#but i want white/light sand in the 40 and that might make it look more 'natural' which could be fun? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

harryspet · 5 years ago

Text

the good guy | steve rogers

[warnings] dark steve rogers x reader, pre-serum steve x reader, 40′s setting, petite reader, angst, noncon sex (wear a condom, kids), public sex?

A/N: this was inspired by @darkastrea ‘s idea where the reader falls for skinny steve because he’s small like her and makes her less insecure but after the war she’s not attracted to him anymore and super soldier steve doesn’t handle the rejection well.

THIS ADULT CONTENT AND CONTAINS TRIGGERING SUBJECTS

In which Steve returns from the war and things just aren’t the same.

word count: 3.6k

Everyone looked past you. Even your own family. Steve was the only one who understood that. He understood everyone looking down on you, literally. He was small like you but he was the one who knew how to stand up for himself. You admired that.

The first time you met him, he had ducked into the bakery you worked at part time. The sign clearly read “closed” but the lights of the shop were still on. As he hid behind one of the tables, you watched as a group of men ran past the front of the store, completely missing their target.

He had always had a way of astonishing you. When he introduced himself that night, you had no idea how deep your bond would grow.

You were barely over five feet and that seemed to shock Steve as much as his height shocked you. Everyone seemed to tower over you and every woman Steve met towered over him. No thanks to the family you grew up with, most men intimidated you. Steve seemed to be different than most guys.

“Do you always go looking for fights?” You asked, handing him a cup of coffee. You took a break from closing up the shop to get to know the courageous stranger.

“Not always, ma’am,” He answered, a sly smile on his face, “But I’ve noticed that they just continue to pick on you when you stand down.”

You nervously tapped at your coffee cup as his words sunk in, “But won’t they always win when they’re bigger than you …” Steve could sense the double meaning behind your words but decided it was best not to dig into the intimacies of a strangers life.

“They lose their power when you’re confident. They assume. because you’re smaller, that you’re mentally weaker. They back off when you show them you’re not.”

You slowly nodded, stirring your spoon around your coffee, “Is that why you ran in here?”

“Oh, those guys? My method works better against one guy, not six. With six guys, you just gotta run,” You laughed at that and Steve noted your beautiful smile. In all these years, he’d never gotten close to getting a girl to smile like that for him. They looked past him because of his scrawny looks yet you saw him, “Are you the Gloria in Gloria’s Sweets?”

You shook your head, your smile still wide, “Oh no, that’s my boss. I’m Y/N,” Steve held his hand out to shake yours.

“Steve Rogers.”

You looked down at your watch, knowing that you’d be expected home soon, “Well, if you don’t mind, I have to clean up and then get home.” As you stood up from your seat, Steve stood up abruptly too.

“I can help,” He rushed out, “And I can escort you home … since it’s so late.”

Your head cocked to the side, curiously, “Really?”

“Of course,” Steve said, “It’s the least I could do after distracting you from work.”

You slowly nodded in agreement, “Okay.”

You cleaned up the kitchen together and Steve explained the reason those six guys were chasing him. Apparently, he was out drinking with his friend Bucky and saw the drunks messing with a stray cat, throwing bottles at it. He kindly tried to tackle one of the guys and the chase ensued. “At least the cat escaped,” Steve said.

You closed up the shop and allowed Steve to walk you home. Luckily, there was no sign of the group of men from before. You walked the five blocks home, Steve acting as your “protection”. Really, you were just enjoying his company.

“This is me,” You said as you stopped in front of your building, “We should probably say bye here. My family will send me to some Christian camp in the midwest if they catch me with a boy.”

Steve nodded, his lips in a thin line, “... Can I ... Can I see you again, Y/N?”

You nodded, a soft smile on your lips, “You know where I work. Swing by any time, Mr. Rogers.”

Steve’s heart did a backflip in his chest and a happy warmth heated his cheeks, “Yes, ma’am.”

You hadn’t realized what you were experiencing with Steve was a crush until this moment. When you ran together on the sandy beach because he surprised you with a day trip. He knew you had been stressed out from nursing school and wanted to help you relax.

Your mother thought you were at a girl friend’s home, of course, but even she had met Steve already. Five months ago, you invited Steve to dinner with your family. It was one of the most awkward experiences of your life. Your father grilled him on his intentions, your mother didn’t seem to think he was worthy of you and your older brothers made jokes about his appearance.

You thought he might be done with you after that. Turns out, Steve was quite used to people talking to him that way. It hadn’t scared him off at all, only made him understand why you acted the way you did. He understood why you went through life with your head down.

Your family had bulldozed over you for your entire life.

You snapped out of the memory as Steve grabbed your hand. He spun you in a circle and you danced around in the sand. The waves were loud and the people celebrating Memorial Day.

The two of you plopped down onto the sand as you attempted to catch your breath. Your long cream skirt was dirtied but that didn’t matter much to you. You were focused on the sparkling blue in his eyes, the hint of green you noticed, and how incredibly kind they were.

“Steve,” You breathed, “Thank you.”

“For what?” He grinned back at you.

For caring like no one ever has. For letting you talk. For making you laugh.

“For today,” You said instead, “I really needed this.”

You stayed at the beach all day, eating the lunch Steve packed for the two of you and then laying down to look at the stars as night set.

Your hands brushed against each other but neither of you was bold enough to grab onto one another.

“Y/N,” You turned your head to him as he called your name, “I brought you here to tell you something.”

You turned on your side, resting your head against your hand, “What’s that?”

The eager look on your face quickly fell as you realized he wasn’t about to confess his love for you, “You know how badly I wanted to enlist,” You nodded your head, scared of his next words, “Well, an opportunity arose. I get to go to boot camp, to train, and finally prove myself. If I get chosen for this project, I can make a real difference.”

Bullies. Steve hated bullies no matter where they came from.

You were quiet for a moment and Steve struggled to read the emotions on your face, “I want to be happy for you, I do. This is your dream …” Your voice trailed off, “But I worry, Steve. They rejected you five times. What makes you think you’re not just a sacrifice?”

Steve simply shrugged, “It’s the cause that matters more. I want to help any way that I can.”

“You don’t care about coming back,” Your eyes welled with tears, “To me?”

“Of course I do,” Steve turned on his side now, reaching out to brush a tear from your cheek, and brush a curl behind your ear, “But I have to do this. I just have to. And when I get back, we’re going to drive across the country and see all the sites. From east to west, we’ll see everything.”

“I hope you mean that, Steve. Promise you’ll come back?”

“I swear.”

Steve kept his promise. It took until the very end of the war but he kept his promise. Only, things had changed so much since last saw him. You couldn’t believe the Steve you saw in those newspapers. He had completely turned into a hero. You already knew he was a hero but it seemed the rest of the world could recognize it now.

Your family’s tune completely changed. Now they were begging you to marry him. Deep down, with all the changes, you didn’t even expect Steve to care about you anymore. Every woman in the world was swooning over him.

As you stepped out of the brownstone where your classes were held, clutching your brown sweater tight to you, you didn’t expect the sight before you. Steve was there, clad in his army brown suit, and a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

The girls who normally brushed past you stopped to stare. It baffled them that Steve was there for you, someone who was barely noticeable in a crowd.

Steve’s white smile was wide as you approached him, clutching your bag at your side, “Steve-” He instantly pulled you into a hug and, already, you felt things were off. Your head was pressed against his chest as he pulled you in and his suffocating, strong arms wrapped around you. He was an entire foot taller now and had gained at least a hundred more pounds of pure muscle.

He didn’t look anything like the Steve you knew before, even his face had changed slightly.

You spoke as he finally let you go, “Steve, what are you-”

“These are for you,” He interrupted you, handing you the flowers, “God, I really missed you.”

“I missed you too,” You agreed, smiling awkwardly up at him. You looked around to see a group of people were staring, “Maybe we could talk somewhere else?”

Steve agreed, his smile still wide. He hadn’t yet noticed your trepidation through the excitement of it all.

You and Steve found a restaurant a few blocks away, but even there, people seemed to stare at the two of you. The waitress practically spilled coffee on you from being distracted by him, “Y/N, is something wrong?”

You shook your head though you didn’t mean it, “It’s just … this is all so new. I didn’t expect you’d come back …. like this.”

Steve didn’t seem to get the hint, “What do you think? Do you like the new features?” Part of you was grateful that there was a table between the two of you. The man radiated so much power now, “I can make more than a difference now. I can run a mile in less than a minute, lift a war missile. I can protect the little guys.”

“That’s great,” You were happy for him but you couldn’t help but feel a bit intimidated by his newfound abilities, “Those goons at the bars won’t know what hit them.”

Steve chuckled, “Enough about me. How’s school?”

“It’s good. My finals are soon so we’ll find out if I have what it takes.”

“I’m sure you do,” Steve assured you, “You’re the smartest girl I know, Y/N. What about your family?”

“They’re the same. In my business as usual,” You thought about your next words carefully, “My mom … she’s starting to set me up on all these dates. She says that, in case I don’t pass my exams, that I should have someone to support me. Things are getting tight, you know?”

“Oh?” You saw the light leave his eyes and you mentally cursed, “Are you really interested in one of these guys?”

You shrugged, “I’m not sure. I really just want to focus on school and work. Dating is so complicated.”

“Oh,” Steve said again, tucking the ring box he held under the table back into his pocket, “Yes, complicated … before I left, I thought we sort of had a shot, Y/N.”

“... Me and the super soldier? The world would probably laugh at you for choosing someone like me.”

“They wouldn’t. If they did, I’d take care of ‘em.”

“It’s a sweet fantasy, Steve.”

With that, you successfully broke Captain America’s heart.

Steve thought you just needed time. You’d soon realize that he was still like the old Steve and you’d come running into his arms later, begging to be with him. It didn’t seem to matter how much time passed, three months to be exact, because you had changed the way you saw him.

You still entertained him during your late shifts and you got to hear all about his secret missions. He still had the same sense of justice that you had admired him for. You could barely believe the things that he accomplished.

Tonight, Steve refused to just sit around the diner, he wanted to go out. He was going to take you into the new drive-in upstate. He had a completely new car courtesy of SHIELD and he was keen to show you a life of luxury. You had never heard of a drive-in before, let alone been to one. Steve explained to you that they were going to be the “next big thing”.

He paid a couple of cents for the movie, even though you told him that you’d pay for yourself. You noticed how, lately when you protested, he’d simply raise his hand up and give you a look that said “I’ve got this”. You knew he was only trying to be a gentleman but part of you disliked the feeling it gave you.

The two of you met up with Bucky and his current fling. Both Steve and Bucky seemed to be riding the high that winning the war brought them. You watched them talk before the movie, Bucky’s girl practically drooling over him. As you went to your separate cars, it seemed she couldn’t keep her hands off of him.

As you watched them kiss, practically swallowing each other, Steve wrapped his arm around your shoulder. You tried your best not to let out a sigh as you watched him try to play it cool, “I don’t think they’re stopping to breathe,” You commented and Steve’s eyes looked past you into the car beside yours. You didn’t notice but Steve’s eyes had turned to you, “I mean, I didn’t even know people kissed like that in real life.”

When you turned back around to look at Steve, he was suddenly grabbing your face and smashing his lips onto yours. Hungry and desperate, sloppy and inexperienced, his lips moved against your frozen face. As soon as the realization hit, you tried your best to push him away. It was like pushing at a boulder.

“Steve-” You struggled to cry out against his lips, “Steve, stop!”

When Steve finally pulled away, you tried to catch your breath as you wiped away your smudged lipstick. Steve stared at you in disbelief as you shouted, “What is wrong with you?” Luckily, the windows were rolled up and people were focused on the movie screen, “What did I say to make you think I wanted to kiss you? Y-You said this wasn’t a date.”

“I’m … I’m sorry,” He apologized. It was stupid to think that his new body had changed everything. He was still that small kid that would get rejected over and over. Steve turned away from you, his blood starting to boil.

“I want to go home,” You told him, not meeting his eyes. Could you even be his friend anymore? Everything about him was beginning to intimidate you.

Steve didn’t say another word as he put the car in reverse. He wasted no time interrupting Bucky’s makeout session or finishing the movie. The two of you sat in silence for a long while as you drove down the dark, winding road.

“That day at the beach, you cried,” You looked up and noted how tightly he was gripping the steering wheel, “You cried when you heard I was getting shipped off and, now … what’s changed, Y/N?”

You could sense the hurt in this voice and your lip began to wobble as you thought of those nights you spent crying over him, “Steve ... “ You sighed.

“What is it?” Steve persisted, “I told you that I don’t care what other people think!”

“Steve, that’s not it!” You insisted, “You’re not … you’re not the little guy anymore. Being with you used to make me feel safe a-and now ....”

“Now I’m just like every other guy?” You nodded, your face solemn. The car slowed down and Steve pulled to the side of the road, “I’m the bad guy now? After everything?”

“I know you’re not the bad guy … ” As he turned his body to face you, you felt yourself cowering back, your small body sinking into the leather seat. You felt the frustration and testosterone radiating off of him. Your breathing hitched in your throat as Steve pulled out the ring box in his pocket.

“I don’t understand why you can’t just accept me,” Steve spoke, his deep voice growing rougher, “Why can’t you just love me like you used to?”

“You’re a killing machine,” You spoke softly, “A tool for destruction.”

The car went silent as Steve simply stared at you, that same hunger in his eyes. He reached out to grab your face, “I can be gentle,” He tried to assure you and you reached up to grab onto his arm, pushing it away. The fact that the only reason his hand moved was because he wanted to move it, was enough for you. If he wanted, he could do anything to you.

“Steve, I want to go home,” You stated as firmly as you could. Your hands were starting to shake, your anxiety reaching a new height.

“You aren’t going anywhere,” Steve stated firmly, turning off the ignition, “Not until you agree to let me put that ring on your finger.”

Your eyes darted around, looking for a passerby or a car to drive by. Nothing. You began to panic and before Steve could reach out for you again, you opened the passenger door and stumbled out, “Y/N!” Your hands hit the dirt as you scrambled to your feet and you quickly lost one of your heels. Despite the pain of the dirt and asphalt, you slipped off the other one, picking up your long skirt as you began to run.

You had never heard Steve curse before but he did as he got out of the car to chase you, “Y/N, don’t run from me!” You sped up as you heard him coming after you. You thought you could at least make it a few more feet but the wind was knocked out of you as Steve wrapped his arms around you.

You fought hard against the man that was three times your size though you both knew your efforts were futile. He easily tossed you over your shoulder and carried you the distance back to the car. You called for help and as he set you back down, he covered your mouth with his own hand, his fingers tightening around your face.

You screamed even harder as you kicked between his legs. He let you go only to fall on top of you, sending you both to the ground. Steve groaned, still managing to hold your hands down as he recovered. He was fuming at this point as you squirmed around in the dirt. Looking into your frightened eyes, Steve made a decision.

A decision that would make you regret ever handing him that cup of coffee.

“I protect you, I protect everyone, and I’m the bad guy?” It was rhetorical, you understood that as Steve tore open your blouse, exposing your white brassier, “I’ll show you what I am.”

Steve pinned down your legs with his own as he held your arms pinned above your head with one of his own. Not bothering to fumble with your skirt, he simply tore away the fabric. You screamed louder but only the silence of the night answered you.

Steve pulled away your white underwear, exposing your sensitive area to the cool air of the night, “Steve, I-I’m sorry,” You pleaded, choking on your sobs, “Please don’t, I’m a virgin!”

“Then this will be special for both of us,” Steve concluded, fumbling with his belt and pulling down his trousers. You tried not to look down as he positioned himself between your legs, “We’re going to be happy together like we were intended to be. It’ll feel so good that you’ll forget your doubts”

His grip on you was so tight that you were sure that he’d leave bruises. As he pushed his tip against your entrance, you could feel how hard he was. This wasn’t how your first time should’ve been. You should be married and on a honeymoon, not on the side of the road.

You cried out as he slowly pushed inside of you. Your body continued to struggle, resulting in Steve moving his hand to wrap around your neck. His fingers tightened around your neck as you struggled to breathe clearly.

You wrapped around him tightly, resisting him but Steve pushed through. It was a magical feeling to Steve. All he could ask for was having his first time with the woman of his dreams.

Steve grunted as his pace began to quicken. He made you feel so small and defenseless. The member between his legs was practically the size of your forearm, successfully impaling you. You couldn’t believe that your body was beginning to adjust to him. It was starting to get pleasure from the friction he was creating.

“That’s it, darling,” Steve groaned as mangled moans began to leave your mouth, “Enjoy the feeling of me being inside you, enjoy being mine. You don’t need someone ‘good’, you need someone efficient.”

That night, after he had taken your virtue, Steve knew he had the rest of you too. He’d make you his little wife.

Hope you enjoyed this because I loved writing it!!

2K notes · View notes

reddpenn · 5 years ago

Text

Hey, since a bunch of new people are following this blog now, do you guys want to see my Cool Rocks?

To start with, here’s a super amazing stripy colorful rock. This is banded fluorite, the most colorful rock in the world! The best way to view this rock is with a little light behind it.

It’s so cool how all the little cracks in the rock cast shadows. And the way those colors glow! Look at all those different purples. That golden yellow gradient! Those thin stripes of teal and green and blue!! Amazing!!

Here’s a rock which is business on the bottom and party on the top. Those pale green crystals up top are apophyllite. Here is a fun apophyllite fact: just like zeolite, apophyllite isn’t a mineral, but the name of a whole group of minerals! This piece might be natroapophyllite (probably not) or hydroxyapophyllite (maybe?) or fluorapophyllite (likely!) but it’s hard to tell without testing its chemical composition.

Speaking of zeolites, this cluster of crystals down below is a zeolite mineral called scolecite! It has the coolest crystal habit! Scolecite likes to form these silky white needles which radiate outwards as they grow. This apophyllite and scolecite growing together make such an awesome specimen.

Turquoise is my birthstone, so it’s always been one of my favorites! That’s why I need an unreasonable amount of it. Look at this massive chunk of turquoise. This monster. This absolute unit.

Here’s a lovely pink rock. Rose quartz may be a common stone, but mine has a secret backstory.

Back in the 40s, my rose quartz belonged to someone’s private mineral collection. The number identifying her as specimen 433 is still attached with resin! I would never in a million years scrape it off; it’s too cool thinking about all the shops and collectors it must have passed through before it came to me. What is your story, little rock? What have you seen?

Desert roses! A whole huge cluster of them all stuck together! You might remember my big red barite rose. These little white roses are made of selenite, and I absolutely bought them because my barite rose needed a buddy. It’s incredible how they naturally form in this shape.

Here is some more selenite, which did not naturally form in this shape! But a cube like this is perfect for showing off some Cool Optical Properties.

Selenite is just like ulexite; its crystal structure is like a fiber optics cable! (In fact, in nicely gemmy selenite this effect is even easier to see than in ulexite.) Even though the sides of its crystals are opaque and white, the top and bottom will project whatever’s behind it like a screen! Science!!!!!

This little black rock turns a deep red-orange when I shine a light through it. It’s amber! Sadly no mosquitoes trapped in this one, but there are some cool swirls of lighter and darker amber inside. Since this rock is made from fossilized tree resin, it feels like resin! Super lightweight and almost like plastic. Maybe someday I’ll find this guy a friend with some bugs in it.

Halite is the sciency name for this rock, but you might know it better as rock salt. Halite’s the best because it can form in one of my favorite crystals habits: hopper crystals!! Just like bismuth, halite makes these weird hollow stairstep-like cubes. (But unlike bismuth, halite doesn’t need to grow them under lab conditions. It can just do this naturally!)

Does your monkey brain want to eat a rock? You could absolutely eat this one! If you licked this rock, it’d taste salty… but your saliva would dissolve my cool hopper crystals, so please don’t.

This weird shaped crystal is a lab-grown piece of arcanite. No, not the World of Warcraft item or the Yu-gi-oh card. It’s a potassium sulfate mineral, and here is a list of Cool Places To Find Arcanite! It was first discovered growing on railroad ties! It’s been found around hydrothermal vents! It can be found in bat guano! Oh, and big crystals like this can be found grown by humans in labs. Look, if you don’t collect manmade rocks that’s cool and all but I’ll be over here excitedly telling people about railroad ties and bat guano.

Hm, but now I’ve gotta pick something especially cool for the last rock…

You guys wanna see some fossilized lightning?

This is a fulgurite, also called lightning glass or petrified lightning! Oh man, this is one of my absolute favorite rocks!! It’s formed when lightning strikes sandy soil. The intense heat melts the sand and fuses it into a tube of natural glass, preserving the shape of the lightning bolt! I can’t get a good picture of it, but the inside of mine has a black, glassy texture. If you live near a beach, go check it out after a thunderstorm and you might find some fulgurites of your own!

Oh, and if you’re into witchy stuff and crystal healing, fulgurite is one of the few rocks I know crystal healing stuff about. They say fulgurites are good for contacting extraterrestrials and UFOs! Please bring me some moon rocks, UFOs. I’ll trade you some Earth rocks, which, have I mentioned? Are all amazingly cool.

(You can see more of my rocks over here!)

#rock collecting #red pen has cool rocks #look at my cool rocks #long post

6K notes · View notes

jawritter · 4 years ago

Text

When The Lights Go Out

Chapter 12 (Final)

Summary: Life hasn’t been your best friend lately, you lost your job, and are on the verge of losing your apartment. Who knew when you decided to join a Sugar Daddy app that your best friend suggested ina last ditch effort to save your apartment, and not end up on the street, your first and only client would turn your whole world upside down.

Pairing: Mobster!Dean Winchester x Virgin! Reader

Word count: 1306

Series Warnings: Mob level violence, injured Dean, description of injury, creepy Godfather John Winchester, John is pretty much a douche bag, escort services, virgin reader, lose of virginity and all the insecurities and fun stuff that come with it, age gap (23 year old reader; 40 year old Dean), angst, unrequited/requited love?, language, smut, unprotected smut.

Chapter Warnings: Smut, fluffy smut, mentions of character death, that’s about it. Maybe some language.

A/N: Beta’d by @deanwanddamons! Thanks so much love!! Please don’t copy my work!! Feedback is golden! Hope you all enjoy this one!! It’s gonna be a little bit of a slow burn y’all, but just hang in there!

(This fic is based on this request: Could you do a Dean x reader where she is 23 and lives alone in her apartment, she gets fired and can loose her house, her friend tells her about a sugar daddy app, she makes a profile and Dean 40, contacts her, she is virgin and don’t offers sex, Dean is billionaire business man and needs a girl for his business parties,the reader is really shy, blushes a lot, they fall in love, he takes her to a trip and makes love to her on a private island, could it be a series?)

Want more? Check out my masterlist!!

***MASTERLIST***

***SERIES MASTERLIST***

***BECOME A PAREON***

18 months later

The warm water lapped against the ghost white sand as the light from the full moon stretched out as far as the eye could see over the water’s surface. The warm, thick air seemed to hang lower, hugging your body better than any blanket or coat that New York City could provide you with.

The sand felt warm under your feet as you made your way to the water's edge, even though the sun had gone down long ago, letting the waves wash up and lap at your feet as you stared out into the open. Your mind was on all the things that had happened to you this past year, and how it had changed you.

Sure, there were moments you weren’t proud of, hell that’s just life in general, but there were some moments you’d treasure forever.

Like yesterday’s wedding for example.

Yesterday you had finally taken that leap, and said I do to the man that had quickly become your best friend.

Dean’s arms slipped around your waist, pulling you against his solid chest, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear in a way that sends sparks right down your spine.

“It’s so peaceful here. I wish we could stay here forever.” you tell him, leaning your head against his broad shoulder as his lips made a trail from your ear to the pulsepoint of your throat before nipping at the skin there.

“No rush to leave sweetheart. Sam’s got everything covered back home, and he needs the distraction right now, so let’s let him run things from there, and I’ll just give orders when I need to from here. That’s the beauty of being in charge, you get to do whatever the fuck you want.”

Dean’s breath brushed warm against your overheating skin, warmth that had nothing to do with the warm weather as his hands tightened their grip on your hips.

Poor Sam had been through a lot this last year. Jess’s passing in what was a freak accident involving a taxi cab, one that Sam still insisted had something to do with the remnants of The Knights Of Hell, even though there was no evidence to prove it. He had refused to take a day off since her funeral, always searching for proof that her passing was anything but accidental.

There was nothing you and Dean could do to convince him otherwise, so you just left him to it. Running things while Dean was gone on his honeymoon might do him some good, give him something else to focus on.

One of Dean’s large hands made its way from your lips to your stomach, ghosting over the skin there, and making you shiver slightly.

“Did I tell you that you look beautiful tonight princess.” Dean said, his lips traveling down your shoulder, leaving little love bites all along the way.

“Did I ever tell you that you need your vision checked?” you tease him, causing him to jab lightly at your side, and you to fall into a cascade of giggles.

“Get that sexy little ass inside baby girl, Daddy needs to tuck you in properly.” Dean growled in your ear, giving your hips a squeeze as your breath caught in your throat, his tone alone sending a wave of arousal soaring through your body, and landing somewhere deep in your core.

“Yes sir,” you tell him in your most innocent voice, pulling another deep growl from his chest as he lifts you into his arms as if you weighed nothing at all, carrying you bridal style across the beach, and into the house, laying you down on the bed where you first made love so long ago.

His body came down over your own as clothes hit the floor, nothing at all left in between the two of you.

His teeth trailed your throat before he made his way down your body, stopping at each breast, his lips sealing around each one, sucking and pulling with his teeth until you were a moaning mess underneath him, and he was just getting started.

His lips brushed over the skin of your stomach, as he continued his way down your body, leaving little nips as he went, making his way down each thigh before trailing his tongue back up your body, purposely avoiding where you needed him most until you were practically begging for his touch.

When his tongue finally made one swift pass through your soaking folds you all but came right there, his name falling from your lips like a prayer as he ate at you like a man having his last meal. Your fingers weave their way through his light brown hair as your body desperately tries to get him closer to you, needing more, until it was almost too much, and your legs were shaking around him.

Slipping two fingers inside of you easily, Dean starts to slowly pump in and out of you, adding to your delirium until you went plummeting over the edge with a scream. By the time you came down from your high Dean was crawling his way back up your body like a predator stalking his prey, his muscles rippling just under the surface of his skin with every calculated movement.

Soft lips meet yours in a kiss that was captivating, and intoxicating as he lined himself up with your entrance, sliding home without resistance, both of you groaning as your walls flutter around him in the remnants of the release he’d just given you before Dean started to pump into you, slowly at first before pushing himself into you at a punishing pace.

This was how it always was you and Dean, so intense, so needy, too much and at the same time not enough. Fingers leaving bruises on your thighs as he grips you tightly, pulling your body as close to him as possible as he continues to collide into you. Nails leaving scratch marks over his shoulders and back as you desperately try to ground yourself as he works you higher and higher until you are teetering on the edge, begging him to take you over.

When your orgasm finally hits you, you come with a silent scream as he fills you with his warm seed, your walls milking him until you both collapse on the bed. His body weight on top of yours, comforting you, grounding you to what matters, him.

Sometimes in the life the two of you lived there were true horrors. There may have never been a boogie man in your closet, or a monster under your bed. Those were all things you imagined as a kid, those things you thought were evil.

No these monsters come in the form of man, and they worked to take everything away from you as often as they could.

Dean made sure they never got that far, protecting you and the rest of his family. This may have not been the life you had chosen, and the universe seemed to have brought you together against all odds, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

When you were a little kid you were afraid of the dark. Now you looked forward to when the lights went out, and it was just you and Dean, shutting out the world, and all it’s problems that went with it.

No matter what comes tomorrow, what problem, what disaster, whatever, you had tonight, and that’s what you would do. Just like Dean said after Azazel was dealt with, tomorrow’s problems could take care of themselves, as long as you had Dean, that’s all you’d ever need.

As long as you had that man you could walk through fire together, you were sure of it, and that’s just how you will deal with whatever the future holds.

Together.

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

Forever Tags: @deanwanddamons @rvgrsbrns @bi-danvers0 @onethirstyunicorn @i-love-superhero @akshi8278 @lyss-dw79 @magssteenkamp @lemondropirwin @squirrelnotsam @hobby27 @spnbaby-67 @mrsjenniferwinchester @defenderrosetyler @screechingartisancashbailiff @thecreatiivecorner @aflamboyanceofgays @vicmc624 @busy-bee-angel-misska @justanotherwinchester @brilovesdeanwinchester @idksupernatural @lyarr24 @amandamdiehl @love-jackles-37-blog @miraclesoflove @waywardsistershy @emoryhemsworth @dean-winchesters-gardian-angel @softsebastian @tatted-trina6 @deanmonandnegansbitch @hayleeharling @flamencodiva @coldmuffinbanditshoe @bxbyizzy @rain-dance-goblin @itmejado @supernatural3002

Series Tag List:

@royal-sunflower

@roonyxx

@nihilismworld

@prettysourabbie

@rosalynshields

@woodworthti666

@stilltoomuchafangirl

@theoneandonlymelol

@lunaticgurly

@deangirl93

@ellewritesfix05

@moron225

@kbl1313

@perpetualabsurdity

@itmejado

@someone-you-dontknow

@samsgirl93

@superflurry

@backseat-of-deans-67chevy

@jodibullock1

@ophelialoveshandsomemen

@everythingisoverrated

@kaitlynxo18

@i-have-no-life-charlie

@starchildwild

@juggysgirlfriend

@mychemicalimagines

@deans-baby-momma

@deansmyapplepie

@stoneyggirl

@londoncallingbutiwontpickup

@yoooitssalexx

@babygirlred22

@hardcoresupernatural

@lottieellz101

@d-whinchestergirl87

@voltage-my2dlove

@teresa-67

@cxlpxrnia

211 notes · View notes

tarithenurse · 4 years ago

Text

Nightingale - 40

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: Hatake Kakashi &/x Fem!OC Contents: Angst. Stress. Desperation. Relief. Confessions. A bit of fluff? A/N: Had to delay something a bit which meant moving other things up some...you’ll see what in the next chapter. As usual, ASK or REBLOG for tag! HUUUGE thanks to all who are reblogging already <3

Ch. 40

The morning doesn’t carry hope on the soft wings of pastel coloured light. Instead, heavy clouds drag out the grey dawn and threaten to drown out the carefully cultivated optimism that Kakashi and the ninken are holding on to as they reach the foothills. From now on, the path slopes upwards.

Just a short break? Like all the other times throughout the night, Kakashi dismisses the idea even though he can see Pakkun and the pack are looking as tired as he feels. He groans silently. The rapid pace is taking its toll – a jōnin like the copy-ninja can travel for more than a day without a rest if they curb the speed correctly, but he has not done so this time. Stiff and tired muscles are dragging his movements with their leaden weight, making him kick up loose gravel because his feet are too heavy to lift. Stealth was never much of a concern from the beginning, but he dislikes the exhaustion and the risk it might it might pose to Uguïsu if he finds her. When...when I find her, he corrects himself bitterly.

“The trail’s only a few hours old,” Pakkun tries to cheer the human on, sensing the distress.

A fat, wet drop of rain lands heavily on the little dog’s nose as if to mock the group for still having hope. A shiver of desperation extends in the air between the ninken and their jōnin, and it’s strengthened as another drop falls. And another. And another. Everywhere the rain lands, dust is beat up in tiny vortexes only to be bombarded and brought down, quickly creating a layer of mud across the landscape as it fades in a curtain of water.

Further up, where the hills turn into cliffs and jagged outcrops, Kakashi knows there are caves. “Let’s find a dry spot and take a break.” Just until the worst is over.

...

The cave they find is narrow and deep, but perfectly dry. Someone has stashed firewood near the bottom and there’s a circle of stones which must have been intended as a place for a campfire although it hasn’t seen use in quite a while.

That’s all Kakashi has time to register before he freezes mid movement. I know this scent.

“She was here,” Shiba huffs, his nose stirring up dust and sand, “she was here until-”

“- less than an hour ago!” Buru finishes.

I can catch up.

“Our noses aren’t any good out there now, pup,” Pakkun nuzzles against Kakashi’s ankle in an attempt to show support, “but we know you’ll find her now.”

The white-haired jōnin barely takes time to dump his backpack and thank the canines for their help, but he knows they are aware how much he appreciates the effort...and he’ll make sure to get a lot of meaty bones for them from the butcher when they’re back in Konoha.

