#fully one of those moments where your feelings about a piece can change SO much if you give it some time and space

[strawberrum]

quail!

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can I request headcanons for Zayne, and Slyus react to his shy gn crush giving him a love letter before leaving quickly?

You were quick with your exist, Sylus had to give you that as the moment he looked up from the letter, only to see that you were long gone.

Naturally he would’ve caught you by the wrist and kept you close until after he had read the letter. However since that wasn’t how the events played out, Sylus walked back to his room to read the letter, fully intending to ask you the next time he sees you what this was all about, all the while lightly scolding you for running away.

He even made Mephisto leave the room for full privacy, the crow was offended by this not going to lie and instead made himself comfortable on the nearest perch he could find.

Sylus wasn’t dumb, your expression gave it all away what type of letter this was and he couldn’t help but smirk when he read your sweet words, chuckling as he felt your emotions through every sentence he read and how many words you had scribbled out in your attempt of making a confession to him.

While he would’ve preferred to have you confess to him in person, he couldn’t hold it against you that you felt overwhelmed and too afraid to do so and speak your heart to him, but that was okay when you had written your heart to him on a piece of paper instead that made him smile as warmth spread throughout his chest.

You were so cute when you poured your heart out into the letter and Sylus knew he would be keeping this as his own personal memento of the time where your relationship changed. Needless to say after reading the letter you got a greeting by Sylus later that same evening as he made himself comfortable in your apartment, eager to start your relationship as soon as he could by making you a dinner for two.

He casts his gaze down at the letter you hastily shoved into his hand, giving him no room to ask what the contents of the letter was before bolting off down the hallway with a flustered expression upon your face.

Zayne tilts his head to the side as he then takes the letter into his office, not wanting anyone to peer over his shoulder and read the words that you had specifically wrote for him and him alone.

He knew of your nervousness and tendency to tell him personal things through the likes of cute letters, but this was a completely different level of that as he got an insight to your thoughts and feelings towards him that you couldn’t put into words. It was highly detailed with moments where you realised that you like Zayne more then ‘just a friend’

He found it sweet and warming as he too would reminisce on the moments that you bring up and suddenly everything becomes clearer for Zayne. The moments where it seemed like you were more sheepish and unable to meet his eyes, all of it made all the more sense to him now as you gave clarification to why you acted those ways back then.

You adored him and yet you couldn’t find a more fitting way to tell him than a letter that resides within his hands.

It felt good for Zayne to know that his feelings wasn’t one sided and that you felt similar to him. It was all he could ever wish for even though he tried not to fall for you, only to find it increasingly difficult when you were practically a big part of his day to day life, and he couldn’t help but feel as though a weight had been taken off of his chest knowing that he didn’t have to hold back his feeling anymore and finally get to do what he always wanted.

He has a reservation booked at a fancy restaurant to you both, but is more than willing to cancel it to just walk through the city with you should that be more your speed, or maybe even some quality time at home with some take out. Zayne didn’t want you to become overwhelmed and would much preferable to have you at your most comfortable when you’re both talking about your future relationship.

[watchmegetobsessed]

MISTAKEN HATRED

A/N: okay im veeery nervous about this one bc its the longest story i've written in probably months and it took me sooo long to finish it so im just praying its not utter shit 🙃 anywaysss, happy holidays guys! it's not overly festive, but it has some vibes so im labeling it as my xmas fic haha feedback is always appreciated! 🎄

WORD COUNT: 6.3k

SUMMARY: Things don't go as smooth as you planned with your bakery's opening, but you're doing your best to overcome the struggles. However there is one person who is hating on your business as if it was his job: Harry Styles. You just wish you knew what you did to earn his hatred...

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

This is not how you imagined the last weeks before your official opening. 

You imagined the interrior to be fully done by now so you can focus on the last touches, ordering the right ingredients and promoting the opening.

Instead, you’re staring at what’s supposed to be your eight tables, intact and put together but it’s all in pieces. You specifically remember the website said they would deliver them done and you wouldn’t have to play puzzles. But they arrived six days late and very much not the way they promised. 

Taking a deep breath you stare up at the ceiling and decide to take the trash out before turning your bakery into Ikea.

“It’s alright. I can do this. I can do anything,” you keep telling yourself as you drag out the trash bags that are almost the size of you. 

You knew opening your own business would be tough. Especially in Eroda, the little town you have some of your earliest memories from, where your grandma used to live, the place that was closest to her heart and it breaks yours to know she couldn’t spend her last years here because she was too sick to live on her own. 

She never asked you to come back here, but the moment you found her recipe books the summer after she passed, you just knew what you had to do. Now it’s been three years and you’re finally opening Nana’s that will bring her warmth and love back to Eroda, or you hope so. 

Pushing the door open with your shoulder, you keep dragging the bags to the containers behind the small shop and you’re so deep in your thoughts you don’t even notice the two people just a couple of feet away.

“Hi, Love!”

You recognize Anne’s sweet, chirpy voice and a smile spreads across your face even before you look up, but the moment you see the person standing next to her, all joy just drains from your body. 

Harry Styles is standing as grouchy and arrogant as always next to his mother, hands hidden in the pockets of his fleece jacket, his unruly curls are tucked underneath his beanie and any normal woman would be into the man, but you. Not after he very clearly let you know you don’t belong here and you should take your business back to the city where you came from. 

You expected some resistance, not much has changed in town in the past decades and you had a feeling some might want to keep it that way, but you guessed older people would riot against your bakery, not a thirty years old grown man. 

“Hi Anne,” you smile back and mustering up all your strength you throw one of the bags into the bin, but you overestimated your muscle work, because it only falls to the edge and almost topples right out. Luckily, you grab it just in time and push it in.

“Oh, dear, those bags are bigger than you! Harry, help her!” 

“No, it’s alri–” 

Before you get to protest, Harry strides over to you and grabs the remaining two bags as if they weighed nothing and throws them into the bin without breaking a sweat. 

Of course he is fit, the man probably runs up the hill carrying twice his weight every morning, because that’s how you can imagine him working out. 

Though you shouldn’t be imagining anything about him.

“Thanks,” you purse your lips and square your shoulders as you face the two of them.

“How is everything coming together?”

Anne has been so enthusiastic about your bakery, she comes around probably every other day, checks in on your progress and always offers her help. 

“Um, it is… okay, I guess,” you let out a tired chuckle. Glancing over at Harry you see him looking to the side, as if he wasn’t even listening, but something is telling you he is very much focused on the conversation.

Yeah, that’s right, I’m still here! Not even your arrogance can chase me away!

Anne cranes her neck, peeking into the shop and she spots the pile in the middle.

“Oh, are you planning to put those together by yourself? Harry, why don’t you help her?”

The moment she suggests, you both protest.

“No, there’s no need.”

“Mum, I don’t really have the time,” he says at the same time, but it doesn’t seem to go through. Anne’s phone starts ringing and she excuses herself, leaving the two of you there. 

Great, this is all you were missing today, an awkward, forced situation with the man who wants to see you gone. Perfect.

“Should’ve ordered them done, don’t you think?” he speaks up, nodding towards the shop.

At first, you just blink at him, then close your eyes and when you open them, you have the fakest smile on your twitching face.

“What a wonderful idea! I totally did not think of that!”

“Then send them back and ask them to bring what you ordered.” He rolls his eyes and it’s irking you so much. You definitely don’t need his stupid advices, not when you’re terribly behind your schedule.

“They arrived almost a week later than they should have, if I send them back there’s now ay they will send me the new ones in time for the opening.”

Harry stands there, staring at the pile of furniture pieces inside and for a moment you think he might actually offer his help, which you’re not sure you’d have accepted, but it remains a mystery, because that’s not what he says when he speaks up.

“I’m busy for real. Mum likes to offer my help around without asking me.”

It takes you a couple of moments to figure out what you feel about what he just said. And when you finally do, you see red.

“As I said, I don’t need help. I did everything by myself and I will get this done as well. I don’t need your unwanted, half-assed effort to pretend like you’re helping me.”

You come off rougher than you probably should have, but he’s been bugging you ever since you moved to Eroda. The man knows nothing about you or your business, yet every time he comes near your shop he acts like it physically pains him to even look at it. He’d be the last person you’d ask for help, he doesn’t have to act like he has so much to do and doesn’t have the time to help when he doesn’t actually want to help. 

Harry stares at you with such intensity you almost break and stutter a sorry out, but that’s when Anne returns.

“Ah, we have to run. But I will come by tomorrow, Darling. And Harry can hel–”

“No need for help,” you smile at her as gratefully as you can force yourself to be in this moment. 

“Alright, then see you later,” she waves and you nod at her before your eyes meet Harry’s one last time before they walk away and you return to your shop. 

It takes you six hours to assemble the tables later that day, but you do it.

With no help. 

Moving to Eroda, it hasn’t been your only goal to have your business become part of the town but you also knew you’d have to become one of the locals as well. Only a handful of people know who your grandmother was and you don’t plan to reveal it until the opening. You want them to taste all the baked goods and think of her first and then put the picture together. But this means you’re a total newbie for most people around. Last time you spent more than just a day here was when you were sixteen and you’ve changed a lot since then, so it’s natural people don’t recognize you. 

Anne has been your biggest help in breaking the ice and involving you in as many things as possible so you get to meet the people of Eroda. The weeks leading up to Christmas are usually filled with all kinds of winter activities locals enjoy wholeheartedly. Concert by the town hall, decorating the trees at the main square, collecting donations and cooking for those in need for example. You’ve been to all of these and very much enjoyed being part of the community. This weekend however, you can’t say you’re looking forward to the new festive activity.

Ice-skating on the frozen lake.

It sounds nice and fun, but you’ve ice-skated only once in your life and ended up breaking your wrist. Not your favorite childhood memory for sure and you don’t exactly want to relive it as an adult. 

You arrive with the intention of just sipping some hot tea and watch everyone else skate around until your fingers are falling off and you can go back to the shop to finish putting up the tinker lights at the back. 

Anne however had different ideas about today. Because as soon as you arrive at the lake, she is waving at you, holding up a pair of skates and you know they are not hers, because she’s already wearing those. 

“Kick those boots off, Love, I brought you my old skates! Come join us!” She smiles brightly at you from next to the pier where people get on and off the ice. 

“Oh, no, I don’t skate, Anne, but thank you!”

“Don’t be silly, even Bernie is on the ice!” She nods towards the old man who must be at least eighty, sliding on the ice as if he did this all his life. He might have, you have no idea.

“It’s really not for me, I–”

“Just try it! Come on!” 

She drops the skates by your feet and then slides away, leaving you no chance to protest.

Staring down at the skates, you can feel your stomach churning, but as you look up you see that literally everyone is on the ice, you’d look weird standing on the pier on your own. 

“Fuck,” you mumble under your breath as you give in and sitting down you start peeling your boots off your feet. 

“You’ll break your ankle if you leave it that loose.”

You know the voice and it just adds to your stress even more. You see his black skates in front of you as you’re trying to lace your own up.

“Hi Harry, so good to see you again,” you hiss through your teeth. 

“Tighten it or you’ll fall.”

“I’ll fall either way,” you mumble as you go back and pull the laces tighter. When you’re done you straighten up, but remain sitting on the end of the pier, anxiously string down at your feet. Harry doesn’t speak, but you know he is still there, probably watching you, trying to figure out what’s wrong with you, why you’re not just standing up and going at it like everyone else. 

Your hands are holding onto the wood underneath you for dear life as you picture yourself finally moving, but you never get to actually acting. 

“Do you need help standing up?” Harry speaks up at last and his voice is different this time. It’s not as arrogant, maybe even concerned. Do you look that awful right now?

“N-No.” Your voice cracks and you hate that it’s him who sees you like this. 

“Doesn’t seem like–”

“Would you stop being an asshole for a moment?” you snap at him and finally look up, eyes meeting his examining gaze. You have no idea what he sees in yours, but a few seconds later he breaks eye-contact, looks around as if he is hesitating before he sits beside you at last.

“You don’t have to skate if you don’t want to.”

“Tell that to your mother,” you mumble under your breath and it makes him laugh.

The sound of it is actually nice, surprising, but nice to hear something other than insults coming from his mouth.

“She can be a bit too much, but she’s just too enthusiastic.” You sit in silence for a bit before Harry turns to you. “You really don’t have to skate.”

“I want to take part, I just… I broke my wrist on the ice once when I was a kid and I haven’t tried skating since then.”

You didn’t plan on telling him much, but you felt like you had to explain why you’re being so dramatic. Part of you is expecting him to make fun of you for being scared of skating because of something that happened ages ago, but the arrogant comments never come.

Instead he stands up and when you look up at him he is holding a hand out to you.

“I’ll help you. You won’t fall.”

Any other day you’d think he is plotting against you, that he would get you to trust him and the trip you the first chance he got, but not this time. He looks and sounds genuine and as you take his hand, you put way too much trust into them than you would have ever allowed yourself to. 

You hold onto him with both hands and he keeps you steady as you finally attempt to push yourself up from the edge of the pier. Your knees wobble the moment your weight is on the blades and you instantly feel yourself losing balance, but Harry’s hands wrap around your arms and keep you from falling.

“It’s okay. Relax a bit, you’ll find your balance.” He encourages you and it’s almost strange to hear him so supportive of anything you’re doing, but not breaking your neck keeps you too busy to care about his random act of kindness. 

“Try to move forward.”

“I can’t,” you protest without even trying.

“You can, just relax.”

“Don’t tell me to relax, it’s not gonna help me relax!”

“Y/N, you’re gonna have a panic attack if you don’t relax,” he warns you and you realize how fast you’re breathing and all your blood is being pumped into your head. 

“I-I can’t, I can’t do this, I–”

“Y/N, look at me!” His hands snap to your shoulders and you grab onto his biceps as you look him in the eyes while your chest is still heaving. “I’ve got you, okay? You’re not going to fall. I’m holding you, I promise.”

Focusing on his words you finally forget about your fears and instead, you’re now trying to figure out where this version of Harry came from and why he hid from you all along. 

You’re not one to trust people that easily, but just from this one promise he made, you let go of all your doubts and hesitation. 

“Okay,” you breathe out. Harry nods and his hands slowly slide lower until they rest on your waist. 

“You knew how to skate, right? Before you broke your wrist.” You nod. “Alright, then it will all come back quickly.”

There’s a tiny smile hiding in the corners of his lips and your heart pitter-patters in your chest, but not because of the skating this time. His hands on you are not helping either, because for some reason, you feel heat radiating through the millions of layers you’re wearing where his hands are touching you. 

What is happening?

“Okay, I’ll hold your hand and you just focus on moving forward, yeah?”

You nod and panic rises in your gut for a moment when his hands leave your shoulders, but then they instantly take your hands and you feel safe again. 

Slowly you start moving, inching forward, your hands gripping Harry’s so tight, you’re afraid you might hurt him, but you’d never let go of him, not when you’re getting farther away from the pier. 

“That’s it, you are doing great,” he encourages. “Try to move a bit less rigidly.”

“Easy to say that,” you breathe out shakily. 

It takes time to loosen up even the tiniest bit and not grip Harry’s hand as if you wanted to crush his bones. But as you slowly move around the ice, led by him, you finally get more and more familiar with the feeling of sliding on the ice. 

“See? It’s not that bad,” he smiles when you stop for a short break after circling back to the pier. 

“I still fear for my life, but it’s bearable now,” you nod and he just chuckles.

It looks good on him. His smile is warm and welcoming, it’s a shame it took you so long to see it. You definitely prefer this version of him. 

“Honey, it’s so lovely to see you on the ice!” Anne slides over to you with ease, holding a cup of something warm, probably hot chocolate. 

“Well, it’s not quite my element,” you let out an awkward chuckle.

“You’re doing just fine. Besides, you just snatched up the best skater in town.” Winking, she bumps her hip against Harry’s. Your puzzled look urges her to elaborate. “Harry took over coaching the boys’ hockey team last year, the kids adore him!”

Instantly, you imagine Harry dealing with a bunch of cute kids, cheering on them, teaching them, making them laugh… The image is actually moving something inside you that’s been buried somewhere deep for a while now.

“Y/N, how are things coming together? Everyone is buzzing for the big opening!” Anne does a little dance that makes you laugh, but at the same time, something changes in Harry. 

“Um, it’s going okay. Not how I planned, but I’ll manage.”

“I’m sure everything will fall into place perfectly. And if you need any help just let us know!” She turns to Harry, looking for validation that he is open to lending you a helping hand as well, but his reaction is not quite what she was expecting, probably. 

“Sorry, I gotta go now,” Harry mumbles quickly, his gaze obviously avoiding you or his mother and he skates away so fast you just blink after him. 

“What’s gotten into this boy?” Anne huffs, but she lets go of it fast, starts chatting about something you don’t quite catch, because you just stare after Harry, watching him slalom between the skaters so fast it’s almost aggressive. 

And once again, you feel like you’re back where you began. He hates you and you have no idea what you did against him. 

Theoretically, opening Nana’s two weeks before Christmas was a great idea, because you imagined all the baked goods people would order for the holidays, you knew it would be a great kick start.

Realistically, it means that now you have to do the last touch ups in the harsh winter that’s as cold as the North Pole. Or at least that’s how you imagine the North Pole.

It’s been non stop snowing for the past three days, the fresh, soft looking snow is now covering every bit of Eroda’s breathtaking view and though it’s very festive and nice to look at it from a warm room with something hot to drink, it’s not as relaxing when you’re still working on the bakery, doing the last bits of decorating and starting the first batches of baked goods, because in 24 hours, Nana’s is officially opening its front door to the public. 

You’ve been here since five in the morning, now it’s four in the afternoon but it’s almost entirely pitch dark outside so it feels like it’s nearing ten. The place is not a mess anymore, but the kitchen is, there’s all kinds of dough everywhere, you’re doing everything you can now so there’s less tomorrow, but even with all the work tonight you’ll be here at five in the morning again tomorrow. 

It’s been hours since the last time you looked out the window, so it fully goes over your head how heavy the snowfall has gotten lately, chasing home every soul from the streets. While you’re covered in flour and keep muttering Nana’s recipes to make sure everything is measured right, there is one more person out there who is still not home, battling the weather. 

Harry has been going around town all day, helping out the elderly with either delivering groceries, or repairing the heating, whatever they needed a helping hand with. He’s usually the person one calls in Eroda when something needs to be fixed.

The roads are now not quite safe to be driving around, but with his jeep he’ll be able to get home just before it gets too bad. Or so the thought, but that is until he drives by the bakery and sees the lights on.

At first he keeps driving, telling himself it’s not his business. But the farther he gets the guiltier he feels and then he turns the car around.

You’re too busy to hear the knocking at first, but then you hear it again and know it wasn’t just in your head. Rushing out of the kitchen you stop in front of the door, because through the glass you make out Harry standing there, the snow already covering the top of his head as if he’s been out there for hours. 

“It’s freezing out here, Y/N! Would be nice if you let me in!” he shouts through the glass and you finally snap out of your surprise, unlock the door and Harry practically runs inside. 

