#i have a cleaning thursday before work so like i can tell someone

[this-doesnt-endd]

I feel like my crown just shifted up oh my god

[auroralwriting]

your beauty never scared me

spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

you’re scared no one will ever love and understand you, but spencer always has.

word count: 2.2k

warnings: a bit of unrequited love, comfort/angst/fluff, negative self thought, spencer is always a sweetheart, reader has a darker aesthetic

Maybe it was the fact that you came from a broken family from a young age. No, you didn't have a bad childhood, but it wasn't ideal for a young girl growing up.

It could have been the bad high school relationships, full of boys who didn't understand how to treat a young woman. Stuck at their stupid baseball games or waiting for them to finish their video game, sitting alone on their bed waiting for them to finish.

The most likely cause for your fear of love was simply the fear that no one would ever truly understand you, and therefore, never be able to love you right.

If you looked deeper, though, much further past the surface level, deep into the core, you would've realized that Spencer Reid had been there all along.

When you first joined the BAU, Spencer Reid was a typical little nerd, the glasses he wore even fulfilling the stereotype. His rambles about anything and everything were endearing, and lead you to begin your friendship with the man after he told you the history of your favorite movies.

"...its distinctive style with his signature blend of dark humor and whimsy. His imaginative vision, influenced by German Expressionism, is evident in the film’s surreal sets and exaggerated character designs. Burton’s decision to cast Michael Keaton as the chaotic title character and his encouragement of Keaton’s improvisation contributed to the film’s memorable, unpredictable energy. The innovative special effects and makeup, along with the creative set design by Bo Welch, further showcased Burton's unique approach."

By the end of his rant, Spencer had expected you to have been completely focused on anything else, but your eyes were trained on him, a small sparkle flickering in them.

"Spence, how do you know do much about Beetlejuice? You haven't even seen it before." you'd chuckled.

"I think Tim Burton is an interesting director. Maybe we could, uh, see it together sometime? If you want, of course." Spencer awkwardly fiddled with his fingers, the suggestion of the two of you hanging out outside of the work settle rattling his nerves.

You had given him a big smile, beneath your dark clothes and makeup was a heart of white and gold, a truly captivating soul. "I'd love to, Spencer! I own it, so you can come over whenever."

"Whenever sounds good," Spencer paused, thinking about what he had just said. "I mean, Thursday?"

"Thursday it is, boy genius." That name was usually reserved for making fun of Spencer, but the way you said it actually made his heart flutter.

Spencer would've never guessed that the girl, clad in dark clothing, the complete opposite of his own aesthetic, would be interested in hanging out with him. Then, it happened. And it happened again, and again, until you became friends.

Your friendship with the doctor grew. As you got closer, Spencer began to identify your fears and your tells. You played with your hair when you were nervous, bit the skin of your fingernails when you were anxious, tapped your foot or bounced your leg when you were impatient. He began to understand you on a deeper level.

It began to be the same for you. You knew his likes, dislikes, fears and worries. You understood his struggles with his mother and father, how sometimes this job didn't feel like enough until he made a true difference in someone's life.

Spencer Reid and you had connected in nearly a cosmic level, and that began to scare you.

It was two and a half years after Spencer had met you when he realized he had been falling in love with you for nearly a year. His small crush had grown exponentially. After Haley Hotchner's death, you'd taken in Jack for several days while Hotch planned the funeral and began to clean the house from the murders. Jack had taken to you quickly; he'd gone as far as to call you his favorite aunt.

Seeing the level of compassion and helpfulness you had displayed for Hotch made Spencer begin to realize that your friendship was beginning to move to the next level for him.

He began to think of you night and day, wondering what you were doing, how you were doing, what your plans were. He wanted to be with you, to feel your skin, linger in your existence. It wasn't until JJ had explained to him that that feeling he felt was love that he began to understand that you were in no place for him to admit his feelings.

Spencer never meant to profile anyone unless he was working, but he found it hard to not with you. He noticed your lack of dating, how even when you had the chance, you evaded it. He noticed your disdain to the notion of true love, or love at first sight, or even soulmates. It didn't take him long to piece together that it wasn't a hatred of love, no, it was a fear of it. However, he could never understand the why of the fear.

Now, you and Spencer had met five years ago. You'd both physically changed in looks over the time, but your friendship only remained and grew passionately stronger.

After the death of Emily, and finding out she didn't really die, Spencer had you as his rock. You grieved together, to the point that for three weeks, you lived with Spencer in his apartment. After you'd left, Spencer realized that he couldn't live without you anymore.