A last squirt of adrenaline powers him through the rain although visibility is more than halved: whenever he tries to look up ahead, drops force his eyes (yes, both) into thin slits. His feet are slipping, mud mixing into the soaked clothes from the knees and down as he scrambles past boulders and leap over gurgling streams that cross his path.

Thunder rumbles off in the far distance. The wind picks up. The little bit of sunlight that makes it through the stormy weather is not enough to give any indication of how long Kakashi is fighting the elements with only one goal in mind...but the moment he rounds a bend in the path and sees the blurred out figure, he doesn’t care anymore. He would’ve walked for the rest of his life if that’s what it would have taken.

Uguïsu doesn’t hear him yelling for her to wait and so she doesn’t turn until the very last moment when the sound of his approach isn’t drowned out by the elements. However, nothing can silence the chanting of her name as she becomes pliable in his embrace and they cling to each other.

“I won’t force you to stay, Uguïsu,” he whispers against her shaking shoulder, “but don’t leave like this...or let me come with you...please...”

“Oh, ‘Kashi!”

...

Huddled together in the cave, Kakashi has opted for the blue-haired woman to do all the talking, giving her a chance to unload some of the worries as they get a fire going to dry by.

It’s a stroke of luck, really, that they knew where to find shelter with firewood provided and even luckier that the damp weather hasn’t cooled the air too much. Very fortunate, yeah. Trying not to stare, he can’t help but steal a glance now and then as the beauty wriggles out of the outer layers, leaving her in tight, knee-length leggings and a tank top. His own vest and pullover are splayed across a boulder in the back of the cave.

Glad for the cover of his collar, Kakashi tries to get comfortable with the back against the rock wall. Boots placed at the foot-end near the fire, rucksack with the few rations he had grabbed on the way out of Konoha to the side, and a view blocked by heavy curtains of rain that sometimes is translucent as the first lightning flashes across the sky.

Nope, not working. The cave’s inner sides are too uneven to rest against. Instead, he finds a good position as he slides to a horizontal state with hands behind the head. Or...it’s okay...until Uguïsu joins him, her knees pushing him gently as she forgoes the struggle and simple curls up against him, head resting on his chest and eyes trained on the grey storm.

The humidity amplifies her cottony scent. The flow of hair adds colour to otherwise drab surroundings. And Kakashi lies as still as possible to prevent the moment from ending.

“I don’t want to leave, ‘Kashi, but...but what if...if...” she gives up with a groan.

What if he sends someone to find you, right? “You’re not alone anymore,” the man vouches, finally pulling her closer, “you can lie low or maybe there’s a mission out of town y-”

“Lie low?” The tone of incredulity is tempered but present nonetheless. “I have to barricade myself indoors? I live so close to the Academy where all the visitors will be, I won’t be able to open a window without someone noticing!”

You can live somewhere else. The carefully considered scenarios are forgotten, pushed aside by a babbling (and at first confusing) explanation about a house that’s waiting at the outskirts of Konoha. It takes a while, but eventually Uguïsu catches the drift of it all and cranes her neck to flash him a smile which he returns happily even if it’s mostly obscured.

23 notes · View notes

jaxsteamblog · 3 years ago

Text

Cuddling for Warmth

Click here to read the entire fic on AO3

“I want to run away now.” Katara said.

The interview left them feeling raw. It wouldn’t air until the next day, and they debated where to go. Zuko doubted even his uncle would be pleased, and Katara wasn’t looking forward to anyone’s response from either Pole.

They were silent as they rode down the elevator. The talk show hadn’t taken them to some fancy lot, but instead sat them down in a sharply lit room with barely any furniture. Katara had kept very still in the canvas backed chair set for her, while Zuko talked with great animation.

Overall, she could barely remember anything.

Stepping out of the nondescript building, Katara shivered. Winter in Republic City was more wet than cold, but she could still feel the humming burn of the lights on her skin. On the awning above them, the fat clumps of falling snow were fingers flicking against the top of a drop. Flinching at the noise, Katara pulled the edges of her coat tighter around her.

After Zuko finished putting on his gloves, he put an arm around her.

“Cold Ice Queen?” He asked, kissing the top of her head lightly.

“Weren’t you hot in there?” Katara questioned.

“I’m very good at regulating my body temperature.” Zuko said and paused as Katara snorted. “But yes, I think the lights were particularly warm.”

Zuko tilted his head to look past the edge of the awning. Katara could feel the slate gray sky that stretched above them. With La in her veins, her bending could thread through the debris and water vapor hanging thousands of feet in the air. The weight of it just to dump clotted snowflakes over their heads.

She shivered again.

“I don’t think it’s going to let up.” Zuko remarked, rubbing Katara’s arm absently.

“Where should we go?” She asked.

“I’d say Ember Island, but that’s a bit too close to home.”

“Is there any place in the world far enough for that?”

Zuko paused and Katara glanced over at him.

“There might be one.” He said slowly. He then looked back at her with a small smile. “But we’ll have to do some pretending.”

“How did I not know about this?” Katara gasped. She then smacked Zuko’s shoulder. “How did you not tell me about this?”

“I’m telling you now!” He answered, laughter rippling through his words.

Katara gasped again, her hands holding tightly to the handles of the wheelchair.

The ice spiral resembled a bamboo shoot. That alone didn’t make it impressive; the miles of arid desert that surround it did.

“How is it not melting?” She asked quietly.

“Oh, it’s melting. The Avatar has to do regular upkeep and obviously Thuy hasn’t been here.” Zuko answered.

“Why not?”

“She’s not a fully realized Avatar. This takes spirit energy.”

“How do you know that?”

“Jinora.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“I can’t believe we’re going to miss our reservation.”

Katara clicked her tongue in annoyance but started pushing the wheelchair down the smooth walkway.

One of the many amenities of the Misty Palms Oasis were the purported healing spring spas. Zuko, unable to truly hide his scar, had heavily bandaged that side of his face and plunked himself into a wheelchair. He had a fake passport, of course, and Katara had only done some slight lying to keep her presence equally under wraps.

Not many were willing to deny the Water Tribe Queen access to healing water for a mysterious patient. One that required a different oasis, deep in the southern continent of the Earth Kingdom.

While they couldn’t sightsee, here was a privacy they couldn’t get elsewhere.

Zuko was mute while Katara checked in. A woman in a crisp green uniform was swift, showing them to their private room with barely a sound. The door closed and the AC unit kicked on, blowing cold air into the room just as Katara walked further in. On the other wall was a wide window, and Katara pulled back the curtain just enough to peer out.

She heard Zuko stand up, groaning as he stretched.

“Blazes this thing itches.” He muttered and Katara smiled.

The ochre sands that covered or inspired the equally sandy buildings felt warm. It was subdued where the South Pole, another desert, glared under the sunlight. Ice blue broke against her eyes, while the dunes spilled like honey.

The air conditioning curled over her flesh, raising trails of small bumps.

“I feel like those sand dunes.” Katara said, feeling Zuko standing behind her.

He collected her hair in his hands, lifting the heft of her thick curls up so he could kiss the back of her neck.

“You’re darker and much warmer.” He murmured.

She shivered.

The air conditioner ran continuously. With the curtains shut, there was no desert sun to fight back, and so the room quickly filled with frigid air. They burrowed under the downy blankets, finding each other in the subdued light.

All hotel blankets were snow white. Even here in the desert, with the ice tower slowly melting into blue-green pools, Katara could not escape the snow.

But, as Zuko’s body curled around hers, it wasn’t like she really wanted to.

“My birthday is coming up.” She said.

Zuko had returned to kissing her, on whatever bare spots he could find.

“I know.” He replied when she didn’t continue.

“Will you visit?”

“Of course.”

Katara sighed happily, her umber skin melting into his starlight body.

Sokka was right; they weren’t opposites because they never opposed each other. Emptiness meant to be filled, darkness meant to be illuminated, and pain meant to be loved.

“How do you like being in the Poles?” She questioned.

“I like it well enough when you’re there.” He said, jostling her so she turned.

When they kissed, Katara lost all hold of time. When they stopped, she continued.

“I wish you were more comfortable there.” She said.

“I’m more comfortable than you are in the Fire Nation.” He retorted.

“Hmm.”

“Hmmm?”

“I think I’d like to spend more time there.”

“Why?”

His tone was somewhere between surprise and disgust, but not at all suspicious.

“I want to know more about you.” Katara said.

“You already know everything about me.” Zuko replied.

“I don’t know about the war.” She countered.

“You know enough.” He said. He sounded sad and tired.

“I don’t know about the Eastern Air Temple.” She added.

“That’s…” Zuko drifted and Katara waited.

“Difficult.” He finished.

“I don’t know about your mother.”

“I don’t know about yours.”

He kissed her again, knowing her tenuous hold on time. He was distracting her, obviously, and his hands spread out the sand of her body over his.

When he stopped, the room was dark even outside of their snow white burrow.

Katara tossed back the blanket and propped herself up on one elbow. Looking down at Zuko, she saw how his ink black hair spilled over the white sheets. It resembled something abstract, or like the cards she saw in the psych department that made people see weird things.

Tilting her head, she looked for some subconscious imagery. As she searched, Zuko ran his slender fingers up and down her side. The heat escaped from the blanket and the air conditioning rushed in to fill the void. As his hands moved, he stirred up a current and Katara shivered.

“You have been awfully cold lately my love.” Zuko stated.

“Only when you leave me.” Katara said.

He placed his hand firmly on her lower back, and she lowered herself over him.

“I’ll keep you warm.” He said.

“Is that a promise?”

“It’s a vow.”

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43

#zutara #fanfiction #jax writes #modern au #the fic that prompts built #zutara month 2021

7 notes · View notes

longitud-de-onda · 5 years ago

Text

come back home

pairing; the mandalorian | din djarin x female reader summary; it’s been three years since you’ve seen din after leaving him on a distant planet. rating; m warnings; a panic attack, unintentional gaslighting, heavy angst, a bit of light sex (no smut or anything very nsfw), some gunshot wounds, alcohol. don’t worry it’s not all angst there’s some happy stuff. word count; 11.3k a/n; so this pops around a lot with timing, but it should be fairly clear. every big line break switches perspectives between din and the reader, and every section is a bit of present and then a flashback. the flashbacks are chronological. also, it’s long. it’s so long. taglist; @bonkybaaarnes

It was a busy day. People had been wandering in and out of your shop since you turned the sign in the window to ‘Open.’ There probably hasn’t been a span of more than 5 minutes where you didn’t hear the sound of the doorbell tinkling, signaling the entrance of one or more of the planet’s upper echelon, art students, or just interested visitors. Running an art gallery and dealership was possibly one of the most peaceful things you could do during this age of the New Republic. Especially when you lived on a Core World.

An old looking Neimoidian who had been wandering the space for the past hour or so approached your desk.

“That piece there, with the scene from the Clone Wars, how much is it?”

You looked over to where he was pointing. It was one of the larger pieces you had at the time, a beautiful war painting. Realism wasn’t as common anymore. Neither, you supposed, was painting. You got the piece directly from the artist a few months back, entranced by the historic materials and the mastery of the battle scene. It reminded you of your teenage years, back during the war. It was sad to see it go, but you knew you couldn’t keep the pieces and were happy it would have a home.

“Thirteen thousand credits,” You smiled at the man. For the Neimoidians who came and went, your reputation, and the size of the piece, it was a good price. He knew it too. His subtle nod indicated he was interested, and you put the order into your system. One of the gallery droids sprung to life behind you to retrieve the piece from its spot on the wall and bring it to the back room where it would be packaged for shipment. You pulled out a datapad, handing it over to the Neimoidian who began to fill out the credit transfer form.

“Your reputation precedes you,” He mused while typing, “You run a lovely shop here. It’s nice, with the Empire over. Peace, art, business. It’s all flourishing.”

“It is,” You smiled, “it’s great for business.”

“Indeed it is,” He looked up, handing back the datapad with the complete form, “I must thank you, it is a great honor to work with you.”

“The honor is all mine,” you say, reviewing the form. 13,000 New Republic credits. Not good for much outside the Core nowadays, not that you had any plans on leaving.

“I collect war art,” he began, an unusual admission for a Neimoidian, “Honoring those who fought. I just imagine... must be difficult, out there on the battlefield.”

-o-o-o-

“It must be difficult...” the Mandalorian said, startling you from your thoughts. In the 17 hours since you met him, he hadn’t said more than 20 words. “... living job to job, no help.”

You turned to face him, or rather, to look at the small gap in his helmet.

“What do you mean? Isn’t it the same for you?” You got the current job together from some guy in a bar in the backwater outer rim planet you were spending the day on. He said it would be too difficult, too risky to just have one man on the job. Two was insurance.

“I’m a guild member. Who do you have?” You knew he was just trying to make small talk, but it felt like a slap on the face. You had practically nothing. You’d been wandering the galaxy ever since the fall of the empire, nothing to do. Your only skills were fighting, flying, and formulating battle plans. Without a war, you had nothing.

Probably should have joined the guild at some point, you thought to yourself. But that never felt like the right option. You still had your loyalties. And bounty hunters, well, bounty hunters have no loyalties other than the guild. Imperial heads and Rebel ones had the same price if you had the right buyer.

“It’s been this way for a while now, I don’t mind it so much,” you responded. You had only just met the Mandalorian anyways, hadn’t known him long enough where he deserved to know really how you felt. It was still difficult, not spilling out your entire backstory to him, something about the way he cocked his head and the few words he said that let you know he was always intensely listening to you.

You had the feeling that after another 17 hours he would have only racked up another 40 words while you’d have revealed almost every detail of your life. He had that effect on you. Kind of scary if you were to admit it, but you knew in only an hour or so the Razor Crest would be landing and the fight would start and hopefully end in only a matter of minutes and you’d return to the money and go your separate ways. No need to fret over some guy. Even if that guy was a Mandalorian.

Din Djarin had landed the Razor Crest about a 50-minute walk from the city, enough to remember that it had been a year or so since he spent any time traversing tough terrain and began to regret not docking closer.

It was a force of habit. The ship wasn’t registered so it flew under the radar, but any attempt to land at a New Republic port would be dangerous, but he supposed that landing 20 minutes away wouldn’t have been so bad. It didn’t really matter now though, as he was coming up to the first signs of civilization.

He only had a faint idea of where he was headed, somewhere closer to the center, but not too close. With his luck, probably the side of the city furthest from his ship so he’d have to cross through the center if he wanted the quickest route.

The most efficient route used to not matter so much. He used to be able to afford to skirt around the edges. Now, nearing the heart of the city, he was tired enough to know he needed to stop. He’d been walking for over 3 hours.

It was unusual, being on such a populated planet. Everyone moved around him, not sparing him even a glance. He wasn’t used to that at all.

Din saw a small but interesting looking cantina a few doors down and slipped inside. It was filled with smoke and music and laughter. Nothing like the empty-feeling outer rim bars. The people here had all sorts of masks, just not the physical kinds: fake smiles plastered on to fool a lover, guises of aggression formulated purely to intimidate, the facades of disappointment dealt expertly to tug at heartstrings. There was something completely and utterly alive in this place, but that something was also a farce.

A barstool opened up about two-thirds of the way to the back wall, and Din pushed through the crowd to snatch it up. A sleek looking droid slid his way to take his order before gliding back down the bar to help a young couple pay for their drinks.

Another droid showed up in front of him, setting down the hot drink, with a yellow and red swirling appearance, steam rising off the top.

He raised the glass to his mouth, and took a sip, relishing in the feel the alcohol had, instantly spreading through his body, soothing while simultaneously lighting him on fire.

-x-x-x-

Fucking desert planets, Din thought to himself. Somewhere in the galaxy, someone was probably laughing at him: a Mandalorian in the desert. Thick black wool covered with beskar armor had to be the absolute worst combination for a planet made of sand and heat. He had been sitting behind a rock formation for the better part of the day, the local star’s hot light beating down on his body.

The camp was small but Din knew there were at least twelve stormtroopers and two Imperial high-ups. There could be more. He had been watching the four tents all day, and each one could probably hold around 15 people quite comfortably, but his infrared sensors weren’t working well, probably sand lodged in some panel, and he couldn’t figure out how many people he was up against.

The binoculars on his helmet zeroed in on a figure behind the furthest tent. Someone was out there, moving quickly between a couple of rocks. At the same time, one of the tent flaps opened, and a couple of stormtroopers popped out. Din had to break his gaze from the mysterious person and watched the two walk from one tent to the next. He was fairly sure they weren’t new, only the same guys who walked in 30 minutes ago.

Upon arrival at the next tent, one ducked in while the other stood guard. A few seconds passed and then the white helmet peaked out of the tent again, this time followed by another 3, and an Imperial officer. The five troopers flanked the man as he returned to the tent the troopers originally came from.

“What are you doing here?” a voice sounded from his left. Din whipped around while pulling his Amban rifle from his back, pointing at where the voice came from.

It was the fighter from the job back off of Comra. She had leaned back enough to keep her head from being lopped off by the rifle and her hands were up.

“Sorry, Mando, didn’t mean to scare you,” she said, her voice slow and vibrating in her throat.

Din lowered the Amban, and peaked back at the imp tents. There was no activity occurring anymore.

“But seriously, what are you doing here?” she sounded a bit frustrated. Her face was reddening, but he couldn’t tell if it was just the heat. She was slick with sweat, shining in the sunlight. He figured if he had any skin exposed it would look the same. He was sweltering, but couldn’t tell if wearing anything lighter would have helped. His skin hadn’t seen the light in a long time, and a smarter outfit for the heat might just be his downfall.

Din reached into his pocket, pulling out the puck he was working on. He turned it over a few times in his palm before turning it on and holding out the holo to show the woman. The blue bust spun around and her eyes widened.

“It’s him,” she breathed. After a long moment, she broke her gaze from Din’s assignment and looked right at him, “you’re going after him?”

“Yes, if you don’t ruin my chance. He’s in there,” Din gestured over to the tents.

“I know. He’s got a bounty of his own on my head,” the admission took Din by surprise, and he realized that the woman was bowing her head; in shame, frustration, or something entirely different, he couldn’t tell.

“Then why aren’t you running?” he knew it sounded too harsh, but sometimes, rarely, but sometimes, his emotions got ahead of him and he had to ask the burning questions.

“I was. That’s why I’m here,” she said, panting a bit. Where they stood was in direct sunlight, and it was only getting hotter. “I was running from him, planet-hopping, was here for about a week, and the fucker showed up this morning, set up camp less than a kilometer from where I was. I thought I was done for. I was trying to get a good last look at him before I either made it out or was killed, but then I saw you behind the rocks. Figured if I was destined to die, then, well, you were probably here to kill me anyway.”

Din cocked his head, “I’d never take a job from an imp.”

“Well, that’s good,” she said. She attempted to laugh, but the heat was too much and the topic too heavy that it came out more like a couple of shallow breaths before stopping entirely.

The two turned to look at the camp again. Nothing was happening. Din didn’t have too much of a plan until he knew how many stormtroopers he was up against.

“I, uh, I fought for the Rebel Alliance, way back when,” the woman said, still staring at the tents, “I wasn’t even 14 when I joined. When the New Republic formed there wasn’t much left for me. I knew war, and I wanted the imps all gone. I’ve sort of been on the run since, taking out stormtroopers and officers whenever I get the chance. I suppose it all caught up to me.”

“14 is pretty young for a fighter,” Din said, not sure what else to say. He wasn’t used to people being open with him.

“Not where I’m from, it’s not,” and when Din looked over to see her finish the sentence he saw something in her eyes that shook him to the core. Some sort of raw pain and loss and desperation. He was going to kill the commander, and take down anyone else in the damned tent.

An hour and ten minutes before closing you began pre-close procedures, as usual. The shop was mostly empty, save for a couple of Bothans who appeared to be making some final decisions on what pieces to purchase, and a few young faces you had learned belonged to the students who would pop in weekly to see the art, never buying anything. You didn’t mind. Art was meant to be appreciated.

You had made quite a few sales and were satisfied with the day’s profit. Someone bought out almost your entire collection of small prints by a Corellian artist, and you were pleased to have sold the rather violent series of holosculptures, and you already had the droids put a more calming piece in their spot.

A droid began going around sweeping the space, and another was sent to the supply room to start restocking packaging materials that had been used up during the day.

You kept your eyes firmly on the door, feeling like the current inhabitants were fairly safe, no need to worry about any of them harming the art. Or yourself.

This morning, you woke up and turned on the television just in time to see the news reporting on the threats: some unidentified group with a vendetta against anyone who fought for the rebellion. You supposed living on a Core planet, where the New Republic held plenty of power, you should be safe, but that didn’t stop you from wearing your most battle-ready outfit that could still appear formal enough for your store.

The Bothans’ discussion seemed to quiet down when the bell rang again and a tall looking man walked in, dressed in tactical pants and wearing a jacket that could hide any number of weapons. You reached down beneath your desk, hand grasping for the blaster you kept there. You didn’t like the look of the guy.

“I was told this was the place to go if I needed some advice,” the man walked directly towards you, and you inhaled quickly.

“What sort of advice?” you asked.

“My daughter, she likes art, I don’t know what to get for her. She’s getting married next month.”

You dropped your blaster and let your shoulders fall a bit.

“Well, I can certainly help you with that.”

-o-o-o-

Your blaster was pointed directly at the head of one of the guys, finger on the trigger, rage in your eyes. It took less than a quarter of a second to squeeze your hand and the target’s body went limp.

Thwump.

It felt a bit like you had been kicked in the stomach, and whatever it was had you flying through the air for a moment, and sometime during that instant, suspended midair, you felt a brief stinging sensation spread across your lower leg. Then you hit the ground.

Lying there, you watched the blaster fire zoom over you. You couldn’t really feel your leg anymore, so you supposed that was better than feeling whatever had happened.

Your stomach was sore, so was your back. Really, everything hurt. Your vision was a bit foggy around the edges, so you stared up at one of the moons, however faint it appeared in the daylight.

It was admittedly very dumb to accept this sort of job. You had to hand it to Mando, picking out the stupidest shit to get involved in to pay for gas money. The two of you were supposed to be on the run, caring for the Child, staying out of trouble. Not getting shot while being paid to fight for some local clan dispute. There were probably thirty or so fighting. And you two.

You weren’t really sure how much time had passed with you on the ground. All you knew was that wherever you were hit on the stomach hurt more than almost anything you’d ever experienced. The hand clenched over the wound felt slick with what could have been blood, but was maybe just sweat. At some point, the sound of the fighting died down, and the dust began to settle.

A shadow fell over your face as the sunlight was blocked, and you blinked a few times to adjust to the darkness. It was Mando, kneeling next to you.

“I’m fine,” you croak out, knowing fully that it was a lie. Mando probably knew that too, because he pulled your arm off of your stomach. It didn’t take much effort, you didn’t have the energy to protest.

His gloved hands grazed over the wound, gently, and you thought you heard a sound through his modulator that could have been him sucking in his breath. If it had been highly distorted.

“You need to protect yourself more,” he said, roughly.

“I was!” you protested. He was using the same tactic you had used on many others on the battlefield before: outrage the victim so they stay awake long enough to get help. You needed to remind yourself to thank him when you were back on the ship.

Mando’s helmet moved to indicating that he was surveying you for further damage. His gaze stopped at your leg. You know what he’d found. You had begun to suspect it. Blaster fire might not appear too deep, but if set to kill it had a nasty burn that singed off all nerve endings, so you couldn’t even feel the wound as the impact took root deep under the skin.

Suddenly, cool air flooded underneath you and you realized the Mandalorian had scooped you up, cradling you in his arms. He was clearly very strong, but you hadn’t realized how warm he’d feel, even with all the armor on.

Din set down the now empty glass and placed the money next to it. He signaled to the droid that he was done and stood up. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward, moving through the growing crowd. Big bars and busy planets made him feel much more vulnerable than he was used to, and while the stop was necessary, it was definitely time to leave.

Why the hell did I come here, Din found himself wondering as he felt his panic rising. His step quickened and he became frantic to get out of the establishment.

There were too many people. Too many colors. The sounds were everywhere, people laughing, people talking, someone was singing. He heard the tapping of someone’s fingers on the bar table and the beeping of some sort of device. The live band seemed to be getting louder. Din spun around, no longer sure of where the exit was. His eyes widened and he looked around for some sign of fresh air. He felt like he was suffocating.

Someone walked right in front of him, breathing hot air onto his face. Din gasped, turning, desperate for escape. He was inhaling smoke and alcohol fumes and the stench of sweat and the collision of food from too many different planets. He pushed by whoever was in front of him, and then another, and another. A chorus of protests occurred as he parted the crowd but the division just closed behind him, their faces forgetting him the moment he disappeared.

The light from outside was finally in sight. Din thought he saw a way out but a second later it closed up again. He paused for a moment, trying to breathe as deeply as possible, and out of the corner of his eye he saw it. His reflection.

Din pivoted on his heels to face the mirror. And there he was, face ragged, hair unkempt, facial hair untamed, and above all, it was out there, for anyone to see.

And Din couldn’t help but realize how unappealing he looked. There was safety in keeping his face covered, safety that no longer existed. He didn’t want people to see how he looked. He wasn’t used to the way people judged. The way people look at his face and make assumptions, or worse, read him like a book.

Din’s reflection blinked back at him in unfiltered vulnerability, but his stare was broken as someone else pushed into him, and another walked in front of the mirror.

-x-x-x-

Somewhere in the lower deck the sound of clattering metal rang out along with a stream of expletives, followed by a very prompt, “It’s all good, I’m fine! Everything’s fine!”

Din chuckled to himself, staring off into the emptiness of the Unknown Regions. Thousands of millions of stars without habitable planets. Or with habitable ones, if only the New Republic could touch them.

After visiting every planet in the known galaxy, they hadn’t found a single other creature like the Child. Din looked over at the kid, and it looked back at him, cooing happily. Needing to find its home planet was the only priority, thus the entrance into the Unknown Regions, the lesser explored half of the galaxy.

Din realized he might be the first person looking at some of these stars from this angle, from this distance. The Razor Crest was likely the first ship to pass anywhere near where it was right now.

It was incredibly beautiful.

“Mando!” she called from below, “Food’s ready! You better come down here and eat or I’m gonna rip your helmet off and force feed you.”

“Don’t worry,” Din called back. She had the right to be worried. A few months back she discovered that he wasn’t eating to save rations. They didn’t know how long they’d be out here, didn’t know how long they’d need to make the food last. As soon as she found out, though, running out of food was the least of his worries. She took over all food prep and made sure every day all three of them were eating.

A couple weeks ago they ran across a small habited planet, one of the few ones littering this part of the galaxy, and were able to restock. Even with enough food to last another 6 months in space, Din knew she still worried.

It was nice to have someone who worried about him, not that he would admit that to anyone.

Her head popped into the cockpit, two plates balanced on one hand as she finished scaling the ladder with her other.

“Your plate’s below,” she smiled at him. She said the same thing every day. And she smiled every day, like nothing was wrong or weird about their situation.

Din watched as she set down one plate on the dashboard and knelt with the other in front of the Child and began feeding it. He could tell she had really grown to love the kid. It was sweet to see the two; the kid adored seeing her face, and she was so good at getting it to listen to her.

Din took one last look before jumping down into the lower deck. This was the usual ritual. He would listen to the soft words and sounds exchanged above as he took off his helmet below and began to eat. She knew not to come down until he said so. Din trusted her.

He raised his hands to the sides of his helmet, gently pulled it off, and relished in the feel of the recycled air against his face.

Din loved the feeling without the helmet, but the moments when he got to remove it were rare. Beyond showers, there wasn’t really any time to do it. They slept in too close of quarters to risk taking it off while asleep. The only constant was mealtime.

With a heavy clink the helmet was sitting on the bench next to him, and Din grabbed the plate of food. He ate in silence, as always, listening to the chatter and giggles coming from the cockpit.

Usually this was a pause to eat something, not think too much, and just rest, before getting back to business. What business was when they were floating around aimlessly through unexplored space with no idea where their destination was in the galaxy, Din couldn’t say. But there always seemed to be business.

However, today, when he set down his helmet, it was turned to face him as he ate, and it felt like it was staring right back at him. It was rather menacing. Emotionless. Din felt a chill down his spine as he realized that that was all that anyone knew him by. That was all she saw. Perhaps there was some life in it when a head was inside, but still, that was the face she spent all day staring at.

Din missed being around the other Mandalorians. Seeing all the other masks made it feel like he was a bit more human. Knowing there were other humans doing the same thing. He supposed, though, that the need for a status quo was what made him human.

And, for the first time in years, Din had the urge to climb up to the ladder, helmet left behind, and look at her face to face, take off his gloves, and hold her hand, hold the Child, just touch things with his own skin.

He shook his head as if to try to clear the thought. It scared him, how easily he could break his Creed when left in isolation. He spooned the last bite of the meal into his mouth, and, as quickly as possible, placed the helmet back on his head.

Usually around this time, about 30 minutes before the store closes, the last customer is wandering the rooms, about ready to buy something or leave. Sometimes there’s a final straggler to the end. Maybe, on a holiday, there’s a steady stream and you have to kick people out at closing, but a day like today? A normal day, the middle of the week, nothing special happening? The constant flow of customers was certainly unusual.

It was good for business, and it was nice to talk to the many scholars who had stopped through today, but you were ready to take down the ‘Open’ sign and replace it with the lovely ‘Closed’ one that meant you got to go home.

You desperately wanted to be alone for a bit. You had once gotten completely stir crazy and that want for people led you to this planet. Sometimes you wished you had chosen some Mid Rim planet, but usually that thought was stamped out as you remembered how your stability of life decreased as you furthered from the Core Worlds.

Further out generally meant less New Republic protection, and more potential Imperial influence. As a former fighter who just wanted some peace and quiet, sometimes you had to choose someplace a bit loud.

A young couple burst through the door in a fit of laughter and you looked up to see the two getting rather handsy with each other. It was sweet, and nothing inappropriate enough to deem needing to be broken up. You had paintings more explicit hanging on the walls.

You smiled to yourself at the looks of the other patrons, a mix of disgust, annoyance, and sadness. But there were a few others looking at them with the appreciation of innocent kids in love. Either way, the couple seemed to be there for the art. One pointed at an illustration and the other got incredibly excited, going off chattering about it. The pointer just gazed at the speaker with love in their eyes. No one could be mad at something like that.

-o-o-o-

You lay in one of the small beds, the sheets underneath you disgustingly scratchy and sweaty. You had spent almost a year now on the Razor Crest, drifting through space, and laundry for the sheets was not really a priority for water usage.

You could pretty easily forgive the sheets though, as you were pressed up next to Din, completely naked, sweaty and still slightly shaking in the haze of afterglow. The sex was unforgettable. It was so warm in the ship all the blankets were pooled at the bottom of the mattress. Din’s feet were playing with the fabric lazily.

His condition for this arrangement, starting all those weeks ago, was that you had to be blindfolded, which you couldn’t really complain about. It would have been amazing to take away all restraints and look at Din in the face, but you knew that would never happen, so you figured you’d take what you could get. And the one night turned into two, which turned into so many nights and days you couldn’t even count.

Din’s breath was hot on your neck. His arm curled around your waist, and your back was pressed against his chest. It was something out of a dream. You never once thought you would feel safe and at home enough with anyone to be this vulnerable, but here you were. Din was wrapped around you and you could still feel the ache of him between your legs.

You realized he hadn’t said anything in a while. Ever since you started sleeping together, Din liked to talk. He knew how much you liked hearing his voice without the helmet on. It was a sexy voice, or maybe you just thought anything about him without the armor was sexy because it was so forbidden.

You wriggled a bit and flipped over to face him. Your legs intertwined between his, and you were practically face to face. If you weren’t wearing the strip of black fabric wrapped around your head, his eyes would be right there, staring back at you.

You were a bit jealous of Din. He got to look at you. All of you.

You every day, working around the ship, picking up the Child, singing to yourself or reading on your bed. And these past few weeks, all of you, spread out on his bed, wrapped around him, leaning into him.

All you got were little glimpses of skin when he was careless with his armor or back before the Unknown Regions, when you were both getting injured almost daily, having to patch each other up.

You leaned your forehead against his.

