right next to him. As you were working up the courage to say something, your brain decided to take a plunge into your memory and skip all the polite small talk, instead going for the one thing that had been bothering you for a long time now.

“Why didn’t you come to the wedding?”

Eddie took the slowest drag of his cigarette mankind had ever taken, sighed and lazily inspected the ashes while he flicked them off into the wind. You still weren’t looking at him when he shrugged indifferently.

“Your invitation wasn’t really an invitation.”

An overwhelming surge of emotions clutched and clawed at your chest, begging to be let in or let out, it was hard to tell. You had missed his voice so much. It took you a moment to realize that what he said made no sense at all.

“What do you mean?” Slowly, you dared to look in his direction from the corner of your eye. He was still focused on his cigarette, watching it burn.

“Well,” Eddie started to cite it perfectly, as if he had just held your invite two seconds ago and it was still at the forefront of his mind. “Your presence itself is a gift. We don’t want you to bring any gifts to the wedding.”

For a moment you could only stare at him. Surely he didn’t mean…

“You can’t be serious.”

Eddie’s eyes followed the railing until they landed on your hands and the sublest frown etched into his forehead when he couldn’t spot a wedding ring, or any ring for that matter, on your fingers. Perhaps you were scared of losing it or something. Where was Trent anyway?

“It said I am a gift and to not bring gifts. It’s simple math.”

The indifference in his voice ignites a burning frustration in you. How could he act so casually about this when you had in fact cried (of course not in the presence of Trent) over his absence? How could he act like your years of friendship meant nothing to him, from one day to the other? Eddie, who always fantasized out loud about how you’d still get drunk enough together to think dancing on rooftops was a good idea at the age of 85.

“Everyone got that invitation and they were there,” you gritted out.

Another shrug.

“I’m sorry about that. Maybe they didn’t get it.”

“No, you didn’t get it,” you retorted, your frustration becoming more difficult to contain and be limited to just your thoughts.

“No, Y/N, you didn’t get it. You still don’t,” he mumbled.

You didn’t get it?! Your body was fully turned to him now and Eddie still refused to look at you. It drove you insane.

“Then please, explain to me why you ditched one of your best friends at her wedding after refusing to meet up with her anymore out of the fucking blue?”

“Oh you really don’t think there was something specific that went down that could have possibly caused all of this?” Eddie bit back, his eyes finally meeting yours. You were a little taken aback by the blazing fire they held, though. The hurt within them. As if all of this had somehow been your fault.

“Am I supposed to believe that you were so opposed to the idea of me being happy that you decided you no longer wanted to be anywhere near me, ever again? Is that it? Was it the engagement?”

“Yes. I couldn’t bear watching you throw away the life you had to get with some selfish prick that couldn’t even be bothered to see if you were okay when you tripped because ‘you should watch where you walk’. Who was so fucking different from you he kept wanting to change you, push you into boxes you weren’t. So yes when I heard you were willingly getting into that boat with him forever, I stepped back. What of it?”

He stood facing you directly now, arms crossed tightly over his chest, stance wide. His nostrils flared as he breathed out heavily, eyes wide as saucers as he tried to contain what seemed to be anger, built up frustration.

“Which life?! The one where I just had to miserably watch how everyone around me got settled and slowly slipped into a domestic-white-pickett-fence-with-two-children kind of life?”

“You had us! You had me!” Eddie unknowingly raised his voice, his hands pushed tightly against his chest to stop them from shaking.

“I had friends, yes! Such a crime for me to want something more, huh? Don’t get me wrong, Eddie, but it was only a matter of time before one of those bimbos you hooked up with after gigs became a long-term partner. I’m sure you’ve…” You vaguely gestured at him, his hands, something, because surely he had a great girlfriend by now. Someone that fit him like you never would.

Eddie shook his head vigorously, his wild hair following the movement. He revealed his hands, pointing at his empty ring finger.

“See? Nothing. I’m not like you. I don’t just settle for whoever.” 

You scoffed and revealed your hands.

“No you’re not like me indeed. I got divorced. Guess you win again, congrats.”

For the first time, his hostility faded a little. It was almost as if he wanted to approach you but instead he crossed his arms again, not meeting your eyes.

“Sorry about that, I guess. I didn’t know. Steve never told me.”

“Steve told me you didn’t want to talk about me, so. Not surprised that he didn’t.”

Eddie groaned impatiently, his hands flying up to his hair to run through as he looked inside, where he spotted Steve quickly turning his head away. Fucker.