“What are you doing here?” You watch him shake the snow off of him and finally turn towards you. For a moment you forget about how you parted ways at the skating, how cold he turned out of the blue after helping you. 

“Funny, I wanted to ask you the same thing. There’s a snowstorm out there, you won’t be able to get home if you stay here!”

“Are you kidding me? I’m opening tomorrow, I have a million things to finish!”

“So you’re risking getting snowed in? Were you planning to sleep here or something?”

“Maybe! Yeah! I need to get a ton of dough ready and I still haven’t put up the tinker lights and I need to clean up…”

Harry stares at you with such a vivid look, you expect him to start screaming at you or something. But he just keeps staring until he finally breaks.

“Okay, where are the lights and where do you want them?”

“What?”

“You’ll spend the night here if you do everything alone. I’ll help and hopefully we’ll be able to leave when it’s all done.”

Now it’s your turn to stare at him as he is looking around, searching for the lights to start working, but you can’t really believe he is about to help you out when he could be home by now. On the other hand, you could really use the help and maybe finish earlier than midnight, so after pushing your surprise to the side you start instructing him. While Harry works on the lights, you return to the kitchen. 

To test out the dough for the croissants, the one thing you’re the most nervous about because it used to be Nana’s specialty, you decide to make a few and pop them in the oven while you do everything else. 

It’s hard to believe you’re finally at this point, so close to the opening, turning your biggest dream into reality. You wish Nana would be here with you today.

“Lights are done.”

Harry interrupts your thoughts and you wipe your floury hands into your apron before following him out of the kitchen to see the work he did.

“Oh my God, this looks perfect!” you gasp, seeing all the tinker lights run along the ceiling and walls, lighting up the place like magic. 

Harry just nods, pressing his lips together, as if it was nothing. 

“Anything else?” he asks.

“Yeah, I have a few pictures I want to hang up and then it’s all done–” The timer in the kitchen goes off, letting you know the croissants are done. “Let me take them out and then I’ll show you where I want them.”

You rush back to the kitchen and take the fresh, steaming croissants out of the oven, completely missing that Harry has followed you and he is now watching you curiously as you take the baked goods off the tray one by one.

“That smells like…” he speaks up, but the words die on his tongue and you just smile, placing one onto a plate, holding it out for him.

“Here, try it.”

He hesitates, but takes the plate at last. Though it’s still hot and he should definitely wait a bit, it’s hard to resist, you know that. You watch him take a tentative bite and wait for his reaction as if he is about to tell you your future. 

“So? How is it?”

“It’s… it’s really… good. Really good.”

It’s obvious he is having a hard time admitting you did something right, but his face says it all. You just don’t understand why he looks kind of puzzled, but you think it’s just because he didn’t expect it to be this good. 

“I bet the croissants will be the bestsellers,” you chuckle as Harry takes bite after bite until it’s all gone. He devoured it so fast it’s incredible. You couldn’t help but focus on his pink lips while he ate and those tiny sounds he let slip… they surely planted some thoughts into your head, thoughts you shouldn’t be thinking of when it comes to Harry.

“Come on, I’ll show you the pictures.” It’s your attempt to clear your mind.

You walk out and grab the box that holds all the framed pictures you want to hang on the walls, of course, all of them feature Nana. 

“Okay, so I thought a few could go over here, and then on that wall as well, and these, I want them behind the counter…” You start explaining your vision, but when you turn around you see that he is staring at a photo in shock. “Harry? What’s wrong?”

You step closer and see that it’s the photo that was taken on your tenth birthday. You’re holding up one of the cupcakes Nana made just for you and she is standing behind you, with her hands on your shoulders. It’s a fond memory, one of your favorite birthdays you ever had. 

“Oh, is it the dungarees?” you ask, pointing at your outfit. “I wasn’t quite the fashion icon back then,” you chuckle.

“No, it’s– who’s this?” he asks, pointing at Nana. You give him a puzzled look, because it’s not rocket science to figure out who the woman in the picture is.

“That’s Nana, obviously.”

“But as in… your grandma?” He finally looks up at you and his face is frantic, as if he is solving a lifelong mystery. 

“Of course, Harry, what is goin–”

“Y/N, Nana was your grandma?”

“Yes!” you laugh in confusion. “Of course she was, that’s why I’m opening a bakery under her name with all her recipes she taught me!”

You can’t read the look on Harry’s face as he puts the photo back into the box and then starts walking around with his hands on his hips. 

“Why do you look like you just learned you were adopted or something?”

“Y/N, I didn’t… I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?”

“That you��re… Nana’s granddaughter. I had no clue.” He runs a hand through his hair and you try your best not to stare at how his bicep flexes in the movement. 

“What? Harry, why else would I be opening a bakery, named Nana’s right here, out of every possible place on Earth?”

“I don’t know!” he admits, throwing his hands into the air. “That’s why I… Okay, this is why I hated the idea so much. Because I knew Nana, I loved her! She was like… my grandma too! And I thought you just chose this name for fun!”

“Are you kidding me?” you huff in disbelief.

“I felt like you were ruining her memory, that’s why I was so against this place. I had zero clue that you are actually… related to her.”

“Oh my God, Harry!” There’s nothing else you can do other than just… laughing. This whole situation feels oddly comical, like something that only happens in movies. 

“I know, I’m sorry!” He exhales sharply and you truly see the regret on his face. “I was such a dick.”

“Yes you were!” you laugh in agreement. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“Well, now at least I know why you were my biggest hater all along.”

“Not anymore!” He holds up his hands and finally breaks a smile that looks so fucking handsome, it makes you forget about everything in a second. 

Turning to the side he stares out the window for a moment before looking back at you.

“The snowing has stopped, let’s wrap things up and go home, alright? Big day tomorrow.”

You both go back to work, Harry finishes quite fast with the pictures so then he helps you clean up in the kitchen and you notice how obviously different the vibes are now. There’s no trace of his usual hostile behavior, in fact he is so open as he asks you about Nana and how the idea of the bakery came. Then he tells you about her as well, how he has known him for so long and after the passing of his stepdad Nana helped him through the toughest time of his life. You’re surprised the two of you never met when you were visiting, but you believe in faith and it must be because it wasn’t the right time. 

It’s almost ten by the time you’re locking up while Harry is scraping the snow off his jeep. It’s rather eerie to see the town so empty, but it’s also pretty, the untouched snow covering every inch of the scenery. 

“Thanks for the help. And the drive home,” you say when he has parked in front of your house. 

“I’ll pick you up in the morning as well.”

“What? There’s no need, Harry–”

“Just accept the help,” he flashes you a crooked smile. “I have a lot to make up for.”

“What if I say you’re forgiven?”

“Then I’ll do it because I want to spend time with you.”

His answer comes so fast and honest, you can’t mask the surprise on your face as you stare at each other in the dark car.

“Um, alright then. See you in the morning.”

“Good night. Y/N.”

You fumble with the belt and then climb out of the car, still feeling kind of giddy from his words. He waits for you to get to the front door and you wave at him before walking in. Through the closed door you hear the engine roar and he drives away, leaving you with quite a lot to digest.

Never in a million years did you imagine the opening of Nana’s to be like this. The small bakery is full to the brim, there are people everywhere, you haven’t stopped thanking everyone for the love and support and your heart leaps in your chest every time you hear someone talk about your beloved grandma. All the pastries are selling well, but as expected, the croissants are the biggest hit. 

But it’s not just the opening that has you smiling ear to ear.

Harry did show up early in the morning and he’s been helping you out all day as if he was getting paid for his work. In the kitchen, at the counter or by the tables, he’s been a one person army and your hero. You couldn’t have done it without him. 

You have just a couple of seconds to breathe between two customers and you peek over the crowd, spotting him right away by the table his mom and her friends occupy. He just made them laugh and he’s basking in their attention as he rolls the sleeves of his shirt up, revealing his tattooed arms. 

Fuck, he looks so good, it’s criminal. 

Now that he is not an asshole to you anymore, it’s pretty hard not to notice everything you’ve been trying to ignore about him. His charming dimples, his bouncy curls, the way he throws his head back when he laughs, how his nose moves when he talks, they was his hips sway when he’s walking… there is not one inch on the man you can critique.

The situation would be a lot worse if it was one-sided, but it appears that Harry is just as keen on being around you, always touching your lower back when he walks behind you, or brushing your arm to get your attention. 

“I’m seriously writing you a paycheck when it’s over,” you tell him when he returns behind the counter grabbing some cinnamon rolls to bring to the ladies by the window.

“I thought that we were already over this, Y/N,” he smirks and you bite into your bottom lip as you turn back to the customer in front of you. 

It kind of goes by in a blur, there’s so much happening, you’re always on the move and before you could even process the events, the day is over and Nana’s is closing for the first time. After the constant crowd, it’s weird to see the place empty again, but seeing that everything has sold, it finally settles in your mind: you did it.

As you turn the sign on the door your eyes slide over to the picture on the right. It was taken in Nana’s kitchen, you were about six or seven, the two of you are photographed from behind as you stand on a stool, next to Nana at the counter while she is teaching you how to make bread. The memory still lives vividly in your mind even though it’s been over two decades.

“She would be so proud of you.”

Turning around you find Harry behind you with a soft smile on his lips, his eyes on the photo at first, then they move to you and your heart skips a beat.

“You think so?”

“I know so,” he chuckles.

“So, I was serious. I owe you a paycheck after today.”

He rolls his eyes before arching an eyebrow at you.

“And I was serious when I said I don’t want anything in return.”

“You’ve been here since six, Harry!” you huff out a laugh. “I would feel so bad if you just went home without anything.”

He stares at you for long moments and you start to think he’ll just let you suffer with your guilt, but then he speaks up.

“Go on a date with me then.”

You suck on your breath as your eyes lock with his.

“What?” you whisper.

“Go on a date with me, Y/N. Will you?”

“I-If you’re still trying to make up for–” you start, but he cuts you off.

“I’m not. I told you, I want to spend time with you.”

You blink at him once, twice, as if you’re waiting for him to say it was just a joke, but he stands his ground with a serious look.

“Are you gonna leave me hanging?” he smirks, snapping you out of your haze.

“Yes–I mean, yes to the date!” you shake your head, clearing up your answer.

“I was afraid you hated me too much to give me a chance,” he breathes out a shaky laugh.

“I never hated you, I was just confused. You were the one who hated me.”

“I couldn’t hate you, Y/N. And believe me, I tried.” You both laugh at his words. “I was frustrated, because I wanted to hate you and this place so badly, but still… I was drawn to you.”

“You were?” you ask, your voice barely more than just a whisper.

“You have no idea how much,” he admits with a soft smile, stepping closer to you. “When we were skating, I totally forgot about everything and just wanted to hold your hand and help you. It was like a slap across my face when mum brought the opening up and I remembered I was supposed to hate you,” he admits with a chuckle and e inches even closer. “I’m glad I don’t have to try to hate you anymore.”

“I’m glad too.”

He is right in front of you, his face only inches away from yours and you suck on your breath when he reaches up and takes your chin between his index finger and thumb, angling your head further up so your lips are now perfectly lined up with his.

His eyes move down to your mouth, then up to meet your gaze and even without words you know he is asking for your permission to kiss you. You push closer and he is quick to close the distance and press his lips against yours.

You’d be lying if you said you never imagined what it would be like to kiss Harry. Because you did, several times. But nothing compares to having him wrapped around you, his lips so soft yet rough against yours at the same time as he kisses you over and over again while you’re fisting the collar of his shirt so tight your fingers are turning white. 

Maybe you kiss for hours, or maybe it’s just minutes, you have no clue, but when he finally pulls back, resting his forehead against yours, you just know your life is about to turn upside down.

“Changed my mind,” he speaks up at last.

“Huh?”

“About the payment.”

His words sink in slowly and your eyebrows rise.

“Oh.” Harry laughs at your reaction.

“I want my payment in kisses,” he then says with the cheesiest smile you’ve ever seen on his handsome face.

“That could be arranged,” you breathe out when you finally get what he was talking about and grabbing the back of his neck you pull him in for another one. 

And another one.

And some more.

And just like that Nana somehow brought another wonderful thing into your life, even though she is not here anymore.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[meggtheegg]

FNAF Movie Theory...

I'm pretty sure there's still one major plot twist in the universe of the movie that's been set up for a sequel but hasn't actually happened yet. Heavy spoilers under the cut:

After watching the movie in theaters and then revisiting a few scenes on Peacock, I'm still kind of convinced that Mike Schmidt is Michael Afton.

Here's my reasoning. A lot of the characters spend time acting like they know something the audience/other characters don't, and those things are...mostly resolved. But some of them just...kind of aren't.

The main thing that sticks out to me is William's whole storyline. Starting with the scene where he offers Mike the job, his behavior is almost explained by the movie's logic. He sees Mike's name, seems...kind of deeply upset, looks at him very closely, stands to get coffee, and has a moment of visible internal conflict. Then he instantly offers him the Freddy's job. The way the movie frames this, it seems to be saying that he recognized the name of one of his victims, realized this was the kid's brother, and decided to kill him right then and there. Which is passable as an explanation, but it has a lot of holes, if you look deeper.

Why would William so instantly recognize a fairly common last name as the brother of some kid he killed that wasn't even anywhere near Freddy's? Why did he kidnap/kill Garrett in the first place, in some random forest in Nebraska? Why did he see the name on the file, then immediately stop and examine Mike's face so closely, when Mike's memories/dreams pretty clearly show that they never saw each others' faces when Garrett was taken? Why did he send Vanessa to "keep Mike in the dark" if he purposely gave him the job to get him killed? Why not have the animatronics kill him right away? He didn't know that Mike was searching for the man who took his brother, and while he could have maybe guessed he was still actively haunted by what happened based on Mike beating up a guy that he thought was kidnapping someone, it still feels like a weird choice to go and hire him, then just have him do the job with no issue for a few days.

As for Vanessa, we see that she's been cleaning up William's messes for years. Why is Mike the one she changes her mind and stands up to her father for? There's no implied romance between the two and no particularly meaningful connection beyond them both having family issues. I guess she cares about Abby because she's a kid, but kids getting hurt clearly never stopped her from helping her father before.

And, on a more meta level, this is Scott and his storytelling style we're talking about. The man puts plot twists inside of plot twists and everything always ties back into the Aftons, somehow.

So, here's my theory: I think that Mike is William's kid, but Mike's mom left Afton when he was young and remarried the man that Mike thinks is his father.

It seems convoluted and maybe cliche, but if it's true, then suddenly there's an answer to all of those questions. "Michael Schmidt" isn't exactly an eye-catching name, unless you had a kid named Michael and your ex-wife married a guy with the last name Schmidt. Garrett's kidnapping, then, becomes an act of intentional, petty revenge rather than an extremely random coincidence. Giving Mike the job and sending in Vanessa suddenly becomes about piecing together how much he knows and figuring out if he's worth trying to reconnect with or is just a threat that needs to be killed. (It feels worth noting that William is as far as I can remember the only person to call him Michael in the whole film. He also very pointedly never says "Schmidt" until he's decided to kill Mike and suddenly announces his full name out loud. If he went by Michael as a little kid, that is what William would default to calling him, but if he took the new husband's last name, that would be like like salt in the wound that he wouldn't want to voice. By finally saying it out loud, it feels like he's making the decision to fully separate himself from Mike.)

As for Vanessa, if Mike is her brother, it makes sense that he would be the person she'd turn against William to save. It would be weird for her not to tell him, but she could also be trying to protect him, in some way. There's never any mention of her mother, and it seems like it's just been her and William for a long time. Also, ending the movie with her in a coma feels like a strange narrative choice, but it makes sense if she knows information that's purposely being kept hidden for the sequel.

Of course, it could just be that the movie has kind of messy writing and I'm trying to fix it because I want there to be a deeper reason for it. Maybe there is no Michael Afton in the movies, or maybe he's off chilling and doing his own thing somewhere and we'll see him in the sequel. Only time will tell.

[airybcby]

Oooooh, are you still doing the spotify wrapped event? If so, my top artist is my queen Taylor Swift and my top song is Haunted:3 If not, please ignore this!! Have a great day<3

i am!! im OBSESSED WITH HAUNTED!!!

if your top artist was taylor swift and your top song was haunted, i’d pair you with…

sae itoshi

AND

rin itoshi

જ⁀♡⊹｡° i'm wishing he was you instead

♡ a/n — for my spotify wrapped event! - masterlist -

♡ content — sae itoshi x gn! reader, rin itoshi x gn! reader, gn! reader, reader still likes sae, unrequited feelings, pining, reader and rin are in a relationship, set in the u-20 vs bllk match

♡ synopsis — when sae itoshi left you all those years ago, you foun comfort in rin, but what happens when all those feelings come to a head?

It’s supposed to be just a game—another match between the Blue Lock 11 and the U-20 team—but everything inside you stops when you see him.

Sae.

His presence on the field is magnetic, the way he moves, the way he commands attention. It’s effortless, calculated. You can almost hear the echoes of old memories, the ones that made you believe in him. But that’s not the person who’s standing there today, commanding the U-20 team.

He’s changed—hasn’t he? He has to have changed. But when you see him like this, it feels like nothing ever really shifted. The ball at his feet. The smirk. The arrogance. It’s like no time has passed since he walked away from you, no time since he left without a word, leaving you to pick up the pieces.

And there’s Rin. The one you’re with now.

You’ve never told Rin about what happened with Sae. Not the whole story. Not the part where you clung to him after Sae left, afraid to be alone, afraid to face the emptiness without someone by your side. You never told him that part of why you sought Rin out wasn’t just because of who he was—but because he was someone you thought you could lean on when Sae wasn’t there anymore.

You glance over at Rin now, who’s in the middle of the action, fiercely focused, the way he always is when he’s playing. There’s an intensity to him you admire, and it’s real. Rin’s always been like that—headstrong, ambitious, and present. Unlike Sae, whose detachment was as much a part of him as his skill. Rin is here, playing for himself. And you’re with him.

But today… today you can’t help but feel that deep ache when Sae looks at you from across the field. His gaze lingers for a moment too long, and even from a distance, you feel it. That old pull, that ghost of a connection you once had. You quickly turn away, but it’s too late. The memories are already flooding back.

You and Sae, back then—before everything changed. Before he chose his own path, before you learned how easily he could let go of you. Back when you still believed there was a chance.

Rin glances at you from the corner of his eye and then back to the game, but his attention is clearly divided. He’s trying to gauge you, to figure out what’s distracting you. He can see it in your expression—the way your focus isn’t fully on the match, the way your mind is elsewhere.

And it’s true. You’re not fully here. You’re not fully present, and it’s not fair to Rin. He deserves better. He deserves someone who’s as invested in him as he is in you. But how can you be when part of you is still haunted by Sae? When the "what-ifs" and "could-have-beens" keep swirling around in your mind every time you look at him?

It's after the game when Rin finally finds you, waiting on the field for him. Or someone else. “Hey,” Rin’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “Are you okay?”