“Din,” you whispered. It still felt like an incredible privilege to get to use that name.

You hand reached up to touch his cheek. He leaned into your touch, and you caressed his face. Your hands felt the curve of his jawbone, the rough brush of a mustache, his soft lips. You trailed over his nose and his brow bones. If you couldn’t see him, you were going to memorize every line and curve of his face. You didn’t know the colors, but you had a pretty good idea of what he looked like.

Your hands joined forces as they moved down his body, first across his neck, then his chest, and his waist, then, teasingly, right back up to his face again. You had him moving slowly in tandem with you.

You rolled your hips into him softly. There was no intention of a round two, you were both too exhausted for that, just the need for him to be closer. To feel him.

“Din, talk to me,” you said, in between soft kisses to his face, “you’re being quiet.”

His hands shot down to your hips, pushing you back. He rolled off the bed. You weren’t sure what to do. You weren’t sure what you did.

There was a thump on the ground that sounded a lot like his shoes. Din was putting his clothes on. You could hear the rustling. Then the hiss the helmet made when he put it on his head. The door opened, but the closing sound never happened. The methodical sound of feet and hands on the ladder came next. He had gone up to the cockpit, leaving you on the bed.

You rolled onto your back, unsure of what to do next.

Usually, Din would tell you when it was good to look. Usually, he would reach around your head with his gloved hands, gently pushing back your hair. Usually, he would carefully untie the fabric, making sure none of your hair got caught. Usually, you would open your eyes to see him with the helmet, and you could always imagine the smile that lay underneath.

You knew he was gone. He had just up and left you in bed. You reached up to remove the blindfold. You blinked a few times to adjust to the light. The cold air drifting around the room reminded you that Din hadn’t even thought to close the door behind him. You looked around for your clothes, finally seeing where he had likely threw them in the heat of things. Slowly, you got dressed.

The fabric of the blindfold was draped over your hands, and you folded it over itself a few times before setting it down in the center of the bed.

Din wasn’t used to planets with this many paved roads. The years on Nevarro and running around the Outer Rim had gotten him used to dirt alleyways and uneven ground. He found himself enjoying the luxury of not having to worry he would twist an ankle. It was helping distract him.

Even outside the bar, it still felt like there were too many people. He was sweating, his legs were shaking, and he was feeling a bit dizzy. After about 5 minutes of walking he wasn’t sure if it was the remnants of the panic attack that were causing the feelings, or the nerves of where he was going.

A friend had told him where he would need to go, right down to the turns to make on every street. He never imagined that when he was this close he would be regretting even coming.

Din shook his head. He took a deep breath in, he only hoped he had the right place.

-x-x-x-

It had been 10 long weeks. Din could count the number of words she had said on his two hands.

Every day he would wake up, and she would be either holed up in her bed, reading or writing, or up in the cockpit, sitting in the pilot’s seat, staring into the galaxy. As soon as she realized he was there, she’d get up, and leave the room. Probably go to the bathroom. She’d spend an hour playing with the Child. Then go through the whole ship, checking for damage. Not that they’d ever sustain anything. They never encountered anyone. Every time they found a planet within the habitable zone, scanners would show it as too dangerous for even the Child to survive.

After scanning the ship, she’d go back to the kid. Then make food. If Din was lucky she’d leave a plate for him. The two times they found a planet to stop, refuel, and stock up, everything was done in silence. Sometimes she’d disappear for an hour, probably just to run and stretch her legs.

He’d often catch her staring at a spot on the wall, tapping her fingers or bouncing her leg. She’d sit like that for impossibly long periods of time. He knew the isolation was getting to her.

Every so often, she’d walk into his room, or up to the cockpit where he was flying, and look like she was about to say something, but stayed silent.

The first week of this, Din blamed himself: if only he hadn’t allowed them to get so close, then he wouldn’t have had to call it off. But in the end, he figured this was inevitable.

Calling their arrangement off was truly for the best. The guilt had increased to an unhealthy level, and Din knew it would eventually kill him.

In just a few weeks, he had broken the Creed so many times. Once or twice, sometimes even three times a day. He swore, years ago, to never take off the helmet in the presence of a living being. Even if she was blindfolded, it didn’t really matter.

Din wrote his own behavior off as just a reaction to the months of loneliness, the lack of other people. He never really considered she would be struggling with the same thing.

The sound of her steps alerted Din to the presence of someone else in his quarters. She stood in the doorway, leaning as if to take another step, but unsure if she could. The Child had followed her down, and was standing at her feet, looking up at her face.

“Refueling. 20 minutes,” she said. Her voice was quiet but hoarse. He supposed that after so much lack of use, that was to be expected. She disappeared back up to the cockpit.

Din got up to see this planet she spoke of. Standing upstairs, the whole universe taking up most of his vision, Din felt it was almost normal. The three of them were there, watching their destination come closer, the Child standing on the dashboard, Din standing silently, and she was sitting, flying the ship with a gentleness rarely experienced.

Down on the surface, the planet was stuck in time. It appeared to be a Galactic Republic station, stuck almost 50 years in the past. Aside from the feeling they were walking around a scene from a documentary, it was practically the same as an Inner Rim planet.

Din wandered around with the Child as she went off to restock on food. He visited shop after shop, asking around if anyone had seen a species like the kid. No luck.

After a few hours, Din walked into a cantina, hoping to find some fresh food for the kid, but upon realizing she was already there, turned around to leave. There was no use trying to talk to someone who had chosen to isolate herself from him for almost 3 months. Before he walked out the door, he couldn’t help but notice the way she was talking, happily and smoothly, smiling at some girl she was sitting next to. She looked almost completely normal again. Din smiled to himself. That was good.

Their other refueling stops had allowed them to stretch their legs, and maybe see about 10 other sentient creatures. They hadn’t gotten proper socialization in over 6 months.

Din returned to the Razor Crest, letting the kid play around in the dirt with some scrap metal lying around at the docking station. He sat on the edge of the open cargo door.

She showed up after a while, boxes in tow, and began loading them back onto the ship. No words were spoken. Din stood up to help, but she just brushed by him.

“Hey,” Din said, desperate for answers as this point, “what’s wrong?”

She froze. She slowly set down the boxes where she was, standing on the deck of the Razor Crest, looking down at Din.

“What.” she said, it wasn’t a question. It was empty.

“What’s wrong with you?” Din shook his head, “You were all excited and normal in the cantina back there. And here, with me, you’re silent.”

It was like a fire had been started, and Din could see it in her eyes.

“Why did you walk away?” she said. It was calm. Too calm, almost deadly.

“What?” it seemed like Din was always the one confused.

“Why did you walk away? We were fine, happy even, and you stood up in the middle of it, and left,” her voice steadily rose as she spoke, by the end she was yelling.

So it was about me, Din realized. “Did you really think we could keep doing that? Being like that?”

“Did I think we could keep doing that? Of course I did! I… I thought we had something, and you just pushed me away!” She had walked down the cargo door, and was now standing in front of Din.

“I had to push you away!” Din yelled, “I couldn’t keep doing that, what we did, I can’t do. I’m not allowed to!”

“You’re not allowed to? What kind of utter bullshit is that?” She spat at him, “We were alone in the fucking galaxy, on your fucking tiny ship, with nothing to do, and you weren’t allowed to? Says who?”

“Says the Creed,” Din was glad he wore a helmet at times like this, so people couldn’t see the tears threatening to spill out. He knew he was losing her, but he wasn’t going to just let her go so easily.

“Your damn Creed isn’t an excuse to just fucking disappear without any explanation, and if it is, than it’s shit... You’re shit,” she was only getting started, Din could feel that. But she insulted the Creed, and she couldn’t get away with that.

“The Creed isn’t just what I follow. It’s who I am. And if you can’t deal with that, then you shouldn’t have even gotten involved with me in the first place,” he didn’t realize what he had said until it was out of his mouth.

“Well maybe I regret getting involved with you,” her words were like alcohol on an open wound, “I regret every single touch, moment, and word. I lie awake at night wishing I could scrub my body clean from the memory of you.”

“Oh, you’re telling me,” Din was incredulous, and increasingly mad, “I want nothing more than for that time together to have never happened. To have never met you. To have never had to help you deal with the fact you can’t even handle a few months alone in space. I wish I didn’t have to help you by doing things I never wanted to do. By doing you.”

At that, she took a step back. Something switched off and her body seemed to deflate.

“So that’s why,” she whispered under her breath, just barely loud enough for Din to hear, and his heart broke.

He hadn’t meant it. Din wanted to take it back, to pull her into his arms and never let go, but he knew he had just lost the right to ever touch her again.

“I can’t do this anymore, Mando,” she said, and his breath hitched at the sound of that name. It was only used by strangers and acquaintances who didn’t realize there was a person underneath the beskar.

“I can’t do this,” she continued, “not when it’s killing me.”

She turned around and walked with as much strength as she could, walked straight back into town, leaving Din standing, back against his ship, staring until she had faded from his view, only sliding down to sit when he realized he’d never see the more important person in his life again.

10 minutes until closing. You were sitting at your desk, across the room from the front door, tapping your fingers rhythmically on the table. You wanted to go home. It had been a long day. But, true to the sign on the door, you would be open for another 10 minutes. Minutes that seemed to be passing as slowly as imaginable.

People seemed to keep coming in and no one was leaving. It was your worst nightmare. The bell rang. Some woman walked in. It rang again. Three students entered as a guy left. It rang again. Some sort of wookie-like creature walked in. You almost groaned out loud. Standing up, you turned around to check the back room. The droids in the gallery would be fine for a few seconds.

The back room was clean. The droids were talking to one another, and had no more work to do. You could only spend so much time in the back room.

Back out in the main space, you sat down, checking the time. 8 minutes and 30 seconds. This was actually the worst. You stared at the datapad you used to get customer information. After about two minutes of staring intently at the ‘Given Name’ box, and the doorbell ringing about 4 more times, hopefully for some customers to leave, you felt a presence in front of the desk.

You looked up. It was some guy, tall, sort of bulky, but strong looking. His hair was a mess, and his facial hair was worse, the only well-groomed thing was the mustache. He wasn’t familiar, definitely not a regular, probably not even from the planet. You couldn’t even begin to describe the look on his face. It was one you had never seen on someone in an art gallery who wasn’t looking at a piece. It was rich with emotion, pain probably, and he looked incredibly distraught.

Why would a guy, looking like that, be entering your shop and coming straight to the desk?

“Can I help you?” you asked, looking into his face.

-o-o-o-

You spent a solid 3 hours crying in an alleyway after storming off. You had watched the Razor Crest take off in the distance after the first hour, and watching everything you knew and loved soar into the sky and out of the atmosphere only brought on more tears.

The sun had set and the light was growing dim when you finally found yourself shakily standing up to find someplace to sleep. The cantina you were at that morning had a few rooms, and you spent half of all the money you had on you for food and a bed for the night.

The room was huge, as was the bed. After over a year of knowing nothing but narrow, hard bunks, it should have been an undeserved luxury, but as you lay in the center of the mattress, you knew you would give anything for the small room you called home.

Your heart ached for Din, and the Kid. You were already regretting leaving, but the regret tears quickly turned back into those of hurt when you replayed Din’s last words in your mind.

Had you really made him feel like you had forced him to have sex with you? Was your relationship founded upon any actual emotions on his part? Clearly everything you thought was true was a lie. All those nights, him holding you so tenderly in his arms was nothing more than him feeling like he owed you a service.

The pit growing in your stomach hardened. You felt sick. You felt dirty. You had hurt Din in ways you didn’t even realize, and when it all was too much for him, he left you in your solitude for weeks. Looking back, you supposed you deserved it for what you had done to him.

You had loved him. You knew that. The fact you were realizing this in the midst of what you could only describe as a breakup only caused you to shake with the sobs that overcame you once again.

You don’t know when you fell asleep, but at some point the tears turned to heavy breathing as your eyelids grew heavy and you slipped away into the night.

You didn’t sleep well, but the rest was needed, and in the morning you took a long shower, wiping yourself clean of the dried up salty feeling that covered your face and neck from the tears. As you ran a cloth over your body, you remembered your words from the day before. I lie awake at night wishing I could scrub my body clean from the memory of you.

If only you could snatch those words from the air where you spoke them. Maybe if you took them back, Din wouldn’t have said what he had. You could have just gotten back on the ship in silence. It would have killed you to keep going, but it couldn’t have been worse than this. It couldn’t have been worse than knowing how Din really felt.

You trudged down to return your key and grab something to eat. Sitting at the bar, you decided that, at least for the day, you would forget about Din. The day was about figuring out how to get back to civilization. However you could, you would return to the half of the galaxy you knew. Mourning and moping could wait.

With some bounce to your step, you headed right to the port, straight into the offices of the stationmaster.

“What can I do for you?” an ambiguous voice said as soon as you entered. You looked around to see where it was coming from. A head popped up from under the desk, followed by the rest of the body, “Sorry, fixing something.”

You smiled. The stationmaster looked incredibly friendly, and you figured an appeal to her sense of humanity would probably work best.

“I um, I was travelling with a guy,” you started, putting on a slightly sad face, making sure your words dripped with loss and longing, “and he abandoned me here. I, uh, I need to get back home. I can do anything. I’m—I’m good at fighting, and I can pilot a ship, and fix things, whatever. I don’t have much money, but I can work. I just want to go home.”

The woman frowned, extending an arm out to your shoulder, “Darling, I’m so sorry. That’s an incredibly rough thing for a lady like you to go through. I’ve got some captains docked here that might need some help. But may I ask, where is home for you?”

You paused. Home. Home was the Razor Crest. Home was travelling. You hadn’t been back to where you were born for over 15 years. You didn’t know if you had family left, but you figured it was better than nothing. Higher education there was good, you could move somewhere else if things didn’t work out, or if you found a job elsewhere.

You nodded at the woman, “Naboo. My home is Naboo.”

From the moment he reached the door, the only thought in Din’s brain was to turn around, to go back. He had hurt her, he knew that. It was his fault she left. He drove her away. The guilt of that was worse than anything else he had suffered.

Opening the door, he briefly hoped that it wouldn’t be her, that he was on the wrong planet, and had gotten some bad info. It wouldn’t be the first time it happened.

But then he looked into the shop and she was right there, staring down at the desk. She looked exactly like she did when she walked away, 3 years ago.

He took a deep breath, and walked up to her. Sensing his presence, she looked up, giving him a quick once over. No recognition lit up in her eyes, and Din didn’t even realize that was what he had expected until it didn’t happen. She asked him if he needed any help.

“To think you’d recognize me,” he mumbled under his breath. This was definitely a mistake. He’d kept her in the dark for so long, she didn’t even know what he looked like.

-x-x-x-

It had been 13 months before Din found the rest of the galaxy. 13 months without her. After the first three, the navigation system in the Razor Crest broke, and Din had no idea how to fix it. She probably would have known how.

A month of completely blind wandering led him to a planet where he found a small village of the little green creatures that the Kid belonged to. Seemed like they had been missing the little thing.

He knew he should have been happy. Happy that he finally found the planet. Happy for the Kid. Happy for its family. But lifting off from there, after hugging both the Child and its relatives farewell, he felt empty. He had no idea where in the galaxy he was, if he was still even in the galaxy, and without current coordinates he couldn’t plot a route home. And he was completely alone.

Now, after 9 months with no human contact, Din could officially say he had lost it. Wandering the Razor Crest, no armor on, for hours, course set to keep going in one direction until a barrier appeared on the sensors.

He would pace for hours, talking to himself. Replaying the conversations he had with her in his head. Sometimes, he would look up at the door to what used to be her room, and he would think he saw a glimpse of the yellow sleeves of her favorite shirt, and he would dash into her space, apologizing, before collapsing on the floor upon realizing she was gone. Din lost count of the number of hours he wasted crying next to her bed.

Sometimes the ship would stop, having detected an asteroid belt or an uninhabited planet. Sometimes Din would land the ship, and upon confirmation of breathable air, he would walk out and wander the barren surface.

He would wonder why no one had explored this part of space. Why no one came out here to terraform. It couldn’t be that hard, could it? So many of the planets were already halfway there.

A couple times he was lucky to find some edible plants. But now Din was running out of food. He hadn’t planned on so much time without contact, without the nav system, without people. Rationing began after two months, back when he thought he’d find the civilization he knew within another month or so. He was so wrong.

He was sitting in the corner of the ship, almost directly underneath the ladder to the cockpit, where he had been for the past 2 hours. He was scratching patterns into the walls, mumbling to himself. There was not much left within him that could be called human. That had been left behind a long while back.

The ship lurched to a halt, and Din startled out of his semi-unconscious state, jumping to his feet. Scrambling, he climbed the ladder, revealing what had stopped the Razor Crest. It was right in the center of view, through the windows of the cockpit.

A planet.

And not just any planet. This was one he knew. One that lay on the Outer Rim, considered the Last Stop Until Nowhere. He cranked the speed up, and set course to land at the largest city.

As soon as the cargo bay door swung open, Din was running out, wearing nothing but a pair of black pants and a grey shirt.

First stop was a cantina. He practically flew in, startling the bartender and the clientele, but when they realized it was just another guy, the stares turned back towards drinks and food and conversational partners.

Din asked for a drink, any drink, and a lot of food, which he wolfed down, much to the horrified look of the staff.

Two drinks in, Din was finally smiling, happy to be looking at the faces of real, live, sentient beings.

Three drinks in, Din was talking loudly with some guy who had lots of good stories of some dramatic happenings from the marketplace that morning.

Four drinks in, Din was sidling up to a nice looking girl.

Five drinks in, Din had his arm around her, whispering into her ear.

Six drinks in, the two were stumbling out of the establishment, the girl giggling, hands all over him.

He hardly remembered that first night back, just an orgasmic haze full of hot touches and passionate kisses. The next morning he was back in the cantina until he got kicked out, and moved to the next.

A week passed in a blur of alcohol, sex, and food.

Until one day he woke up, completely sober, completely naked, in a bed full of prostitutes he didn’t remember meeting, and remembered everything.

He slipped out as quickly as possible, leaving his entire bag of credits for the women. Upon return to the ship, he closed the door and let go of the body-wracking sobs he was holding in.

She was gone, he was alone. She was gone, and he had just had sex with an unidentifiable number of people, and none of them smiled at him like she did. How could he have forgotten that smile?

He spotted the pile of his armor, a pile tossed aside months ago, hardly touched. The mask sitting on top, staring at him with it’s empty, black, linear excuse for eyes. The feeling in Dins chest felt like it was pounding at his ribcage, wanting out before it exploded.

He stood up and walked to the heap of beskar. He couldn’t destroy it. Beskar couldn’t be destroyed by any normal means, so he powered up the ship and took off.

The Razor Crest groaned. He knew it was on its last legs and if it didn’t get repairs soon, it would be gone from his life too, just like everything else.

Up in high orbit, Din jumped back down to the cargo bay. Ships had mostly lost the need for airlocks, but he did have one for disposal purposes.

In his rage, he put his armor into the small space, pushing it as hard as possible to get it to all fit in, and closed the interior door. His finger hovered above the green button for a fraction of a second before pushing it as hard as he could. There was little sound beyond the creak of the outer door opening and closing.

Din wanted to yell. He wanted to scream in anger at everything that had led him here. All he could do was fall to the ground and sit in silence for a while.

When he stood up, he knew he had just opened a door that closed him off from everything he knew.

“Excuse me, sir, but we’re closing,” you said, as the guy just blinked back at you and mumbled something. You were planning on closing right on time, but this guy sort of freaked you out, the way he stared at you. You were closing a few minutes early if it meant he would leave and you could go home.

“Sorry,” he said, with a voice that tugged at something deep in your memory, something you couldn’t place, “I shouldn’t have come.”

“Were you looking for anything?” This was definitely the weirdest interaction of the day. While the guy wasn’t exactly unusual, he just didn’t make any sense. He wasn’t here for the art, it seemed.

A slight breeze brushed against your back as one of the droids slid behind you, the air cold on your bare skin. Your top was hardly covering your stomach and back, which while leaving you exposed, did help you fit in a bit more with the locals. Unfortunately, you weren’t outside where it was warm, and you couldn’t help the jerky shiver that overcame you.

“I’m sorry,” the man said, frowning. His eyes had trailed down your body, and were now very obviously lingering at your midriff, probably noticing the scars from all your fights and blaster wounds. You felt exposed. His gaze wasn’t violating, but it felt like it should have been.

“What?” you asked. Sorry was a weird way to start a conversation with a stranger. Unless he was apologizing for coming in a few moments before closing.

“For coming here,” he said, sounding incredibly hopeless. He made to turn around, but you felt the need to reach out.

“Wait, who are you?” you asked. As weird as the guy was, you wanted to know why he had shown up. What he needed.

He took a deep breath before speaking again, “I found the kid’s home planet.”

Holy shit.

Your eyes widened. It couldn’t be. Could it?

“Din?” you asked, your voice coming out as barely more than a whisper.

He nodded.

At that confirmation, you were overcome with the anger you felt last time you looked at him in the eyes. Before you knew it, you were stood up, leaning over the desk. All you could think of was him telling you how he didn’t want to have been in the relationship you had. You raised your hand, and swiped it across his face. Hard.

He didn’t even try to stop you. Even with the obvious wind up. And that’s what broke your heart. You ran around the desk separating the two of you, so you were standing right in front of him.

There was still pain in his eyes, but there was a whole lot of innocence. You had never looked at his face, but it felt a lot like you had seen it, hundreds of times before. You raised your hand to meet his cheek, where the red from the slap was blossoming.

Holding his cheek, you stared into him, and all he did was stare back, too afraid to say something. Too afraid of what you might say.

His face felt the same as you remembered. His eyes were darker than you expected, and his nose wider than it felt, but it wasn’t as shocking as it should have been. It took those few moments standing there to really understand: the man standing in front of you really was the man you walked away from.

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug, and only then, when your face was hidden from his, did you let out a few tears. You buried your face into his shoulder. He still smelled the same, the mix of sweat and a faint bit of alcohol and spices from a distant planet. He was the same man you left, and you felt some violent crying threatening to erupt if you didn’t say anything.

“I missed you,” you mumbled into his shirt.

“I missed you too,” he whispered back.

You pulled back, blinking a few times to clear your eyes, “Where the hell have you been? 3 years is a long time.”

He looked down at the floor, then back up at you.

“Enough for you to start a business.” He said, with a weak smile.

You scoffed, “Enough for you to break your Creed, what happened?”

He opened his mouth to say something, but you interrupted, “Wait, stay right there. Let me just close up the shop.”

You paused a moment, holding his shoulders down, as if to try to glue him to the spot. Then you walked around the shop, making sure no stragglers were left wandering the room. The droids did a good job of kicking everyone out, but you could never be sure. You walked over to the door, pulling a key out from your pocket to lock it, and flipped the sign to show ‘closed.’

You rushed back to Din, who was still staring right where you left him, looking lost and small. You took pity on the guy. No matter what he had done, he was here, in your shop, looking absolutely ragged, and you couldn’t help feeling like you were looking at him naked, his face felt like forbidden material. You reached out to his hand, holding it in your own.

“Come on, let’s sit down, I want to hear all about it,” you said, leading Din to the backroom. All your droids were gone already, as they usually were just after closing, so you were left finally alone. You pulled out a couple chairs from the edge of the room, dragging them to a table. He sat down slowly, and you noticed the slight shine in the corners of his eyes that only meant tears.

“So, what happened to you, Din?” you asked.

“Well, after you left…” and Din started talking. He told his story, and you sat across from him, watching the pain and longing. You found yourself crying with him, and you reached out and set a hand on his thigh, soft and comforting. He was beautiful, you noticed, haunted and cautious with every action, but when you looked past the beaten down outer shell, Din was nothing but gentle and caring.

Your quick check of the time revealed you had been talking for over an hour. You had shared your story, or as much of it as you wanted to share, and you were realizing the conversation was ending, and you didn’t know what was next.

You hoped, for everything it was worth, that he would stay, but you didn’t know why he had even come, or what he might ask of you. You had set up a life here, one you never expected, but that you loved. It would break you if he asked you to come with him again. And the worst part was that you knew you would drop everything to fly away with him in a heartbeat.

You had fallen silent, and Din had seemed to notice it.

“Hey,” he whispered, “I know you probably h—I messed up. I didn’t mean a thing I said to you.”

You felt your heart stop. All the anxiety, the doubts, the concerns you have about your past relationship—how much you had given to Din, how much you felt you had stolen from him—they were all gone. Somewhere in the past hour, you had begun to understand that that was true, but his words confirmed it.

“I’m sorry. I was mad, and scared,” Din started again. This was a rare display of pure personal openness from him, and you were frozen, staring at him, clinging to his every word. “I left the bed that day because I knew I had broken the Creed, and my guilt had overcome me. I know I should have told you, but I was scared as hell.”

“Scared of what?” you breathed.

“Scared of how I felt. About you,” he glanced down, “I felt like if I told you why I’d left, I’d have to share everything else too, just to explain it. And if you felt the same way, what that would mean… we’d never have gotten to be with each other the same way again.”

He stared at you, and looking into his eyes you knew what he meant. What he had just said, just not with the same words. I love you.

You reached out to hold his cheeks again, this time your thumb grazing across his facial hair, and traced over his lips. You felt his hot breath, slowly passing over your fingers.

You wrapped your other arm around his waist, and with a surge of confidence, you pulled yourself into his lap, straddling him in the chair. Your chests were touching and you leaned your head in. He matched your motion, and your lips met.

You shuddered as he pulled you in, his tongue teasing you open. He held you around the waist with one arm, the other tangling in your hair, his hand warm against your head. You melted into him, sinking into the ease of it. His lips were warm but chapped, the roughness matching the mustache you felt on your upper lip.

It was like finally drinking water in the desert where you met the second time, soothing and easy and perfect. His hand on the small of your back slipped down lower, pulling you closer and you moaned into his lips. It was everything you never let yourself dream of.

You pulled away, slowly, staring into the warmth of his eye, both of you wanting so much more. Your breath was ragged and uneven when you opened your mouth.

“I would have done anything for you, Din,” you said, “I just wanted a life with you.”

I love you too.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #camila writes #angst #10k+#pedro pascal #reader #pedro fics #the mandalorian fics #rated m

482 notes · View notes

kashimos-hajime · 5 years ago

Text

demons | amaranthine (5/6) | b.b.

summary: As his sight darkens and her face disappears before him like grainy film, he realizes she has always been the one he’s been searching for.

WARNINGS: swearing, mentions of death, vomit, blood, injuries, hospitals, angst, they get into bed but nothing explicit, ends in fluff!!! we on the road to recovery boys! pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader word count: 8.2k

a/n: written for @the-omni-princess as per usual and this chapter is dedicated to @forever-trapped-in-my-dreams for her writing challenge as well! my prompt and also the vibe for this chapter is demons by imagine dragons. a lot of character revealing since 40 years have passed since the last chapter. enjoy!

amaranthine masterlist

When you feel my heat, look into my eyes It's where my demons hide, it's where my demons hide Don't get too close; it's dark inside It's where my demons hide, it's where my demons hide

Bucky. Bucky. Bucky.

It is as if the floodgates have opened and he has been torn apart. He is nothing but a shell, everything he knows pouring out of him as he drives. He can taste the blood in his mouth, the shift of what he thinks is broken: bones, mind, heart. He wonders how long he can last before he passes out behind the wheel. He has been bleeding for hours and every bone aches, his muscles torn, his legs crushed. His shoulder popped back in by force, the ligaments screaming at him to stop. His knees and chest are shattered from being crushed underneath that metal beam and he barely has the strength to push down the gas as he speeds up the I-95.

Washington is a burning memory behind him as the sweet cold of the Potomac seeps down his neck, a river of sweat that makes him look at his rearview mirror every two seconds. They’ll track him. After his breakdown in 1972, they’ve tracked his every movement and he knows they want their asset back.

He can’t. He’s done being someone’s reaper of war and he can’t recall why he walked back into their arms when he remembers the light of escape, the temptation of safety. When he remembers a time when his head was full of memories.

Somewhere between leaving Washington and driving past the state line of Delaware, he cuts the tracker out of his neck and half-hopes he nicks the carotid.

He doesn’t and keeps on driving.

He doesn’t know what he searches for in New York but with every passing second behind the wheel, there are flashes of smiles, of warmth and roses. He thinks he can taste something besides the iron in his mouth and when he stops to fill up the tank of some old Ford sedan he wired, he takes the chance to rinse the taste out of his mouth in the tiny bathroom of the convenience store. The owner sent him a strange look when he entered but he doesn’t care as he locks himself in. Running the water cold, he washes the blood off his hands and cools the swelling bruises on his face. Now that he’s out of the car, blood rushes everywhere in his body and his boots skid along the floor.

He didn’t realize how truly exhausted he was.

I’m with you ‘til the end of the line.

Water dripping down his face, he twists the faucet off and raises his head wretchedly up to the mirror. As he stares at his own haunted reflection, his stomach curdles, his whole abdomen clenching in an effort to avoid what happens next.

He throws up into the toilet, knees hitting the floor fast. Blood stains whatever else he throws up as he sucks in a hot breath, trying not to let out a guttural groan that pries him open. He wipes away the saliva that drools down his lips with a disgusted sigh and falls back onto his ass, back pressed against the wall. His head tilted to the artificial light, he lets his eyes close.

His neck aches as he lets his head roll but he can barely breathe. With every breath he takes, his chest seems to collapse and he can barely see when he pries open his eyes again. Black edges at his vision at every turn and he falls to his side, the pressure on his side enough to break bones. Tucking his knees in, he wraps an arm around himself and closes his eyes.

Darkness by choice is better than darkness by submission.

He wonders how long he stays there against that disgusting toilet floor that is more comfortable than any bed he’s ever slept in. He is certain he dreams but he’s not quite sure of what. He can feel it, something warm and soft, the gentle weight on his chest, words he can’t quite make out.

Please. Please, Bucky. Please.

The voice of an angel, the skin of a child, poetry written in charcoal, tears, so many tears.

“Are you alright in there?”

He lets out a soft sigh as the dreams dissipate, grains of sand that slip between his fingers and he opens his eyes blearily.

Death had been so close.

“Hey, man, do I need to call an ambulance?” Sitting up, he knocks his head back against the wall and blows out a breath as his insides scream in protest. Someone has taken hold of every part of him in their fist, and they are twisting with a malicious grin on their face.

Managing to lean forward, he gets back onto his knees despite the strange sensation of not quite feeling any part of his body numbing his senses. His chest is fuller and his lungs struggle, but he fights to stay on his knees with a hard hand gripping onto the seat.

Flushing the toilet, he stumbles to his feet although his knees are nothing but smoke and crumbling stone. He can’t go on, not like this. He’s still wet, and he begins to shiver despite the sweat that has streaked across his face ever since he got into the car. His hands are crusted with blood beneath his nails and his skin is see-through as he shakily turns on the faucet.

He can see the shadow of the convenience store owner underneath the door and, splashing water on his face, he gasps against the cold and his mind short circuits as he tries to find a way out of the mess he has created. How can he get out of here without getting himself into federal prison, or worse…

Nothing is worse than this.

Bucky.

Every breath hurts but he swallows the pain anyway, flushing the toilet once again and glancing at his reflection. He does the best he can to stand upright, leaning heavily on the counter, and cranes his neck to examine the incision he’s cut into himself. He hopes some deer has eaten that piece of shit tracker and has thrown H.Y.D.R.A. for a huge loop, if H.Y.D.R.A. even exists anymore. Everything he knows has been a lie, but somehow, he knew that already. Somehow, he knew it was only time before he broke again. Perhaps it is the fear that made him stay, but now… there is carnage and he has hours to disappear thanks to him.

Steve.

Steve broke him and brought him back. Brought everything back. It is as clear as yesterday, like he has been sleeping every day and only now has woken up, although he remembers everything he’s done while he’s been asleep. Asleep with his eyes open. Like he has been a witness for decades and only now takes control of his hands, his bloody hands. He could laugh if he didn’t feel like his chest was about to burst.

Bile pushes up his throat again. His blue eyes unfocused, he touches the site wearily and he hears a gentle voice chide him not to touch an open wound as the dried blood begins to crack.