“He knows why I didn’t want to talk about you though. He should have, I could have— But now instead I’ve been— Fuck!”

“You’re… not making a lot of sense right now, bud,” you remarked dryly.

Another groan, though a bit more whiny.

“Don’t fucking— I’m not your bud alright?”

You rolled your eyes, fed up with him by now. It was as if he had taken four knives to stab you simultaneously with, twisting them occasionally.

“You’re right. You’re nothing to me, apparently. As you wish.”

Both of you were so lost in your own world that you didn’t even notice how Steve had closed off the view to the balcony doors by drawing the curtains to prevent anyone else from coming up. Neither had you noticed that he had in fact locked the doors as well.

“You’re a real bitch, you know that?” Eddie seethed through his teeth, taking a small step closer towards you with his eyes blazing. It was the last straw you needed after this agonizing build up of two years. You had had enough. 

“Oh I’m a bitch?! You literally gave me the cold fucking shoulder from one day to the next, ignored all my calls, all my messages, you literally pretended like I didn’t fucking exist, Eddie! Why would you do something like that, knowing how much it would hurt me? Call me a bitch all you want, but you’re heartless.”

“I’ve been fucking heartless since the goddamn day you stole it, Y/N.”

What? Stunned, you looked up at him to witness the panic that flared up in his eyes and he quickly made a beeline towards the balcony doors.

“Eddie, wait—” 

Eddie shook his head and tried to pry the door open with all his might. He was desperate to get away from you as far as possible.

“Why the fuck can’t I— Steve. Steve! Open the goddamn thing now!”

It didn’t take long for Steve to appear when Eddie started banging loudly on the window. He pulled the curtains around his head, making it look like it was floating amidst the black curtains and promptly shook his head.

“No. Fix it, Munson. Until then, enjoy your stay on the balcony,” Steve told him through the window, right before disappearing again.

“Fuck!”

He kicked against a heavy plant pot for good measure, causing him to swear some more before he meekly faced you again. You had quietly been following the whole ordeal and were still struggling to find the words to respond to any of it.

“So… What was that about me stealing your heart?” you asked softly and you had half the mind to be amused by the expression Eddie had on his face. There was no world where you wouldn’t find him and his panicky expressions at least slightly adorable.

“It sounds even more ridiculous when you say it,” Eddie sighed, slumping down against the door until he sat on the floor.

“Since when?”

“Since forever, man. How could I not?” He gestured at you as if he hated to admit it, arm dropping back down a little too harsh causing him to curse softly.

“How?”

“What do you mean how? It just happens, and I’m not gonna apologize for how I feel about y—”

“No, I mean,” you interrupted him, “you were always… You never gave me the idea that you even considered me that way.” 

Eddie frowned and rested his head against the door as he let go of a long sigh.

“I literally said you were like Arwen to me. And that Aragorn was my favorite.” His pout was a little childlike, as if it had been something that had bothered him for years on end. In fact, it had. You groaned in disbelief.

“I hadn’t read it by then! You wouldn’t tell me why you thought I was like Arwen and told me to just read the book. Which I never did because I was always hanging with you doing other stuff in my free time. And once I did have the time, you were always hooking up with random girls so I didn’t really feel like it anymore.”

“Why would you not want to read Lord of the Rings because I was making out with random chicks?” he asked, clear confusion on his face. He almost looked a little insulted.

“Because I was jealous, you idiot! I wasn’t gonna read a thick book that I was going to read for you when you were busy exploring other people’s throats.”

“I’m afraid I’m not following, Y/N, what do you mean you were jealous? You always shot me those god awful finger guns with a huge grin whenever I went backstage with one of them.” 

“Oh, was I supposed to pull them back by their hair and say something like ‘He’s mine, you bimbo!’ and stick my tongue down your throat instead?” you asked him with a dead panned expression, causing him to chuckle unexpectedly.

“Uh, yeah?! That’s exactly how I imagined it would go, but instead you were all supportive and nice about it so I figured you didn’t give two shits. I even tried two on one night and… nothing! Not even a jealous eyebrow twitch that I know you can do, the way you do when someone gets the best part of a cake with the extra chocolates on it. I was desperate, Y/N.”

You debated sitting across from him but figured the door would be more comfortable against your back, so instead you hesitantly sat down next to him. Eddie didn’t seem to mind, to your relief.

“Ever thought of just… I don’t know, walking up to me and saying you liked me or something?” you asked with a quip of your brow and a soft smile.