Spencer and you sat on his couch, the cold September month made you crave an early Halloween movie. So, Spencer put on his own copy of Beetlejuice he bought a few years back. The soft glow of the lamp cast warm shadows across the room, and the faint scent of popcorn lingered in the air. You could hear the distant hum of the city outside, blending with the soft rustling of the movie’s soundtrack.

"I like Adam and Barbara," Spencer hummed as he watched the screen. "They make a really good couple."

You nodded, "I guess they do,"

Spencer's brows furrowed at your words. "You don't sound convinced."

"I don't know," You shrugged, sitting up and crossing your legs. "He's sort of controlling over her. It's just too much, she's a strong woman."

"You mean he's protective over her in the afterlife filled with dead people they didn't even knew existed?" Spencer raised a brow, turning to you. "I'm pretty sure that's relatively normal."

Turning your attention back to the screen, you replied, "I guess so,"

Spencer sighed, finally deciding to ask you the question he'd been avoiding for too many years now. "Why are you so scared of love?"

His question made you turn back to him, a confused look on your face. "What?"

"You're so pessimistic about it. You always avoid dating, talking about it, anything to even do with love." Spencer explained. "I'm just curious, why?"

"Because, there is no way love that strong exists." You concluded, folding your arms over your chest. "That's why it's all in the movies. It's fake for a reason."

Spencer nearly chuckled at your words, finding himself in disbelief. Sure, he didn't really believe in soulmates, but he definitely believed in love. "Sure love exists," Spencer said. "True love has to come from somewhere to be spoken about. It's why its so deeply rooted into art and literature. Plus, with the psychological evidence of--"

"Okay, okay," You put your hands up in mock surrender. "I believe you, Spence." You'd never cut off one of his rants before.

"This bothers you," Spencer noted, his arms mocking your previous stance as they folded over his chest. "Why does this bother you so much, what aren't you telling me?"

You let out a huff of air in reply, your defences kicking into full gear. "Why do you care so much?"

Spencer stuttered over his words, “Uh- because it clearly affects you! It’s not hard to notice your dislike of it, and I want to know.” Spencer defended. He could see it in your eyes, though. You were too good of a profiler to not know he was lying through his teeth.

“The real reason?” You sharply replied, hating that Spencer was lying.

“Because I’m in love with you,” Spencer’s voice was filled with desperation. “Here you are, constantly belittling the idea of love when that’s all I want to give to you, and I don’t understand why.”

His words cut you like a knife. You hadn’t expected him to say that, let alone feel it. It almost made you feel guilty. “No one has ever understood me, Spencer. I don’t want to settle for just anyone who will pretend for their whole life that they know me when deep down they will never be able to understand who I am, what I need.”

“You think I don’t?” Spencer challenged. He tried not to feel offended at your words, truly. Yet they hit him like a slap to the face. He felt like he understood you.

“Okay, prove it then.”

Spencer was ready for this, “Your least favorite cases involve those with divorced parents. Not because of the affect on their children, but the affect it takes on them. You hate to see when it hurts one of them, or both.” Spencer’s first claim was true, and it caught you off guard. “You hate anything with a pumpkin scent, however, you enjoy real pumpkins because of their look rather than their scent. You bite your lip, tap your foot, shake your leg, all when you feel negatively.”

“Anyone could profile that,” You weakly replied, feeling thrown off at Spencer’s careful acknowledgment of your little tells.

“Are you afraid of love because no one will ever understand you, or because you’re scared you’ll never find someone who will.” Spencer finished. He watched as your mouth opened and closed, the words not quite making it out. “I see you, I hear you. My favorite thing is when you tell me things about yourself, your day, your feelings. Any day without you is a bad day and any day with you is a good one.”

Spencer’s words left your heart beating faster in your chest as you began to realize this is what you were looking for all along, but your own fear that you would never find it blind sighted you to the truth. The truth that Spencer Walter Reid was in love with you.

Spencer often recalled his own struggles with relationships, remembering the long hours he spent studying while his peers socialized. With him being so much younger, he had no way to truly connect with them. The sense of isolation he felt growing up made him cherish the connections he built later in life, driving him to seek genuine understanding and affection. On the other hand, your own problems with family and bad relationships drove you to hold a near-resentful feeling to love. It made you feel like it was something you could never have. That was something Spencer was beginning to see from your perspective.

"Please," Spencer's voice was softer, more vulnerable as his eyes pleaded with you. "say something."

"I'm sorry," you breathed. For a moment, Spencer thought you were about to reject him, until he saw the glistening tears form in your eyes. "I-I should've known sooner."

Spencer nearly chuckled, "I didn't want to make it too obvious."

"Spencer?" you asked.

"Yeah?" he replied.