How many more hours until he can stop running? What is he even running to? His heart and mind say New York, the site of his break in the seventies, and the very thought of it brings him pain. A pain that splinters him in two, crushes him with regret, guilt; he broke for a reason.

He is agony unshackled as he is wrenched forward and spits blood into the sink. His hands clutch onto the edge of the porcelain sink and he drops to his knees, the pain demolishing the very pillars of what he stands on. His world jilts, his vision plunges into black, and his mind goes blank as he sinks to the ground, nothing but blood and ruins.

Everything is tingling. Everything is cold. The door is kicked open and he thinks he might see the light as he lets out a dying gasp. Hands grab at him, something rips. His stomach lurches one more time before he disappears.

When he wakes, he is hooked to I.V.s, monitors, trapped beneath a white sheet and a voice talks to him but he can’t hear. Trying to move his hand, he grunts when it doesn’t move. Pulling harder, a spear of panic, fear, pierces through his stomach and he tries to wrench himself up.

“Woah, there. Calm down.”

Beeping goes erratic. Something tears inside him. Explosive pain splits him into pieces and he lets out a terrified shout. They’ve found him. They’ve found him. No, no, no.

“Sir, calm down. You’re in a hospital! You’ve been out for a few hours.”

“Let me go!” The words come out, torn out and raw, and he thrashes his head, teeth bared in a snarl. More hands swarm, taking him by the shoulders, pushing him down, but his metal arm whirs, a warning that comes too late as it rips free of whatever shackles him to the bed. He swings before he can see. His hand comes into contact with flesh and there is a clatter that rings his head like a bell. Twisting, he pulls off the other manacle and wrenches free of the bodies that surround him, too close. Too close. They want him. Want him back in the chair.

He needs to leave.

Swinging his legs off the bed, he feels the I.V. in his arm twist and with a painful grunt, he rips it out, the tape pulling at his skin. Blood wells up, the sight of it, ruby red and dripping, oddly comforting as he takes a deep breath, eyes darting to the other occupants of the room. The convenience store owner stands in the corner, eyes wide with new found horror while doctors and nurses help place a man onto a gurney. A destroyed cart, its contents spilling on the floor is what is left behind as he looks behind him. Orange light streams onto the floor and onto his face as the sky burns amber and purple.

He can barely feel the dusk light that hits his face as one of the doctors left in the room speaks to him but he cannot hear. Everything is muffled except for the pounding of his beating heart. His tac gear is most likely down a trash chute but a set of clothes rests in a plastic bag on the table at the end of the bed.

The doctor holds out his hand but he can see the syringe the man grips onto like a knife in the other he nearly hides behind his back. He’s nothing but an animal to be put down. He can see it in the doctor’s eyes.

Fear. It’s all he’s good for.

Fear.

I’m not afraid to die.

“We just want to talk to you,” the doctor says and he would’ve laughed if his world wasn’t on fire.

No one wants to talk to him. They can talk at him, order him around all they’d like. He’s done listening to orders that have trapped him away from his past.

It’s always been fire first. No room for questions. Comply or die. Survive. That’s all his life has ever been. Survive. He is not about to fail now.

He grabs the bag of clothes with his flesh hand, twisting to pull his metal hand into a fist. The glass shatters as he punches through and he does not look back before jumping.

He doesn’t know how long he falls, but it’s long enough for the instinct to roll to surge through his body. As soon as he lands, he is rolling to his feet and running, although he doesn’t know where. Bare feet slapping against concrete, he runs no matter the stares, despite the pain that blisters, and until he finds what he’s looking for.

Down the alleyway, there are two dumpsters pressed together and he pushes them apart, standing in the space between that offers protection from both ends of the alley. He rips the bag open, changing into civvies that are slightly too big on him. Tugging up the hood of his jacket, he throws the hospital gown into the bag and tosses it into the dumpster, shoving his metal fist into his pocket before walking out the other side of the alley.

It isn’t long before he finds a car and he’s on the I-95. He drives into the night, the fine layer of sweat beginning to reappear as pale blue-green light shines through his windshield. He remembers to cut off the hospital wristband before anyone notices he’s a runaway, although at this point, he’s running from more than one thing.

He doesn’t stop this time, doesn’t want to take the risk. With driving, it keeps him awake to have something to do, keeps the pain constant in his shoulder that always snaps him awake. Keeps him aware of his breathing problem and keeps him sharp to regulate each breath. With every moment, it feels like his lungs shrink in size. Although his stomach convulses and he is forced to press his lips together and swallow his vomit down, he’d rather taste acid that choke on his own sick in his sleep.

It only becomes too much as he pulls off by the tunnel to New York. Stumbling out of the car, he gives himself five minutes to retch air, water, blood, and whatever’s left in his stomach, cars speeding past him as it lands in the grass and nearly stains his shoes. No one asks to help, he doubts anyone notices him without thinking he’s nothing more than a drunk. He’s thankful for that. Only one car honks at him before he gets back into his car and enters the City of Dreams.

He doesn’t know where he drives to until he’s stopped, somewhere in Brooklyn, before a brick house that looks rustic and lovely and warm, and he stumbles out of the car, nearly falling to his knees when his stomach completely overturns but he doesn’t care. He needs to find whatever his heart searches for, whatever keeps him away from death. Stumbling up the steps of the brickstone house, he holds his flesh arm to his chest to ease the ache in his shoulder, his metal fist rapping knocks into the wood.

There is silence.

And then, the knob twists and metal hinges creak as the door is pulled open to reveal a woman who looks like she’s seen better days. Bucky ducks his head immediately, keeping his arm bent to his chest as she sighs.

“Can I help you?” she asks before she can get a good look at him and he hears the kids inside yelling. A grimace pulls at his lips as he raises his head, the shadow cast from his hood fading to reveal his bruised face. He needs a good look to know what he’s looking for, and when his eyes find some blonde woman with eyes too unkind when she soaks in his face, he knows it isn’t what he is searching for. “What do you want?”

“I’m…” His throat burns and he clears his throat, ducking his head again. “Who lived here before?”

“Sir, I can call an ambulance.”

“I don’t need one,” he rasps. “I just want to know where… where is the owner?” Agony cracks his skull open and he winces, drawing a sharp breath between his teeth. His mind searches for a name, any notable thing about her, and he closes his eyes tight for a moment, hissing out, “The woman… she was a founder of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Oh, she was a legend, but she passed away years ago. They said something about a mission going wrong overseas but I don’t know. I only know what my dad told me.” Something drops in his stomach. Eyebrows knitting together, he blinks away the pain that pushes down on his stomach as he tries to think. Tries to clear his head. “He bought the home back in the seventies.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry. Did you want to find her?”

“Yes. I—” He coughs and tastes the iron on his mouth but he barely keeps his lips shut, the blood warm against his lips as he swallows it down— “I’m sorry for causing you trouble.” He barely manages to catch her sympathetic frown and he wonders how pathetic he looks. There is no longer fear, just pity for what she might think is some homeless drunk, or some crazy man. He doesn’t know which, but he does know she thinks he needs help, and he does.

“I know S.H.I.E.L.D. has an exhibit at the New-York Historical Site and they are having a special exhibition about her because it’s the anniversary of her passing. Maybe you can find something about her there,” she says quietly above the sound of her children playing and he nods numbly. “Do you need directions?”

“No. I can handle it on my own.” He knows the place. It’s been there before he was born and he thinks there was a time he used to go there with his classmates for school. He remembers reading something about a war. He can see Steve’s face, thin and pale, smiling as he hid behind a stone pillar in some exhibit he can’t remember the name of as they played hide and seek. “Thank you.”

“No problem, and get some help, when you can,” the woman adds in farewell. He turns around just as the door closes and nearly slips down the stairs, walking on rocking legs back to the car. He wonders how many more steps he can take before his aching body gives him up.

The exhibition is a series of conjoining rooms, one for each major part of her life: birth and enlistment, war and time as a Howling Commando, and the founding of S.H.I.E.L.D. Dark oak creaking beneath his feet, he reads every word of biographies printed into the walls as he hugs his stomach tightly. He feels like his guts are about to spill into the floor and black dots have begun to speck his vision once more but he doesn’t care.

He’s searching and the hunger in him won’t be sated until he finds what he’s looking for. Whatever he’s looking for.

A bunch of kids run past him, and he notices they’re all more than eager to read about the woman’s childhood as they stand by an enlarged print of her saluting. The Hippocratic Oath is printed onto another wall along with a glass case that protects a certificate and half his lip twitches into a smile when he sees it is her certificate proclaiming her to be a certified doctor. Raising his head wearily, he soaks in the warm peach tones of the walls, the lamplights that cast the room golden, before walking through an archway into a warzone.

The sounds of guns, artillery shells exploding, men dying, it all rattles his ears as he is plunged into a grey room. Images of the war are projected onto a blank grey wall, and he barely sees any other wall print, the text this time displayed on stands as each document, every picture, every scrap of her in the war is illuminated by orange light. People are mostly congregated around a long display, the biggest one in the war room. They sit down on the benches, soaking in the sound of batlle. He thinks he can almost smell it, the gritty taste of sand, the smell of blood, sweat, shit, piss, mud, vomit. A whole plethora of body fluids and natural grime.

He can see the orange-yellow light on their faces as they soak in whatever it is preserved behind the glass. The few that take their time to read look devastated.

For a moment, he forgets about the pain and pushes himself forward. The display is double sided, each document numbered and arranged by date, and he barely catches the first words before someone wraps a hand around his wrist. For some reason, he does not fight it as he turns to whomever has grabbed him and he nearly collapses when he, for what feels like the first time in his life, recognizes a face from his past.

She wears a cap over her head, a hood pulled over that, but he can still see her gentle eyes, the curve of her lips, the smooth expanse of her cheek. Haggardly, she smiles and soaks in his bruised face before her eyes travel down to where he holds his abdomen.

“Don’t you remember the last time you read those letters?” she whispers, meeting his eyes again, and he doesn’t know what to say, to face her startling beauty and remember it all. It rushes at him, faster than a hail of bullets, as she touches his cut cheek. “And when did I teach you to run out of hospitals?”

“Was looking for you,” he whispers, gasps, and the weight of it all hits him then. Of what he’s searching for, of why he gave up his chance for freedom. As his sight darkens and her face disappears before him like grainy film, he realizes she has always been the one he’s been searching for. A hint of a smile pulls at his lips and he keens over just as her arms take him by the shoulders.

“Stay with me. Don’t worry, you’re safe now.”

The adrenaline that has been burning through his blood drains away, leaving him a hollowed out vessel of blood and bone. He falls to his knees, lurching forward and throwing up at her feet. Blood splatters between his hands, splashes against his skin hot as acid. He feels her hands take him and ease him down onto the floor but he can’t help the painful groan that rips through his chest.

“S.H.I.E.L.D.,” he breathes. Her fingers make quick work of his jacket, ripping open his shirt with a soft grunt. He lets out a wet breath and his abdomen clenches painfully as he coughs hard enough to make his head wrench forward. Blood spurts down his lips and cool fingertips wipe it away as a towel is placed against his burning forehead. “Compromised. Not safe.” He can barely see besides the glow of orange light and he blinks, trying to wipe away the sweat with his flesh hand but she stops him, placing it gently back on the floor.

“I know. I know. Just stay awake for me, love.”

Her fingers tap his abdomen and he hisses against the pulse just as someone else straps an oxygen mask to his mouth. The mask fogging up before him, he sucks in a deep breath and he can barely hear her over the racing of his heart. Something beckons him towards the dreamless sleep that looms over his head but her voice, sharp as ever, breaks through the haze.

“Weak breath sounds.”

“That’s a massive contusion.”

“Yeah, it’s cardiac tamponade.”

“God, how is this guy not dead?”

“Can we not have this discussion now? Give me an eighteen gauge and man the doppler.” Her eyes are the only thing he sees as he lets out a muffled groan. Widening his eyes, he knows he shakes when her hand touches his soaked cheek. He is covered in cold sweat, every inch of him paler than snow as she smiles although he can see right through what she hopes is reassurance. “This is going to hurt, but you can’t pass out on me, alright, Sergeant?” A ring of white surrounds his irises as her smile fades and she presses her lips together. “Sergeant Barnes, am I understood?”

“Please,” he gasps, his mask fogging up with a sticky heat. “Please.”

“Alright. Going in subxiphoid.” Just as soon as she leaves his view, sharp stabbing pain pierces through his chest and he screams despite the heaviness in his chest, despite the bomb about to implode in his heart. His back arches off the floor but hands push him down. The longer whatever’s inside him, the lighter the pressure begins to ease off his chest and he lets out a tired groan, melting back into the floor. “I know, I know. You’re so strong, love.”

She pulls it out just as someone sticks something to his chest. “I’ve got monitors up.”

“Good. Tamponade has been excavated. Do we have the chest tube ready?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Betadine.” Coldness washes over his side. “Make sure transport is prepared for a swift exit. Scalpel.” As fingers gently press against his heaving ribs, he sees her again.”This is going to be a lot worse. We’re about to insert a chest tube and get you out of here.” Something frigid and stiff presses against his chest and she turns back but he raises his head weakly, metal hand stalling her wrist.

“Wait.” The word barely passes his lips but she turns to him anyway. He can barely see, his head swaying against the floor as he tries to keep his mind focused on staying present. With every passing second, it gets harder and harder to do. “Wait.” He removes the oxygen mask shakily and cold, ventilated air sweeps against his lips and cheeks. “Angel.”

“We don’t have time to wait, love.” She brushes hair out of his sweat-slick skin, her fingers barely brushing his lips before she turns back to his ribs. “Put that mask back on, Sergeant Barnes.” He listens just as a stinging sensation pushes into his ribs. “Okay. This is going to hurt but I promise, you’re going to feel a lot better.”

Something shoots through him and he lets out a hoarse groan as it shoves itself even deeper into his chest, twisting and wriggling inside him. Squirming away, he tries to pull it out but she keeps him down, her fingers cold against his burning skin. Tiny little bites prickle his side around the tube and he lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Good output.”

“You’re going to be okay, Bucky.”

Bucky. Hearing his name from her lips… it most assuredly tells him he’ll be fine. He can rest, now.

“Bucky, stay with me.”

I will, he whispers. Just let me close my eyes. I ran. I’ve ran for so long back to you. You.

His eyes slip shut. A high-pitched beeping begins to nag at him to keep them open but they weigh heavier than the stares of a hundred dead men and he can’t bring himself to waste what little strength he has left to only prolong what is inevitable.

“Bucky? Bucky!”

“We need one of epi.”

“Get the paddles. Where’s that transport?”

“Charging to 200.”

“Do not give up on me, Barnes.”

“Clear!”

Everything snaps black.

“How was your flight? That’s good. I’m glad Pepper could be with you to do damage control. I’m sorry I couldn’t come with you, Tony. No, it’s not because I don’t like ‘Washington scum.’ Something came up. No, of course I’m fine. How’s Steve? Good. And Nick?” A pause. Bucky blinks with a soft groan and he nearly chokes on air when he tries to speak. “Okay. Look, I have to go. I’ll see you when you land? I will. I love you, too. Bye.”

Metal clatters against wood before a button is pressed and the bed beneath him begins to move and he lets out a strangled cough, clearing his throat. Slowly rising into a half-sit position, he blinks and rubs at his eyes with his metal knuckles.

“Careful not to move your other shoulder. I didn’t put it in a sling because it should be back to standard shape soon, but it’d save you some pain since you’ve been putting so much strain on it.” She is perched carefully on the edge of his bed, a cup of water held in her hands. She looks run ragged, like she was dragged through hell and fought her way back as she carefully places the water by his lips and guides the straw into his mouth. Sipping slowly, he lets out a sigh at how the coldness of it settles in his gut like ice before he pulls back. “I sent the others out for dinner. They should be back in an hour or two.”

She sets down the cup on the table at the end of his bed beside a phone and he stares at her, soaks her in. The longer he does, the more he can note the differences between this version of her and the version of her in 1972.

She’s no longer as put together or clean. Her hair is chopped shorter and her clothes are more loose. She looks older, more mature, but somehow still young. Frozen in her thirties. Frozen, he repeats dully. How?

“Where am I?”

“Outside of New York. No one knows about this place except the people who work for me, and I trust them. You’re safe.” He blinks dazedly, trying to figure out which question he wants to ask next. “I thought I lost you,” she whispers, thumbing over his cheek. His eyes flutter closed for a moment, and she gently scoots closer towards him as he flexes his flesh fingers. A dull throb in his shoulder is his answer as she gently slips the remote between his fingers. Pressing a button, he feels the bed move up into a full sit and he takes a deep breath, dropping it to his side. He can breathe easier now, and he glances warily at a clock hanging on the wall. Nearly seven in the evening.

“That woman… she said you were dead.” His eyes dart back to her, confused. “I thought you were gone.”

“I had to fake my death. You can’t kill someone who’s already dead.” His hand rises shakily to touch her jaw, to make sure she’s truly alive before him and not some other hallucination his mind has made to ease the pain. “I searched for you everyday since you’ve left. All I’ve ever wanted was to free you from them and keep you safe.” When his fingers finally brush her jaw, her eyes close and tears slip down her cheeks, crystalline in the low light. “Now that you’re here, I-” She looks down and his hand falls weakly to his bed. “I don’t know if you’re planning to stay, but with S.H.I.E.L.D. and H.Y.D.R.A. collapsing, they’ll look for you.”

“How are you… young?” He doesn’t know a delicate way to phrase it. Not with the aches beating in his body. “I thought you’d age without cryogenics.”

“Science finds a way,” she says and it sits uneasily inside him. It is a hard stone on his gut. “It doesn’t matter. What matters now is that you’re safe.” He swallows the hard knot at the flat smile etched onto her face. Dread is a monster inhabiting her face as she looks up at him again and he can see a darkness stirring behind her mask. “What matters is that you get to choose what happens next.”

He frowns. “Choose?”

“Choose to stay or go.”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. is compromised. You should go,” he replies and she smiles although he can tell there is no heart in it. Lips pressing together, he remembers who sits before him and a vile taste fills his mouth. His next words come out hot, twisted and laced with poison. “How did you not see this coming?”

“I was dead to the world. I have been for decades.” Her tone is bitter, frigid, and he watches as the cracks in her mask spread across her face. He’s hit her in a weak spot, concerning Washington was only days ago, but he can’t bring himself to feel sorry just yet, not when his whole body is sore from the helicarrier falling on him. “I apologize if I couldn’t stop something I wasn’t a witness to. When I stepped back from S.H.I.E.L.D., I left it in the hands of people I trusted.”

“But you knew.” The words spill out of him unprompted, unbidden. Anger at where he is, rage at how he cannot move, burns through his stomach as he glares at her. He’d give anything to be able to merely embrace the woman he loves like how he’s sure it is in the movies, but the woman he loves is the reason he sits here now, battered, broken. Broken again, his mind pried open for secrets. “Like no one else. You knew what H.Y.D.R.A. was, how infectious they were.”

“Yes, and H.Y.D.R.A. was supposedly extinct the minute Captain Rogers drove that plane into the ocean.”

“But it wasn’t! Operation Paperclip gave them a chance to be reborn. You gave them a chance—”

“What would you have had me do?” Her voice cracks like a whip and she wipes the escaped tears from her cheeks angrily, pulling away. “Tell the president to rescind his approval after sixteen months of deliberation? Fight against three other founders simply because I alone personally knew the horrors they have inflicted? We were preparing for another war as soon as the last one was finished. Just because you have been asleep for decades doesn’t mean I was. I wasn’t given that luxury.”

“You want to call what I was given a luxury?” he snaps, his metal hand gripping onto the sheets below the blanket in an effort to prevent himself from tearing anything else. Jaw clenching, he shakes his head. “Killing people without knowing the reason, just a witness to crimes I didn’t want to commit, being handled like some weapon because that was all I was—all I am. There is no luxury in seeing decades pass by and living in a blur when I could’ve been here, with you. At least you got to live your life.”

“Live?” A hollow laugh comes out of her, almost crawling out of her mouth in how uncomfortable it crackles in the air. “I barely survived the war, and I barely lived through losing you again, and there was not a single day that I did not wake up and think I can’t do this before I did. I did everything. Without you.” There’s a pause before she looks into her lap, the tiniest smile on her face. It is a hollow, dark thing. “You know I found my brothers, made good on our promise to do it a few months after I arrived in New York. One of them died in Brooklyn because the war got him anyway. He was shipped back overseas because being a soldier was better than being homeless.

“My other brother got away. He lived in Pennsylvania… and he… he wished that I was dead the moment he heard what I’d been through because he thought I was a monster. Because of what they did to me. Your family was dead. I couldn’t speak to Rebecca lest they find out where she was. My parents lived on the other side of the ocean. My youngest brother had to stay home to take care of them and I had no one but S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“You walked away from S.H.I.E.L.D. anyway.”

“Well, we all leave the things we love, don’t we?” she whispers coldly and he freezes, eyebrows together as he narrows his eyes at her. There is dangerously thin ice beneath their feet. “If you want to fight about whose life was harder, I am more than welcome to it.”

“You let me go.” His voice struggles to remain steady as she looks up again, her head tilted back to take a deep breath. He turns away to examine the room he lays in to prevent himself from lashing out and saying something he’ll regret. She is burned into his memory either way. He doesn’t need to look at her to know the expression inhabiting her face. “I had to protect you. You’re the one who could’ve moved on, found someone else, settled down and had a family.”

“And you’re the only one I have left. There is no moving on.” Freezing water washes down his back and she stares at him with the misery of a deity. He supposes she is. Time has only elevated her beauty to one worthy of a god. No longer a girl, certainly more than a woman, and eternally sad. That is how the gods are—sad, and broken, and stronger than any living man. “There is no going back from the things I did. From the things you did.

“I know you killed Howard, Bucky,” she says. His eyes dart to hers, lightning striking him and sending him into a shock. There is something unforgiving lurking in her eyes despite how much her edges have softened. There is no accusation, only the hard truth. “I know you stole the serum from him.” He sits up straighter as his lips part to speak but she turns her head away, standing up. “I love Tony more than most things in this world. There isn’t a single thing I wouldn’t do for him. What am I going to do when he asks me about you?”

Tick. Tick. Tick. The clock on the wall echoes in his empty chest as he tries to tell her he doesn’t know.

“In the decades we’ve been apart, did you ever realize that we’re no good for each other?” Bucky whispers instead, thinking of that tiny boy that had slept against her chest as he slipped out of her bed. He’d been tiny then, eyes sparking with a fire that burned bright with love and wit. He’d seen the same eyes as he squeezed the life out of his mother. The same blazing intensity, but at that time, of grief for her dead husband.

Sergeant Barnes.

“That all we ever do is cause each other pain.”

“I think about it every day.” She yields to him then. Perhaps she is tired of shouting as he is, and cannot stand being furious. A wrathful silence fills the air.

This is how every one of their arguments goes. It starts with a spark that cracks the air, a fire let loose, devouring too quickly before suffocating itself into an eerie silence. His head aches with the intensity of his heart throbbing between his eyes.

“But I didn’t survive all these years just to give up on you.” She clears her throat, turning to the chair sitting in the corner of the room where a messenger bag sits. She lifts up the flap to reveal a sleek laptop and pulls it out, setting it on the table at the foot of his bed and opening it up. It feels strange to see her with modern tech, but he reminds himself that they’re nearly a century old and the times have changed, whether they liked it or not.

“I think… of how I love you so much it aches,” she says quietly, her fingers tapping on the keyboard. Her eyes train on the screen and he watches the way the blue light places on her face and in her hair. “And how whenever I’m with you, nothing else ever matters.” She taps the Enter key forcefully and something changes in the light as it dims and brightens again. “How, in the past four decades, I have searched every corner of this earth for you not even knowing if you were alive or dead. How Howard asked me to step back from S.H.I.E.L.D. after what happened in 1972 and instead offered me my own task force to help search for you. I didn’t step down, Bucky,” she confesses, finally looking at him with a sorrow he understands. “Howard asked me not to come back until I found you, dead or alive.”

“But, he must’ve understood—”

“He understood nothing but war. Always preparing for one, trying to improve mankind so we could rise above it all.” A bitter smile graces her lips then. “He was a terrible father, but a brilliant man. I’ll never forgive him for the former, but for the latter… it’s the only reason I stand before you today as I do.” There is a decisive click of the mousepad before she turns the laptop around to face him and pulls the table closer towards him. His eyebrows knit together and she sits beside him as if they weren’t at each other’s throats mere minutes before. His metal arm whirs and clicks softly as he raises it to wrap a gentle arm around her waist and she nearly melts into him. Her eyes study his expression intently as he reads the title, and he jerks his head to meet her gaze.

“Test subject,” he whispers. His words come out flat, forced between gritted teeth and she merely stares at him, infinitely full of sorrow. He is sure that that is all they’re made of. Sorrow and science with nothing human left of them. “He tested the serum on you?” His eyes search hers, and he hopes it’s not true. He doesn’t want to see her broken apart like the other Winter Soldiers sleeping in Siberia. He can’t. “Please don’t tell me you let him.”

“Would it hurt less if I told you I volunteered?”

“You could’ve died,” he whispers, and the bite in his eyes comes unexpectedly. He presses his lips together and the hand around her back shifts to her waist when she twists in his grip, and she smiles in defeat. It is a numb smile, one with barely any life, and she forces it deeper into her cheeks.

“I’ve died a thousand times over,” she tells him. He feels boneless when her palms gently press against his cheeks. “The blood on your hands is like the stain on my soul. Neither of us can wash it away.”

“What did they do to you?” An angel with burning wings sits in his arms and she smiles tenderly. It does not chase away the shadows haunting her, roaming behind her eyes.

“I killed every single H.Y.D.R.A. agent I found,” she whispers, leaning in close to him.

“You promised to do no harm.” His eyes nearly flutter shut and he can taste the sin on her tongue as his metal hand rides up her back, hooking on her shoulder. His fingers dig into her flesh and he can’t help the primal urge that stirs in his stomach—he doesn’t understand it.

“Times have changed. So have I.” Her smile is so devilish, so empty, he barely recognizes her, and he wonders if it is he who has tossed her into the abyss or she has simply dragged him to the light and sacrificed herself instead. He fears it—he is insanely in love with it. “You make a demon out of me, Sergeant Barnes.”

Before he can utter a response, that feral urge pushes forward to snag her lips in his. It is a hungry, powerful thing and she submits to him wholly as his hand rakes through her hair and her fingers scratch against his scalp. He is so full of wanton need for something familiar that he doesn’t know anything but the insane desire for her weight on him. Eager to explore the darkness tainting the wings of his angel, he watches as she straddles his hips, his hand tracing up the side of her waist and her shirt is on the floor, scars etched into her side like brush strokes.

He’s hypnotized. His flesh fingers reach for a scar that stretches as she leans over him and kisses his mouth slowly and the ache in his shoulder is nothing compared to the ecstasy of her soft mouth as he lets out a muffled moan. Her fingers in his hair gently pull and he sucks in a stilted breath when his back arches to her whim, his hands flat against her hips.

“Forty years,” she whispers, a mournful thing as he traces where a cicatrix has punctured a hole through her abdomen. The next kiss she presses against his mouth is bruising, punishing for the both of them, and he loves the pain because it is good. “Forty years, love.” His fingers dig into her waist, hook on the waist of her sweatpants and she grins against his insistent kisses as his flesh hand reaches up her back. His fingers don’t snag on wings like they snag on her bra, but he doesn’t care as he undoes the clasp.

Angelfire burns through his skin when she takes hold of his neck with her hands, her thumbs barely pressing into the pulse points. She glances down at their hips pressed together and then at him. Her eyes—they are his saving grace. They remind him that this is real as she kisses him again, her nails leaving crescent moon indents into his skin.

He trails away from her mouth, sitting upright as his hands run up her back, his lips latching onto her collarbone as she twists away to close the laptop and push the table away. When she faces him again, her back arches beneath his grasp and he kisses the tiny scar, a fading pink mark a few inches to the right of her heart. Where he’d shot through her. Just another reminder of how wrong they’ve been.

“Are you feeling okay?” she murmurs against his ear, sounding like the girl of 1945, so concerned, so tender. Her finger plays with the baby hair at the nape of his neck. He purrs at the gentle touch, ignoring the dull pain flaring up in his abdomen and he noses at the smooth expanse of her chest, smiling with eyes closed in bliss.

“Perfect, angel,” he mumbles. “God, you’re perfect.” Pressing his forehead against her collarbone, he can hear her heart beating to the pulse of his own in his throat and he wonders if it is simply one heart beating in two bodies—if soulmates really do exist.

A wonderful burden, a terrible blessing.

Her fingers flatten into a palm that slides down his back, smoothing over his waist and reaching for the sweatpants he’s in and tugging on the drawstring. Their lips meet, then, ferocious, wet, biting, and he gasps against her mouth, eyes closed, submitting to her taste and tongue. She devours him completely, leaving him lightheaded as they part just to breathe. Their noses brush and their lips catch as he simply bathes in her touch, fleeting little things along his waist that dare to travel further.

This is his absolution.

“Make it hurt,” she hisses in his ear. The feral animal inside him snarls at her voice, prowls in his stomach as she raises her hands and takes him by the cheeks, forces him to stare into the darkness of her gaze. His metal arm clicks as he traces the smooth lines of her back and her smile is a dangerously sharp thing. It tastes sour in his mouth, like she isn’t quite there. He can hear desperation bleed through her voice, and he knows the feeling. It is the same one that has seized him. The same terrible fear they will be left alone in this world again. “I need it to hurt.”

“Okay,” he whispers, his lips leaving marks of his own on her skin as his teeth graze her neck, travel to the smooth expanse of her navel, find the delicacy of her inner thigh as soon as he pulls down her pants.

He agrees because the agony of their love is too good to pass up. It is an all-consuming, monstrous beast that lurks in their heads and in their hearts, and he is certain that one day it’ll kill the both of them. The torture that is a split soul will one day become too much, and one of them will pull the other into death’s embrace with them.

She needs the pain to forget the agony of living life as a ghost.

He needs the pain to remember how to come back to life.

“I’ll stay,” he whispers in the depth of night.

Her hands hold into his arm draped over her waist and the sheets are twisted around their bodies. His whole body aches for a different reason this time, and his mind is sedated with the smell and taste of her everywhere. She doesn’t give the indication that she’s heard, and by the slow pulse of her heat, he knows she must be asleep. Smiling wearily, slightly, he kisses a tender mark on her neck and traces shapes onto her stomach, sinking into the pillow.

The heat of her body wraps around his bones, drives itself into his muscles, and he holds her closer, holds her tighter.

Forty years, he thinks to himself as she lets out a soft sound, wiggling against him. Tomorrow seems an impossible task, to face the world outside of her arms and realize the extent of Washington’s damage. There’s so much we have to figure out about us, about everything. It is an insurmountable feeling of hopelessness and he doesn’t know how to fill the hollowness that carves pieces out of him, but he’ll figure it out, whether it takes another decade or not.

She rolls around and tucks underneath his chin, her hands grabbing at him in her sleep. His smile eases and he closes his eyes as her breaths puff gently against his neck.

As long as she is with him.

Perhaps they’re on their way.

278 notes · View notes

mldrgrl · 5 years ago

Text

How Many Tropes Can One Story Hold?

by: mldrgrl Rated:PG Paring: Mulder and Scully Summary: You want one bedfic? You want snowed in? You want sick!fic? You want drunken confessions? You want a plot twist? You got it.

He thought he could stay ahead of the storm. At least, that’s what he told his partner when they set out on the drive from Pittsfield to home. What should take five hours, tops, had verged on six and they weren’t even halfway there. Unforeseen road closures and detours had set them back and the winter storm swiftly swooped in to cause chaos on the highways.

Scully had fallen asleep almost out of the gate. She’d been quiet that morning at the police station, yawning frequently and stretching her neck muscles. Mulder assumed she hadn’t slept well, but didn’t ask.

Visibility had gotten steadily worse throughout the drive. Snow was falling so rapidly the windshield wipers couldn’t keep up and the wind wasn’t helping. Mulder knew he had to stop, but he’d promised Scully he’d have her home for the weekend.

“Where are we?” she murmured, stretching and blinking out of slumber. He glanced over in time to see her wince and run her hand down the front of her throat.