“Uh, right back at you.” Eddie rolled his eyes, though he wore the hint of a smile on his face.

“No but, seriously. You kissed random girls during your shows. All you had to do was pick me instead, no?”

Eddie shook his head.

“With them it didn’t matter. With you… if you rejected me, you’d break my heart.”

The silence settled between you again. Heavy, yet not uncomfortable. Eddie exhaled slowly, his shoulder touching yours so light you could have imagined it.

“And then suddenly you introduced Trent to us. I thought, this prick isn’t gonna last a month. You and him? Nah, not in a million years. But then he did. And another, and another, and another. And then… you were engaged. I was convinced it was all just a horrible nightmare. An awful trick played on me. But I just had to accept that I was some random side character in your life and that I had wasted my chance to become anything more.”

He played with the frayed ends of one of the holes in his jeans and exhaled shakily, his fingers trembling slightly. 

“It’s why I asked if you loved him, you know? I thought… maybe. But you said yes, so I had to back away. I wasn’t going to act fair towards you if I didn’t. I— I was a mess, ask Steve. He got fed up with me so many times but he- he’s a good one, y’know. Of course you know. So yeah, I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. The only reason I’m even here is because Steve promised that you weren’t gonna come. And then suddenly…”

“Here I was,” you finished for him. He nodded.

“There you were.” A sigh, a shy glance in your direction. “As beautiful as ever, if not more. I was so shocked to see you that I forgot to leave.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” you told him softly. “I hope you never will.”

You reached for his trembling fingers and covered them with your own, slowly pushing them apart. Eddie swallowed audibly, his eyes flicking from your hands to your face.

“I’ve missed you,” he confessed in a whisper, his eyes wide and sincere. His thumb softly caressed your pinky.

“I’ve missed you too.” A beat of silence. “I put banana ice cream on the menu, you know.”

Eddie turned his head and smiled in disbelief. “You did?”

“Mhm,” you chuckled softly. “No one ordered.”

“What a waste. I would’ve eaten it all.”

You shared a smile and rested your heads against one another.

“Sorry I wasn’t there,” he said eventually. You shrugged. 

“It’s fine, you didn’t miss anything anyway. Apart from the ice cream, of course.”

“You looked beautiful. Steve has— I’m sure you know but, he had the photo of you and him framed. He wanted to put it up but wanted to wait until he had more things to put up so he could arrange it all at once. But I guess… it’s a bit weird now.”

Steve. Always such a sweetheart.

“I didn’t know, actually. But yeah, a little weird I guess.” 

You both listened to the music coming from inside, your fingers gently drumming along. Eddie’s head too, you noticed vaguely as he moved against your head. At least, that’s what you assumed until you felt his lips on your cheek. You could feel he was holding onto his breath, waiting for your reaction. Hesitantly, he kissed your cheek again, his trembling lips giving away how nervous he was. You turned your head slowly. His breath hitched a little when your lips brushed his, unsure whether to move away or not. Gently, you added the lightest pressure onto his lips with your own and pressed them together into a kiss. You didn’t care that his fingers squished yours a little painfully as he tightly grasped his knee in response. He leaned back shakily, just enough to break apart only so he could press your lips together again. Sweeter, more intentional, more mutual. He shifted slightly, his leg resting on your crossed legged ones a little as his other hand came up to cup your cheek, deepening the kiss he had desired to give you for years. Your lips danced together without a fight for dominance, instead it was all about unity, in the perfect alignment of your faces together. The softest giggle escaped his lips when his nose bumped into yours as you changed angles. He gasped when your fingers threaded into his hair.

The both of you were so lost in the kiss that you didn’t notice Steve peeking through the curtains, needing a moment to discover you were in fact making out against the door. You didn’t notice him closing them again either, however…

“YES!! FINALLY!”

Eddie bumped his head against the door in shock and you quickly broke apart, but only after gazing into each other’s eyes lazily with the dopiest smiles on your faces.

“Was that Steve?” you asked.

“Sure was. Steve!” Eddie knocked on the door before getting up and extending his hand to help you as well. Steve was quick to show up in front of the balcony doors again and removed the curtains before opening them.

“Shit, you saw me didn’t you?” Steve asked guiltily, bummed that he interrupted your moment. Eddie snorted and shook his head.

“No dude, it was your high pitched scream that gave us a near heart attack.” 

