#i burst into tears when the last song started. ill admit it

[rainbowsparklecur]

SO MONARCH OF MONSTERS HUH.

[comfortwriting]

Unbreak My Heart - F.W

Fred Weasley X Reader Part 2 of ‘Call Out My Name’, inspired by the song ‘Unbreak My Heart’ by Toni Braxton.

Part 1 , Part 3

About: Fred realises he has everything wrong. His heart aching for the reader after pushing her aside for someone else, he searches for her to apologise for what he’s done and to admit his true feelings for her.

Theme: Heartache, sadness, moving on, relationships, rumours.

Warnings: mentions of raw emotions, *incredibly light* smut, depression, body image issues and swearing.

Don't leave me in all this pain Don't leave me out in the rain Come back and bring back my smile Come and take these tears away I need your arms to hold me now The nights are so unkind Bring back those nights when I held you beside me

The first thirteen months without Fred were the worst. You couldn’t face visiting Weasleys Wizard Wheezes no matter how many times George asked in his letters which you ignored. You couldn’t go into Diagon Alley without hearing news about The Weasleys - more importantly, the news about Fred and his darling; they were now engaged.

You kept to your bedroom, crying to sleep every night, looking through all the pictures you had taken of and with Fred over the years that you were with him. Letters you had written to him laid scrunched up all over your floor like an author going mad over a sticky, confusing, part of the story - but that was exactly what this was. 

Everywhere you went as you entered Diagon Alley, you were forced to listen to the news over and over again that the shop was a success. You wanted to congratulate George, but after ignoring him for so long you couldn’t bring yourself to pick up a pen to reach out to him.

Too afraid to let anyone in after the damage Fred inflicted on you, you didn’t bother meeting anyone new.

Plenty of people offered and even your sister tried to match you up with a friend of hers from work, but you declined and allowed Fred’s damage to take over you.

You only left the house for work which was torture enough as you worked with Percy at the Ministry. You ate one meal a day which was an apple on your lunch break. You didn’t dream of moving out despite your parents encouragement and you simply just collapsed in on yourself whilst your family constantly complained about Fred, swearing that you chose the wrong twin.

Although you hated Fred - or at least convinced yourself that you did - you still thought about him every single day, and at bedtime you would envision yourself back on his sofa in his arms underneath that scratchy patchwork blanket you shared many memories under. 

Laying awake staring at the ceiling, you took a deep breath. It had been over a year. You couldn’t go on like this. You needed to claim your life back, one step at a time. Sitting up in your bed, you grabbed the last of your parchment and leaned it against an old book. Dipping your feather quill into your ink pot that rested beside your bed next to the framed picture of you and Fred, you wrote to George.

You began apologising for not replying and for not visiting the shop, explaining why, and asked how everything was going - you missed your friend and it became suffocating to ignore him reaching out.

Un-break my heart Say you'll love me again Undo this hurt you caused When you walked out the door And walked out of my life Un-cry these tears I cried so many nights Un-break my heart My heart

It had been another five months since you wrote your letter to George and you were still waiting for a reply. You told yourself that perhaps he got too busy with the shop or he just didn’t want to mend things after you ignored him for so long. Either way, you didn’t ponder on it, sprayed yourself with some perfume, and got ready to leave for your third date this week.

George wasn’t ignoring you on purpose. He truly was too busy with not just everything at the shop, but also helping Fred plan out this so-called wedding and engagement party that came out of nowhere. He planned to write back but time got the better of him, he knew you wouldn’t take it personally.

“Oh look at you!” your sister grinned, “Same guy?” she asked enthusiastically. 

“No,” you shook your head and grabbed your coat, putting it on, “I don’t see the same guy twice if the spark isn’t there.”

Your sister smiled to herself and told you to have a good time. You enjoyed yourself temporarily until you remembered Fred Weasley and what he did. He was the reason why you decided against seeing the same person twice. If there was no chemistry during intimacy you moved on. Speed dating was the perfect temporary aid you needed at the moment.  

And just like Fred and his fiancé, word got out about you and how desirable you were. Instead of wallowing in self-pity, you started looking after yourself and forced yourself into the limelight. Even if it didn’t result in finding your true love, you still wanted to have fun along the way.

Your parents went to The Leaky Cauldron, and just as they were leaving, they bumped into Molly and Arthur Weasley. Your parents flinched at first sight, but swallowed the anger they had towards their son Fred.

“Oh Mr and Mrs Y/LN! what a lovely surprise to see you!” Molly chirped up. George turned his head and stood up to greet your parents. Unlike Fred, they loved George.

“And you.” Your father replied, his voice monotone.

“We haven’t seen your daughter for ages. We missed her last summer, please ask her to come and see us. George misses her and it’s our Freddie's engagement party tonight!” Molly babbled on, pointing to George when she mentioned him and Fred.

Molly and Arthur loved you coming over to the burrow. They loved you even more seeing how happy you made their son. In their eyes you brought out the best in him. On the other hand, they weren’t keen on the girl Fred decided to marry, she was inconsiderate, selfish and didn’t know what hard work was - she was handed everything she ever wanted, the exact opposite to you.

Your fathers face flushed with frustration. Didn’t they know why you never came around anymore? Were they not aware that Fred was the reason she screamed and cried every night for over a year?

Your mother hesitated but decided against holding back. She liked the Weasley family, but she couldn’t allow Fred to get away with what he had done. 

“Maybe you should ask your darling boy, Fred. Or maybe George will tell you, he’s the decent one of the two.” 

Your mother said no more and stormed out of the packed pub, your father trailing behind nodding a goodbye to George. Molly and Arthur stood there speechless and looked over at George, demanding that he tells them what happened as soon as they arrive home when everyone has gone to bed.

Fred felt strange throughout the whole party. He didn’t feel happy like he thought he would - he hadn’t been feeling happy for the past five months. Something in his life just didn’t feel right and he couldn’t put his finger on what was wrong -waking up next to his girlfriend made him feel sick and he realised how stupid he was thinking that getting engaged would make everything better.

Molly, Arthur and George sat at the dining table when everyone else was in bed. “George you better tell me what happened, now!” Molly hissed in a low whisper.

George spilled absolutely everything, from beginning to end. As much as he loved his twin, he didn’t shy away from any details even if they showed Fred for exactly who he was, and the awful things he did. Molly and Arthur were outraged at their child's behaviour. Molly had to restrain herself at the table whilst she sobbed into her hands.

Far away, you panted heavily as you came down from your high with your date. Unmounting him, you laid beside him in his bed. He took off his condom and breathlessly offered taking a shower with him. You accepted his offer knowing that you could go home straight after, you wouldn’t need to stress about hurrying in the morning to get to work on time. 

Take back that sad word goodbye Bring back the joy to my life Don't leave me here with these tears Come and kiss this pain away I can't forget the day you left Time is so unkind And life is so cruel without you here beside me

Work at the ministry became more tolerable over the next six months. Percy smiled at you more often and you couldn’t understand why. You didn’t look into it and simply smiled back. You flourished even more within the same time - you had got into a relationship with the one night stand you shared a shower with. The curly haired bookshop assistant grew on you and you didn’t mind, he often made you laugh so hard you burst into tears.

Whilst you were finding yourself, running with the wind, Fred had fallen apart completely. He overheard George spilling his guts, and finally realised why everything felt so wrong, why he wasn’t happy. You were the missing piece. His guilt and mistakes were eating him alive. He broke off the engagement - to his parents delight - and vowed on finding you and making everything right. George felt relieved that he had his own room because Fred’s cries were enough to make anyone feel ill.

Fred slept with the Irish scarf he bought you from the world cup, and he kept the patchwork blanket on his bedroom, refusing to bring it back downstairs.

Memories flashed back to him, the two of you in the tent, “Oh Fred are you sure?” you asked him as he put the scarf around your neck.

He chuckled and kissed your head, “Anything for you, my love!”

Then memories from the sofa flooded in, hurting him even more. 

“I’m so in love with you,” you moaned, cupping his face while he made love to you. 

He shook his head and came to his senses, angry that he put such a lovely girl in the firing line.

“Percy, Y/N works with you doesn’t she? Can you tell her I need to see her.” He later begged.

Percy refused, “That would be an incredibly inappropriate thing to do in the work place!” 

Fred wrote you letters, but you never got them. The family refused to lend him their owl and Fred couldn’t understand muggle post. Getting desperate, he would stay in Diagon Alley trying to see where you were lurking after work, asking strangers if they had seen you, showing them the only picture he had of you.

“It’s going to be perfect here!” Your mum smiled looking around your large half unpacked apartment, “When will he be moving in?” She winked.

You finally saved up enough money to move out and you were planning on asking your boyfriend to move in if things continued to run smoothly. You had got your furniture, all you needed were the items left in the big green box from your bedroom. “I’ll collect them next week.” 

Feeling brave with your partner, arms linked, the two of you visited George’s shop. He had sent you a letter letting you know when Fred wasn’t working and you felt confident that you wouldn’t bump into him.

“I’m so proud of you!” You cheered for George, giving him a hug.

After paying for your bits and bobs you previously saw in the design stages, you walked out of the shop and bumped into someone. Looking up to apologise, you realised it was Fred. He stared at you - both of you mirroring each other looking like a deer caught in the headlights. 

You shook yourself out of the immediate shock Fred was still stuck in. 

“Sorry,” you muttered, walking away, your boyfriend asking what his problem was.

Un-break my heart Say you'll love me again Undo this hurt you caused When you walked out the door And walked out of my life Un-cry these tears I cried so many nights Un-break my heart

Another week went by and Fred was going stir crazy. Customers in his shop who knew you both were whispering about how happy you were now. Him and George argued when he discovered the letter between you two.

Fred rifled through the stacks of letters and found your parents address where you no longer lived. He got on his broom, not caring if muggles saw him, and landed on the roof. He crawled down to your window and gave it a tap with his wand with a soft “Alohomora”.

Expecting to find you asleep, he discovered only disappointment that your room laid bare and empty. The bedside table had nothing but a folded photo lying face down on it, the bin on the floor full of parchment balls.

He unfolded the photo and put a hand over his mouth, seeing you and him moving during your morning walks. He bent down and grabbed a ball from the bin, unravelling the parchment. He cried reading the letters you had written him but never sent. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the green box on your bed and he went through it, more tears spilling down his face.

“I’ll just grab my box!” He heard you yell, walking upstairs. 

Without giving him time to hide, you opened the door, revealing him standing in front of you. You held back a scream of shock and took a deep breath shaking your head, “Fred please - you can’t be here.” 

Fred shook his head and cried, “I’m so sorry, for everything,” he made his way closer to you, “I got everything wrong, her, everything.”

Not wanting your parents to see him, you closed your bedroom door and locked it, your heart pounding. Tears fell from your eyes, the walls you put up against him crashing down, your hate for him melting away and your love for him surging inside.

“Why are you here?” you questioned him through your cries.

Fred walked over to you slowly not wanting to scare you off. This was the closest you had been to him since you bumped into him at the shop. The young man you fell in love with wrapped his arms around you, tangling his hands in your hair. You stayed still with your hands by your side.

“I’m in love with you.” Fred choked out between sobs. He pulled away and gently put your hands in his, your tear filled eyes getting lost in his.

“Fred- I can’t!” you shook your head crying, feeling weak at the words he said and the ones you replied with. 

“Please,” Fred begged getting onto his knees, staring up at you, “please let me make things right.”

Don't leave me in all this pain Don't leave me out in the rain Bring back the nights when I held you beside me

“I think you look stunning,” Fred complimented you, soot spread out all over your nose.

You chuckled and sneaked a kiss on his lips, only to hear a loud thud on the desk in front of you.

“One weeks’ detention for the two of you,” Professor Snape snarled, “and fifty points will be deducted from your house.”

Un-break my heart Say you'll love me again Undo this hurt you caused When you walked out the door And walked out of my life Un-cry these tears I cried so many, many nights Oh, un-break my

“What do you mean you’re taking her instead of me!” you freaked out, throwing your earrings at the mirror. 

“It’s just a bloody Yule Ball. Y/N. It doesn’t mean anything.” Fred argued.

“Well it does to me!” you argued back, “I’m guessing I was just your back up plan if she said no.” 

Un-break my heart, oh baby Come back and say you love me Un-break my heart, sweet darlin' Without you I just can't go on

Fred held you in his arms, the two of you watching the muggle horror movie in amazement. You nuzzled your head into his neck, planting kisses on it softly. Fred let out a soft shaky moan, his hand making its way up your thigh. “We’ll need to be quiet,” he whispered, pulling your underwear off.

Can't go on (Say that you love me, say that you love me) (Tell me you love me, un-break my) (Say that you love me, say that you love me) (Tell me you love me, un-break my)

You stared at Fred, still trying to process what he said. You pursed your lips and stayed quiet getting lost in your thoughts. Fred noticed you were in shock and lost for words. He pulled out the scarf from his coat pocket and walked over to you, wrapping it around you.

You stared up at him, getting lost in those gorgeous eyes that you missed so much. You looked down at his lips and kissed him impulsively.

He kissed back.

[crescentsteel]

Keeping a Secret - Part 3

pairing: Tsukishima x f!manager of Sendai Frogs genre: sexual tension/crack/fluff/slow burn warnings: lots of swear words, tsukki being a a closet softie wc: 7.3k (Ill just stop apologizing for this long chapter updates at this point)

[a/n]

Let me know if you want to be part of the taglist uwu

AO3

Part 2 || Part 4 || masterlist

“Remind me again why are we here.” Tsukishima tells you as soon as he steps foot inside your room. 

He scans the room and immediately notices the mess that it is, particularly the top bunk of the bed which he doesn’t doubt must be your share of it.

On the wall on the left side of the room are posters of seascapes and sea animals of different varieties while the desk bolted under it are framed photos of Sendai Frogs. He recognizes them all;, one was taken from the first win of the team on the first year you joined as the manager. The second is a photo of the team at the gym with the new members that year, including Kyoutani who had just recently joined. The last one is a selfie of you on the bus doing a peace sign and winking at  the camera while everyone was sleeping.

He kinda feels bad for your roommate now. You’re practically hogging the whole room.

You put down your bag on the floor and shoot him a confused look. “To do our project?” 

When you told him to meet in your dorm, he agreed because he thought you meant the common area. After all, he had no reason to think you’d invite him to your room. You two may have disregarded the club incident, tucking it away as a sordid memory from a night of insanity, but that doesn’t mean it is forgotten. However, that doesn’t seem to be the case with you as you appear to genuinely find nothing wrong with the current situation. 

You seat yourself at your table, taking out your laptop and notes from the trip last time.

“Go sit, Tsukishima,” you say without even looking at him as you spread out your notes on the table’s surface as your laptop boots up. 

“We could’ve just done this in the library, or at least in the lobby,” he says as a matter-of-factly.

“True, but I also don’t see any problem with doing it here,” you answer passively, still occupied with arranging your papers. 

He was right. It really does not bother you at all. So, he shouldn’t be bothered with it either. This way, at least, no one would see you and him together. You’re a person he doesn’t want to be associated with hanging around with anyways. 

“Do you always invite your groupmates to your room?” He asks out of curiosity since it didn’t seem like anything for you to just invite him in, as if you didn’t care much about your privacy. 

“Hmm. Depends,” you answer. 

He takes out his own laptop, but still eyes you as he prods further. “On what?”

The curve of your lips tugs up slightly as you sit up straight and lift your gaze away from the notes you took out and finally turn your attention to him.

“I welcome those who won’t get handsy with me.”

“Even if you’re the one who’d get handsy with them?” he boldly counters.

You cock your head to the side with hints of amusement playing across your features, which vexes him. The question was supposed to tear your composure, not entertain you. 

“Alright, let’s get the fucking elephant out of the room since it bothers you so much,” you announce with levity. 

If you’re going to be honest, the kiss still finds its way to your mind sometimes. You just keep pushing it off so that you won’t get stressed out by it. What you find interesting is that he still keeps shoving that fact that you kissed him as if you wanted to do so.

Well, you literally did kiss him, but it’s not like you sought for it prior to the incident. 

It just … happened.

“I’ll come clean, good sir, if you’ll allow me,” you declare sarcastically before setting a more serious tone. “I admit it. It was one hell of a mistake to kiss you. But I didn’t mean to. As ridiculous as it sounds, I really didn’t. It was just one of those stupid, off-the-cuff things people do.” 

Your voice takes an accusatory note when you ask, “And why do you sound like I harassed you or something? Hmm? ‘Cause if I remember correctly.”

You cross your arms and look up, pretending to be deep in thought before facing him again with a fraudulent shock. “Oh right!” you exclaim exaggeratedly. “You kissed me back,” you add in almost a sing-song manner.

You put an elbow on the table and rest your cheek on your palm as you hold his glare with a snide grin. “How about that?” 

He continues shooting daggers at you but you don’t falter. Quite soon enough, he lets up and returns to the passive, apathetic face he usually wears, which signals your victory for the argument. “Like you said, it was one of those dumb on the spot whims.”

You nod agreeably. “Alright, great. Now that that has been established, let me reassure you. It’s never ever gonna happen again. Ever.”  

Your eyes are devoid of any humor while your words drip with firm resolve. Yet, he finds it off that you’re not asking him to do the same given that you both just agreed that you are equally accountable for that imprudent act. He is almost just as guilty. 

“Aren’t you going to ask the same from me?”

Your somber expression breaks into a humored one as a laugh rumbles from your throat. You shake your head in comical delight while you look at him. “No, I won’t. Actually...” you drift off as you scoot closer to him until you’re right beside him. “Give it your best shot.”

You close your eyes and tilt your chin up. Did you really just dare him to kiss you? Kiss those stupid lips and have a repeat of that appalling night? 

Should he?

He would do it just to erase the smug off your face, just to prove you wrong. But similar to that night, he can’t bring himself to do it. He hates the idea of instigating such a thing. 

Even more so now that he’s already had a taste of those lips. Those lips that felt too exquisite that it infuriated him. Those lips that took away his logical thinking. With you offering those lips to him so generously, you make him hate them even more. That pretty face and that playful smile of yours do nothing but add to his fury. 

“Can you get your face away from me?” 

You peek one eye open before bursting into laughter, making his displeasure towards you skyrocket. Why the fuck is he always your laughing stock?

“See? This is why I don’t mind you coming over, Tsukishima. I bet if I strip naked right now, you’d walk out in a heartbeat.”

His scowl deepens. The mental image of your unclad body is very much unwelcome and unappreciated. “Bring that up again and I really will leave,” he snaps. 

Even with your smile intact, your humored expression dissolves a bit and is replaced by a curious guise.

“You know, everyone likes me except you,” you say with no shred of diffidence.  

You really are full of yourself. You might be ‘likeable’ for a lot of people, but that doesn’t mean every single person you meet actually likes you. He’s certain there are people who you rub off the wrong way -- people like him. 

“Isn’t that a bit too conceited, even for you?”

You shrug your shoulders indifferently. “Maybe so. But you’re the only person who shoves your blatant dislike on my face.”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with it for the past three years,” he replies as he flips his laptop open and boots it up so he can turn his attention somewhere other than you. 

“I didn’t need to work with you like this for the past three years.”

He doesn’t know where you’re going with the conversation so he doesn’t respond anymore. He’s certain you know why he finds you a pain in the neck. You constantly get on his grill with every opportunity you get. Maybe if you didn’t, he could actually tolerate your topsy turvy persona. But it’s as if it’s your personal mission to aggravate him.

“I’m putting the deal I offered during the trip,” you announce.

“What deal?” he asks as he starts typing bullet points of what should be done today so he can go home already.

“Forget I’m the annoying manager when it’s just us two. And I won’t deliberately piss you off.”

He types the last bullet point before returning his attention on you. “Then what? I suddenly become nice to you?”

“Hell no! I’m not asking for a fucking miracle. It’s not like you’re ever nice to anybody. Geez!” you explain derisively. “I just want us to have a conversation where you’re not giving me death glares.”

You give him a smile, one that lacks your usual haughtiness. Still, he can’t tell if you’re being serious or if you’ll actually manage to hold the deal you’re proposing. Truth be told, he wants it. He can’t handle you being your usual if you two have to meet beyond training hours and, even worse, in private. 

If this keeps up, he might end up cursing this subject by the end of the semester, which would be a waste because likes this subject way too much for you to taint it with your idiocy.

“Deliver your end of the bargain. Then you’ll have mine.”

Your eyes twinkle with glee at his semi-approval. “We have a deal then.” 

You go back to where you’re seated a while ago and proceed to start discussing at hand.

--

With the start of the game season, training has become more intense. Coach Mira had the team work on the weak points she identified with the help of  the data you tallied from last season’s games.

“Kyoutani! Do not lower those arms just yet. Keep those elbows up when you block,” Coach yells at him, as Kogane spiked from the other side of the court.

She looks over at the other players practicing their jump serves. She furrows her brows at something. Following her line of sight, you see that it falls on Tsukishima. 

On his next serve, the ball spins ferociously but is of low height that it hits the middle of the night. 

“Y/n,” Coach calls out. She didn’t have to say anything else as she cocks her head to Tsukishima’s direction with a telling expression on her face. She’s asking you to handle him, and you know exactly why. 

Before he can toss the ball for another jump serve, you yell out merrily which you know will definitely catch his ears, “ Tsukki!! ” and jog to where he is. His blank expression turns into a scowl when you reach him. 

“Can you stop calling me that?”

“You’re so mean. Aren’t we close enough for me to call you ‘ Tsukki ’?.” You ask with a dramatic pout and exaggerated false woes that he visibly cringes after hearing it. 

He doesn’t respond to your pretentious act. “Why are you here?”

You instantly lose the cheeky act and get to what Coach Mira wants to let him know. You’re just going to twist the words a bit to his ‘liking.’ 

This is the problem you noticed with Tsukishima, one worse than his rotten way of interacting with the team. He can be incredibly unmotivated at times, and when he is, he only gives the bare minimum amount of effort. 

It’s the one thing you can say you truly dislike about him because he’s a professional athlete for crying out loud. It doesn’t matter if he’s unmotivated, uninspired, or doesn’t feel like trying. He should be disciplined enough to push himself to put as much work as he usually does when training.

“You’re not going to get those serves in with that half-assed attitude of yours,” you say sternly while you eye him with a threatening stare. 

His face scrunches in utter displeasure. He’s well aware that he’s not feeling his best today and he’d rather do blocking drills for the whole raining than do ten consecutive jump serves. 

“Since enthusiasm is the answer to everything else, why don’t you try it?” He bites back, which you obviously weren’t expecting. He’s always irritated when you point out his mistakes, but thus far he has always stayed silent. 

Maybe the amount of time you’re spending together outside the gymnasium has made him reach the limit of his patience… which isn��t even a lot to begin with.

“Are you serious?” you ask incredulously.

Of course he wasn’t. You might have some sort of experience with volleyball (although he doesn’t know to which extent), but jump serves are difficult. The coordination of the toss and the run up to hit it at the right angle is aggravatingly hard to pull off, especially for him since jump serves need tons of practice.

He detests the practice for it; he needs to run, jump, and swing his arm over and over. It is boring and tiring for him because it is purely based on physical prowess, compared to practicing blocking where he’s actually thinking. 

He thought you’d leave him alone when you stepped away. Instead, you come back with a ball in your hand. You dribble it off the floor with unbendable focus as if you’re trying to recall something.

“Are you serious?” he’s the one who asks this time. He was just fucking around. He didn’t expect you’d actually respond to his provocation.

“Yep,” you answer with your full concentration on the ball in your hand as you spin it vertically. Some of the players notice what you’re up to and briefly stop what they’re doing to watch.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. You bat them open with burning determination before you toss the ball. 

Instead of watching the ball, he watches your form. There’s no trace of awkwardness in your movements, almost like you’ve done this frequently before. The three-step approach is nearly perfect as you propel yourself up to jump. 

The sharp sound of the ball hitting your hand causes the rest of the gym to look at you. The ball spins ferociously at a height he’s not sure is sufficient to get over the other side of the court. He wishes it won’t. That would be the second worst thing you could ever do to him, the first one being that certain occurrence he’d rather not think about again. 

You falter on your feet when you descend from your leap but you immediately look up to see if your serve makes it. Everyone else, including him, is on the edge as they watch whether the ball will get in or not.

It roughly scrapes the edge of the net, effectively thwarting its velocity. Still, it bounces off and lands inside the opposing court, causing the rest of the team to cheer you on as the ball hits the floor.

You seem to forget for a short while that you did it to spite him as your face beams with inexplicable joy while his contorts with ire. 

Even if the momentum of the ball was broken, you still managed to get it over - the one thing he hadn’t been able to do from his last eight attempts. Meanwhile, you did it on your first. 

You definitely had a lot of experience in high school. No beginner can manage to do a jump serve like that, even if it was flawed.

‘Shit,’ he silently curses when you face him with a cocky grin disguised as a pleasant one. 

“Who knew that my experience being an outside hitter and captain of my high school team would still be useful as your manager?” you ask as you slowly walk towards him.

He doesn’ expect that your knowledge about the sport came from first-hand experience. He thought you’re manager of another team previously or just a crazy volleyball enthusiast.

You pick up another ball and softly push it against his rib as you look up to him with contempt. “Don’t tell me I can do better than you,” you spur him on with squinted eyes.

He snatches the ball away from your hands and steps back from the serving line. He spins the ball one time and tosses it high. Instead of a three-step approach, he makes it a four to increase his vertical jump. He tosses it high enough and channels all his rage for you at the ball. 

With how high he jumped, the ball easily goes over the net. Its trajectory curves when it crosses over and hits a spot a little bit just beyond the end line.

He clenches his fist at his another failed attempt despite exerting more than necessary effort for that shot. He avoids looking at you for he’d be put in an even worse mood if sees that taunting grin of yours. 

But of course you had to make yourself seen and intentionally go in front of him with an impressed look in your face instead of a condescending one. 

“That was great! Holy shit. It was just a smidge out. Wow.” You applaud him earnestly, and as much as he despises it, it makes him a little less bad about that missed shot. 

“Can you leave me alone now?” He drives you away to fend off the stupid feeling. He’d rather you just walk away and don’t say anything. “Not like that serve mattered,” he mutters in annoyance.

“What are you talking about? It was awesome!” you yell out with your eyes shining with flagrant admiration, which annoyingly strokes his ego. 

“Just a bit less and it would have been in a spot difficult to return,” you remark as you pat his shoulders approvingly before heeding his request to leave and go back to where Coach is. 

“Sorry, Coach. I distracted everyone else,” you scratch your head with an apologetic smile when you return. 

“I’d tell you off, but everyone seems more motivated now, so good work I guess,” she commends you with a satisfactory tone.

“He looks really pissed though,” Coach Mira adds as she glances at the blonde middle blocker.

“More than you know, Coach,” you reply with a wide smile as he serves another ball and gets it in this time. 

--

Prior to your meeting with Tsukishima today, you proposed to finish the project as soon as possible so you can both focus on other other uni subjects on top of training hours. He immediately agreed, which didn’t surprise you because even though it’s not game season, you’re pretty sure he can’t wait to stop having to see you.

The project’s deadline is in three months, but you believe you can finish it in less than two if you meet up at least twice a week to work on it.

It should be okay, given that you both agreed to have a truce of some sort from the usual dynamic of your relationship. You actually think that it’s not going to work out smoothly, but you still suggested it with the hopes of decreasing his animosity towards you. Yes, it’s fun and amusing most of the time, but outside the gym where you’re just a classmate and not his manager, it’s kinda draining to deal with it. 

“Won’t your roommate mind if there’s a stranger in your room?” he asks as he sits down and rummages through his bag. 

“Oh.” You thought he already figured it out because he didn’t ask about it on his first visit. “Didn’t I tell you before? I don’t have a roommate.” 

His eyes immediately go to your bunk bed that you didn’t bother getting replaced because it’s convenient when you’re too tired. You usually just mindlessly throw your stuff at the top bunk for a later clean-up.

“Wanted the whole room to myself,” you add.

“Spoiled, little rich brat, aren’t you?” He really doesn’t have much basis for his statement. He just wants to say something nasty and sneer at you because he wants to get back at how you called him out during training the other day.

When he meets your gaze, you raise an eyebrow at him, reminding him about your agreement while working on the project. He purses his lips to the side and returns to his passive expression without saying anything. You roll your eyes in response.

“Well if being a scholar while working as your manager is being a spoiled rich brat, then by all means. Do consider me one,” you answer before looking back on your screen. 

He would have never thought you were a university scholar. You don’t look like the type. You’re way too carefree and all over the place. He would’ve thought it was a joke, if not for the tiny offended glint he caught when he said you’re a spoiled brat.

That’s exactly the reaction he wants to get from you, yet it didn’t feel satisfactory. On the contrary, it’s making him feel like a prick. He is being one, but he doesn’t expect to feel like one, especially towards you who does nothing but get on his skin. 

Still, hell would freeze over before he apologizes. Instead, he prods on the topic.

“Why would you even work as a manager if you’re already a scholar?”

It doesn’t make sense to him. You don’t need the work if your university fees are already waived. It will just pile on to the academic requirements you will need to maintain. 

Your hand stops scrolling on your mouse as your eyes soften, still  remaining on your laptop. “Cause I love it,” you utter like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

The look in your eyes is instantly replaced by mockery when you lift them to meet his. 

“Someone’s being inquisitive today.”

He gets his headphones out and plugs it to his laptop. He really is curious why you chose you to be their manager, but you just had to be an obnoxious bitch and break the agreement you offered to him just the other day. 

He knows you’re too much of a chaos to actually pull it off, so instead of wasting his energy by being irritated by you for the day, he’d rather pretend you’re not there.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” you say loudly with a wide smile, yet he can see the sincerity of the apology through the slight panic in your orbs. You must have realized he’s had enough of your shit. “My bad. Old habits hard.” You laugh nervously. 

You speak again when he puts down his headphones on the table. “I may have quit the sport, but I still love it. I love taking care of players like you guys who have the same passion for it.”

“Doesn’t seem like it’s worth it,” he comments with unheld honesty. You could have a lot of time off of your hands if you quit being their manager. You don’t even need the job.

You plant your hands on the floor and lean back as your gaze drifts to the photos of the team displayed on your desk.

“You might be right. A marine science student dedicating her time on sports even though she’s not an athlete? It does sound impractical. But,” you revert your eyes back to him as you continue on, “it makes me happy. That alone makes it worth it. Even if I don’t get paid, I’d still do it.”

Your face glows with pride and joy with your last statement, completely undeterred by his earlier cynicism. If anything, you look even more convinced that you’re doing the right thing. 

He can’t tell if he finds it admirable or disturbing. Probably the latter.