“Not far from Culpeper,” he answered. “It’s been...a challenging drive.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Her voice was raspy. She rubbed her brow.

He shrugged. “Not much you could do about it.” He paused as the steering wheel pulled to the left under his hands and took his foot off the accelerator to avoid fishtailing. “Uh, I think it might be a good idea to find a motel for the night though.”

“You probably should’ve stopped ages ago.”

“I really thought I could get you home.”

She nodded and then winced again and gripped her neck with one hand. He couldn’t take his focus off the road, but he gave her a few concerned glances.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

“My throat hurts,” she stated. “Glands are swollen. I was lethargic this morning, muscles aching.” She put the back of her hand up to her forehead and then turned it down and pressed it to her cheek. “I believe I have a fever.”

Mulder risked taking one hand off the steering wheel to reach over and put the flat of his hand against Scully’s forehead. Her eyes closed and she made a soft humming noise. He took his hand back.

“Next place I see, I’ll stop,” he said.

Ten minutes later, approaching white-out conditions, Mulder was able to turn the car off the highway towards a red neon arrow that flashed like a beacon of salvation. The short road was treacherous and dark, but he managed to follow the grooves of snowed-over tire tracks and creep along to a small, clapboard house. He parked alongside a row of pine trees, frosty branches trembling in the wind.

“Is it a bed and breakfast?” Scully asked.

“Stay in here and keep warm,” Mulder said, pulling his gloves on. “I’ll find out what the situation is.”

He took a moment to brace himself, and then he pushed the door open and stepped out of the car. Immediately, he was pelted in the face with snow, but the wind was so fierce it felt like sand. He hunched his shoulders and turned the collar of his jacket up as he hustled towards the stairs of a wraparound porch. His loafers were useless and within a few steps, his feet were cold and wet. He stomped the snow away at the door and knocked just below a brass plate that read MANAGER. While he waited for an answer, he tucked his hands under his armpits and hugged his arms against his sides.

The door swung open and a stout, grey-haired lady clamped her hand on Mulder’s forearm and tugged him forward. He stumbled across the threshold and the door slammed shut behind him. The room was small and dimly lit, just a square closed-off space with a countertop and barely enough room to fit two people.

“What in tarnation are you doing out on a night like this?” the lady asked. She stared up at him with her thick, white eyebrows furrowed.

“Hoping for a vacancy,” he answered. “Are you the motel or did we miss it?”

“You found us. Lucky for you, got one cabin left.”

“Cabin?”

“Six of them around back. Can’t see ‘em on account of the trees and the snow.”

“Okay, well we’ll take it.”

“Who’s we?”

“Me and my partner.”

The woman squinted at him and crossed her arms. “You all married?”

“Well, we work together.”

“Cuz I don’t rent out to unwed couples. It ain’t decent or respectable.”

“And we are also married,” he quickly said.

“Alright then.” The woman finally stepped away from Mulder and walked back behind the counter. She placed a guestbook on the countertop and slid it towards Mulder. “Sign there, I’ll get you a key. It’ll be $40 for the night, cash or check. I don’t take no American Express.”

“Um.” Mulder took the glove off his right hand and dipped into his breast pocket for his wallet. Luckily, he had cash on him, which he pulled out and slid across the counter.

“You want a receipt?”

“Sure.” He already knew there’d be no way he could expense a single cabin to their last case, but he’d take the receipt as a memento for the unusual place and occasion. He signed the guest book Mr. & Mrs. Mulder, almost chuckling to himself at the strangeness of it.

“That’s for you.” The woman gave Mulder a handwritten receipt and a key on a brown plastic holder shaped like a diamond with the number 4 etched into it. “Pull the car on up a bit and make a left past the lamppost. Number four.”

“I don’t suppose there’s a pull-out couch or rollaway bed available, is there?”

“Why would you need that?”

“Well we’re technically on the job right now and fraternization is...frowned upon.”

“Don’t got one.”

“Okay, no problem. Um, one last question. Is there a...drug store or diner nearby?”

“You mad as a hatter or what?”

“Well, Sc...my wife is feeling a little under the weather. I just wanted to...since I can’t get her home tonight, I thought I’d at least try to find something to make her more comfortable.”

“Aw, you’re a good fella. I tell you what, you all get yourself settled in and I’ll be around in ten minutes to bring you some soup.”

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble…”

“Not at all, not at all. Go on then.”

“Thank you…I don’t know your name.”

“Myrtle.”

“Thank you, Myrtle.”

Bracing himself again, Mulder headed back to the car, keeping his head ducked down against the wind. He was shivering by the time he made it back to the car and welcomed the blast of heat when he got in. His feet were thoroughly soaked, as was the bottom of his pants.

“You want the good news or the bad news?” he asked Scully.

“No room at the inn?”

“One room. One cabin, actually. Whatever that entails.”

“Oh.”

“If that’s not okay, we can try to-”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s fine.”

“You sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be sure?”

“I don’t know. Oh, uh...if anyone asks, we’re married.”

Scully’s left eyebrow inched up into a pointed arc. “Is that the bad news?”

“That was the good news, actually. Myrtle is running a respectable operation and doesn’t rent to the unwed.”

“Seriously? Mulder, that’s archaic, not to mention blatant discrimination. You need to go back and tell her-”

“That we’re not married and to please refund my $40 and we’ll just be on our merry way out into the blizzard?”

Scully put a hand up in surrender and closed her eyes. “Alright,” she said, and reached up to her throat. “Just please don’t tell me you told her we were Rob and Laura Petrie.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Mulder,” he answered, finally starting the car. “Personally, I know you’d probably keep your name if we were married. I was just trying to get a room key in hand with as little explanation as possible.”

“You think I’d keep my name?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it, to be honest.”

“Huh.”

Mulder pulled the car forward slowly, searching for the lamppost he was supposed to turn at. He breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted the glow of the light and sure enough, a row of cabins appeared in silhouette straight ahead, all miniature clapboard versions of the house in front. Number four was the only one without a snow-covered lump of a vehicle in front. He pulled up to it carefully and parked as close as he could manage.

“Key,” he said, passing the room key over to Scully. “I’ll grab the bags.”

“As much as I want to get inside, I’m not looking forward to what it’ll take to get there.”

“Count of three?”

“Three,” she answered, opening her door.

Mulder got out of the car and ran to the trunk. He grabbed his duffel bag and Scully’s rolling suitcase and squinted against the wind harsh wind blowing snow into his face as he lugged both to the door. She’d left it cracked for him and he pushed inside, dropping the bags at his feet before kicking it closed.

The cabin was just a small room with a queen-sized bed and faux wood paneling. There was no TV, but there was a squat bookcase against one wall stuffed with an assortment of books, puzzles, and games. Next to that was a wardrobe. Beneath the window was a round table and two folding chairs. Opposite the bed was a stone hearth with a wood burning stove and a basket of wood next to it.

“Think that works?” Mulder asked, nodding to the stove.

“I hope so. I’m not sure that thermostat over there is working.”

“I’ll take a look at it. Which side do you want?”

“Oh. Um. Left?”

“Great.”

They both stood staring at the bed for a few moments. Mulder put his hand down onto the quilted comforter and pressed into the corner of the bed. Thankfully, it was not a boxspring mattress.

“Do you need the bathroom?” Scully asked. “I’d like to...shower, I think.”

“No, go ahead. Uh, Myrtle said she’d be by with some soup soon.”

“She what?”

“I told her my wife was feeling under the weather. She offered.”

“Oh.”

“You want me to take the opportunity to come clean about our marital status?”

“Sure,” she answered, pulling her suitcase across the floor with her to the bathroom. “But, you’ll be the one that has to sleep in the car when she kicks us out.”

As soon as Scully shut herself in the bathroom, Mulder tossed his duffel onto the bed and rifled through it for new socks and a pair of sweats. He needed to get out of his wet shoes and pants as soon as possible. He didn’t even bother to remove his overcoat before toeing off his loafers and peeling his socks off. His feet felt like blocks of ice they were so cold and his toes were red. He’d just unbuckled his belt and dropped his pants when the door to the bathroom opened and Scully popped her head around the corner.

“Mulder do you think...oh uh…sorry, sorry...” Her head disappeared just as quickly as it had popped out.

The only real embarrassment Mulder felt was not that Scully had caught him undressing, but that he looked rather ridiculous in his overcoat, dress shirt, and boxer shorts with his pants around his ankles. He chuckled to himself and sat down to put on fresh socks and sweatpants. After he traded his dress shirt for a tee and sweatshirt, and draped his overcoat, wet pants and socks over the chair under the window, he went and tapped on the bathroom door. He could hear the water running.

“DId you need something?” he asked.

“No, it’s...nevermind.”

“You sure?”

The door opened a crack and Scully eyeballed Mulder through the thin gap of space. “Do you have an extra sweatshirt I can borrow?”

“Just this one,” he answered, plucking the sweatshirt at his chest.

“Okay, nevermind.”

“Wait.” He put his hand on the door to stop her from closing it completely and then he reached back to the collar of his shirt to pull it off.

“You don’t need to do that.”

“I’ve got a thermal I can wear. You take it.”

The door opened a little wider and Scully reached out for the sweatshirt. She was wrapped in a towel, clutching it closed at her chest. “Thank you,” she said, and then her arm quickly retreated back into the sanctum of the bathroom and the door snicked softly shut. With a smile, Mulder went back to his duffel bag and found his thermal shirt.

He was inspecting the wood burning stove when there was a knock on the door. Myrtle bustled in carrying a cardboard box which she placed on the round table. She wore a heavy, fur coat and a pink shower cap over her hair.

“That green thermos there is chicken soup,” she said. “The red is some special tea.”

“Candles?” Mulder asked, inspecting the contents of the box. There were four candles and candlesticks tucked down .

“Power’s likely to go out if the storm gets any worse. You need help with that stove?” Before waiting for an answer, she pushed past Mulder and set about to filling and lighting the stove while he stood by.

“Thank you for this,” he said, gesturing to the stove and then the box.

“You need anything you come knock,” she answered, clapping wood dust from her hands and then she poked Mulder in the chest with her finger. “Don’t you go haring off in this nastiness just ‘cause the little Missus makes a sneeze. You look like the type that just might do such foolishness. You’re no good to anyone if you’re getting up to foolishness.”

Mulder put his hands up in surrender and suppressed a grin. “I won’t.”

“Good. Extra blankets are in the wardrobe. You all just stay put and have a restful evenin’.”

“We will, thank you.”

The heat from the stove warmed the cabin surprisingly quickly. Without a TV, Mulder didn’t have much to do, so he inspected the bookcase and found a book of Virginia ghost stories to read to pass the time. When Scully finally emerged from the bathroom, in flannel pants and his sweatshirt hanging off her shoulders, he was propped up against the headboard on the right side of the bed, engrossed in a tale of the haunted Elbow Road and didn’t look up right away.

“What’re you reading?” she asked.

He looked up and plucked at his bottom lip to hide his smile. Her face was scrubbed clean of make-up, cheeks rosy from the shower, and her hair was pulled into a short pony-tail, even though it wasn’t quite long enough to hold.

“Ghost stories,” he answered and her face scrunched a little. “There’s soup and tea in that box over there. You should get to it while it’s hot.”

“Looks like there’s enough for two, if you’d like to join me.”

Mulder folded the page down in the book he was reading and got off the bed. Scully had the lid of the red thermos off and was pouring soup into the cap. The sleeves of her borrowed sweatshirt kept slipping over her wrists.

“You feeling any better?” he asked.

“The steam from the shower helped,” she answered, sliding the thermos across the table towards Mulder. “But, not really.”

“Here.” He caught her hand before she picked up the cap of soup and rolled the cuffs of the sweatshirt up for her.

“Thanks.”

“What’re the candles for?” Scully asked, opening up the sleeve of crackers.

“Myrtle says the power is unreliable.”

Scully sighed and then blew across the top of her soup. She looked around the small room for a few moments and then turned her gaze to Mulder. “No TV?” she asked.

“Nope. There’s Yahtzee. Or Parcheesi.”

She yawned and rolled her head back and forth. “Or, taking a Tylenol PM and going to bed.”

“Or that.”

“It’s good soup.”

Mulder took a swig of the soup from the thermos and nodded in agreement. They sipped quietly together, taking turns stealing crackers from the open sleeve until they were nearly gone. He’d finished the soup in the thermos, but Scully still had some left when she’d pushed it away.

While Scully cleaned up the makeshift dinner, Mulder peeked outside for any signs the storm might be letting up. It was still coming down swift and steady.

“I’m sorry,” he said, turning back to Scully.

“For what?”

“I promised I’d have you home.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know, but…”

“Don’t worry about it.” She smiled up at him for a moment and touched his arm. And then her smiled faded and she dropped her eyes.

“Scully?”

“I’m just glad we’re off the road.”

There was something unsaid that hung in the air, but Mulder didn’t know what it was. He rubbed the back of his head and watched her walk away to poke through her toiletries bag. It prompted him into retrieving his own from his duffel to prepare for bed.

“This is tea?” Scully asked, sniffing at the green thermos while holding two white pills cupped in her hand.

“Special tea, according to Myrtle.”

She sniffed it again and then popped the pills in her mouth and took a drink. She cocked her head a little and took another sip and then coughed. “I uh...I think this might be...spiked.”

“Drugged?” Mulder immediately dropped his toiletry bag on the bed and went over to Scully.

“No. I think there’s rum in this.”

He put his hand over Scully’s and pulled the thermos up towards his nose to give it a sniff. He could smell lemon in the steam that filtered up and tickled his nose. Risking flu germs, he took his own sip and sure enough, the warmth that spread through his chest wasn’t just hot tea.

“Myrtle’s special tea is hot toddy,” he said.

“And I just washed down a sleeping pill with alcohol.”

“Good thing you’re not operating heavy machinery any time soon.”

“It is rather soothing though.” She shrugged a little and then took another sip before closing the thermos back up.

“I’m gonna hit the shower.”

“And I’m gonna lay down.”

“Keep my side warm for me? Just kidding.” He winked at her and then retrieved his toiletries bag.

Mulder was in the shower for no more than five minutes when the power went out. The lights flickered as he was soaping his chest and then blinked out. Before the water could turn cold, he hastily finished up and had to blindly towel dry and then feel his way to the door.

The room was dark when he poked his head out of the door with the fire from the stove providing only a dim glow. He could make out the shape of Scully under the quilt on the bed, but it was too shadowed to tell if she was facing him or away. With his towel secured around his waist and tucked in place at his hip, he scurried across the floor to grab a candle from the box.

“Mulder?” Scully asked, propping up on her elbow.

“Power’s out,” he answered, holding fast to his towel while lifting the candlestick in the air.

“Oh.”

“Go back to sleep.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” she answered through a yawn and lay back down. “Yet.”

“Go back to half asleep.”

Mulder had to get the matchbook that was by the stove to light his candle. He got the flame started and then walked slowly with it across the room so that it wouldn’t blow out. He could see Scully watching him with a drowsy gaze, but she closed her eyes as soon as he caught her. Back in the bathroom, he got back into his pajamas and brushed his teeth.

Quietly, he went back into the main room and added a log to the stove. He took his candle with him to bed and grabbed the book he’d abandoned earlier. With no bedside table to leave the candlestick on he had to hold it with one hand to continue reading. Soon, the low light made him drowsy and he finally had to blow the candle out and lean over to place it on the floor.

Making great efforts to be quiet and non-obtrusive, he eased himself down and took great pains not to shift more than he had to or pull at the quilt. Beside him, Scully breathed deep and even. The longer he lay still, the more her presence so close seemed to quell his usual nighttime restlessness. Instead of feeling the need to toss and turn and adjust his pillow and kick at the blankets, he found it was easy to just listen to her, feel her nearby, and just be still and silent. Even the storm, which he knew was raging outside, seemed peaceful.

He was jostled awake sometime later by Scully, nudging at him like she was searching for something. The room was dark and cold, the fire mere embers. He turned to sit up, but she made a noise of protest and clutched at his shirt.

“It’s cold,” she murmured, her voice slurred and sleepy. “You’re warm.”

“Let me get the fire started again.”

Reluctantly, she let go of his shirt and he hopped out of bed, cupping his hands to his mouth to blow into them. He bent down to find the candlestick and then shivered and stumbled his way to the table. He found the matches, lit the candle, and made his way to the dying fire. He grabbed a few logs, fed them into the stove, and used a gold poker to stoke the embers.

When he was sure the logs were well-positioned, he shuffled towards the wardrobe to grab the extra blanket. It was soft and heavy and he kicked himself for not thinking of pulling it out before they went to bed. He had to put the candle back on the table to be able to drape it over the bed. Scully pulled it up further and adjusted it to her liking.

After blowing out the candle again and before getting back into bed, Mulder took a look out the window.

“I think the storm’s stopped,” he whispered, sliding into the sheets and the heavy warmth the extra blanket brought.

Scully hummed. She cuddled up against his side and put her head on his chest before he’d even settled. He covered her hand at his chest and made sure the quilt covered the both of them.

“Don’t want you to get sick,” she mumbled, even as she burrowed closer.

“We’ve shared our share of colds. All part and parcel of a partnership.”

She made a gravelly noise in the back of her throat that he couldn’t interpret. He shifted to find a more comfortable position and was able to bring his arm around her. The fire began to spark and crackle as it picked up again. The heat slowly ate away at the chill.

“This is nice,” she mumbled. “You smell nice.”

“I do?”

“Mm. Always.”

He smiled up at the dark ceiling and rubbed her arm. She shifted and her leg moved up over his thigh. His heart skipped a beat. She squeezed him softly like she was hugging a teddy bear, and then she sighed.

“This is nice,” she said again.

“Yeah,” he whispered.

“I knew it would be.”

He chuckled lightly. “Something you’ve thought about, Scully? Getting caught up in a snowstorm? Snuggling for warmth?”

“Mmhm. Definitely.” She sighed again and nuzzled her cheek against his shoulder.

He went still and his smile faded. He’d thought she might be joking in the placating way she sometimes did when he said something outlandish. But, it sounded truthful, like she was just sleepy and relaxed enough to be unabashedly honest.

“Really?” he asked, his voice growing deeper and serious.

“Mm.”

He would admit, it was something he’d been thinking a lot about too, metaphorically. He’d been questioning the possibilities of another life for himself; a life that was more than just a quest for the truth. He’d come to realize that the more effort he put into taking time outside of work, the happier he felt. And part of that happiness, he could attribute to his partner. He was happier, always, when he was with her. When he’d kissed her on New Year’s Eve a few weeks ago, he’d been testing the waters to see if she might reciprocate a fraction of what he felt for her. She’d seemed open to something more when she’d smiled at him, but he’d chickened out at the last second and instead of asking if she could see the potential for something more, he’d clammed up, and neither of them had mentioned it since.

But, maybe, just maybe, she did see the potential. He’d like to think it was more than just sleepy, medicated ramblings.

“Scully?” he whispered.

She didn’t respond. She was asleep again, warm and slack against his side. He petted her hand a few times and then craned his neck to kiss the top of her head.

The next time he woke, the fire had died down again and Scully was still asleep against him. Morning light filtered in through the closed drapes at the window. As much as Mulder wanted to get up and see what conditions were outside, he didn’t want to disturb the warmth and serenity he’d found in that bed. It had to end sometime though. At least he’d been able to soak up the contentment he was feeling for the next ten minutes before she stretched and stirred.

Quite suddenly, Scully pushed herself up from Mulder’s chest, her eyes wide with shock. Her hair was mussed, sticking to her cheek on one side and bunched wildly on the other. He chuckled and reached up to brush the hair away from her face and tuck it back over her ear.

“Morning,” he said. Though he was able to keep his voice steady and a cool appearance, deep down he was worried she’d retreat into her shell if she was feeling too embarrassed and awkward.

“Um…” She shook her head and blinked rapidly. “I, um…”

“How are you feeling?”

“Uh. Better? Better, thanks.”

“Good. Sleep well?” He grinned and couldn’t help but tease her just a little.

Her cheeks darkened and she struggled with the blankets to sit up. “Sorry if…”

“You can use me as a pillow anytime, Scully.”

She looked back at him and then lowered her eyes. “Thank you.”

“Should we see what the damage is outside?”

“I’d almost forgotten about it.”

Mulder pushed the covers away and got out of bed. It wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t warm either. He rubbed his arms on his way to the window and then pulled a corner of the drapes back to get a glimpse of the outside world.

“Wow,” he said.

“What?” Scully got out of bed and padded over to him. He pulled one side of the drapes open so she could see. The sky was blue and the sun was shining. Melting snow dripped from the trees and the car was clear. Except for the slush that covered the ground, it was almost like there’d never been a storm.

“Guess we can head out anytime,” he said. “You want to stop for breakfast on the way?”

“You buying?”

“I think I gave all my cash to Myrtle for the room. Spot me?” He held his hand out to her and she gave it a soft slap.

“I call dibs in the bathroom.”

“Go ahead.”

While Scully got ready for the day, Mulder cleaned up the cabin a little. He folded the extra blanket and put it back in the wardrobe. He put the two thermoses and candles back in the box to take to Myrtle and he folded his dry pants and socks into his duffel. He was just about ready to get dressed for the day himself when Scully finished in the bathroom and they switched places. She had on a pair of dark pants and a blue sweater, what he came to realize over the years was her version of casual weekend attire.

In the bathroom, Mulder ran a hand over his face and decided he could get away with not shaving for the morning. He washed his face, brushed his teeth, and ran a wet comb through his hair to tame his bedhead a little. He changed into jeans, a t-shirt and a v-neck and was done. When he came out, the sweatshirt he’d loaned to Scully the night before was neatly folded and placed on top of his duffel bag on the bed.

“Hey,” he said, dropping his pjs onto the bed and taking up the sweatshirt. He brought it around to where Scully was packing up her suitcase and held it out to her. “Keep it. For emergencies.”

Hesitantly, she reached out and then took the sweatshirt from him. She held it between both hands and looked up at him and nodded once. He smiled and turned back to pack his bag. He caught her surreptitiously bringing the collar of the sweatshirt to her nose and breathing deep before she packed it away. Aha, he thought. It’s the aftershave. He almost went back to the bathroom to slap some on, but he thought that might be a little too obvious.

“I want to bring that box back to Myrtle before we go,” he said. “Thank her for last night.”

“I’ll go with you. I’d like to meet her.”

When they went outside, one of the first things Mulder noticed was that all the cars were gone and the other cabins seemed abandoned. He didn’t say anything as they carefully trudged across the slushy path from the cabins to the main house, but he found it unusual. Perhaps, he thought, they were all stranded travelers who’d just happened to get up and out earlier than he and Scully did.

Scully knocked on the door since Mulder had his arms full of the box. No one answered. She knocked again and then tried the handle, but it was locked.

“You think everything’s alright?” Scully asked.

“She seemed like she might be the type to get up and plow the roads herself if no one else did.”

“Okay.”

They trudged back to the cabin and left the box and the key on the table. At the last minute, Mulder grabbed the book of ghost stories he’d been reading to keep for another time. When they got in the car, Scully raised her brow at Mulder when he went to put it in the glove compartment and she took it out of his hands.

“You’re stealing a book?” she asked.

“Did you see how many books were on that shelf? No one will miss it.”

Scully snorted softly and thumbed through it while Mulder drove slowly through the slush and tree-lined road back to the highway. Fortunately, the plows and the sanders had been by overnight and the roads were clear. They hadn’t driven for more than ten miles before Scully suddenly started fiddling with the book like she was about to tear the pages out.

“What’re you doing?” Mulder asked.

“Mulder, did you...how far into this book did you get?”

“Wherever the page was folded. The Lightfoot mansion haunting, I think.”

“And you didn’t read past that?”

“No, why?”

“There’s a chapter in here...let me read it. ‘Though poltergeists and spirits with unfinished business seem to dominate in the realm of ghost stories, it should be noted that not all apparitions are in anguish or malevolent. In some cases, like that of Myrtle the Friendly Ghost, most people walk away never having realized something was amiss or that they’d met a ghost at all.’”

“Myrtle the Friendly Ghost?”

“The full title of the chapter is Myrtle the Friendly Ghost Will Change Your Life. ‘‘No one knows who the benevolent woman was in life, but those that meet her in death recall a gregarious, middle-aged lady with grey hair and a no-nonsense demeanor. Somewhere off US-15 outside of Brandy Station, Myrtle has been welcoming lost travelers to her cabin-in-the-woods since the early 1940’s.’”

“Are you making this up?”

“‘Though no one knows for sure who the friendly innkeeper was in life, if you find yourself on the deserted highway on a cold, dark night, you just might find out who she is in the afterlife.’”

Mulder slowed the car as they rolled into Brandy Station and stopped next to a red brick building before a railroad crossing. “Let me see this.”

Scully passed him the book and he found the place she’d left off and continued. “‘Out of gas? Took a wrong turn out of Culpeper? Need shelter from a storm? Suddenly, shelter appears out of nowhere and Myrtle is there to welcome you. Descriptions have varied over the years, but those who’ve encountered Miss Myrtle have agreed that they’d gotten themselves into a roadside pickle and if it weren’t for the older lady, they don’t know how they’d have fared.’”

“That’s rather vague,” Scully said.

“‘For half a century, tales have been told of the of this generous woman and her charming cabins in the woods. The most significant detail of note is that every stranded traveler that’s shared their story have emphatically referred to the experience as life-changing in some way.”

“Life-changing?”

“We have to go back.”

“Mulder…”

“Here,” he gave Scully the book back and put the car back into drive to make a u-turn. “Ten, fifteen minutes tops, Scully. We have a chance to interview a ghost.”

“Mulder, that’s ridiculous.”

“All we need to do is just get back to the cabin and look for evidence.”

“Evidence of what?”

“I don’t know. I’ll know it when I see it.”

Scully tipped her head back to look up at the ceiling and sighed.

“Whatever we find or don’t find,” he said, “I’ll buy you one of everything on the menu when we stop for breakfast.”

“Except I’ll be the one paying.”

Mulder peered anxiously out his window they longer they drove, but all he could see was trees. He knew they’d gone to far when he hit a sign directing him to an intersecting highway and he had to make another u-turn. They came down the highway again, slower this time, but he couldn’t locate the turnout they’d come from not more than half an hour before.

“It’s gone,” he said. “Scully, there’s not even a road here.”

“There has to be. We just missed it.”

“How can we find a turnout in a blizzard, but miss one on a clear, sunny day?”

“I don’t know, but we obviously made that turn last night.”

“Unless…”

“Don’t say it,” she protested, holding her hand up to him like a stop sign. “Don’t even think it.”

“Scully, we met Myrtle the Friendly Ghost!”

“First of all, you were the only one that even talked to her. Second of all, this is just some silly story in a book.”

“Well, that story had to come from somewhere.”

“Mulder, a ghost didn’t put us up in a cabin overnight. A ghost didn’t bring us soup and crackers and a hot toddy. A ghost didn’t give us candles.”

“That ghost also took my money.”

“And how has that changed your life?”

Mulder pulled the car over and put it in park. He got out, leaving his door open, and as he crossed the front of the car, Scully opened her door and stepped out too. The alarm signaling the keys were in the ignition pinged loudly behind her.

“What’re you?” she said, and he stifled the rest of her question with a kiss.

This one wasn’t like New Year’s. He pressed her against the rear passenger door, snaked one arm around her hips and buried his free hand in her hair and kissed her like it might be the last time he’d ever kiss her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and whimpered softly.

When they broke apart, Scully took hold of the lapels of his jacket and he moved both hands to her face. She blinked up at him, rubbing her lips together.

“It was the best night of my life,” he said. “And not because I met Myrtle the Friendly Ghost.”

She cleared her throat a little and swallowed. “Allegedly.”

He grinned at her and gave her another peck on the lips before he stepped back. She let go of his jacket and softly patted his chest.

“I met Myrtle the Friendly Ghost,” he said.

Scully rolled her eyes. “Maybe you should’ve gotten her autograph”

“Wait a minute.” He perked up a little and reached into his breast pocket for his wallet. He flipped it open and pulled the billfold open. “Look at that,” he said, pulling out two crisp $20 bills instead of the handwritten receipt he’d expected to find.

She stared at the money for a few moments and then she plucked it out of his hand, folded it, and put it in her pocket. He cocked his head at her and she slid back into the car. “You’re buying breakfast,” she said.

“Think of all the money we’d save if we could stay in a ghost hotel every time we’re out of town.”

“Run that one by Skinner,” she answered, pulling her door shut.

He chuckled and stowed his wallet before shoving his hands in his pockets and headed back to his door. He started humming the theme to Casper the Friendly Ghost, and then singing softly. “Myrtle the friendly ghost, the most life-changingest ghost there ever was.”

The End

#i wrote this #xf fanfic #humor #fluff #msr #onebed #snowed in #all the tropes are belong to us

260 notes · View notes

stevebuckyfics · 6 years ago

Text

Endgame Fix-it Fics

Hello! So, it’s about a week in and I’ve read some fantastic post-endgame fix its, and I thought I’d share them. I’m sure there are more, but these are the ones I loved. I might make another post later on, when I’ve read more :)

Please heed author notes and tags for specific warnings, I will just link the fics with their summary!

born in fire (again and again) by defcontwo

Natasha lands, in dust and sand and light, in the middle of a great landscape of nothingness. She sits up, and touches one hand to the back of her head, and it comes away wet and sticky with blood.

There’s copper in the back of her mouth, and she spits it out into the sand, watching with satisfaction as the blood splatters into the otherwise pristine surface.

“Huh,” Natasha says. “So this is death.”

when we came home by augustbird ( @augustbird )

Fighting is hard. Rebuilding is harder. Post-Endgame AU.

like heaven stood up in you by napricot

“You said you were gonna miss him,” says Bruce slowly. “He was supposed to be back in five seconds, but you hugged him and said ‘I’m gonna miss you.’”

Bucky’s face is serene again now, and gives nothing away. “I know Steve,” he repeats. “You think you can hand him a time machine and some rocks of unspeakable power and he’s just gonna go put ‘em right back where they belong?”

Steve does put the Infinity Stones right back where they belong. He just does a couple other things too. Or: three timelines and a Reverse Time Heist.

picture it soft by midnightroom

When Steve lurches awake, his heart is pounding in his chest. His shirt, soaked in sweat, clings damply to his skin. One fist is clutching the sheets of the bed, and the other is clenched so hard he can feel his fingernails making little half-moons in his palm.

Thanos—

The Stones. Dust drifting through the air, ash so thick you could choke on it. Five endless, aching years of white noise. His team. The lunacy of time travel, the mind-bending, fuse-blowing reality of hand-to-hand combat with himself. The bruise blooming across his cheek to serve as proof. A soft jazz song playing on a record, a crackling hearth, red lipstick. Death, death, death—

Beside him, Bucky shifts in his sleep, turns over so he's facing Steve. His eyes are closed and his mouth is parted, and Steve can see the dark shadow of his hair spread across the pillow like an ink-stain.

(or, Steve and Bucky in the aftermath of Endgame, picking memories apart.)

Ever Mine, Ever Ours by hitlikehammers

Steve goes back to return the Stones, for the sake of the universe.

The extra Pym Particles he palms when Bruce isn't looking, though? Those are for the heart he has now and the heart he took into the ice; those are for the loves he's known and held and lost and found, those—

Those are for the sake of his soul.

Avengers: Endgame Fix-It.

Lichtenberg Figures by rustywrites

Spoilers for Avengers: Endgame

The scars take some getting used to.

(An ending re-work where everybody lives)

When People See Us by Brokenpitchpipe

Rumlow knocks his shoulder good-naturedly. “Hail HYDRA.” “Thanks,” Steve says automatically, “you too.”

Hearing “Bucky’s still alive” in his own voice might have been a little unexpected, sure. But Steve’s definitely not prepared for the entirety of STRIKE to suddenly and inexplicably think he’s a secret Nazi. (He’s not prepared to learn there are secret Nazis either, for the record.)

the epitaph of an old record player by celestialfics ( @liquidsaints )

Peggy, intelligent and adaptable as ever, takes the entirety of his story and mulls over it in her head for a time, sitting across from Steve and studying his face. Her eyes are set, eyebrows furrowed, chin sitting in her hands.

After a long while, she speaks.