“Oh. Well. I’m glad you guys uh… made up. Sorry for locking you out, but I had to do something. You can come back in now.”

As Steve stepped aside, Eddie chuckled and reached for the black curtains to pull them back closed again.

“Thank you, but uhm, maybe later? We’ve got some catching up to do.” 

Eddie grinned down at you as he closed the balcony doors again and wasted no second to wrap his arms around your waist. You beamed up at him, eyes sparkling with delight.

“Where were we, sweetheart?”

Here's the image I mentioned earlier. Funny how a whole short fic can come out of it, right? :)

[delusioncorner]

Gasp, Imposter!

Nightwing x Reader (T)

[Y/n] is a newer Bludhaven-based vigilante who has been steadily gaining the trust of a certain blue and black bird-themed masked hero. after he goes MIA for a week, he returns looking....slightly different.

-

I sit atop a building, listening to my completely-normal-totally-not-altered radio for any reported crime. It's weird resorting back to this odd secretive and secluded way of patroling but ever since Nightwing up and disappeared last Monday, I have no choice. He was slowly becoming my patrolling partner as much as he swore up and down that he "didn't want me around" and how I was "such a nuisance seriously go bother someone else" but he's a real softy under that dumb spandex exterior. He even gave me a special in-ear a couple of weeks ago just so he could talk to me, even if we were only several blocks away, checking in to make sure I was fairing well and even calling me if he needed help. He's gone though. Where? I don't know but god, hopefully he's okay.

A crackling through the radio snaps me out of my Nightwing-centered trance. I turn it up a little so I can hear the voices better.

...I have reports of a 211 on Red Line South. Backup requested immediately.

The dispatcher sounds a little worried. Maybe a bit too worried for a supposed robbery in progress. Jumping to my feet, I decided that the edge in her voice is enough of a reason for me to go check that out. I shake the nerves off for what feels like the 80th time that week and remind myself that this is not my first rodeo and it will not be the last. I do some stretching, sharing away any nerves. Welcoming that familiar light buzz that fills me every time I know I'm gonna kick some ass and help someone in this shitty town. I take a final deep breath. And I jump. Grappling from building to building. Flying and dipping through the air. As I soar through the sky I can't help but let out a cry of excitement and anticipation. I love this part of my night.

It's when I'm about halfway to Red Line that I see him. Nightwing, just a few buildings over running and jumping in the same direction as me. Does he see me? Does he know I've been worried sick about him for days? Unable to sleep because I had no idea what had happened to him? I go to yell his name but he plummets into an alley before my mouth gets a chance to form the "n". Landing on a fire escape, I wonder if I should go find him and tell him how sick I've been. How I've missed his stupid voice.

"Put the weapon away now!" A loud booming voice shouts, shaking me to my core. He sounds rough and gritty and one would think he was the criminal in question with a dangerous voice like that. Looking down I see Nightwing with his escrima sticks wielded and realize that I was once again a victim to my own thought and while I was pining over him he managed to sprint 2 blocks over to where I am now. I make a move to jump down but that's when I notice something really interesting. He's grown at least like 4 inches? Right? I mean he is looming over that robber- who, upon further examination, did in fact shoot that cop that was on the scene- but the robber couldn't be any taller than me....

I stay at my place on the fire escape and watch as this Nightwing skillfully disarms the menace while causing minimal damage to the man whose name is Doug because of course, returns the bag to the woman who was cowering around the corner, and checks on and stays with the cop lying on the side of the alley until his backup finally shows up 45 minutes later. The whole time I'm watching this I'm taking mental notes. His mannerisms are much stiffer and strict, he's not making his signature quips, and he definitely didn't do some sort of dumb flip while he was fighting that man which he almost always seems to do. When the backup arrives I make my escape to the top of the building. I had nothing to do with that altercation- even though I siked myself up and prepared for the fight of a lifetime with Doug the burglar- so there's really no reason for me to deal with any sort of cops tonight. I sit on the roof thinking about all the differences I spotted while observing Nightwing tonight and I decide that there's 100% something going on with him. Maybe he's ill? No, that can't be it he would've just stayed home, no? Well then maybe he's decided to turn a newer, more serious leaf? Noooo I don't think that's it either he really loves sassily fighting crime. Maybe he's brainwashed? But then why would he still be actively saving people? Wouldn't the brainwashers want him to go underground or something? I really don't think they'd-

"Who are you and why were you watching me?" The man parading as Nightwing snarls. God damn you, brain. I turn around to look for him. I don't see him at first But I know he's up here somewhere. That's when I saw him. A figure in the shadow. Hes big. Bigger than Nightwing that's for sure. Even though he's standing several feet away you can tell that this man is built like a brick house.