"Why do you love me?"

Your question made his heart nearly crack at the raw fragility your tone held. All he wanted to do was to take you into his arms and sing you sweet nothings until you believed him, but right now that wasn't an option. "I love you because you're unapologetically you," Spencer's reply made you finally lock eyes with him. "You're so sweet and kind, you never try to hide the things you like and dislike. You're so bold and brave. You make me feel so alive, so wanted. Every moment with you is a reminder of how extraordinary it is to be around someone who radiates such genuine warmth and enthusiasm."

"You really love me?" Your voice felt meek in comparison to how your normal assertiveness and bravato sounded. Your heart felt three times bigger in your chest as a tear dared to slip down your cheek.

Before it could even leave your eye, Spencer brought his sleeve over his hand and soaked it up gently with the cuff. "I love you with every part of me."

"I think I want to love you, too." you admitted. It felt hard to say those words, to finally give into your darkest, most vulnerable desire of unwavering love.

"Even with your fears, you're beautiful." Spencer softly reached to graze your cheek. "This, your fears, nothing could ever scare me. I'll teach you to let me love you if I need to."

"That better be a promise," you slightly chuckled, holding your pinky out to the man.

Spencer smiled, locking his pinky with your own, "It's a promise."

As you held Spencer’s pinky in your own, a sense of peace settled over you. The weight of your fears began to lift, replaced by a tentative hope. "Maybe love isn’t as impossible for me as I thought," You whispered, reaching out to hold his hand. Spencer’s smile was both a promise and a comfort, signaling the beginning of a new chapter in your lives.

[writersdrug]

Please continue to write literally anything for konig, I’m having the worst work week of my life and your fics always sustain me! I just finished chapter 13 and I almost cried because I realised I’d have to wait for more to come out 😔 this isn’t really a request or question just encouragement!!!

I don't have much queued up for König besides I Don't Need You, but here are some headcannons I have!! Also I'm sorry your work week was bad, let König cheer you up

NSFW at the end

We all know he would love to go on rants bout knives, guns, history, etc. But I also imagine that if you tried to chime in with your own, semi-relatable topic he'd glare at you and say "I wasn't finished," before continuing on his schpeel. He's not trying to be mean, he just has to tell you about Richard the third and how he definitely killed the two princes in the tower.

If you ask if the two of you can get a cat, he comes home the next day with one - but he didn't go to the pet store, or a shelter. He went to the restaraunt you always drag him to and waited by the dumpster with a can of tuna. Caught the scruffy thing and brought it to you, tucked under an arm with a big smile on his face.

He had to help you bathe the spitting kitten, poor baby was covered in fleas.

This man unironically adores the bucket of chicken you can get from KFC. Just a pail of chicken all for himself.

If you're out shopping or really anywhere where you take the lead, people are always asking if you're ok - "That man looks like he's following you," they whisper, "do you need me to get someone to walk you out?"

It's just König, standing behind you in a balaclava, hands in his pockets and dark clothing. Just 👁👁

Goes for an hour-long run at 4 am every morning, comes home to shower, then crawls back in bed with you to sleep until you have to go to work.

His phone screen is probably gross. Lock screen is you, doing your makeup and wearing a stunning dress for date night, unaware of König lurking in the doorway for a photo; background is the poster for Lord of the Rings: Return of the King

This man is known as a terror among door salesmen. They're just trying to get him to buy their services for cleaning gutters and he's dragging them to the backyard to show them how he cleans it himself, talking to them for an hour about how you don't need to hire someone to do "simple work"

He plays D&D with other veterans every Thursday night - you both usually host at your house, and he gives you an appreciative smile/pat when you come through with more drinks.

(Based on a tiktok) he once came in through the back door, standing in the dining room awkwardly as he watched you sort through the mail. He stared at you with a blank expression, until you finally looked back at him. "What's wrong, baby?"

He then slapped a lizard on the table, making you scream and throw a pile of mail at the thing as it scurried across the wood. He laughed for a good thirty minutes.

When he's sick, he tries to get away with downing a shot of Everclear and moving on with his day. "Alcohol kills bacteria, no?" (You'll have none of that nonsense, and he's not complaining when you dote on him and hand-feed him soup.)

If you're in the shower, he's in the shower. Doesn't matter if he had one an hour ago.

If you have a child, he loves to gaslight them (especially in their elementary years). Agrees to play Princess with them, but then proceeds to say that he's the Princess.

"I'm always the Princess!"

"Nein, you said I could be this time!"

"No I didn't!"

"Well I'm the Princess, so I make the rules."