“Go home, Steve,” she says, voice sure; she’s determined as she’s always been.

found a place to rest my head (never let me go) by bulletsandbutterflies

ENDGAME SPOILERS.

He tries not to dwell on the unfairness of it. How they had only just been reunited before he was taken away from Steve again. Dwelling makes it harder to move on.

But it’s hard to forget him when he comes to Steve in his dreams. Sometimes, they’re sixteen again, drinking glass after glass of cheap beer to forget the harsh reality that they were struggling to meet ends meet. Other times, they’re in the war, huddled together in the trenches to keep themselves warm from the unforgiving chills of winter.

And there are nights where Steve feels hands on his skin, warm and metal, soft lips against his own.

In which, Endgame decided to ignore Stucky completely so I've come here to fix it.

Part 3 of been waiting a hundred years (and I'd wait a million more)

I Drew a Line for You by Brokenpitchpipe

"What are you doing here, Steve?" Peggy asks.

"I'm," Steve says. "Living."

Peggy smiles. But it's a smile he recognizes, a smile that means she's guessed at the truth and she's guessed right. "No," she says, "you're not."

kingdoms have fallen, angels are calling (none of that could ever make me leave) by bornes

It’s been a long day. It’s been a long five years.

stay by birdjay

The platform buzzes, and suddenly goes quiet. The cycle has finished. Bucky doesn’t bother to look. There’s no way Steve’s coming back when he has the chance to stay. He moves to walk away, to move on with his life, somehow.

“Buck -- ?”

Bucky whirls around, hair flying.

Who I really am (not who I’m supposed to be) by JayPendragon

[SPOILER WARNING for Endgame]

“Don’t tell me it’s not what you want, buddy. I remember you talking about her. You still got her picture in your pocket. You saved the world, you’re supposed to get the girl.”

Yeah, that’s how it goes, isn’t it? Steve thinks but doesn’t say. Once upon a time, before he saw the changes he only ever dreamed of in the thirties come to life in all the colors of the rainbow, before learning that Bucky survived… Back then, he would have agreed.

The Rest of Our Lives by cleo4u2

SPOILERS STOP READING CHRIST

Fix if fic, picking up when Steve hops into the time machine at the end of the movie and telling what Steve really did for the rest of his life. Hint, it's not a she.

There's Only Now, There's Only Here by stevergrsno ( @stevergrsno )

“Steve,” Peggy says when she reaches him with quick, steady steps, her- husband and friend? friends? partners? following behind at a more sedate pace.

“Uh,” Steve says, and “Hi?” and “Would you mind telling me what the date is?”

1951. Steve aimed for home and ended up in fucking 1951.

Jesus christ.

---

In which Steve not showing up on the time pad wasn't exactly on purpose and we ignore 95% of that ending.

kiss me twice by espinosas

ENDGAME SPOILERS!!!

Hey. Still Endgame spoilers.

AU where Steve comes back for Bucky.

You'll see him soon. by JDHD

"Go," Bucky said to Sam, because the thought of having to face the man in front of him - the man he no longer knew - was so much more than Bucky could handle. He was like tinfoil, and he was being crushed gently in a fist, and he just wanted to come out without any rips.

He met Sam's eye, and the other man shook his head for a moment. "No. He looked for you for years, Barnes. Maybe he can explain."

----

BIG OL' ENDGAME SPOILERS.

End of Endgame fix it because we deserve better.

Kiss me once, then kiss me twice by obsessivereader ( @yetanotherobsessivereader )

Staring at the empty platform where Steve had stood just a moment ago, Bucky experiences one of the longest five seconds of his life. Steve’s not coming back, he thinks, over and over, Steve’s not coming back.

“…two, one.”

A weird distortion shimmers in the air as Steve materializes on the platform. Bucky lets out his breath in a quiet rush. He was so sure. He said his goodbyes and convinced himself that he’d get by just fine, that he was happy that Steve could finally have the life he’d always wanted with Peggy. He knew enough about the machine to know that Steve had a chance to go back to the 40s and pick up the life that was lost to him when he crashed the Valkyrie. And yet, here’s Steve back again, looking tired, dusty, disheveled. Bucky can’t tell what Steve’s thinking as their eyes meet. He’s never seen Steve’s eyes look so blue.

Part 2 of Fix-its that my heart needed

i say your name by rohkeutta ( @rohkeutta )

Bucky’s sitting on the back porch steps, curled up against the chill, when the door opens and closes behind him. Sam, perhaps, awoken by Bucky’s nightmares that lurk in the corners of the rooms: shadows that no longer stand up, ghosts who have laid their rifles down.

Bucky doesn't turn. If it's Sam, he can stay. If it's someone else, they can keep the ghosts.

whatever a sun will always sing is you by onibi ( @canobic )

Steve comes back.

It's Been a Long, Long Time (Coming) by bangyababy ( @bangyababy )

He says it'll take five seconds.

Bucky hopes that he's made the right decision.

He counts.

Five.

lighting up in the shadows by buckyjerkbarnes ( @fypoedameron )

"Don't you know by now there's nothing in the world that could make me walk away from you?"

[Or: a fix-it for Endgame because it would seem I have to do everything around here.]

Another Life by Palebluedot ( @brightbluedot )