"Who are you and why are you pretending to be Nightwing?"

He's silent. Then he says, "I asked you first."

"Yeah okay, that's really mature. I'm Vulpine. You're impersonating my friend and I want to know why. Now you," I tilt my head up to show him I'm not fucking around.

"I'm a friend of Nightwing's. He's going to be out of town for a while but he wanted me to come here and make sure the city is doing fine." The man says this in a curt tone that makes it clear that he isn't going to answer any more questions I ask.

Tsk.

"And you had to dress like him?" Even though I can't see his face I just know he's staring at me.

"I had to make sure I didn't raise any eyebrows." He is very rapidly getting tired of me already. It makes me giddy.

"Hate to break it to you, dude, but little 5-foot-8-biult-like-a-dancer Nightwing is now.... what are you like 6 feet tall? He's somehow grown 4 whole inches in the past week and he's magically built like a freight train? Yeah fucking right. It would've been better if you just showed up in whatever you wear normally. Something akin to a bat, mayhaps?"

"You can't just say 'mayhaps'-"

"I can."

"No. You can't. Listen, I don't know what you know but it's clearly too much. I will be having a discussion with Nightwing about this as soon as possible. If I find out you were lying for even a second, I will find you." He steps out of the shadow he is under to deliver that last line. He's dramatic. I like him.

"Yeah, alright. When you talk to him tell him I miss him. Okay?" I give "Nightwing" a lopsided smile and decide that maybe tonight is not a patrol night. I salute the man and turn, jumping from the roof and grappling away. As I swing toward my house I can only hope that Batman- because that was clearly Batman- relays my message to the real Nightwing.

-

My first fic on here omg! This was loosely based on the newest edition of the Nightwing comic where Bruce dresses up as Nightwing and watches over Bludhaven for him. I thought It would be funny to write because clearly Bruce is built very differently from Dick and I just think it would be SOOOO obvious to others that it wasn't their typical Nightwing. It's not technically a Nightwing/ Reader fic buuuutttttttt it's like implied maybe. Like if you squint there's a small bit of chemistry and a lot of pining. Maybe I'll make another part.

[lostinvasileios]

WAAAGAGHH LUCIFER PATRON???!?1 CANON?!

Soooooooo....

I was meditating last night for the first time in a while. I've been sick, busy, and just plain too fatigued or unmotivated to meditate. And, I know me and Lucifer are spoused. It's a queer platonic thing. He's like a brother, a best friend. That sort of thing. So, I knew of him in my practice, and the means of our relationship. Mortally, and higher self-ly or whatever. He's a god I have tea parties with.

But, I don't expect him to be in my life much, to be honest. He's my dearest companions spouse, so he comes around every once in a while when it's because of them or just because he wants to chill with me or whatever - normal shit.

As I was meditating however, I realized quite fast how just emotionally unstable I was. Almost immediately feeling drowned in my own sorrow and doubts. Um - I'm still doing shadow work, guys. So- this was also normal, but unexpected? I dunno, I saw my dear Pele for a good 30 minutes or so of the meditation, and when our conversation was done, I was sort of... There? I was just relaxing in the state I was in. The emotions had subsided, thanks to my mothers comfort and reassurance of all my racing thoughts.

Completely off topic, I saw Inside Out 2 when it came out. I loved it.

After a good few minutes of me just sitting there in my void state, the emotions came back. But, more so - sour thoughts. Of a personal matter, but, know they were strong. I fought them off gently, knowing if I tried to force myself to swallow them down, I'd just end up erupting with them later.

In the midst of it, out of nowhere, unexpected, uninvited/j, Lucifer came to... My rescue? Idk my deities like to joke about me being their damsel in distress sometimes. (Punching air)

And when I saw him, or - more so - noticed he was there. I was kind of like AAHWHWNBB???? LUCIFER??????????? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE 😱😱 and he laughed for a quick moment before saying "I could sense your distress from a mile away." Pretty much. I don't remember exact with what he said at first because I was still in a sort of - tornado of my own?

He has a history of stepping in and helping soothe me in moments of pain like that, so it wasn't all that weird. But still, it remained... Odd to me. Now, I know this is a fault of mine, but I typically don't see why a deity I am not romantically spoused to would come and comfort me. Parental spouses as an exception, of course.