“There’s more to life than just sleep, study, and survive, don’t you think?” 

It was a rhetorical question that he would’ve still refuted if someone told him that years ago. Back in his freshman year in high school, he thought overzealous passion was stupid. Unless an individual is some sort of prodigy, it wouldn’t get them anywhere even if they keep trying to death.

Still, he put in a lot of work -- more than he should -- when he was playing in Karasuno. What was just a club became entirely something else for him, which, up until now, he still hasn’t put quite a finger on. 

When he graduated from Karasuno, he wasn’t sure what to do. He wanted to continue playing, but there was a nagging feeling behind his head that he shouldn’t. He thought that that part of his life was already over and while it was good while it lasted, it was time to move one. 

Yet, when he was handed out an application form for the university’s college team, he found himself grabbing the sheet of paper. 

He didn’t have any reason to pursue it beyond high school. He knows he’s good, but he’s not that good. He was at university already. It was time to focus on his future and ignore the itch to hold the ball with five other players on his side of the court.

What’s even more absurd was the next day, he submitted the application form and tried out for the team. He said to himself it wouldn’t hurt to go on playing until he has finally had enough. He’d just ride it out until he got tired of it. 

In his sophomore year, he was scouted by Sendai Frogs and that’s when he knew that the unreasonable passion he has for volleyball is not going to go away. Even now in his graduating semester, he’s still not ready to give it up.

He won’t admit it in your face, but, in a way, he can agree with what you just said. Life is more than just getting by and surviving. That’s the only reason he can think of to justify his choice to continue volleyball: so that he wouldn’t have this constant dissonance that pursuing the sport is a vacuous path he’s treading on. 

“Anyways, back to work now, yeah?”

You smile briefly at him and return to the research you’re tasked to do. He puts his headphones back in his bag and gets back to his own task as well.

He thought all is well and you won’t pester him until you both finish what you’re supposed to accomplish for the day. Unfortunately, he thought wrong. 

You suddenly close your laptop and start whining. 

“Tsukki.”

As usual, he does his best to not acknowledge your existence. 

“Tsukkiii, ” you whine louder. 

For the love of God, you sound the most annoying when you use his nickname. Even though you’ve used it several times now, he’s still not used to it. In fact, he does not believe he will ever get used to it. Shimizu and Yachi not even once called him that, and they were more respectable managers than you are. Sort of. It doesn’t matter that you’re more active and hands on when managing the team.

“Tsuuuk -”

“What?!” You successfully manage to get his eyes off the screen.

“I’m bored,” you pout. 

He glares at you unbelievably. What are you, a five-year-old? 

“And that is my problem, how?” he asks with disdain. 

“Aren’t you getting tired?” you ask back, unfazed by his blatant irritation. But then again, you never are. 

He is getting tired too, but he’d rather drag his brains and eyes out than rest and extend the time he’s going to spend with you. 

“Let’s take a break, please, ” you cry out with pleading eyes. 

“I don’t care what you do. Just leave me out of it.” He puts his attention back on his laptop and looks for the journal article he found significant among the other tabs he opened. 

“I’ll feel guilty if I see you still at it while I goof around,” you admit. 

He really couldn’t care any less. None of what you’re blabbering about is any of his concern. If you keep at it, he’ll just take out his headphones again to drown out your childish whining. 

“I know!” You suddenly perk up. “Let’s review for our quiz,” you suggest eagerly. “We have one tomorrow, right?”

He almost smirks at your suggestion, but he manages to suppress it. He’d rather not let you see that he’s pleasantly amused with your suggestion. 

He didn’t expect that that was your idea of taking a break. He thought you were going to propose something completely absurd like watch stupid videos online because that’s something he could totally see you doing on your free time. 

But yeah, he can definitely use a review. It would be a productive break from the strenuous researching and writing you two have been doing. 

Even though he still hasn’t verbally agreed, you continue on. “To make it interesting, there’s a penalty for every wrong answer.”

He sits up straight, pushing his glasses closer to his face as you successfully gain his full attention. “What penalty?”

Your smile widens when you realize that he’s finally acknowledging your idea of taking a break. 

“Okay, okay.” You rub your hands together in excitement before you clasp them together. “For every wrong answer you get, you need to say something nice about me. And of course vice versa.”

He scowls at the idea. “I prefer the opposite. Get the answer wrong and you get insulted. That sounds more of a punishment.”

You shake your head with your lips pressed into a thin line from disapproval. “Nope. If I get even one wrong answer. I’m sure you’ll get into a litany of rude shit you piled up against me over the years. And I’ll just sit here uncaringly receiving your fury. Does that excite you?”

Hell no. It will infuriate him even more if he throws something at you and you just take it apathetically. But he still doesn’t agree with your initial mechanics. It’s not fair to him.

“No, it doesn’t. But the consequence of a wrong answer is too easy for you.”

You place a palm on your chest and gape at him. “Me? Too easy for me ?” 

You break into a boisterous laugh while still maintaining eye contact with him. He just stares back at you stupefied with no idea what you found so hilarious.

“Tsukishima,” you say after recovering from your disparaging hoots of laughter. “I can think of literally one nice thing about you. Maybe two if I tried hard enough,” you explain with your face still crinkled with the laughter you’re trying hard to contain. 

If you’re trying to provok him to take on your challenge, you definitely succeeding. “Fine,” he hisses. 

Your laughter is completely thwarted when your eyes widen with delight as he succumbs to your plan. 

“Great! Okay, two more rules. One, objective questions only. Two, we can’t say anything that involves Volleyball. For example, you can’t tell me that I’m a great manager, because I’m very much aware of that already, okay?”

His frown only deepens from your conceitedness, only to realize that that’s the only aspect of you he’d consider complimenting you about. 

“But there is nothing else nice about you other than that,” he says without any trace of sarcasm or ridicule, only stating what he considers the truth. 

But you don’t take any offense in his statement. You’re expecting as much. That’s why you added two more rules to push the both of you to take the review seriously.

“Better not get anything wrong then,” you counter easily because it’s as simple as that. It’s a review just for a quiz after all. He shouldn’t be that worried.

“Thirty minutes to review. Then let’s start the quiz?”

You take that he’s fine with it since he closes his laptop and gets his set of notes from his bag.

You get your phone and set a thirty minute timer. You do just as he does and focus on your own notes, skimming over the last two chapters covered during lectures. You concentrate on your learning materials but the alarm sets off after what seemed like ten minutes to you.

You frantically check your phone to see if you put the wrong time, but you didn’t. Thirty minute have indeed passed. 

When you glance at Tsukishima, he’s already looking at you with crossed arms and a self-satisfied smirk. He must have finished before the timer went off. He wouldn’t have that smug expression if not. 

Even though you haven’t fully gone over the last parts of the lesson covered, you can’t help but be enlivened at how competitive he is. He must really hate losing. 

You notice it too with the way he plays volleyball. He might look calm on the surface, but you know he wants to crush his opponents. And right now, that opponent is you. 

His muted excitement affects you. Even though you’re not totally prepared, you’re confident with your own wits. 

“Ladies first, so go ahead, Tsukishima.”

He clicks his tongue, his usual habit when he’s irked with something, but this one was forced to make it appear as if he didn’t like what you said. But you can tell that he doesn’t give a shit about that and he actually can’t wait to ask away just to so you can get it wrong.

Unfortunately for him though, you two are just exchanging questions when your mini game starts. He answers your questions without hesitation and you do just the same since most of his questions are in your own list that’s supposed to be for him.

“What’s the movable membrane found on the eyes of amphibians?” It’s his sixth question that has you racking your brain for the correct answer. When you don’t respond immediately, he sniggers like he’s already won. 

But you do know the answer, or at least the first letter of it. It's the letter N. N-something membrane.

“Nictaling membrane,” you answer unsurely. 

The spread of his wicked smile immediately tells you you’re wrong. “It’s nictating,” he corrects you. 

“Oh come on! I’m just one letter off,” you strongly reason out.

“Yeah, and that would still be marked wrong in the actual quiz,” he refutes.

Damn it. He’s right. That one letter makes a whole lot of difference your professor will definitely not let go.

He places one elbow on the table and rests his chin at the back of his hand, keeping his eyes trained on you as he silently anticipates for you to pay the price of your penalty.

You bite your lip disquietly when you realize the rule you set was a double-edged sword for you can’t also think of anything nice to say about him. There’s that terrible attitude of his which is usually your source of fun, but not exactly something you can call nice. 

You have something in your mind, but your pride won’t let you voice it out. 

He starts tapping the table with his fingers. “You’re wasting both our time, y/n.”

You accept your defeat and tell him anyway. “Fine. I think you’re smarter than me,” you confess. 

You expect him to agree unanimously, but instead he looks at you stupefied, blinking a few times without saying anything. 

“But you’re a scholar,” he remarks. You’re not sure if he just disagreed with you or he’s just putting that fact out in the open. 

“Well, yeah. But I’m just really good at studying and have good time management. You’re actually smart. You’re critical with stuff,” you explain. 

You cheated a bit with your answer since most of your basis is from volleyball games. Although your trip last time is also proof of that. He provided really good input on how you should go about with the project. 

“Okay! Moving on,” you proceed before he can comment further on what you just said and milk it to his benefit.

You ask another question, which he also knows that correct answer to. Originally, you just wanted a fun but effective way of reviewing, but now you kind of want him to get at least one question wrong so you can get even. 

“What do you call the structure the lower vertebrae of anurans is fused into?” he asks another difficult question. 

You rub your palms on your face, your frustration clouding your mind from recalling what it could possibly be. You push your hair back and sigh when you realize that you’re not getting this one either. 

“I don’t know,” you surrender. 

His current expression is the most lively one you’ve ever seen from him outside volleyball games, but it isn't a pleasant one. He looks like a villain whose evil master plan is coming to fruition. 

Maybe you should’ve just agreed with his earlier suggestion to get insulted when you get it incorrectly. You would’ve just sit it out and brush it off afterwards, not make your brain hurt even more from thinking about non-existent good traits from the guy across your table. 

You look around as you desperately try to think of something remotely nice about him.

“Oh,” your eyes meet his right the moment you recall that instance, and form a genuine smile as you remember it once more. 

“It was real nice of you to let me lean on you on the way back to Miyagi last week.”

He removes his elbow from the table and fixes his posture, losing the lax and confident aura he had two questions ago. 

“You would have woken up face down on the bus floor if I didn’t,” he says defensively as if what he did needs that explanation for it to be acceptable. 

You honestly thought he’d rather let you fall flat on the floor. You’re about to ask him back then if he was sure, but you just accepted his angry, yet generous offer which you didn’t expect to come from him.

“I know. I just didn’t think you’d let me rest on your shoulder, so thanks,” you say earnestly, not a trace of your usual cheekiness present. 

“It felt nice and comfortable” you add reservedly. You’ve been wanting to thank him but you didn’t know how to bring it up without being awkward for you’re only used to dealing with grouchy Tsukishima.

It’s only then you realize that despite his palpable dislike towards you, he’s not a complete asshole and still cared enough for your welfare that time.

He remains expressionless with his eyes drifting down to his notes, avoiding your gaze as he does so. “The answer is coccyx, also called urostyle,” he ushers back to the question you got wrong, dismissing what you just divulged, which you’re thankful for because you feel like fidgeting with what just dawned on you.

“My turn again then!” you said too loudly as you try to shake off the feeling and put your focus back on the review.

You read the only item left in your list, still hoping that he gets it wrong since this is the last. 

“What part of the amphibian nervous system regulates heart and respiratory rates?”

Unlike previous questions, he doesn’t answer off the bat this time.

“You’re wasting both our time, Tsukishima,” you repeat what he said to you earlier even though it's only been seconds after you uttered your question. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I know the answer,” he declares with reassured confidence. “It’s the cerebrum.”

You decide to hold his gaze for two second before you burst his bubble. “Fucking finally!” you rejoice in his defeat. 

“Close enough, Tsukishima. It’s the cerebellum,” you announce all too cheerfully.

He hurriedly gets his notes and cross checks if you’re actually telling the truth. You just watch him scramble with a very pleased smile on your face as he goes rigid. 

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself. He must have seen that you were telling the truth.

You start squirming in your seat. Oh man, you’re way too excited to hear what he has to say about you. You want to egg him on, to tell him to hurry up but that might affect what he’s going to say so you force yourself to shut up. 

He raises his gaze at you while you make sure you’re not smiling too wide to annoy him even though you’re reeling from anticipation. 

He still doesn’t say anything, but you know he’s thinking based on the way he’s studying your face. 

“You have a slightly above average face.”

You run that by again in your head, not understanding what he meant by it at first. 

Above average face? Did he just say you’re pretty if translated from a socially incapacitated person’s language? Is that why he was staring so hard at you?

Of all the things he could choose to say something about, he decides to compliment your appearance? You know that you're a bit good-looking, but you don’t think he notices it. He doesn’t seem to be the type to care about that stuff.

Even when you first met, he just looked at you with a vacant expression and greeted you blandly out of courtesy while the rest of the team ogled at you. His apathetic eyes eventually turned scornful over time because of how often you pick on him, and despite that, he does acknowledge that you are pretty.

You’re used to being showered with admiration because of your face so you’ve developed a natural response to it: a gleeful smile with a spritely ‘aww, thanks!’

But with Tsukishima, it doesn’t kick in. Instead, you avert your gaze away from the unwanted fluttering in your chest. You can’t even look him in the eye as you try to collect yourself and think how you’ll respond to that without looking flustered. 

What the heck is wrong with you? That could hardly be called a compliment. Now that you think about it, it actually sounded sort of like a product review with its lack of any fondness. 

With that in mind, you manage to regain some of your composure and offer him a faint. “Um, thanks.”  

Tsukishima looks at his two remaining questions he listed and even though he’s winning the game, he doesn’t feel victorious at all. Your confessions did nothing to make him feel good about himself. They were too sincere that they made him uneasy.

He also doesn’t like that he had to admit you’re pretty. He expected you’re gonna make a fuss about it. He actually would’ve preferred that than you being uncharacteristically embarrassed about it.

Something weird is definitely going on. You’re not acting like yourself and neither is he. There had been too many opportunities to badger you, but he just let them pass by. Same with you. You could have easily teased him about letting you know he finds you attractive.

“I’m out of questions,” he lies to end the damn review. 

“Me too, actually,” you say with an apprehensive laugh.

So it’s not just him. You also feel the change in the atmosphere between you two. Your smile is uncertain and you look like you don't know what to do to remedy the situation -- that is, if you even know what’s wrong with it because he sure as hell doesn’t. 

But even if he has no idea what’s going on, fortunately, he knows how to end it.

“I’m tired. I’m calling it a day,” he says as he starts packing up his stuff. 

You seem to agree since you don’t say anything and just watch him collect his things. You only react when he stands up. 

“Oh yeah. Sure!” You stand up as well.

“I can see my way out on my own,” he stops you when you start to head for the door.  

You freeze on the spot then nod timidly. “Okay.”

As soon as he steps out and closes the door, you plop yourself back to where you were sitting. You grasp the edges of your table as you softly bang your head against it, gasping a heavy breath of relief when the air becomes undoubtedly lighter after he is gone.

“What the fuck was that?” you mumble with your cheek against the wooden surface. 

Part 2 || Part 4 || masterlist

taglist (those crossed out can’t be tagged)

@ameliaxo @suikrem @akaashisslave @tsumurai  @babythotshq @loving-unicorns106 @flairlust @geektastic84 @anaiss97 @berna-dette @just4readingfics @suteorra @xxekitten69xx @simp4tsukkii @music-is-all-i-need @keshinslittlegirl @raspberrysunshinebby @iminlovewhaikyuu @pdiddy11 @lightyagamami @sailorscout1902 @lovershaikyuu  @expectonothinfromme @mitzuya @yamigoop​

[ayybtch]

The One

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Summary: Things are going up and down for you as you try to navigate life after your breakup with Bucky. Everything leads to an accidental run-in with him at a coffee shop that leaves you and Bucky wondering if things could have been different. Based on the song The 1 by Taylor Swift.

Warnings: This is an angsty fic. The reader is actively struggling with mental illness and a breakup. There are mentions of being on antidepressants and symptoms such as anxiety, insomnia, and sometimes not having the energy for personal care, but nothing in-depth.

Word Count: 11,261

A/N: I owe a very special thank you to @borkingbarnes​, who has supportively been screaming at me for writing this ever since I told her this idea and gave me some brilliant suggestions during her beta read. The dividers were made by the lovely @whimsicalrogers​.

“So, how have the new meds been treating you? Are they still making you nauseous after you first take them?”

You looked across the room at your therapist and shook your head, “No, they’re not making me nauseous anymore. I’ve been making sure that I’ve got food in my stomach first and not just a cup of coffee. I’ve also been better about taking them at the same time each day,” you said.

She smiled at you. “Do you feel like they’ve been helping?”

You shrugged and offered a half-smile back. Not satisfied with your answer, she continued probing. “Well, do you feel like you have more energy than on the other meds? Are you sleeping more….?” She trailed off at the end, voice hopeful.

“Oh. Yeah, I have been sleeping a little better. I’ve been sleeping closer to 5 hours each night, though it’s still taking a really long time for me to fall asleep. I’ve had more energy but I don’t know if that’s because of the meds or the sleep?” You trailed off a bit at the end, unsure of if that truly answered her question.

“It could be a mix of both. I’m glad to hear you’re sleeping more though, you weren’t getting very much when you first started seeing me.” She offered you another smile before adjusting herself in her seat and continuing, “Now, what have you been doing with this extra energy? Any new hobbies, catching up with friends, going on dates, anything like that?”

You shook your head no. “I don’t have much of a friend group anymore, not since…” your voice faded before the sentence finished. You closed your eyes and shook your head slightly. Pull yourself together. “I am meeting Natasha after this, actually. She and I were friends before everything and she’s the only one that’s really stuck around since. It’s been about a month since I last saw her so I’m looking forward to seeing her.” The therapist nodded and offered a sympathetic smile that made your stomach turn. You decided to continue before she chimed in.

“I’m running again too. I used to go on a nightly run before things got bad. It’s not for as long or as far as I used to but it’s better than sitting on the couch, I guess.”

She nodded and began writing on her notepad, “That’s wonderful. What do you enjoy about your runs?”

Her question was unexpected and it took you a minute to answer. “It’s peaceful. It’s one of the few times I can shut my brain off and zone out. Though, if it’s a bad day it doesn't always work.”

She nodded and paused, as if trying to carefully choose her next words. “One thing I’ve noticed whenever stuff comes up is that you always talk about ‘before’, but what about the ‘after’? Have you thought about trying to get back out there and start your ‘after’?” An uncomfortable knot formed in your stomach as she spoke.

“I don’t think I’m ready for that yet,” you whispered.

She pursed her lips but didn’t say anything. Eventually, she nodded and continued to make notes.

                                         ***

The session continued for another half hour before it ended with a smile and a brief conversation with her secretary, confirming your appointment for the same time next week.

As you stepped out the door, you let out a sigh of relief. Therapy sessions were hard. Even though today’s session had been relatively mild, the process was still draining and left you feeling exhausted most days. It really helped though and making the decision to go was one of the best decisions you could have made for yourself. A smile settled on your face as you pulled your jacket tighter across your chest before beginning your walk to meet Natasha.

You had discovered soon after starting therapy that walking to and from the appointment gave you the time you needed to prepare yourself for the session and unwind after. The hustle and bustle of New York created the perfect background noise for you to organize your thoughts. Most days it helped you process the questions the therapist asked. Often, you answered them a little deeper than what you had in the session knowing that nobody would know the real answer except for you.

Guilt gnawed at you as you thought about it. Wasn’t the whole point of therapy to be honest? Were you still getting as much out of it as you could if you were completely honest? You shook your head and sighed. Sometimes there were things better left unsaid.

One of the many things that had been left unsaid had to do with what you missed most about being with him. You had shrugged it off when she asked, saying it was nice having a person around because it was less lonely. While true, the full answer was more painful than you felt comfortable admitting out loud. He had understood you in ways nobody else ever had and nobody else ever would again. It gave you the freedom to be unapologetically you every second of the day. The thought of not being known like that again and having to put on a facade felt like the loneliest existence the universe had to offer. It made your chest ache.

Today though, it gave you the chance to collect your thoughts before Natasha had the opportunity to interrogate you. To be fair, it wasn’t really an interrogation. She was far too gentle when she asked you questions, though you’re sure that’s one of the many techniques she chose from. Interrogation or not though, she would be watching you like a hawk the entire meal to make sure you were actually doing as well as you were claiming.

It wasn’t long before you were standing outside Natasha’s favorite Italian restaurant. She always recommended meeting up here purely because of the breadsticks. She swore they were the best in New York and ate at least three full baskets by herself each visit. You paused before entering, suddenly nervous about how it would go. There’s nothing to worry about, Natasha isn’t going to bring him up and isn’t going to push me past my boundaries. You weren’t quite as convinced as you would have liked to be, but you couldn’t delay it any longer as you stepped inside.

A blast of warm air surrounded you as you were greeted by the hostess. It didn’t take for her to lead you back to where Natasha was sitting, a glass of wine already in her hand. A second sat waiting on the table for you.

You walked over, bending down to give her a side hug and a peck on the cheek.

“You’re late,” she said reproachfully, eyes zeroed in on yours.

“I know, I’m sorry. My session went a little over today.” You pulled out your chair and sat down before continuing, “How are you? It’s good to see you.”

Natasha smiled brightly. “I’ve been good. I’ve been really looking forward to this, I was so happy when you said yes. It feels like it’s been years since I’ve seen you.” You grinned slightly and she continued. “I’m sorry that it’s been so long since we’ve had a chance to catch up. Work has been keeping me even busier than usual. Stark has been working on all sorts of new tech developments and has somehow recruited me for testing.”

You nodded as you took a sip of your wine, “Nothing he’s made has killed you yet. That’s impressive.”

She snorted, “He’s lucky I didn’t flat out say no. His last update to the Falcon wings sent Wilson through the ceiling and landed him in the medbay for three days with a concussion.” Natasha noticed the look of concern on your face and waved her hand as she sipped on her wine. “He’s fine, don’t worry. All of the Avengers men have skulls harder than concrete.” The two of you burst into laughter at the thought.

A waiter arrived as your laughter died down to take your orders and to refill Natasha’s wine glass. You both thanked him as he turned to walk away. A quiet settled over the table and Natasha’s gaze landed firmly on you.

“So how have you been?” she asked softly, voice far gentler than anyone would expect from a former assassin. You shrugged and avoided eye contact.

“Some days are better than others,” you said, “Overall things are better than they’ve been for a while now though. My shrink has me on some new meds that seem to be helping and I’ve been working harder on doing little things to take care of myself every day, not just the good days.”

Natasha nodded, eyes still fixed on you. Slowly, she reached a hand out across the table and placed it on top of yours. “You know I’m always here for you, right? You can call me any time of day and as long as I’m not on a mission, I can be at your apartment within the hour.”

You felt a lump form in your throat at her words. You nodded quickly, eyes blinking fast to try and keep the tears that were welling up from falling. She gave your hand a quick squeeze before pulling back.

“Now where the hell are our breadsticks? This is going to be a failed meal if I have less than twelve in me before the main dish arrives.” Her words made you burst out laughing once again and succeeded in putting a smile on your face for the remainder of the meal.

                                        ***

“Are you sure I can’t drive you back to your apartment?” Natasha asked, wrapping her scarf around her neck as the two of you stepped out of the restaurant. You nodded at her and smiled.

“I enjoy walking, it clears my mind,” you said. She let out a disapproving hum but didn’t argue further. She pulled you into a bone-crushing hug before turning and walking towards where her car was parked. You watched as she stepped in and waved as she pulled out of the parking lot. You stood and watched until her car was out of sight before turning to start the walk home.

As it was on the walk to the restaurant, the busy streets provided the perfect background noise needed for you to quiet your mind. You focused on your breathing, allowing yourself to try and channel any residual nervous energy outward. With each breath, the faces passing by began to blur. Neon signs hanging in the windows of the shops you passed by became nothing more than a gentle glow in your peripheral. With each step you took, the background seamlessly blended together more and your focus on yourself heightened. A sense of calm settled itself in your chest. The feeling grew stronger with each block you passed until a small smile made its way onto your face. That feeling ended abruptly as you turned around the next block.  

There was a large crowd waiting at the bus stop, but your eyes focused on one man. You stared at his silhouette, panic building with each second. It felt like the wind had been knocked out of you and your feet had magically turned into cinder blocks. Is that...? No, it couldn’t be…

Almost as if he heard your thoughts, the man turned slightly so you could see his face, and a sigh of relief left you. You stood there a moment longer to examine his side profile. It wasn’t him; he just happened to look like him. He was about the same height and weight, with similar chocolate waves. Your eyes landed on his light brown leather jacket and a lump formed in your throat. He had worn a similar jacket the day you met. It felt like being thrown back in time as you continued to stare at the man in front of you.

Natasha drug you through a hallway, not caring about your protests to slow down. “I have someone I want you to meet.” She smirked as she spoke, leaving you to wonder what she was plotting.

A group of choices greeted the two of you as you entered the room. You waved at Steve and Sharon sitting on the couch as Natasha continued to pull you across the room to where two men were standing. One of the men was Sam, whom you had met the last time Natasha brought you to the compound. The other was Bucky Barnes. You hadn’t met him before but you knew who he was. It was impossible not to given how public everything about Hydra had become.

“Barnes, I have someone I’d like you to meet,” Natasha said, turning slightly towards you.

Bucky turned to look at you, offering a charming smile as he held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, ma’am. I’m Bucky.”

You shook his hand and introduced yourself, hoping to god you didn’t look as flustered as you felt. The pictures of him floating around on the news did not do him justice. Bucky was absolutely breathtaking. His smile lit up his eyes in a way no camera could ever hope to capture. His hair was cropped just above his shoulders, falling into a beautiful wavy pattern. You realized you were staring and felt your face get hot.

“Uh, I like your jacket,” you mumbled, hoping he hadn’t realized you were staring. The leather jacket was a beautiful light brown. It looked old, but well loved at the same time.

He smiled widely at you, “Thanks! Leather jackets are kind of my thing. Sam here thinks I have too many but there’s no such thing as too many leather jackets, wouldn’t you agree?”

As the memory floated away, you couldn’t help but think how Bucky probably would’ve gone up to the man to ask about his jacket. You chuckled at the thought. As soon as he walked away, he would’ve immediately started looking up where he could find one for his own closet. It didn’t matter how many leather jackets he had. He always wanted more.

The chuckle died on your lips and was replaced by an uncomfortable knot settling in your stomach. A heavy weight fell on your chest and you forced yourself to find the energy to trudge forward.

The remainder of the walk was a blur, but not in the same way it had been before. This wasn’t the good kind of blur that helped you to focus. It was the kind that left you feeling suffocated and as if everything would come crashing down all at once. That had been the first happy thought about Bucky since the two of you broke up. His presence in your thoughts was so strong, he might as well have been walking right next to you. You could practically feel his knuckles brushing against yours with each step you took. If you closed your eyes, you swore you could smell his cologne.

The harsh reality of how alone you were hit you as the greeting from your apartment’s doorman pulled you from your thoughts. You shot him a small smile before rushing inside and all but sprinting up the stairs. Your hands shook as you unlocked the door to your apartment, though you couldn't tell if it was from your thoughts of Bucky or from the sudden burst of energy that left you slightly winded.

Once inside, you rushed to your bedroom and changed into the first sports bra and pair of leggings you saw. You needed to get Bucky off your mind and the only way you knew how was to run. It was going to be a long run tonight.

The doorman waved at you again as you exited the building, surprised to see you again so soon. “Someone is feeling motivated today I see,” he joked. You shrugged and slowly began to jog.

                                        ***

It took a while to get into your groove, but once you were there you felt good. The movement helped settle the anxious energy that had been building since you had seen the man at the bus stop, while the steady breathing brought your focus back to the here and now just like it had before. That’s something else to mention if she asks about my runs again, you thought.  These runs bring my focus to this exact moment in time.

That thought was lost as you passed a small, hole in the wall theater. Small groups were exiting the building, each talking excitedly amongst themselves about the movie that had just finished. The nauseous feeling from earlier came back as memories resurfaced. That was Bucky’s favorite movie theater. Every Sunday they played movies from the 1920s and 1930s. He used to drag you along with him whenever he saw one he remembered from his childhood. Each time he swore up and down that you were about to experience a cinematic masterpiece like no other and that it would change the way you looked at movies. You always rolled your eyes as he said it, but the magic you felt in that theater with him was like no other.

Movies made back then were so different from the movies made now. The characters felt so much more real. They were allowed to be people. Their faults and flaws didn’t take away from the good things about them. These films never failed to make you feel all of the emotions you were meant to feel and each time you exited the theater, you couldn’t help but wish you could’ve remained in that little bubble just a few minutes longer. Those bittersweet feelings about the ending never lasted long though, as Bucky would wrap his arm around your shoulder and proceed to talk your ear off about the movie until you made it home.

“You know Doll, the greatest films of all time were never made,” he said, smiling down at you.

You just laughed and shook your head.“Bucky that makes absolutely no sense.”

Bucky rolled his eyes dramatically, making you laugh again. “Think about it though, how many movies haven’t been made because someone decided they weren’t good enough for the big screen? How many stories have been brought into existence but never been told to another living soul?”

A car horn brought you back into reality. Bitterness crept into your chest as you processed the memory that had just played out picture-perfect in your mind. Those afternoons with him in the theater had been some of the best afternoons of your life. Even if you weren’t crazy about the movie, Bucky’s sheer excitement about it was enough to convince you of how wonderful it truly was. If only he had felt that same amount of joy in other areas of your relationship.

Your bitterness slowly began to turn to anger as you thought about the last few months of being with Bucky. Sunday matinees had stopped being a regular thing as Bucky’s work schedule picked up until they stopped happening entirely. His new position training new SHIELD agents and prospective new members to the Avenger ate away at his time. All of his time. It got to the point Bucky never stopped working. Even at home, his thoughts were on paperwork to be filed, training to be planned, or meetings to be run. You’d be sitting on the couch next to him trying to talk only to receive disinterested “hmms” or the occasional “That’s nice honey.”

You tried bringing it up to no avail. He always brushed it off and said things would calm down eventually and that he just needed you to hold out a bit longer. He never outright said his work was more important to him but the implication was there and you felt the weight of it every single day. You bit your tongue and played along for a while, but after several months of hearing the same excuses, you finally snapped. Unfortunately, so did Bucky.