"Hey, you," he says as he sits.

~~~

Or, it's been a long, long time, indeed.

(ENDGAME SPOILERS)

#spoilers #endgame spoilers #post endgame #endgame fix it #stucky #stevebucky #stucky fic rec #steve rogers #bucky barnes #post endgame pack #*pack

2K notes · View notes

pearlposts · 4 years ago

Text

The Best of Soft Rock: More Than A Feeling

SONG TITLE ARTIST TIME

Lowdown Boz Scaggs 5:18

Whenever I Call You “Friend” Kenny Loggins 3:18

Piano Man Billy Joel 5:40

Longer Dan Fogelberg 3:18

Miracles Jefferson Starship 3:33

Lost in Love Air Supply 3:55

More Than I Can Say Leo Sayer 3:39

Rosanna Toto 4:03

More Than a Feeling Boston 3:26

Take It on the Run REO Speedwagon 3:37

Make Me Lose Control Eric Carmen 4:48

Total Eclipse of the Heart Bonnie Tyler 5:35

Living Inside Myself Gino Vannelli 4:25

The Flame Cheap Trick 4:50

Sara Starship 4:23

SONG TITLE ARTIST TIME

Livin’ Thing Electric Light Orchestra 3:34

This Is It Kenny Loggins 3:59

Africa Toto 4:59

Eye In The Sky Alan Parsons Project 4:35

Look What You’ve Done to Me Boz Scaggs 5:18

You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling Daryl Hall & John Oates 4:36

All Out Of Love Air Supply 4:03

Can’t Fight This Feeling REO Speedwagon 4:55

The Search Is Over Survivor 4:14

All by Myself Eric Carmen 7:11

Without You Harry Nilsson 3:21

Year of the Cat Al Stewart 6:38

Dust in the Wind Kansas 3:27

Vincent Don McLean 4:01

Please Come to Boston David Loggins 4:09

SONG TITLE ARTIST TIME

Baby I’m-a Want You Bread 2:32

A Horse with No Name America 4:09

Diamond Girl Seals & Crofts 4:04

I Saw the Light Todd Rundgren 3:01

Blinded by the Light Manfred Mann's Earth Band 3:51

It Might Be You Stephen Bishop 4:14

She’s Gone/Sara Smile/Rich Girl Hall & Oates 3:29

Minute By Minute The Doobie Brothers 3:28

Sentimental Lady Bob Welch 3:46

How Much I Feel Ambrosia 4:44

Everybody’s Got To Learn Sometime The Korgis 4:12

If You Leave Me Now Chicago 3:57

Sailing Christopher Cross 4:17

Waiting For A Girl Like You Foreigner 4:52

Against All Odds Phil Collins 3:25

SONG TITLE ARTIST TIME

Ride Like the Wind Christopher Cross 4:32

Saturday in the Park Chicago 3:57

Sister Golden Hair America 3:20

You’re So Vain Carly Simon 4:18

If Bread 2:35

Ooh Baby Baby Linda Ronstadt 2:42

Him Rupert Holmes 3:40

You Are the Woman Firefall 2:45

All I Need Jack Wagner 3:32

Walking In Memphis Marc Cohn 4:19

Making Love Out Of Nothing At All Air Supply 5:01

I Want to Know What Love Is Foreigner 5:00

The Living Years Mike + the Mechanics 5:33

Drive The Cars 3:57

One More Night Phil Collins 4:48

I’ll Be There The Escape Club 4:57

SONG TITLE ARTIST TIME

Summer Breeze Seals & Crofts 3:26

Key Largo Bertie Higgins 3:19

Make It with You Bread 3:12

Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is? Chicago 3:22

Dream Weaver Gary Wright 4:18

Hello It’s Me Todd Rundgren 3:52

Sara Smile Daryl Hall and John Oates 3:12

Chuck E.’s In Love Rickie Lee Jones 3:28

Black Water The Doobie Brothers 4:16

Still the One Orleans 3:56

Hurt So Bad Linda Ronstadt 3:18

Cool Change Little River Band 4:08

Biggest Part Of Me Ambrosia 5:27

Never Be the Same Christopher Cross 4:41

You Can Do Magic America 3:57

SONG TITLE ARTIST TIME

The Guitar Man Bread 3:45

Tin Man America 3:27

Wildfire Michael Martin Murphey 4:50

25 or 6 to 4 Chicago 4:52

Lotta Love Nicolette Larson 2:43

What a Fool Believes The Doobie Brothers 2:27

Steal Away Robbie Dupree 3:31

You’re the Only Woman Ambrosia 4:22

Sexy Eyes Dr. Hook 3:00

Kiss You All Over Exile 3:30

Even the Nights Are Better Air Supply 3:59

Arthur’s Theme Christopher Cross 3:55

Dance with Me Orleans 3:21

Beautiful in My Eyes Joshua Kadison 4:10

Black Velvet Alannah Myles 4:48

SONG TITLE ARTIST TIME

California Dreamin’ The Mamas & The Papas 2:54

Kokomo The Beach Boys 3:36

Ventura Highway America 3:32

Listen to the Music The Doobie Brothers 3:27

I Can See Clearly Now Johnny Nash 2:43

It Never Rains in Southern California Albert Hammond 3:38

Thank You For Being A Friend Andrew Gold 4:45

Everything I Own Bread 3:07

When Will I Be Loved Linda Ronstadt 2:10

I Keep Forgettin’ Michael McDonald 3:41

Baby Come Back Player 2:16

Circle in the Sand Belinda Carlisle 4:27

Hold On Wilson Phillips 3:41

I’ll Be Over You Toto 3:50

Just the Way It Is, Baby The Rembrandts 4:09

SONG TITLE ARTIST TIME

We Don’t Talk Anymore Cliff Richard 4:13

Baker Street Gerry Rafferty 2:13

When Your in Love with a Beautiful Woman Dr. Hook 2:56

Fool (If You Think It’s Over) Chris Rea 3:33

You’re No Good Linda Ronstadt 3:46

Reminiscing Little River Band 3:17

The Air That I Breathe The Hollies 4:12

Sad Eyes Robert John 1:55

I Go Crazy Paul Davis 5:23

Hearts Marty Balin 4:19

These Dreams Heart 4:17

Jessie Joshua Kadison 4:22

Release Me Wilson Phillips 3:54

The Doctor The Doobie Brothers 3:45

SONG TITLE ARTIST TIME

Maggie May Rod Stewart 5:15

Higher and Higher Rita Coolidge 4:01

Whatcha Gonna Do? Pablo Cruise 4:15

I’m in You Peter Frampton 4:11

Drift Away Dobie Gray 3:56

More Love Kim Carnes 3:37

Babe Styx 4:01

Into The Night Benny Mardones 4:31

It’s a Heartache Bonnie Tyler 3:45

While You See a Chance Steve Winwood 4:06

Show Me the Way Peter Frampton 2:30

Fooled Around and Fell in Love Elvin Bishop 4:37

Lonesome Loser Little River Band 3:54

I’m Not in Love 10 CC 6:07

I Just Wanna Stop Gino Vannelli 3:37

SONG TITLE ARTIST TIME

Daniel Elton John 3:53

I Need You America 3:07

I Can Dream About You Dan Hartman 4:11

Escape Rupert Holmes 3:54

I’d Really Love to See You Tonight England Dan & John Ford Coley 2:38

On and On Stephen Bishop 3:01

Tempted Squeeze 4:01

The Things We Do For Love 10 CC 3:31

The Best of Times Styx 4:18

Cry Godley and Creme 3:55

Your Wildest Dreams The Moody Blues 4:51

Higher Love Steve Winwood 5:46

More Than Words Extreme 5:36

I’d Do Anything for Love Meat Loaf 5:17

Do You Feel Like We Do Peter Frampton 7:20

SONG TITLE ARTIST TIME

So In to You Atlanta Rhythm Section 4:23

Fly, Robin, Fly Silver Connection 3:50

Sentimental Lady Bob Welch 3:46

Show And Tell Al Wilson 3:29

Wild Flower The New Birth 3:59

Delta Dawn Helen Reddy 3:09

American Pie Don McLean 8:35

Rock Me Gently Andy Kim 3:29

Go All The Way The Raspberries 3:22

Mr. Big Stuff Jean Knight 2:49

Oh Babe, What Would You Say Hurricane Smith 3:26

Hooked On A Feeling Blue Swede 2:53

Having My Baby Paul Anka 2:33

Last Song Edward Bear 3:13

The Streak Ray Stevens 3:18

SONG TITLE ARTIST TIME

Rhinestone Cowboy Glen Campbell 3:16

Too Late To Turn Back Now Cornelius Brothers And Sister Rose 3:20

Boogie Fever The Sylvers 3:30

Reminiscing Little River Band 3:17

I Just Want To Celebrate Rare Earth 2:54

One Bad Apple The Osmonds 2:43

Have You Never Been Mellow Olivia Newton-John 3:33

Magic Pilot 3:05

Boogie Oogie Oogie A Taste of Honey 3:38

Right Back Where We Started From Maxine Nightingale 3:15

Sad Eyes Robert John 1:55

Gonna Fly Now Bill Conti 2:48

My Sharona The Knack 4:02

You Sexy Thing Hot Chocolate 4:05

Puppy Love Donny Osmond 3:06

SONG TITLE ARTIST TIME

Love Train The O'Jays 2:58

Knock Three Times Dawn 2:55

Brandy Looking Glass 3:04

Little Willy Sweet 3:12

Baby Don’t Get Hooked on Me Mac Davis 3:06

Take Me Home, Country Roads John Denver 3:13

It Never Rains in Southern California Albert Hammond 3:38

Brand New Key Melanie 2:26

Come and Get Your Love Redbone 3:32

More. More, More (Part 1) Andrea True Connection 3:02

I Can See Clearly Now Johnny Nash 2:43

Everybody Plays the Fool The Main Ingredient 3:22

Indian Reservation Paul Revere & The Raiders 2:52

The Cover of “Rolling Stone” Dr. Hook and the Medicine Show 2:55

When Will I See You Again The Three Degrees 3:00

SONG TITLE ARTIST TIME

Rich Girl Daryl Hall and John Oates 2:23

Lady Marmalade LaBelle 3:21

Best of My Love The Emotions 3:41

Fire The Pointer Sisters 3:28

Miracles Jefferson Starship 3:33

You Make Me Feel Like Dancing Leo Sayer 2:51

Here You Come Again Dolly Parton 2:58

Disco Lady Johnnie Taylor 4:25

Saturday Night Bay City Rollers 2:56

Rock On David Essex 3:26

Wildfire Michael Martin Murphey 4:50

You Take My Breath Away Rex Smith 3:15

I Go Crazy Paul Davis 5:23

Stumblin’ In Suzi Quatro and Chris Norman 3:31

Torn Between Two Lovers Mary MacGregor 3:44

SONG TITLE ARTIST TIME

Bad, Bad Leroy Brown Jim Croce 3:00

Don’t Pull Your Love Hamilton, Joe Frank & Reynolds 2:41

Love Will Keep Us Together Captain and Tennille with Neil Sedaka 3:24

Another Somebody Done Somebody Wrong Song B.J. Thomas 3:22

She’s A Lady Tom Jones 2:51

How Do You Do? Mouth & MacNeal 4:07

Black and White Three Dog Night 3:51

Escape Rupert Holmes 3:54

Drift Away Dobie Gray 3:56

It’s a Love Beat The DeFranco Family 3:09

I’m in You Peter Frampton 4:11

The Candy Man Sammy Davis, Jr. 3:10

Spiders & Snakes Jim Stafford 3:05

Billy, Don’t Be A Hero Bo Donaldson and the Heywoods 3:40

The Morning After Maureen McGovern 2:20

SONG TITLE ARTIST TIME

Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves Cher 2:36

Maggie May Rod Stewart 5:15

Baby Come Back Player 2:16

I Just Wanna Stop Gino Vannelli 3:37

Jackie Blue Ozark Mountain Daredevils 3:37

Higher And Higher Rita Coolidge 4:01

I’m Not in Love 10 CC 6:07

Y.M.C.A. Village People 3:45

Will It Go Round in Circles Billy Preston 3:46

I Just Want to Be Your Everything Andy Gibb 3:44

Do You Wanna Make Love Peter McCann 4:01

Signs Five Man Electrical Band 4:02

Disco Duck Rick Dees 3:14

Montego Bay Bobby Bloom 2:55

If I Can’t Have You Yvonne Elliman 3:00

SONG TITLE ARTIST TIME

Play That Funky Music Wild Cherry 3:16

One Toke Over the Line Brewer & Shipley 3:21

Afternoon Delight Starland Vocal Band 3:14

Life is a Rock Reunion 3:31

I Can Help Billy Swan 2:57

My Maria B.W. Stevenson 2:31

Magnet and Steel Walter Egan 3:25

Beach Baby First Class 2:42

The Rapper The Jaggerz 2:45

Brother Louie Stories 3:57

Precious and Few Climax 2:46

O-o-h Child The 5 Stairsteps 3:15

Playground in My Mind Clint Holmes 2:57

Put Your Hand In The Hand Ocean 2:53

Please Come to Boston David Loggins 4:09

SONG TITLE ARTIST TIME

Turn The Beat Around Vicki Sue Robinson 3:24

Ring My Bell Anita Ward 3:31

Sometimes When We Touch Dan Hill 2:22

Rose Garden Lynn Anderson 2:49

In The Summertime Mungo Jerry 3:37

Seasons in the Sun Terry Jacks 3:30

The Night Chicago Died Paper Lace 3:32

Rock The Boat Hues Corporation 3:09

Don’t Give Up on Us David Soul 3:39

Kung Fu Fighting Carl Douglas 3:17

Love Grows Edison Lighthouse 2:51

Sweet Mary Wadsworth Mansion 2:42

The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia Vicki Lawrence 3:36

TSOP MFSB featuring the Three Degrees 3:35

Feelings Morris Albert 3:45

#ignore me #manic mania activities #gonna make a playlist later

5 notes · View notes

morgandria · 4 years ago

Text

Moon Musings

I am on day #!^* of One Of -Those- Migraines (thanks, March), so while I’m sitting here trying not to be miserable, you’re getting some moon stuff. I have a pile of random thoughts that are trying to coalesce themselves into a coherent lunar-focused project in the future, so the moon has been on my mind. In many ways, I miss the moon. I live on a street corner in town where two separate lights shine directly on my yard, and since they installed new LED lights there's no such thing as darkness at night. Even my backyard, which would be in the shadow of the house normally, is lit since the LEDs spill farther and brighter now, and my neighbours keep their back porch light on all the time. We won't even talk about the fact that out of the last 16 months, I think we had full cloud cover for about 14 of them. That's the reality.

So this is more of the woo side. This is UPG, 100%. I often don’t use traditional names for the different Full Moons - some of them don’t resonate, so I do what works for me. Secondly, my personal lunar lore behind the names I do use is all mashed up with a whole lot of synesthesia, and some personal experiences. So...if any of this works for you or entertains you, cool. If not? No worries. Do your thing, and I’ll do mine. I also live in Ontario, and always have, so my experiences and practices are absolutely rooted here. Weather patterns and seasons won't work the same elsewhere, so you need to work with what you've got.

January: Wolf Moon

I do use a traditional name for this moon, but only because I used to go howling with the wolves in the back 40 when I was a teenager. I used to be able to take long white walks in the fields when they were all lit up, and were fortunate to have some lupine neighbours. I love the sharpness of the night sky, and finding moments of silence and stillness. More practically these days I bundle up at home away from the ice and the cold and enjoy a good cup of tea when I can. The vibration of this moon's energy always seems to bring me insomnia, though. The colours I associate with January’s moon are white, silver, red, and a deep amethyst. Other things, more randomly: birch trees, the sound of cracking ice, the hissing of river reeds in the wind.

February: Storm Moon

There’s a tempestuous feel to February’s moon for me. It’s usually the month we get intensely cold. January is often a icy, thaw/freeze mess, but February always feels like the time when Winter decides it’s time to really throw its’ weight around with some serious storms. The feel of this moon’s energy is sinuous for me, sliding around and into everything, but also fierce. There’s something profoundly cleansing about letting a sharp winter wind pierce through to your bones and strip away all the gunk cluttering up your energy. My colours for this moon are grey and deep blues, like Prussian blue or steel blue. Other things: labradorite, blue tiger’s eye, and the smell of wintergreen,

March: Crow Moon

This is the moon when my crows come back to my neighbourhood. They usually move out around the start of December, and I start to see and hear them again around the start of March. Nothing about March in Ontario is spring-like: it’s either a solid mass of ice coating everything, or faded grey-brown and thick with mud. Ugh. I actually used to camp on March break as a teenager, but inevitably it ended up with a dozen frozen teenagers in a friend's kitchen having an impromptu Sunday breakfast while I woke up and wondered where everyone'd gone. (Stir-crazy kids in the sticks with nothing to do for a week do silly things.) Nowadays, I’d rather look up at the skies than down at the earth during this moon, and I choose to focus on my corvid friends because they make me happy. Crow Moon is somehow all aquas and peacock blues in colour, and mare’s tails in impossible blue skies, and the world smells once again of fresh, clean Earth, when the ice lets it through.

April: Seed Moon

Maybe the moon where (people who are better gardeners than me) start to get their seeds in the ground. I live in a snow belt, so I don't trust myself to plant anything until May. It's still not super warm, or even remotely dry, but there starts to be hints of things like warmer sun and breezes around the edges. Later in the month you get those days where pollen and snow can fly at the same time. There's no leaves yet, but you can see the buds getting fatter. I think of it as a "restful" time during the year, before summer gets really busy with family and friends. If we're having a good Spring I might get a day or two where I can actually get outside and tidy the yard some. I associate Seed Moon with the colours of soft buttery yellow and pale peridot green, which starts to invade around the rust-brown-green background. It's a citrine month, and also one where those little blue flowers come up in people's lawns.

May: Hare Moon

We don't have hares here. I wish we did - I used to see snowshoe hares in the country when I was wee - but I have rabbits, at least. And yet, this is not "Rabbit Moon". A hare is a different beast from a rabbit entirely. They have a fierce wildness that our Eastern Cottontails do not. And for me, the moon of May, the month of Beltane and the nuptials of the Lord and Lady, have a fierce, wild joy as the world finally explodes with warmth and light and leaves and flowers. I don't ever really trust winter is gone until mid-May. Hare Moon is emerald and violet and velvet, the shadow of leaves and sweet intoxicating aromas. There's something tactile about it - you want to run your hands through it, let it brush past you and run its' fingers through your hair.

June: Mead Moon

I sometimes also call this the Honey Moon. It is the sweetest time of the summer for me, before it's mind-meltingly hot. You get those gorgeous days that are still draped in gentle grey veils of rain on the growing, swaying green fields, and the flowers are growing tall and tangled - honeysuckle, clover, alfalfa and St. John's Wort. There are bees -everywhere-, and the very first of the summer fruits are coming ripe and I spend eight months of the year absolutely dying for the four when we get local, seasonal fruit. It's an idyll, before I'm completely sunbaked and dried out in the heat. Mead Moon is all sky blue and honey gold, saffron and ultramarine. It's warm sand and cold lakes, the smell of hay drying in the fields, and long drives down country roads to escape the concrete of town.

July: Satyr Moon

This month's moon is probably the time when folks in these parts get up to the most outdoor activity. I associate it most with a kind of revelry and hedonism - hence the 'satyr'. We get people taking their vacations, heading to the cottage, the campsite, and having their reunions and parties. Concerts, fairs, festivals...we have a lot to cram into a short time. The lilies in my yard finally have bloomed their brilliant orange, by the start of the month, and July is one long stretch of pure jewel-like greens, under bleached blue skies. This is the other month, like April, where everything feels like it's just poised, waiting to explode with the brisk business of harvest. For me, this moon is natural life in its' prime, and despite my dislike of intense heat and humidity I try to remind myself to enjoy it where and how I can. Satyr Moon is an endless mosaic of greens, a heady musky smell of wood and water, cedar and leaf, shadows and firelight dancing, and distant music everywhere.

August: Barley Moon

This moon is the first harvest moon, here, when the wheat is finally harvested and all that dust in the air makes it ripe and golden and warm. Haying season will sometimes give the moon a bit of a gold tint earlier on, but not those deep amber rises I adore in August. I am an August Virgo, and I adore the Barley Moon - I mean, I quite literally worship wheat. All the first fruits of harvest are peaking, there's SO much goodness in the fields, and yet I can feel summer slowing down, and gradually waning to a bronze-green glowing that I absolutely adore. The nature of daylight changes, subtly, and I try to catch onto every sunset and fix it into my brain, to save it for those white winter days when we haven't seen even the notion of sun for weeks. When we slide from the scorch of the dog days into long, gloaming evenings and cooler nights and the hints of colour on the leaves at the end of the month - heaven. Barley Moon is wheaten and speckled browns, endless golds, blackberry and peach, the smell of dry grass and fresh corn. It's countless toasted tomato sandwiches, far too much zucchini, and penetrating spears of bronze light through the trees as the sun slides away to let the fat amber moon rise up.

September: Harvest Moon

There's no stopping harvest. This moon is when -everything- comes down, and you have no choice but to get your ass moving. You try to get as much of it off the vine while it's best. I get very hobbity when Harvest comes, and I want to be living a simple life. I start to miss home, and rural life, and my family, a lot. It feels different than my youth, and it's...wrong now, somehow. These days it's more like Second July - it rarely cools off below 20°C., it's often stupidly humid, and can be much, much warmer. Our changing climate makes it feel like a month of dragging what I dislike most about Summer out, and it just feels unnatural. Add into that everyone still running around trying to pretend like Summer isn't ending, and I do not like it much for that reason. September always ends up cluttered and rushed, just too much going on in our lives for various reasons. I wish I appreciated it more, but I don't. But there are moments: the deepening indigo of September twilights, the movement of the birds (both those ready to move on and those snatching up all the food they can before the cold comes), the exuberance of goldenrod and Queen Anne's lace and asters. Harvest Moon is indigo and wine-red, the sweetness of a frost-touched grape, the musk of a yeast-laden apple's skin, and the first cries of the migrating geese.

October: Hunter's Moon

Hunter's Moon has two sides. From the start of October, until Thanksgiving, is gorgeous, brilliant leaves and bright crisp skies. It's deep blue waters reflecting streaks of smoke and high cloud. Any time after that, it can snow. It certainly will get wet and windy, at the very least. And then everything is grey, torrents of wine-dark leaves all with that sugar-sweet rot as they lie where they fall intertwined with the smell of the cold and everyone's woodstoves firing up. I cannot tell you how much this season refills my spirit. It's always been a hunter's moon for me. Various hunting seasons start (turkey, duck, deer, then into moose later in the fall), and I have many fond memories of delicious game meat meals with family well into the spring. It was a vital part of life, and always done with respect and thanks. Hunter's Moon is grey on grey, the edges of smokey obsidian and crimson-carnelian-red. It is antler and bone and slow-burning hardwood, the hissing of the corn stalks drying in the darkening fields.

November: Snow Moon

You'll see Snow Moons all over the winter calender, depending on where you live. For me, winter starts at Samhain, and it is inevitable that we have snow here very close to that date (whether before or after). It was true living on the Rideau, and it's still true over here in the Central Ontario snowbelts off Georgian Bay. November's is another two-sided moon: there's the gold, and the grey, The gold is of a clear day's sun through the last of the golden maple leaves clinging to the branches is clarion, of wetland reeds and cow corn still standing in the now-frosty fields. The grey comes softer than October, creeping softly across lawns and windows and the brown leaves curling on the ground, and as drifting veils of snow blowing in to cover the land in its' first lingering solid coats of white. I love the world's withdrawal into silence - I too, withdraw into myself and listen to inner voices. Snow Moon is white and silver (but also pearl grey and ash and brown) and the nights are long, powdery indigo, mounted by silent owl wings, iolite eyes set in silver frames.

December: Oak Moon

This last moon is curious for me, in that I do not know precisely why I continue to use this name. I like it - it has many associations for me in my Craft - but I guess I haven't thought much about it. Many oak trees do keep some or all of their rich tannin-brown leathery leaves through winter, though, and I do enjoy their song (along with the remnants of the leaves on our ash trees) in the wind... but that's not it. Neither is the whole Oak King/Holly King construct, which I don't really engage with. I have a strong connection with a particular energy, that of an aged, Green Man sage-type spirit that comes with this moon, so perhaps that's part of it as well. I suspect it will always be a bit of a Mystery, which I'm ok with. December's night skies seem curiously leeched of their blue hues, as the nights grow longer, a velvety black glittering blanket. Oak Moon comes dressed in the deep, rich colours of the Earth element - glossy evergreens, rich brown, deepest black, and is redolent of pine and cedar, and the flash of cardinals and blue jays at the bird feeder.

I don't know if any of that is useful, entertaining, or even intelligible. I hope at the very least, it prompts you to think about how you interact with the moons of the year, and the seasons, and how you perceive the world around you.

#lunar calendar #full moons #UPG #witchcraft #musings #personal #seasons #Ontario #i miss living in the country

1 note · View note

anne-lister-adventures · 4 years ago

Text

Friday, 10 April 1840

5 1/2

11 35/’’

Had got up at 4 1/4 and lighted the other candle but nobody stirring so lay down again not having slept much during the night – Breakfast at 6 – Reaumur 6º on the window seat by my bedhead at 6 – No Courier ready to be off with the empty carriages – Instead of 3 Traineaux 2 for the baggage, only one for all – Had all packed in the carriages as usual and let the Traineau go 1st for A-[Ann] and myself to get into as soon as the snow became troublesome to the Kibitka wheels –

Government House the man not content with 1/2 S.[Silver] R.[Rouble] said we had had fire twice – only once allowed by Government – Gave him 3/50 then came the soldier who had made the fire and gave him -/35 – At the door 2 begging Cossacks – Had been sent for to go with us and now not wanted gave them -/70 between them glad to be off from this little place – Its greatest interest is the being en route to the Sources of the Terek –

At 15 v.[versts] up the valley to the right as we entered last night – A little Ossatine (Ōssătēēn as pronounced) village on a little plateau not far from the source – Can ride 13 v.[versts] but must walk the other two – Must have an escort Russian and also of the natives of the village – The Terek passes just below Kobi, and our little river this morning (right) as we pursue the Defile to Kaishoor is the Bidara -

Kobi.

Off from Kobi at 6 55/’’ with a non-commissioned officer and 17 men to help us over the mountains (one of the letters, I suppose that from Mr. Bachmetieff to the officer, had desired this) a very useful precaution as it turned out and 3 mounted Cossacks to take care of us – Our 2 Kibitkas and Traineau in which A-[Ann] and I seated ourselves before we had gone 1/2 verst and all our men formed a very picturesque group over the snowy mountains –

In 3/4 hour we lost sight of Kobi, and stopt a moment for our officer to fill his bottle from a little spring almost in the little river Bidara at some depth in the ravine below us (right) – The water tasted chalybeate and acidulous – They said it was almost as good as Donskoi wine for intoxicating people – 3 glasses of it would be enough for that –

In an hour, at 7 55/’’ we were at the difficulties, steep narrow pitches up hill that almost set fast the 5 horses to each Kibitka – At 8 5/’’ at the narrow road along precipitous mountain side – All deep snow here – Narrow defile – Immense pointed mountains – A peep at the Kasbek? for the first 10 minutes or 1/4 hour – Seemed as if at the top of the Col at 8 1/2, a little high undulating rising, circular plateau with a square dry wall stone Ossetine building 2 Sâcles 4 1/2 v.[verst] from Kobi said our officer who was with us in front or on the side or back of our Traineau – At 8 35/’’ our Kibitka almost down – In a hole as we mount again – At 8 3/4 the summit? –

At 8 50/’’ pass with some difficulty 3 women in a Traineau and a Cossack, and 2 men (with them?) on horseback – At 9 pass the Cross (left) on a hill, at some distance where the old road used to go – Cross 7 1/2 v.[versts] from Kobi the 2 Sâcles 4 1/2 v.[versts] from K-[Kobi] – Soon after 9 pass 15 to 20 loaded horses most of them lying down to let us pass – Difficult to keep them on their legs off the narrow road the snow so deep on each side, and at 9 5/’’ very cold – Cold wind in our faces –

At 9 20/’’ steep narrow descent with tremendous precipice close right – Worst part of road, and meet Traineaux and laden horses and Tcherkess – The lading large oblong bales packed in leather – Silk from Persia – The Courier (our officer said he did it on purpose!) pushed 2 bales down the steep glassy snow – One rolled tremendously down into the stream in the bottom and the other somehow stopt short of the water and might perhaps with great difficulty be recovered not much worse – Domna frightened and soon after left George and came to us –

At 10 along the steep side of the great (round backed) mountain Goot (the double o as in boot) narrow road over deep ravine 300 or 400 ft.[feet] or more perpendicular beneath us, and the just risen little river Aragna like a silver thread winding along the bottom going, said our officer, to Tiflis we here saw the 2 little mountain descended streams down 2 deep ravines meet to form the Aragna and a little way below this junction an Ossatine village of Sâcles – Magnificent here at 8 v.[versts] from Kobi and at 10 5/’’ and a little sunshine –

At 10 1/4 we are just over the Ossetine village (how finely picturesque!) nearly at the head of the great ravine into which the 2 little ones pour each their streamlet to form the Aragda – Meet an officer in little Traineau with a Cossack with him? 11 1/4 have already stopped 5 or 6 minutes something the matter with our Kibitka which had been all but over 2 or 3 times – We have been descended rapidly since 10 1/4 – Sunny and fine now at 11 1/4 –

2 ft.[feet] or more deep of snow all along both sides our road now along the broad summit of the hill – If the men get off the road they sink above the knees in snow – Pick up dying bird on the snow – Bill like a finch – Feathered like the yellow-hammer – Leave it –

Stopped again – Put our sacs de nuit and writing cases in our Traineau, leave the officer in charge of Domna who had just left us and the baggage, and take George, and leave the Kibitkas to themselves at 11 35/’’ but we had began some while ago the steep, rough, wet water-running down the ruts; descent upon Kaishaoor; and, having no snow, and such rough road, the Kibitkas kept up with us –

At 12 (both sides road) a scattered Ossetine village, and several of these little villages on the hill side right – Long small square tapering Ancient Tower on hill (left) but nobody lives there now – Village near it and 2 or 3 more of these Ossetine villages on the sillonement midway the mount left – Now 12 20/’’ and the mountains in sharp-backed lines and like Spain – Square Tower and village left on conical hill at 12 1/2 and at 12 40/’’ at Kaishaoor a poor little place – A few huts Russian and Ossatine – But no appearance of any place where one could sleep –

A talking drinking cidevant Polish Captain now a soldier and Maître de Poste here – Begged – And on my refusing to give him anything would not let them atteler – I threatened to complain – Paid in Silver and in spite of the Courier’s pother – Making as usual persisted in being right, and the man was obliged to take the Silver and let us be off in 1 5/’’ – These Poles as postilions and postmasters are terrible – The Courier did not have the wheels greased this morning! had them done at Kaishaoor –

An old Tower here and several square dry stone wall Sâcles – Terrible road 4 versts on each side of Kaishoor – Steep, rough, wet descent to and from it – Towers and villages thickly strewed along the mountain sides – Particularly on our left – In a beautiful bay like valley (circular little valley) left ruined Tower and village of Sâcles very picturesque – But from here there is a change in the style of Sâcle – Instead of the dull wall square with a little lope hole for each chimney in the ground floor as at Kasbek, here the roofs flat and gravelled as there but a wide open (on wood posts) gallery at least on our side the house if not on 3 sides –

And the houses generally 2 stories high with 2 stories of open galleries – And from the time of getting to the bottom of the rough descent (the river Aragda deep in the ravine below us) the hills generally wooded on the right, and either under plough or wooded right – All the people busy ploughing – A pair of little oxen and one man to a plough – Wood almost up to the very summits of some of the high mountains along our Defile sharp lined and schistose wooded along the very top, and all down –

No firs – Chiefly beech – Merely saw 5 or 6 good firs apparently for ornament near a Sâcle – Wooded mountains – Towers villages or rather proprietaries Ossetine farmsteads one group of building as if one little colony of 3 or 4 families together –

Long very steep descent at an awful perpendicular height (300 or 400 ft.[feet]) above the Avagda and alight at 2 35/’’ and walk to the bottom this part of the descent (not like that immediately near the Town) being tolerably dry, and clean, and walkable – A[Ann] crying and would not alight – Beautiful valley – And little valley left meets us with its little stream at the bottom –

The valley – The little Russian what? village, fort, what? (3 good yellow houses like our Inn &c. at Koby and a good white house) and the few huts – The Ossetine villages on the mountain sides – The white rapidy river – The fine forms of the mountains – Beautiful scene – At the bottom and at a little street of two flat-roofed shops (about 1/2 m.[mile] from the Russian village) at 2 55/’’ –

Sand rock bank along our steep descent (left) down the mountain side, and mountain of fine gravel and sand and debris shew bare long the river – Wood white thorn (or a species of Mespilus) hazel, barberry, wild dog rose bushes tall and luxuriant, and much Rhododendron Ponticum all along the bottom – Beech the principal forest wood – Some oak –

Got into the carriage again at 3 – During this stage 5 wood bridges over the river or other streams its branches – And 3 or 4 wood drains in the road – And 4 beautiful glens (left) pouring their picturesque streamlets (but broadish boulder torrenty beds) into the Aragna – Hardly one glen right till near Pasanaoor and near there 2 little mountain misseaux tumbling in white lines down the hill side – The valley nowhere more than 1/4 mile broad? and now at 4 1/2 narrows beautifully to merely room for road and broad rapidy river – A beautiful narrow wooded Defile till it opens out a little into little circular basin at Pasanaoor at 4 50/’’ –

Pasanauri (aka “Pasanoor”) in the 1870s.

No horses – But those we had would rest, and take us forward – No! Comfortable house stay all night – A-[Ann] and I out at 5 1/4 – She sketches – I saunter up the beech wooded mountain – Fine look down upon the valley with beautiful glen and stream from the East – The meet of the 2 streams, the narrow valley, the picturesque village our white wall-enclosed fort? and Inn the huts and Sacles – Beautiful – Worthy to be compared with our Pyrenees about Gèdre –

Came in at 6 10/’’ – Tea about 6 1/2 – The Pass very fine today but the road disgracefully bad because it might easily rival the Simplon – The natural capabilities are much greater here than there – A good road is a great desideratum all the way from Ekaterinograd – But it is very fair from the village at the foot of the great descent at 3 p.m. – We passed under the Russian village the yellow houses – Fine day – Tis now 10 1/2 – I meant to have been in bed or on my mattress early –

6 55/’’ to 12 40/’’ Kobi to Kaishaoor (16 1/2)

1 3/4 to 4 50/’’ K-[Kaishaoor] to Pasanaoor (19)

[in the margin of the page:] Sources of the Terek

[in the margin of the page:] Mineral Spring

[in the margin of the page:] Bales of Silk

[in the margin of the page:] Aragna river

[in the margin of the page:] Change in the style of Sâcle from Ossetine to Lesgian?

[in the margin of the page:] for the O-[Ossetine] are on the North side and the L-[Lesgian] on the South side the mountains

Page References: SH:7/ML/E/24/0079 and SH:7/ML/E/24/0080

#anne lister code breaker #anne lister #ann walker #moscow to baku 1840

5 notes · View notes

harryandmolly · 5 years ago

Text

Change of Pace - 18 (Summer 2019)

cowritten by @achinglyshawn

summary: Shawn and Maya meet again 10 years after life got in the way of love

warnings: language

wc: 12k

-----------

“—acting on your best behavior, turn your back on Mother Nature—“

Shawn is 20 minutes early to pick Maya up.

“—wants to rule the world.”

He’s parked a block away, humming to Tears For Fears as his fingers tap anxiously across his jean-clad thighs.

He couldn’t sit still at home. He closed the shop early so he could comb through his closet that he’s suddenly worried is too poor-artist-chic (read: covered in paint) for the new Maya.

Not that he thinks she really cares about anything like that, but he’s seen her clothes. They’re way fancier now. He’s almost jealous.

He’s always had a thing for nice clothes and fashion. He’s just never had enough extra money to spend on those things. He always spent whatever profit he made on instruments to refurbish and materials for new models and other toys for his shop.

He thinks, maybe, he needs more hobbies. And he needs to start traveling.

He’s a bit intimidated as thinks of all the things Maya’s seen and done and the places she’s been. He’s lived a life shacked up in his workshop. He’s sheltered compared to her.

They both used to be sheltered before. Now he feels miles behind her.

Finally fed up with what he’d considered meager offerings from his own closet, Shawn decided to borrow a clean, plain black t-shirt from Geoff. Then he tugged on the new pair of deep blue skinnies Maya bought him the other week and tried not to feel weird about it.

Now he sits in his Jeep and listens to music, his light denim jacket hugging his biceps the way she says she likes, and he’s hoping it’s enough to impress her while still looking, like, chill enough for go-karting.

He’s probably overthinking it.

The alarm on his phone finally goes off.

7:04 pm. Perfect.

Shawn turns up Celebrity Skin by Hole and cranks the engine of his aging Jeep. He drives cautiously around the block, just to kill at least another few minutes, then finally parks in front of Maya’s cottage. He contemplated hooking into the alley to park in her garage like he had all summer, but tonight is different.

She’s offering a fresh start for them, if he wants it. He’s not going to fuck it up before it even gets going.

Maya fidgets, poking at an errant splotch of nail polish that made it out to her cuticle from when she painted them earlier. She’s been trying to distract herself all day from their date. Surfing, painting, drawing. She ate ravenously around 5:30, feeling like a grandma. But she wanted plenty of time to get ready.

How do you dress for a first date with the love of your life?

Go-karting is inherently casual, which is in a way harder to dress for. Casual summer feels skimpy to her and she doesn’t want to look like she’s expecting to get laid tonight. Because they’re Not Doing That. Slow and steady.

So she wants to show some skin but not so much that she’s irresistible just… distracting. After a long debate, she chooses a pair of cigarette-thin white capris and a turquoise tank that makes her tan glow. Even with that and the light makeup and hair, Maya is ready outrageously early. She curses herself for it because now she has more time to sit and stew.

What if go-karting is a bad idea? I mean, they’re trying to be grown ups. Maybe this is the wrong move? No, no it’s fine, it’s supposed to be low key and fun. What if they stumble over talking to each other all night? What if they don’t know how to be grown ups?

Maya rolls her eyes at herself and flops back on the bed just in time to hear his Jeep crackle over her gravel driveway. She flings herself upright, fixes her hair and scurries down the stairs, quieting her steps so he doesn’t hear how eager she sounds.

He climbs the stairs to her porch two at a time, trying to get the nervous energy out any way he can before he sees her. He hums. Rocks on his toes, then his heels. Checks his phone. 7:10. A little too on the nose. He takes a breath. 7:11. Good enough.

He knocks.

She opens the door with a glowing smile, deciding it’s not too much to look happy to see him.

“Hey,” she says breathlessly, “You look… so great.”

She ducks her head a little, blushing like a teenager.

He’s a little busy staring at her to reply immediately; he looks at her as if he doesn’t already know how beautiful she is. It feels like he doesn’t. Everything feels new, tonight, somehow. New, but also better.

Shawn finally snaps to.

“You look way out of my league,” he says with a laugh, puffing his chest slightly as he tries to pretend his cheeks aren’t turning red.

Maya chooses to ignore his comment and decides to focus on the seeping blush in his cheeks because it looks so very good on him.

“Oh,” his brows raise, and then he shoves his hand into his pocket, fishing out the wine red and navy woven friendship bracelet he hid there earlier. He always meant to give it to her. He hadn’t finished it before she left.

It feels a little silly now. A near 40-year-old man dangling something he made as a kid from his fingers like she’ll think it’s as special as he does.

He wants her to have it, anyway. Even if she thinks it’s silly and throws it away.

“I, uh, I found this. A few weeks ago, like, buried in an old college bag I was digging through. I didn’t-- I mean, it wasn’t finished so I finished it and I thought you might like it. But now I’m thinking that I probably should’ve gone with daisies.”

She watches curiously as he digs through his pocket and produces a present. She recognizes the thread, remembers that he used to spend hours on the beach while she surfed tying bracelets together. It was good for his fidgety fingers when he didn’t have his guitar.

Maya shrugs and feels a flush in her own cheeks that she knows she can’t fight. “Daisies die. This will last longer,” She holds her wrist out with a smile, “Would you tie it on for me, please?”

Shawn’s lips spread in a pleased smile. She wants to wear it. It seems like a stupid thing to be happy over but. He can’t help it.

It feels special. Little victories, right?

“Oh, yeah, totally. C’mere,” he murmurs, corner of his mouth quirked. He cups the back of her hand to bring her wrist closer, then loops the thin bracelet around her, tying the frayed ends together tightly enough so it won’t fall off, but with enough room for her skin to breathe.

Maya likes the bracelet very much. It’s like a portable version of her painting of them as kids at the Avila house -- a reminder of who they were and what they can become if they hold on.

Shawn smiles at her when he’s finished, stepping aside so she has room to close the door and lock up behind her. As she navigates her keys into her bag, Shawn tilts his head. “Still okay with go-karting?”

“Completely. And I thought maybe we’d get ice cream after.”

A little impulsively, because she thinks it’ll help take the edge off for both of them, she leans in and pecks his cheek quickly.

Shawn turns scarlet. Her lips on his cheek burn in the sweetest way. He grins at her, slow and coy, as she drops away from him. He catches her wrist as she goes, slipping his hand into hers, fingers intertwined.

“I like ice cream,” he murmurs, then tugs her along, guiding her down the stairs and to his Jeep. He helps her inside and definitely does not let his gaze linger on the curve of her ass as she climbs onto her seat.

Shawn closes the door once she’s settled then jogs around to the driver’s side.

She didn’t have to worry for very long whether the cheek kiss was a good idea. The heat rushes to his face fast and furious. He takes her hand in his own gesture of closeness and helps her into his car like a gentleman.

He smiles at Maya as he slips into the car. He revs the Jeep to life, Courtney Love once again rasping through the speakers. Hooking an arm around the neck of the passenger’s seat, Shawn backs down the driveway and into the street. Then they’re off, driving along the beach towards the go-kart track.

“So,” Shawn starts, trying to sound far more casual than he feels, “How was your day?”

Maya smiles at his music choice and makes a mental note to ask him about it later. It’s a good, easy step into their deep pool of getting to know each other again.

She looks back at him from the singing white sand of the beach. She stifles a goofy grin at his question because it feels so very first date-y and she likes it. She likes the effort they’re both putting in tonight.

“Uhm… it was good. I got out to the beach early, the surf forecast looked great. I got my longboard out there for a couple hours. I stayed and swam around with a snorkel for awhile too, I found some cool fish that were kind of silver, I tried to google them to figure out what they were…”

Maya rambles. He likes it. He could listen to her ramble all day, about anything. He loves her voice, has always found it soothing. He smiles as he listens.

She hears herself stalling. She cuts to the chase.

“And I spent all afternoon in my studio working on a new piece. It’s almost finished.”

“Oh yeah?” She hasn’t really mentioned her art to him all summer. He doesn’t feel like he knows Maya the artist at all anymore, save for the thimble on his back. He hopes she hasn’t changed her mind about letting him get it inked into his skin.

“Do-- I mean, can you tell me about it? You don’t have to, but, you know. I like knowing about your art.”

Shawn glances at her, his lips pressed together as he watches her watch the beach. He gets his eyes back to the road before she can catch him.

Maya feels the difference. This is the kind of question she would’ve dodged all summer. As close as he got, as close as she wanted him, she could never let him in this far. But after their showdown last week, it feels different now. It feels better.

“I started it last week after… uhm, after we fought. I had this image in my head that I couldn’t really get away from so I thought getting it out in paint would help. It’s… it’s a memory, I guess, of you and me and our last night in Avila. We’re on the daybed watching the sunset on the deck. To me, it’s a reminder. That we’re not kids anymore. That we can be more than that now if… we want.”

She looks over from her window to smile at him. “But I’m painting it to look like a photo so all the detail, y’know, it takes a while to get it perfect. I’ve been smelling like turpentine for days.”

“Oh,” he chokes, like an idiot. Shawn wasn’t expecting all of that. He’s not sure what he imagined her painting this summer, but he never let himself think it had anything to do with him.

He feels the flush creep up the back of his neck again.

“That sounds really cool, Maya. I think, you know, I’d like to see it some time. When it’s finished or whenever.” He pulls up to a stoplight, leans his head back against his seat and looks over at her. He smiles. “But only if you’re okay with that.”

He knows, almost better than anyone, that art can be personal. It’s why he doesn’t play his music anymore. It digs too deep and he doesn’t know how to share that with people, except for the occasional lyric or two with his therapist, or a song here and there with Geoff.

It’s hard, baring your soul for people to critique. He doesn’t want to push a boundary by asking to see hers too soon.

Maya is surprised by how much she wants him to see it once he offers his interest. All summer she’s painted. She’s illustrated loud, catastrophic shapes without definition or meaning and none of it has felt like her at all. She never painted that way before. Now that she’s creating her own way again, she finds she really does want to share it with him. She doesn’t want to hide.

“I’d love to show it to you. I only need a couple more hours with it I think before it’s officially time to leave it the hell alone.”

Maybe after they’ve spent some more time together, this slow, pressure-free, easy time, maybe he’ll let her draw or paint him again. She hasn’t sketched him since she came back to Avila. She looks over at him while he pulls into the parking lot and looks critically at the planes and angles of his face, imagining him in charcoal or fine graphite pencil. He’d be beautiful.

Shawn can feel Maya looking at him. He tries not to blush. He feels her gaze on him the way he used to back in college, when she would think about which angles of his she most wanted to draw. Which were dramatic, or soft, or romantic, or somber.

She used to go on about it, but now, if she’s thinking it, she doesn’t share. Just watches him as he navigates the parking lot, then slides into a spot with enough room on either side for them to get out.

He kills the engine. Turns to look at her with a careful smirk tugging his lips.

“Hi,” he starts. “Finished staring at me?”

He calls her out with that smirk she loves. She beams at him. “I’ll let you know.”

She lets herself out of the Jeep and links her fingers with his again while they head toward the go-kart track. It’s outdoors, so they can hear the engines and smell the gas. It makes Maya chuckle.

“I haven’t done this in… god, I have no idea, actually. It’s definitely safe, right?”

She’s not too worried, it’s a family friendly joint and they have helmets and stuff. Maybe it’s her residual first date nerves that have her keyed up.

Shawn grins, turning on his heel to walk backwards as he squeezes her hand reassuringly.

“C’mon Lemon. It’s obviously super safe. And I’m pretty sure they got brand new carts like 6 months ago.”

He gives her a wink then turns back around, navigating his arm over her shoulders while keeping their fingers linked.

He calls her ‘Lemon’ again and it makes her light up from the inside out. She wants to spin around in circles and squeal like a teenager who just got asked to prom. Instead she shivers at his wink and lets him cuddle up to her. He smells great, just like he always does. She puts her arm around his waist and enjoys the way a middle aged mom looks at them while she waits for her husband and sons to wrap around the track.

There are a few people in line at the little kiosk outside, so as they wait, Shawn pulls out his wallet and holds onto it. He doesn’t want her getting any funny ideas.

He’s been planning to splurge on the all-access wristbands that let them do as many laps as they want and play as many arcade games as they want. So, endless air hockey, if that’s what Maya wants. `

His wallet dangles casually from his fingers, but in her line of sight. Just so she’ll get the hint. He squeezes her hand again.

Shawn is up front with the wallet and she appreciates it. She would’ve of course offered to at least split it but he sends the signal loud and clear and it’s sweet and boyishly romantic. She squeezes his fingers right back.

He springs for the good wristbands and she cracks a joke about him basically paying to have his ass kicked repeatedly at air hockey. They get to pick helmets and she picks a pink one.

“So this isn’t like bumper cars, right? I don’t get to smash into people if they’re in my way?”

Shawn barks out a laugh. What he would give to watch Maya chase people down on the track. He shakes his head as they head for the cars.

“I think you should try it and see what happens, eh?”