Believes eating your pussy will make you feel better in any situation (sometimes it does). Bad day at work? He's kneeling in front of you and telling you to flip your skirt up. Cramps? Orgasms are the best remedy, schatz. Your tomatoes aren't growing well this year? Ah, shucks. Let him eat you out.

Anyways this is bleh but hope this helps!!

[tradgedyinwaves]

Touch - Ch. 5

Poly!141 x chunky!reader tw: little stalkerish at the end

Sunday Morning. 

You woke the next day to a bouquet of white lilies of the valley and yellow roses from Price for his “ungentlemanly actions” the night before and you found yourself immediately forgiving him. It was nice to know that despite what Kit had said, you were desired by someone. And how could you hold that against John? 

🪻: I suppose I forgive you. 🥃: How magnanimous of you, little bird. Does this mean I can expect a second date? 🪻: I guess. :P 

Your phone was now constantly blowing up with messages from Johnny and Price. And then Kyle was added, asking for your number from Price who’d asked you and you’d given your permission. You didn’t know what was going on. This time last year, you couldn’t get your husband to even look at you and now three very, very attractive British S.A.S members were clambering over each other for your attention. You didn’t know what they saw in you, but you weren’t going to complain. Eventually, the four of you ended up in a group chat when both Johnny and Kyle decided they wanted to take you out too. 

🪻: Alright. Do you guys even know the others have asked me out? Cause while I’m not complaining, ya’ll are friends.  🧼: Aw Petal. Just a wee competition between mates. 🥃: They’re just worried that I snagged you first, little bird.  👀: Excuse you. We’re giving her options for when she decides she doesn’t want you, old man.  🥃: Kyle, I am barely 10 years older than you. That doesn’t make me elderly. 🪻: -grabs popcorn- This is entertaining. I’ve never had men fight over me before. 🧼: Just you wait, they get worse than this.

And it did.

On Monday, Kyle showed up at your job and insisted on taking you out for lunch, his treat of course.

On Tuesday, Johnny brought flowers to you AND your boss who immediately told you that he was the one to pick. 

On Wednesday, Price picked you up from work and took you to a little bookstore, buying anything you even glanced at.

On Thursday, no one showed up to dote on you and despite numerous messages, no one replied to you.

On Friday, you received a single message from each of them.

🥃: Being deployed. Be safe, little bird. We’ll be thinking of you.  🧼: Heading out for a mission, petal. We’ll miss you. 👀: Will be gone for a bit, dove. Don’t miss us too much. 

On Saturday, you tried to find something to do all day besides checking your phone every five minutes. 

On Sunday, you visited Magda.

When you finally received a text from Price two weeks later, telling you they were home safe and inviting you over, you felt a weight lift from your shoulders. You’d missed them terribly and were eager to see each of them. So after work on Friday, you rushed home, changed into some leggings and an oversized sweater and headed to the address you’d been sent. 

Pressing the buzzer, they let you in and when the door to their flat opened, Price was standing there with a warm smile. Your arms wrapped around his waist immediately, feeling his thick arms coming to envelop you while he kicked the door closed. 

“Aye, lass. He the only one that gets a hug?” Johnny asked as he rose from the couch, opening his arms with a laugh. “Johnny!” You instantly released Price and launched yourself into Johnny’s arms, hugging him just as tightly. He smelled fresh, like he’d just gotten out of the shower and you breathed in the clean scent of him. 

You felt Kyle wrap his arms around both you and Johnny, pressing against your back and sandwiching you between the two. If you thought it was weird that the three guys you were dating lived together, you didn’t say anything.

A few minutes later, you were tucked into the corner of the couch with a steaming cup of tea while you watched Johnny and Price interacting in the kitchen. It wasn’t lost on you how Price’s hand rested on the small of Johnny’s back or the way Johnny’s eyes softened when he looked at Price. You thought to ask Kyle who was taking up the other corner of the couch, but then you caught him gazing over at the other two wistfully and you felt a little like a fourth wheel. 

A door slid shut somewhere down the hall and it startled you before your gaze slid to Kyle with a raised brow. “I assume that’s Simon?” you asked, nodding your head to gesture down the hall. “Yeah, he’s not much of a people person, but he’ll warm up to you the more you’re around,” Johnny replied instead, making you look at him where he came to sit between you and Kyle. “You make it sound like I’m going to be over here a lot,” you replied with a raise of your brow. 

“Well, we’d like ya to be,” Kyle answered this time, a warm smile on his pretty face. But it felt like there was something that wasn’t being said and it put you on edge. Price could feel your apprehension as he went to sit in his armchair, noticing it on the edges of your eyes and the way you straightened up in your seat. “You look like you’re about to spring out of your seat, birdie. What’s going through your head?” Price questioned, tilting his head slightly while his eyes studied you. 