“All you ever do is work. I can’t remember the last time we went and did something together. Hell, I can’t even remember the last time you cared enough to even ask me about my day. It’s like you don’t even want me around anymore,” you hissed, glaring at Bucky.

“Excuse me for caring about my fucking job. One of us has to if we’re going to continue affording this place,” he scoffed.

Ice filled your veins as you stared at him, fist clenched at your side. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh come on, we both know you’re barely getting your work done on time. You lay here on the couch all day watching TV. You’re lucky you’re allowed to work from home because you look like a walking disaster half the time. You’ve stopped wearing clean clothes, you hardly shower, you hardly eat, and you hardly sleep. Face it, you’re depressed.” His voice was flat as he spoke.

You furiously blinked back tears that were trying to well up as you processed his words. “First of all, I am not depressed,” you muttered, “Second, if I’m such a walking disaster then what are you even still doing here?”

“I am still here because I care about you. I have lost track of how many times I have asked you to get help. I’ve been where you are, I know what you’re going through and I know what it takes to come back from it. If you never bleed, you’re never going to grow. If you can’t move past this, then we -” he paused to motion between the two of you “- can’t move past this.” His eyes never left yours as he spoke. There was no malice in them, but there was also none of the kindness or warmth you wished for. His gaze just felt indifferent.  

You remained silent as you tried to find words. Bucky continued watching you, waiting expectantly for a response. A response never came, however, and he let out a loud sigh.

“If you don’t have anything to say to that, then I think we’re done here. I can’t keep doing this anymore. I love you, but neither of us is happy. I can’t give you what you want and you can’t give me what I need,” Without another word, Bucky grabbed his coat and walked out the front door of the apartment.

That was the last time that you saw Bucky. He had sent you a text a few days later asking when a good time to come pick up his stuff would be. You responded begrudgingly, telling yourself that the sooner his stuff was gone the sooner your life could get back to normal. When the day came, you forced yourself to get out of the apartment. The thought of seeing him after what went down between you left you seeing red. When you finally went back after he left, you felt none of the happy emotions you had convinced yourself you would feel.

Instead, you felt the empty spots in the room. Every missing item you noticed felt like a blow to the stomach and caused fresh tears to well up in your eyes. Pictures were no longer hanging from the walls; random gaps were in the bookshelves; his leather jacket was no longer slung across the back of the chair he loved in the living room. You stumbled back to your room with your eyes closed, refusing to see what other memories had been ripped from their rightful homes. Once there, you collapsed on the bed and laid there for two days. It wasn’t until Natasha broke into your apartment to check on you after countless missed calls and ignored texts that you finally moved from that spot.

For the millionth time that day, your stomach twisted as thoughts of Bucky floated around in your head. Despite it all, you regretted not being there when he came to get his things. There was never a proper goodbye between you and the thought drove you mad sometimes. Maybe if I had been there, we could’ve worked this out. You scoffed at the thought, but couldn’t deny the heaviness lingering in your chest.

At times you considered reaching out to him, wondering if he would be willing to give you the closure you so desperately needed. Even if it was just over text, it might be better than the nothing you currently had. You still had his number. The two of you even still followed each other on social media. He liked what few posts you made, but you had never been able to bring yourself to look at the stuff he posted. The lines of communication were there, you just had to use them. But communication is a two-way street; if he wanted to talk to you, he’d reach out. Right? That thought had kept you from texting him more times than you could possibly count.

Questions about what could have happened that day swirled throughout your head as your feet pounded against the pavement. Could you have fixed things, or would it still have ended in breaking up? Could you have agreed to still be friends? Would you have at least been able to say goodbye, or would he have walked silently out the door again?

The thoughts continued to plague you until the ache in your legs was too strong to take another step. Out of breath, you looked around at where you stopped trying to figure out how far you had run. It wasn’t until you noticed the fountain about a dozen feet behind you that you realized where you were.

Tony had once rented out a plaza nearby for a 1920s themed fundraiser gala the first year you and Bucky were dating. The gala was the first public event you ever attended with him, though it certainly hadn’t been your last. Natasha had taken you shopping and helped you find a flapper-style dress leading up to it. The two of you did your hair and makeup together, giggling about how you felt like you were getting ready for a high school dance. When you stepped out of the room with Natasha, Bucky wasn’t able to speak. He spent the whole night staring at you like a lovestruck teenager, only to turn bright red whenever someone mentioned it.

Towards the end of the night, you and Bucky had drunkenly stumbled out of the plaza to escape the crowd and found your way over to this fountain. Rather, you had stumbled out drunkenly. Bucky wasn’t affected by human alcohol and hardly had any of the Asgardian mead Thor had so generously brought. While he was a little more cheery than usual, he wasn’t intoxicated enough to even pretend like he was tipsy.

A giggle left your lips as you stumbled forward. “Bucky, I need to find somewhere to sit down. I need to take off my heels.”

Bucky laughed at you and picked you up, carrying you bridal style. He spun around slowly as he searched for somewhere he could set you down. His eyes eventually settled on the fountain and began walking towards it. He carefully set you down before sitting down next to you. His eyes were fixed on you as you took off your shoes, a sigh of relief leaving your mouth as you did. You smiled over at him, before turning around to stare at the fountain in wonder. A giggle left your lips as you pulled up your dress and began walking around in the fountain.

You laughed any time you went through a jet of water. The temperature difference was soothing against your skin and almost left a tickling sensation as you passed. Eventually, you arrived back at where he was sitting and the smile on his face filled your stomach with butterflies. You bent down slightly to press your lips against his, your hands making their way through his hair. His hands landed on your hips and pulled you closer to him. You felt dizzy as he held you, though you weren’t sure if it was him or the glasses of champagne. You pulled away abruptly as an idea struck you, leading to Bucky’s eyes opening in confusion. His gaze fell upon the mischievous look you wore and he opened his mouth to speak. Before he managed to make a sound, your hands left his hair and were reaching down to splash water onto him.

He tried to catch your hands to stop you, but you stepped back just out of reach, but not far enough you couldn’t keep splashing him. Without a word, he reached down to take off his shoes and socks. A gasp left you as he stepped into the fountain and you rushed to hide behind the fountain’s centerpiece. He chased after you, hands eventually catching your waist and spinning you around to face him. He stared down at you, wonder and adoration written on his face. He slowly leaned forward to press his lips against yours.

The dizzy feeling from before came back, though this time you could say with absolute certainty it was because of the man standing in front of you. His lips were so soft against yours, yet still carried such a force they left you breathless. Fireworks had nothing on how he made you feel. No words could ever hope to describe the love and adoration bursting in your chest.

This time, he was the one to pull back first. He moved his lips up slightly, pressing a kiss to your nose and your forehead before leaning his head against yours. “Would you like to dance?”

You nodded and the two of you began to slow dance in the fountain. You don’t know how long you were in the fountain dancing; it felt like eternity paused to give you and your love all the time the universe had to give so you could enjoy this moment a little longer. The only sensations tying you to reality were Bucky’s warmth and the cool water moving at your feet as Bucky spun you around. You pulled away slightly and smiled at him. “We should make a wish,” you said.

Bucky looked at you with confusion. “A wish?”

You nodded, a small smile filling your face, “You know, toss some coins into the fountain and make a wish as we do.”

The laugh that left his lips made your heart flutter. “I don’t think this is a wishing-well. Although -” he paused to laugh again, “-I hardly think they meant for anyone to dance around in it either, so why not.” One of his hands left yours and reached into his pocket, looking for his wallet. He opened it and pulled out two pennies and handed one to you. “It looks like we only get one wish each tonight, so we’d better make it a good one.”

You stared down at the penny in your hand, wondering what wish could possibly be better than the night you were currently having with Bucky. The wish hit you suddenly, a smile breaking out on your face. You pressed your lips to the penny and wished with all your might, ‘I wish for us to have more moments like this together, from now through the rest of our days”. You opened your eyes and tossed the penny outward. Bucky’s coin was soon nestled safely at the bottom of the fountain with yours.

“What did you wish for?” he asked, pulling you back into his arms to continue dancing.

“I can’t tell you or it won’t come true,” you teased, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek as he spun you. “And let me tell you, I really want this wish to come true.”

Bucky chuckled, “Me too honey, me too.”

Your eyes came back into focus and a quiet sob left you. You stood in front of the fountain and cried into your hands, cursing all of the emotions you felt. That night had left you convinced that Bucky Barnes was the one. You had fallen asleep dreaming of dancing like that with him at your wedding. But now? Now all you wanted to do was scream. You wanted to scream at him, at yourself, and at the universe for being cruel enough to lead you back to this fountain without him at your side.

As the tears began to slow, a new kind of weight settled in your chest. He really could have been the one. He could have been everything you dreamed of and more, but there was nothing you could do to go back in time to change things. He decided to walk out that door and leave you with nothing more than an empty space in your heart, one to match the empty spaces he left in your apartment.

The questions the therapist had asked you started ringing through your ears as you continued to stare blankly at the fountain. What about the ‘after’? Maybe she had a point bringing it up today. You were still stuck in the ‘before’. Maybe it was finally time to start moving on. Missing items could be replaced; missing love could be given by someone else. All you had to do was make the decision to take your first steps into the ‘after’.

Your feet remained glued in place as you tried to make sense of it all.

You were confused as to where you were. Looking around, nothing seemed familiar. It wasn’t until a familiar silhouette caught your attention that you realized where you were. Bucky stood at the top of the mountain, staring down at the canyon below. Green trees and bushes lined the ground and the air was filled with the sound of birds chirping. The view was beautiful, but you couldn’t stop staring at Bucky. He looked the same, yet something felt different. Bucky seemed calmer than you had seen him in years, almost as if all of his stress had faded away. His body language was relaxed and he seemed to be in no rush to leave where he was.

Suddenly, the once green mountain top was now covered in a blanket of snow. Bucky was now wearing a thick winter coat and was strapping his feet onto a snowboard. He soon had his helmet and goggles on and began his descent down the mountain. It felt like you were flying along with him as you watched him expertly weave his way through the trees. The ease at which he moved confused you. Since when did Bucky know how to snowboard? He expressed wanting to try but never had while you were together. Confusion clouded your mind until Bucky reached the bottom of the mountain and came to a halt. He removed his helmet and a look of pure exhilaration filled his face. His excitement made your heart burst. As you reached out to try and touch him, the scene changed once again.

This time you were in the middle of the ocean. The vast expanse of blue was the only visible thing in sight other than Bucky. He was in full scuba gear, just floating there waiting. He was so still that if it weren't for the stream of bubbles that came with each exhale, you wouldn’t have been able to tell if he was breathing. Out of nowhere, a shape appeared in the distance. As it got closer, you felt your stomach drop. A large shark swam slowly towards Bucky. You rolled your eyes at the realization. Of course, he would go swimming with sharks with no safety cage. That idiot had no respect for your nerves or your -

You were woken up abruptly by the sound of your phone ringing. You groaned and cursed yourself for it somehow not being on silent. In your confused state, you reached out and slowly felt around on the top of your nightstand trying to find your phone. Once you found it, you tilted the screen so you could see who was calling. A beautiful picture of Natasha filled your screen and you sighed. Only Natasha could call randomly and happen to wake you up from a dream about Bucky. You pressed the answer button and begrudgingly brought the phone to your ear.

“Morning, you better have a good reason for waking me up,” you mumbled, letting out a yawn as you finished speaking.

“It’s past noon, you know. Most decent people are already up by now,” You could hear the smile in her voice as she spoke.

“Shut up. It’s still morning if I haven’t gotten out of bed yet. What do you want? I was having a nice dream.”

Your gruff response got a laugh from Natasha. “Well I was calling to see how your Tinder date went last night, but now I’m wondering if I should be asking what you were dreaming about that has you being this testy,” she teased.

You rubbed your eyes and groaned, “The dream was nothing special, I’m just mad you woke me up. The Tinder date was also nothing to write home about. The guy was awful. He started off super charming like they always do, but he got snappy with our waitress and then tried to get snappy with me when I called him out on it. I paid for my half of the bill and left as quickly as I could.”

“Ugh, gross. Men are actually the worst,” Natasha said. You hummed in agreement and she continued, “So are you ready for me to start setting you up, or are you going to keep giving these Tinder people a try?”

You sighed and paused for a moment to think. “Nat, I know you’re trying to help but the only people you have that you can set me up with are all SHIELD employees. I don’t see it ending well if I go down that path given my prior dating history.”

A scoff came through the phone. “He’s dating again too, so he has no right to be pissy about anything if that’s what you’re worried about. Besides, he was also the one who ended it so he doubly has no right to be upset.”

You sat up straight as she spoke, your stomach dropping at the thought. “He’s dating again?” Your voice sounded small, smaller than it had in ages.

This time it was Natasha’s turn to pause before responding. “Yes. He’s taken a few of the receptionists here out on coffee dates, but nothing seems to be sticking. If Wilson is to be believed, he’s also on Tinder. I can’t imagine that’s working out very well for him either though.”

You felt nauseous, but you forced yourself to pause to recenter your thoughts. Of course he would be dating again. It’s been almost a year since you broke up. If you’re dating again, it only makes sense that he is as well. He deserves to be happy too. A heavy sigh left you, “Well, I hope he’s having better luck than I am.”

                                        ***

You were on the phone with Natasha for another twenty minutes before she had to go. It felt nice catching up with her, and the two of you made plans for another lunch get together later in the week. The conversation had quickly transitioned away from dating, but the fact Bucky was dating again lingered in the back of your mind for the entirety of the call.

You had been on Tinder for a while now, but somehow it never occurred to you that he might be too. How does a superhero just casually join the worst dating app in existence? Do people actually believe it’s him when they come across his profile? You couldn’t help but snort at the thought. Conversations on dating apps sucked enough as it is, but having to try and prove you’re who you say you are the way Bucky must have to certainly would make it that much less enjoyable.

Almost as if it knew you were thinking about it, a Tinder notification popped up on your lock screen. You opened up the app and saw two new messages from someone you had matched with. You typed out a response and then proceeded to scroll through the list of other potential matches. Most of the profiles you looked at were immediate no’s, but there were a few you swiped right on. It never ceased to amaze you how bad the men on this app were at smiling in pictures. Most of them had only a slight grin in one or two pictures. Any profile with a man properly smiling almost always got a swipe right. The only other type of picture that had that sort of response was for cute cats and dogs.

You continued to swipe, pausing occasionally to respond to a message. Out of nowhere, a familiar pair of blue eyes started staring up at you, causing you to nearly drop your phone in surprise. Of course the day you find out Bucky is on Tinder is the day you come across his profile. You quickly took a screenshot before swiping left and exiting out of the app. You sent the screenshot to Natasha. She responded almost immediately, Guess Wilson was telling the truth 🙄

You laughed at her response as you got out of bed, ready to finally start your day.

                                        ***

A sigh of relief left you as you collapsed on your couch after spending most of the afternoon running errands. It hadn’t been anything too bad, but that didn’t stop you from being thankful it was over. You laid there for a few minutes, just enjoying the stillness and the comfort of being on your couch. Once settled, you reached over to the coffee table and grabbed the glass of wine you had poured, and opened up your phone.

You opened up Snapchat and responded to the few snaps you had from Natasha and other friends before opening up Instagram. You mindlessly watched people’s stories, skipping through any of the ones that didn’t interest you. You paused however on Bucky’s.

He was standing next to a beautiful woman, each of them holding a painting in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. Both of them had smiles that filled their faces. You stared at the picture, unsure of what you should be feeling. On one hand, it was nice seeing him so relaxed and happy. His posture reminded you eerily of how he looked in your dream. On the other hand, you couldn’t help but feel a touch of bitterness. You had practically begged him to go with you to a wine and paint night while you were together. He always used work as an excuse, either he was too tired from work or he had too much work left to do. You stared at the picture for a minute longer, wondering if they’d be going home together or parting ways for the night. You sighed, shaking your head at your own stupidity before continuing to scroll.

The wind blew violently around you as you struggled to make your way up the street. The weather turned unexpectedly as you were out on your run, so you rushed towards the closest coffee shop hoping to wait out the weather and avoid having to pay for a cab back home. The barista greeted you as you stepped inside and you offered her a smile.

“What can I get for you?” she asked.

You stared up at the menu, considering your options. “One large hazelnut latte and a cinnamon roll, please.”

She entered everything into the computer and you held out your card for her. Once your payment was processed, you turned to find a seat. The coffee shop was crowded, no doubt due to the bad weather driving people indoors. You looked around unsuccessfully and had almost resigned yourself to standing when a familiar voice called out.

You jumped at the sound. You turned around and made eye contact with Bucky Barnes for the first time since he walked out your front door. He was sitting there grinning ear to ear, almost as if he was genuinely happy to see you. The thought made your heart burst and it was impossible to hold back an equally big smile.

“Hey Bucky, how’s it going?”

“It’s going really well! Thanks for asking,” he paused and looked around before continuing, “Do you want to sit down? There’s not a lot of seating left and it’s just me here.” His hand gestured towards the empty seat across from him as he spoke.

You paused, unsure of if you should take it or continue to look elsewhere. You looked around the room for an empty seat but didn’t see any. Well, I guess we’re doing this. You stepped forward and mumbled out a thanks as you sat down.

“I’m kind of surprised to see you here if I’m honest. I didn’t think you came to this part of the city very often,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“I generally don’t. The weather took a bit of a nasty turn while I was out on my run. I stepped in hoping that by the time I’m ready to leave it’ll have calmed down.”

Another smile broke out across his face as you spoke. “You’re running again? That’s awesome.” He sounded sincere as he spoke which made you smile back.

You nodded, but before you could respond the barista arrived with your coffee and cinnamon roll. You thanked her and took a long sip of your coffee, enjoying the warmth you felt as you did. An awkward silence filled the air as both of you tried to size the other up. You decided to break the silence.

“So, what’s new with you?”

                                        ***

An hour later, the two of you were still chatting away happily at the table. Once the conversation started, it didn’t stop. Everything felt like it had at the start of your relationship: easy, comfortable, and filled with excitement. The only pauses that occurred were when the barista refilled both of your coffees and brought Bucky a cinnamon roll, which he ordered after you spent five minutes going on about how incredible it was.

One of the things you had forgotten about being around Bucky was the warmth he exuded. Even on his worst days, he had the unwavering ability to make the room feel safe. You couldn’t ever quite pin down whether it had to do with his cologne being a comforting smell or if that’s just who he was. All you knew is that he always left you aching to lean into his chest and stay there until you absolutely couldn’t. Needless to say, today it left you feeling quite confused given everything that had happened between you.

The thoughts you had several months ago about getting closure were brought back to the forefront of your mind. How had things gotten so bad between you? How had both of you let this wonderful thing fall to pieces without even one final attempt at holding it together? Each little pause in the conversation as you transitioned between topics left you aching to ask all of the questions you had. Everything was so easy and so smooth between you today that you almost felt hope that things were salvageable between you. Maybe, just maybe, your fountain wish could still come true. As you were finally working up the courage to ask, his next sentence knocked all other thoughts out of your head.

“Did you hear that Steve and Sharon are finally engaged? Took that meathead long enough to ask.”

A gasp left your mouth, “No way! It’s about freaking time. Have they picked a date yet?”

He nodded. “First weekend in June. Sharon’s already picked their wedding colors too; sage green and rose gold. She explicitly said she picked rose gold because she wants to serve that rosé champagne you introduced her to. It’s still her favorite to this day.”

A bittersweet smile made its way onto your face as you thought about what he said. You had brought two bottles of that sparking rosé to a dinner Sharon hosted once, back when she and Steve were still circling around their feelings for each other. Sharon had barely taken her first sip before asking you for details on where you bought it. Ever since, Sharon always had a bottle in her fridge. Her friendship was the one you missed the most after the breakup. There had been a few half-hearted attempts from both of you to reach out, but each time her responses felt forced. Eventually you stopped trying.

“Well, I’m sure it’ll be a beautiful wedding. They deserve it,” you said. A chuckle left your lips as a new thought entered your head. “How on Earth is Steve going to choose between you and Sam for best man?”

Bucky joined in on your laughter, making your stomach do summersault after summersault. “Sam and I were actually wondering the same thing, but apparently they’ve decided to not do a bridal party. That makes things easy for me though. I get to kick back and enjoy the wedding knowing I have no responsibilities.”

The idea of Bucky having a blast at a wedding made you smile. The smile faded slightly as you realized this meant Bucky was now going to need a date for this wedding. Images of him in a fancy suit, twirling another woman around the way he had in the fountain with you flashed before your eyes. You felt your heart breaking all over again at the thought of how it could’ve been you if you hadn’t fucked it all up. How stupid could you have been thinking the two of you could talk things out after all this time. He’s probably already planning on asking that girl from the wine and paint night to go with him. She had appeared on his social media several times since that night and each time it made your chest ache a little more. Bucky’s voice broke you from your thoughts.

“Hey, you okay?”

You swallowed thickly and nodded. You tried smiling but felt yourself falter and knew he noticed it too. “Yeah, just caught up in my thoughts.” You needed to get out of here and fast. Conveniently, your phone screen lit up and you were able to fake gasp at the time. “Oh my god, look how late it is. I really should get going.”

Bucky stared at you, unsure of how to respond to the sudden change in the atmosphere. You stood and rushed to collect your things.

“It was really nice seeing you again Bucky,” you said, offering him a half-smile as you take your first steps away from the table. He nodded, still looking unconvinced.

“It really was. Maybe we could do this again sometime?” He asked, trying his hardest to keep too much optimism from creeping into his voice.

Your eyes went wide with surprise, but you slowly nodded. “Yeah, maybe.”

The same awkward silence from before filled the air, only this time neither of you seemed to know how to break it. You offered a small wave and made your way out the door, refusing to turn around and hug him despite how strongly your body was screaming at you to do so.

Bucky stood there staring after you until you were out of sight. A sigh left him after you rounded a corner and he began to collect his things.

                                        ***

Bucky had made his way back to the Avengers compound with relative ease, though his mind was still stuck back at the coffee shop with you. He had nearly choked on his coffee when he saw you walk in and hardly realized what he was doing when he called out to you. His mind had started screaming at him from the second he offered you a seat and apparently had yet to find a good enough reason to stop. Talking to you had been magical. He had forgotten how well the two of you meshed once a conversation was started. Nobody else had ever been able to keep up with his constant jumping between topics, not even Sam and Steve. You never made him feel bad for his quick transitions; you just understood and accepted that was the way his mind worked. Even after all that time, you took it all in stride.

An unexpected slam of a cabinet door caught his attention as he made his way through the communal kitchen. Sam was standing there, unloading dishes from the dishwasher. Bucky greeted the man with a gentle nod of the head as he pulled out one of the barstools to sit.

“That was a long coffee shop visit, you run into a cute girl there?” Sam teased, smirk playing across his face.

“I ran into her.”

Sam’s motions paused as he processed Bucky’s words. He looked up at his friend, who was conveniently not meeting his gaze, unsure of how to respond. “Her as in…?”

Bucky nodded and Sam let out a slow puff of air. “How are you feeling?” Sam asked cautiously.

It took a few minutes for Bucky to find the words. “You know Sammy, I actually don’t know. There are too many contradictory feelings in my head to pinpoint just one.” He finally looked up and met Sam’s eyes.

Sam motioned for him to continue.

“It was so nice to see her again and talk to her. It made me feel like things were back when we were both still head over heels in love with each other. She’s doing so well. She’s made huge progress mentally, she’s been given a promotion at work, she’s just out there living her life. It made me so happy to see...

“But the happier I got sitting there talking to her, the angrier I got with myself for being such an ass while I was with her. Who has a woman like that in their life and chooses to ignore her for work? What kind of jerk does that?” He paused for a moment, staring down at his feet before continuing.

“There was a moment where she looked at me and I looked at her and I just knew we were both wondering where the hell we went so wrong. She looked like she wanted to say something so badly, but decided against it and just...got up and left. I kinda deserved it though-” he let out a dark chuckle, “- it’s what I did to her after all.”

Sam had continued unloading the dishes as Bucky spoke, trying to keep things casual while he got everything off his chest. Once Sam knew Bucky was done, he paused and rested both hands on the counter to give his friend his full attention.

“Yeah, you were an ass who put work first. She was a great girl who loved you unconditionally. You let her down and yourself down too. But she also had her issues that contributed to what happened. It’s not all on you.” Sam shot a reassuring smile at Bucky.

Bucky nodded, knowing Sam was right. He couldn’t help but sigh and put his head in his hands though as more thoughts swirled around in his head. “I can’t help but think about how my actions probably worsened things for her though, you know? She was depressed for a while before I started acting that way, but I certainly didn’t help the situation. And just...I walked out on her. I walked out and didn’t even give her a proper goodbye.”

Sam stood still and nodded along. “You did, but what you’re forgetting is that you also did because it was also the best thing for you at the time. Both of you were unhappy with who the other was becoming at that time. Sometimes breaking up is the best route to take and they don’t always end with a clear-cut goodbye. You guys may have missed out on some closure, but if today went as well as you said it did, maybe you’ve got a different kind of closure coming down the pipe.”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed and he looked up at his friend. “What do you mean?”

Sam rolled his eyes and laughed softly, “Man, what did your dumb ass do with girls before I came along?” He continued laughing for a moment before resuming, “What I’m getting at is that if today went as well as you think before the awkward ending, what if there’s a possibility of reconciling? Even if it’s not in a romantic sense, you could always try and be friends.”

For a moment, Bucky’s heart surged. Maybe Sam was right, maybe things could be fixed. He knew things were going well before you got up to leave, maybe he could try and make things right.

Then, the memory of how uneasy and uncomfortable you looked at the end of the conversation replayed in his mind. He felt his throat tighten and tears well up in his eyes. You didn’t want him back. He had his chance today and he blew it.

He shook his head slowly and whispered, “I don’t think that’s going to happen, Sammy.”

                                        ***

Sam eventually let the topic drop and Bucky was free to make his way back to his rooms. A familiar meow rang out from across the room and was soon followed by the sound of excited footsteps rushing towards him. Alpine rubbed himself against Bucky’s legs, meowing expectantly. He chuckled and crouched down to rub Alpine’s ears.

“Hey there buddy, did you miss me?”

Alpine meowed, almost as if to say yes. Bucky smiled and picked up the cat before standing up. He made his way to his bedroom and let Alpine jump down onto the bed once they were close enough. His boots were kicked off haphazardly at the foot of the bed before he climbed into bed. Alpine came and curled up under one of his arms, purring slightly as he did. A sigh left him as he mindlessly pet the cat and adjusted his position until he was comfortable.

Bucky’s thoughts turned back to you almost immediately. His heart ached as he began to relive the night he knew he had fallen in love with you. How he wished he could go back in time and experience it all over again.

“So, Stark is holding a fundraiser in about three weeks. I was wondering if you’d like to come with me?” Bucky asked.

The smile on your face made his heart flutter. “Of course! What’s the dress code?” you asked. “I’m not sure if I have anything fancy enough to wear to a Stark gala.”

“It’s a 1920s theme. I’m not entirely sure what he means by that though, considering I was barely old enough to remember the first half of the decade.”

A teasing smile broke out across your face as he spoke. “So what you're telling me is the oldest man in the room somehow still isn’t old enough to remember the roaring twenties? Tsk tsk,” Your teasing tone made him laugh and lean over to kiss you.

“I’ll have you know young lady -” he paused to place kisses all over your face “- this is a completely unacceptable thing to say. Don’t you know you should respect your elders?” You continued to giggle as he continued to kiss you.

                                        ***

On the day of the gala, you were whisked away early in the day by Natasha. She claimed the whole day was needed to properly prepare, which left Bucky standing there rolling his eyes. But when you finally stepped out of the elevator into the lobby of the compound, Bucky felt his heart stop. You looked ethereal. The flapper style dress you were wearing fit you perfectly, your hair was elegantly framing your face, and your lips were painted the most perfect shade of red he had ever seen. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you the entire night.

By the end of the night, the champagne finally had gone to your head and you were desperate to leave. You grabbed his hand giggling, rushing as quickly as you could out of the reserved plaza. You stumbled a few times over the uneven cobblestones, so he kept a hand on your waist just in case.

“Bucky, I need to find somewhere to sit down. I need to take off my heels.” you giggled as you spoke, making his heart flutter for the millionth time that night. Without a word, he picked you up bridal style and slowly spun around as he searched for somewhere you could sit.

His eyes landed on a large fountain a short distance away and he began walking towards it. You settled comfortably into his arms, with one hand sneaking under his tux jacket and gripping gently onto his shirt just over his heart. Bucky wondered if you could tell it was about ready to beat out of his chest as he leaned slightly to set you down on the fountain’s edge. He had hardly sat down next to you before your heels were kicked off. It was amazing how much more relaxed you looked just from doing that.

He was so focused on how beautiful you looked he almost didn’t hear you giggle or realize what you were about to do. His jaw dropped slightly as you stood in front of him in the fountain, dress pulled up slightly as you waded in.

Bucky’s eyes never left you as you walked around, letting out the cutest laughs with each stream of water that you walked under. When you arrived back at where he was sitting and his whole world stopped as you bent forward to press your sweet lips against his. Your hands found their way to his hair as his made their way to your hips. With every ounce of his being, he wished his hands could make their home. They belonged there, allowing him to hold you so tightly against him it was almost impossible to tell where his body stopped and yours began.

It startled him when you pulled away suddenly, but the confusion didn’t last long as he was met with a handful of water and mischievous laughter. The splashing was relentless. You refused to stop despite him begging for you to quit it. He rushed to remove his shoes and socks so he could jump into the fountain with you. The excited squeal that left your mouth as you started rushing through the water trying to escape him made him grin. He was going to catch you and you knew it. That didn’t stop you from trying to delay the inevitable though. You tried to hide behind the fountain's centerpiece and to fake which direction you were going to run. When you decided to leave the safety of the centerpiece, he had you back in his arms facing him within seconds.

As he watched your face, the overwhelming urge to confess the extent of his feelings filled his chest. He loved you. He had known for weeks now, but staring at your beautiful face reaffirmed it so deeply in his soul that it felt like an integral part of who he was now. Bucky opened his mouth to speak, but the words failed him. Instead, he leaned forward and he channeled everything he had into a kiss. He wanted this to be the kind of kiss written about in fairytales; one that leaves audiences tearing up over and longing for. He hoped you felt everything he didn’t have the courage to say tonight and the small voice in his head hoped you felt the same.

He felt you smile into the kiss, making his heart swell. He pulled away gently after a moment, staying close enough to press kisses across your face. You had told him once how special you felt when he did it; now he couldn't stop doing it. He needed you to know how special you were to him, how loved you were in his arms. When he was satisfied, he rested his forehead against yours. An idea struck him and he smiled at you, “Would you like to dance?”