She giggles. “I don’t want to get us kicked out of this place before the date even really starts.”

But she knows as well as he that she gets carried away with her competitive drive sometimes. So who knows.

Shawn slips his lime green helmet on his head and clicks the strap beneath his chin. There’s another line to wait in, set up between metal bars that lead to a row of karts. Shawn flips around and leans against one bar, fingers curling around the metal as he smirks down at Maya.

“Air hockey might be your game, but I’m about to kick your ass at mine.” Shawn reaches from the bar for her wrist, pulling her closer to him in line.

“Can you ever forgive me?”

Maya follows suit and slips on her neon pink helmet. The strip digs in under her chin but he distracts her easily by tempting her with a challenge.

She closes her eyes and sighs as he pulls her in. She plants a hand next to where he leans against the rail and tilts toward him conspiratorially.

“You’re awful confident for a 35-year-old going go-karting.”

She smirks triumphantly.

Shawn shrugs, grinning and looking down at his old chucks. He glances up at her without lifting his head.

“Maybe there’s an Avila go-kart league. You don’t know.”

Maya snorts and pictures it, Shawn, and surely Geoff because where Shawn goes, Geoff goes, even to this day -- the two of them bouncing around a go-kart track, chasing each other around like children, having a blast, one-upping each other whenever possible.

He grins, then straightens up, sliding down the bar as the line moves along. They’re near the front, but the line stops again as all the karts are on the track. Shawn sighs and pushes himself off of the bar.

He slips behind Maya and drapes his arms over her shoulders. He presses his chin to the top of her pink helmet.

“Wake me up when it’s our turn, Lu.”

Maya keeps her silly grin in check as he drapes himself comfortably over her. She feels dainty. It’s kinda nice. As the line moves, she shuffles forward, pulling him along.

She places her hands over his wrists and rubs his forearms where she knows he gets sore from detailing instruments all day. She hums from the back of her throat curiously.

“Why are you so tired, hun?”

Shawn sighs, shuffling along behind her.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says, flipping one hand over so he can catch her fingers in his. He tugs at her gently. “Too nervous thinking about my date with this really incredible woman. I dunno if you know her.”

She could tell he was nervous, too. Hearing him admit it is kinda sweet, though. She imagines him rolling over in his bed, rumpling the sheets, heaving a sigh because he can’t decide if he wants to wear a blue shirt or a white shirt. It makes her smile so big her face hurts.

His fingers are thick and warm between hers. She massages them gently and lets herself bask in it a little.

“Bet she was nervous too,” she murmurs.

Eventually, Shawn has to untangle himself from around Maya as they’re ushered out of the bars and towards the line of now unoccupied go-karts. He keeps their fingers linked until the last moment, only dropping her to climb into his kart.

He buckles in, looking over as he watches Maya crawl into her own kart.

“What do I get when I win?” he calls to her, grinning wide.

The karts are bigger than she pictured but still small enough that watching Shawn crawl into one makes her laugh. As the engines rev, he gets cocky.

Maya drapes her fingers over her steering wheel and steps past the dozen or so dirty jokes she’d make right now if it were a week or two ago. She smiles falsely.

“There are prizes in the gum ball machine out front, cowboy. Or were you thinking of something else?”

Shawn can’t stop grinning. Maya never misses an opportunity to tease him. He likes it. He likes that she keeps him on his toes.

“I was thinking you could buy my ice cream. And let me get extra toppings.”

He winks at her, can’t help it, can’t feel anything but excited, nervous jitters right now that have his cheeks hurting from all the smiling.

Maya tips her head back and laughs, feeling the adrenaline start to surge.

“Any topping you want,” she promises. When she gets like this, she’s hard to beat at anything. She’ll have fun watching him try.

Over the speaker, a man announces 30 seconds until the green light. Shawn shifts in his seat, settling a bit lower and curling his fingers around the steering wheel. He revs the engine, still blocked in behind the gates that have yet to drop.

He wonders, for a moment, if letting Maya win is the polite thing to do. But Shawn knows she’ll give him so much shit if he does that. She only likes winning if it’s a fair game. He looks over to her, seated in her kart with her hands draped casually over the wheel.

He smiles. The countdown continues.

Shawn settles in and she thinks it’s completely ridiculous how sexy he looks revving up a go-kart. It sets off a flurry of excitement that she knows is only egged on by her need to win.

She tightens her fingers around the wheel when the countdown hits the five second mark. When it hits 0, “GO!” flashes big and bright on the screen over the track. Maya’s reflexes are better, probably honed by surfing, and she gets off the blocks first.

The kart is bulky and difficult to manage, probably to keep people from going too fast or getting too dangerous. She gets distracted trying to turn around the first corner. Shawn gets the inside edge.

Maya swears under her breath and careens around the turn behind him, swerving around a middle schooler who’s not strong enough to turn the wheel quickly. She stomps on the gas around the second turn and comes up on the outside, but he holds her off.

The remaining thirty seconds of the race have Shawn holding steady in first place. He wins pretty handily. As they pull back into the start gate, Maya huffs.

“How do you turn this thing so easily? What are you, the hulk?!”

He knew he would win, if only because he and Geoff do this like, more often than they probably should as grown-ass adults. It’s a beach town thing, though. The go-karting league is totally real, too, and something he’s pretty good at.

They’ve got unlimited access to the track with their wrist bands, so they get to sit and wait for the next round while others climb out of their karts and new drivers pile in. Shawn grins, leaning back in his seat and draping his arm over the steering wheel as he shrugs.

“Not my fault you skimp on arm day, Lemon.”

They watch as the new drivers get settled into their karts, and the announcer makes another 30 second warning.

“C’mon baby,” he says, glancing over her as the countdown nears 5, “Don’t go so easy on me.”

He winks, and the lights on the screen above the track flash from red to yellow to green, then ‘GO!’ and with that, they’re off.

Maya makes it off the block before him again, but he’s got the first turn clinched. The steering wheel isn’t so much heavy as it is bulky and awkward, and he knows that’s what Maya struggles with as he zooms past her on the inside of the track.

Three laps later and he zooms past the finish line and pulls into the gate about 3 seconds before she does. He settles back into his kart with a smile.

“I think that was better than last time,” he laughs.

By the time they’re pulling back into the start gate, Maya’s ears are still ringing from him calling her “baby,” even just teasingly. It feels like a year since he’s called her that. She decides to quietly blame that for her bad second race.

She pouts and slaps the steering wheel when they pull back into the gate. “You are way too good at this. We need to get you out more if this is how you and Geoff are spending your Friday nights.”

She smirks because she’s kidding but also because she wants to be the one he spends his Friday nights with. Hopefully not go-karting because she totally sucks at it.

Shawn laughs, clicking open the hook of his helmet strap.

“No, no. Fridays are usually karaoke at the Sandtrap. Saturday is for go-karting. Plus, you just don’t like losing.”

He grins, wide and crooked at her, then plucks his helmet from his head and unfurls himself from the kart. He meanders to her kart, tucking the helmet beneath his arm and holding out a hand for her.

Maya sighs and lets her hands fall to her thighs. “Air hockey or ice cream next?”

“I guess I could let you kick my ass in air hockey. Make you feel better about sucking at go-karts.”

Maya tilts her head back and sighs pathetically, putting on a playful show. She lifts her hand weakly into his and lets him help her out of the kart. With one hand in his, she maneuvers out of the helmet and starts pulling him toward the arcade with a spark in her eyes.

“Let me or don’t let me, I’ll kick your cute little ass anyway, Mendes,” she teases.

Shawn laughs, shaking his head and squeezing her hand gently.

He waits until they’ve given back their helmets to taunt, “You think my ass is cute,” in a lilting, sing-song tone.

Maya giggles. “Your ass is adorable and you know it.”

She stops short of smacking it. But she thinks about it.

They head into the arcade and find that one of the two air hockey tables is free. Maya goes for the red paddle before he can argue. She squares up at one end of the table, patting her paddle on the table, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Any last words, babe?”

Shawn’s left with the blue paddle, but he knew he would be. They both love red, but Maya, the reigning champ, gets whatever she wants. He swipes his paddle and glides it in a large circle over the table.

“Just get the puck and show me what I’ve been missing, Lemon,” he urges with a smirk.

Maya hunches over the table and puts the puck in place, looking back at him with a mischievous grin when she flips the switch that turns on the air. The table whirs to life and the puck starts skimming around, sliding every which way the air blows it. Maya strikes first, shooting the puck across to him. He bounces it back, but Maya has it on the backstroke and slams it into his goal quickly.

“Your grip’s too tight,” she advises with a wizened nod, “Don’t choke down on the paddle.”

She’s good. Faster than he is getting to the puck. He thinks he’s too tall for this game, because he can’t hunch over the way she does to get nice and close to the table.

“Hey,” he grouses, reaching down for the puck in the slot. He twirls it between his fingers. “I didn’t trash your go-kart technique.”

He drops the puck on the table and clamps it down with his paddle. He glances up at her, then back down to his paddle.

Deep breath in, and then. He raises his paddle, releases the puck, and sends it flying towards Maya.

(He takes her tip about his paddle grip. It’s a pretty good one.)

His next shot sails into Maya’s goal before she can fling it back toward him. She smirks.

“Maybe the student’s becoming the master.”

She fishes the puck back out and repositions it. She and Shawn volley back and forth until he loses some focus and she swings another shot past him. She cracks her neck back and forth theatrically.

“Mmk, I’m all loosened up now. You’re not getting another shot past me.”

“Your confidence is truly inspiring, Lemon,” he answers with a smirk as he pulls the puck out from his slot.

He takes another shot.

Maya wins. He knew she would. He keeps up, mostly, scoring on her after she scores on him, but she always manages to stay a few points ahead. When she scores the winning goal, Shawn huffs and slides his blue paddle away, into the middle of the table where it floats around on it’s own, the air carrying one way then the other.

“Why do I even try?” he laments, pressing his palms into the edge of the table as he hangs his head.

Shawn looks back up at her after a moment, smirking a little. He tilts his head. “Will you give me a chance to win my dignity back? I can play a round of skee ball and get you that stuffed lion.”

She loves that she can still beat him in air hockey. The universe feels right and balanced. It’s cute the way he loses, though. He gets grumpy but not mean.

Maya strolls over to his side of the table and fishes one of his hands away from it, slipping her fingers between his to comfort him.

“By all means, please. I don’t think I have a lion from the safari you won me 15 years ago. My collection is sorely lacking,” she teases.

“Well,” Shawn hums, smiling down at her as he slides his thumb across her knuckles, “No animal kingdom is complete without its Lion King.”

She tugs him away from the table toward the row of skee ball setups, considering what she could beat him at next. Probably pinball. She’s always been so good at pinball.

He follows her to skee ball, holds his wristband over the scanner on one of the games that then shoots out a shiny white ball. He picks up the ball, spins it in his fingers and drops Maya’s hand.

“All right, honey,” he purrs, rolling the ball between his palms, “Get ready to be amazed. I’m even better at this than I am at go-karting.”

It’s probably not the sexiest thing to admit, but he’s always been good at skee ball. Long arms and all. Plus he’s got pretty good aim. God, he feels like he’s in high school, trying to impress the girl he likes by winning her prizes. It’s mostly a joke, but Shawn’s sure there will always be a part of him that wants desperately to impress Maya.

No matter how slow this relationship goes, that won’t change.

Shawn tosses the ball in the air once, catches it, then glides it along the smooth slope of the skee ball machine, where it flies over the ledge and pops up towards the corner. He holds his breath, and then the flashing lights go off as the ball drops into the hole that reads ‘100!’

“See,” he says with a grin, reaching for the next white ball the machine spits out. “Lion’ll be your before you know it.”

Maya stands back to watch as he starts racking up points. She crosses her arms over her chest and bites down on a stupid smile. He’s right, he’s excellent at this. And he’s a lot of fun to watch. His eyes are all focused until they light up just like the game in front of him.

“At this rate, you’re gonna win the whole jungle,” she laughs, shaking her head as she watches the point count on the board go higher and higher.

She props herself up against the wall. “Can I ask you something?” She decides not to wait to ask her question. “What made you come back to Avila after LA?”

He tosses the last ball just as she makes his heart stop with her inquiry. He wasn’t expecting it, like, at all.

The ball pops into the 50 point hole, and then it’s game over. Tickets start streaming out of the little slot at the bottom of the machine.

Shawn swallows and turns to face Maya, slipping his hands into his pockets. He rocks back on his heels and shrugs.

“Do you think I could-- I dunno. Could we get ice cream first?”

It sounds like a cop out, but he doesn’t think this is something he wants to talk about while waiting for the skee ball machine to finish spitting out their tickets.

Maya seals her lips together. He goes a little tense at her question and almost misses his shot. She swallows, hoping this isn’t too much too soon. She just… she wants to get to know him again.

Maya nods sheepishly and helps him fish his enormous bundle of tickets off the floor. They stack them in Shawn’s fist and start heading toward the prize counter.

Maya plays with her fingers as they walk in silence. It’s grating.

“I… sorry. I mean, you don’t have to talk about this. I don’t want to pressure you. I understand it might be hard to talk about.”

Shawn frowns. She doesn’t need to apologize. And he doesn’t not want to talk to her about it. When it was happening, she was the only person he wanted to talk to at all. He’s not sure why he hadn’t thought to tell her about it sooner, other than that he was subconsciously trying to pretend like their time apart never happened.

He can’t pretend anymore. He wants Maya to know everything about him, just like she used to.

“Hey, no,” he says when they reach the counter. He presses the tickets into the glass as they wait for the clerk to finish helping a gaggle of teen girls. “I want to talk about it. Just. Not while juggling all of these tickets.”

He gives her a crooked smile and reaches for her hand, now that his are free.

Shawn does a very effective job of making her feel less awkward about the question. His voice is warm and soft and he takes her hand comfortingly.

She loves holding his hand. It’s such a simple pleasure, but she found herself missing it in their many years apart, when she let herself think about him. She wraps her other hand around his so it’s sandwiched between both of hers.

“I can be patient,” she murmurs meaningfully, smiling up at him.

The clerk takes their tickets and Shawn asks him for the egregiously large stuffed lion that sits atop the mountain of prizes. Maya laughs when he hands it over. She tucks it under her arm.

“I don’t know where I’m putting this guy. Maybe he can live in my art studio,” she muses.

Shawn laughs, reaching over to fluff up a matted section of the lion’s mane.

“I think he’ll make a great companion for you there. Like a muse.”

Maya pictures propping her new lion friend up in the corner as a reminder of him. She likes that idea.

As they head toward the ice cream bar, Shawn lifts their linked fingers, bringing Maya’s knuckles to his lips. He brushes a kiss across her skin, another gesture of reassurance.

“Okay, Lu,” he says once they fold into the line, “What’s your poison?”

He looks up at the menu, considering which treat will go best with talking about his terrible time in LA. Probably anything with chocolate.

His lips kiss over her knuckles but the goosebumps spread far and wide. She sidles up next to him, holding his hand and cupping her other hand around his arm as he scans the menu.

“I’m going Classic. Chocolate dipped swirl with strawberry syrup and chocolate jimmies.”

She hasn’t gotten ice cream from a truck like this in so long. She smiles, turning in to press her lips to his shoulder while he decides.

Shawn grins. He likes Maya’s order. She always knew how to indulge. He feels her nudge a kiss into his arm, so he leans over and brushed his lips against the top of her head.

Maya thinks it’s funny how they’ve been kissing all night, just not on the mouth. They’ve never been shy about PDA. She doesn’t think they’re shy now either, but she does think they’re both taking the slow part of their new relationship seriously. And they’ve unspokenly decided too much kissing on the mouth is a bad idea.

She doesn’t mind, actually. Especially because the idea of getting one single, perfect goodnight kiss out of Shawn has her light on her feet.

“That sounds delicious, sugar,” he hums, then looks back to the men. “But I think I’ve gotta go with with Neapolitan swirl. Chocolate dip and rainbow jimmies.”

He wiggles his wallet out of his pocket as they step to the front of the line to order, feigns like he doesn’t remember giving her shit about buying him ice cream for winning at go-karts.

He places both of their orders and pays, leaving a few too many ones in the tip jar. He’s always been a hefty tipper, though. He gets it. He lived off of tips for long enough.

She decides not to fight him on paying, not after that absurd date she dragged him on a couple weeks ago. It’s not that she’s hurting for cash or anything, she just thinks that feeling on equal footing for as long as possible is good for them right now. She does kiss his cheek, though, a fat, wet plant of her lips with a giggle behind it and a “thank you” murmured in his ear.

Shawn’s lip twitch with a hint of smirk when Maya places a messy kiss on the apple of his cheek. He doesn’t get a chance to reciprocate, though, before they’re handed lavish ice cream cones that take a bit of extra effort not to drop.

Shawn guides Maya to one of the small plastic tables set up in front of the truck. He drops her hand so he can pull her seat out for her, a plastic green chair that scrapes obnoxiously on the asphalt beneath it.

She sits in the seat he offers and crosses her legs, taking a first few swipes at her cone to alleviate some dribbling. When they’re settled in, she smiles over at him chasing some jimmies down his hand. She decides to wait for him to launch into the LA thing because she doesn’t want to feel like she’s badgering him.

The lion sits on the table between them as Shawn settles into his cone. A few sprinkles fall from the ice cream and onto his fingers as he takes a bite from the top. “Mmph,” he mumbles as he sucks the colorful jimmies from his skin.

Maya laughs with her ice cream cone next to her mouth as she watches Shawn strategically attack his. She does her best not to slurp at hers but it’s hot and melting quickly.

He looks up at Maya from over the slope of the stuffed lion’s back and realizes she’s waiting for him to talk about LA. He licks a drop of ice cream from his lip and considers where to begin. He hasn’t spoken about this with anyone in like, four years. He’s only ever really discussed it with Leah and his therapist. Geoff was there, so they don’t have to talk about it.

“So, LA, right? I think the problem with LA is that, unless you have a solid game plan and like, people you can really trust, the city will chew you up and spit you out. And I didn’t have those things. I figured, I dunno, I could skate by on talent and sheer passion alone.”

Shawn shrugs, looking away from Maya to lick at the top of his ice cream. He crunches on sprinkles and licks chocolate sauce from the corner of his mouth.

“I never found a band that I really gelled with. Not musically, anyway. Either we disagreed about, like, our musical vision or whatever, or our personalities clashed or they were more obsessed with fame and drugs and hookers than actually like, being musicians.”

She listens intently. He doesn’t sound too broken up about it, helped, she suspects, by many years between then and now. Still, she considers as she watches him affectionately, it was his dream and he let it go.

She ducks her head in disappointment at his assessment of his former bandmates. “That must’ve been so hard. To feel so disconnected from them on something you’ve always wanted.”

She hopes he’s not too disappointed about his trajectory. He seems truly happy with his shop. She hopes he doesn’t have regrets.

Maya sounds sad for him. He doesn’t want that. He doesn’t feel sad about it. Not anymore anyway.

He takes a bite of his ice cream, crunches the jimmies.

“It’s okay. I mean, yeah, it sucked, but it also helped. It was formative, or whatever. And it made me realize that I didn’t really want that life, anyway. If I had really wanted it, I would’ve kept fighting for it. And I probably wouldn’t have done so much coke just to get through the nights.”

He doesn’t know how else to bring it up. That he fucked over his body in a way they both always said they hated and would never do.

It was easier to do it when he was alone and tired and disappointed with his life. He doesn’t ever miss it these days, though.

Maya feels like her heart drops into her stomach to slosh around with some melted ice cream. The vision of him is cold, standing in dirty club bathrooms waiting to go on at 2am with bandmates he doesn’t like, snorting a line off his hand. She closes her eyes.

“God, sweetheart,” she rasps, clearing the tears out of her throat with a shake of her head. They sting as they threaten to fall. She nourishes her sore throat with another bite of cold ice cream before she speaks again.

“Maybe our experiences weren’t so different,” she admits, lowering her gaze as she remembers her late nights spent on the opposite coast buying Adderall from her bro-y coworkers so she could work until 3 or 4am on an all-too-consistent basis.

His heart breaks at the sound of her voice. He didn’t mean to upset her with any of this. But she asked and he doesn’t want to tell her half-truths anymore.

“Lu,” he murmurs. He guesses he should’ve known, should’ve put it together, that being a hardworking business woman in Manhattan meant long days followed by longer nights only survived with the help of a stimulant or two. He hates that she got caught up in it too.

But it’s life, he guesses, and it made them who they are now.

She lifts her eyes to his, unafraid of his judgement, knowing he won’t put it on her. She smiles weakly. “I guess we can’t harp on this kind of stuff. We did what we felt we had to to survive. And we got ourselves out.”

Shawn scoots his chair around the table towards Maya, plastic legs scratching noisily across the asphalt. He turns it to face her, his knees digging into the arm of her chair. Reaching for her free hand with his, he pulls it into his lap and curls their fingers together.

“Hey,” he says with a smile, bringing her fingertips to his cold lips, “I’m glad we’re here now. You know?”

Maya watches with a nearly bursting heart as Shawn pulls himself over to sit closer to her. His lips are soft and cool. She thinks about leaning over to taste them but feels like the moment doesn’t quite call for it. Instead she thumbs at the dimple in his chin and smiles a little wider.

“You have no idea how glad I am that we’re here now,” she replies almost breathlessly.

She thinks he probably does have some idea, especially given how rough his years apart from her are starting to sound. They’ve been through the wringer. They both deserve to relax and take it in a little. The fact that they get to do it together is something Maya never imagined could happen again. She could let herself get swept up in it but wants to keep things fun and maybe a little lighter on this date because first dates are supposed to be fun.

Maya swipes her tongue around her dripping cone and traces her finger against his jaw affectionately. “Would you let me draw you again soon?”

He’s got an overwhelming urge to kiss her, but he resists by licking at his dripping ice cream instead. He’s making himself wait. He wants to deserve it. He wants her to remember the moment crisply, with the same sort of clarity you remember something that truly affected you, a sharp contrast to everything else because of how it changed your life.

Maybe he has romantically high hopes for this kiss.

Some habits die hard.

Shawn’s eyes fall shut as she traces the angle of his jaw. He sucks in a soft breath.

“You can draw me anytime you want, Lemon,” he murmurs, gazing at her from under hooded as his fingers curl around her wrist.

“I always thought I was a pretty good model,” he bites into his cone, giving Maya a crooked smile as he chews.

Maya goes pink. He reacts so well when she touches him, always. She leaves her warm fingers around the side of his neck, stroking gently at his curls. She loves the tiny ones that sit around his ears.

“You’ve always been my favorite model,” she promises, nodding firmly, “I have sketchpads full of proof of that.”

She smiles and bites into her own cone, looking off to reminisce. “I actually have all my old sketchbooks. If you go back far enough in my catalog, you can find the week we met. I think I started drawing you only a couple days after. I wasn’t very good then. I could never get your eyes right.”

He feels himself blushing. He misses the weight of her gaze on him as she sketched. He misses the way she would nudge his face with her fingertips to make sure his features caught the light just right. He misses how her cheeks would turn pink each time she finished a drawing with which she was particularly pleased.

He misses the privilege of admiring her many sketches, of him or otherwise, most of all.

“I always liked the way you did my eyes,” he hums, crunching into more of his cone.

“You made this one less droopy,” he says with a grin, pushing at the corner of his lazy eye. He laughs, “I really was so self-conscious about that back then.”

Maya finally lets him go with a swipe of her fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck. She takes another bite of ice cream and giggles with him, catching his fingers from his face to squeeze them in hers.

“I always loved it,” she tells him honestly after swallowing, “When you got tired, you looked like a puppy.”

She thinks of the nights they stayed up pretending to study in between long, languid kisses. They kissed like they had their entire lives to do it. They kissed arrogantly back then, like kids.

Maya takes the final bite, finishing off her cone. She clears her throat and looks over at him. “Don’t look much like a puppy now, though. All grown up.”

She can feel the heat in her face when she says it despite the frozen treat. She’s… hitting on him. It’s kinda funny.

Shawn is busy licking the remains of his ice cream from his fingers when he’s distracted by the raspy tone of her voice. He releases his thumb from his mouth with a wet pop and quirks a brow at her.

“Are you saying I’m not cute anymore?”

He pouts, but he can’t hold it for long and cracks a smile after a moment.

She swallows roughly and shakes out a laugh, then bashfully looks away. He knows how cute he is. He also knows how absolutely heart-stoppingly gorgeous he is. He wears it well, warmly and modestly, but he knows it’s there. He wears the confidence better these days than he ever used to.

After a moment, Shawn pushes his chair backward to give himself room to cross his ankle over his knee and fold his arms behind his head. He leans back and looks at Maya.

Maya watches as he relaxes into his chair. She follows suit, crossing her long legs and leaning forward to look up at the stars.

“Can I tell you something? I, uh, I felt weird saying anything before, but I want you to know. I want you to know everything now, so.”

She blinks quickly, a little startled. She wets her lips and glances back at him. “You can tell me anything. Of course.”

She really believes that now.

Shawn bites at his lip, cheek bulging with a slight smile before he continues.

“So, you know that guitar I showed you? The first one I ever made?” His fingers scratch over his thigh, nails picking at his jeans. He takes a breath, wets his lips.

“I named it after you,” he finally says with a soft laugh, shaking his head a little. “Lulu. Guess I was still kinda lovesick.”

Maya was preparing herself for something worse, something harsher. He pleasantly surprises her. A bubble of a giggle rises in her throat. She’s delighted and totally honored. She goes a warm pink color and settles further into her chair, slumping down as she beams at him.

“Really? Wow. I’ll take a guitar named after me over a ship any day of the week.”

She laughs again, blushing furiously, raking a hand through her hair, “Especially if you made it.”

“Could name a whole series after you, sugar,” he murmurs, sitting forward and leaning his forearms on his knees. He tilts his head. “Would you let me do that?”

He’s been thinking about it for a while, now. Starting a proper series with a name, instead of just fucking around with whatever he wants, or only refurbishing. The money’s better with refurb. But that’s why he saves, and that’s why he keeps strong relationships with his elite clients. Elite is classiest way to say famous, he’s pretty sure.

Anyway, he thinks naming a series after Maya would be. Nice. Maybe a little cheesy, and sentimental. But he’s a little cheesy and a little sentimental. He can’t help it, not with her.

Maya is flooded with pride. She aims her gaze down at her feet and takes a deep breath.

“I’d love that. When you decide I’ve earned it.”

She doesn’t want them getting ahead of themselves again. It’s so easy for them to do. But she wants stable, she wants a foundation, not building blocks just tall enough for them to keep climbing with nothing to hold onto.

But someday? Yeah. She’d like that.

She’s right about earning it. Not that he doesn’t think she already deserves it, because she does. He’s the one who needs to earn it. And they need to earn it together, too.

He stands up, tucks the lion under his arm and reaches for Maya’s hand when she stands, too. His thumb brushes her knuckles while he leads her toward the parking lot.

“Do you wanna, I dunno, drive around and talk a little? I don’t think I’m too sick of you yet,” he asks with a wry grin, glancing down at her as he gives her fingers a gentle squeeze.

She’s relieved when he mentions an alternative to taking her straight home. She doesn’t want this night over yet. Because he’s not coming home with her.

“That sounds perfect,” she assures him, walking a tad closer to his side, “We should do Shore Drive and check out all those crazy massive mansions on the north end of the beach.”

Shawn grins. “You love Shore Drive. Why not get a fancy mansion yourself?”

He’s teasing, really. He loves her cottage. It’s comfy and cozy and so perfect for Maya. He knows why she picked it.

Maya grins and shrugs. “I do love Shore Drive but I just like to gawk at it, I wouldn’t actually live there. When I was dreaming of Avila I always pictured myself in one of the old historical cottages in my neighborhood.”

She also pictured herself with him if she’s being honest, but that kind of admission doesn’t go well with the “take it slow” plan they’ve devised.

Shawn leads her to the passenger’s side, opens the door and helps her inside with a gentle smile. She’s got her bare feet kicked up onto the dashboard by the time he’s tucked the lion away and slid into the driver’s seat.

Maya makes herself comfortable in her seat. He looks happy to see her there. She watches him carefully stow the lion in the backseat and start the engine. The radio turns on like it always does in his car to a station playing some mellow John Mayer. She smiles and turns it down just slightly so they can talk over it.

“So I’m taking the long way, right?” he asks, looking at her as he slows to a stop at the red light leading out of the parking lot.

Maya smiles again, softer this time. She burrows down into her seat that smells like him. “Yes please. I like taking the long way with you.”

The fastest way to Shore Drive is to the right, so when the light turns green, Shawn hooks left. He flicks the button above the rear view mirror and the sunroof glides back. He rolls down the windows and hangs an arm outside as they whip down the beachside highway.

Maya purrs with the wind in her hair. Usually she gets sleepy sitting in the car but she’s strangely energized tonight. She watches moonlight bounce off the ocean with a sparkle in her eye. She takes a deep sea-salted breath and releases it slowly through her nose.

“So,” Shawn starts after a moment of driving in silence. “I wanna know. You said— before-- you said I don’t know you anymore. And I want to. So let’s, I dunno, let’s play twenty questions or something.”

He glances over at her, feeling his cheeks twinge. He smiles, then looks back out to the road.

“I mean, if you want.”

Maya nods at his idea, considering. She has so many questions floating around in varying degrees of heaviness, she’s not sure where to go first. She bobs her head back and forth, considering.

“Hmm… ok… how about… other than blow, what are your chosen vices of the last 12 years?”

She says it with a smile so he knows he’s safe with her.

“Oooh,” he purrs, smirking slight as he glances at her. “Only on question one and already getting gritty?”

He chuckles, then sinks his teeth into his lower lip while he thinks. He racks his brain for a good, not-boring answer as he chews at his lip, then soothes it with his tongue.

“Hm,” he murmurs, shrugging a little. “Besides weed and Wednesday night s’mores? I guess those M&M cookies from Panera. Good snack when I’m at the shop late.”

He glances at Maya, corner of his mouth tugged into a frown. “That’s super fucking boring. I’m really boring compared to like, Manhattan people.”

Maya tosses her head back, laughing. “M&M cookies! Those are the best. The chocolate chip ones have nothing on the M&M cookies.”

She wonders if she could pull off baking him a batch herself. Probably not. She might try anyway. He’d probably like that.

“So what about you?”

Maya smiles conspiratorially. “I used to have an online shopping problem. I would order so much stupid shit in the middle of the night. Once I ordered a tangerine orange Kitchenaid mixer.”

Shawn thinks if he were as well off as Maya, he’d have an online shopping problem too. He laughs, shaking his head. Pressing his palm into the steering wheel, he carefully banks the Jeep around a twisting curve in the road.

“Can you even bake? Is that a secret skill you learned?”

Maya exhales so her lips flap comically. She shakes her head and looks down at their twining fingers. She smiles.

“I definitely can’t bake. I can sometimes make chocolate chip cookies without burning them. Like, sometimes.”

She chuckles at herself. She thinks of all the Amazon returns she made in the cold light of day with a blush in her cheeks for even ordering it in the first place.

“Ok. Your turn.” She turns her head to look out at the water.

Shawn switches hands on the wheel so he can reach across the console for her. He glides his palm over the back of her hand, slotting their fingers together so the tips of his brush her wrist.

“Mm. New question for you. What’s your go to comfort movie? You—“ he clears his throat, “You said I don’t know your favorite movies, but I used to. So—“ his lips twitch, “—I wanna know again.”

Maya’s very sure Shawn could still reel off an impressive list of all her favorite movies, even now, even after all this time. She vaguely recalls crying at him the other day about having go-to movies she’d put to calm her down and help her fall asleep when she was in the thick of the stress at work.

“I mean, I still love all the movies I did. I adopted a couple that used to be what I’d put on to fall asleep. They’re weird choices, actually. One was “The Other Woman” with Leslie Mann and Cameron Diaz. I really liked all their outfits and their houses. The other one was Casablanca.”

She tilts her head back at him with a shy smile. Casablanca was her favorite fantasy, apart from the ending.

Of all the gin joints in all the cities in all the world. Shawn said something like that to her recently, before their blow up. She hasn’t forgotten.

Shawn frowns, foot easing off the gas as they pull onto Shore Drive, slowing down a bit so Maya can admire the mansions.

“I have a love-hate relationship with Casablanca. I don’t like a sad ending, I guess.”

Maya nods in understanding. It is a heartbreaking ending. She was usually asleep before it ended, though, mercifully. She thinks she wouldn’t like it as much if she watched the ending regularly. It would hit too close to home.

Maya doesn’t think she’s as interested in the mansions as she expected to be, not with him sitting here, captivating her like he does. She glances over his shoulder at one of her favorite Shore Drive houses and back at him.

The Jeep rolls to a stop when they come to the stop sign at the end of the second block. There’s no one around at the moment, so Shawn looks from the road to Maya, only to find she’s already looking at him. He smiles.

“Tell me a secret,” he says, dragging his calloused thumb across her knuckles, “Something you haven’t told anyone ever. Even if it’s silly or stupid. Or embarrassing.”

He grins, quirking a brow.

Her nose twitches. She strokes her free hand through her hair. What secret could she possibly have to share with him that he doesn’t already know? He used to know everything. What’s left?

Her brows pull together, then apart. She smirks. “This isn’t exactly a secret but I haven’t told anyone I did this, only people in my office know. When I quit my job, I didn’t give notice or anything, I just walked out one day during lunch in my $2000 Gucci suit and took the subway to Central Park. I ate a hot dog. And then I ate another. And then I got a third one and ate it on my way into my boss’s office. I told him I quit, I crumpled up the wax paper and tossed it on his desk. I packed up my office and never went back.”

She smiles warmly. “It’s one of the proudest moments of my life, I think.”

“Holy shit, Lu.”

He says it before he can stop himself, doesn’t mean to sound as bewildered as he does. He’s not so much surprised by the story as he is impressed. Proud. Thankful she stood up for herself when she needed to.

He grins, reaches from the steering wheel to cup his other hand around hers, so he’s got her completely encompassed by his broad palms.

“That’s really fucking awesome. I don’t think I’d have the guts to do that,” he shakes his head, squeezing her hand gently.

Maya preens at his reaction. She lets him take her hand and gush at her a little. Bubbling under his gaze, she reaches up with her free hand and draws a blunted fingernail against his jaw, admiring the perfect line of it. Her fingers twitch in his for her pencils.

“But, ah, I think you’ve always been braver than me,” his smile softens, and he carefully brings her hand to his mouth, his fingers wrapping around her wrist. He presses a soft kiss to her knuckles, thumb pushing into the middle of her palm.

“I don’t think that’s true,” she murmurs.

Shawn was brave even when she wasn’t. He got himself to LA even without her as a parachute. When it didn’t go to his plan, he was brave enough to get himself out and start fresh and new where no one knew him. He’s been brave his whole life -- she feels she’s only been brave in the last few months.

His lips are a compliment all their own. She accepts it with an extra pulse of her heart.

Shawn blushes. The flush starts in the tips of his ears and spreads to his cheeks. No one gets him this bashful anymore. It used to be easy, but the years have hardened him. Now, it’s only Maya.

He pulls a hand from hers and takes the steering wheel. He starts driving again so he doesn’t kiss her. His Jeep is a dangerous place to kiss. They used to fuck all the time in the Jeep he had in college. This newer model has even more room for them to mess around.

He doesn’t need the temptation. Go slow.

Maya inhales as her chest falls back with the gentle lurch of the car. It’s good they’re moving. Moving means not stopping, not crawling into the backseat, not getting carnal at the corner of Shore and Shell. Moving is good.

“If it’s my turn to ask a question again,” she starts, voice soft and quiet over the lapping of the waves on shore, “What’s the last song you wrote?”

Maya’s question almost makes him choke. The only songs he ever writes anymore are about her. The songwriter part of him feels like a remnant from before, from when he was so in love with her he couldn’t contain it to their relationship, so it poured out of him as music and lyrics.

It’s a way to cope now.

“I uh,” he laughs, “I wrote a few stanzas on the harp the other day.”

Safe answer. Neutral.

But then—

“I guess that’s not, like, a real song though. The, ah, the last real song I wrote was a few weeks ago? It just kind of came to me at the piano. The music anyway. I’ve been jotting down lyrics all summer.”

She clears her throat and continues admiring the houses as they pass slowly on the deserted street. She’s glad to hear he’s been writing music even if he gets a little cagey about what kind. She nods like she’s not dying of curiosity.

“Oh, that’s great! What… um, what’s it called?”

A thinly veiled version of “is it about me?” if Maya’s ever heard one.

He doesn’t feel like hiding from her anymore. The parts of himself he shared in the beginning of the summer were the easy ones. The ones she already knew. The songs he used to write about her were simple. Juvenile. Important, but he’s outgrown them.

The ones he writes now cut a little more deeply, in ways he didn’t want her to know about when he was busy acting like they were the same people they’d been in college.

“Oh, eh, I don’t really have a title yet. That’s always the hardest part for me. But I think, well, it’s definitely about us. About you.”

He wants to say if that’s okay, but his adult brain reminds him he doesn’t need her permission to write music about things that are important to him.

Shawn doesn’t hesitate to tell her he’s written about her. She can’t say she’s completely surprised. It’s nice to hear, though. The confirmation from him feels good. He cares enough to write.

Maya nods. She glances past him at an old Victorian that’s stood the test of time. It’s weatherbeaten and stately and it’s not going anywhere.

“I think it’s good for us both,” she assures him, “That we’re both re-exploring what we love to do. That we’re working on ourselves that way. And that we’re honest about it.”

She talks about them like they’re a team. That’s really all he’s ever wanted. His heart flutters in his chest. He thinks it’s good, too.

“It’s not a happy song,” he says, because he can’t stop the honesty now. He wrote it when he still thought she was going back to New York. At the time, he thought it was evidence that he could cope with her leaving.

Now he thinks it works with the new relationship they’re embarking upon. He can fiddle with a couple of the lyrics, anyway.

Maya casts her eyes out at the water. She hums.

“They can’t all be happy songs, I guess.”

She thinks all they can do is hope the rest of their songs will be happy. They deserve that. They both do.

He glances at her as he turns off of Shore, down a small beach road that will spit them back onto Main Street, eventually.

“But I could play it for you sometime. If you want.”

She feels his eyes again. She looks back with a quiet smile. “I’d love to hear it when you’re ready for me.”

Coming back to Main Street means the end of the night. Maya sighs and hopes it doesn’t come off too dramatic. But the truth is, this was a hell of a first date. She feels better with him now than she has all summer. Cards are on the table.

As he pulls into her driveway to drop her off, she grins.

“You still owe me about 16 more questions,” she laughs, “Rain check?”

Shawn feels like he is the embodiment of the sigh she releases. He doesn’t want the night to be over either. He goes as slowly as he can on the way back to her house, squeezing her hand every now and then.

He throws the Jeep in park and lets his head fall back against the seat. He smiles.

“What if you ask me one more while I walk you to your door?”

He lifts his brows, then gets out of the car and jogs to the passenger’s side so he can open the door for Maya.

Maya fights the embarrassed chuckling that threatens when he scampers around the side of the car to help her out. She takes his hand and steps out, her sandals hooked in her fingers. She keeps hold of his hand and walks slowly up the cobblestone path to her front door. She glances over at her porch swing and thinks maybe she’ll come out here after she gets ready for bed with her sketchpad, something to take the edge off before she sleeps.

In the warm lamplight, Shawn glows. She takes his other hand and steps a little closer to him. She swallows any nerves left and fixes her eyes on his.

“Ok, last question. How do you feel about how tonight went?”

Shawn drops one of her hands in favor of cupping her neck, thumb stroking across her jaw. He smiles, hanging his head a bit closer to her.

“I feel like it was the best first date I’ve ever been on.” It sounds like a line, but he says it as earnestly as he can and hopes she’ll know he means it.

His gaze drops to her lips, but only briefly. He looks up, wetting his own lips and pressing them together.

His voice is raspy when next he speaks.

“I also feel like I’d really like to kiss you now,” he clears his throat. Then, gently, “Please.”

Maya’s eyes flutter. His thumb is hot and rough on her skin. When he’s standing this close, she can smell his cologne, shampoo, body wash, him. She fights a pathetic whimper rising in her throat.

It’s just a kiss. It’s just a kiss.

He looks down at her lips and she nearly lunges for him. Apparently it’s a kiss she’s fucking starving for.

She exhales slowly trying not to pant at him.

“Yeah. Yes. Mhmm. Please. Kiss me.”

Kissing Maya is so easy and so hard at the same time. Easy, because they’ve done it so much, hard, because they’ve never done it like this. He’s never had to walk away from her after.

He presses his thumb to the apple of her cheek as he brings his lips to hers, his chest deflating with a soft murmur as he releases a breath he’s been holding all night. He sighs into her mouth, stepping closer to her until their bodies are flush together.

It’s a dangerous game, sipping at her lips and holding her close while not letting it go any further. He’s delicate with her, doesn’t try to coax her mouth open with his tongue, even though the instinct is there, twitching in his fingers.

He resists. It’ll be worth it, in the long run.

The kiss is somewhat chaste but it doesn’t feel unsatisfying, exactly. Just cautious. It’s warm and soft and so tender.

She wants to suck on his lower lip or tangle her fingers in his hair. She wants to let them in so they can stumble up the stairs, shedding clothes as they go. She doesn’t. She just kisses him back, inhaling as he sighs.

They separate gently. She licks her lips, like she just wants to taste him again.

She’s panting, not because the kiss was so hot, but from the strength it takes to control herself.

“So uhm,” she murmurs, “Do you want to… I dunno, hang out again tomorrow?”

Is that too soon? What does taking it slow feel like?

Shawn has to take two full steps away from her to make sure he doesn’t stumble inside after her, like he’s done so many times this summer.

Go slow.

She sounds unsure of her offer, but he wants it. He grins.

“Yes-- Yeah. Yeah, totally. I do want that. I fuckin’--” he laughs, shaking his head and scrubbing a hand through his hair as he looks at his feet, “I miss you already.”

Maya chuckles back and it sounds a little raspy.

“Yeah,” she replies, “I know what you mean.”

She doesn’t know exactly if he’s referring to missing her even though she’s still standing with her hand on the doorknob or missing her because if it were a few weeks ago, he’d probably be inside her at this time of the night.

Either way, she feels it too.

With one last slightly shaky but still hopeful smile, she lets herself inside to dig out a sketchbook.

----------

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @mendesoft @singanddreamanyway @alone-in-madness @abigfatmess @shawnitsmutual @awkwardfangirl2014 @september-lace @sinplisticshawn @rollingxstone @yslsaint @randi-eve @fallmoreinlove @heyits-claire @itrocksmysocks @parkerspicedlatte @simpledomain @abeautiful-and-cloudy-day @thecurlsofgod @magcon7280 @bensbuttercup @shawnsmusical @paigeasourous @tell-me-when-ur-ready @softmendesss @searchingunderthestars @buggy-blogs @mendesficsxbombay @siennarossi @lostinshawnsmemory @umbreakablesoul @sleepybesson @shawnsheaven @desire-to-live @jillian-nd @shawnwyr @curlsofshawn @graysonmendes @tnhmblive @meltingicequeen

#Shawn Mendes Imagine #shawn mendes #shawn mendes blurb #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes fan fic #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fan fiction #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fiction #shawn mendes series #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes au #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes drabble #shawn mendes one shot

73 notes · View notes