You froze at his words. You didn’t think you’d been that obvious with your discomfort, but Price had a keen eye and didn’t miss much. “I feel like there’s something I’m missing here,” you theorized, staring into your cup of tea like it was the most interesting thing in the room. Price pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, standing from his chair to sit on the coffee table in front of you. Your eyes widened when your gaze lifted to meet his sparkling blue eyes, feeling as though he was about to tell you that they no longer felt the same and you needed to leave. 

“When you work as closely with a team as we do, things…develop,” Price watched you with trepidation while you nodded, urging him to continue. “The four of us, myself, Johnny, Kyle, and Simon, we’re a team in more ways than one,” Price paused, seeing if he needed to clarify any further. You stared at him for a moment, letting his words process in your head.

“So you’re all like together together?” You clarified, bringing your cup to your lips and sipping, using the moment to gather your thoughts. “Aye, petal, we are,” Johnny replied, reaching over to pat your calf. “So what am I doing here?” you asked, trying to figure out where you fit into this with their doting and dates. Kyle’s laugh was light and airy as he moved to sit next to Price on the coffee table. “We were hoping you’d join us, dove. Don’t worry about Si. He knows what’s going on,” Kyle explained, looking at you with those dark, hopeful eyes. 

Who were you to deny these men? They’d treated you better in the weeks you’d known them than anyone else ever had and there was no question about your safety with them. “I don’t know how to do this,” You stated, hand coming out to gesture between the four of you. “I barely know how to date one person, let alone three,” you continued, feeling the shame of your past settling into your chest. 

Johnny’s hand on your calf squeezed and he flashed you a lopsided smile. “We can figure it out, together, if you want?” He offered, hope filling those cerulean hues of his. You looked between each of them, quiet as your mind swirled with questions. The most prominent being the fourth man in the equation, Simon, but you couldn’t be assed to worry about him right now. If they say he knows and would warm up eventually, you believed them. 

“Okay,” you stated, a soft smile on your lips as the boys processed your single word response. The first to react was Johnny, leaping across the couch to smother you in a bear hug while he buried his face in your hair. Price, always the mother of the group, snatched your tea cup before Johnny crushed you, setting it off to the side before pulling Kyle into his side with a wide smile. 

When you left that night, you felt at ease and dare you say it, happy. You were blessed with three men who doted on you, cared for you, treated you as if you were the world to them. Humming a little tune, you entered your apartment and immediately noticed something was different. You checked every nook and cranny, double checking the locks on the windows and even checked the door handle for pick marks. Everything looked right and instead of calling one of the boys, you sighed and shook it off, telling yourself you were imagining it. 

“Si, you’re going to have to face her at some point. She’s going to be around a lot more now,” Johnny chided while the two laid in bed. “I know, Soap, but she’s not ready,” Simon countered, staring up at the ceiling with an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth. “Are you sure it’s not you who isn’t ready?” Johnny asked, propping himself up on his elbow and looking down at the behemoth of a man next to him. Simon just grunted and slipped from the bed just to shove the window open and light the cigarette. 

“What are you scared of?” Johnny asked as he joined Simon at the window, both of them looking down over the street below. “I just don’t want her to think I’m stalking her or something. It was over six months ago and I suddenly show up again? Not likely. I was lucky to even see her again.” Simon had never been an optimist. And that wasn’t likely to change any time soon, so Johnny let it lie as he rested his head against the man’s shoulder. 

On the roof across from your building, your shadow stood with his skull mask in place. Watching. Waiting.

Uh oh. Reader may be too happy. Hope nothing happens to her.

Thank you so much to everyone who is liking and reblogging this story! I appreciate every single one of you!

[bullet-prooflove]

Check In: Leroy Jethro Gibbs x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @riley-kore @ilovemark1951 @love-affair-with-fandoms @mishkatelwarriorgoddess

Companion piece to:

The Ice Queen - Gibbs meets The Ice Queen for the first time.

Break The Ice - A act of decency helps Gibbs to break the ice.

Umbrella - Gibbs gets more than he bargained for when he offers you his umbrella.

Grave - You and Gibbs bump into each other in an unexpected place.

Safe - You and Gibbs work through your grief in different wa

After the pager message the night before Gibbs makes the point of seeking you out the next day. He tries to be covert about it, pretending he’s picking up some files for Franks but you see through it the instant he steps into your workspace.

“I’m fine Gibbs.” You state as you continue to write down your notes on the clipboard clasped between your hands. The autopsy you’ve recently completed has been tidied away but the instruments are there, glistening in the light, waiting to be cleaned.