You nodded and he began to lead you in a slow dance throughout the fountain. He had never felt more grateful for the dancing experience he gained in his youth and that it was a skill he somehow kept throughout the years of brainwashing and torture. The feeling of your body against his calmed his mind and kept his focus from wandering back to the past. The only thing he wanted to think about right now was how beautiful you were and how lucky he was to have you.

After a few minutes of him leading you aimlessly around the fountain, you pulled away gently and looked up at him with a smile. “We should make a wish.”

His face twisted with confusion. “A wish?”

You smiled as you nodded at him, “You know, toss some coins into the fountain and make a wish as we do.”

Bucky laughed as he thought about how much like a fairytale this night was turning into. Apparently his kiss had done the trick. “I don’t think this is a wishing-well. Although -” he chuckled again, “-I hardly think they meant for anyone to dance around in it either, so why not.”

Reluctantly, he let go of your hand and fished around in his pocket until he found his wallet. He’d never felt more relieved to see pennies in his life as he pulled out the only two coins he had. He pressed one into your hand as he leaned in to kiss your forehead. “It looks like we only get one wish each tonight, so we’d better make it a good one.”

He watched as you stared down at the penny, wondering what wish you were going to make. Your face was serious as you thought but broke out into the most beautiful smile. You stood there, coin pressed to your lips, before tossing it out into the fountain. You stared up at him expectantly, waiting for him to make his wish.

He didn’t need to stop and think about his wish. He knew what his wish was from the day he met you. Following your motions, he pressed the penny to his lips and wished, ‘I wish for a life filled with more wonderful nights like this, with this beautiful woman in my arms’. He tossed the coin in and his hand found its way back into yours.

Without a word, he pulled you back in close to him and resumed leading you around the fountain. After a few moments of peaceful silence, he spoke.

“What did you wish for?”

“I can’t tell you or it won’t come true,” you said, voice teasing as you pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. “And let me tell you, I really want this wish to come true.”

“Me too honey, me too.”

As the memory faded, Bucky couldn’t help but let the tears that had been building fall. That night had been so wonderful. You deserve someone who could give you nothing but nights like that, not the heartache he put you through. He closed his eyes and whispered to no one but himself, “You could’ve been the one. You should’ve been the one...”

[escapewithbts]

Take Care, Always - Hoseok

This is soooo fluffy, like teeth rotting fluff :)

———————————-

Yet another coughing fit escaped from your lungs before you curled further into the depths of your couch, wishing the cushions would just swallow you whole.

You hated being sick. So until this pesky cold was through, on the couch you would stay, away from the world, away from all other people.

Or so you thought.

You suddenly heard a knock come from the front door of your small apartment. You groaned. Who on earth would be coming to see you while in a state like this?

You swung the blankets off your aching body and stood up slowly as to not feel too dizzy, then you ambled over to the door.

When you peered through the peephole you saw your friend standing there, a brown paper bag in his hand.

“(Y/n)-ah,” you heard him call, his voice muffled from the door between you two, “I know you’re in there. Please let me in.”

You sighed.

“But Hobi, I’m sick...” you replied, voice deeper than usual and full of congestion, letting out a cough to help your point.

“I know silly goose. That’s why I’m here.”

You watched him shuffle impatiently. You wanted to let him in, but you would feel horrible if he fell ill because of you, and in just your year or so of friendship he had never seen you like this.

“But Hoseok I’m also so... gross and ugly right now,” you complained, leaning your body against the cold door.

You heard him scoff.

“You’re always beautiful, don’t even give me that,” that made you smile and a blush creep up on your cheeks, “Just let me in, pleeease!” he begged in a sing-song voice.

You sighed and stood up straight. Then you combed your fingers through your hair quickly before complying with his request and opening the door.

When he saw you a small smile appeared on his face that he attempted to hide by quickly changing it into a frown.

“Ahhh don’t look at me like that!” You whined, hiding your embarrassed but smiling face in your hands and turning back toward the couch.

Hoseok shut the door behind him and followed.

“Like what?” he asked innocently, unable to hide his big heart shaped grin behind his hand.

You sat back on the couch and curled your legs underneath you, wrapping yourself back up in the blanket like a burrito so only your face was peering out. Hoseok sat at the other end and placed the things he brought on the floor.

“Like I’m the most hideous and pathetic looking person you’ve ever seen!”

You dramatically threw your face against the back couch cushion.

Hoseok let out a high pitched laugh and you felt his hand rest on your knee.

“You are neither of those things. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you cuter than you are right now.”

Hoseok often called you cute, it was just his nature, but still every time it made you blush and feel giddy.

Though you looked back up at him in doubt.

“You’re so full of shit, Hobi.”

He shook his head.

“Nope, I’m not. Also,” he reached into one of the bags and pulled out some containers, “I had my father make you some seaweed soup. We had it all the time growing up. And then my mother insisted on making dumplings to go with it, so I have those, too,” he paused, “want me to heat them up for you?”

You cocked your head at him.

“Don’t you have, like, a shoot or dance practice or interview to be at?”

He closed his eyes briefly and shook his head, giving you a warm dimpled smile.

“My only job today is to take care of you.”

You brought your knees to your chest.

“But what if I get you sick?” you questioned worriedly.

He stood up.

“Aiisshh I’m not worried about that. I never get sick,” he walked into the adjoining kitchen and opened the microwave, “and after this soup and a bit more rest you won’t be either.”

He nodded his head triumphantly, his yellow bangs bouncing against his forehead.

You had to admit, the soup felt amazing against your sore throat, and the warmth spreading through your body was an instant comfort. When you finished, Hoseok took your bowl, washed it in the sink, refilled your glass of water and came back over to your laying form on the couch. He gently lifted your legs and took a seat, letting them rest across his lap.

“Mmmm I feel sleepy, Hobi-ah...” you mumbled from the pillow.

You felt him rub yours legs before responding, “Good, get more rest. I’ll be here.”

You weren’t sure how long you were out before you awoke to the feeling of being lifted and cradled in strong arms. Your eyes fluttered open, noticing there was no longer any light pouring in from the windows. Then you looked up and was met with the outline of Hoseok’s strong jaw and dark eyes above you.

“Hobaaa...” you murmured in a half asleep daze making him glance down at you, “where are you taking me?”

He smiled down at you.

“To your bedroom where you can get proper sleep,” he replied.

You mumbled a sound of approval and nuzzled your face further into his strong upper arm.

Then he laid you down softly on your bed and pulled the covers down for you to climb into. After spending the past couple days on the couch only, the comfort of your mattress was a much welcomed feeling.

You suddenly felt Hoseok move a piece of your hair out of your face and instinctively leaned into his touch. You opened your eyes to find him smiling down at you.

“Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be just in the other room, okay?”

He started to walk away but you reached out and grabbed his hand making him look back at you.

“Nooooo, Hobi… Please stay with me.” You whined, patting the large empty space of your double bed behind you.

“Are-Are you sure?” he scratched the back of his head, “I don’t want to disturb you.”

You nodded against the pillow and moaned out,

“Mmhmmm.”

You heard him stroll over to the other side of the bed and felt his weight dip beside you. A small sigh escaped from his lips and you allowed your heavy eyelids to close again. You liked him being close to you.

“Thank you for coming to take care of me, Hoseok,” you murmured lowly.

“Of course,” he responded quietly, “I just want you better.”

“And I want to take care of you,” you told him, your brain already beginning to drift off to dreamland.

You heard him chuckle.

“But I am not sick.”

“I know,” you mumbled, “I just mean always. Like, I don’t know, if you had a bad day or you want a home cooked meal or you need to be held for a while. I want to be there for you... you know?”

He didn’t reply right away and you had pretty much fallen back asleep completely until he finally said, “Go to sleep, (y/n)-ah, I’ll see you in the morning.”

The sunlight poured in from your bedroom windows making you squint your eyes upon opening them. The only sound in the room was that of the birds chirping outside; that is until you heard a loud sneeze come from behind you making you jump. You turned onto your other side and was met with the puffy face and shirtless body of Jung Hoseok laying next to you.

“Ohhhh shit,” he groaned when he noticed you were awake. He rubbed his eyes with his palms and looked back at you , “I feel like shit.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Hobiiii-ah, this is why I told you not to come!”

He sneezed again and then sniffled, finally turning to look at you.

How could someone be sick but still look so freaking handsome??

“But how do you feel?” he asked.

You hesitated, debating about lying to him so it wouldn’t make him feel worse.

“I feel so much better, honestly…” you mumbled, hiding most of your face under the covers.

Hoseok smiled.

“Then I have no regrets.”

You blushed and scooted further down.

“Do you… have anywhere to be today?” You wondered, worried his illness would affect his busy idol work schedule.

He shook his head.

“No,” he sniffled, “Since Festa just ended we have some time off.”

You suddenly threw the covers off and jumped out of bed, feeling the best you had in days.

“Good! That means now I get to take care of you,” you headed to the door of the bedroom, “first I’m going to heat up some of that soup your dad made because there’s obviously some special healing powers in it or something.”

But Hoseok’s voice stopped you in the doorway.

“(Y/n), wait.”

You looked back at him.

He had sat up, his blonde hair tousled messily atop his head, the necklace he always wore shining against his muscular chest, his pale skin illuminated by the light of the sun. He looked like an angel.

“I also want to take care of you.”

You cocked your head and furrowed your eyes in confusion.

“But I feel a lot better now, I’m not sick anymore.”

He shook his head gently and curled his lips into a small smile, his deep dimples becoming prevalent on his chiseled face.

“I know,” he said, “I mean all the time. If you have had a bad day or want dinner at home or you just need someone to hold you for a while. I want to really take care of you... you know?”

Suddenly it was all coming back to you now… he was repeating almost the exact words from your confession last night. You swallowed hard feeling your heart thump against your chest.

“Hoseok, I-I…”

But you were at a loss for words. You couldn’t say you didn’t mean it because, well, you did. You really really did. Maybe you could just apologize, say it was your sick and half-asleep brain saying nonsense. Or say you were dreaming. Would he believe that?

Before you could make up your mind however Hoseok stood up and sauntered over to you, not stopping until your bodies were just inches apart. You could feel him peering down at you but you were too embarrassed to meet his gaze. So instead he placed his finger under your chin to tilt your head up gently, a warm smile still across his lips. He blinked slowly at you in adoration

“Do you know what I’m saying, (y/n)?” He murmured softly.

You shook your head, biting your bottom lip and staring into his dark brown eyes.

“I’m saying… I love you.”

Your heart suddenly felt like it could burst out of your chest, happy tears welled up in your eyes, a huge grin spread across your face.

“Hobi-ah,” you whispered, “I love you, too.”

He moved a piece of your hair behind your ear and rubbed your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“I would really like to kiss you right about now,” he said, “but I don’t want you to get sick ag-“

You didn’t even hesitate as you placed your lips on his in a loving and tender kiss, not letting him finish the sentence.

You didn’t care if you caught another cold. You had each other. And now, there would always be someone to take care of you.

*

Masterlist

[karajaynetoday]

forever and always | calum hood

I couldn’t find the original credit for this gif but possibly here? It’s a deactivated blog though if anyone has the proper credit please let me know!

I don’t know how or why, but I woke up this morning thinking about this concept and I had to get it written to make my peace with it, in a way. Shout out to @spicycal for reading through the draft for me, and sending love to anyone this resonates with. It’s a very emo Calum one-shot that includes pregnancy loss (if that’s not something you can read, feel free to give this one a miss), but I promise it has a happy ending. 

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy and pregnancy loss/stillbirth, and references to COVID-19 (the pandemic circumstances i.e. quarantine, not actually having the illness)

(This is a fem reader insert)

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Calum ducked his head down to meet your gaze, brown eyes swimming with concern.

You were sat together on the couch in Ashton’s living room, surrounded by a lighting set up, having a quiet moment while Andy and Ryan were setting up their cameras in front of you. 5SOS were preparing to release their next album, and to reflect on the past ten years’ of the band, they had decided to film a documentary alongside the album process. After much deliberation, KayKay, Sierra and Crystal had agreed to take part, because they were just as much a part of the band’s journey as the boys’ families were, and their support and influence on the music was obvious. For you, though, it was a little different. You and Calum had successfully hidden your relationship from the public eye for the last four years. It was some sort of miracle, honestly, especially given the last little while where you’d gotten careless and slipped up by holding hands and showing affection in public. If any fans or paps noticed, they never said anything, and it gave you and Calum a sense of relief that no one knew your name or true identity when you were spotted with him or the rest of the band family in public.

Relief, but you had to admit that it hurt a little too. You’d seen the hate and vitriol that the other guys’ partners had experienced, and you knew Calum was just trying to protect you from all of that, but every time someone made a joke about him being the only single one in interviews, or asked him what he looked for in a girl, or the fans ran away with relationship rumours whenever he was photographed within breathing distance of a potential love interest,  it made your chest feel tight. At the end of the day, though, Calum always came home to you, and that was what truly mattered.

To say that this was a big moment, publicly announcing your relationship with Calum, and revealing that you’d kept it hidden for years, was an understatement. But you knew it was important to both of you to finally share it with the world. Not just because you loved each other and wanted to show it, but because the events of the past year had broken and rebuilt you all over again. As individuals, as a couple, and even for the band as a whole. You knew that the hope you’d held, and the pain that tore you down, and the healing you’d been through came across in Calum’s contributions to the new album, so it felt right to sit down and use your own voice to convey your feelings about it all.

You broke out of your deep train of thought to nod in response to Calum’s question, and press a quick but reassuring kiss to his lips.

“I’m sure if you’re sure.” You whispered, as Calum threw his arm around your shoulders and squeezed to let you know he was in support of whatever you wanted to do.

“Okay guys, we’re ready if you’re all good to go?” Ryan spoke up from behind the camera, trying not to unsettle you two and the moment you were clearly having. A deep breath and a brief smile from you and Calum let Ryan know he could start recording, and Andy sat down out of frame and pulled his notebook of questions into his lap.

“So, shall we start from the beginning?”

Your heart swelled, as you began to remember.

--

Ashton had full on wingman-ed Calum when you first met them both at a bar downtown. He was dating KayKay at the time, so he’d made it his mission to find Cal a hot date, or a lover, or a lifelong companion (“Any of the above will do, as long as you’re not a shit person”, he’d told you as he tried to pitch Calum to you). The pitch had worked, and you’d joined them for a few drinks and rounds of pool, before exchanging numbers with Calum at the end of the night.

From there, it was coffee dates, and brunches, and then dinners and nights out on the town. Soon it became days or nights at each other’s houses, which became entire weekends, then it was trips away or secret visits to see Calum on tour, and before you knew it, you’d been dating for the better part of the last two years and Cal asked you to move in with him. He knew it was a sacrifice on your part, not only dating someone who was away for months at a time, let alone someone whose hand you couldn’t hold out in public for risk of being photographed, but you also knew that you and Calum loved each other more deeply than you’d ever loved before. You understood he’d be burned in the past with public or semi-public relationships, and seeing his band brothers go through them made him hesitant at best. By moving in together, you’d see each other more, and you’d also get to shower each other with the love and desire that was building more and more within your soul with every passing day.

--

“So that’s the story of how we met. Mate, honestly, I was head over heels from day one.” Calum laughed, kissing your forehead quickly.

“I’ve had the privilege of observing you two and your love for one another for a few years now, and I have to say it’s a beautiful thing. You just seem to know each other inside out, and I love that soulmate aspect of your relationship.” Andy mused, flashing you a warm smile.

“Now, in terms of influence on this upcoming album, I know the past 18 months have been a rollercoaster for us all, but you two especially have been through a lot. Do you feel comfortable talking us through that a little bit?” Andy was careful with his words, not wanting to upset you or make you uncomfortable.

You squeezed Calum’s knee, before swallowing thickly and thinking back to the time period Andy had mentioned.

--

When 2020 began, you held so much hope and excitement for the year ahead. Watching Calum and his brothers play the Firefight Australia concert was incredible, and you were so thrilled for them to be releasing their latest album that truly felt representative of the four individuals who had come together to craft it. But then the pandemic began, and you were ordered into quarantine. Each day felt heavier somehow, with more sad stories on the news, and more frustration building up amongst your loved ones. It broke your heart to see Calum and the boys not able to release the album in the way they’d originally hoped, but Cal himself was both an optimist and a realist, and constantly reiterated that it felt like the right time to release it anyway, because maybe it would bring a bit of joy and serenity to people that needed that in their lives amongst all the chaos.

You’d quickly fallen into the routine of home isolation, waking early to get your work hours done, so you could spend your afternoons with Calum and Duke by the pool, or hiking a nearby trail, or bingeing Netflix on the couch. It was strange to have so much time together, but it was also so warm and comforting that it didn’t take you long to get anxious at the idea of Calum ever leaving again for tour or promo. That was a while away, though, so you tried your best to make the most of the time you had, and take it one day at a time.

You couldn’t remember the first day you woke up feeling nauseous. Sometime in June, you supposed. A few days of vomiting and fatigue that made you feel like you’d been hit by a bus, and you had a telehealth appointment with your doctor to try and figure out what was going on. Given your symptoms, they’d asked you in for tests right away. A week or so later, you were back sitting in the doctor’s office awaiting the results, extra nervous because the COVID-19 restrictions meant that Calum couldn’t come in with you. You’d thought about FaceTiming him into the appointment, but there was something in the back of your mind telling you that you wanted to have a moment to yourself to process the news, whatever it was going to be.

When your doctor looked at you with a smile and told you that you were pregnant, all you could do was gape back at her in shock. It shouldn’t have come entirely as a surprise; you and Calum had spoken a few times about the vision you had for your future, and the uncertainty and restlessness that quarantine had given you made foregoing protection seem right, somehow (lovesick logic, or something like that). But it happening so quickly was unexpected. Your shock was soon replaced with tears of happiness, and you were already bursting at the seams to get home and tell Calum the news.

He was speechless at first, too, but then again Calum always was a man of few words. You’d kept it to yourselves for a little while, only discussing it in quiet whispers, or soft touches onto your non-existent bump, or sending links of cute baby things to one another via WhatsApp message. A few weeks later, you had your first scan, and this time Calum was allowed in the room. You could see his eyes light up when he heard the strong heartbeat on the monitor, and later he’d tell you how he immediately wanted to voicenote it on his phone to listen to while he was away on tour, or even mix it into a song.

Seeing that tiny blob on the screen and hearing the heartbeat honestly made your entire year, and from then on you couldn’t resist sharing your happiness with others. Video calls with yours and Calum’s parents, more happy tears and cheering from the soon-to-be first time grandparents.

The restrictions in California had eased a little, so you invited Ashton, Luke, Michael and their respective partners over for dinner one night. You’d prepared some cute greeting cards, one for each couple, thanking them for all of their support over the years with helping to protect your privacy with Calum, and slipped a copy of the baby scan with “see you in February” written on the back inside the card. Once everyone was settled onto the couches in the living room, waiting for dinner to be ready, you handed them out and sat down in Calum’s lap, taking a sip of your drink to try and hide the excitement on your face.

It was so amusing to observe the reactions that were representative of each couple. Michael and Crystal gasped and cheered, immediately pulling you and Calum into tight hugs. Ashton and KayKay were more reserved, but whispers of love and encouragement and happiness into your ears were so lovely and cherished. The tears in Sierra’s eyes, and the comfort of Luke’s squeeze of his arms around your waist said more than they could ever put into words.

The emotional celebrations soon turned into teasing jibes, and Ashton’s pitch for a new line of 5SOS baby merch. (“Come on guys, a baby-sized bucket hat? Tiny hoodies? Wildflower plush toys? A lullabies album? I’m telling you, there’s a whole WORLD of opportunity for us opening up right now!”), and you couldn’t help but feel both overjoyed and overwhelmed at how much this little baby was going to be surrounded with love and support for every day of their life.

The months carried on, and your once invisible baby bump grew and grew. You and Calum cleared out a spare room for the nursery, and got lost in furniture shopping and paint swatches and reading every parenting book you could get your hands on. There were doctors appointments, and birthing classes; lists of potential baby names on the fridge, and consulting your dog trainer on how best to introduce old man Duke to the idea of a new arrival.

As December approached, and you started getting into the festive spirit, Calum began returning to the studio as he and the guys toyed with some potential new directions for the next album. All of them had studios built into their homes, so they could meet and work together in relative safety, which was reassuring. You were standing over the kitchen sink one day, rinsing out the pan you’d used to make eggs for breakfast, when a searing pain in your abdomen had you groaning in discomfort and gripping onto the kitchen counter for dear life. The pain eased momentarily, and then came back stronger, and you managed to grab your phone from the counter and dial Calum’s number frantically as you gasped for breath.

The next few hours were a blur; Calum raced home to find you curled up in pain on the kitchen floor, Ashton and the paramedics were quick to follow him inside. They put you in an ambulance and took you straight to the hospital; you and Calum were gripping each other’s hand so tightly that your knuckles were white with stress.

The doctors determined you were in pre-term labour, and soon enough you were in a delivery room panting and pushing and crying out to Calum for comfort. It was all so terrifying and overwhelming but he was doing his best to ground you, brushing his fingers through your hair and holding your hand and whispering sweet nothings into your ear. When you finally delivered the baby, a hush fell over the room, and you could tell from the look on the faces of your doctor and nurses that something wasn’t right. 

The silence continued, and your heart broke when you realised that the baby hadn’t started to cry like you’d expected. The nurses had moved the infant over to another station, suctioning their airway and connecting them up to all manner of tubes and wires, but after a few moments your doctor told you the news. It was a baby girl, but her heartbeat wasn’t there. She’d come into the world and gone out again, just like that.

--

“I know a lot of people struggle to talk about stillbirths, and losing children, and it’s such a deeply personal thing so I get it. But it’s also grief, and loss, and emotions that you feel whenever you lose anyone you love. If there’s one thing I wish we could do more, as people in general, it’s discuss how we feel, and normalise having emotions, because it brings you closer and makes you feel less alone.” You spoke softly, blinking away the tears that had started to well in your eyes.

Andy nodded gently at you, before a quiet “Cal?” with an encouraging flick of his head.

Calum cleared his throat and glanced over at you before speaking. 

“I think that’s a huge part of why we wanted to be here today and talk about not only our relationship but losing Matilda in particular. It’s a sensitive topic, I know, especially for men, but holding back and bottling up your emotions isn’t good for anyone. Without her support in getting me to open up, or having the boys to listen to me cry and help me get some of my feelings out, in words and on this album, I don’t think I’d be in as good a place as I am now. It’s dark to think about, but important not to ignore, I think.”

“You’re so right, Cal. And Matilda is always going to be a part of our story, and we’re never going to forget how much we loved her and how much closer together she brought us,” You began, pausing briefly to squeeze Calum’s hand that had settled on your swollen stomach, “And when our little rainbow baby arrives in the next few weeks, I can’t wait to tell them about their sister, and how much she would’ve loved to meet them, but now she’s watching over them instead.”

“Exactly. We’re always going to have had Matilda, and then this little one, and however many others we decide to try and bring into the world. But it’s the love that builds you and the loss that breaks you that makes us who we are. Forever and always.” Calum’s voice was emotional, but also firm and calm, as he looked down at you and kissed you intently, his hand never leaving its spot on your bump, where your little rainbow baby was kickly softly at the sound of his voice.

“Forever and always.” You agreed, inhaling deeply and feeling a sense of deep peace and content wash over you.

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[carewyncromwell]

Is that a Cinderella AU part I see? Yes, yes, it is! And one hopefully not as dark and devoid of hope as the last part...

Charlie’s castle carpenter tunic is based on this design; Bill’s castle guard uniform, referenced in a previous part, is based on this real uniform from 16th century France, though with a Royaumanian-worthy blue/red color scheme. My headcanon is that Charlie (who’s described as stocky in the books) is 5′5″, only two inches taller than his “unofficial twin,” Carewyn, while Bill is a friggin’ giant the tallest of the Cursebreaking squad at 6′1″ (one inch taller than Ben Copper at full height and the same height as his actor, Domhnall Gleeson!). The entire Cromwell family is on the smaller side, with Charles as the tallest at 5′10″. Oh, and yes, the Cromwells are all a piece of work, but Charles is indisputably the worst apple in the bushel. 😒

Previous part is here -- whole tag is here -- Katriona “KC” Cassiopeia belongs to @kc-needs-coffee -- and I hope you enjoy! 

x~x~x~x

Carewyn was discovered outside by her aunts Pearl and Claire and uncle Blaise and brought inside. When they interrogated her about why she had returned to the estate in the middle of the night, however, Carewyn was unable to answer them. She was unable to speak at all -- nor was she able to eat, drink, or sleep. Instead she simply settled down in a huddled ball on her old cot by the fireplace and stayed there, her arms around her knees and her eyes devoid of all light or awareness. 

Whatever had happened, Charles seemed to have determined Carewyn would be of no use to him in the palace, the way she was -- and so, at dawn, he sent a messenger to the King and Queen, telling them that she’d taken ill and would have to remain at home in the interim. 

Carewyn’s cousins at first took some vindictive pleasure out of bullying her, now that she was back under their roof. Arsen and Kain actually picked Carewyn up off the ground and pushed her around like some human-sized doll while Elmer sang a mean little song he’d written about her --

“Cindy-Cindy-Cinderwyn, the finest of her class --

The duchess of the dust and soot, her kingdom’s made of ash!

She went to court; oh, did they chortle, snicker, and guffaw --

So Cindy-Cindy-Cinderwyn ran home, crying, ‘Mama!’”

Before long, though, her lack of a reaction seemed to make it not so fun of a game. Within two days, Tristan, the youngest of Carewyn’s cousins, actually threw a tantrum because Carewyn completely ignored him splashing his paints all over her. 

“What’s wrong with you!?” the boy screamed, beside himself. “Why won’t you get mad at me?! Why won’t you run away and cry?! Why are you so -- so -- WEIRD?!”

Blaise was most perturbed when his son actually burst full-on into tears. Clenching his jaw furiously, he brought an arm around Tristan and swept him back inside and away from the vacant-eyed Carewyn. Then he went straight to the dining hall to speak to Charles.

“Father, something must be done about Winnie,” he hissed. “This is not normal.”

Pearl leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. “Her behavior is shameful. To think the Cromwell blood runs through the veins of that girl...”

“It’s pathetic, that’s what it is,” said Claire in sycophantic agreement. 

“Winnie may be a pathetic thing, but she is our thing,” Blaise shot back fiercely, “and she’s practically dead as she is.”

He turned to Charles. 

“We’ve already lost Lane and sent Jacob off,” he said in a quiet, cold voice. “Are we to simply let Winnie waste away?”

Charles had his hands folded in front of him on the table. At Blaise’s words, his own almond-shaped blue eyes -- identical to his children’s and nearly all of his grandchildren’s -- narrowed. 

“I must admit, it is a shame that Carewyn has stopped being useful,” he said lowly. “Iris may still be a set of eyes for us inside the palace, but she’s hardly clever enough to do much of anything on her own that’s useful.”

Claire actually looked hurt. “Father...Iris just sent us a letter this morning. Was it not useful to you?”

Charles’s eyes were very cold upon his daughter. “Hardly. She spent a good chunk of it complaining that Carewyn did something to the Prince, before leaving the palace...clearly trying to make excuses for her own failure to hold Prince Henri’s attention.”

Claire’s eyes welled up with shame and she hung her head. 

“It wouldn’t be the first time that Iris has blamed Winnie for stealing one of her suitors’ attention,” said Pearl seriously, “but we have yet to get any explanation about why she’s returned to us against your instructions. And Claire and I did hear a horse galloping away, that night. Could it have been Prince Henri?”

Blaise scoffed. “Doubtful. You think a Prince would ever favor a plain girl with no dowry or status?”

“You warned Winnie yourself that the Prince could want her as a conquest,” Pearl said darkly. “Heartbreak would more than explain her current state...”

The idea made Blaise flush with rage. 

“Whoever rode that horse, it was not the Prince,” said Charles very smoothly. He rose to his feet, picking up his dragon-headed cane and strolling over to the window to look out. “From what my informants have told me...Prince Henri was at the Royaumanian army camp that entire night.”

His children all straightened up, taken aback. 

“At the war front?” said Pearl, shocked. 

“Yes,” said Charles. “It quite upset their Majesties. Even more so when he returned to the palace in the morning dressed like a commoner and declared to them and the entire royal court that he intended to open up peace talks with the soon-to-be King of Florence.”

“Soon-to-be King?” said Blaise, his eyes narrowing to slits. “Then the old one kicked the bucket?”

“Yes...and it turns out the replacement Crown Prince is something of a populist. From what I’ve heard, his very first decision as future monarch was to ask every Florentine nobleman to -- should they wish to remain at court -- donate a portion of their wealth to him, so that he could then use it to buy a feast and custom-tailored clothing for his soldiers.”

Charles was clearly offended by the idea. Blaise was too.

“Uppity brat,” he sneered. “I guess that’s what’s you get, when you choose a bastard peasant as your future king...”

Pearl, however, looked a bit more cynical. “Seems rather unwise, to antagonize those who come closest to you in status...”

“On the contrary,” said Charles. “It’s most shrewd. As Blaise said, the boy was the King’s illegitimate son. That would offend the standards of just about anyone of good breeding...thus it would be foolish to try to court them for approval. A rat can communicate best with other rats -- and sadly, a swarm of rats is just what you get, when they gather: a band of filthy, hungry, disgusting creatures who will eat away at what we hold dear.”

His blue eyes flashed. 

“And now our Prince fancies becoming allies with such vermin.”

Claire looked uncertainly at Pearl and Blaise. Both of them looked perturbed. 

“If the War ends, there’ll be less money in the future for us,” Blaise growled. “Our investments in armaments built this estate...”

“My investments, Blaise,” Charles said in a very cool voice. “Do not forget that even the ones done in your and my son-in-laws’ names were still orchestrated by me.”

He pushed his palm down into the top of his cane, his long fingers trailing over the metallic snout of the dragon-head handle. 

“It’s far worse than that, however. The Royaumanian royal family’s financial troubles was what has lent me their ear from the beginning. Gave me access to their decision-making -- gave me some leverage in coaxing them to join our two families. Should the King and Queen become friends and allies with Florence’s new royal brat, they may get the idea to redistribute their courtiers’ wealth as he has, to alleviate the nation’s debts...meaning we not only won’t be bringing in as much money as before, but that we’ll also have to submit to parting with what we already have, just to indulge in petty charity.”

Charles’s eyes narrowed upon his reflection in the ice-trimmed window. 

“Our family’s chance at ascending into royalty...at the absolute, irreversible power owed us...is slipping away.”