Lucifer has mentioned wanting to spouse me (my higher self) romantically before, but had let it go due to his own lack of time to give to our potential spousal. But, all in all, I just - if anyone was going to come and comfort me I sort of thought it'd be Loki or Sun. Practically anyone else but him.

Anyway, back to the story- he eased my tears pretty quickly. It's just his charm, I dunno. And, for a brief but somehow also long moment, we sat there. In silence. In the void state of my meditation. Seemingly floating in ink as stars twinkled distantly from us. And, for some reason, I impulsively said "You know, Lucifer... I kind of... Wish you were my patron sometimes."

Like bro, SHUT THEJ FUCICK UP but no no no, I KEPT GOING.

"... If I were to try and be your devotee... Would you... Accept me?"

I was giving straight "You should be with... A real girl" "WHO ARE YOU I AM FROM ANCIENT GREECE" vibes with that one.

Whenever I'm around him, that persistent, parasite ass thought keeps eating at me. Patron, patron, patron, patron. My Patron.

And, I don't know why. I know things like this usually mean it's meant to be or whatever, but, I can say and encourage that idea forever without a doubt for others, but I'm still working on truly hearing it 24/7 with myself. (A rookie move for me. Alas, I am still unfortunately human.)

And he looked at me, a bit surprised. Though I'm quite sure he's known for a while how much I wanted him to be my patron. I mean, holy shit dicks man, he was the second deity I reached out to. He said "no" pretty sternly, but he's said time and time again that it was purely just because I was not ready, and I had to be redirected. I was in my very early teens and very depressed, I understand why completely. And find it funny even.... Also he said he was busy, he didn't mean to sound so - firm? Idk, I hope you just get it lol.

He smiled.

God is his smile beautiful or what???? Anyway

He looks at me with this... Loving, tender expression. And he goes. "Oh? That's flattering. To return your honesty, I'd be quite honored to take you on as my own." He paused for a second, I presume he was thinking a bit deeper before he continued. "Of course I would. With open arms. I'd take you under my wing if you truly desired."

And I almost folded???????? Like oh my LORDS this guy this mmnhahhh

When he said that... I just- I don't know. The atmosphere suddenly began to feel so- loving. Something so powerfully, intensely loving. Like a sudden iridescent aurora just circled around me or something. Like I was walking on rainbows, almost. Drowning in them, more so.

I soaked in that feeling. That feeling of... Him, I assume is what that was. Perhaps it was like a teaser of the swaddles of love he'd put me within as his practitioner. Strangely, the thought of "I am Lucifer's devotee" rings like wedding bells in my head. It sounds so smooth and velvety, so... Natural. Like walking with no shoes on the Earth. Like being - connected? Belonged? I don't know exactly how to describe it.

After a few seconds, he placed his hand to his chest, and I somehow also felt it on my own. Over my heart. His fingertips softly pressed into me as if he was exchanging his own pulse with mine. "Being your patron sounds/feels so right, doesn't it?" He said two words at once there, closing his eyes with it. Making the emotions currently flowing through me and him a bit more - more?

However, I of course had to second guess this event, even though he was practically saying "yes" in every way possible to my question of "should I be his devotee". My mind still nagged with the thought of "he isn't... My husband. He isn't my spouse in the way Satan or Hypnos is. So, why is he even here to begin with?"

As stupid as it sounds, I ended up asking him this. "Lucifer, you aren't my spouse - or - you're not my spouse romantically, at least... So, why do you... Why do you care?"

"Just because we are not involved the way you and Asmodeus (example) are, does not mean I do not care for you and love you deeply."

He shook my world a tiny bit there, honestly. I knew that already, that I don't need to be romantically with someone for them to care for me, but hearing him say that was just... Boom?

But, my brain just - still wasn't really fulfilled with that. And I said "I might... Go and see Asmodeus. This feeling may just be me wanting to be his devotee instead."

How

In

The

Hell

Did I even get to that conclusion?? I don't know. Couldn't tell you. (I could but it's genuinely so fucking)

Even then, I felt it sort of just - within my core that I wanted to be with him. That I wanted... To be his. Devotee. I have to be specific with that because the way I phrased that makes my brain go "ohohoho? Husband time? Mwah smooch with the devil?"