His cursory overview of you indicates that you are fine after last night’s activities. There’s no bruises that he can see, no change to your affect. The tension in your shoulders is now absent, your mood improved. He might be concerned about the method in which you defuse your frustration but he can’t refute it.

“I just wanted to make sure.” He tells you, his palm rubbing over the nape of his neck. “You’re one of the few people I’d count as a friend-”

“And it wouldn’t do if I’d ended up murdered by one of the men I’d taken home.” You remark, your gaze flickering up to meet his. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

What he’s come to understand during the time the two of you have spent together is that no one has worried about you for a long time, not since your sister died. Your parents are long gone, killed an accident during medical school and your friends had drifted away after Violet’s death because they didn’t understand your grief, the emotions that come with it.

“But I do.” He tells you, maintaining eye contact. “And that doesn’t stop when I go home at night.”

You look away then, hugging the clipboard to your chest as if it were a barrier between the two of you. You don’t let people get close, you don’t let them care for you. It’s a lonely existence, one that he understands acutely.

“I don’t need that from you.” You tell him.

And he reads the message loud and clear. You don’t need that from anyone. It’s a defensive response because things are changing in your life, the Thursday night catch ups, the walking you home, his concern about your safety, you aren’t used to those things. So you react like this, with cynicism because you’ve been taught that everything comes with an ulterior motive.

“I know you don’t need it.” He tells you, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “But it’s kind of a prerequisite when you care about somebody, when you spend time with them, tell them your secrets.”

You don’t know how to process that, he can tell from the way your grip tightens on the clipboard. He understands that he’s being too much right now, that this is overwhelming for you so he retreats because the last thing he wants is to make you feel uncomfortable.

“Look I just wanted to check in on you.” He says quietly. “That’s all and now that I can see you’re ok, I’ll just go about my day, completing paperwork and ignoring the printer.”

He turns towards the door, pausing as he hears his name leave your lips like a sigh.

“Jethro…” You say and he tilts his head towards you with an inquiring look. “Maybe we make that a thing, me paging you after I take someone home.”

He knows that you’re thinking about what happened to your sister. The type of crime, the horror of it. She did everything right and she still ended up brutalised. With your risk taking behaviour, the odds of something similar or worse happening to you increase exponentially. He understands that right now, that’s not something you can stop and he would never ask you to but you can put measures in place, fail safes as it were.

“Call, page, carrier pigeon, whatever it is I don’t care.” He says finally. “Just know if you need me I’m there, anytime, day or night.”

Love Gibbs? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

A FRESH START [22]

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Warnings: panic attack, trauma reaction, mentions of injuries, nonsexual nudity

Word Count: 5,935

Updates every Thursday

Summary: When you made plans for your future they never involved being hired by a Mandalorian to baby-sit his adorable, green gremlin of a child. However, after your life fell apart in the span of one disastrous night, you found it to be the only feasible option you had left. Nevarro was a far cry from Coruscant, but the thriving community turned out to be exactly what you needed. Every day you spend in Nevarro you fall more and more in love with your new life, but when your past rears its ugly head you find that perhaps peace wasn’t meant for everyone.

[a/n: i was forced to shorten the taglist for the sake of my sanity. tumblr won't let me post with more than certain number. I think that's why I've had the hardest time with this shit. I made it a first come, first served so if your username got dropped I am so so so sorry but that's why.]

#22: LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

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"i find my place in between your arms, in between your tender kisses and soft whispers of 'it will be alright', in between the warmth of your embrace, and the scent of your neck, and the fierceness of your touch, i find my place lost inside your soul." -Hearts and Empires

.

Din was immensely proud of your skills as a physician. However, if you didn’t get your ass out of the damn medic tent he was going to throw you over his shoulder and carry you home forcibly. More than anything, you needed rest. He wasn’t able to convince you to stop working and because the medical aid had yet to arrive no one else sided with him on these matters. Karga had the nerve to tell him to calm down. Din had nearly wrung the High Magistrate’s neck. 

He watched as you flittered around the medical tent aiding those who were injured alongside Aayla. Grogu had refused to leave your side, and that didn’t seem to bother you at all. Right now, as if you weren’t exhausted and barely standing, you had a sling wrapped around your chest which held Grogu against your back. Din could see the little boy resting his head against your back while rubbing your shoulder with his small hand. The sight warmed his heart and Din would be tempted to snap a picture to save if it weren’t for the state of your being. Your scrubs were still stained with blood and you had yet to clean your own wounds. It was stressing Din out to watch you working so hard when you were still in the state you were in.