Claire got up and tried to comfort her father by taking hold of his shoulder. “But Father...surely there’s still some hope? If Iris -- ”

But Charles warded Claire off with the back of his hand, sweeping across the room. 

“If your daughter thinks that a mere maidservant was able to captivate the Prince more than her, then perhaps it’s the maidservant who I should enlist in getting our family what we deserve.”

He shot a look over his shoulder at Pearl. “Fetch Carewyn and bring her to me.”

Pearl dragged Carewyn up to the dining hall by her arm. The ginger-haired Cromwell hadn’t changed clothes or washed since she’d returned home, so her face was covered in cinders and her forest green and white dress was still splashed with the paints Tristan had thrown on her. 

At the start, Charles feigned concern, saying he hated seeing his granddaughter looking so ill and unhappy, but his words barely penetrated Carewyn’s mind. They were just more lies -- just like everything else out of his mouth. She should know...being a liar herself. So she didn’t say a word in response. She made no response at all. And soon enough, Charles did come around to what he really wanted. 

“His Highness is set to make a fatal error...but you have his ear. We need you to return to your duties in the palace and ensure that he does not trust the Prince called Cosimo.”

Carewyn’s lightless, empty eyes ran over her grandfather’s face for a long moment...but she did not answer. 

“This is a noble duty, child,” said Charles. Although he put on a smile, it did not touch his eyes. “This is your chance to protect both your family and your country. The Florentines have been our enemies since before your mother was born...and now they seek to feign honor long enough to lure our Prince into their jaws...”

He brought a hand down onto Carewyn’s shoulder. 

“Jacob would be proud, knowing you were helping him in his fight against them.”

Carewyn stared at Charles. Her almond-shaped blue eyes were as dark and turbulent as two miniature hurricanes. And yet, she did not speak.

Charles tilted his head, raising his eyebrows and considering her expression with that cold, detached smile. “Come now, my dear...will you not speak to your grandfather? I do so hate to see you like this.”

Carewyn’s gaze drifted away as Charles’s eyes bore into her -- and yet the silence dragged on with neither breaking it.

Pearl, Claire, and Blaise, for their parts, were becoming all the more unsettled by Carewyn’s lack of a response. Blaise actually strode forward and shouted at her.

“You will speak when spoken to, you ungrateful little -- !”

He made as if to strike Carewyn, but Pearl grabbed his forearm and held it back, flashing him a warning look before turning her righteous anger onto Carewyn. 

“Your grandfather requires your services, Winnie,” Pearl said very sharply. “Don’t you have something to say to him?”

Even with this, however, Carewyn didn’t say anything. Then, with as much energy and emotion as a ghost, she stepped back and out of Charles’s grip and turned to go. 

Something flickered in Charles’s expression. 

“I did not give you permission to leave,” he said very softly. 

But Carewyn didn’t answer or turn around. Claire had to block the doorframe to keep her from leaving the room. 

“Your grandfather said you’re not allowed to go,” Claire said, her voice trying to be sharp but instead sounding rather unsettled. 

Carewyn stared at Claire with those hollow, empty eyes in silence as Charles approached her from behind. 

“You will do your duty to this family, child,” he said. It was striking how much scarier his voice sounded, when it was quieter -- Charles Cromwell was the sort of man who didn’t need to shout in order to be intimidating. “After all...that is the pact we made when I took you and your brother in, is it not?”

He took hold of Carewyn’s shoulder, whispering in her ear.

“Do not forget that everything you have is because of my charity. I have no desire to punish you...but I shall withdraw my kindnesses, if I must.”

Carewyn was very still. Then she once again broke out of Charles’s grip and tried to move past Claire. 

Before she could get far, however, Charles snatched her up by the hair. With a strangled cry of pain, Carewyn was thrown to the ground with astonishing force, Charles’s fist clenched fast around her hair. 

“Your head is not the only thing in my hands, Carewyn,” he reminded her very coldly. “I hope you remember that.”

He wrenched her up onto her feet by her hair, and Carewyn had to clench her teeth to keep herself from crying out again. 

“I have been very patient with your theatrics...but I grow weary of coddling you. Should I send some message to Jacob, so that you behave? Perhaps if your head is not one you will defend, perhaps his is...”

“Liar.”

The word escaped Carewyn’s mouth as a wispy, hollow rasp, and yet it was enough to make everyone in the room stiffen. Somewhere out in the hall, one might’ve caught a quickly stifled intake of breath. 

Carewyn’s eyes, although so dark, seemed to have gained an odd gleam in the back of them, like flaming cinders in a dying fire, as she stared up at Charles. 

“You’re a liar,” she said again, her broken voice as rough as sandpaper in her throat as it rose in volume. “I know your life isn’t bound to Jacob’s. Any spell you could’ve had cast on him would have broken at midnight, the very night you sent him away -- the very night you ripped him away from me and sent him off to War against his will!”

Her blue eyes flared with hatred. 

“That’s why you’ve never once gotten word from him -- because there’s no word you could receive from him at all! Admit it!”

There was a horrible silence. Pearl, Blaise, and Claire all looked from Carewyn to Charles and back. 

Charles bore down upon his granddaughter, his face as cold as some ivory mask with hard, diamond-like eyes. 

“So that’s what this is about,” he said softly. “Assigning blame. Very well, Carewyn...let us discuss this. You came to me as a child, sobbing and distraught beyond words...begging me to save your brother’s life when he was already on death’s door. You had nothing to offer me at that time, nor did your brother -- and yet I, out of the goodness of my heart, agreed to take you in. All I asked was that you show proper gratitude...a term you accepted at the time, and yet now have seen fit to break.”

He yanked Carewyn up by her hair and threw her into the table with a WHAM. Carewyn cried out in pain, before crumpling to the floor in a heap. 

“I spent a good deal of my own money and discarded my own honor to try to find someone to save your brother’s life, if only to bring the light back to your eyes. Jacob was brought back to health and you were reunited with him, just as you’d hoped. And yet now you seek to demonize my wish that you show gratitude? That I collect on the debt owed me?”

He brought the heel of his shoe down on Carewyn’s shoulder with force, slamming her face down against the floor. 

“And worse,” he whispered, “you wish to demonize the fact that, all these years, I was too grief-stricken to tell you of your brother’s passing?”

Blaise, Claire, and Pearl all stiffened. Only Claire, however, looked shocked. 

“Jacob is...dead?” she whispered shakily. 

“I knew such a revelation would be crippling to a fragile, weak heart such as yours,” said Charles, his diamond-like eyes very hard upon the back of Carewyn’s head. “I knew that the knowledge that your brother died the morning after his departure, and that his body had to be burned with every other prisoner in those barracks instead of receiving a proper burial...would break your heart.”

Carewyn had started to shake. Her face had lost all of its color, and the flicker of rebellion she’d shown mere moments ago had gone out. 

“You’ve never been a stupid girl, Carewyn. You really should have figured it out years ago...and yet, like a child who believes in Yuletide gift-givers, you latched onto your brother’s memory even when all logic said you shouldn’t. I’m certain everyone else in this family saw through my pretense -- knew that it was merely something to placate you, soothe your temperamental emotions. They always have made it difficult for you to see things clearly.”

Charles's eyes narrowed. 

“You were the one who disregarded your duty to the man who put a roof over your head, clothed you and fed you. Perhaps the truth wouldn’t be so crippling if you had simply done as I wished...rather than chase after a ghost.”

Tears streamed down Carewyn’s face. Although her eyes were so hollow and she shook so badly, however, the grief inside of her was not just numbing. It had grown to such an extent that it for a moment made her lose her head completely. In a violent move, she wrenched herself off the ground with a mad scream and threw a fist right at Charles’s face. Unfortunately Carewyn had never been particularly strong -- and so Charles was able to seize her wrist, twisting it away from him and holding her back with little difficulty. 

“Blaise,” said Charles icily. “Fetch the whip.”

Blaise looked stricken. “Father -- ”

“The child requires discipline,” he said without looking at his son. “I will not have her thinking that following her brother’s example is acceptable behavior.”

Blaise closed his eyes and bowed his head. Then, with a grim look on his face, he swept from the dining hall. 

When he entered the hallway, he found all of Carewyn’s cousins (excluding Iris, who of course was still back at the palace) huddled up against the wall. They’d clearly been listening to every word...and for once, none of them looked the least bit amused. Their faces were all very pale. 

Blaise considered them all for a moment in silence. Then he brought an arm around his son and led him away. 

“Come, Tristan. You will return to your room and stay there until I come fetch you.”

Everyone at the Cromwell estate tried to block out the screams of pain that echoed out of the dining hall. After just under an hour, Charles finally stopped, whether out of physical tiredness or just having finally spent his temper, and bid Pearl and Claire to carry Carewyn up to the tower room at the back of the estate. Charles didn’t want her to leave that room again until she was prepared to behave appropriately. 

Carewyn had expected Pearl and Claire to simply throw her on the floor and leave her there. Instead, however, Pearl sent Claire to go fetch some towels and cold water, and she hoisted Carewyn up onto the worn feather cot on the far end. Her aunts then removed her torn dress so that they could clean the open gashes Charles’s whip had delivered to her back. 

As far back as Carewyn could remember, her aunts had never liked her. Her mother Lane had even told stories about her siblings and how Charles had pressured his children to compete against each other their whole lives. When Carewyn had moved in, Pearl had refused to look her in the face for over a month...and thanks to her daughters’ dislike for Carewyn, Claire had always treated her niece just as coldly. And yet, now...for some reason, they sat with her.

“...Why are you doing this?”

Carewyn couldn’t see either Pearl or Claire’s faces while she was lying on her stomach, but she heard the mattress give a light squeak, as if Claire had shifted slightly to look at Pearl. 

“Don’t you think you’ve questioned your elders more than enough already?” said Pearl in a very hard voice. 

She brought a cold cloth up to the largest gash on Carewyn’s shoulder, dabbing at it lightly. 

“You may be a stupid, arrogant, pathetic girl, Winnie,” she said quietly, “...but I know the pain of losing one’s sibling.”

Carewyn felt some pity in her heart despite herself. 

“Thank you,” she murmured. 

Pearl scoffed. “Thank me by doing as your grandfather says.”

Carewyn closed her eyes. Then she turned her head away from her aunts and didn’t reply.

Taking her silence as a refusal, Pearl withdrew quickly and hoisted herself up off the worn mattress. 

“Come, Claire.”

Claire hesitantly inched herself up off the mattress too, fetching the bucket of water from the floor as she went. Carewyn could see her glance back at her, when she reached the doorframe. 

“Your grandfather bid you stay in here until you behave,” said Claire, and her voice sounded almost reproachful. “Please don’t make him punish you further.”

But Carewyn did not make any move or sound. And so Claire closed the door behind her, and Pearl locked it with a loud CLACK behind them. 

Once Pearl and Claire descended the stairs of the tower, however, they caught the sound of raised voices from outside the open manor door. One of the voices they recognized as Blaise’s -- the other, they couldn’t have known, belonged to Charlie Weasley.

When Carewyn’s friends learned that she would not be returning to the palace, they all reacted with concern. They knew how crippling the revelation of Jacob’s death had been, but the knowledge that she was back with her family, rather than at the palace where they could help her heal, well...that only made the whole affair worse. Clearly, as KC pointed out, the King and Queen probably wouldn’t have been that lenient toward a servant who was unable to work and had no reason to suspect anything malevolent in Charles wanting to “take care” of his granddaughter. After all, Andre himself had also presumed Carewyn was well-treated by her family, before he’d been forced to conclude otherwise. 

“I’ll tell them the truth -- ” Andre had said forcefully, but Badeea only shook her head sadly.

“It won’t help, your Highness,” she murmured. 

KC nodded grimly. “Carewyn is Lord Cromwell’s ward, Andre. Her only possible legal guardian and benefactor. That means she belongs to him, whether we like it or not. No matter how badly she’s treated, or what she’s told you about him, he’ll still have that power over her. And as long as he’s a Lord with more financial capitol than our entire family does combined...the King and Queen won’t want to discipline him.”

Bill and Charlie, however, just couldn’t accept this. So after their scheduled duties, they visited the Cromwell estate themselves, requesting to see Carewyn. When Blaise tried to turn them away, the exchange got more heated.

“I’ve already told you that Winnie will not see you,” Blaise said, his blue eyes flashing at the two brothers. 

“We’d like to hear that from her, please,” said Bill, but his politeness had a noticeable edge to it. 

“She is in no condition to entertain anyone, least of all a pair of peasant boys who presume to trespass on our land and make demands. Now get out.”

“We’re not leaving until we see Carey!” Charlie said fiercely. 

“You will leave now, or I shall see to it that you are thrown out,” snarled Blaise. 

“Go ahead and try it!” said Charlie, getting right up in the blond man’s face. 

“What’s all this now?”

Charles Cromwell had emerged from the open door of the manor. Dashing out after him were Pearl and Claire. 

Blaise’s eyes flared. “A couple of troublemakers who’ve come looking for Winnie. ‘Westley,’ they call themselves -- ”

“Weasley,” corrected Bill. His eyes were narrowed as he faced Charles. “Bill and Charlie Weasley. We worked in the palace with Carewyn -- we heard she was sick and came to see her.” 

Charles glanced at Pearl and Claire out the side of his eye, before his eyes swiveled back over to the two Weasleys. 

“...I’m afraid my dear Carewyn is resting upstairs.”

“May we see her, please?” Bill said. Once again, his words were polite, but his voice was very firm and pointed. 

“No,” said Charles. “You may not.”

His eyes narrowed upon Bill’s freckled face. One could wonder what he saw in Bill that day -- whether it was the protective “big brother” affect that reminded him of his deceased grandson Jacob, the sincere devotion Bill felt for his granddaughter Carewyn, or simply the pure distrust and dislike toward him -- but whatever it was, it served to make the Lord’s face that bit more mask-like as he considered the ginger-haired castle guard.

“‘Bill Weasley,’ you said your name was? Well, Mr. Weasley...you can be rest assured that Carewyn is being quite well taken care of, here with her family, where she belongs.”

Charlie’s eyes flashed. “Somehow I doubt that.”

Charles raised his eyebrows very coolly. 

“We know all about what you did to Carey, Cromwell,” said Charlie. “We know full well how you ‘take care’ of your family...unless you think Jacob would actually speak on your behalf, if he were still alive?”

Charles, amazingly, didn’t react at all to this, but it only served to make his mask-like face that much more unsettling. 

“No one feels Jacob’s loss more than I. And I should thank you not to question that, boy.”

His eyes flickered from him to Bill. 

“I don’t know what Carewyn has told you...but I’m afraid I must apologize for it, all the same. The child has always had a difficult relationship with the truth...she’s often spun tales to...try to make herself seem more appealing, to the people around her.”

“Takes a liar to know one, I guess,” spat Charlie. 

Pearl’s eyes flared. “You have some nerve to speak to a nobleman thusly -- ”

“Pearl,” Charles soothed her, but his voice was hardly warm or comforting. Instead his eyes bore into Charlie with a darker glint. “You do yourself and your brother no favors in insulting me. I could have been kind and offered to send word, when Carewyn was well enough to see you...but I can see clearly that the both of you would be a toxic influence on my granddaughter, should I allow you to associate with her.”

“Toxic?” repeated Charlie, his voice rising. “You son of a -- !”

“Noble bloodline, unlike you,” Charles Cromwell said in a very low, foreboding voice. “One with enough money and influence to force you to comply with my wishes, if I must.”

Charlie wasn’t intimidated. “You do that, and we’ll tell the whole world about what you did. Reckon you won’t have quite so much respect from everyone, once they learn you used magic to trick Carey into staying under your thumb -- ”

“A dangerous accusation for anyone to make,” said Charles, his foreboding voice deepening further. “More still for a boy relying solely on the flawed testimony of a maidservant...and belonging to a family so impoverished by its size that they’d have no means to rebuild, in the event of some unforeseen tragedy...”

Charlie’s eyes widened dangerously. He looked like he wanted to punch Carewyn’s grandfather right in the face, but Bill took hold of his brother’s shoulders from behind, in a gesture that seemed to be both holding him back and expressing support. 

Charles’s eyes -- the same color and shape as Carewyn’s, but infinitely crueler -- flashed up at Bill.

“I can tell that you -- like me -- are the sort of man who wishes to protect his family, Bill Weasley,” Charles said coldly. “If you wish to do so...then you will ensure that neither you nor your family comes near mine again. Do I make myself clear?”

Bill and Charles glared at each other for a very long moment, silently burning brown on icy, diamond-like blue. 

“Crystal,” Bill murmured at last. 

Charlie looked up at Bill, horrified. “Bill -- ”

“Come on, Charlie,” Bill cut him off quietly. “Let’s go.”

Bill steered Charlie away and off of the Cromwell estate. Once they’d cleared the gate, Charlie whirled on his brother.

“Bill, you can’t be okay with this! If old Lord Cromwell won’t let us see Carey, then something’s gotta be wrong! We can’t just -- ”

“I know,” said Bill.

Glancing over his shoulder, he walked with Charlie a few more feet to make sure they were out of earshot. Then he said quietly, 

“Charlie...make up an excuse for the King and Queen about why their carriage is going to need more time to fix than you thought. We’re going to need it.”

[backtothestart02]

Back to You - 1/? | miluca fanfiction

A/N: Temporary title possibly... anyway, the miluca break-up upset me. This is my way of putting them back together, sexy-style. ;) Also, this takes place post-break-up but is canon divergent after that and doesn’t include Michael hearing Alex’s song. Enjoy chapter 1!

*Many thanks to my friend (you know who you are) who looked this over for me before I decided to post! It is much appreciated!!

...

Synopsis: 2x13 - Canon Divergent - Maria broke Michael’s heart, but he’s not giving up. Even if it means seducing her until she can see the light again.

...

Chapter 1 -

It was a week after her release from the hospital that Max finally let her take the reins at The Wild Pony again. She’d been stubborn about going back to work as soon as possible. She needed the distraction and the routine. Finally Max had caved, and she’d been grateful albeit slightly annoyed. But that was her problem, not his. And she appreciated that he stuck around to help just as he’d been doing before.

She was trying her best to go back to life as it had been before her relationship with Michael. Before she had feelings or lusted after him too, which was probably before puberty, if she was being honest, so maybe not that far. Maybe she could just go back to before they’d slept together the first time or before he’d kissed her to shut her up at least. After all, when a relationship ended as peacefully as hers and Michael’s had, you couldn’t just erase the attraction…or the feelings for that matter.

And she definitely still had feelings. Part of her hoped Michael had gotten over her already, so he wouldn’t be heartbroken yet again. The other part knew she’d be pissed if he no longer loved her after only a week since they’d broken up.

It was strange how she thought of him as Michael in her own thoughts now, not Guerin. She knew if she saw him, and he dared to interact with her, she’d call him Guerin. That was habit, no matter what they were to each other now. But in her head, he was almost foreign to her. It made it easier to think about him as Michael. There were less feelings attached somehow.

Who was she kidding though?

She was in love with Michael Guerin. The moment he’d burst that he loved her when she was trying to break up with him, she felt unbelievable sorrow, even as her heart flipped. She’d known then that she loved him too and had for a while, so of course she had to tell him so. But it was so ill-timed. Why couldn’t it have happened while they were watching the sunset or staring up at a night sky full of stars? Even in the post-coital glow where sentimental things tended to pour out he could have said it. Of course, she could’ve too.

She supposed it didn’t matter now. He was an ex-boyfriend, and she was an ex-girlfriend.

It left a bitter taste in her mouth, but it was a fact. And it was because of her that it was a fact. But she didn’t regret her decision. Sometimes she did, in the middle of the night when she was missing him like crazy, missing his warm body and cowboy hat and sexy grin and lazy sarcasm. But in the light of day, she knew she had made the right decision. Michael would never be okay with her risking her own well-being to explore her powers, and she couldn’t keep promising him she wouldn’t leave him by digging deeper into what she could do.

But more importantly was the fact that Michael was still very much in love with Alex, whether he’d admit to it or not. Alex was the love of his life. They were destined to be together. Michael could love her all he wanted and nothing would change that. She’d only hurt herself by ignoring that blinding reality.

So she had to let him go, no matter how much it hurt. Hanging on to a relationship with an expiration date just because she didn’t know what life would look like without it was a losing battle. She’d rather end it when she decided than wait for it to implode somewhere down the line.

“Maria.”

She looked up from where she was wiping down the bar and found the subject of her thoughts staring back at her. It took her an extra moment or two to register that he hadn’t called her by her last name.

“Guerin,” she said easily. Though she looked away shortly after and resumed the wiping down behind the bar she’d started. “What are you doing here so late? It’s almost closing time.”

“Long day,” he explained, coming to sit on a stool across from her. “I haven’t seen you here in a while. I was hoping…”

“That I’d stay gone?” She arched an eyebrow.

“That you were taking it easy,” he corrected her.

“I’ve been taking it easy for a week. How long was I supposed to stay cooped up before going back to work? It’s my bar, after all.”

“Of course. I just thought Max was-”

“Ah. So you’re the reason behind Max’s insistence I stay home for a while,” she concluded.

He shrugged easily.

“I was worried about you.”

“There’s no need to be. I’m fine. Besides, it’s not like we’re-”

He reached across the bar to halt one of her moving hands and run his thumb over the back of it.

“Guerin,” she warned.

“I told you I wouldn’t stop caring about you,” he said. “No matter how much you broke my heart.”

She pulled her hand back, her emotions simmering at the surface, her fingers shaky, her breath stolen from her.

“Two minutes till close,” she said. “Are you ordering a drink or are you leaving?”

“Neither,” he said.

Annoyed, she looked up at him to contradict whatever he’d set out to do, but he’d already leaned across the bar, cupped her face and was leaning in for a kiss. Despite her best intentions, she kissed him back, tears rolling down her cheeks as she did. It felt like an eternity since they’d last kissed, weeks maybe. Had it been?

Her hands latched onto his, and reluctantly she dragged them off her face, pulled herself out of his embrace, and panting, started to shake her head.

“No, we’re not doing this. Not when you’re still in love with Alex. Not when he’s your soulmate, the love of your li-”

“I’m in love with you, DeLuca!” he said, and she knew she’d frustrated him if he pulled out her last name.

It took her a moment, but finally she responded.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“And you’re in love with me too.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she repeated, grinding out the words as her irritation grew. Who knew breaking up with Michael Guerin would be so difficult?

“Why not?” His voice rose.

“Because we broke up! We’re broken up, and you…” She glanced at the clock on the left wall briefly. “You need to leave.” His lips parted, but her next words silenced him. “It’s past closing time.”

His hands curled into fists for a few moments at his side before they unclenched and relaxed again. Slowly, without losing eye contact, Michael walked around to the side of the bar and went behind it to where Maria was standing.

“What- What are you doing? Stay, stop.”

He stopped.

Her heart was beating madly, her breathing escalated, need growing fiercely inside her. This was wrong, so wrong, and it wouldn’t change anything. It would make it worse. It would make everything harder, and how in the world did she stand on her own two feet when he was right there…

“Now.” She swallowed hard. “Turn around and-”

But he didn’t turn around. He took one more step towards her, and she lunged at him, pressing her mouth to his, her body flush up against him, her insides screaming for more, for everything.

There were no words after that. Just heavy breathing and moaning as they kissed and ripped each other’s clothes off and fucked right there on top of the bar.

This isn’t happening again, Maria thought in the back of her head when she finally managed to catch her breath after they’d both crested.

But she didn’t say it out loud, because in that moment she had a feeling she’d be lying.

...

*will be posted on AO3 and FFnet when beta’d.

[musutofu]

【 When It Rains It Pours 】

♡ pairing | ᵞᴬᴺᴰᴱᴿᴱ Kaminari x ᵍⁿ Reader ✑ word count | 2.9k ✎ genre | yandere, traitor!kaminari ✗ warnings | blood prompt | 46. “It’s okay to love me. Please love me.”

The rain had been unaccounted for. Just a few rolls of thunder somewhere over distant rooftops, a dark smattering of amassing clouds, and the slightest humidity in the soft breeze. The air had that stormy quality to it; thick and balmy, the scent of something damp swimming like waves on the wind. A whisper of rain that would steal in under the cover of darkness and be gone by morning. In a way it had, creating its own early evening as the clouds thickened, knitting together a quilt of darkness that covered the city and blocked the sunlight. Only a faint glow of burning sunset lingered behind the clouds and even that didn’t last. The sky cracked open on a white bolt of lightning, a crash a thunder following. Torrents of rain followed, pummeling the earth into soggy submission as the storm rages on. Sheets of foggy white rain fall like glass bullets, shattering against the pavement with each drop. It’s nearly bruising as you venture a hand past the edge of the patio awning, palm getting smacked lower with each raindrop. The water is lukewarm but dries cold in the wind as you shake the lingering droplets from your skin. “Wait!” Kendou has the nerve to look miffed as she comes tromping out to stop you, gait uneven and breath short as she pauses to catch her breath with her hands behind her head. In one hand is a black jacket–leather with a grey hood–and she offers it to you once her breathing has steadied. “I really have no idea where my umbrella went.” She huffs to herself as she watches you put on her jacket. It’s warmer than the short sleeves you wore to enjoy the last of the unseasonably warm weather and carries the faintest hint of her perfume. “It’s fine, Kendou. You shouldn’t be so worried about me when you’re still sick. Why’d you even run all the way out here?” She laughs, then coughs; a reminder that she was sent home from training early after a run in with Komori’s Quirk. The spores should be on their way out after so many hours, but the effects are still lingering in her uneven breath. “I just don’t want you to get sick.” Her chin lifts resolutely as she stares down at you with a frown. It’s a maternal look that refuses to be denied and you tuck yourself further into your borrowed jacket. “Thank you,” you finally concede after a short staredown, “I’ll return it tomorrow.” “Thank you for looking after me. I’m sorry if I inconvenienced you.” She bows, ponytail swinging over her shoulder. “Text me when you get to your building. I know it’s a short walk and we’re on campus but I just want to make sure you’re home safe.” “I will.” She hums, waving you off as you shrug into your hood and start for home. The 1-A Alliance building is only a few minutes away from 1-B’s but the rain is disorienting. It’s hard to see anything let alone the grey concrete leading the way back to your dorm. A few times the ground turns squishy beneath your feet as you mistakenly veer off the path. With the soles of your shoes already caked in mud you decide a shortcut would be worthwhile, straying into the grass only to stop when something shifts in your periphery. It could’ve been anything, just your mind playing tricks on you in the low visibility, but something tells you to hide anyway. The squelch of your shoes tromping through the mud is mostly lost to the pounding rain as you bolt behind a tree. It’s probably nothing, just the wind swirling the falling rain into odd shapes, but then why does it look so contained. It’s almost like a vortex opening in the middle distance, deep violet and glowing with just the faintest light as it expands and someone steps out. The hair is unmistakable. A burst of bright blonde hair glowing like a candle in the night, darkened only by a bolt of black. Then there’s more. Yellow, but brighter and glowing like twin flares; eyes. Your breath stops short, scraping and catching noisily in your throat at your realization. You bring your wet hands to clamp over trembling lips as your lungs rattle with the need to cough but concealment is more important than breathing in this moment as you watch Kaminari wave his goodbyes to the Warp Gate; Kurogiri of the League of Villains. As if nothing strange has happened, Kaminari starts for the dorm, head bobbing to some unheard song under the cover of his umbrella. You cough then, a heaving noise that makes you think you’ll throw up until it’s stops. The rain stops too and when you look up Kaminari is standing over you. The rain has already dampened your face and you hope it will hide the tears of betrayal trailing down your cheeks as you swipe at your mouth. He tilts his head at you, a charming smile taking over as he pulls you up from your crouching stance. “What are you doing out here without an umbrella?” “Forgot it.” You croak. “I was looking after Kendou at the 1-B dorm and got caught in the rain. This isn’t even my jacket.” You lift your arms to show the loose fit. “Cute.” Is all he says, tugging on one of the drawstrings until it springs back into place. “You look cute in big clothes.” There’s an edge of flirtation to his voice. Had this been any other moment, if you’d arrived here just a few moments later, you’d feel butterflies stirring in your stomach. They’re still there, but the feeling turns sour and their wings feel like serrated blades. Instead of answering his playful words you sneeze. “Ah, you’re going to catch a cold.” He tosses an arm over your shoulder to huddle you closer under his umbrella. His hold doesn’t loosen until you’ve reached the dorm’s porch. You sniffle to yourself and pretend it’s the cold and not the fear as you kick the mud from your shoes. You leave them by the door with everyone else’s to be cleaned later. A hand catches on your shoulder as you start towards your room and everything inside you freezes. But when Kaminari turns you to face him he looks concerned. “Remember to take a bath so you don’t get sick.” Is all he says, leaving you to shiver by the door and pretend it’s only the cold getting to you. It becomes easy to pretend that that’s all it is as you fall ill from the wind and the rain, a stubborn cold that keeps you from class for a few days. It leaves you time alone with your thoughts and you hate it because all you can think about is what you saw that night. You want to tell someone, but who? No one would believe a U.A. student is colluding with the League and even if they did you had no evidence to back your claim. Something you saw in the rain just before you got sick? It could easily be written off as a fever hallucination. And maybe it was because Kaminari is still the same as ever. Dorkishly charming and devilishly sweet as he nurses you back to health after classes. It’s easy to forget what you saw after dreaming of such strange things while you were bedridden and it becomes a distant memory; a dream that melded with reality. Until the truth comes crashing down around you. The alarms are sounding. Someone from the outside has breached the perimeter of the campus. It’s easy to stay calm after having gone through the panicked pandemonium before only for it to have been a gaggle of nosy reporters. Except it’s the middle of the night and even reporters have enough respect to not disturb the sanctity of students’ sleep. But someone has and as Iida calls everyone’s name you realize who it was. Kaminari is missing, but so are a few other; the heavier sleepers of your class that are slowly trickling out of their rooms, yawning and rubbing at their bleary eyes. Kaminari has never been a heavy sleeper but Iida sends Kirishima to check his room just in case. When the redhead returns empty handed you step away to find Aizawa-sensei. He’s guarding the door, tired eyes holding a certain sharpness that promises protection at any cost. His mouth opens, probably to send you back to the rest of the class, only to snap shut at the tears brimming in your eyes. “I’m sorry.” Is all you can say. “This isn’t your fault–” You don’t give him a chance to say anything more, voice trembling as you stumble over your words in an effort to explain as quickly as you can that this is absolutely your fault. “It is! I should’ve said something. I thought I was just seeing things or remembering them wrong because I was sick but I know what I saw was real! I saw Kaminari with the Warp Gate villain. I saw him and I didn’t say anything and now we can’t find him and it’s all my fault!” You’re wailing now, screeching like a banshee and Aizawa-sensei pulls you into a hug, hand resting on your head to soothe your cries. It helps a little and you quiet to soft sniffling. “You should’ve said something, but I can understand why you didn’t. It’s doesn’t matter now. We know who is responsible and we know how to fight them. Everything will be fine.” He reassures you, sending you back to the others as someone calls him outside. When you rejoin the class everyone looks to be in varying states of grief and you realize they must’ve overheard your wailing. Yaomomo is the first to move towards you, collecting you in her arms as you try to stop your tears. She’s already reached acceptance, face stoic as her eyes dart to all the windows in a quick circuit. “It’s not your fault.” Sero looks terrifying, eyes burning with rage at the betrayal of his best friend. “We all trusted him. I wouldn’t have believed it either.” “Then I did my job well.” Kaminari’s voice is unmistakable and everyone shifts into a fighting stance, hesitant but still prepared to defend themselves. “Though I will admit it wasn’t all an act.” His eyes linger on you. “It would’ve been a mess if they’d sent Toga. I’m sure she’s having her own fun somewhere.” He looks around as if the girl is about to come crashing through a window. “Kaminari, if you were ever really our friend you’ll leave now and turn yourself in.” Tsu says, level headed even in the worst circumstances. “No can do, Tsu-chan.” Kaminari shrugs. The frog girl bristle at the sound of her nickname coming from a villain’s lips. “Don’t call her that.” Ashido snaps. “Only her friends get to call her that.” “Oh. I’m not a friend anymore?” He has the nerve to sound upset by the thought. “You know you aren’t.” It’s Bakugou that growls this, his temper mounting at how calm Kaminari is being. “Now get the fuck out before we take you down ourselves.” His palms spark with the promise of violence. Kaminari sighs. “I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this.” He calls your name as he readies himself for the impending fight. “Babe, come here. I don’t want you getting hurt.” A hand clamps protectively over your shoulder before your body can habitually obey his command. Even as your head tried to stop it your heart was pulling you towards him without a second thought. “No.” Iida says, already shifting you behind him. “Can’t you see you’re causing them distress by continuing to pretend you cared about any of us.” Kaminari’s brow twitches, an angry tick that you’ve come to recognize in your months together. Iida’s words have irked him and he’s about to do something rash. Instinctively you reach out to grab the back of Iida’s shirt in the hopes of pulling him out of danger but someone is already tugging on yours. Ojirou crouches in front of you, tail wrapped around your waist as Hagakure steadies you with her hand in yours. “Don’t tell me how to treat them, Iida. You don’t want to get between us, I promise you it’ll end badly.” He seethes. “For you.” The bolt of electricity hits Iida before he can get out of the way and he crumples to the floor in a mass of twitching muscles, eyes rolled back behind his glasses. His body seizes, contorting unnaturally as the electricity forces his muscles to contract and release without his consent. When is stops he’s drooling and his eyes have closed. “Iida!” Someone screams. “Bastard!” Bakugou shouts. “Traitor!” It sounds like Sato. Everyone is moving, preparing for a real fight now that it’s obvious Kaminari isn’t going to back down. Todoroki attacks first, ice fractals freezing Kaminari in place as Bakugou launches forward, blasting the blonde with a double fisted explosion that sends him flying back. He hits the floor hard, springing back up with a hand to his cheek as blood drips from the scrape Bakugou left. He charges again only to be stopped by a tremor Jirou blasts through the floor. It’s loud enough to rattle the floorboards an Kaminari sets off an indiscriminate burst that drops those closest to him into the same state as Iida. It’s a terrifying thing to watch. To see your sweet, soft Denki doing such horrible things to the people he called his friends. One by one they fall by his hand, some taking longer to down than others until it’s only the two of you left standing. You’re shaking as he prowls towards you with a proud smile on his face. It foolishly tugs at your heartstrings and tethers you to the floor. It’s hard to focus but fear has you throwing your weight into a punch, mind too scrambled to properly use your Quirk. He catches your hand and flattens your fingers, kissing the palm of your hand before holding it to his bleeding cheek. “Whey~” He’s smirking like it’s a joke and you yank your hand away before you get too lost in the feeling of familiarity. “Eh? What’s wrong, baby?” Why does he look so confused? Why does he look so hurt by your rejection? He’s the traitor not you. The larger the distance between you grows as you step away from him, backing away from the threat he poses, the more upset he looks. “Where are you going?” His expression is a dangerous mix of hurt and annoyance as he watches you move further away from him, legs barely steady enough to carry your weight. “Away from you.” Is all you can say. He doesn’t chase you but he follows, walking as if you won’t get far. You don’t. Your feet stop you at the threshold as you look out at what’s become of your beloved school grounds. It’s starting to rain, a soft pattering that’s barely enough to wet anything but the ground is already soaked. Blood paints the grass red as teachers and villains clash; students fighting and running, some crying and others already collapsed. The sight stops you in your tracks before you even step off the porch and it’s long enough for Kaminari to catch up to you. He winds an arm around your waist, chin settling on your shoulder. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.” He says, voice rumbling against your spine as he sways the two of you to a melody only he can hear. “I tried my best to keep the others safe but I couldn’t do much for everyone else.” He quiets as a figure approaches. The legion of hands adorning him gives away his identity. “Bakugou and Midoriya are indisposed inside.” He reports without provocation. Shigaraki tilts his head inquisitively. “And them?” Your heart lurches in your chest as his hand lifts to point at you. Even with the distance dread fills you. Kaminari holds you tighter. “This is who I’m always talking about.” He says proudly, smiling against your neck. Shigaraki hums in understanding, brushing against you as he passes to go inside. When your body doesn’t start to crumble in Kaminari’s arms a strange cocktail of relief and dread pools in your chest. “Get off of me.” He doesn’t. “Let go.” He holds tighter. “Get away from me!” You tumble down the stairs as you wrench yourself free from his arms, your own blood adding to the carnage as your skin is scraped open on the pavement. You hardly notice the sting of pain as Kaminari’s expression turns sinister. “What’s gotten into you? Don’t you love me anymore?” You turn away instead of answering but he won’t allow you to remain silent. His footsteps approach with an ominous thud, hand lifting your chin to look him in the eye. “That’s better. It’s okay to love me, baby. I’m still me. I’m still your Denki.” His words turn pleading when they’re met with tears. “Please, love me.” “I can’t.” Your tears fall into his hair as he joins you on the ground, gathering you in his arms as your tears mingle with the rain that’s falling harder. The sirens are still wailing. People are still wailing. And all you can do is cry in the arms of a villain. “I can’t love you anymore, Denki.” His eyes are resolute when he looks up at you. “You can and you will.”