You shake your head, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah, just a little distracted,” you mutter, your gaze flickering back to Sae as he makes a move on the field, reporters around him. It’s impossible to ignore him, especially when he’s so close, when every part of him pulls you back in like it always used to.

Rin notices where you’re looking, and the edge in his voice hardens. “You’re still thinking about him, aren’t you?”

Your heart stutters. You don’t answer right away. You don’t have to. Rin knows.

“I’m here,” he continues, his eyes searching yours, softer now. “I’m not him. But I’m here. And I want you here, too.”

You feel the weight of his words, and your chest tightens. You want to be there with Rin. You are with him, after all. But Sae’s shadow lingers, and you can’t escape it. Not when you see him there, so perfect and untouchable, just like before.

And the truth hurts, doesn’t it? The truth is, part of you will always wish things had been different with Sae. You’ll always wonder what could have been if he hadn’t left. But it’s too late for that now. You’ve already chosen.

You look at Rin, and the guilt sets in. You’re here with him, and yet your heart still aches for someone who walked away.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, almost to yourself. “I’m trying to move on. I really am.”

Rin doesn’t say anything for a moment. Instead, he takes your hand, his fingers firm, but gentle. His touch grounds you in a way Sae’s never did.

“I know,” Rin says softly. “But I’m not him. And I won’t leave. You’re mine, whether you realize it or not.”

You squeeze his hand, nodding. “I know.”

But in the back of your mind, Sae’s lingering gaze stays with you, a reminder of what you could never have.

got this idea and i'm not sure ppl will like it but f it we ball

i hope you liked it!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[maniwannadiezz]

Thank you. You make me feel sane for hating on vivs art😭 (she did influence my art in middle school, but now I see all the issues with it)

no problem! I think her art had a lot of bad influence on newer artists simply because at first glance it’s appealing and people like you (and me) thought why can’t we just copy it and go from there? Welllll problem is that just copying an artist will lead to you consuming and producing the mistakes they make or not fully grasp why they exaggerated something the way they did. Unfortunately those anime hating art teachers held some truth in their words, just copying right off of another artist without fully understanding the rules of art will lead to getting stuck.

I’ve gotten “stuck” before, my art deformed contorted to the style and gave me a mess where the heads were too big and the proportions too wonky when I could have spent my time understanding anatomy and proper colouring techniques. Of course there’s nothing wrong with just wanting pretty looking art and nothing more but if you want to expand and not hit a ceiling it’s better to learn the rules before you break them. You’ll probably learn things you never knew you never knew! Find things about your style you never dreamed you could have drawn before and expand into your OWN person and your OWN artist, instead of being the vivziepop drawalike.

DECONSTRUCTING VIVZIEPOP ARTISTIC ISSUES WE MAY HAVE CONSUMED AS CHILDREN (if her art has improved I haven’t seen but I will give her the benefit of the doubt! So let’s just isolate this to the past for US ex hazbin artists to understand where our problems truly began)

Anatomy: Vivziepop has a habit of not properly following even the anatomy of her own drawings let alone anatomy rules at all. I had to bend and meld what I thought a limb may look like from its transition from in front to behind a limb (like the legs) since the lines didn’t properly match up. Arms change size, legs have no knees, one thigh thicker than the other and hands that have fingers which melt into the palms.

you could say it’s stylistic, but considering she’s ONLY ever drawing stylistically whether she liked to or not this bad anatomy has become a crutch and down fall. If she wished to draw more realistically I will assume she can’t or can’t anymore…

Here’s a draw over. You can keep the stylistic effects while keeping your anatomy at least somewhat readable, especially the hands 💀

Shading: shading plays a huge role in not only give us context to the image like where the light source is coming from but also the shapes of the body. the body is comprised of different shapes (cylinders for arms and legs, circles and ovals for head, different planes for the face) with shading like vivziepop’s we don’t know where the light is coming from but also the shading blends into the drawing as visual noise, or worse makes things look flat and lifeless. Her legs especially are shaded as if they are two pieces of paper sticking out from under her dress.

Colours: we all know her main appeal in art is her colours, but designing your piece by just how pretty you can make all the colours also is ignoring fundamentals in what makes your art from good to BEST. With too much of one shade your whole piece blends together in the eyes of the viewer. With not enough contrast in the right areas you will have a focal point that bounces around (like us her chest the focal point? It’s the darkest spot on the piece! Or is it all those eyes that clutter up the whole drawing with the random stripes in the back…. Ouch! I can’t tell what’s what!)

conclusion: I leave you and others with this quest, you wanna get better at art? Take a moment to critique even your own favourite artists. You can have inspiration of course but question their decisions before blindly hoping on the hype train. Or you could be consuming their own mistakes and end up STUCK, like I was, like many have become.

Give critiquing these pieces a try, deconstruct them, trace them (don’t post) see where the lines match up- do the limbs look as if they existed behind the limb or do they go to a void and come up the other side a completely different size? You tell me…

[shankss-magnificent-ass]

Imagine Shanks finding out you like head pats

Kind of a part two to this post

Macro: *lands where the Whitebeard and Red hair pirates have joined together to fight the marines*

You: *trying to hanging on*

Marco: *pretending like nothing happened* whew boy, that was close, those bastards almost got us.

Shanks: *runs over* Oh you're in one piece. What happened, we couldn't find you after the marines left, we thought they had taken you

Marco: (y/n) saved me *strokes you on the head* Tackled me into a tree but still.

You: ( //^ w ^///)

Whitebeard: Thanks kid, for saving my boy *also pats your head*

You: (⁠｡--ω--｡⁠)

Benn: *notices your enjoyment*

Shanks: Oi, hands off, only I'm allowed to touch them without permission!

Weeks later

You: I can't believe you, Benn, did you snoop through my stuff!

Benn: Easy there, *gently ruffles your hair* I wasn't snooping, I was looking for my sweater and couldn't find it in your closet where you said it was, so I looked around. I didn't go through anywhere besides your closet, and dresser, minus the socks and underwear drawer.

You: oh, *relaxes when you feel the warmth from his palm seep into you* Okay then.

Shanks: *who thought you would kill him* whoa, whoa, wait, you damn near bit my head off last week for even setting foot in your room. And he gets away with going through your stuff!

You: Benn's different.

Shanks: Excuse me, how's he get that privilege.

Benn: Darlin', could you go get me the compass while I deal with him? *Gestures to you to go*

You: oh, okay

Benn: *the moment you're out of ear shot* I can get away with it for a few reasons. One, you're immature, you'll go through stuff you shouldn't like their dirty hamper or under their bed.

Shanks: wait, what's under their bed.

Benn: dunno, but reason number two, is they can probably smell you after you leave. You wear way too much cologne, and it's the kind that gives them headaches after a while.

Shanks: how come neither of you mentioned that before! I would have changed my cologne and how much I wear if I had known.

Benn: shut up and let me finish, and reason number three, that I got away with it, and you didn't is I know their weakness.

Shanks: What the hell are you on about?

Benn: do you remember during the last battle, when Whitebeard thanked them for saving Marco? And how he patted their head? That's their weakness, it automatically quells them.

Shanks: I don't buy.

Benn:*sees you returning* here watch.

You: Here you go. *hands him the compass*

Benn: Thanks doll *slides his fingers through your hair and gently scratches his blunt nails over your scalp*

You: (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

Shanks: oooh *fully intends to use this knowledge to his advantage* Makes sense, they usually like having their hair pulled.

You: *Gawks at him in horror and confusion*

Benn: *laughs at you*

List of Up-and-coming works

Support me on Kofi and Patreon

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

Hi! Can you do one where Valentina gets a boyfriend and Leo and her brothers dont like him because they know he going to break her heart?

Valentina Gets A Boyfriend (Fluff?/Crack?)

The Children series

Bayverse!Leonardo x reader

A/N: I’ve changed it up a little bit, so this is more about the moment they learn that Valentina has gotten a boyfriend💙

Warnings: Leo becoming full on confrontational father mood, brothers being annoying?

You guess it was bound to happen at one point. Ever since you first learned that your 16 year old daughter had been sneaking out, in order to meet with her friends on the world above. It was what happened with young people. Romeo did it when he started going out alone at the age of 18, Marcello would do it too, and so did Gerardo when he became old enough. Suddenly, it wasn’t uncommon for your sons to bring home one female at the time, or to sleep over at their girlfriend’s place. So when Valentina started doing it too, you weren’t surprised. What surprised you was how early she did it.

You were the one to catch her first, waking up in the middle of the night with a sudden thirst, only to find your daughter fully dressed on her way out. Of course you asked her what she was doing, and the look of terror on her face was noticeable. She was caught.

Valentina admitted everything to you. For around half a year, she had been sneaking out, meeting with her human friends before going to their place, watching movies, playing video games and eating not just pizza, but anything they could think of. But then, much to Valentina’s surprise, you let her go, telling her to call if anything were to happen, and to make sure that she got home before it got too late. She stared at you for a moment, before asking you if you were mad.

“Of course I’m not mad at you”, you said, reaching a hand out to stroke her cheek. “You’re young and living your life, and you should be allowed to do that. Heck, even Marcello and Gerardo was allowed to go out at your age, as long as they stayed with Romeo, so I can’t see why you shouldn’t do that with friends. And if you stay with people that’ll keep you safe, then I’m not worried. But… Don’t let your father and your brothers know. They probably wouldn’t be so happy about that”.

“Thank you, mom���, Valentina smiled, before embracing you in a tight hug. And then, with the quick speed she had gotten from her father, she was out the door, enjoying time with her friends.

Days went by, and then those days turned into weeks, and those weeks turned into months. Valentina would continue to hang out with her friends during the late hours of night, keeping it a secret from her father and brothers. But ever so slowly, she would let you know small pieces of her life. Such as her best friends, Juniper, Tova, Emil and Kobe, the ones that she would hang out with whenever she went out. She would mention them to you, whenever she was sure the two of you were alone, still not wishing for anybody else to know. But then she mentioned another name. Another name you had never heard before. Zander. She mentioned it once in passing, almost seeming shocked that she even mentioned it, before quickly moving on to other topics. But the damage was done. You knew of a Zander. How he was and what his relation to your daughter was, you did not know. But you had a feeling. Just like your parents did when you accidentally mentioned Leo for the first time. And soon, you would have your suspicions confirmed, although, not in the way Valentina would have wished.

It was a calm Saturday, with most of the extended family hanging around in the living area. It was the wonderful thing with weekends. With the turtles pretty much having full time jobs at the NYPD, it allowed them to have the weekends off, in order to spend time with their families, only coming in for work if it was absolutely necessary. Which it rarely was.

Valentina was tucked up on the couch, with her phone securely in her hand, a small smile making its way to her face every once in a while, along with a small lip bite. It wasn’t uncommon for your teenage daughter to sit with her phone like a lifeline. But it was uncommon for her to smile at it like that. And that was something her brothers noticed.

“What the hell are you smiling at?”, Marcello asked with a teasing tone, dropping down beside her on the couch, trying to get a look of what was on her screen. But instead he was met with an angry stare and her phone turned away from him.

“None of your damn business”, Valentina said, scooting away from him. That caused Marcello’s brows to rise, before he scooted closer, reaching out for a phone, pulling back when his hand was slapped hard. “What about none of your business did you not understand?!”, Valentina yelled, pretty much catching the attention of the whole lair.

“Damn, Teen Queen, why are you so mad?”, Romeo asked, taking a seat on the chair beside the couch.

“First, don’t ever call me that again. It’s gross”, Valentina pointed, causing Romeo to raise his hands in a surrendering motion. “Second, it’s not your business either”.

“Oh! Are you keeping secrets?”, Gerardo asked, pretty much coming out of nowhere, trying to look from behind the couch, causing Valentina to move away again, hiding her screen from him. “Let me guess. You’re on some fanpage for that old boy band, with middle aged women hoping that they would get back together soon”.

“I was 13 and had just learned about One Direction!”, Valentina yelled, letting her guard for just a moment, giving Marcello all the time he needed to snatch the phone out of her hand. And of course, Valentina’s luck would have you and Leo walk into the living area at that exact moment as Marcello saw the name on the screen and the last message.

“Who the hell is Zander, and why is he asking if you’re still on tonight?!”, Marcello asked out loud, all of his brothers’ eyes going wide, their mouths agasp.

“WHAT!?”, Leo’s voice boomed through the lair, the ground under you pretty much shaking as he made his way over to the couch in fast steps.

Valentina practically jumped for her phone in a panic, but damned be her older brothers and their quick reflexes. Marcello pushed Valentina away with a small shove, before throwing the phone to Romeo. And Romeo, being a true father’s boy, even in his early 30’s handed the phone straight to Leo. And with one look at the phone, Leo knew what was up. Of course he knew. He had done this himself when he was young.

“You’ve been out?!”, Leo asked, anger brewing under his disbelief. “Valentina Hamato, have you gone topside?” Valentina sat uncomfortable on the couch, looking down with her lip tucked between her lips, she gave a small nod after a long uncomfortable silence. The way her brothers scrambled to stand would almost have been comedic, had it not been for the strong tension in the air. Leo shifted his weight back and forth between his legs. He was fuming, doing his best to keep it down. “Who is Zander?”

Valentina’s answer was muffled. So muffled that Leo had to ask her to repeat, her brothers standing in silence to hear her answer. “My boyfriend”.

“BOYFRIEND!?”, your sons yelled out loud, even catching Leo off guard. “YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND!?”

“That’s what I said”, Valentina said, avoiding their eyes.

Leo wanted to ask more, but had to step back as Romeo jumped in front of him, confronting Valentina with questions of his own.

“How did you meet Zander?!”

“Through a friend!”, Valentina answered, already growing frustrated.

“A friend?!”, Marcello yelled, almost pushing past Leo. “What friend?! You don’t have any friends!”

“I do have friends”, Valentina said, rubbing her left temple. “It’s those friends I’ve been hanging out with when I’ve gone top side”.

Leo opened his mouth, ready to say something, only to be cut off by Gerardo, flapping his arms around in a furry. “But you can’t go top side! You’re only 16!”

“I’ve been going top side for almost a year”, Valentina said, causing her brothers to yell out a bunch of “what!”s, “no way!”s and “are you fucking kidding right now?!”, before continuing their questioning, focusing on Valentina’s boyfriend, already having determined that he was a bad influence, and that she should stop seeing him, all while Valentina rubbed the top of her beak, waiting for them to shut up.

Leo stood on the sideline, watching the whole thing play out in absolute confusion, before slowly making his way over to you.

“Can you believe it?”, he asked, gesturing towards your kids. You knew that he was talking about Valentina, but you decided to do otherwise, putting your focus on your sons instead.

“I know right. They have taken after you in their questioning too”, you smiled, watching your sons lose their mind at all of Valentina’s answers.

Leo’s brows rose, looking from your children to you, slowly realizing what you had just said, thinking back to all the times he had lectured his sons. “Am I really that bad?”

“Yup”, you said with a small nod.

“Oh”, Leo said, looking down at Valentina’s phone, still in the palm of his hand. “I should… probably give this back to her”.

“You should”, you smiled with a small nod, clapping your husband on the shoulder, before he made his way over and through the warzone, handing the phone back to Valentina, who looked like she was very tired of her brothers’ bullshit.

That night Valentina didn’t go out to meet with Zander, as she had been grounded for a month, due to her sneaking out. But after a week, Leo relented, letting Valentina go top side, on the condition that would give him a written update on her well-being over text every half hour, and that Zander would come down to pick her up, so he could have a word with him first. And of course, your sons wanted to be present as well. That was going to be interesting…

[offtorivendell]

Is an oily residue corrupting Azriel's hypothetical mating bond and making him feel off kilter? Is it related to Valg-type magic?

Disclaimer: this theory is a continuation of a few of my others that I've been too lazy to post until now - first I was going to post it for Elriel Month 2023, then Azriel Week 2023... it never happened - but like everyone else I'm having massive FOMO before HOFAS, so here we finally go, even though I know I've forgotten something lol. As usual, this makes no claims of being accurate, it's just theorising for fun.

A massive thank you goes out to @wingedblooms, @tswaney17, @silverlinedeyes, @psychologynerd, @ladynightcourt3, @cassianfanclub, and anyone else I've forgotten (sorry!) for all of our discussions that finally became this post. Love you guys. 💜

Spoilers: this is a Maasverse post, and draws from the ACOTAR series, CC 1 & 2/HOEAB & HOSAB, and the TOG series. It is CC 3/HOFAS spoiler free, as I'm waiting to read it in its "original English" 🤓 on the 30th of January. Please be respectful of that if engaging in the comments before it's published!

Plenty of people, including @silverlinedeyes, @icedflames and myself, have posted our thoughts on mating bonds in the Maasverse, and this theory builds on those previously established - though again, as yet hypothetical - ideas. Specifically, this post about the use of “oily” throughout the ACOTAR series is recommended reading.

What we do know is that:

Mating bonds contain threads, and so do spells.

Mates are the song/music of the soul, and their laughter is likened to music.

Different fae, and magics, contain different scents, be that personal or regional

First, let's go back to ACOWAR, when Feyre described the Ravens' entrance into the library as being like an off-kilter chord:

I felt it at the same moment she did. The ripple and tremor. Like … like some piece of the world shifted, like some off-kilter chord had been plucked. We turned toward the illuminated path that we’d just taken through the stacks, then to the dark far, far beyond. - ACOWAR, chapter 30

Initially, I had wondered if the King of Hybern had had Jurian use the Harp to infiltrate Velaris, but it was @merymoonbeam (I think) who theorised that the Cauldron might be mimicking the Harp, and maybe not doing the best job of it. Which made me wonder, could it do the same with mate bonds?

He left the rest unspoken. Because her mate was here, sleeping a level up. Because her mate had been in the family room and Azriel had needed to stay by the door the whole time because he couldn't stand the sight of it, the scent of their mating bond, and needed to have the option of leaving if it became too much. - ACOSF, Azriel's bonus chapter

Looking at her now … She was pale, yes. The vacancy still glazing her features. But he couldn’t breathe as she faced him fully. She was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen. Betrayal, queasy and oily, slid through his veins. He’d said the same to Jesminda once. But even as shame washed through him, the words, the sense chanted, Mine. You are mine, and I am yours. Mate. - ACOWAR, chapter 24

What if the Elucien bond, as either a spell or piss poor Cauldron-Made approximation of a bond, causes Azriel - and maybe Elain, possibly Lucien - nausea when Lucien is around because it's constantly changing, or reverberating over the top of, what remains of a hypothetical Elriel bond?

What if it's making the Elriel bond off-kilter, out of whack, imbalanced?

Does this make Azriel feel sick, nauseous, or simply overwhelmed/overstimulated?

When people are feeling off-balance, for whatever reason, they can feel sick or nauseous. It's one of the symptoms of vertigo, which can be triggered by severe headaches such as migraines. And guess who rubs their temples? Azriel!