I might be in denial, now that I'm reading all of this. About not falling in love with Lucifer romantically. Emotions are way too complicated for me right now and I'm writing this while starving so cut me some slack guys please 🙁

To be fair with myself, I often find myself gushing at the idea of being many deities devotee, besides the deities I am already devoted to. Anubis, for example. Goddddsss, Anubis man... That's another post for another time though

Lucifer smiled again, and stood up, I stood with him. He gently placed his hands on my face, and said "Whatever you decide, know I am still forever here for you. But, do well to let me know your answer, yes?" I nod and thank him for being so understanding and stuff. We hug. And, roll credits.

Getting hugged, touched, talked to - hell even looked at by Lucifer makes me feel so... Could 9-y. Like, I feel like a mist of perfume being spritzed on to him. I feel like I'm a piece of cotton candy and he's biting into me, and I melt within his mouth. I feel like the materials of his pillow and I catch his head upon me. I feel like -

Gods help me, I cannot make up a decision about this for the life of me. The last time I was this torn about if I should leap into a deities arms is when I was crying to Selene about if Asmodeus liked me or not.... Coincidence or?? A part of me knows my answer, of my truth. But, I don't know. The majority of me is finding this weird game of I guess - cat and mouse - to be fun. I might just need to eat & go to sleep. I woke up way too early today.

[diam-etrical]

being an artist is humiliating

I don't think this is talked about enough.

When you put something out in the world, you have to accept the possibility you won't get anything back.

Maybe you laid your heart bare on a one-shot that got zero comments. Maybe it was a painting you spent hours working on that didn't get the engagement you wanted.

I think it might have been the reason I stopped creating, for a little while at least.

I got obsessed with the stupid little numbers and metrics. Got happy when people liked my content, got sad when it resonated with no one. My relationship with what I created was determined by my perception of how many people engaged with it.

I waited day and night for the dopamine rush of notifications. I refresh my inbox, thinking that one of these days, somebody will leave some kind of affirmation, and somehow that recognition will imbue what I created with more significance. More value, writ-large.

If it got crickets, then I've failed somehow. It just wasn't good enough, I say to myself.

For the longest time, I felt like everything I created had to prove it belonged. It all felt like a race, except I didn’t know who I was competing against, only that I always felt left behind and couldn't keep up.

That's my fault. I can't help but measure myself.

But isn’t that the universal tendency? To view our past achievements as a benchmark we have to constantly overcome? Isn’t that why we’re so satisfied to look at old works we made and see how far we’ve come?

I remember what my old teacher used to say. “You’re only as good as your last piece.” As if art exists only to constantly prove itself. As if art is forever doomed to fight for its place in this world.

Well, I'm sick of it.

And so I'm realizing, in real-time, that I don’t want to fight for my place anymore. I don’t want to pander to some stupid algorithm.

I want to create. 

I want to believe that a work of art is good simply because it exists out of necessity. Out of someone’s urgent desire to share a piece of their heart in the world because it would have been devastating to keep to themselves. That’s always been very beautiful to me. It's why there is so much heart in fanworks because of the sheer heart poured into it—a love that is as raw as an exposed nerve.

There are so many stories in your head, numerous in number and nebulous in form, that eventually come to fruition as these delicate, precious things you’ve been brave enough to summon into existence. To materialize in a timeline or dashboard. To somehow take up space in people’s minds if only briefly. 

Maybe that in itself is the miracle. That what you conjured in your head somehow made its way into something real. Whether in tiny strokes or tiny letters on a tiny screen.

Somehow, the numbers next to them don’t seem to matter as much.

[hischierswhore]

you're the problem

pairing: Mason Mount x Reader

TW: asshole!Mason // cursing // verbal arguments // if i missed anything, please let me know

A/N: listened to "blame's on me" by Alexander Stewart on repeat while writing this. apologies in advance !!

"I'm fucking stressed, Y/n, and you're not making it any better!" Mason shouted as you sat on one of the kitchen stools, holding your head in your hands in attempt to ease your growing migraine.

"I can't fucking do this anymore" You mumbled to yourself as your made your way up the stairs and to your bedroom, locking the door once you were inside. You heard Mason shout "Just run away from your problems like you always do".

You brought your knees to your chest as you sobbed on your bedroom floor. How could he be so insensitive and so self-centered when all you did was show him the love & support he craved so desperately?

This had been going on for the past month. You arriving home from work and immediately being put in a screaming match with your boyfriend of 2 years, though it was more of him screaming at you and you just becoming his personal punching bag.

You tried your hardest to stay. You tried to stay for him, to help him change and better himself, but it seems as though every night he goes back to his old ways. You understood he was frustrated with himself because of his performance lately, but that shouldn't be any reason for him to take it out on you.