While turning to see someone else, Din noticed you wavering on your feet. That was enough. He pushed forward and pressed through the injured crowd straight to you. “Hey.” You turned to meet his gaze. “It’s time to go home. You’re barely able to stand.”

“I can’t⏤”

“Ner kar’ta.” Din said firmly.

You sighed. “Alright. Fine.” Your shoulders sagged. “I guess I am a little tired.” Din shook his head, a quiet chuckle slipping from his lips. Your small smile turned sheepish and Din dreaded whatever it was you were going to say next. “I need to make sure Nima has cleared the tarmac though so the medical team can park.”

“What?”

“We need to get⏤”

Din reached his gloved hands out to cup your face. At the contact, the rest of your words fell away. He leaned forward and spoke firmly. “We’re going home. You need to rest. Somebody⏤ Anybody else can do the rest of the work here.” He let his thumb trace your cheekbone. Din wished he could feel your skin against his. “Have you managed all the emergency cases?”

“I mean, yeah, but⏤”

“Then it’s time to take care of yourself.” Din finished.

Your lips pressed together and gave him a small nod. Din let out a breath of relief. Without wasting another moment, Din slipped his hand into yours and began to drag you away before someone could distract you with a new job. Just having your hand in his was a comfort he couldn’t even begin to describe. During his travels, he imagined what his reunion with you would look like often. Never did he imagine karking pirates would be involved, but this feeling in his chest he had anticipated. He knew being back by your side would feel like coming home. In fact, he may have underestimated how strongly the reunion would make him feel⏤ which was quite the feat considering how badly he craved it.

Din stepped into the shared home and he couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief.

“Frog. Frog.” Grogu chirped. He turned in time to see you untangling the boy from the sling to set on the ground. Grogu bounded further into the room probably to look for his stuffed toy. 

Din focused back on you and his heart ached at the exhaustion painted on your face. Not wasting another moment, Din ripped off his gloves, tossing them aside, and reached out to cup your face. You let out a shuddering breath when his skin came in contact with his and Din felt that last tinge of stress leave his body. You were safe. It felt more real like this. 

“Are you still allowed to take this off to kiss me?” You asked. Din couldn’t tell if your quiet voice came from a meekness or just the weariness of your last 24 hours. 

“Yes.” Din chuckled. “We just need to be more careful.”

Technically speaking, it would be best if he didn’t take his helmet off anymore. Having you close your eyes was not the most ideal of plans. Accidents could happen, and more than anything it was just a loophole in his Creed. However, Din would give up vital organs before he gave up the gift and honor that was kissing you. 

You closed your eyes and Din lifted one of his hands so he could lightly trace your bruised and dirty features. He hummed, “You’re injured and tired. We should take care of that first.”

“Literally nothing is more important to me right now than this.” You replied.

Din hardly needed further convincing. Removing his hands from your face had been painful⏤ even knowing that it was only for a moment so he could take his helmet off. Without the barrier between you and him, your injuries looked worse. The dark coloring of the bruising and the red of the blood was so much more prominent. Din could see bags under your eyes he hadn’t noticed before. With a quiet sigh, Din cupped your face once more.

“Ni ceta.” Din mumbled soft apologies. He leaned in to press his lips first against your left eyelid then your right. He continued to pepper soft kisses across your cheek until they found your lips. Din would be a liar if he said he hadn’t spent every single night while gone imagining what your lips would feel like on his return. And, just as with the reunion, his mental image did not do the moment justice. Din had pictured passion and heat, a battle between one another to devour the other first, but this kiss was not that.

This kiss was soft, tender, and patient.

Three things that Din never got to call his own, living a life of battle in armor of Beskar.

Your lower lip was slotted between both of his and as he gave it a gentle tug you released a shaky sigh. The sound struck him like a hot iron and Din couldn’t help but breathe you in. He pulled you closer so your body was flush with his, let the tip of his tongue trace the shape of your lip, as he deepened the kiss. Din allowed desperation to seep into his very touch. It couldn’t be helped. Din was desperate. He was desperate to feel your very alive heartbeat under his touch. He was desperate for the warmth you exuded. He was desperate to show you how thankful he was for your safety. He was desperate for you to know how proud he was of you. He was desperate for you to know how sorry he was for not being here. 

Din was desperate, and it was all for you. 

“Ni ceta, ner kar’ta.” Din spoke directly against your lips. Nothing short of the Maker would tear him away from you. Your own hands lifted and when he felt your fingers rake against his scalp, tug on his hair, Din’s repeated apology fell out in a groan. Din dragged his lips along your jawline, taking the time to leave a kiss on every inch. Eventually, his lips found your neck and he left kisses over the darkened bruise there. “I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault.” You replied in a hoarse whimper. 