Alternatively, certain chords played loudly enough on a string instrument can really mess with your chest - and where do mating bonds attach - if you're standing close enough for them to vibrate through you (at least, they do for me haha). It can be weirdly disconcerting, and I'd imagine that if Azriel or Elain feels something like this, no wonder he describes such severe discomfort that he needs to leave, and she shrinks away from Lucien, the unintentional cause of her pain.

Same with the smell; if the magic of the Cauldron, in whatever way, is messing with the smell that should be there? Contaminating it? Unbearable.

Is this too crack for you? Well, let's get even crazier.

I have previously suggested that the Cauldron's actions throughout the series could be tracked, in part, by SJM describing a feeling or quality as “oily,” and I've also wondered if the dark maker of the Cauldron - Koschei? - could have hijacked it in some way, as the Book of Breathings being made from leftover iron gave me “One Ring” vibes. I still stand by that, but with a clarification (and here is where the TOG and CC spoilers come in, FYI). I think it's only half of the magic belonging to the Cauldron that is "oily":

Throughout TOG, the Valg are heavily associated with “oiliness,” in terms of their blood and magic. The smell “reeks” and always results in the involved characters experiencing extreme revulsion, including headaches. Sound familiar?

Wyrdstone has an oily, hideous aftertaste.

Even in CC 1/HOEAB, Danika was described as oily when she came into Griffin Antiques.

Celaena looked at the sealed door, her stomach turning. A half-dried pool of blood lay at the base of the door, so dark it looked like oil. She crouched, swiping a finger through the puddle. She sniffed at it, almost gagged at the reek, and then rubbed her finger against the pad of her thumb. It felt as oily as it looked. - COM, chapter 45

“What the hell is that?” Rowan demanded, kneeling beside her, sniffing her outstretched hand. He jerked back, snarling. “That’s not dirt.” No, it wasn’t. It was blacker than night, and reeked just as badly as it had the first time she’d smelled it, in the catacombs beneath the library, an obsidian, oily pool of blood. Slightly different from that other, horrific smell that loitered around this place, but similar. So similar to— “This isn’t possible,” she said, jolting to her feet. “This—this—this—” She paced, if only to keep from shaking. “I’m wrong. I have to be wrong.” There had been so many cells in that forgotten dungeon beneath the library, beneath the king’s Wyrdstone clock tower. The creature she’d encountered there had possessed a human heart. It had been left, she’d suspected, because of some defect. What if … what if the perfected ones had been moved elsewhere? What if they were now … ready? - HOF, chapter 45

The overseer roared, thrashing as her magic swept into him, melded with him. But there was nothing inside to grab on to. No darkness to burn out, no remaining ember to breathe life into. Only— Aelin reeled back, magic vanishing and knees buckling as if struck. Her head gave a throb, and nausea roiled in her gut. She knew that feeling—that taste. Iron. As if the man’s core was made of it. And that oily, hideous aftertaste … Wyrdstone. The demon inside the overseer let out a choked laugh. “What are collars and rings compared to a solid heart? A heart of iron and Wyrdstone, to replace the coward’s heart beating within.” - EOS, chapter 15

* Side note, it's giving Tamlin and his stone heart.

Danika didn’t just look like she’d been rootling through the garbage. She smelled like it, too. Wisps of her silvery blond hair—normally a straight, silken sheet—curled from her tight, long braid, the streaks of amethyst, sapphire, and rose splattered with some dark, oily substance that reeked of metal and ammonia. - CC HOEAB, chapter 1

The Hind held Ruhn’s gaze as the game began. She was the spitting image of Luna, with her upswept chignon, the regal angle of her neck and jaw. As coldly serene as the moon. All she needed was a pack of hunting hounds at her side— And she had them, in her dreadwolves. How had someone so young risen in the ranks so swiftly, gained such notoriety and power? No wonder she left a trail of blood behind her. “Careful now,” the Harpy said with that oily smile. “The Hammer doesn’t share.” The Hind’s lips curved upward. “No, he doesn’t.” - CC HOSAB, chapter 33

I think the dark maker of the Cauldron could have been Valg, whether that's Koschei or someone else I don't know though Koschei currently makes the most sense. I also don't know when the dark maker would have had the chance to influence the Cauldron; was it always made from dark and light, or - as @fawnandshadows theorised a while back - did Koschei bastardise it after the fact? Where the Valg would fit in with the Daglan and the Asteri is also a mystery, though my current train of thought is that they could be family names or allegiances, like different clans of the same parasitical species, thanks to the description of Danika in HOEAB.

But, back to Azriel and his severe reaction to the Elucien bond.

I know I'm not the only one who wonders at the very Valg-ish themes with which Rhys and Azriel's powers have been described - maybe one day I'll post my thoughts about the possible link between lightsingers, shadowsingers, daemati and the Valg (but it is not this day lol) - and how that may have come about. For example, are the Valg interwoven, genetically, with the Avallen people, or is it because the Princes of Hel are also involved, and have similar magics? Are the Princes of Hel a similar species as the Valg, Asteri and Daglan, or completely different? Ugh, let's stop this spiral here.

Oily: the obvious train of thought being that oily things are slippery, which can lead to an imbalance… ie. becoming off-kilter.

Sounds like Azriel could be suffering from some sort of vertigo, of which symptoms can include nausea; severe headaches, such as migraines, may trigger an episode… and who rubs his temples enough that Elain noticed it?

Maybe Azriel can sense the corruption in the bond, either the current Elucien bond, or the hypothetical original bond between Elain and himself; if like calls to like, and his shadows are Valg-ish, maybe it is because his OG bond was fucked with. So, what if:

Azriel's shadows can slip away from spells and binding magic (Slippery > oily > Valg).

The guards at the prison know what he is.

Valg magic making Azriel nauseous and Elain sourcing/making a healer's powder for him? It's giving Chaol and Yrene. Especially since Elain (and Mor) make his shadows brighten.

So, we have in-text mentions of Azriel feeling overwhelmed due to the proximity of the Elucien bond, as well as Elain shrinking from Lucien - an action that parallels Azriel hanging out in the doorway, and even Lucien retreating to the human lands, if he feels any bond-related discomfort around Elain. But what about his initial response to seeing Elain, and thinking she was the most beautiful female he'd ever seen? The quote that sent me down the “oily” rabbit hole to begin with?

Looking at her now … She was pale, yes. The vacancy still glazing her features. But he couldn’t breathe as she faced him fully. She was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen. Betrayal, queasy and oily, slid through his veins. He’d said the same to Jesminda once. But even as shame washed through him, the words, the sense chanted, Mine. You are mine, and I am yours. Mate. - ACOWAR, chapter 24

Well, Aelin felt oily disgust at the thought of marrying someone who wasn't Rowan:

“There are no allies,” Darrow said. “Unless Her Highness decides to be useful and gain us men and arms through marriage”—a sharp glance at Rowan—“we are alone.” Aelin debated revealing what she knew, the money she’d schemed and killed to attain, but— Something cold and oily clanged through her. Marriage to a foreign king or prince or emperor. Would this be the cost? Not just in blood shed, but in dreams yielded? To be a princess eternal, but never a queen? To fight with not just magic, but the other power in her blood: royalty. She could not look at Rowan, could not face those pine-green eyes without being sick. - EOS, chapter 5

This example from Aelin could describe Azriel and Elain’s potential future if Elain accepted a theoretically Cauldron spelled bond to Lucien, but also for Lucien and Jesminda, if they were originally true or fated mates before she was murdered.

Some final thoughts:

We know from TOG that healing light is known as the Valg executioner. In a parallel to Yrene killing Erawan with her healing light in KOA, Elain killed the King of Hybern - who I suspect was possessed or assisted by a Valg, as Feyre described his magic as a “galaxy” in his palms - with Truth-Teller, which had recently devoured the (her?) sunlight; does this mean that Elain could heal or purify Valg possessed things, with or without the magical, Made dagger? Could this be extrapolated to Azriel's magic, the Dread Trove, or even the Cauldron (possibly with Feyre and Nesta for the bigger ticket items)?

If the Asteri are the same species as the Valg, and the Valg somehow had a hand in making or twisting the Cauldron, it could follow that they used the Cauldron to create offspring bonds for a more powerful food source. If this pans out then Elain, bright light, could hypothetically heal the Cauldron. Maybe that is why Azriel describes her with purity language? Not because SJM wants to display Azriel's apparently toxic thoughts about her (🙄), but because she, along with her sisters, will be his/their salvation? Rhys once said as much to Feyre!

@mrspettyferr has suggested that Azriel's shadows ability to hide him from binding magic - see: the High Lord's meeting in ACOWAR - could have prevented his true bond from snapping with Elain when she came out of the Cauldron. This could be supported by any Valg/shadow link.

Thank you for reading! Please don't mention any CC HOFAS spoilers in the comments or reblogs until after it has been officially published. 💜

[queer-whatchamacallit]

(SPOILERS) Most of my initial thoughts about season 3 were extremely positive (because I love this show, by god, I love this show), but as I look at it more, I can see what it’s missing, and I can see why people are upset by it

I’m going to look at where The Bear focuses on the past (flashbacks, where characters revert and become their younger, less healthy selves, or where characters’ actions are thoroughly influenced by past trauma), the present (the state things are in, stagnation) and the future (positive change, potential)

Season 1 is primarily focused on the present. The staff slowly learns and changes for the better, but overall they still have 300k hanging over their heads, and there’s only so much that can change under those conditions. There’s pieces here and there that show how Carmy is influenced by his past, both his fucked up family and his time in fucked up kitchens, but he tries his hardest to bottle that up, so we don’t always see a lot. Season 1 is focused on the state of things in the restaurant, seemingly how it is and always will be to some extent. That’s until they find the tomato cans and hope for the future bursts in.

Season 2 focuses on that future. It focuses on change and rebuilding and how everyone is improving themselves. There’s no real focus on how things are because they’re completely changing what that is. There are pieces from the past here too. Claire is some bridge between past and future, tied to his family and who he’s been as well as the type of person he could be (one who lets himself have amusement and enjoyment). Everything and everyone changes until the very end, where Carmy’s stagnation, fear of that positive future, and romanticization of his past self bite him in the ass.

While season 1 is the present and season 2 is the future, there are traces of the other times these seasons.

Season 3 is almost entirely focused on the past. There are entire episodes focused on Carmy’s life at highend restaurants, Tina finding The Beef, and the Ever funeral ties together all these people that changed Carmy. These are beautiful, phenomenal moments, but there isn’t enough time given to the new order of things at the restaurant. There isn’t enough connective tissue. We get one episode that’s entirely focused on how the restaurant is running, but they tried to pack so much in through montages of failures that I don’t feel the stakes of any of them.

I wanted so so much more from Marcus’ story. Carmy’s grief was shown subtly through little moments of running the restaurant, but because they barely showed the restaurant, they barely showed Marcus. I really enjoy the moments we did get (conversations with Carm and with Syd), but it got completely lost when I feel like that should have been a centerpiece. The Bear is a show built on grief (it feels like most characters we meet have suffered a loss somewhat recently), but when another loss is suffered by a main character, it’s set aside for pretty flashbacks.

Carmy was so thoroughly gripped by his past this season that he fully tries to recreate the highend kitchens he used to work for. He is distant and dangerously fast-paced, but he is an excellent chef that creates meals with the best possible option for it.

He’s clearly not sleeping. Through the entire season, he feels as single-minded and self-destructive as he gets during his meltdown points (1x08 and 2x10).

I feel like someone should have stopped him. It feels out character that no one at least tried to. When Carmy’s working on the next day’s menu and shooting down everything Syd suggests, I was waiting for her to bring up “vibrant collaboration dude.” When Carmy was spraying out the alley, I was expecting Cicero to say something like, “Kid, I feel you may not have known this, but you are still on a fuckin budget. Your Orwellian butter can’t possibly be worth what we’re paying for it.” I was waiting the whole season for Sugar to just say, “Go home and get some sleep, Bear.”

If that review was as bad as Carmy’s, “motherfucker” made it out to be and if Cicero shuts down the restaurant, it will have felt preventable.

Sugar having the baby is the only real progression toward the future, and she doesn’t even get a name.

Everything shown of the past is phenomenal and gorgeous and heartbreaking, but there is so little progress made on the path we expected to and were hoping to be going down. I think you can make a season out of the present or the future, but the past doesn’t work quite as well. It has a lot of good, but it’s missing a lot of good too.

[sstormyskyess]

A Tender Surprise

author's note: hii guys i'm finally back to writing!! it took many weeks but i finished a piece [thank god] so i think i'll be back in the swing of things! if you pay attention to my tags you know i love priceghost and i wanna be a part of it 🙏 i hope y'all like this as much as i do!!

cw: smut, unintentional voyeurism, established ghostprice relation/situationship, oral sex (m receiving), sub!simon, handjobs, threesome

word count: 2500+

John Price x GN!Reader x Simon "Ghost" Riley

If there’s one thing everyone knew about Captain John Price, it was the fact that he always takes care of his team. No matter what, his team is his first priority. That didn’t change one bit when you were onboarded to the team. The very moment you showed up, he treated you like you had always been there without hesitation.

Of course, this wasn’t how everyone on the force treated you. You were an outsider after all; the others on the team barely knew you compared to Price, who you’d known for multiple years before he recruited you.

Ghost was the starkest offender in this case. No matter where you went or who you were talking to, if Ghost was there he was scrutinizing you, and he didn’t try to hide it in the slightest. At the very least, you appreciated his transparency on how he felt about you.

It took months of working together on operations and other missions for him to finally start letting his guard down enough for you to take a glimpse of the Ghost the rest of the task force knew and loved. It was a slow process, but it felt lovely to have his attention in a way that wasn’t unsettling at best.

Although you liked to think that all of it was simply him growing to like you just for you, the change in his attitude was supplemented by Price’s intervention along the way. The captain was a firm advocate of your skills and trustworthiness, and it certainly helped Ghost feel more comfortable around you.

After around a year and a half, you and Ghost have gotten much closer than you would’ve ever imagined upon first meeting him. Much, much closer. Close enough that you two will stay in each other’s private quarters overnight at least once a week, just for the sake of being in each other’s company. You’ve had many a late night talk, comforted each other through the worst of moods, and generally become more of a duo than just regular squadmates.

Tonight is one of those nights where you need someone to be around, just to keep your mind off your troubles for a little while, so you head to Ghost’s quarters just as you usually would. You made it to his door and gently nudged the door handle to check if it was locked or not, and to your relief, the door was open. Generally if he had the door unlocked, it meant he was fine with you visiting. No one else would be crazy enough to just open the lieutenant’s door without asking, so there was no need for concern.

So, you quietly open the door and push it open, taking a peek inside. It’s unlikely he’s asleep, even at this hour, but you don’t want to wake him up in the case he is. You’re met with a pair of eyes looking at you as your head slowly peeks inside, but they aren’t the caramel brown ones you’re used to seeing in the low light of the room. Instead, you’re staring into the soft blue-gray eyes of the one and only John Price, your captain.

If that wasn’t surprising enough, Ghost was there too, but his back was to the door as he sits between Price’s thighs, doing what you could only think is… giving his captain a blowjob. You can’t be fully sure, of course; Ghost is a big guy and he’s blocking off most of Price’s lower half with his large frame, but judging from the way his head is bobbing up and down, it’s hard to think of anything else he could be doing.

All you can do is stand there, eyes wide in disbelief. You had to be dreaming, right? This couldn’t possibly be real. Right?

You mouth out a ‘sorry,’ before starting to back out of the room, but Price stops you with a hand motion, beckoning you further inside. Somehow, he manages to compel you into walking inside fully and shutting the door behind you as quietly as possible, locking it and effectively sealing your fate. You’re not sure entirely what that fate may be, but the quiet sound of the lock clicking shut sounded eerily similar to that of a judge’s gavel dropping onto his bench, an intimidating sound indeed.

For a moment, you stand there awkwardly, shifting from one foot to the other and just watching your best friend sucking off your superior casually as can be. You swallow past the lump in your throat when Price threads his fingers through Ghost’s short, dirty blonde hair, an act so intimate that it feels even weirder to witness than the rest of what’s happening in this very moment.

After a few more tense moments of you watching the spectacle in front of you, Price gently pulls Ghost away from his cock and gives him a small, yet warm smile. You can’t see Ghost’s face, but the way he relaxes and slumps forward a bit, you can tell he’s having just as much of a good time as his captain is. Price mumbles something to him and he nods, leaning into the hand on the back of his head.

You’re about to start sneaking out of the room again before Price meets your eyes again. At this point, Ghost finally notices the captain’s fleeting glances over his shoulder and he turns to see what he was looking at. You freeze, your whole body stiffening up when his eyes finally meet yours. You expect him to get angry with you, to shout at you to get out and not come back, but none of that happens. In fact, his gaze travels down your body and his gaze darkens with something that looks like lust.

“I-I, um…” You glance back at the door. “I’ll just go, I’m so sorry for barging in—”

“Stay.”

Ghost’s command stops you in your tracks and you stand frozen in place again, waiting for some kind of indication of what the two of them wanted from you. Did they actually want you to stay and watch whatever this was? You don’t get to question it much longer since Price looks at you expectantly and motions you over with a tilt of his head. Reluctantly, you approach the two and wait for another command.

Price pats the spot next to him on the bed and you sit there, hands in your lap and fiddling with each other nervously. His hand comes to rest on your lower back, a comforting gesture. “You’re free to leave if you’d like,” he says quietly, making sure you were looking at him before continuing. “But, we’d love to have you.”

Now, you were no stranger to fantasizing about your team members every now and then. You figure that was at least a bit expected, considering you were surrounded by a group of handsome men in their prime, but you knew nothing would come from it. So this can’t possibly be real. It just can’t be. You’re sitting on a bed with your captain—who has his cock out and standing proud—looking at your friend sitting between his legs with wet lips from having just been sucking him off. This was far beyond any of the offhand scenarios you’ve brewed up in your head during your many late nights in a number of safehouses all across the world.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to indulge in whatever they had planned for you.

“I don’t want to leave,” you say with certainty, though your voice still shook ever so slightly. Price gives you a kind smile when you speak your consent, then his eyes shift from you to Ghost. “Does that sound good to you, sunshine?” The way Ghost responds so readily to the nickname is endearing, so much softer than you ever imagined Ghost could be. He looks so relaxed like this, so content to be looked down upon so lovingly. It makes you wonder what exactly their relationship is, but you don’t ask simply because it would likely take a long time to explain it fully. Just this few minutes of bearing witness to the dynamic displays such complexity you doubt you could ever understand.

The fact they want you here for it is flattering, to say the least.

Price taps your back to grab your attention. “How about you sit down there with him and stroke him for me?” You nod and Ghost watches you intently as you slide off the bed and settle behind him. Your nerves start to get to you again as you begin to realize the barrier you were about to breach.

Ghost can sense your stiffness and he reaches back to run a hand up and down your thigh. You shiver and shuffle a little closer to him, pressing yourself against his back fully. His touch gave you confidence, letting you slide your hands around his waist and he hums appreciatively at the contact. 