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Pining

I can’t decide if this was the most or the least obvious route to take, but here we go: day 11 of @drawlight​‘s advent challenge.

Totally lighthearted fluff this time, since the chapter I posted to AO3 was pretty dark. But it was fun!

11 - Pine (1,642)

Pine: To yearn intensely and persistently for something unattainable.

The first thing Aziraphale ever remembered wanting was a twig of evergreen.

“It’s the smell I miss, really,” he explained over the campfire, out of sight of the humans in their camp. He and Crawley sometimes waited out the nighttime hours together, mulling over their thoughts of the world. “The other plants just don’t smell the same.”

“I wouldn’t know,” said Crawley, who hadn’t actually paid attention to the smells in Eden. “Any particular kind?”

“Oh, I don’t know. White pine? Or black? I don’t think it matters.”

The next day, Crawley disappeared, as he sometimes did. Aziraphale kept a sharp eye on the humans, to make sure the serpent wasn’t causing trouble again, but no sign of him there.

After almost a week, the demon returned, bearing a branch of black pine, the sap still sticky and fresh. “Saw some of this when they sent me up north,” he said, handing it over.

It smelled even better than Aziraphale remembered.

--

The first thing that Aziraphale really missed – in a deep, intense way – was a song played on a reed flute, the words lost to time.

“I don’t know why I miss it so,” he sighed, a century after he’d last heard it. “It just popped into my head one day and I felt... sad.”

“Nostalgic, probably,” corrected Crawley, sampling a new ale. “How did it go?”

“You know the one. “Dee-dum-dee-dum-dee-da-dee-dum.”

“Devastatingly beautiful,” Crawley laughed. “That could be any song!”

“Fine. It was the one we heard that first time we went to Knossos.”

The demon nodded slowly this time. “Ah, that was a lovely song. Whoever wrote it really understood pain.”

“I don’t know about pain, but…” Aziraphale sighed, looking out the window, feeling the strange lethargy take him again. “Lately I’ve not been able to get it out of my head. Something to do with the long nights and cold weather, I’m sure.”

Four evenings later, Aziraphale suddenly heard a strange, high wailing sound outside the inn where he was staying. He rushed out to find Crawley with a reed flute he’d made himself, carousing drunkenly in the street, trying to play the lost tune.

The angel had very nearly laughed himself sick before taking the flute for himself. By the morning they’d managed to mostly reconstruct the song.

They invented new lyrics – in Aziraphale’s, a tiny bird flew home in the spring; in Crawley’s the bird ate some strange berries and got very ill all over town. The angel wanted to scold him, but he was too busy laughing.

--

The longest Aziraphale ever yearned for something, was during the years he spent in Rome, working alongside the imperial family, influencing the younger members towards good.

He would never admit how draining the job was, how isolated it made him feel. He longed for simple companionship, someone he could talk to, even just for a day. Someone he could be himself around, instead of playing a part.

Then he’d heard a familiar grumbling – turning to the counter of the thermopolium, he saw a figure in black toga (if you could call that a toga) and red hair. He jumped up, abandoning his table and his game, determined to seize this opportunity no matter what.

Though he probably should have taken a moment to come up with something to say first.

Still, several plates of oysters and copious amounts of wine later, they ambled back up the street, passing the last jug back and forth between them, Crowley quite nearly smiling.

“My dear fellow, what is that thing on your head?”

“Oh, I forgot.” He pulled off the laurel wreath, studying the silver leaves where they reflected the moonlight. “Won this, you know. Fair and square.”

“You had a sussez-suckstes- victorious military campaign?” Aziraphale took another sip of wine. “Awarded a triumph an’ all?”

“Nah. Just arm wrestled a general.” He chuckled, tossing the wreath in the air, and trying to catch it – missing it, so that it clattered and rolled away up the street. “Caligula said it was the greatest military victory he’d ever seen.”

“I’m starting to think that child does not have much of a background in warfare,” Aziraphale opined as Crowley snatched the wine away.

“You get executed for saying things like that,” Crowley scolded.

The angel gave his best look of utter shock, rubbing at his throat, until he and Crowley both burst into gales of laughter, stumbling against each other in the street.

--

The thing Aziraphale wanted the most was for Crowley to be safe. This, perhaps, went on longer than any other desire, but it rose and fell, moved from the front of his mind to the back, pushed aside but never fulfilled.

He felt it in the fifteenth century, and the sixteenth, and the seventeenth. Meeting in taverns and tea houses and theaters, trading jobs, planning miracles and temptations together.

Again and again a worry rose within him, this could go wrong, they could find out, they could hurt him, destroy him.

But he didn’t allow the desperate fear of it to overtake him until the day he thought Crowley might destroy himself. “Just insurance,” he said.

Aziraphale put his foot down. He couldn’t – wouldn’t – give Crowley the means to end his own life, to take that smile and that laugh and those beautiful eyes out of the world, even if it was to end his suffering.

There was only one other way to keep him safe.

And so for over 80 years he didn’t want anything. Even if the demon hated him, even if they never saw each other again, Crowley was safe, and what else could possibly matter?

Until the day Crowley danced up the aisle of a church and back into his life, saving him, saving his books, and giving him a smug grin and a lift home.

And Aziraphale realized that wanting things could get very complicated indeed.

--

One August night when the world hadn’t ended, Aziraphale stepped onto a bus back from Oxford, his mind racing with wishes and fears and regrets and things longed for but never named.

When Crowley sat down, the angel sat beside him, shaking hand grasping the edge of his seat, so close the knuckles were just shy of where Crowley’s fingers lay limply at his side.

“You must have wanted this,” Aziraphale suddenly spoke, breaking the silence of at least ten minutes. “For a very long time.”

“Hmm?” Crowley, exhausted, emotionally wrung out, had nearly fallen asleep where he sat. “Wanted what?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth, but found that he didn’t have any words. Not for the first time that night, the tears filled his eyes.

“Hey,” Crowley turned toward him, their knees just touching. “Don’t…don’t be afraid. We’re going to think of something.” How could his voice be so gentle? So calm?

“I…I don’t think I am afraid.”

“You’d be mad not to be. Isn’t this what you’ve been worried about all along? That they’d find out about…about us?”

“Oh, I’m terrified of that.” Aziraphale almost laughed, still trying to blink his eyes clear. “But… us. I don’t think I’m afraid of that anymore.”

Slowly, carefully, with utmost certainty, his hand drifted across the last few inches of space and clasped Crowley’s.

Behind black lenses, the demon’s unreadable eyes stared at their hands. “Are you… are you sure? Is this what you want?”

Aziraphale wiped his eyes with his free hand. “I don’t have the first idea what I want. I just know…” with a watery smile, he lifted their hands to rest together where their knees met. “Any time I’ve ever wanted anything, it’s been you there to bring it to me. Even when I didn’t really know what I wanted, you were always there.”

Crowley turned his hand, threading the fingers through Aziraphale’s, letting the warmth of it fill them both.

“And I think…” the angel continued. “I think that’s what I want. Whether we have another six thousand years or only tonight, I want you to be there. With me.”

“Ok.” It wasn’t even a whisper, just a movement of the mouth, a nod. Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s hand, brought it to rest against his cheek. “Ok.”

He couldn’t help shivering just a little from the thrill of it. Aziraphale had to almost fight to keep from doing something that would ruin the moment. “So, ah, so that’s why I said. You must have wanted this for a long time. I’ve…I’ll admit I’ve not thought about it nearly as much as I should, but I suppose I at least missed out on any pining. You, though…”

“Pining?” Suddenly the gentleness was gone from Crowley’s voice. “You think I’ve been pining?” He threw back his head and laughed, hands falling again to rest in his lap.

Embarrassed, realizing he’d ruined the moment anyway, Aziraphale tried to pull his hand back, but Crowley only clasped it harder.

“Angel, all I’ve wanted for six thousand years is to see you happy. And you were, most of the time, so I was, too.” He finally let go of Aziraphale’s hand, but only so he could clasp both shoulders. “People who pine are idiots who don’t appreciate what they already have. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but that is one I have never, ever made.”

Without thinking, Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley, pulling him close, resting his head against his demon’s heart, feeling those thin arms surround him, the long fingers bury themselves in his hair.

“Oh, my dear Crowley. I think it would take another six thousand years for me to learn to appreciate you.”

Aziraphale could feel the nod as Crowley’s chin brushed against him, felt the shaky breath pass his ear. “Well. We better make sure we’re around to enjoy that, huh?”

[turningintomalfoy]

Draco Malfoy and the Obnoxious Stone

Rating: All Audiences

Tags: Time travel, AU/Canon divergence, Redemption, Character growth

Chapter: 3/9 [complete]

AO3: Read Here

“You better have a good reason for not writing back to most of my letters last month.” Pansy Parkinson announced the moment her head made it through the threshold of the train compartment. Draco couldn’t push down a feeling of guilt and let himself get distracted enough to lose a round of exploding snap against Goyle. He had barely just calmed enough to look in Crabbe’s direction, thank you very much, and did not want more reminders of the future mistakes he would make.

“Well, they were rather dull. I didn’t think my input would change how the weather ruined your plans,” his friend bristled, but that’s how they always worked best together. “You remember weather spells exist, don’t you? Why do they have to be natural thunderstorms?”

“It’s not the same.” she stretched the vowels, petulant. Draco shifted closer to the window to make room for them both. The train only set off a few moments prior, and were he to peer out the windows, he would still be able to catch the last parents waving goodbye to some student he would have probably seen tortured or killed if Draco paid any attention to anyone’s suffering in the war.

“You got to play quidditch with your cousins, nothing to complain about. Did you work on your catches?”

Pansy, in fact, did not practice her catches this summer, and told Draco exactly what she thought about spending precious time with obnoxious and spoilt kids. This time, Draco stopped himself for pointing out she should fit right in with that crowd. She really did seem put out.

Instead, Draco reached for the abandoned book on obscure age altering potions he pocketed at Flourish and Blott’s while browsing for non-incriminating books that could still be useful. There wasn’t as much choice at the store as he hoped for, but the library at Hogwarts would definitely have an answer, he couldn’t accept anything else. The dusty, in all likelihood outdated, tome had yet to provide a good lead on his situation. On the bright side, if he wanted to remain in this 11 year old body for much longer than a year or return to a more adult form, he now knew half a dozen ways of making it happen and the side effects of each one.

With a sigh, Draco rejoined the discussion about exactly how much cheating in chess is permissible before it’s embarrassing even if you don’t get caught. He hated playing against Pansy on days she decided there was no limit. The other boys somehow ended up entertaining them with all the misadventures they ended up in over the last month, not sugar coating their own ignorance or stupid ideas in the slightest. Before long, though, the conversation died out, probably because no one was used to Draco not vying for the spotlight at every opportunity.

Draco climbed up onto the seat with his book in hand to find his school robes and less frustrating reading material. Everything was going well until he forgot he wasn’t tall enough to step back to pull his trunk down without tumbling down. The trunk avoided squashing him by an inch, but that wasn’t enough to soften the blow to his ego (or his behind). The other kids bursting into laughter definitely didn’t help the issue one bit.

“Ahaha maybe you need to pra-haha practice more swan dives off a stage!” Pansy’s tone couldn’t even reach mocking, she was too busy trying to hold back her laughter. “You were so graceful before .”

“Maybe it’s puberty.“ Crabbe choked out, visibly preening at the rare opportunity to berate him. Goyle laughed so hard he started a coughing fit. Draco would never hear the end of it at this rate. He had to clear his head and recover whatever dignity he could.

He got up with as much poise as he could, considering the burning in his cheeks and ears, and slammed to door on his way out. The food trolley witch would be doing a round by now, he figured, he could buy some sweets for their silence.

He almost reached the front of the train by the time he caught up to the trolley. While the lady counted out change, Draco could have sworn he saw a green chocolate frog jump out of a wrapper and onto her shoulder, but the woman didn’t react. The return journey was slower both with residual embarrassment and the weight of bribes filling his pockets. He pushed past a few groups of older students, who seemed to be debating if Harry Potter was on the train, one of them claiming the boy must have gone abroad to hide from vengeful Death Eaters and will definitely be attending Durmstrang.

Draco almost ran into Hermione Granger as she marched out of a compartment with enough determination and energy to trample right over him.

“You haven’t seen a toad around, have you?” She asked. “A boy called Neville is looking for one, its name is Trevor.”

Draco wasn’t ready. Potter was one thing, he could still hate the Chosen One. But here stood Granger before he belittled and demeaned her in front of most, before he teased and bullied her for being smarter and more dedicated, before witnessing the torture she endured in his home. He felt sick.

“Well? Have you seen one around or not?” Granger prompted again.

“What’s the point of looking? The toad must have taken one look at him and realised it was a lost cause” what was he doing? He wanted to fix things, or to run away from all those he hurt before. Not preemptively insult them. Draco couldn’t tell whether he felt ill, angry, or just tired.

“How dare you. You can’t say things like that!”

Their heated exchange drew attention from the compartment beside them, it’s door opening to show a tall ginger (definitely Ron Weasley), and Potter. This settled it, Draco had to be stuck in his personal hell.

“Oi! What’s going on?” Weasley grumbled. “Can’t you question him somewhere else?”

“Hey, it’s you again. Draco Malfoy?” Potter chimed in, sounding out his name as though it was difficult to remember.

“You know him? Ask him if he’s seen Neville’s toad.” Granger put Potter between her and Draco with a couple steps back.

“It’ll be a public service to let the toad go. It belongs with a proper wizard.”

Apparently, Draco just couldn’t help himself.

“Of course the git would say that. Forget about it Harry, Hermione. Don’t expect any good from a Malfoy.” Weasley exclaimed with pride. The worst part was it wasn’t completely wrong. Still, Draco was already worked up and past the point of no return.

“I don’t even need to ask your name, Weasley. Father says your parents have more children than garden gnomes. Figures Potter would take pity on a charity case like you.” Weasley’s face turned scarlet, and both boys seemed ready for a fistfight, Draco realised a little late with a sinking feeling in his stomach. “Anyway, I have better things to be doing.”

He swerved out of range just in case one of them decided to go for a punch, and carried on. He wouldn’t admit to feeling guilt about coming full circle when it comes to these three, but something pushed him to mention the food trolley witch to Granger as he passed. The toad was probably long gone by then, anyway.

His friends greeted him somewhat remorsefully, and they spent the rest of the way to Hogwarts playing cards and enjoying his snacks. Not long after sunset the train came to a stop. Draco couldn’t contain his excitement. They followed other first years to the lake shore, where Hagrid packed them into boats. A breathtaking reflection of the stars spread around them on patches of still water. They cut through it, gentle ripples appearing around them like a gathered shimmering silk. It was a real shame only first years got to experience this sight.

“Has someone forgotten a toad?” Hagrid helped an embarrassed Longbottom climb back into the boat. They must have found it on the train, but the amphibian seemed to know what it wanted.

Draco kept to a group of pureblood students and away from the soon to be gryffindors, only slightly preoccupied by a possible continuation of their argument on the train, but Professor McGonagall didn’t make them wait long.

He lost focus, staring at the teacher table. He felt faint, palms sweating, and couldn’t tear his eyes away from Severus Snape and Dumbledore. Here they were, alive and unaware. A song reached him more like wind wailing outside tightly closed doors, he couldn’t join in if his life depended on it. McGonagall repeated his name twice before anything broke Draco out of thought. It was his turn. He pushed past a smaller kid out of his way to the Sorting Hat.

“My, my... this should be the first time we meet, young man. Yet, I see you have already found yourself amongst loyal snakes.”

“Just put me where I belong, it’s been a long day already,” Draco thought, grinding his teeth in frustration.

“Now, let’s not be hasty... It’s true you still have Slytherin on your mind, but is it truly where your heart lies?” The Hat carried on. “Gryffindor could hone your courage and quench a thirst for justice, child. You could make a bigger difference than you ever thought possible.”

Draco looked up at his godfather, at the headmaster, at the faces of all these children doomed to take part in a war they didn’t want. If he could slow Voldemort’s return, maybe they could all be safe. The war could be stopped before it even began. He caught Potter, staring at him with a mixture of worry and disgust.

“Forget it, I wouldn’t be caught dead with that lot. Even Hufflepuff would be better than Gryffindor.”

“Another difficult one, I see. Have it your way...”

The Slytherin table cheered at the Hat’s decision, as Draco took a seat opposite Crabbe and Goyle, who were too busy trying to stare food into existence on the empty plates between them.

The rest of the sorting went as expected. Nott, Theodore and Pansy joined them with a lot less fanfare than Draco or Potter, who ended up causing an uproar by landing in Gryffindor. Weasley followed suit, and finally Zabini, Blaise sat on Draco’s unoccupied side.

“I’m Draco.”

“Blaise. Does the Hat actually listen to us? I thought I saw you talking back to it.”

“It does, when someone is good enough to be in two houses. I hear it’s rare for a real hat stall to happen. It has to take more than five minutes.”

“Sweet! Which house did you turn down for better company?” He asked with a grin.

“... Ravenclaw.”

“Well, then it’s settled Draco. That puts you in charge of making sure we all pass!” Pansy joined in on his other side with a laugh. She gestured with a tilt of her head, pointing out Crabbe and Goyle. “We’ll definitely need a miracle for those two to make it.”

[ma-sulevin]

It’s the respite chapter I’ve been promising ❤

Pairing: Sharky Boshaw/Female Deputy Rating: E Warnings: Canon-typical violence, but nothing particularly explicit I don’t think Word Count: 5894, chapter ten of fourteen (I think).

Read it on AO3 instead and say nice things.

—

Mattie drags Staci back to the Wolf’s Den with her hand buried in his filthy deputy uniform. He protests, quietly, not making any actual effort to pull away from her, and she doesn’t let go all the way through the mountains and to the hatch.

She hesitates before going inside, swaying on her feet, just waiting for a sign she’s allowed to be here. If they turn her away…

Well. She’ll deserve it, won’t she?

Tammy comes out to greet her personally, eyes red-rimmed and puffy. Staci ducks his head when he sees her, hands clasped in front of him, and Mattie doesn’t let go of his sleeve.

“We’ve seen more Militia members come home today than any other time you took one of Jacob’s bases away from him.” Tammy puts her hands on her hips and stares Mattie down, then glances over and gives Staci an evaluating look. “You two can come in, but you’ll have to spend the night in the interrogation room where we can make sure you won’t hurt anyone else. Deal?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Mattie can see Staci nodding out of the corner of her eye, but his head is still bowed. “Whatever we need to do.”

Tammy meets Mattie’s eyes for another long moment, the two women speaking without words. Finally, Tammy nods and waves her hand for them to follow her as she turns.

Mattie pulls Staci along behind her as she follows Tammy down into the Wolf’s Den, passing through Eli’s command center to get to Tammy’s interrogation room. Mattie hesitates, looking for Eli, hoping to see him behind the table watching the monitors or looking at maps of the mountain, but… he isn’t there. The room is silent, the monitors showing grainy feeds of the outposts, and there’s still a dark stain on the floor where he fell.

When she looks up again, Tammy’s staring at her with an expression too sympathetic to be real. She holds out a hand and Mattie takes it.

“I’ll bring you some food and water,” she says, squeezing Mattie’s fingers. “Maybe a first aid kit too, yeah? You can call us if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Tammy. Really.”

Tammy nods like she knows and pushes the door to the interrogation room open.

It’s empty of its usual equipment, the chair and the kiddie pool and the battery moved somewhere Mattie can’t see. Instead, there are two mattresses on the floor with blankets and a single flat pillow each. The door shuts heavily behind them and Staci flinches at the noise; when Mattie turns around he’s standing with his eyes squeezed closed, his muscles locked tight.

“Staci, hey, we’re safe here. They won’t do anything to us here.”

He takes a slow deep breath and then meets her gaze. “Are you sure?”

She gives him what she hopes is a comforting smile. “Yeah, of course. We’re just going to rest here until tomorrow and then I’ll take you to Fall’s End. Joey can’t wait to see you.”

His face lights up, life coming back to his eyes and a small smile lifting his lips. “Joey’s alive?”

“She’s alive and grumpy as ever.”

Staci doesn’t quite laugh, but his smile grows a bit. Mattie lets go of him and lets him walk deeper into the room on his own power, no longer limping, arms loose at his sides.

She draws in a shaky breath and digs her knuckles into her breastbone, pain bursting from the still-healing scar on her chest. Jesus, the second she gets somewhere alone or with Sharky, she’s going to fucking lose it. She’s just going to cry until she can’t anymore, get the stress out, figure out how to get some goddamn peace before she heads into the Henbane for Burke.

The door opens again and Wheaty sticks his head in. He looks grumpy, still closed off and upset at what she did, and she can’t blame him. He has an armful of supplies, a couple of MREs and a canteen and a first aid kit and what looks like some fresh clothes, and he thrusts them into her arms without saying a word.

He slams the door on his way out. The lock clicks behind him.

“Staci, here.”

He’s at her side in an instant, ready to help, and together they sit on the floor between the mattresses and sort through their supplies. They eat silently, side by side, then Mattie lets Staci have most of the water before using the rest to wet a cloth from the first aid kit.

She dabs at his face, wiping away layers of dirt and sweat and blood while he sits with his eyes closed, unmoving, patient. She allows herself a few silent tears while she works, mourning everything Staci went through while she struggled to save him.

“I’m sorry, Staci.” Her voice is low as she daubs antibacterial cream on a cut across his cheek, picturing how the scar will look when it finally heals.

He opens his eyes and meets hers. “Me too.”

He takes the cream from her and squeezes some onto his fingers before applying it to the still-bleeding graze on her arm. 

“We shouldn’t have let Burke make us go to the compound. We should’ve waited for the National Guard in the first place. I don’t know if they’d do a better job, but at least none of this shit would’ve happened.”

Staci nods as she speaks, taping a piece of gauze to her wound. “Sometimes I think… we didn’t survive that helicopter crash,” he says, whispering like he’s admitting a secret. “And we’re just… stuck in Purgatory to atone for our sins.”

“Yeah,” Mattie says, whispering too, thinking about all the times she’s found herself back in place, struggling to figure out what it all means, the overwhelming sense of try again that’s been pushing her forward. “Yeah, sometimes I think that too.”

They finish bandaging each other in silence, pull clean clothes on over still grimy bodies, and climb onto one of the mattresses with their pillows and blankets. Mattie wraps herself around Staci and he collapses into her, each drawing comfort from the other as they struggle to find sleep.

---

Mattie doesn’t know what time it is when she wakes up again, confused by being underground and the general lack of schedule she’s had since the crash. Staci’s stirring in her arms, murmuring something in his sleep, and from outside the door…

Someone’s playing the guitar.

Staci’s hair is greasy where she cards her fingers through it, but she keeps working it until his murmuring stops and he wakes up naturally with a soft sigh. He presses closer at first, squeezing her, then he seems to remember where he was because he sits up too fast and nearly headbutts her in the nose.

“We’re in the Wolf’s Den,” she says, speaking fast but sitting up more slowly so he won’t spook. “We’re okay.”

Staci doesn’t turn to look at her, just sits very still with his head tilted up to the side to listen to the music.

It’s not a song she recognizes, but it’s played well, the notes filtering through the door and filling the cold spaces around them like a caress. The song speeds up a bit and Staci starts to laugh, a low sound that he smothers with one hand.

“Stace?”

It takes him a minute to answer, but she can hear the smile in his voice when he says, “I know this song.”

He stands, slowly, like it hurts, stumbles a little like he had back in Jacob’s bunker, but he doesn’t fall. He makes his way to the door and tries the handle; it’s unlocked and the knob turns, the door opening as he pulls.

The music gets louder, then cuts off as Staci steps out into the command center.

Mattie scrambles to her feet and follows him, slamming her still-sore shoulder into the door jam in her haste. She clutches it, pushing her fingers into the source of the pain, and opens her mouth to call out for Staci, but she snaps her jaw shut at the last second.

Staci’s standing just a few paces away, barefoot and in ill-fitting pants, motionless as they both watch Jude prop his guitar against the wall and stand to his full height. He doesn’t even look at Mattie, a wide smile lighting up his face.