"Why do I even bother?" You asked yourself as you cried again, tears rolling down your cheeks as you hugged your legs tightly to your chest as some form of protection. You stayed like this for a few moments before opting to grab your suitcase and leave.

You knew if you stayed you'd only cry harder. You opened the door to hear Mason speaking to someone downstairs. You assumed it was Ben or Declan, but you didn't care. Nothing he said or did could change your mind to make you stay. You'd given up, you were done.

You carried your suitcase down the stairs, immediately causing Mason to turn his attention to you.

"I'll call you back" Mason spoke into the phone before ending the call and placing it on the counter. You tried to rush down the stairs and make your way to the front door without having to interact with him, but it seems as though an extremely heavy suitcase filled to the brim with everything you'd ever left at his house wasn't the easiest thing to carry down a flight of stairs.

"Where are you going?" Mason questioned when you finally reached the first floor.

"As far away from you as possible" You spoke dryly, not wanting to interact with him at this moment.

"My love, I'm sorry for-" Mason spoke but was interrupted by you.

"Save it, Mason. You do this shit all the time. You get frustrated because you're not performing well on the pitch and then you verbally take your frustration and anger out on me, and I'm fucking sick of it. I've tried to help you, Mason. I really have, but I've gotten to the point where I'm tired of being your personal punching bag. I'm just done" Tears stained your face once more as you voiced your frustrations to him.

"I didn't know you felt that way"

"Because you're too busy worrying about everything else in your life but me! Not once have you asked me if I'm okay since this whole thing started, Mason. I've lost all hope in this" You said as you gestured between the two of you.

"Look at me, Mason" He looked straight at you as you spoke.

"This isn't the man I fell in love with. This isn't you" Mason's eyes began to fill with tears as reality was setting in; he was losing you.

"For the longest time, I've been blaming myself for things that aren't my fault, and I'm only now realizing that it's you. You're the problem, Mason. It's your fault" You grabbed your suitcase and dragged it towards the front door, leaving Mason frozen in shock at what was happening. With your hand on the door handle, you turned around one last time.

"I hope you resolve whatever the hell is going on with you. Goodbye, Mason" Mason was still in shock at the foot of the stairs. Your words echoed through his mind as you left his house.

You packed your suitcase in the back of your car and drove back to your apartment. Your mind wandered throughout the car ride, trying to come up with different scenarios that could possibly cause Mason to change. He may say or do something that will pull you back to him, but as the drive came to an end, you realized there was nothing he could do to bring you back into his life.

A voice deep within you wished there was, but as much as you wanted to believe in him, you couldn't. You had to let go and move on.

As soon as you arrived home, you jumped in the shower, ignoring your reflection staring back at you with nothing but longing in its eyes. No amount of water washing over your body would make those emotions disappear.

-

You laid across your bed with a blanket wrapped around you, wishing things would just go back to the way they used to be. You missed the loving & affectionate Mason, the one you'd fallen in love with. But those days were gone. Those days were long gone.

Mason had broken your heart. It didn't matter how many people you loved, you could never love another person like you loved him. That realization sent you spiraling into the darkest place you'd ever been in. Your brain couldn't think straight. The sudden loss of everything you thought you'd had all along destroyed you.

You began crying uncontrollably, clutching onto your pillow as if it were all that was keeping you alive. The moment you closed your eyes, your memories flooded your mind and that was enough to drive you into a state of despair. You let yourself drown in the memories.

You cried until you couldn't breathe. You cried until your throat hurt so bad it made you nauseous.

Everything had led you here. Everything you loved and cherished. Every happy memory you'd built up with Mason that seemed so easy and effortless until it had all disappeared. All your dreams seemed futile and unreachable after the events that took place earlier today.

-

Mason couldn't even fathom the pain you were in. The pain you were in because of him and his actions. He never realized what he was putting you through. He attempted to reach out, but it was no use; you'd blocked him on every platform there was. You wanted him out of your life, completely out of your life.

How could he possibly understand the type of grief he'd caused you? How could he comprehend the depths of sadness you were feeling right now?

He'd broken you and now he wanted nothing more than to fix everything he had done. To hold you close and tell you he was sorry. But he couldn't apologize for the mistakes he'd made; he hadn't been there for you during all of it. He hadn't held you while you sobbed or comforted you after one of your many arguments.

He'd lost you for good.