“Go on and get his cock out, love,” Price instructs, but it sounds nothing like the firm tone you usually hear him use when he’s giving out orders. No, his voice is smooth, like a warm velvet sheet draping over you. In a way, it’s even more compelling than his more authoritative tone.

So, you do as he asks. Ghost makes a small noise in the back of his throat when your tentative hands palm his cock through his joggers. The size of him makes your breath hitch and you wonder if you’ll even manage to wrap your hand all the way around him with how thick his dick was. He lays his hand on top of yours, his fingers laying on the back of your hand. Slowly, you reach into his pants and boxers, your hand coming into contact with the soft skin of his hefty cock. He was just the slightest bit wet from a mix of his precum and sweat.

With a slight shake to your hand, you manage to maneuver his hard-on out of his pants and use your sense of touch to visualize what it might look like since you can’t see over his broad shoulders. It’s about as large as you imagined it would be with a couple thick veins along the underside, perfect to trace your fingers along. He shudders and sighs at the pleasant feeling of you doing just that, his head tilting back.

Price runs a hand through Ghost’s hair again to get his eyes back open and focused on him. “You ready to finish up what you started, sunshine?”

“Yes, sir,” Ghost mumbles, leaning into his touch. Price hums his approval, gently pulling his head forward and letting Ghost resume his worshiping of his cock.

You watch, enraptured by his ministrations. Your hand starts to tug at Ghost’s cock, pulling back his foreskin and rolling your palm over the tip to spread the slow drizzle of precum leaking from his cock. It punches out a grunt from him and his hips jump.

After a while, there’s spit coating his chin and dripping down his neck as a result of him taking Price’s cock so obediently. The wet sucking noises coming from his throat had your sex throbbing along with your heartbeat. Seeing Ghost so open and calm was a beautiful sight to see, and mixed with the way Price was looking down at the both of you with such reverence made it even more fulfilling.

Ghost is twitching in your hand, but he’s so good at holding himself back. You imagine anyone else having as much fun as he was would’ve finished by now, but not him. He’s still moaning up a storm though, his chest rumbling against your free hand. He shifts under your touch and takes hold of your hand and slides it under his shirt, putting it on his bare stomach. You get the message and start to paw at the soft layer of fat covering his muscles, tensed up because of the pleasure bubbling up beneath the base of his cock.

Price is grunting now too, praises and encouraging words falling from his lips, spurring Ghost on with a deep, needy moan. He sighs contentedly and extends his hand past Ghost’s hair and onto the top of your head, his fingers rubbing circles into your scalp. “You’re doing well, too, love. Taking such good care of our boy,” he says with a soft smile.

Our boy. Our boy. Something about that made your heart swell and the heat between your legs grow. You have to squeeze your thighs together to  keep yourself satisfied, having gone neglected for what felt like ages. A quiet whimper builds up in the back of your throat. Price chuckles at that and he looks down at Ghost. “You’re going to return the favor, aren’t you Simon?” Ghost nods the best he can with Price’s cock in his mouth and a wave of anticipation rolls through you.

You glance up from where you were looking straight forward to see Price’s hips buck upwards, making Ghost gag with a wet choking sound. It only seems to make him more eager and he grabs one of his captain’s thighs to steady himself, giving him more leverage to take him even further down his throat. Tears start to roll down his cheeks from the exertion and you see the wetness on Price’s fingers when he tenderly wipes Ghost’s cheeks clean. “Don’t push yourself too hard, sunshine.”

You chance running a hand up Ghost’s stomach, giving him time to pull you away if he wished, but all you feel is his abs tightening under your touch. 

Ghost sucks a quick breath in through his nose when you stroke him with a bit more fervor and he grabs your wrist with his other hand. His thighs shake and a shudder falls down his spine; he’s getting close. He groans around the dick in his throat, thrusting into your hand to meet it halfway. He moans around Price’s cock and you feel him throbbing in your palm.

Within a few more strokes he’s shooting his load out onto the floor and your hand, shuddering at the overwhelming feeling of you working him through his climax. He takes a deep, open-mouthed breath when Price pulls him away from his cock, now flushed bright red and glistening from Ghost’s drooling mouth. It registers for you at that point that Ghost wasn’t sucking cock for his captain’s pleasure, but for his own. This dynamic of theirs was much more… complex that you originally thought.

You rest against Ghost’s back and he leans back into you. Price’s fingers are running through his cropped dark blonde hair while he catches his breath. You can’t fully hear all of the murmured praises Price is offering Ghost, but you can tell there’s a gentleness there that was surprising coming from the two gruffest men you’ve had the pleasure of meeting.

A large hand comes to rest on your thigh and you jolt a bit, having been caught up in the second-hand feeling of warmth that was radiating from the pair. Ghost’s hand runs up and down your thigh, his nails scraping along the fabric of your pants just a bit, giving you chills. His voice is more gravelly than normal and you can hear the smirk in his voice when he utters his promise, “Your turn.”

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Where's Mommy?

Wolffe x Lilith Sestri (OFC)

Part 7

Summary: Wolffe's wife suddenly dies, leaving him a single father in the middle of a war.

Pairing: Wolffe x Lilith Sestri (OFC)

Characters: Wolffe, Cara (child OFC), Comet

Tags & Warnings: heavy angst, mention of death, off-screen death, spousal death, grief, hurt/comfort, family fluff

Word Count: 1.2k

Author's Note: We are back to the Wolffe angst! (but did we ever really leave?) This part is really sad. I know I keep saying that, but this one actually made me tear up while writing it. I don't usually get emotional when writing emotional scenes, so yeah. Do with that what you will. As always, please enjoy 💚

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Series Masterlist

"Cara," Wolffe said after a moment of them sitting silent. "I need you to go with Comet and pack some things from your room, okay?"

Cara looked up at him with a puzzled expression. "Why?"

"Because we can't stay here without mommy," Wolffe explained.

"Oh," she frowned. "Where are we going?"

"The Jedi Temple," Wolffe said. "We'll be staying with Plo for a while."

"I don't want to go," she pouted.

Wolffe sighed. "I don't want to go either, but we don't have a choice. Please, help daddy and go with Comet to pack."

"No," Cara whined.

"Come on, ad'ika," Comet said. He hopped off of the couch and stretched his arms over his head. "I bet I can pack faster than you."

"Nuh uh," Cara said, then jumped off of Wolffe's lap and ran toward her bedroom.

"Well, that was easy," Comet chuckled. He looked down at Wolffe. "You okay?"

Wolffe sighed. "Do you want a real answer?"

Comet frowned. "I guess that was a dumb question."

"I'm fine," Wolffe said, but his facial expression betrayed his words.

Comet decided to change the subject. "How many boxes can she bring?"

"One," Wolffe said. "The Jedi aren't big on things."

"Understood," Comet nodded, then walked off to follow Cara.

"Oh, Comet," Wolffe threw over his shoulder. "Make sure the di'kute in the kitchen clean up their mess."

Comet smirked. "10-4."

Wolffe remained seated on the floor and fidgeted with the carpet pieces again. Fine. He didn't even know what that word meant anymore. He used to, back when life was simple and fine just meant he wasn't dead. Now, he wasn't sure what to feel, how to feel, or how to deal with whatever feelings he was having. Sure, he felt sad when his brothers died, but something about this death felt much different. It felt heavier, denser, tighter, and suffocating in a way he couldn't fully explain.

Unwilling to dwell on his unchecked thoughts, Wolffe grabbed whatever box he could find and headed to his bedroom. He scrolled through the mental list he made and collected all of the obvious items he wanted to keep. Some things were on the bookshelf, like her favorite holo-novel. Some things were in the dresser, like her nightshirt and a lingerie set he bought her for their first anniversary. And some things were on the bedside table, like the holo-photo album and her half-used chapstick.

He opened the bedside table drawer to check if there was anything hiding in it he wanted and his heart sank. His gold wedding band sat alone in the drawer. He almost forgot about it. He couldn't wear it most of the time, but usually he'd put it on when he was home. He didn't even get a chance this time around. He picked up the shiny band and admired it fondly, reading the inscription and the date on the inside. His wife saved every credit she had to buy those rings for them and he promised to repay her one day. He carefully placed the memento in the box.

Wolffe rummaged through the closet next, pulling little bits and pieces of his wife out and placing the most important items into the box. He only had one box, so he needed to make every spot count. He shifted a stack of clothes to the side on the top shelf and a data-stick fell to the ground with a small clack. He bent over to pick it up and studied it for a moment, wondering what could be on it. He walked over to the holor-projector across from the bed, plugged in the data-stick, then sat on the edge of the bed. An image popped up of his wife and his breath was stolen as the recording played.

Hi darling, his wife said with a warm smile while sitting next to Cara at their kitchen table.

Wolffe gasped, then covered his mouth. He remembered when his wife sent him this recording on Cara's third birthday. He was away on a mission, and wasn't able to look at it for a couple of rotations, but it made him so happy to see them both. He'd been on that mission for months and missed them dearly. He completely forgot about it until now, and couldn't believe his wife kept it all this time. She looked so beautiful that day, and Cara was all dressed up for her special day, too.

Today is Cara's third birthday, she continued, then looked at Cara. Say hi to daddy.

Hi daddy! Cara yelled with a big grin.

"Hi baby," Wolffe said. It might seem stupid to say hello to a recording but he didn't care.

It's time to sing happy birthday, his wife said. Ready, Cara? Nice and loud so daddy can hear.

Cara nodded and they both started to sing. Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Cara, happy birthday to you.

Wolffe's eyes turned misty and his body trembled as he tried to contain his emotions.

Now, blow out the candles and make a wish, she said.

Cara blew out the three lit candles and his wife clapped.

What'd you wish for? she asked with a big smile.

Daddy come home! Cara yelled towards the recorder.

Wolffe couldn't hold back the tears that rolled down his face. He wished he had more time with her. With both of them, together, as a family. It was too short. He didn't even get the chance to give his wife the life she deserved. The life he promised her. She took care of everything while he was deployed, and he vowed to take care of everything when the War was over, but now… Every vow he made to her had turned to ash. Until death do us part was the promise, but now, death had claimed her.

Okay, Wolffe, his wife said. I know this needs to be short, so we're gonna say goodbye now.

"No," Wolffe's voice cracked. "Please, don't say goodbye."

Say goodbye to daddy, she said to Cara while waving towards the recorder.

Bye, daddy! Cara yelled and waved.

"Please," Wolffe begged, his entire body shaking. "Cyare. Don't go."

Come home soon, she said, then blew a kiss. I love you, Wolffe.

The recording ended, but the last image of his wife stayed on the screen. Wolffe stood up on shaky legs and approached the projected image. He stretched out his hand to touch his wife's cheek, but his fingers passed through the pixels. He gasped, then tried again. This time to brush her hair with the palm of his hand, but it also passed through. It was just an image. It wasn't real. She wasn't real. Why wasn't she real? All he wanted to do was touch her one more time and hug her one more time; to feel her warmth.

"I love you, too," Wolffe whispered through broken breath.

Wolffe carefully pulled the data-stick out of the holo-projector and cradled it in his hands. Besides his daughter, this was his most prized possession. His wife's voice. He thought he'd never hear it again, and he didn't know if it helped him feel better or made him feel worse. Regardless, he nestled the special memory into the box and surrounded it with his wife's other things to keep it safe from harm. If anything ever happened to that memory, Wolffe didn't know what he would do.

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[thirtysomethingloser92]

Chapter 1: Does It Ever Drive You Crazy, Just How Fast The Night Changes.

Summary: After a decade away, you return to Boone County, stirring up old tensions and unresolved feelings with Jimmy Logan, the man who never truly let you go. As Clyde watches the two of you navigate the weight of your shared past, it becomes clear that your return isn’t just a visit—it’s a collision with emotions neither of you can ignore.

Pairings: Jimmy Logan/Reader Warnings: Angst, Smut, Slow-Burn, Swearing.

Clyde Logan didn’t need to hear the whispers to know why Jimmy’s first marriage didn’t work out. Everyone in Boone County had their theories, their own version of the truth. Some said it was the drinking—Jimmy tipping back a bottle to quiet the weight of too many years of bad breaks. Others said Bobby-Jo just wanted more than what Jimmy could give: a small-town miner with a busted knee and bigger dreams than he could ever reach for. She got tired of the struggle, of the sameness, of living in a place where everyone knew your business before you did. That’s why she left, they’d say.

But Clyde? Clyde knew better. He always did.

The truth was quieter than all that, a whisper carried in the spaces between people’s words. The truth was something no one really said out loud, but everyone in Boone County knew deep down: Jimmy Logan had never really been Bobby-Jo’s to lose.

Jimmy’s heart had always belonged to someone else. To you.

It was a hard thing to explain, this kind of knowing. You couldn’t point to one moment or one look and say, There. That’s when he gave himself away. But it was there, as plain as the day was long, woven into the fabric of who he was. It was in the way he carried himself, like part of him wasn’t fully present, like he was always holding something back. Like he was living a life he didn’t fully believe in. It was in the way his eyes would drift toward the horizon when the day got quiet, his hands stilling mid-wrench at home as though he expected to see a car pull in, you behind the wheel, ready to bring the sunshine back to his gray days.

And Bobby-Jo? She must have known it too. She wasn’t stupid, no matter what people said about her. A woman can always tell when she’s playing second fiddle in her own marriage. She’d spent years competing with a ghost she could never hope to beat. You weren’t just someone from Jimmy’s past; you were the pulse that kept his heart beating. And even though you’d been gone a long time, you were still here, in the house he wouldn’t sell, in the songs he wouldn’t play because they reminded him too much of you, in the way he looked at his daughter, Sadie, with a mix of pride and guilt, like he wanted her to have every happiness he thought he didn’t deserve.

Clyde could see it every time Jimmy smiled—those rare, fleeting moments when his brother forgot himself and let something real slip through. It wasn’t Bobby-Jo that put that look in his eyes. It never had been. And maybe that’s why Jimmy stayed quiet when she left, why they didn’t fight harder to hold on. You couldn’t hold on to something that was never really yours to begin with.

Sometimes, Clyde wondered if you knew. If you truly understood how much space you took up in his brother’s life—not just in the big moments but in the quiet, unnoticed ones, the ones that stretched on even now, after so many years. Maybe you did know. Maybe that’s why you left in the first place—because you felt it too, that heavy, soul-deep truth: being someone’s everything in a world that barely gave you room to be yourself. Or maybe you didn’t know at all. Maybe that was the cruelest part of it. That Jimmy Logan had handed you his heart, piece by piece, and you never realized you were holding it.

But Clyde had known. He’d known long before Bobby-Jo came along, before Sadie, before life happened the way it always seems to in Boone County: slow and inevitable. He’d seen it when you and Jimmy were still just kids, the kind of pair that made people smile and shake their heads, as if you were something out of a story they’d heard a hundred times but still couldn’t get enough of.

It wasn’t just Clyde who saw it, either. Everyone knew. Your parents used to sit on the porch with cold beers in their hands, their laughter spilling out into the evening air whenever you and Jimmy came into view.

“Well, looks like our girl’s gone and fallen for a Logan boy,” your dad would say, shaking his head like it was some grand cosmic joke. But there was always a softness in his voice, like he didn’t mind the idea as much as he pretended to.

Your mom would try to hide her grin, covering it with her hand. “Out of all the boys in Boone County, it had to be one of them. Lord help us if those two ever decide to have kids.” She’d laugh, but there was a kind of affection in her teasing, the kind that came from knowing something real when she saw it.

And you’d roll your eyes, brushing them off as you ducked back into the kitchen, but Jimmy? Jimmy would just duck his head and smile, that quiet, crooked grin that always found its way to his face when you were around. He never denied it. Hell, he never even tried.

Looking back, the signs had always been there, plain as day. Jimmy was like your shadow back then, always at your side, always finding some excuse to come over after school. Maybe he’d mumble something about needing a wrench or a second set of hands for the truck, but everyone knew it wasn’t the truck he cared about. It was you.

He’d sit with you on the back steps of your porch, the two of you framed by the fading light of the day, as you talked about everything and nothing at all. You’d tell him about your dreams—about leaving Boone County behind, finding something bigger, something that didn’t feel so small. He wouldn’t say much, but he didn’t need to. The way he looked at you, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, said more than words ever could. Like he was torn between wanting you to have everything you dreamed of and praying you’d stay right there with him.

And you? You weren’t exactly subtle, either. The way your eyes lit up when you saw him, the way you laughed at his jokes—especially the bad ones, the ones so lame they wouldn’t have landed with anyone else. You trusted him in a way that was deeper than most people ever got to know. With Jimmy, you were safe. Everyone could see it. Everyone knew.

Clyde had spent years piecing together the love story between you and Jimmy, not because it was a mystery—far from it—but because it was written in moments so vivid, so undeniably real, that they stuck with him. He’d seen it plain as day, even when neither of you could admit it to yourselves. The way Jimmy looked at you, the way you lit up when he was around—it was a kind of love that people in Boone County didn’t talk about much but sure as hell recognized when they saw it.

At school, Jimmy was your shadow, your protector. He wasn’t a loud guy—never had been—but when it came to you, he didn’t need words to make himself clear. Clyde could still remember that time in shop class, clear as a bell. Some idiot had made a comment about you, something snide and cutting enough to make the whole room go quiet. Jimmy didn’t even look up at first, just kept working on whatever carburetor or transmission he had in his hands. But when the guy didn’t shut up, Jimmy set his tools down, got up, and walked over without a word.

He didn’t throw a punch, didn’t raise his voice. He just reached out, knocked the guy’s wrench clean off the table, and gave him a look that could’ve stopped a freight train. Clyde didn’t know what Jimmy said to the guy—if he said anything at all—but it worked. After that, no one so much as looked at you funny when Jimmy was around.

It wasn’t just school, either. Even at home, during those Sunday dinners when your family invited the Logans over, Jimmy stuck to your side like he’d been born there. He didn’t make a big show of it, didn’t try to draw attention. He’d just naturally drift toward you, like a moth to a flame, taking the seat next to you at the picnic table, passing you the bread or refilling your glass before you even realized you needed it.

Mellie had a field day with it, of course. She was never one to let an opportunity for teasing pass her by.

“God, Jimmy, why don’t you just ask her to date you already?” she’d laugh the second you got up to grab another plate or check on dessert. “She’s the only reason you even come to these things.”

Jimmy’s ears would turn red, that faint blush creeping up the back of his neck, but he’d just shrug, acting like Mellie’s words didn’t faze him. Clyde, sitting a few seats down, would shake his head at the sheer obviousness of it all. Jimmy didn’t have to say anything, and neither did you. It was written all over the way you sat next to each other, the way you leaned into him without thinking, the way his gaze followed you every time you moved. Jimmy loved you. And you? You loved him right back.