“I should have known you’d be here,” Staci says, finally, breaking the silence and making Jude choke on a laugh.

“And I should’ve known you’d sleep in until the last possible second,” Jude says, voice shaking, and that’s all it takes to get Staci walking again.

He crosses the rest of the space between them in an instant, arms up and around Jude’s neck as Jude catches him around the waist. They fall into each other’s arms, laughing wetly, swaying a bit with the force of their affection. 

Mattie stands and watches, relief at seeing Jude still alive so strong that she forgets she should give them privacy.

She doesn’t know what she would have done if Jude hadn’t been here. 

She doesn’t know what Staci would have done.

Jude looks up and catches her eye, smiling at her to include her in their moment. “Thank you,” he says, voice cracking. “Thank you.”

She has to wipe her eyes at that, clear her throat so she doesn’t start crying too. She’s not sure she’ll be able to stop if she does, and they have more to do.

“You’re okay? You’re okay?” She’s not sure why she’s repeating herself, but she can’t help it. She just… she needs to make sure.

Jude nods at her, still clinging to Staci. “I wish I could’ve been there to help, but I’m glad you brought him back.”

Oh, he doesn’t remember.

That makes sense.

“I have to take him to Fall’s End. We can’t stay here.”

Jude nods and Staci pulls away to stand up straight. He doesn’t step back, though, hovering in Jude’s space as he wipes his at his face. “I’ll come with you. Whenever you’re ready.”

 “Okay, I’ll just… uh, I’ll get ready.” Mattie turns to go back into the room, bumps her other arm into the door jam, then finally makes it into the room to find her shoes.

Jesus, she misses Sharky. She’s going to have to radio him to make sure he meets them in Fall’s End before she goes into the Henbane. She needs to check with Dutch about Jess too, just double-check that she’s fine after everything.

Based on everything Mattie knows, she should be.

But… it doesn’t hurt to check.

Tammy finds them before they leave, intercepting them with Wheaty at her side to ask them to take out the wolf beacons. Mattie agrees right away — really, what else can she say? — and makes a mental note to send Grace and Jess after them, and then Wheaty asks her again to look for records.

She agrees to that too.

They only have to walk a couple miles south before they find an abandoned car on the side of the road, the keys still in the ignition like they almost always are. Mattie climbs in the driver’s seat without asking, Staci sits in the back next to Jude’s guitar case, and Jude gets in next to Mattie and slides the seat back as far as it’ll go.

They keep the radio off for the entire drive.

Fall’s End is quiet, warmer than the mountains with almost cheerful yellow sun and businesses actually open to the public. The Spread Eagle’s sign is lit against the bluest blue sky she’s ever seen, and Joey lets out a loud whistle when she sees them driving up to the bar’s parking lot.

“Mary May! They’re here!”

Joey heads for them at a jog, slamming into Staci just as he’s stretching from being cramped in the backseat. They stumble back a step, Joey’s laughter joined after a moment with Staci’s.

Joey takes a step back and holds him at arm’s length to examine him.

“You look like shit, Pratt,” she announces, a fond smile on her face.

“Fuck you, Josephine,” he says, smiling right back.

She claps him on the shoulder and turns to Mattie, pulling her in a tight hug. Mattie squeezes her back hard, making up for the lost opportunity after rescuing Joey from John’s bunker, happy that she’s open to hugging again.

It’s not really a surprise when Joey whispers, “Is this the park ranger who warned us about the wolves in the spring?”

Mattie’s nodding as she pulls away. “Joey, you remember Jude Wright? Jude, this is Joey.”

They make their greetings while Staci glances between the three of them with growing apprehension — Mattie gets it; Staci hadn’t told them about Jude for a reason, and now they all know, but no one’s going to give him shit for it now.

The sharp bark of a small dog interrupts them, and Jude swears roundly as he drops to his knees to greet Moose. The little white creature is wagging his tail so hard his body is vibrating, jumping up into Jude’s arms to cover his face in kisses. Mary May appears behind him, eyebrows high, a smile on her face as she greets Mattie with a hug too.

“Uh, you two know each other?”

Jude looks up at Mary May as he stands with Moose in his arms, cradling the dog almost the same way he had Staci.

“Jacob’s men burned my house down when they started the reaping,” Jude says, smiling and talking through enthusiastic dog kisses. “I came back and it was totally destroyed. I couldn’t find Moose anywhere so I thought… How did he end up here?”

He’s looking at Mary May when he asks the question, but it’s Mattie who answers as he stands back up to his full height. 

“I found him in John’s ranch when I kicked the peggies out of it?” She pitches her voice up at the end of her sentence like it’s a question, the actual inquiry going unspoken.

Staci looks sharply up at Jude, whose face reddens a bit.

“Oh, uh. Long story. I’m just glad he’s okay. Did you have a nice vacation, buddy?”

Moose barks like he’s answering, then rests his head on Jude’s shoulder and heaves a heavy sigh that shakes his whole body, another answer that makes Mattie smile, the reasons behind Moose being at John’s house, and Staci’s reaction to the news, rendered unimportant now.

They all have some catching up to do.

---

Mattie makes herself at home in the same house she and Sharky stayed in last time they were in Fall’s End, a little tipsy and full of Casey’s cooking. The bedding is cold but still smells like Sharky, sweat and soap and gasoline. She buries her face in the pillow and breathes deeply, the deep ache in her chest spreading until she can’t do anything about it. She cries slowly at first, fighting it even though it makes her throat ache, then she just… lets go.

She sobs into the pillow, releasing stress and tension and loneliness, and she squeezes it tight like she would be holding Sharky if he were there with her.

She hates this. Hope County had felt so much more like home than any place she’s ever lived before, and now all she wants to do is escape it. This isn’t fair. 

This isn’t fair. 

She cries herself out until she’s exhausted, then she curls up on her side and tries to steady her breathing from little gasps for air to something steady enough for her to sleep. She just wants to go to sleep and not wake up until things are fucking normal again. Is that too much to ask?

She’s pulling this county back together piece by piece — Jacob’s gone, John’s gone, Jude is back with Staci and Joey is back living near Mary May, just the way she likes it — and what does she have to say for it? Perpetually bruised ribs, sore shoulders, muscles and scars that aren’t quite healing right, a goddamn scar on her chest that still itches as it heals? 

Her daddy’s ways told her life isn’t fair, but this is fucking ridiculous.

She’s rounding the corner from grief back to anger, working herself back up instead of easing herself to sleep, the faint scent of Sharky gone from the pillow now that she’s rubbed her tears into it, and she’s just about ready to get up and see what liquor she can find to help her when her radio buzzes from the bedside table.

Fury flares in her, bright and hot at the idea that someone’s begging for help in the middle of the night, then guilt flows in to extinguish the flames. 

They need her. They can’t do this without her.

What would she do if someone permanently died because she was too grumpy to answer their call?

She rolls over to grab the radio, rubbing her eyes with her free hand, fumbling a bit to turn up the volume. 

“...you there, Dep?”

Oh, holy shit. She clicks the transmit button before she’s sure he’s done talking in her excitement, calling out an urgent, “I’m here, baby. Over.”

There’s a pause before his voice crackles over the line, but it nearly makes her melt with relief. “You somewhere I can get to ya?”

She waits until she’s sure he’s done talking, an awkward pause filling the radio waves while she waits for him to say over. “I’m tucked in at our place in the valley. Only thing missing’s you, over. ”

He’s not laughing when he speaks again, but she can absolutely hear the smile in his voice when he says, “What would you do to me if I was there too? Uh, over.”

She is laughing when she replies, “Why don’t you come over and I’ll just give you a practical demonstration? Over.”

God, she hopes no one she knows is listening to this channel. She likes the teasing and the flirting — it’s pulling her spirits right back up, just like Sharky always does — but the idea that Staci might hear and bring it up tomorrow morning? While she’s looking at him?

No thanks. Hard pass.

“You’re the boss! See you in a few. Over’n out.”

Mattie smiles and puts the radio back on the nightstand, half expecting one of her friends to come online next to rib her for scheduling a booty call over the open airwaves, but nothing happens. It stays silent, the house stays dark, and she draws her knees up to her chest as she sits by the headboard to wait.

Sharky doesn’t take too long to show up; he must have already been on the way into Fall’s End when he called. She hears the sound of his Jeep parking out front, hears him barging into the house like he doesn’t know how to be quiet — the door bangs against the wall then slams shut, his footsteps are loud on the kitchen floor, something falls with a thud and is followed by his full-volume curses.

She bites her lip to hide her smile. He’s excited to see her, and that warmth in her chest helps push out more of her earlier despair. All that she needs now is…

The bedroom door opens with a little more grace, Sharky sticking his head in through the crack with a wide grin. She smiles back at him, finally happy, and holds out her hand so he’ll stop staring at her and get in bed with her.

He kicks off his clothes on the way to the bed, finally sliding in behind her in just a pair of (hopefully) clean whitey tighties. She lets herself laugh at the image and lays down on her side so he can curl around her back. He holds her tight, burying his face in her hair, and just breathes her in.

“You wake up in the hotel?”

There’s a little pause, then Sharky shakes his head behind her and tightens his hold on her. She huffs out a heavy breath so he’ll relax, but he doesn’t until he says, “Boshaw Manor. I died again? In the hotel?”

“Yeah. You and Jess both.”

Sharky makes a considering noise and presses a kiss to her bare shoulder. “Guess I should start keeping track too, huh?”

She shrugs, bumping her shoulder against his face. “I’d rather you didn’t have to.”

He doesn’t answer her, just presses more kisses to the place where her shoulder meets her neck. It feels nice, so she tilts her head to the side and lets him continue as his warmth starts to lull her to sleep. She’s exhausted after everything, and now that he’s with her, it’s like her body has full permission to relax.

She’s almost completely asleep when his hand starts to wander, down down down her body until she grabs it before it can get all the way between her legs. She pulls it up to her mouth and kisses his knuckles, then replaces it where it started.

“In the morning?” It’s hard to get the words out, tired as she is, and when he doesn’t respond right away a little lance of fear runs through her. What if he’s annoyed that she turned him down after he drove all the way over here? What if he gets mad and wants to go back home?

She’s opening her mouth to apologize when Sharky just hugs her tighter, curling around her until even his feet are tucked between hers, one more kiss pressed to the back of her head.

“Yeah, sorry.” His voice almost disappears into her hair, nearly lost before they reach her ears. “Get some sleep, shorty. Love you.”

She finds his fingers with hers and tangles them together. “Love you.”

She’s asleep before he has time to move again.

---

She wakes early, despite her best efforts, but Sharky’s still snoring behind her. He still has one arm under her pillow but he’s turned flat on his back, mouth open, face so relaxed the lines around his eyes have almost, but not quite, disappeared. She watches him sleep for a while, propped up on her elbow, as the room slowly lightens with the rising sun.

They’ll have to get going soon, head into the Henbane to track down Faith through the bliss haze, but until then…

She snuggles a little closer, puts her hand flat on his bare chest, just where the hair is thickest. His next snore catches in his throat, and she waits to see if he’s waking up, but his breathing steadies and his eyes stay closed.

She runs her fingers over his skin, trying to tease him awake, first circling one nipple until it hardens and then pinching at the other. He shifts, turns his head toward her, snores a little louder, and stays sound asleep. She smiles and pinches him again, glancing down his body as his cock starts to take notice of what his brain hasn’t figured out yet.

She runs her fingers down her stomach next, then scratches her nails back up, and that’s finally what does it. He opens his eyes as he moans aloud, whole body jerking in surprise. She laughs at the expression on his face, the confused arousal, and then laughs more when he pulls himself together and rolls them over.

He settles between her legs and she kisses him back while she holds her breath. He rubs against her with a moan, fully hard already, and she lets out a surprised cry when he hits her just right.

She pushes at him and he moves easily, falling onto his back and yanking at her shirt as soon as she straddles him. He looks so sleep-ruffled and turned on, eyes dark and cheeks pink, that she can’t help leaning down to give him another soft, lingering kiss.

He kisses her back but pulls at her hips at the same time, grinding against her in silent desperation. She obeys his unspoken request, falling into an easy rhythm before sitting up and bracing her hands on his chest.

“Mornin’, shorty.” Sharky’s voice is sleep-rough and deep, the calluses on his fingers rasping against her thighs as he slides his hands up to grab for her panties. “Guess you had a good sleep?”

She pushes up onto her knees just enough for him to pull her panties to the side, then she’s reaching down to pull his cock free of his underwear. 

“It’s always good when it’s with you,” she says, voice sweet, and his little laugh is swallowed up on a moan as she sinks down onto him. “Feel good, baby?”

“Yeah,” he gasps out as she gives her hips a slow roll, both hands back on his chest. “Five stars.”

She leans a little more weight on his chest as she giggles. She rolls her hips again and again, falling into an easy rhythm that does little more than just tease both of them. Sharky holds onto her thighs and smiles up at her, It’s almost overwhelming, being on the receiving end of that much adoration, but she can’t look away from it, just lets it ratchet her pleasure higher and higher.

Christ. What would she do without him? She never would have looked at him twice before all this, but now? 

He’s perfect.

She moves her hips faster, more sharp thrusts than slow rolls, and Sharky groans like she’s punched the air right out of his lungs. He releases his hold on her legs so she can move freely, moving his hands up to the headboard instead, gripping tightly as he tries to match her rhythm.

He keeps his eyes on her even as his flush crawls down his front, as he bites his lip and groans from deep in his chest, heels pushing into the mattress to give himself better leverage. It’s a heady feeling, seeing him like this, and she chases it with a heady laugh that makes his eyes roll back in his head.

“Mat, please, I can’t, you feel too good, please, I need to…” He’s babbling, on the edge, and that pushes her higher too. 

“You’ll wait your turn or I’ll stop,” she says, still kind of laughing, leaning forward even more to change the angle. “Can you hold on for me, baby?”

His only response is a long, drawn-out fuck that sounds like it’s been dragged forcefully from his throat, and Mattie shivers all over when she hears it.

“Yeah, Sharky, fuck !”

She comes hard, just like that, with Sharky under her and still moving inside her until he grips her hips and refuses to let her move another inch. She comes laughing, head tossed back, her fingernails digging into Sharky’s skin to leave little half-moon imprints behind.

It’s beautiful and glorious and she collapses onto his chest the moment her muscles start to relax. His arms wrap around her like he’s just been waiting for her to be close enough, one hand in her hair while the other presses on her lower back, keeping her flush against him while he makes aborted little motions with his hips, like he desperately wants to fuck into her but is afraid it isn't his turn.

She catches her breath quick as she can, pushes herself up with her hands flat on the mattress on either side of Sharky’s head, and smiles at him as she brushes her nose across his.

“Doin’ okay, Shark?”

He doesn't quite open his eyes to look at her, his expression pinched in an expression caught as he is between discomfort and euphoria.

“Please?” His voice is barely a whisper, barely loud enough for her to hear. She has enough time to realize it's the quietest she's ever heard him speak before he adds, “I’ve been good.”

She shivers all over again, accidentally clenches around him, and then she begins crawling her way down his body, down toward the foot of the bed.

He lets her go, covering his face with both hands when he realizes what she's doing, groaning into them as she finally slips his underwear down his legs and drops it on the floor.

She takes his cock in her hand, stroking it with a loose grip, then tightens her fingers a bit around the base when he pushes hard up toward her.

“You have been good, baby,” she says, mostly just to get his attention, then when he makes eye contact with her, she adds, “You can come now,” before she leans down and takes the tip of his cock into her mouth.

It only takes a minute of licking and stroking until he starts to beg again, calling her name and shaking all over, legs shifting restlessly on the bed but hips strangely still as though he's afraid she’ll change her mind if he thrusts too hard into her mouth.

He doesn't warn her before he comes, but she’s ready for it, eyes on his face and ears burning as he calls her name together with all manner of praise that devolves into heartfelt groans as he spills across her tongue.

She swallows because it's faster, crawls up the bed and collapses next to him, curling against his side. He pulls her even closer, still gasping for breath, and she kisses his chest because it's closest to her mouth.

“Holy shit , Mat.” 

She giggles and presses her face against his side. “You liked that? Wasn't too much?”

He huffs out a breathless laugh. “Fuck, Dep, you can do whatever you want to me and I’ll die a happy man. Guess I always did like a hot chick bossing me around.”

She rolls her eyes and laughs again, kissing him once more, then just relaxes into his embrace.

They've earned this. Everything else can wait.

 ---

Just like last time they were in Fall’s End, they don’t manage to drag themselves out of bed until after noon, emerging sated and sleepy and starving to see what Casey’s able to cook up at the Spread Eagle. Joey’s already there, leaning against the bar with her chin in her hand and a beatific smile on her face as she talks to Mary May, an expression that shutters and then shifts into an amused smirk as soon as she spots Sharky and Mattie’s entwined fingers.

Staci and Jude show up when Mattie’s halfway through eating Casey’s burger, grease smeared across her face because she can’t peel herself away from it long enough to remember her table manners. She’s half in Sharky’s lap in one of the booths, Joey across from them, and Mattie’s first to see Staci walking in the door with Jude trailing behind him, ducking just a bit when he passes under the door frame.

They don’t look much different than Mattie and Sharky, tired but happy, if a little more reserved. They bump their shoulders together as they lean against the bar to talk to Mary May, then leave an appropriate amount of space between them as they order food.

Mattie returns her attention back to her burger to distract herself from the sudden knot in her chest. This is almost like it was before, how it should have been before, the three deputies and their partners hanging out together at a bar on the weekends, having fun without the threat of the cult hanging over their head.

What would their lives be like without the Seeds here to fuck everything up?

Maybe next time she dies, the black white black will dump her out in an alternate universe where the only problems Hope County has are the usual drug use and domestics.

“How long are you going to stay this time?” Joey’s beer is empty but she’s still playing with the bottle. The bruises from her time in John’s bunker have faded, the light mostly back in her eyes, and she smiles almost as easily as she did before. “You look like you could use a week of solid sleep.”

Mattie snorts and rolls her eyes as she finishes chewing and then swallows. “I’d like to get to the jail before nightfall. I don’t want to be moving around the Henbane after dark.”

“It’s hard enough to tell your ass from your elbow even when it’s bright as hell,” Sharky supplies, earning himself an amused look from Joey. “I wouldn’t want to run into Faith in the dark. You know, one time, I saw her at a gas station and I just gave her twenty dollars? No reason, just wanted her to have it.” He pops a fry in his mouth to punctuate his sentence, and Joey turns her amused look to Mattie.

“So we’ll probably head that way after lunch. Y’all gonna join me this time?”

Jude’s wide-eyed, panicked look is enough of an answer for her, even before he looks silently at Staci for confirmation. Staci somehow looks worse today than he did before they made it into town; the grime and dirt is gone, but the shadows and bruises look deeper. He doesn’t even look like himself in scavenged clothes, even if they seem to fit. The only thing familiar about him is the wooden beads on his wrist.

“That’s… probably not a good idea,” Joey says, forehead wrinkling as she takes in Staci’s state. “We’re not really used to it like you are.”

Mattie suppresses an eye roll. She knows what Joey’s doing. It’s just so close to only you can help us even though we’re perfectly capable that she’s annoyed by it, but that’s not Joey’s fault, and she’s not leaving for the Henbane after fighting with any of her friends.

Staci draws in a deep breath and for a moment Mattie’s afraid he’s going to launch into a diatribe about being weak, and based on Jude’s wince, he thinks that’s what’s coming too. Instead, Staci just heaves a heavy sigh and rests his elbows on the table.

“We’re going to stay here and help with rebuilding,” Staci says instead, and he sounds exhausted down to his bones. “We should shore up defenses here in case Joseph decides on a more direct attack. Anything that happens in Faith’s region needs to be smaller, directed at the bliss production. If you can stop that, you can stop her.”

“Do you know where we should start?” Mattie licks her fingers clean, and Sharky stares at her while she does. Her cheeks heat, but she ignores it even though Joey makes a disgusted sort of noise.

“The Water Treatment Plant,” Staci says, no hesitation. “The Jessop Conservatory, too. That’s where it started. The distribution system. Any of the plants — anything you can do, really.”

Mattie wipes her hand on her napkin, finally, and reaches across to squeeze Staci’s hand. He lets her, turning his wrist so their palms are touching.

“Thank you, Stace. We’ll come back as soon as we kill the bitch.”

Slowly, Staci smiles. It’s the cheeriest she’s seen him when he’s not touching Jude, and the coldness in his eyes is chilling. Mattie tightens her hold on his fingers as he whispers, “Good.”

Silence falls on the table.

It’s time to go.

[aishiteru-clip]

7 times kdramas made us believe in true love

We all agree that kdramas have taught us many life lessons aside from entertaining us. One of the reasons we keep watching kdramas is the ‘true love’ bond or experience that are portrayed in most of them. And we have to admit it!! We absolutely love seeing the lead couple being lovey dovey and we also cry when they do.

No matter the genre, almost every Korean drama treats the ‘love’ topic really well and so well that we even want something like that in our lives!

There have definitely been moments in the kdrama world that have broken out hearts and moments that made us recover faith in humanity; this is precisely what makes us keep tuned and continue watching many of them. But these, just to prove that love may probably be the most powerful force in the universe.

So, here we go!

Warning: SPOILER AHEAD!

7. - City hunter- Kim Na Na being shot to protect Lee Young Sung

City Hunter is an old classic starring Park Min Young and Lee Min Ho who also actually started dating in real life after working together. They shared an amazing chemistry and we could tell they were truly in love.

One of the most iconic scenes in this drama is when Kim Na Na (Park Min Young) literally took a bullet in order to save Lee Young Sung (Lee Min Ho) and then just said “You saved me twice”. This scene broke our hearts and made us burst into tears. Furthermore, I think we can all admit this was an act of true love.

6.-100 days my prince- Meeting after more than a decade and falling in love again.

I know, I know!! Almost EVERY couple in dramaland has had an encounter/experience/meeting as kids; and traumatic or not that’s what makes them reunite again as adults. Even when this situation has become a kdrama cliché throughout the years, I still think it is a good way to denote the strength of the love bonds that can be developed between two people. I strongly believe writers ought to create different scenarios to treat this topic though.

100 days my prince tells a story of a young love; two kids, a prince and a noble girl, who share beautiful but also sorrowful experiences that somehow will make them separate. Prince Yool still thinks of his first love after their unfortunate separation and loses his memory through some circumstances many years after, but this isn’t a barrier. They meet again and fall in love, OVER AGAIN, without knowing they knew and cared for each other since kids. Can you guys tell me if this is other than destiny?

I think a most of us has dreamed of something like this at some point of our lives. Furthermore, the fact that two people are able to find each other, and fall in love again, no matter what, means they must have been under the power of two forces: destiny and true love.

5.-My love from the star- The whole plot tbh

It’s 2019 and ‘My love from the star’ was aired 6 years ago, so it’s officially an old classic. However, I feel like I really don’t have to explain this one cause during the whole series is more than evident how the leads deeply love each other. That’s probably because Jun Ji Hyun and Kim Soo Hyun had such a great chemistry.

Idk guys but I can’t help but get soft when I hear this title, because it really moved my heart in a way that’s more than difficult not to love the couple or everything it possess.

Do Min Joon (Kim Soo Hyun) could literally hear Song Yi (Jun Ji Hyun) calling his name no matter where he was, he rescued her several times and he was willing to do everything he could for her to be okay. Song Yi was more than in love, she cried rivers and rivers till they could finally be together.

Somehow I consider this drama had a ‘meant to be’ couple, since they ended up meeting through random situations, and more than randomly, because of destiny itself. This kind of situation gives us the ‘true love’ vibe we hardly get in real life. Moving our hearts that’s way is what irradiates the feeling that the reason why the main couple (sometime secondary couples as well) gets together is love.

4.-I’m not a robot- Love heals the wounds of the heart

Okay, first things first, I’m not a robot has the cutest couple in history as far as I’m concerned. There are also two main points of this kdrama I want to explain from my point of view. So, from what we can see throughout the series is Kim Min Gyu (Yoo Seung Ho) has a severe allergy to other human beings and he gets better due to Aji 3’s (Chae Soo Bin) presence in his life. For some people these may look like Min Gyu has a skin disease and Ji Ah is the ‘medicine’ he needs to cure it.

Nevertheless, I personally think that Kim Min Gyu has a psychological trauma caused by other people in his surroundings when he was a kid, that’s why he’s able to touch Jo Ji Ah when she pretends to be a robot without getting ill. What I’m trying to say is that problem was more a psychological thing rather than an illness.

No matter what the illness or condition is, what is remarkable from this drama is that directors and writers give us an important theme which is that regardless of how lonely and hurt you are, love can really heal the wounds of your heart.

Even though at the beginning the story is kinda sad because of the fact that Min Gyu thinks he is in love with a robot and also because of other heartbreaking moments, as the lead couple actually becomes a couple and they solve all their problems, we are able to see many tender and adorable moments that as a matter of fact, make our hearts flutter.

3. - Hwayugi: A Korean Odyssey- ‘Wait for me and I will find you’ promise

Hwayugi is a fantasy drama aired in 2017 until the first half of 2018 and it stars Lee Seung Gi and Oh Yeon Seo. Hwayugi, Hwayugi…This drama has several ups and downs but I guess it is good enough to be in this top. Aside from having such a bad finale, (which the writers tried to fix at the very end) Hwayugi sadly has also bad special effects, which is baffling considering they had a good budget.

Despite all these aspects I just mentioned, Hwayugi still has ‘good things’ to offer. Even though several characters die/disappear what comes behind all these situations is a well-portrayed friendship bond. At the beginning the relationship between the leads starts as a one sided love and then as a mutual love. Even though Son Oh Gong seems to love ‘Samjang’ because he’s under a spell, if we look further we can really tell he loves her for real. At the end of the series, he even gives her one of his eyeballs so he can find her in the underworld.

2. - Stairway to heaven - The whole series even when it hurts

Stairway to heaven is a classic melodrama and if you ask me, it’s probably the most popular kdrama worldwide. This was the very first Korean drama aired on Latin American TV and it got so popular that you can literally ask anyone and they will say they have seen it at least once.

And just because love doesn’t mean happiness, I consider important talking about this drama. First of all, Stairway to heaven has a killer cast and the story is beyond sad. Words could never tell how sorrowful it actually is.

I think the most painful thing in this drama is that the main couple is (almost) never able to be together no matter how much they love each other and how much they try. Song Joo even looks for Jung Suh after believing her dead and does everything he can till they can reunite again. This lasts a short period of time to discover Jung Suh has cancer and is gonna die. I mean, they literally have to face every barrier in the universe to be together and even at the end what gives them the strength to keep living is the love they have for each other, considering everything else in their lives is unfortunate.

The saddest thing is that the people around them would also suffer as well, especially Jung Suh’s step brother that somehow falls in love with her and even commits suicide to save her. But we are gonna talk about this last statement below.

1. - Stairway to heaven. - AGAIN

It has been more than ten years since I watched Stairway to heaven for the first time, and I still can’t get over what Tae Hwa did to let Jung Suh see the man she loves again. There isn’t anything else I have seen in any other drama that is to me more an act of true love than this one. (Even when it is such a sad and dramatic event.)

No matter how much I think about it, this is beyond miserable, considering Jung Suh never accepts Tae Hwa’s feelings because they are siblings but he still does all these for her. At the end this sacrifice is in vain because Jung Suh dies anyway. Such a sad story to be honest.

[journeysintowebcomics]

Worm Liveblog #117

UPDATE 117: No Help for Anybody

Last time Francis had a feeling they had been transported into another world altogether, thanks to the Simurgh causing havoc and what not. It was shown she has the capacity of making portals, after all! Now let’s continue.

The two-or-maybe-three-if-Cody-is-Ballistic Travelers are exploring the neighborhood, trying to find help for those who need medical attention. There are monsters prowling around, and there’s a lot of noise out there that hint things are looking mighty bad. If they go in the wrong direction, I really don’t think they’ll be okay. They have no powers for the time being, after all.

During their walk, they hear something that sounded like a scream. Marissa immediately suggests they should go help whoever screamed, while Cody argued that’d be putting themselves in danger and therefore should ignore the scream. Francis, being the tie-breaker, decides to go help whoever screamed – not because he’s feeling particularly charitable, but because there’s a small chance whoever is in need of help has medical knowledge they can take advantage of. Good reason as any to go help someone, really!

Without waiting for Cody to argue this further, Francis starts running in direction of where the scream came from.

Turns out the screaming came from a fast food restaurant that has been boarded up. Inside there are a few people, trying to be safe from the monsters roaming outside, but they weren’t successful. One of the people is currently trapped by one of the monsters. Say...

The monsters included a man with a neck three times the usual length and a gnarled hump on his back that was plated in armor.   His arms split in two at the elbow, with one set of hands and one set of limbs that ended in built-in scythes.  He was perched on a table, cackling.  His jacket was clearly borrowed, ill-fitting around his hump, and he kept having to push the sleeves up so they wouldn’t cover his hands or weapons.

His partner held their victim, the ninth person in the room.  She was big, maybe seven feet tall, and heavy in a way that met some middle ground between being muscular and being fat.  Big boned might have been the most apt way to describe her, in a literal sense.  Her skin was thick, her features blunt: she had a porcine nose and cauliflower ears, her fingers were stubby and her lips so fat that they curled away from her comparatively tiny teeth.  She might have weighed four hundred pounds, and the way she was easily holding her victim in the air suggested she was strong enough to kill someone with one good punch.  She wore only a set of grays that looked like a prisoner uniform.  He could make out the first half of the word that was printed across her shoulders: GWER-.

Rounding out the group was a young woman.  Something was off about her, besides the obvious physical changes.  Thick black horizontal lines striped her body, crossing her eyes like a blindfold, extending from the corners of her mouth, lining her chin and tracing down her neck.  By the time they reached her fingers, her skin was more black than white. She wore the same prison grays, but had donned a jacket and boots.  Her blond hair was straight, her bangs cut severely across her forehead.

I’m sorry for copypasting everything, but I wanted to get the descriptions here. It’s weird...they’re not as...inhuman as I expected when it was mentioned they were monsters. Frankly, they don’t sound too dissimilar to how some parahumans look like, especially those that suffer strong mutations. I also notice they have some sort of clothing, hm...

Could it be these monsters were brought from another world with parahumans? That the Simurgh targeted a parahuman prison, and brought its inhabitants here? I mean, it’s not too farfetched. Parahumans can look real strange, like Crawler. Compared to him, these aren’t too bad.