That’s why it floored everyone when you got that scholarship to a fancy college in New York and Jimmy didn’t so much as flinch. You’d told the group one night on your porch, your voice filled with excitement but your eyes darting to Jimmy every few seconds. It was like you were waiting for something—waiting for him to say Don’t go, to give you a reason to stay. Everyone else had clapped and cheered for you, proud as hell, but Jimmy? He just sat there, quiet as ever, and smiled.

“You deserve it,” he said finally, his voice steady, almost too steady. “You’re gonna do great.”

That was it. No grand declarations, no last-ditch pleas. And when the time came two weeks later, at the bus station in Charlotte, Jimmy hugged you tight, kissed your forehead, and told you to take care of yourself. Then he let you go.

Clyde had never understood it. How could Jimmy, the guy who’d knock a wrench off a table for you, just stand there and let you walk away? Didn’t he realize what he was losing? Maybe he did. Maybe that was the worst part. Maybe Jimmy knew exactly what he was doing, standing back while the love of his life boarded a bus bound for somewhere he couldn’t follow.

For years, Clyde thought about that moment, turning it over in his mind like a stone in his pocket. He wondered if Jimmy regretted it, if he ever wished he’d run after you, told you that Boone County might’ve been small, but it was big enough for both your dreams if you stayed with him. But Jimmy never said a word about it. He just kept on living, working, showing up for Sadie, trying to make the best of a life that never quite fit him right.

Jimmy Logan had let the best part of himself walk away that day at the bus station, and Clyde wasn’t sure if it made his brother noble or just plain stubborn. Jimmy had convinced himself he was doing the right thing, but Clyde knew the truth: letting you go hadn’t freed Jimmy from anything. It had only hollowed him out, leaving a void that no amount of work, whiskey, or small-town chatter could ever truly fill.

Sadie helped, though. She was Jimmy’s anchor, his reason to get out of bed in the morning and face the world, even when it felt like the weight of it might crush him. She was his heart, the glue that held together the fractured pieces of a man who might have shattered completely if it weren’t for her. Sadie filled some of that void—not all of it, but enough to keep Jimmy going.

Clyde saw it firsthand, in the quiet, unspoken moments when he’d come by the house. He’d find Jimmy and Sadie in the driveway, Jimmy under the hood of his truck, his hands slick with grease, and Sadie perched on a stool nearby, watching her father with wide, curious eyes. Jimmy would hand her a small wrench or a rag, letting her feel like she was part of the process.

“You see this here, kiddo?” Jimmy would say, pointing to some obscure part of the engine. “This is what keeps the whole thing running. Just like you keep me running.”

Sadie would giggle, her voice bright and clear, and Clyde’s heart would twist a little. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight of them—Jimmy with his quiet devotion, Sadie with her fierce love for the man who was her whole world.

And sometimes, when the day stretched a little longer than expected, Clyde would hear Jimmy telling Sadie stories. Stories about you. He never said your name, but Clyde always knew who he was talking about.

“Back in high school,” Jimmy would start, his voice softer than usual, “there was this girl I used to know. Used to call her trouble. Smart as a whip, tough as nails. She could talk circles around anybody, even me.”

Sadie’s eyes would go wide. “Was she pretty?”

Jimmy would pause, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Prettiest thing I’d ever seen,” he’d say finally. “But it wasn’t just that. She made you feel like you could do anything, like the world wasn’t so big and scary after all.”

Clyde would watch from a distance, his chest tight. It wasn’t just the way Jimmy spoke about you—it was the way his whole demeanor shifted. For a few moments, it was like the years melted away, and he was that same young man again, sitting on the porch steps with you, dreaming of a future that never came to pass.

But Clyde knew better than to think Jimmy had found peace. He saw it in the cracks that Sadie couldn’t quite patch up. In the way Jimmy’s smile dimmed at the edges when he thought no one was looking. In the way he’d turn off the radio mid-song if a tune reminded him too much of you. In the way he worked himself to the bone, chasing a kind of purpose that seemed to slip further away with every passing year.

For over a decade, you were nothing more than a memory. No letters, no calls, no word at all. Every year that passed widened the gap between you and Boone County, between you and Jimmy. To everyone else, it was like you’d disappeared, moved on to a world far beyond their small-town lives. But to Jimmy, you were still there—alive in the spaces you used to occupy, in the phantom echoes of laughter on a quiet night, in the way he still glanced toward the road, hoping against hope to see your car pulling up.

Clyde hated it. He hated the way hope hung on Jimmy like a second skin, invisible but suffocating. It was in the smallest things, the quietest moments that no one else might notice. The way Jimmy would straighten up just a little whenever the door to the Duck Tape opened, his sharp blue eyes flicking up, scanning every new face with a hope so fleeting it was almost painful. And then, when it wasn’t you—and it was never you—his shoulders would slump, and he’d go back to whatever he was doing, quieter than before.

Clyde hated it because he could see how it ate at his brother, that endless waiting, that unbearable hope. Jimmy Logan never stopped loving you. The years might’ve softened the sharp edges of heartbreak, but the ache of losing you never faded. You were the one who got away. The one Jimmy couldn’t fix, couldn’t fight for, couldn’t outrun. And no matter how much life moved on around him, Jimmy stayed in place, tethered to a memory, still waiting. Always waiting.

But life, as it so often does, has a way of turning on a dime. And it did one night at the Duck Tape.

Jimmy was at the pool table, mid-swing between lining up a shot and throwing fists with a loudmouth who had too much beer and too few manners. Clyde stood to the side, arms crossed, trying to decide if it was worth stepping in or letting his brother blow off steam the old-fashioned way.

It was chaos. Pool cues clattered to the ground, curses flew, and the jukebox blared a muffled country song no one was paying attention to. Then, like a scene straight out of a movie, the bar’s door creaked open, letting in a gust of cool night air and the sound of boots on worn wooden floors.

Clyde turned first, just out of habit, his eyes flicking toward the doorway. And there you were, standing there like something out of a dream. The years had changed you, sure, but only in the way that added to the story of who you were. Your hair was different, your clothes were sharper, but the way you carried yourself—that quiet confidence, that unshakable grace—was the same. You stepped inside, scanning the room, and Clyde could tell the exact moment your eyes landed on Jimmy. Jimmy hadn’t seen you yet. He was too wrapped up in the chaos by the pool table, fists half-clenched and his temper simmering just below the surface. But Clyde had seen you the moment you stepped through the door. He hadn’t believed his eyes at first, like he’d conjured you out of thin air just by thinking about you too much.

You stood there, hesitating for just a breath, scanning the room with a calm, practiced ease. Then, like you hadn’t been gone for over a decade, you started moving. One step, then another, each one measured and deliberate, until you were there—sliding into the bar stool like this was just another night at the Duck Tape.

“Well, shit,” Clyde said, leaning against the bar as he crossed his arms. His voice carried a mix of surprise and something softer, almost protective. “Never thought I’d see the day you were back here.”

You pulled off your jacket and threw it onto the chair beside you, like it was nothing. Like you hadn’t just turned the world on its head. But Clyde knew better. He watched you carefully, his sharp eyes taking in every detail.

At first glance, you looked almost the same as you always had—calm, confident, with that spark of mischief in your eyes that had always made people lean in a little closer, hang on your words a little longer. But there was something else now, something heavier. Clyde couldn’t put his finger on it, but it was there, woven into the way you carried yourself. Like you’d been through a storm and come out the other side, but the wind hadn’t quite let go of you yet.

You shrugged, shifting in your seat as you caught the bartender’s attention. “Whiskey,” you said, your tone casual but firm. “Unless it’s that cheap shit, then I need something else to wash away the taste.”

Clyde nodded and went to pour your drink, but your attention had already drifted. You glanced over your shoulder at the commotion by the pool table, where Jimmy was still mid-brawl, oblivious to the fact that the person he’d been waiting for had just walked into the room. “Still throwing fists, I see,” you said dryly, your lips quirking into a faint, amused smile as you turned your attention back to Clyde.

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Some things don’t change,” he replied, sliding your drink across the bar toward you. His eyes lingered on you for a beat longer, curiosity etched in every line of his face. “You gonna tell me what you’re doing back in Boone County after a decade?”

You gave an easy shrug, taking a long sip of the whiskey. It burned just the way you remembered. “Just passing through,” you said, your tone light, almost dismissive. “You know how it is. Home sweet home and all that bullshit.”

Clyde didn’t buy it, not for a second, but he let it slide. Instead, he followed your gaze as you turned slightly, your attention caught by the sharp crack of a pool cue. Jimmy was still in the thick of it, but your eyes shifted past him, landing on the two men he was squaring off against. They didn’t look like the regulars—cleaner-cut, better dressed, their boots too polished for the Duck Tape.

“Sky blue GT in the parking lot, yeah?” you asked suddenly, your voice casual, almost too casual.

“What?” Clyde frowned, his confusion evident. He watched as you drained the rest of your drink in one swift motion, setting the empty glass down with a deliberate clink. That smile, the one he hadn’t seen in years but still recognized instantly, spread across your face. It was a dangerous smile, full of mischief and intent, and Clyde’s shoulders slumped as the realization hit him.

“Don’t you go causing any trouble,” he warned, his voice heavy with exasperation. He knew that look, and it never ended well—not for anyone involved.

You slid off the stool, pulling your jacket on as you moved. “Relax,” you said, your grin widening as you backed away toward the door. “I’m just getting some fresh air."

Clyde narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “No, you’re about to go do something stupid,” he called after you, his tone a mix of frustration and reluctant amusement.

You reached the doorway, lazily picking up the brick that held the heavy door open as you turned back to glance at him. “Stop overthinking it,” you said, your voice teasing as you pushed the fly wire open with your shoulder. The night air rushed in, cool and sharp against your skin. “I’ll be back in a minute,” you added with a wink before stepping outside.

Clyde stood there for a moment, watching the door swing shut behind you, a mix of annoyance and fondness flickering across his face. He muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “You haven’t changed a damn bit.”

But deep down, he knew you had. There was something behind that smile, something that told him you weren’t just here for a joyride. Whatever you were about to do, Clyde had the sinking feeling it wasn’t as simple as ‘getting fresh air.’ And for reasons he couldn’t quite name, that worried him more than he cared to admit.

As the muffled sounds of Jimmy’s scuffle grew louder, Clyde sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’d been here before, too many times to count. Jimmy’s temper, your antics—it was like clockwork. But then came the unmistakable smash of glass, sharp and shattering, followed by the shrill wail of a car alarm echoing through the lot. Clyde straightened up, an almost resigned sense of inevitability washing over him.

He should’ve been annoyed. Hell, maybe he was. But he also knew better. With you, chaos and loyalty went hand in hand. If Jimmy was in trouble, it was almost guaranteed you weren’t far behind, stirring up your own brand of mischief. It had been that way since you were kids, and apparently, some things really didn’t change.

Clyde moved around the bar toward the pool table, where the fight had ground to an abrupt halt. The two well-dressed strangers who’d been squaring off with Jimmy exchanged a tense glance, their anger momentarily giving way to confusion as the alarm blared louder. Without a word, they turned and rushed for the door, shoving past patrons who were more than happy to let them go.

Jimmy stood there, his brow furrowed in that way that said he was more annoyed than hurt. Clyde didn’t bother addressing him; his focus was already on the door as he followed the commotion outside, curiosity pulling him forward despite himself.

The cool night air hit Clyde as he stepped onto the porch, and he leaned casually against the railing, taking in the scene below. There you were, leaning against the hood of the sky blue GT, as calm and unbothered as if you’d just been out for a stroll. The windshield was shattered, spiderweb cracks spreading from the point of impact, and you were just finishing up slamming the bonnet closed, your hand gripping something.

You were the picture of nonchalance, standing there like you had all the time in the world, arms crossed and your weight shifted casually onto one hip. Even as the two men stormed down the steps, shouting every insult and obscenity they could think of, your expression didn’t so much as twitch. It wasn’t defiance—it was something cooler, sharper. The kind of quiet confidence that made people second-guess themselves.

“You crazy bitch!” one of them hollered, his face turning a deep shade of red as he gestured wildly at the car. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?!” the other added, his voice cracking under the strain of his outrage, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

Clyde, still leaning on the railing, watched the whole scene unfold with a mix of exasperation and reluctant amusement. It wasn’t just what you were doing—it was how you did it. You were calm in a way that wasn’t natural, like you thrived on chaos and had long since learned to bend it to your will. That smirk on your face was the same one Clyde remembered from years ago, but now it carried an edge, a weight that hadn’t been there before. Whatever you’d been through, it hadn’t broken you—it had sharpened you.

You didn’t flinch as they yelled. Didn’t even move, really. Instead, you tilted your head slightly, your gaze steady and assessing, like you were sizing them up and finding them lacking. Clyde almost felt sorry for them. Almost.

“I know the name of a great tow company,” you said smoothly, your voice carrying just enough bite to make the insult land. Then, with a smirk, you held up a few frayed wires in your hand, letting them dangle like a trophy. “But I don’t think you’ll be able to drive this tonight.”

The first guy’s jaw dropped as he realized what you were holding, his face shifting from rage to disbelief in an instant. “What the hell—what did you do to my car?” he stammered, his voice rising.

You shrugged, completely unfazed. “Taught it a little humility,” you said, tossing the wires onto the hood with a casual flick of your wrist.

The second guy, still clutching his phone, pointed a shaking finger at you. “I’m calling the cops,” he said, his voice full of bluster, like it was a trump card he was sure would win the game.

You scoffed, the sound short and dismissive, as if he’d just told you something mildly annoying. “You do what you gotta do, princess,” you shot back, your smirk widening.

Clyde couldn’t hold back a snort of laughter, quickly covering it with a cough. He shook his head as he leaned further against the railing, watching you handle the situation with the kind of grace and nerve that could only come from someone who had absolutely nothing to lose. He’d always known you were tough—hell, tougher than most people in Boone County—but seeing you now, he realized you’d grown into something even more formidable.

The two men, however, weren’t laughing. They were seething, practically vibrating with frustration as they exchanged frantic whispers, clearly trying to figure out what to do next. Clyde noticed the subtle shift in their stance, the way their bravado faltered under the weight of your unwavering calm.

You didn’t just outmatch them—you outclassed them.

“You really shouldn’t leave your car unlocked,” you added, your tone light and almost conversational, as if you were offering them helpful advice. “Bad things happen to bad parking jobs.”

Clyde couldn’t help but chuckle at that, shaking his head again. “Always had a way of making friends,” he muttered under his breath.

The guy with the phone looked ready to combust, his hands shaking as he tapped at the screen. “You’re gonna regret this,” he hissed, his voice dripping with impotent rage.

But you? You didn’t even blink. “You think so?” you asked, arching an eyebrow. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re the one with the busted car.” Jimmy stepped outside, his boots scuffing against the worn wooden steps of the Duck Tape as the night air hit him. His expression was dark and unreadable, the kind of look that made most people think twice before crossing him. Clyde watched from his spot on the porch, arms crossed as he leaned against the railing. He could feel the tension rolling off his brother even before Jimmy’s eyes locked onto you.

“Here we go,” Clyde muttered to himself, settling back to watch. Whatever was about to happen, it was bound to be one hell of a show. He’d seen this kind of fire building in Jimmy before, but not like this—not with you at the center of it.

Clyde had always known that Jimmy wasn’t the kind of man to wear his heart on his sleeve. His brother had learned a long time ago how to keep his emotions locked up tight, showing the world only what he wanted them to see. But Clyde also knew Jimmy better than anyone else alive, and in that moment, as Jimmy’s eyes landed on you, Clyde saw something shift.

It wasn’t just recognition—it was like watching a storm roll in. Jimmy’s steps faltered ever so slightly, his jaw tightening as he took in the scene in front of him: you, calm and confident as ever, standing against the backdrop of the busted-up GT like you’d done nothing more than rearrange the furniture. The two men, still fuming, their words stumbling over each other in their anger. And then there was Clyde, leaning against the porch, waiting to see how it all would play out.

Jimmy’s expression flickered for just a moment, a crack in the mask he’d worn so carefully for years. Clyde caught it—the way his brother’s gaze softened for half a second when it landed on you, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. But just as quickly, the wall went back up, and Jimmy’s face settled into that stoic, unreadable mask he wore so well.

Clyde could almost hear the gears turning in Jimmy’s head as he pieced it all together: you were here, after all this time, and you were knee-deep in trouble, just like old times. But there was more to it than that. Jimmy wasn’t just seeing you—he was feeling you, feeling everything he’d buried, everything he thought he’d moved past, bubbling right back to the surface.

And it unnerved him. Clyde could tell. Jimmy might’ve been good at keeping his cool, but he couldn’t hide the way his fists clenched at his sides or the way his shoulders stiffened as he stepped closer. Clyde had seen Jimmy in plenty of fights, plenty of tight spots, but this wasn’t just about the guys standing in front of him. This was about you, and that made all the difference.

“Something wrong here?” Jimmy asked, his voice low and steady as his gaze shifted from the two men to you and back again.

The first guy, emboldened by his anger, jabbed a finger in your direction. “This psycho smashed my car!” he spat, his voice shaking. “She’s out of her damn mind!”

Jimmy’s eyes flicked to you, and Clyde swore he saw the faintest twitch of amusement at the corner of his brother’s mouth before it disappeared. “Is that right?” Jimmy asked, his tone deceptively calm.

You shrugged, completely unfazed. “Their car had an attitude problem,” you said, your voice casual as if you were explaining a minor inconvenience. “I handled it.”

Clyde had to bite back a laugh, shaking his head. “God damn it trouble,” he muttered under his breath, though the fondness in his tone was unmistakable.

The second man stepped forward, his face red and his hands balled into fists. “You’re gonna pay for this,” he snarled. “Both of you—her for wrecking my car and you for being in my way earlier.”

Jimmy’s gaze snapped to the man, and Clyde saw it—the flash of something dangerous in his brother’s eyes. Jimmy didn’t flinch, didn’t move, but the air around him seemed to shift, like the calm before a storm.

“I don’t think you’re in a position to make threats,” Jimmy said quietly, his voice carrying more weight than the man probably expected.

And that’s when Clyde saw it—the subtle way you and Jimmy moved, like two parts of a whole that had been separated too long. The way you didn’t even glance at each other but somehow fell into an unspoken rhythm, like you knew exactly how to back each other up without a word exchanged. It was the same thing Clyde had seen when you were younger, but now, there was a rawness to it, a tension that hadn’t been there before.

Clyde sighed heavily, the sound lost in the tension-filled air as he watched Jimmy take another deliberate step closer. His brother’s body language was unmistakable: steady, solid, and daring the two men to do something stupid. Jimmy didn’t even have to raise his voice. His presence alone was enough to send a clear message: You don’t mess with what’s mine.

But Clyde knew this wasn’t just about the busted car or even the fight in the bar. This was about you, standing there with that same calm defiance you’d always carried, the one that used to drive Jimmy crazy in every way imaginable. Whatever had brought you back tonight wasn’t some passing whim—it was history, tangled and complicated, crashing headlong into the present. And for the first time in years, Clyde saw a flicker of the Jimmy he used to know. The Jimmy who would’ve moved heaven and earth to protect you, to be near you, to keep you safe, even if it meant sacrificing pieces of himself along the way.

The Jimmy who had never really let you go, no matter how much time had passed or how much he told himself he had to.

Clyde exhaled slowly, his shoulders slumping slightly as he resigned himself to what was coming. The men were still shouting, their anger bubbling over in loud threats and empty bluster, but Clyde barely heard them. His attention was split between his brother, whose focus had narrowed entirely on you, and you, standing there like you hadn’t just thrown a brick into the middle of their world.

“Let’s get this over with,” Clyde muttered to himself, finally stepping off the porch. He knew better than to let Jimmy handle this alone—not because his brother couldn’t, but because some things were bigger than fists and broken windshields. And if tonight was about to blow up, Clyde wasn’t about to let either of you face it without him.

As he made his way down the steps, he watched the scene unfold with the sharp, knowing eyes of someone who had seen this dynamic before. Jimmy’s protective instincts were on full display, his frame tense but controlled, like a spring ready to snap. And you? You were as maddeningly composed as ever, your calm only fueling the fire of the two men who clearly didn’t realize they were already outmatched.

“Gentlemen,” Clyde said, his voice cutting through the noise as he stepped between Jimmy and the men, his tone laced with dry humor. “I hate to interrupt, but maybe we call it a night before this turns into something nobody walks away from happy.”

The first man turned on Clyde, his face still red with fury. “She destroyed my car!” he spat, jabbing a finger in your direction. “She’s gotta pay for that!” Clyde raised an eyebrow, glancing over at you. “You wanna explain yourself, or should I keep pretending to mediate here?” he asked, his voice carrying that slow, steady drawl that somehow managed to sound both disarming and exasperated. You smirked, completely unbothered by the man’s outburst. “Already explained it,” you said, folding your arms and cocking your head slightly. “Bad parking. Bad attitude. I handled it.”

Clyde couldn’t help the twitch of a grin that tugged at the corner of his mouth, even as he tried to suppress it. You hadn’t changed nearly as much as you probably thought you had. You still had that unshakable calm, the sharp wit that cut deeper than most people realized, and the nerve to match. “Right,” he said dryly, glancing back at the men who were now glaring at him like he was supposed to fix this mess. “There you have it. Justice served.”

You reached over to the hood of the car, plucking the frayed wires you’d yanked out of the engine. “Good luck,” you said as you tossed them toward the men, the wires landing at their feet. The smirk on your face widened just a touch as you added, “Tell the sheriff I said hi when you call him.”

The men’s faces darkened, but they didn’t move. They seemed torn between escalating the situation and cutting their losses, and Clyde could see the shift in their posture—the slow realization that they’d already lost.

But Jimmy… Jimmy was another story. Clyde’s gaze flickered to his brother, who hadn’t moved an inch since stepping outside. Jimmy’s jaw was set tight, his fists still clenched at his sides, and there was a storm brewing in his eyes that Clyde knew all too well.

Jimmy wasn’t just pissed off—he was hurt. And Clyde could see exactly why. You hadn’t so much as looked at him when you walked past, your focus entirely on dismantling the situation with your usual sharp-edged humor. To anyone else, it might’ve seemed like you were simply handling the moment, but Clyde knew better. He saw the way Jimmy’s eyes followed you, the way his shoulders stiffened when you didn’t stop, didn’t acknowledge him beyond the bare minimum. It was like you’d carved right past him without even realizing—or worse, like you’d done it on purpose.

Jimmy’s emotions were a mess, a tangled knot of anger, confusion, and something deeper, something raw and painful that Clyde recognized from the countless times he’d seen his brother staring out at the horizon, waiting for someone who never came. And now here you were, walking back into his life like you hadn’t been gone for over a decade, like the years hadn’t weighed down on both of you in ways neither could ignore.

You breezed past Jimmy without hesitation, your words flippant and offhand. “I just drove nineteen damn hours,” you said, your tone casual as you climbed the steps. “I need a drink and then a bed.”

Clyde’s eyes flicked back to Jimmy as you disappeared into the bar. His brother’s expression didn’t change much on the surface, but Clyde could see the subtle tells—the slight twitch in Jimmy’s jaw, the way his fists unclenched just enough for his fingers to curl inward. He looked like he wanted to say something, to call after you, but the words stayed stuck in his throat.

“She’s back,” Clyde said softly, stepping closer to Jimmy and breaking the silence that had settled between them. Jimmy didn’t look at him, his eyes fixed on the door you’d just walked through. “Yeah,” he said, his voice rough and low, like it cost him something just to say it.

Clyde crossed his arms, leaning slightly to get a better look at his brother’s face. “You gonna talk to her, or just stand there and let her walk all over you?”

Jimmy finally turned his head, his glare sharp enough to cut. “Not now, Clyde,” he snapped, his tone sharper than it needed to be.

Clyde held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Just sayin’. She’s here now. Doesn’t look like she’s planning on runnin’ tonight.”

Jimmy didn’t respond right away. He let out a slow breath, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction, but his expression remained guarded. “She’s got her reasons,” he muttered finally, more to himself than to Clyde.

Clyde watched him for a moment longer before stepping back toward the porch. “Well,” he said, his tone lighter, “if her reasons involve more busted cars and bar fights, might wanna pace yourself. Looks like it’s gonna be a long night.”

Jimmy didn’t answer. He just turned toward the steps, his jaw still tight as he followed the path you’d taken into the bar. Clyde shook his head, a mix of sympathy and exasperation settling over him. Whatever had brought you back, it wasn’t going to be simple. And knowing his brother, it was about to get a whole lot more complicated.

[gigglesandfreckles-hp]

Hello hello! Ok it’s nighttime and I finally have a minute to gush over Right Timing properly so here I am. First of all I didn’t wait AT ALL to read it I snuck glances at the chapter while driving to work (never have I been this grateful for traffic) but I had to stop when they met outside the bathroom because I just couldn’t stop smiling like a loon. Then I reread the whole thing at lunch and again now that I’m home in bed so I feel properly ready to discuss it.

If you asked me before I couldn’t quiteee put my finger on what I loved so much about this fic in particular. You said yourself there’s a million amazing angsty-James-and-lily-pining-hard-before-they-get-together-but-don’t-admit-it fics- and like ten of them are yours. (another fav of mine is the jilytober one that ends with James going to ‘change the circumstances’ I’ve reread that ten billion times the fact he makes lily wait in the passageway as if her leaving would break this moment is peak James and I’m obsessed). But this one just hits different and when the first chapter came out it literally left a void in me that I NEEDED more of them and I had no clue why. Now I realise that what I love about it is that the whole story sits on a crossroads. Both of them are so into each other, they are both talking about it, but it’s like they’re soliloquising - WE can hear the obvious truth but they seem to be passing each other by. Lily talks about her dream guy, describes James, he has no clue. James talks about how the timing seems to finally align with the girl he likes (and literally nearly kisses Lily when he does it) but lily doesn’t know it’s her. And on top of that, they’re both hanging on the precipice of romantic decisions: James with Emmeline and lily (though shes said no) with Bertram. The whole scene can either go one way or the complete other and where it ends we have no clue. And it’s so beautifully written that their mutual yearning, their bittersweet efforts to make the other happy, seem so genuine. I wholeheartedly believe that this James and Lily love each other so much, are so besotted with each other that they simply can’t bring themselves fully to say it. Everything is so up in the air and yet so close to perfect that reading it makes me frustrated in the best possible way.

And now with this new scene, it all just perfectly falls into place. There’s just enough prelude to the confession that the longing between them is evident and then James comes up to Lily and the whole story shifts. And as a reader you realise that what may have previously felt just out of reach for these two was absolutely inevitable. Lily is James’ dream girl, he is the love of her life. It’s so damn obvious that it was gonna fall into place. It was ALWAYS gonna end up like this and for, it makes the bullshit from the first chapter feel so much dumber but also so much more necessary, because how can two teens ever ever risk something so important on a late night chat when one’s just been asked out and there’s even a flicker of doubt about the others’ feelings? It’s too big a jump for the most important relationship in their lives.

And then James (of course) has enough of waiting and takes the risk. I wonder if Sirius spoke to him in between scenes but I like to think he doesn’t need to. James just sees the pieces fall into place, sees what he’s wanted for years and says fuck it and acts. And Lily, who is usually incredibly brave, who has been in plenty of uncomfortable situations, who has lost so many of those closest to her to standing up for what’s important to her, all of a sudden can’t do that. All of a sudden is a complete coward, is in complete denial, is letting the crutch of her stubbornness hold her up against what’s right in front of her. Because this is more important than anything else, and she can’t risk it or lose it the way she’s lost other things, other people. And she needs James to say it, needs him to fully take the leap. And he does, shy and earnest and a little scared even if a part of him knows she’ll jump with him, and she does too.

Like that scene is so quintessential Jily. It’s so rare for me to feel the characters jump off the page like that, esp in short fics like this because there’s just not the space to make them three dimensional, but abi honestly you did it so so well. Watching them progress it all just made sense, like yes they are dumb and stupid and young but it HAD to happen that way goddamit, it just did. Like they made it so hard for themselves but that’s what it fucking took and it WORKS.

Not to mention the last bit was so hot like James pulled the moves out in this one. If that’s what we’re in for in your m rated summer fic then honestly SIGN ME UPPPP. When he said “I think you want me to touch you” I nearly dropped my phone like I was in so much shock?? Like last chapter u can’t even tell her u like her directly now ur here being SMOOTH about it?? Best line hands downs

Other favs include

Lily reflecting on how her older self would look back at this as a low point (and then fully preparing herself to go back and continue to put herself through it - very typical 17 year old girl behaviour)

Lily liking frozen butterbeer like yes this is my fellow iced latte all year round girl

James telling emmeline let’s go as friends and then sitting her with the girl he actually fancies?? Like the poor girl but honestly it made me laugh a little bit he’s so STUPID

Bertram saying “I thought I lost you” when he saw her talking to James like everyone else is INCREDIBLY aware of their feelings for each other huh

James knowing lilys butterbeer order and getting pissed she’s buying her own drinks on a date. Yes James, what WOULD you do if you took Lily out? Maybe you should ask her so we can all find out hm?

The subtle eye contact and banter between J/L like they’re so in sync

James being obviously jealous and Lily getting mad and yet STILL not putting the pieces together.

And from chapter one: you saying Sirius was sharp as a dog I giggled

Actually your entire Sirius characterisation is incredible I’m in love w how you write him but here esp he’s such an ass and I love it

Also from ch 1 James freezing his parchment so Lily can sleep on his lap like u ain’t slick sir?? Honestly the only thing stopping Lily from realising how (ahem) into her he was at that moment was the pillow in his lap

Last but not least have to mention I’m obsessed with the part where they’re talking ABOUT TO KISS and lily still doesn’t think he likes her and James STILL CANT ASK HER OUT I love my idiots in love but god I wanted to bang their heads together and also sit and stare in awe and appreciate the moment so much like UGH it was so PERFECT.

Right so I have to stop this has gotten insanely long I’m so so sorry. Abi I can’t say thank you enough for this it honestly made my day. I know you said it’s a couple weeks late but the universe has perfect timing bc honestly I needed this today especially and I’m so so grateful. Have a wonderful day Miss freckles we love youuu xxx

anon! i have no words! (except of course i do because i’ve got a phd in yapping)

play-by-play comments are the best! and…are you in my brain? like actually? because yes!!!! you get it! sometimes when i make jily do something especially stupid, i get self-conscious because i’m like ‘okay no one’s actually that blind’ and i worry that their mutual pining is too exaggerated. but then i remember what it was like to be 17 and in love and constantly wondering if i was reading too much into the boy’s actions or if i was just imagining things i wanted to see and then that little thread of worry would be paralysing! because putting yourself out there at any age is scary. doing it at 17? near impossible. everything has to align juuuuuuust so, which means there are lots of stupid moments leading up to that aligning moment.

i don’t see james as a particularly smooth person, because he’s such a dweeeeb. but i think he has his shining moments of being Hot On Purpose. and i think Lily is perhaps an unreliable narrator in that regard too. so his bathroom bravery could have fallen on the side of cringeeee, but because it’s him and because it’s lily. she eats it up. and we, as readers (hopefully), get to do the same!! and in regard to my m-rated cruel summer fic… “i think you want me to touch you” james is certainly present. 😏🙂‍↕️ (i plan to post the first chapter in the next week!)

truly, thank you for the thoughtfulness of typing all this out and sharing it with me!!! i’m happy you encouraged me to revisit this story and happy you enjoyed it!

💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓

[gorgeouspoet]

Last kiss

cw: angst, like super angst

notes: my first post on here kinda nervous! been wanting to get into writing on here for awhile, I'm new at this so bare with me

Everything reminds you of him.

You remember the first time he told you he loved you. The moonlight shined on his face, he looked gorgeous like this. You looked at the clock on the wall, 1:58am. You and him had stayed up the whole night, talking about random things that popped up in your mind. He was staring at you, you finally looked up and looked confused "What? do i have something on my face?". He laughed back at you "I love you".

So why did you go away?

Another memory flashed in your head, you had just come back from a business trip. The rain was heavy, the smell conforting, you spotted him as you ran off the plane. Hair starting to get soaked, but you hugged him, he was home. You teased him for how strong his heart was beating. He held you in his arms for a good minute, even though the rain had fully soaked you two. You can still feel his arms if you think hard enough.

So now you sit, here on the cold floor, your body swallowed by the huge shirt you stole from him. He teased you about it but never asked for it back. You bring the fabric to your nose, it still smells like him. God how do you be something he misses?

You never thought you'd have your last kiss with him. Just the night before he broke your heart. You two just laid in your bed, just staring at eachother. Your limbs intertwined as you looked at his face, studying all his features like it was the last time you'd see him, funny isn't it? You rested your hand on his cheek, rubbing loving circles into it, you were so in love. Looking back, was he? You pressed your lips agaisnt his, a sweet loving kiss that you never wanted to end. You'd never thought that that would be your last kiss.

You'd never thought it would end like this. You standing in your living room as you watch him, "I can't do this anymore, I'm sorry". You blinked in confusion, laughing awkwardly at his statement. You asked what he meant, but he never elaborated. You watched him walk out the door, your heart shattering into a million pieces. You felt like you couldn't breathe, tears spilling down your face at all the possible reasons he might've ended it with you.

He was the life of the party, at least at home. Music played from the record player as he held out his hand. You rolled your eyes and took it. You were never much for dancing, but for him? You did. He would spin you around your small apartment living room, slow dancing with you as the song played. You'd giggle at his actions, the sound bringing a smile to his face.

You loved the way he shook your father's hand. It made butterflies swirl in your stomach every time. You love how he'd walk with his hands in his pockets, just showing off how confident he was. You love how when you had arguments, he would kiss you while you were in the middle of saying saying something. Sure it pissed you off in the moment, but now? There's not a day you don't miss those rude interruptions.

So you watch his life through pictures, smiling sadly at how happy he looked. Meanwhile you were still broken in a million pieces, how does one move on so fast? You remember how you'd wake up in the middle of the night, you couldn't sleep so you just looked at him. You watched as his chest moved up in down, signaling his breathing. Now you keep up with your old friends, just to ask them how he is. You hope it's nice where he is.

You hope the sun shines, winter fading away. You hope it's a beautiful day, maybe he sees something that reminds him of you. Maybe he wishes he stayed. You can plan for a change in the weather in time, maybe things would be different. You though? You never planned on him changing his mind. You never thought you'd have your last kiss, but he's forever the name on your lips.

forever the name on your lips

©gorgeouspoet 2025

[danaewrites]

Helmet Over Heels

part iii: harder to hide than i thought

din djarin x reader // read it on AO3

word count: 4.2k

summary:  When your path literally collides with a beskar-covered Mandalorian one night, neither of you expect how that meeting will irreversibly change the trajectory of your lives. 

You’re pulled into his powerful orbit, agreeing to take care of his son in exchange for adventure and freedom– when he’s not off hunting bounties and inadvertently saving villages in need, that is. It’s the perfect plan. Or it would be, if only your quiet crush on the man would stop growing into something more with every hour you spend together. There’s no way he’d ever feel the same, right?

And Din? Well, he’s been trying (and failing) to convince himself that he’s not completely helmet over heels for you since day one. But a Mandalorian can only repress his emotions for so long…

(This fic takes place sometime after Season 2. Din’s back on his bounty-hunting business with a Razor Crest that was never destroyed and an adorable green sidekick who won’t stop chewing on its wires.)

tags: strangers to friends to lovers, slow-ish burn, nicknames, touch-starved din djarin and fem!reader, canon-compliant through season 2 and then Jesus takes the wheel :P

author's notes:

the first part of this chapter is very much inspired by Space Song by Beach House. imagining the pretty lights of hyperspace instead of the slope fields i’m working on in calculus has kept me sane, so hopefully you beautiful readers have as much fun with that as i did!

read it all here: part i, part ii, part iii, part iv, part v coming soon!

You slowly stirred to consciousness, face scrunching up at the heat of the sun on your face. Memories flowed back to you in disjointed flashes, slowly piecing together the setting of your current prone, relaxed state.

You’d spent the night mesmerized by the bright lights of hyperspace that lit up the darkness beyond the ship’s windows, fighting the sleep that threatened to lower your eyelids. You tried your best to remain quiet and allow Mando to pilot you through the galaxy in peace, but you couldn’t help the gasp that slipped out when the white beams momentarily faded into pastel shades of lilac and chartreuse. His helmet snapped sharply towards you at the sudden noise, tensed shoulders only relaxing once he saw the awed expression on your face. 

“You haven’t seen this before?” He sounded surprised, and for a moment you felt embarrassment twist in your stomach at your lack of travel experience. He sighed, baritone turning low and thoughtful. “Come here.” He gestured for you to lean closer to him, directing your attention to a small cluster of dots on the navigation holoscreen.

“We’re passing through the Cresser Nebula. The original star died too recently for the dust to fully disperse,” he explained. “The extra material makes the hyperspace tunnel thinner for a moment– those colors are the new stars forming outside of it in the leftover gas.” He spoke with an unexpected patience, and you wondered whether he’d learned it from attempting to teach Grogu. In your experience, trying to keep the green baby’s focus for longer than a minute was a constant challenge. 

You’d hung onto his careful speech, memorizing every detail as he continued his quiet tour of the cosmos. It was the first time you’d ever truly heard about the intricacies of space; your overwhelming focus on surviving Nath’s harsh environment generally took up any extra time you could’ve used to learn about the rest of the galaxy. You didn’t intend to let a single lesson of his go to waste, not when you were finally free to hear them. 

You snuck a glance at the reflection of his silver helmet in the arched window, admiring how the lights shimmered across the beskar. You wondered what he was looking at beneath the metal mask: the pretty blur of hyperspace, his blinking console, or maybe the tiny lever where Grogu’s ball rested? There was just so much to watch, from the endlessly flickering radar screen to the breathtaking display of deep space beyond the glass paneling. You didn’t think you’d ever get sick of the view; you’d stay on his ship for the rest of your life if it meant you could enjoy the peace of hyperspace every night. Despite your pondering, his visor gave nothing away, and you forced yourself to pull your eyes away before he caught you staring. 