It seems like one of these three isn’t entirely on board with the ‘tormenting civilians’ thing. Matryoshka, she’s called. The other two push a civilian towards her, expecting her to do something. Most likely use her power, with effects currently unknown to the Travelers and to me.

Looks like Matryoshka can...fold people into herself? Perhaps as a manner of storage, or to take something from them? Sure would fit her name. It’s temporary, though, at most a couple hours, and these three intend to use her powers to escape the quarantine. They’re as good as dead, there’s no way they’ll be captured and sent to the Birdcage. Given how they arrived into this world, they’re going to be executed.

Now that I think about it, the Travelers are real lucky they’re alive in the present How exactly did they manage to escape the quarantine? They don’t even have powers right now, they’re just civilians! Even harder to escape! Maybe they found a guard who sympathizes with them, someone who wasn’t aware they’re incredibly dangerous or didn’t have the willpower not to help them. Hm.

Since there’s a chance one of the people Matryoshka is about to fold may have medical knowledge to save Noelle and Luke, Francis jumps forth, going right ahead and stabbing one of the monsters-or-most-likely-parahumans. Good thing he carried a long weapon! Lets him keep his distance. He does rather well, for someone who would be pretty doomed in any other situation. The guy with the scythes is defeated, Matryoshka is targeted next.

No, Krouse made himself stop, took an account of what he was doing.  He was getting carried away.  He turned to run.

That reminds me, what is everyone else in this place doing? Are Mars and Cody hiding and letting Francis put himself in danger? I mean, that’s kind of the right thing to do – putting yourself in deadly danger is not smart – but I admit by now I expected someone to have intervened and tried to take Francis away.

The guy with the hump says Francis is brave and stupid – guilty as charged, really – and apparently decide to take him along? They’re talking a language I’m not sure if it’s invented or if it exists. Putting it into Google Translator gives me Gaelic, but it doesn’t give me a translation anyway. I guess that means it’s gibberish Mr. Wildbow made up?

Turns out Matroyshka does kind of absorb things from the people she folds! No indication if she decides what she takes or not. Either way, the monsters pin Francis down, and due to the stress of having the Simurgh’s weird-ass singing and having a scythe on his face, he kind of lets himself be taken by the song, and starts to reminisce.

“Noelle,” he mumbled.

“Francis?”

He winced.  “Call me Krouse.  Everyone but my mom does.”

“Krouse,” Noelle tried the word. “Okay.  You want something?”

“Just wanted to talk.  When we were marking each other’s papers in class, I got yours.  I just wanted to say I like the way you think.”

Sounds like this may be the first time Francis and Noelle met. So that may be how the Simurgh manipulates people’s emotions to make them lash out and react...she makes them remember specific moments. Alright!

This first meeting didn’t really go well. Noelle and Francis certainly didn’t hit off right away, she seems to have been kind of cold towards him when he compliments her way of thinking. Mars soon approaches, and she’s also cold. I mean, I can certainly imagine Francis is kind of grating because...he’s kind of a jerk, but part of me wonders if this memory was tampered somehow. Wouldn’t be out of the question when it’s about the Simurgh making remember stuff.

“So I know exactly what to watch out for with you,” Marissa said.  “At any given point in time, you’re pulling some nefarious prank, you’re manipulating others to get what you want, you’re making someone else look bad-”

Tampered or not, she’s saying the truth, haha!

This little flashback also shows how Francis got into the gaming group, she overhead them talking about it, and looks like Noelle got curious about if Francis played. Looks like Francis already knew Luke somewhat, too. Friends already? Regardless, the flashback is over when Mars screams, and not in the memory.

There’s Mars! Currently getting tossed around like a ragdoll. No sign of Cody. Maybe he died already. So, it seems it’s not Mars getting thrown around what made Francis fight again, it’s that they interrupted his reminiscing. Geez! And so he reacts like many people would like to react when someone wakes them up from a pleasant dream: displeased. And by displeased I mean holy crap, Francis, don’t stick your fingers into someone’s fresh wound.

He doesn’t hold himself back! He cuts the scythe guy’s throat. I’m blaming the Simurgh for this rather sudden burst of violence.

There’s Cody! Backed into a corner. Matryoshka doesn’t seem to be doing well, and the other monster is getting closer to Francis. Once he tells everyone to run and scatter, he runs too, and the monster keeps chasing him, without much trouble, until he has no option but to fight.

He stabbed at her hand with the knife, and felt a fierce agony tear through his own hand.

Blood welled out from his palm, warm as it ran down his arm to his elbow.  Krouse screamed.

No, he didn’t stab himself in his own hand while he was trying to fight back – although I’m sure that’d happen to a lot of people. What happens is that this woman’s parahuman power is to reflect back damage. Doesn’t make her impervious, it just reflects back. That’s going to be a pain to fight, no pun intended.

Or not! A pair of parahumans take care of this, and not lightly. They pretty much set her on fire, and it doesn’t seem like the damage reflection activated, or they had a way to counter it. Oh well. What matters is that that woman is now deceased, and Francis is in no danger anymore.

His immediate action is to ask for help for Noelle. He doesn’t get to ask for it before getting interrupted.

“That was reckless,” Myrddin said, speaking over Krouse.  “Attacking when we didn’t know the particulars of her power.”

I mean, when has Francis ever done something that’s a good idea against people with powers. Some things never change. One paragraph later, it turns out that was directed at the guy who set her on fire, not at Francis. Anyway! Brushing aside this embarrassing moment for me!

Francis keeps asking for help, they keep ignoring his words, instead notifying Dragon someone is in need of medical attention.

“Two hundred feet away, down your four o’clock, Armsmaster.”

Oh! This is Armsmaster! How neat. Here, let me amend what I said not long ago: “I mean, when has Armsmaster ever done something that’s a good idea at all”. Not thinking things through was his MO. He’s somewhat getting better at that now that Dragon is around.

“How are we for exposure?”

“You two are good for another seventeen minutes at the exposure you’re facing.  Twenty if we push it.  I can have a flight unit to you shortly.”

Aha, so it’s at least seventeen minutes before someone exposed to the Simurgh’s song is considered doomed and needs to be killed, I think. Well there’s absolutely no doubt to me by now Francis and pals have crossed the threshold already. It must have been around a couple hours. Funny how life can change that much in the matter of just a couple hours.

The fight against the Simurgh is going well, somehow, and they’re doubling down quarantine, most likely to ensure any parahumans brought by the portals don’t escape the perimeter. Dragon also notifies they’re taking some sort of measure, and the parahuman who is with Armsmaster – Myrddin, she’s called. I think I have heard that name before? – doesn’t like that measure, even asking Dragon to argue back. Dragon, in all her AI glory, states she’s just following orders.

I was about to ask if Armsmaster and Myrddin just ignoring Francis standing right there to a side, but then I reread and noticed Francis seems to have been turned into some kind of ghost. Trying to keep him hidden from the heroes, hm! Not that it’s a bad thing, Francis may be left for dead for all the exposure to the Simurgh. No wonder he wasn’t being listened to, he’s like...transparent now.

Among the rubble of the stuff that fell into this world, there’s a building that seems to have been part of a laboratory. Armsmaster wants to take a look and deduce from where all this came from, but Myrddin insists they have to get done with their task and get out. Minimize exposure, you know! And since the consequence of not doing that is, you know, death, I agree with her.

“I get bad interactions if I transition something in of one of my dimensions and back, or if I take things out of one dimension and put them into another.  It doesn’t compartmentalize into the dimension properly if it’s been elsewhere too recently.  Whether these people and objects came from somewhere halfway across the globe or some pocket dimension, I don’t think we want to test our luck and risk something disastrous.”

Krouse startled at that.  Is that what happened to me?  Some bad interaction of interdimensional crap?

Pretty unlikely. If Myrddin had used her power on him, I think she’d have said something, or Armsmaster would have noticed. Unless Francis means he being in this world in the first place, in which case, yeah, that’s what happened to you. Blame the flying Endbringer over there.

Is Armsmaster suggesting to use white phosphor for something? Because that’s not a good omen. My immediate thought is that he’s suggesting they use white phosphor to obliterate the perimeter. Needless to say, everyone and everything inside is toast if they do. I once read a book that had white phosphorus used, and the description of the effect was anything but pleasant. Better get out while you can, Francis, seems to me time’s running out.

Once Myrddin and Armsmaster leave, Francis is once again taken by his memories, this time of a less happy moment, when Noelle is unhappy and he doesn’t know why. She’s even saying the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ routine. They’re a pair, so this can’t be a breakup – a successful one, at least. The wording does hint she wants to get away from him, and that he has been a great person.

When she said she herself was why she wanted to break up, she meant it. Francis doesn’t have the slightest idea what she’s talking about, but judging by...

“Someone said, a little while ago,” Noelle spoke without looking at Krouse, “That I can’t really forge a good relationship with others until I have a good relationship with myself.”

...this, there’s something about herself she doesn’t like. Must be something rather big, if she can’t bring herself to have good relationship with others because of it.

Francis is being nice for once and is trying his best to be encouraging, telling her that she’s fantastic, but she insists they shouldn’t date. That opinion doesn’t change when Francis adds Noelle’s been happier ever since they started dating, and it’s not a platitude, Mars has said that too. But if Noelle says they should break up because this is bad for her, then he’s willing to accept it. Seriously, this has got to be the nicest Francis has been towards anyone in this entire story.

He even offers to leave the gaming team. She doesn’t want him to, and even tells him to forget she even mentioned this, conveniently leaving her thoughts a mystery to the reader. What could it be she’s feeling about herself that makes her dislike herself so much?

The memory ends, and Francis finds himself already rooting into the fallen laboratory, deciding to look around to see if there’s anything that could be of help, like a first aid kit. Well that’s going to be useful for Luke, but Noelle’s going to need something far better than that, if he finds any.

His eyes settled on a metal briefcase beneath the desk, within a few feet of the dead man’s hand.

His fingers crossed for a portable case of medical supplies, he set it down on the desk and popped it open.  Disappointment overwhelmed him.

Six metal canisters recessed in black foam with slots cut out to hold them, paperwork was set in a flap in the lid.

He swore.

…newly purchased superpowers…

...

...

...

...well seeing how Alexandria got better from a terminal disease after getting superpowers, I guess that counts as something far better. She got a much worse deal than Alexandria did, though. Everything in Worm has been a continuous source of grief for her. She’s not happy with Francis because of how she feels about herself, she gets concussions and internal bleeding, and when she gets to have some sort of superpower, she gets one that’s so bad she has to be locked in a vault out of fear she’s going to destroy everything. Worm treats Noelle rather cruelly.

Also, I absolutely love how Armsmaster almost may have been able to stop the creation of an entire villain team if he had been allowed to check the laboratory. Thanks a lot, Myrddin, you are indirectly responsible for the creation of like five new villains. Stellar work. At least Armsmaster only created one!

Francis confirms these are certainly superpowers in a vial – courtesy of Cauldron, no doubt. Does Cauldron know the Travelers gained their powers from their serums? I imagine they may know, surely they must keep a record of what powers get sold.

Taking the metal case with him, Francis decides to return back to the rest of his friends and also Cody, unwittingly kickstarting some rather unfun days for them all except whoever won’t be part of the Travelers. Fun how a series of coincidences led to that. Seriously, so much happened because Francis was in the right place at the right time.

I’m still unsure what happened with Francis turning all intangible and invisible earlier, though. Was it really Myrddin, accidentally doing that? Or was it someone else? I don’t have it clear at all, I admit. If someone can send me a message about it I’d be real grateful.

Ending the update here!

Next time: next update

[artificialqueens]

Caretakers 2/2 (Branjie)- athena2

A/N: Here’s part 2, where José takes care of Brock. Thank you to everyone that read part 1! Also, a special thank you to @mistressaq, for being so excited about part 2 and beta-ing it for me! 

“Will you find the pills already? I’m gonna drop dead before you find them!” Brock yells, leg bouncing up and down with anxiety. He’s perched on the edge of the bed while José spreads the various pills across the mattress, smug grin lighting up his face. Brock never gets sick and he knows José is having way too much fun with this.

“You’re not gonna die. You’re fine,” José reassures him for the tenth time, placing a hand on his knee to calm the bouncing.

Brock tries to listen but he can’t. His mind is moving too fast to slow down, thinking about all the deadly diseases he could have, even though he knows it’s not that bad.

“Here!” José exclaims triumphantly, loud enough for Brock to hear even as he sneezes. “These shits”–he holds up a strip of red pills– “are amazing. Two of these and you’ll feel a lot better, trust me.”

“Good, I’ll need them for tonight.”

“You’re seriously still gonna do the show? Weren’t you just threatening to drop dead a minute ago?” José challenges, eyebrow raised.

“Look, everyone already thinks we’re fucking on the side. If I’m sick enough to miss a show less than a week after you were sick enough to miss a show, it’s way too obvious. Besides, I’ll be fine once the pills kick in. I want to go on. I really hate missing performances,” he insists, glossing over the uncertain nature of their current relationship.  

He’s performed with a cold before, performed with worse than that a few times. He’s used to working through pain and sickness, pushing himself beyond what is probably healthy, and he’s positive he can get through tonight. And he doesn’t want to tell José (mainly because he knows the younger man will tell him he shouldn’t think this way, and he’s probably right), but Brock doesn’t want to miss a show because it just proves that he is weak. He feels weak enough already to have caught a stupid cold. There’s no way he’s going to succumb to the weakness and miss a show over it, even if he just wants to curl into a ball and sleep all day. If you don’t go on, you’re a failure. How can you even call yourself a performer if you miss a show for a cold? You can’t fail and disappoint people like that.

“Fine,” José huffs. “But you better remember that I said no to this from the start, and I get one free ‘I told you so’ if it goes bad. Aaannnddd,” he starts, dragging it out so the word is longer than A’Keria’s orange wig, “you can’t get mad at me for asking how you’re doing every five seconds like you did to me,” he smiles.

“Deal,” Brock agrees with a grin. He can’t help but notice that José didn’t address anything about the rumors that they were still together. He doesn’t know if he’s relieved or upset by that and finally decides on confused.

They spend the day in bed, flicking back and forth between reruns of The Office and Parks and Recreation, and even in its sick, hazy state, Brock’s mind will not quiet down. José’s hand runs through his hair soothingly, making him feel like a cat. Does it mean anything that José is staying with him when there’s probably more exciting things he could be doing? Is he just here as a friend, or to repay Brock for his help, or for something more? What even are they anymore? They’ve been together every day for the past week, and now they’re in bed together for the second time in days. They’ve been finishing each other’s sentences, bantering and laughing in unison like they used to, and just yesterday Brock had been craving cookies and José burst into his room with a bag of Chips Ahoy! like he could read his mind. He groans. He needs to stop thinking or he’ll have a headache on top of everything else.

Brock doesn’t mean to, but he must fall asleep, because one minute José is rubbing his back and the next his phone alarm blares and he blinks awake dazedly. He forces his eyes open and it’s like the clouds have parted over him–he doesn’t feel that shitty anymore. José was right. Those pills are amazing. He leaps out of bed and tears around the room gathering his bags.

“I feel good! Let’s do this thing!”

“Oh, so now you okay, hoe? Three hours ago you were planning your own funeral. And for the record, I don’t think having Nina sing ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’ is a good idea,” José retorts.

“It’s an amazing idea. I stand by my decision,” Brock tries to say seriously, then launches into snorting laughter. José laughs along with him until they both have tears in their eyes, and it’s something Brock thought he had given up for good. Friends or otherwise, having this comfort, this freedom to just be, is something he never thought he’d be able to experience with José again. If it takes an illness to let him have José like this, he’ll gladly get sick a thousand times over.

***

He takes it easy during the show, doesn’t throw himself all over the stage or do any shoulder-stands. Brooke puts on a good front and Vanessa checks on him discreetly enough that none of the other girls suspect anything, except A’Keria, who glances at him with concern every now and then. That bitch always knows when something’s up, Brooke thinks admirably. The crowd is loving them and he feels so good he wonders if he was ever really sick or if it was all a dream, but the warmth and softness of José’s hands on his back were just too real to have been in his head. (He would know. He’s been dreaming about José’s touch for months now, each time waking up breathless with regret and longing and want).

But in the last 10 minutes everything goes to hell all at once. His limbs are made of cement and he can barely move. His head weighs a million pounds, straining his neck just to hold it up. He’s swallowing razor blades and his nose has become Niagara Falls. Brooke hopes Nina has enough time to prepare her song for the funeral. He staggers off stage after the last number, head spinning and floor shifting beneath his heels, Vanessa rushing after him in a flurry of sequins. She stretches a hand up to his forehead and her face twists with worry. “You’re really burning up, Brooke. We better get you to bed.”

There’s no argument left in him. He knows she’s right, and if it wasn’t for her arm around his waist he’d be on the floor right now. He’s Cinderella after midnight, pills worn off and magic stripped from him. Brooke nods tiredly and lets her lead him back to the dressing room to de-drag.

They get back to the hotel as fast as they can, Brock collapsing into bed and waiting anxiously while José digs through the mess of medicine bottles on the dresser and recovers a thermometer.

“Don’t be so scared, Brock. You look like a kid about to get a shot at the doctor’s office,” José teases as he brings the thermometer to the bed.

Brock manages a small laugh, grateful José is trying to calm him. “I just kinda…freak out when I get sick. It doesn’t happen much so when it does I turn into a baby and panic about it,” he admits.

José slips the thermometer under his tongue and gently caresses Brock’s face, running a thumb over his too-warm cheek. “You’re okay, baby. Nothing to worry about,” he whispers softly.

Now that he’s off stage and in bed, now that he’s here with José and doesn’t have to put on the ‘I’m fine’  mask, the worry is coming back. Vanessa said he was warm, which means he has a fever, which means he’s sicker than a cold. What if he’s dying? Oh god, he’s dying. He wills the thermometer to hurry up and beep, tell him how high his temperature is so he can start listing the various illnesses it might be a symptom of.

José pulls out the thermometer and squints at it. “101.9. Why you always gotta be an overachiever, Brock? Can’t even get a damn normal cold.”

“Sorry.” 101.9, that’s not too high, right? His rational side tries to convince him. But the fear is rising so fast rationality has jumped off a roof. It’s not low, you idiot, it’s basically 102, and another degree puts you in the danger zone. Besides, there’s plenty of fatal diseases that start out slow. You’re still gonna die.

José laughs. “Well, one of these pills will take care of the fever. Just let me find it. You’ll be okay.”

“Are you sure? What if it’s some sort of rare disease? What if I’m dying? I’m probably dying. I’m gonna die in a hotel room, oh my God. You better take care of my cats,” he commands, rapidly coming to terms with his own death.

“You’re not dying. Calm down.”

“How do you know?” he demands hysterically. “You’re not a doctor!”

“Neither are you, Mary!” José yells, exasperated. He takes a breath and softens. “Look, I promise you’re gonna be fine. I was sick, and I’m okay now, and you’ll be okay too.” He pauses, then grips Brock’s hand and looks him directly in the eyes. “Brock, do you really think I’d let anything happen to you?”

Brock goes quiet. He knows how serious José is, and even his worrying mind cannot doubt the sincerity. (Well, it could if it really wanted to, his doubt is what caused the whole mess months ago in the first place, but Brock manages to turn it off for now). Regardless of what happened or what will happen, Brock knows that José is here, and nothing bad is going to happen to him because José won’t let it.

“I trust you,” he says simply. He discreetly wipes at his eyes, which are brimming with tears he just can’t let fall. Thankfully José doesn’t say anything, just grabs a bottle of Gatorade and holds out a pill for Brock to take.

He takes the pill and José gets him settled, fixing pillows, adjusting lights, and making sure he has a water bottle next to the bed.

“You’ll stay with me?” Brock asks, echoes of mere nights ago running through him.

“Of course.”

Brock pats the space next to him and then turns on his side, praying José will do what Brock is so desperately and deeply wishing for. José presses up against his back and lowers an arm around his waist, a mirror image from earlier this week. Brock holds back his smile, but nothing can stop the jolt in his heart or the warmth spreading in his stomach.

José leans over and kisses him on the cheek, and the deja vu sends Brock’s head spinning. He wonders if José will get sick again, and pictures himself taking care of the younger man. Then maybe Brock would get sick again too, and José would take care of him, and he wonders if the two of them would just keep going back and forth getting sick and helping each other, caught in an endless loop of being each other’s caretaker. He honestly doesn’t think it would be so bad, and he wonders if the fever is messing with his head. What if he’s delirious? Can you be considered delirious if you know you’re delirious? Maybe he should–

“Stop thinking so loud and get some sleep, baby,” José says quietly.

That’s the second baby of the night, Brock notes. Please stop, he begs himself. Just please stop thinking. I’m too tired for this.

Brock starts coughing, pain shooting through his chest as the fit worsens. His shoulders heave and he is gasping for breath and holding his ribs when it finally ends. José is no longer behind him but in front of him, holding out the water bottle from the nightstand. Brock takes a few cautious sips and regains his breath before giving the bottle back to José.

The mattress dips as he returns to the bed, and then José’s hands are on his back again, rubbing soothing circles. The touch is light, and warm, and real. It’s real, and those hands on his back slow Brock’s breathing down. It’s real, and his mind is able to be quiet for once and focus on the touch without overthinking it. It’s real, and it is infinitely better than anything he could possibly dream of.

“Thanks,” he whispers.

“Oh, one more thing. You had me so worried I almost forgot.”

“What?”

“I told you so.”

[bellygunnr]

The Music is Muffled

<= Previous Chapter | Ao3 | Chapter Three (pending)

The basement Yellow-Green had commandeered for their team meetings had since become theirs entirely. It looked well lived in, the walls plastered with posters and various maps which in turn were covered with marker. A dry-erase board had been erected at one end of the concrete room and, currently, they all sat Knight-style at a round table. Since Rider's departure, the head was left empty, but now it was occupied by Stealth.

Bamboo set her hat on the floor, in conjunction with Stealth casting aside his goggles.

"That was definitely Rider."

"Yes, well, we got that when Goggles took him home," Bamboo said tightly. She drummed her fingers across the surface of the wooden table. "He looked so... ill. Sick!"

"I've never seen anything like it before," Blazer said. "And the way he was acting..."

"Do you guys remember when Blue Team disappeared for a while? And Rider, too?"

"Goggles said they lost Rider down there," Blazer said slowly.

Stealth leans back in his chair, the lenses of his goggles flickering on and off. He was prone to fidgeting with the settings dial when thinking.

"I don't think they lost him. I think they ran away from him."

Now that was a new concept-- one they hadn't considered before. Silence falls over the table as they all look at each other. Each of them remembers distinctly how Blue Team, and the Octolings they brought with them, behaved.

It had started with a text message..

+

Bamboo. Can you come over? With the others.

Bamboo has to fish her phone out of the blankets from which it had been entangled. Blazer still snoozed, undisturbed, her limbs spread akimbo as she snored. She grumbles to herself as again, the phone vibrates, this time with the urgent pulse of a call. A number she saw rarely-- Goggles.

Confused, she blearily answers the phone, willing something to spike her into wakefulness.

“Hello…?”

“Blazer! Thank cod you woke up. Um, something happened. We really need you to get Yellow-Green and come over. Have you heard anything from Rider in the oh, past… uh… how long were we down there?”

There’s a murmur of voices and Bamboo’s anxiety spikes. Drowsiness still pulls at her but it’s less acute now.

“...Rider hasn’t been around for a couple of days,” Bamboo cuts in. “We’ve been looking everywhere for him! Even his Dynamo is gone.”

“A-- a couple days? Guess we were down there for awhile! Well, um, can you please get everyone to come over? You know where my place is, right?”

Goggles sounded… anxious, unsure of himself. Bamboo swallows and starts to nod, only speaking when she remembers it’s a phone call. “Yeah! Yeah, absolutely. We’ll all be there. Is everything okay? Is Rider okay?”

She rubs over Blazer’s shoulder as she notes her girlfriend beginning to move.

“I’ll see you soon, Bamboo.”

And the call goes dead with a soft blip.

“Who was that, babe?”

“It was Goggles. He wants us to come over-- I don’t know why, but it sounds serious. You up for coming with?”

“Weren’t we going to look for Rider today…?”

“Blue Team may have done that for us.”

+

They had never been to Goggles’ house before, but they were fairly certain it wasn’t supposed to feel like this. The air was tight but somber, heavy with something that Bamboo could have cut with her carving knife. Hell, she could have made hundreds of little sculptures out of the tension in the air. Her ears folded back against her head as Yellow-Green was ushered inside.

“Thanks for coming so soon, guys. It means a lot.”

“Y- yeah, no problem,” Bamboo says. “Who are they?”

Inside the tiny studio apartment, six Inklings were crammed, all of them dressed weirdly but two of them sticking out more than the others. Bamboo stares at them with critical, appraising eyes, skin prickling with apprehension. Even their tentacles were strange-- a bright, glossy pink-red, their suckers facing outward.

Almost Inklings. Yet not quite.

“Th- this is Hachi and Nana! Um, we rescued them from… from a really bad guy, way underground.”

“Underground?” Stealth cuts in.

“It’s called the Deep Sea Metro,” one of the strange Inklings says. Their tentacles are arranged in pretty, dancing locks. “My name is Nana. Hachi and I used to be Octarian soldiers before being freed by the Inkantation. I assume you are familiar?”

“The Calamari Inkantation,” Stealth clarifies. “Yes, of course. One of our oldest traditional songs.”

“Correct. Well, shortly after being freed, I was captured and held prisoner by.... By someone--”

“Something,” Specs hissed.

“Someone named Tartar,” Nana finishes firmly.

“And I woke up alone. An ancient squiddo named Cap’n Cuttlefish met me first. Something had knocked me cold-- but I apparently escaped being captured. It wasn’t long before we met Goggles down there.”

Nana’s friend-- Hachi, Bamboo surmised-- had a low, clear voice that told her many things. Her ears flipped out from their folded position.

“And when I met Hachi… we met the Phone.”

Blazer cuts in, frustrated, stepping ahead of the rest of Yellow-Green. “None of this explains where Rider went, you know!”

“We have to tell you everything else!” Hachi exclaims. “Or else you won’t understand the severity of the situation!”

“We don’t understand the situation now! Why are we supposed to believe you guys, huh?”

“Because Rider was with us--! He was with us through the whole thing, and we failed him, and he’s stuck down there and now we don’t know where he’s at, and we’re sorry, we’re really sorry! None of us could do anything! That stupid Tartar got the better of all of us!”

Goggles’ outburst was loud, wobbling with the wet bubbling of an Inkling in distress.

“Rider was with us! He bought us time to escape! Then there was this whole other thing and- and- and we had to save Inkopolis, it was really scary, but we managed to do it but Rider wasn’t there because we failed him! Okay?! We lost him!”

Bobble puts her arm around Goggles’ shoulders, hugging him close.

“It’s hard to believe that all happened in only a few days,” Specs says breathlessly. “It was… really scary.”

“We are not afraid to admit that it was terrifying,” Nana says solemnly. “Rider was-- was a good Inkling, for what little… I saw of him.”

“He’s still alive!” Headphones hisses, smacking the Octoling’s shoulder. Goggles had his face buried in Bobble’s shoulder, clearly suppressing tears.

“Cod, this is a fucking mess, isn’t it?” Bamboo snarks. “Are you saying you got our team captain killed?”

“No! Never,” Hachi bursts out. “Your Rider made a sacrifice, miss, but I promise you he is not dead.”

Nana shoots Hachi a look that Bamboo couldn’t hope to interpret.

+

As soon as Goggles ushered Rider into his home, Rider fled from his grasp, diving into the first room he saw-- the bathroom. The door closes with a loud slam, then a soft click, and Goggles is left staring at the empty space with confused shock. Tentatively, he follows after his partner, pressing his ear against the thin door.

There’s the sound of retching.

“Ri-- Ri, are you okay? Do you need anything?”

The retching doesn’t last long-- maybe five minutes-- but by the time it’s over, Goggles is trembling, nails digging into the palms of his hands. He gasps with relief when he hears the sound of rushing water, indicating that Rider was trying to clean himself up. He knocks on the door with three gentle taps.

“Rider…?”

“M-- Mmm, fine,” a voice mumbles. The door swings open.

“You are not fine! You are so bad! You’re gonna kill me, Rider!” Goggles cries. “We’re getting you some water and you need to lie down!”

Rider whines at the loud voice, pawing at his ears with long, unkempt claws, shoving past Goggles with a groan. He’s wincing and flinching beneath the overhead light. He unceremoniously falls to the floor, burying his face into his tattered vest.

“It’s too warm,” he complains. I want to be back underground! It’s nice and cool and quiet…!

“Then let me cool it down…”

Goggles… busies himself, because if he doesn’t, he will cry. He drags out the futon that he sleeps with, setting it within the AC’s line of flow, and guides Rider into it. He kneels down beside him, offering a single upturned palm to show that he wants-- no, needs-- to interact with him physically.

“Please, big guy? Let’s get those old clothes off you, okay?”

Rider unfurls just slightly, enough for Goggles to get a hold of his gear. The jacket is unzipped and unfastened, which proves not to be overly difficult as most of the fastenings are worn and torn. He slides the heavy gear from Rider’s shoulders, leaving a plain sweater. It’s bright red.

“Where’s your black jacket, bud?”

He receives no response except violent shivering.

Goggles sighs and coaxes Rider into lying down.

“I’m just glad you’re back…”

+

“Do you think Hachi knows that we found Rider? Maybe we should tell him…”

This idea comes from Blazer, wily and impressive always. She slams her phone down onto the table, the Octoling’s contact information already pulled up. A determined light dances in her eyes.

“They have to know something, right? They can help us fix Rider!”

“I think… that would work. What do you think, Stealth?”

Stealth nods very slowly. “It really can’t hurt. Then tomorrow… we should check on Goggles and Rider. I’m worried.”

Blazer dials Hachi shortly after their agreement, fang digging into her lip. Silence becomes heavy and suffocating in their little basement, threatening to choke her, until finally, an accented “Hello?” comes through the other side.

“H- Hachi! Hello, I know this is sudden-- are you free? Something happened, uh…”

“Oh, Miss Blazer? Well, Headphones already told me. About your Captain, yes?”

“O- Oh? Did… she? Yes, Rider uh-- came back today. He looked really…”

“Sanitized. Yes. You should come over. The others are already here. Nana will add you all to the group chat.”

“Thank you, Hachi…”

And the call goes dead with a soft blip.

“Guess we’re going to Hachi’s! Blue Team is already there,” Blazer says with forced cheeriness. But she couldn't help but think-- what the hell was "sanitized?"

+

“AGENT. You’re beginning to upset me-- bring that blue pest and his friends to me! Enough of this weakling act.”