The quiet rhythm of his steady, modulated breaths beside you only added to the calmness that settled into your fatigued bones. Eventually, your exhausted brain must have shuttled you away to dreamland somewhere in the trance of hyperspace. Maybe you had been more tired than you thought, because you certainly didn’t remember bringing a blanket this comfortable back to your seat. You were wrapped in something thick and warm, a soothing contrast to the cool leather beneath your thighs. 

A tiny sigh found its way out of your mouth as you pressed your face into the soft fabric, shielding yourself from the daylight before you were forced to face reality once again. Stars, but it was lovely. The faint smell of woodsmoke and vetiver and something mechanical—blaster grease, maybe—enveloped you as you melted into the cloth, overwhelmingly reminded of days spent playing in your family’s workshop back on Odala. You’d forgotten so much of what life was back then, simple and joyful, but this tiny luxury of sensation brought back some of those precious memories. 

A quiet inhalation echoed from above you and your eyes snapped open. You jolted up from the cool leather of the passenger seat to see Mando paused mid-step before you, helmet tilted towards where you had snuggled into the blanket. You looked down to see that the blanket was not a blanket at all; it was, in fact, his own deep grey cloak that you were clutching like it was your child. Your face flamed and you quickly relaxed your grip, awkwardly smoothing out the areas where your hands had wrinkled the charcoal fabric. 

Had he given you the cloak? You didn’t think you had a habit of sleepwalking, and there was no way he’d have been unaware of you somehow snatching it in the night. Grogu was still wherever he’d been dropped off, so his shenanigans couldn’t have been involved. That left the most logical option– that Mando had been the one to settle the soft fabric against you in the darkness of the cockpit. 

You felt your cheeks flush again, this time from acknowledgement of the unexpectedly thoughtful action. You knew that following the temptation of that warm feeling led to nothing but danger. You couldn’t risk messing up the best thing that’d happened to you since you escaped your ruined homeworld, but… it’d been so long since anyone tried to take care of you, even with a gesture that small. Your traitorous heart beat a little faster at the thought. 

“I— have you been awake long?” You spoke sheepishly, hoping to distract him from the messy tangles in your hair and the redness left on your cheek from being pressed into the seat all night. You were sure you looked ridiculous, though the Mandalorian appeared perfectly polished as usual. The mud and soot from the previous day’s activities had been scrubbed from his armor, replaced with a subtle shine. 

“No.” He dragged his glance away, moving past you to flip a series of switches above the pilot’s seat. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, feeling the Crest settle onto the ground with a muffled thunk. You opened your eyes to find that the sunlit clouds of the atmosphere had disappeared, in its place an arid desert with a bright metropolis of a city on the horizon. The planet’s name was Nevarro; according to the navscreen, it was located in the Outer Rim. You had landed near its titular city, an old trading stop and the location of the Bounty Guild’s main headquarters. 

“The kid’s been staying with some old friends here. Sent them a comm that I’d be coming today,” Mando said as he straightened from his position crouched over the controls. 

You nodded, tugging your shirt down from where it had risen up over your abdomen when you slept. A frown creased your forehead as you stared at the worn piece of fabric. You hadn’t had the chance to retrieve the rest of your minimal wardrobe before leaving Nath– the swarm of angry citizens around your rental pod had made sure of that. If you were to survive the wide range of galactic temperatures while traveling with Mando, you’d definitely need a few more outfits. You made a mental note to persuade him to make a market detour before leaving the city. 

Mando opened the cockpit doors with a pressurized hiss, and you scrambled down the ladder after him. Your eyes wandered over the tidy hull of the ship, surprised at how neatly-kept it was now that you were seeing it in full light. It was bigger than you expected, too. There was enough space for a cramped but functional ‘fresher, tucked beside what appeared to be a bedroom. You caught a glimpse of a miniature hammock suspended across a corner of the small room. That must be where Grogu slept, if the little red sheet hanging off the edge was anything to go by. Beneath it, you noticed a set of dark, slightly-wrinkled blankets stretched across a lowered bed frame. 

Your eyes widened slightly as you realized that Mando must have slept there sometime after you passed out. It was oddly intimate, seeing proof that even the armored bounty hunter had human needs. At least, you assumed he was human, from his shape and voice. You’d spent longer than you’d willingly admit imagining what he might look under the layered beskar, eventually coming to the conclusion that a pair of green ears would definitely not fit under the helmet. The father and son didn’t appear to share any physical characteristics, and you wondered what their story was. Hopefully, you’d find out some of that information while taking care of Grogu.

Your attention focused back on the rest of the hull, eyes tracing the supplies stacked neatly by the net-lined walls with evident curiosity. Mando gestured to a dark set of doors by the ship’s entrance. “That’s the carbonite freezer. I’d suggest you stay away from those buttons, unless you want to travel like a bounty,” he warned. 

You eyed the area with trepidation and nodded. He seemed satisfied with your response, pressing another set of buttons until the boarding ramp lowered. “Behind the cockpit is the galley– it’s not much, but you’re welcome to use it.” 

You nodded again, relieved that you wouldn’t have to subsist on flavorless ration packets while traveling. Maybe you’d even have the time to experiment with a few new dishes– a luxury not afforded to you during your hectic hours at the cantina. “What are Grogu’s favorite foods?”

“Anything that hops,” the Mandalorian grumbled, tone quickly filling with exasperation. “He’s not picky when he’s on the ship, but take him outside for a minute and the kid’ll have eaten all the frogs in a damn parsec.” 

Your mouth quirked up as you imagined the little green child stuffing his face with whatever unfortunate amphibian dared to go near him. Like father, like son, you supposed. Those hunting skills had to be passed on somehow. 

“And you?”

Mando paused his descent onto the ramp, clearly caught off guard by your question.

“What meals do you prefer?” You clarified, mind wandering to all of the dinners you’d saved for him back at the cantina. You could never quite determine which he liked best, since the bowls were always scraped clean no matter what you put in them. You weren’t sure whether that said more about your ability as a chef or the lack of actual food aboard the Crest. “I’m more of a fresh fruit and vegetables person myself, we never got much of those back on Nath,” you admitted. 

He coughed, modulated voice rough with surprise. “I— whatever you make is fine.” You remained silent, fixing him with an expectant look. Men. 

He hesitated for a moment, then spoke, “I liked the spicy orange stew.” At your blank look, he continued. “With the little… bread pockets?” 

Your eyebrows raised at that, and you hummed thoughtfully as you remembered the dish he was talking about. “Oh– the napethsh curry!” 

That had definitely been one of your finer culinary moments. Your boss had brought in packets of rich, aromatic spice powder that morning for the day’s special– a rare, delicious find. You’d carefully shaken them into a savoury pot of sandgrain with the last of the sweet tubers, alternating between stirring the dish and flipping fried bread puffs on the pan next to it. Your eyes had fluttered shut in pure appreciation when you’d finally tasted your handiwork, and if Mando’s reaction had been at all similar— well, you couldn’t blame him for wanting more. 

“Spicy food, huh. I can work with that.” You beamed up at him, visions of fragrant curries dancing in your head as you followed him into the sandy landscape. You’d bet a fair amount of credits that a market on a desert planet like Nevarro would have no lack of spice vendors. If your haggling skills were up to par, Mando might get his wish granted faster than expected.

***

The Crest had landed within a reasonable distance of Nevarro, but when you finally reached the metropolis you felt as if you’d been walking for miles. It would take some time for you to get used to the feeling of intense heat on your skin instead of the bone-chilling Nathian winds. 

All your discomfort, however, was quickly forgotten as you entered the city. Terracotta buildings lined the narrow, twisting streets; each structure featured no less than four oval windows and was topped with a dome that curved to a sharply pointed apex. Vibrantly dyed clothes fluttered in the desert wind, carefully draped across thin lines of rope that criss-crossed over the alleyways. You watched as a group of laughing children weaved between the booths of haggling vendors in their pursuit of a hovering disc. It was noisy and cramped and reminded you so much of home that your breath caught in your chest.

You didn’t notice that you’d stopped walking until Mando called your name, breaking the spell the warm environment had put on you. Your gaze snapped up to see the beskar-clad man paused several paces in front of you. Kriff. Had you really been that lost in thought?

“Sorry, I– got distracted,” you offered sheepishly, almost tripping over a loose cobblestone in an effort to catch up. “Where are we headed?”

“There’s a school here, where the old Guild headquarters used to be.” Your armored companion adjusted something on his helmet, scanning the area before he motioned for you to follow him down a less-crowded street. “Don’t know whether the kid likes the lessons or stealing his classmates’ lunches more,” he grumbled under his breath. You gave a small chuckle at that, remembering Grogu’s endless attempts at sneaking a treat from the bar whenever your back was turned.

You stayed close to Mando as he led the way through Nevarro’s crooked streets, gawking at the liveliness that seemed to infect the entire town. People smiled at each other as they passed, shouting multilingual greetings from across the busy pathways. It was so very different from Nath, where the most interaction you’d get in a week outside of your work was a couple of suspicious glares from the old women selling fish on the street corners. You’d felt so isolated there, but here your mood was buoyed by the warm spirit that lit up each face you passed with a genuine expression. 

Mando stopped near the doorway of a round, sandy building on the edge of the town square. Despite the darkness of the clover-shaped entrance, you could still see the faint outlines of desks and hear the sound of excited children talking over each other. A tall man draped with a regal–looking cloak leaned against the school’s wall next to an imposing, muscular woman. His face brightened as Mando approached– something rather unusual, considering that most people were terrified that he’d been sent to capture them. 

“Karga,” the beskar-clad man in front of you acknowledged with a dip of his helmet. 

“Ah, that’s Magistrate Karga to you, Mando!” The dark-skinned man boomed jovially, stepping forward. “Things have changed since your last visit,” he continued. “Nevarro isn’t just a dusty pit stop anymore.” He spread his arm wide, gesturing to the bustling town square, and you privately agreed with his assessment. 

Mando gave a short nod, then shifted the conversation to more important matters. “Where’s the kid?”

“He should be finishing school any moment now–” Karga was interrupted by your excited gasp. 

“Hi, bug!” 

You stepped out from the tall Mandalorian’s shadow, beaming down at the little brown bundle speed-waddling towards you. You crouched down to his height and opened your arms, laughing at his excited babbling. “Yeah, I missed you too.” You were completely sincere, despite the teasing tone of your voice. The kid’s antics brought a lightness to your life that you didn’t know you needed until he came along. 

“Mando, you didn’t tell me you brought a friend!” Karga exclaimed, eyebrows raised high on his forehead. “And such a lovely one at that,” he continued, bending with a dramatic flourish of a bow. “Now you don’t have to call me Magistrate, just Greef will do,” he winked.

You were pretty sure Mando was rolling his eyes underneath his helmet, if his crossed arms were anything to go by, and you refrained from doing the same. You knew men like Karga back on Nath– charming and flirtatious, but only to the extent that it benefited their ambitions. You were more flattered by the thought that he’d deemed you important enough to impress than by his actual words. 

Still, you gave him a good-natured smile and introduced yourself as you bent down to pick up Grogu. “Your city is beautiful, I’ve never seen anything like it,” you complimented the Magistrate, holding in a laugh at the way his chest puffed up. 

“So how’d someone like you wind up with him?” The muscular woman beside him asked with blunt honesty, cocking her head towards the Mandalorian. She crossed her leather-bound arms, clearly interested in your response.

“Oh, I’m Grogu’s–” you paused, looking over at Mando as you tried to think of the right descriptor. You hadn’t exactly discussed job titles in the twelve hours you’d been employed by him, and you didn’t want to accidentally offend him by implying the wrong level of familiarity. And it wasn’t like you could just tell them you’d knocked his shiny butt into a snowbank, beginning a beautiful friendship of riding rainbow Mythosaurs into the sunset and exploding the occasional Tradoshan and/or cantina along the way. Although… the idea was rather tempting, if only to see how Mando would react.

“Caretaker,” the armored man finished for you, and you sent him a grateful look. The muscular woman next to him smirked, appraising you before extending her hand. 

“Cara Dune. Ex-Rebel-shocktrooper, current Marshal of Nevarro,” she introduced herself with a wink. You instantly liked her, despite the intimidating aura she exuded. Her frankness appealed to you— it was a welcome reprieve from the icy insincerity Nath’s citizens wrapped their hearts in, tighter than their winter cloaks. 

Karga rubbed his hands together eagerly. “Well now, Mando, we have some business to discuss. Marshal Dune will show your friend to the market, if you wouldn’t mind coming with me,” he spoke, gesturing to the tall, sloped capitol at the forefront of the plaza.

Mando remained where he stood, helmet tilting towards you. “Get her to the medcenter first. Have them take care of her face before anything else.” He instructed the Marshal. You winced as the unsightly gash across your cheekbone twinged, a reminder of why you were here in the first place. 

“Hmm. What’s in it for me?” She cocked an eyebrow at the armored man. “I’m a busy woman these days, I can’t always be making detours…”

“Dune,” he warned, tone supremely unimpressed. 

The dark-haired woman’s smug grin widened. “Yes, sir,” she spoke, raising her arm in a mockery of a salute. “Didn’t realize it was that serious.” She nudged your arm, giving you a knowing once-over as she walked past the beskar-plated man. “Alright, then. Medcenter it is.”

You turned to leave with her, but the cool press of beskar on your forearm paused you in your tracks. You angled your head up to meet Mando’s gaze– or at least, where you assumed his eyes were beneath the beskar– with a questioning look. He tilted his head toward the bustling streets and pressed a handful of credits into your palm. 

“Get whatever you need. We won’t be stopping at another market for a few weeks,” he instructed, and you nodded gratefully as you tucked them into a secure pocket of your tunic.

Suddenly, Grogu cooed, grabbing for the remaining credits glistening at the top of the pouch that hung from Mando’s belt. His unexpected movement caused you to stumble forward, just barely catching yourself as he slipped out of your arms. You frantically tried to regain your clutch on the child before he could scamper away, but Mando had already beaten you to it, holding him firmly in place on the cobblestone road.

To your surprise, the armored man crouched down and fixed his son with a rather intimidating head tilt. “Hey. Don’t do that again,” he warned the green toddler, who blinked up at him with guileless eyes. “You’re going to behave for her,” he reminded Grogu sternly. “Or no coloring book.” 

That did the trick. Grogu immediately turned to you, lower lip trembling and arms outstretched in repentance. You raised an eyebrow, but allowed him to climb back up into your embrace. Your mouth quirked to the side as you looked back up at Mando. 

“You still have the coloring book?” You asked, eyes crinkled with surprise. 

The Mandalorian scoffed. “It’s a miracle Karga was able to wrestle it from him before school.” 

Your lips curved into a delighted smile, pleased that you’d judged the kid’s artistic interest correctly. You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Well, I’m excited to see what he’s made,” you grinned up at the beskar-covered man. Your gaze lingered on him for a moment, watching the desert sun flicker across his helmet as Grogu nestled into your arms.

“Hey! You coming or what?” Both of your heads snapped to where Cara was standing at the end of the road, hands on her hips and a curious look on her face. You stammered out a sheepish apology and raced over, but when the Marshal’s attention was diverted, you couldn’t resist looking back at the silhouette of the armored man. You gave him a tiny wave, holding in a giggle at the way Grogu mimicked your action. 

The Mandalorian raised his gloved hand, subtly returning the gesture. You spun back to the street with a hidden smile.

***

As promised, Cara led you to the medcenter, where you waited for a nurse droid to patch your face up with a bacta kit. The building was unlike any you’d ever been in; light shone through stained–glass skylights onto the woven cushions where prospective patients rested, the scent of cinnamon and sanitizing solutions mixing to form an odd but not entirely unpleasant aroma in the air. 

“So, what’s the deal with you and Mando?”

“What?” Your confused expression made her lean back on her cushion with a lighthearted scoff. 

“Oh, come on. He doesn’t let just anybody stay around his kid. I had to fight off a damn Imperial invasion to get him to trust me,” she muttered, eyeing you. You blinked in surprise, then remembered that she’d been a Shocktrooper before Nevarro. Of course Mando would need someone with those terrifying skills in his line of work.

“So what’d you have to do? Rescue another alien child? Blow up a prison?”

“Something like that,” you muttered, letting Grogu toy with your fingers. The cantina wasn’t a prison, but explosives were definitely involved. You figured you were dancing on the right side of the truth.

Cara shook her head in mock exasperation. “Mandalorians. Always gotta be something with them.” She grinned, all teeth. “Good thing I like demolition.” 

You shot her a wry grin, opening your mouth to ask her how she’d wound up on Nevarro. Unfortunately, the droid chose that moment to spray you straight in the eyes with aerosolized sanitizer. You yelped in pain, scrambling to direct its robotic arm to the right location before you wound up needing bacta for more than one spot on your face. 

Once you’d finally gotten the droid under control and your treatment grudgingly paid for, you headed out to the market with directions from Cara– all previous questions forgotten in the stinging wake of the sanitizer. You’d parted with a promise to return with stories about your travels with Mando and the kid. Mostly, she wanted to know if there was any exciting conflict in the center of the galaxy that she could jump into. You had a feeling she wouldn’t stay as Nevarro’s Marshal for too long; you recognized the thirst for adventure that gleamed in her eyes all too well. 

Your time in the market was far too short, even though you’d spent the better part of a day there. You’d happily wandered through the streets, wonder etched into the lines of your face at the sheer variety of wares hawked at every turn. You’d trained yourself to be frugal, determined to buy only the essentials and save the rest for your future travels, but here even the barest necessities were crafted with care. 

Sweet, earthy jasmine soap that surrounded you with a peaceful aroma; impossibly soft textiles that shimmered enticingly in the sun; bittersweet fruit that melted into a soothing wave of liquid in your mouth. Nevarro was a land of plenty indeed, you mused as you pored over a vendor’s towering collection of cheese. 

You returned to the school as the sun sunk beneath the horizon, a drowsy green child on one arm and a basket of supplies on the other. You said your goodbyes to Karga and left, Mando’s bounty belt now four pucks heavier. The two of you ambled back to the ship in peaceful silence, Grogu asleep in your arms and the soft glow of the night lanterns glimmering on curved beskar. 

Unbeknownst to the bounty hunter, a tiny jar of dried nari peppers rested in your back pocket. It’d taken you ages to choose from the tables of spicy seasonings, but you finally decided on this one despite its exorbitant price. You planned to surprise him with it on some sort of special occasion– maybe a birthday, or a holiday. It had been too long since you’d had cause to celebrate anything, really, and you were determined to seize any little chance you could. Hm. Did either of your new roommates even have birthdays? You’d have to wrest that information out of Mando eventually. But for now, you were content to just walk next to him in the moonlight, city hubbub fading away into the quiet whisper of the sand.

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read on: part iv