Din disagreed entirely. He should’ve been here. He never should have left your side. You flinched when his lips touched a spot more tender than the rest. It was barely noticeable. In fact, he wouldn’t have realized you flinched at all if it wasn’t for your body being pressed so tightly to his. It was enough to remind him that you still needed care and rest. Din pressed one last kiss against your lips⏤ innocent and loving. When he pulled back you let out a whine of complaints. Din reached down to grasp his helmet and pulled it back on.

He leaned forward to rest the beskar against your forehead and at the touch your eyes opened once more. More than anything, Din wanted to see the color of your eyes unhindered by his visor. Even with the helmet on he found your eyes mesmerizing but the visor always muted colors. It seemed fitting if he thought about it. Even with the loophole of taking his helmet off, with your eyes closed a part of you stayed hidden to him. Just as he was hidden to you.

“Let me take a look at your wounds.”

“No.” You said and Din furrowed his brow. As if reading his displeasure at the response, you shook your head and clarified. “I meant, not now. I want to take a shower first. I need to.”

Din found it hard to argue against that. You wouldn’t be able to fully relax until the day was washed from your skin. He nodded and walked you further into the house. He kept one hand on your lower back, and Din loved that you kept pace with him. It wasn’t as if you didn’t know where the bathroom was, but the action made it feel like you were just as desperate as he was to stay in the other’s presence.

Grogu waddled out of the hall, dragging his stuffed frog behind him, just as the two of them reached the mouth of the hallway. He held his hands up, chirping out a request to be held, and Din knelt down to scoop the boy up before you could. Grogu blew a raspberry at him. “No buir. Need Ma.”

“I know, ad’ika.” Din replied. “But Ma has to take a shower.”

Grogu grumbled in protest, but when you reached out to lovingly pet the boy’s head Grogu was marginally appeased. As you drifted to the bathroom, Din gathered a fresh towel for you and he also grabbed one of his shirts for you to change into. A decision made solely to relieve the itch in his brain that needed to see you safe in his bed wearing his clothes, but you accepted both items with a tired smile. 

When the door shut and he heard the water kick on, Din blew out a breath of relief. He glanced down at Grogu who was still staring at the bathroom door. “It’s good to be home, isn’t it ad’ika?”

“Home with Ma.” Grogu nodded in agreement.

“Right.” Din chuckled. “We’re home with Ma.”

The hot water pelted your back and left your skin radiating heat. You had washed your hair, begun to wash your body, but midway through you dropped the bottle of soap. As you knelt down to pick it up, you suddenly had a flash of kneeling beside Wynn’s dead body. It sucked the air straight from your lungs and knocked you to your ass. Now you sat under the unrelenting stream of water with your legs curled up to your chest⏤ gasping in distress. Any air you did manage to fill your lungs with was uncomfortable and brought no relief. It felt like you were suffocating. 

A choked sob left your lips as you buried your face in your arms as they rested atop your knees. No matter how much you tried to turn your tired mind off, it continued to ruminate on the decisions you made. If you hadn’t forced Wynn to leave, would she still be alive? She wanted to wait for help. You felt trapped in this memory. A loop of telling Wynn she needed to run followed by watching the life leave her eyes right in front of you. You could still feel the warmth of her hot blood while holding her wound⏤ still feel the snapping of her ribs during the course of your desperate CPR. All useless. You didn’t save her. You sent her to her death. 

The sensation of having a towel thrown over your shoulders was startling. Your head snapped up to see Din knelt beside you. The shower head was off, Din’s gray pajama shirt plastered to his body on the side from water, and just behind him you could see the bathroom door hanging off it’s hinges.

“Ner kar’ta.” Din’s voice was rough. “Please talk to me.”

“Din?” You gasped. He had the large towel wrapped entirely around your body covering every inch of you. “What⏤ I don’t understand⏤”

“I heard something fall. I called out for you, over and over, but you didn’t respond.” Din replied. His voice took a sheepish tone. “I⏤I broke through the door.” He let his arms run over the towel covering your arms, giving them a squeeze. “Found you like this. Even when I turned the water off you still didn’t…”

It was the sight of your reflection in his visor and helmet that seemed to push you over your edge. Tears welled in your eyes and once the first ragged sob left your lips it was followed quickly by a string of others. Despite the fact that you were sitting on a tiled floor soaked with puddles, Din sat down right beside you and cautiously pulled you into his arms. You tucked yourself against his chest, and he fully enveloped you with his arms while resting his head on top of yours.

“It’s okay. You’re safe.” Din murmured. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head. Your sobs only interrupted by the sound of your lungs gasping for air. Din tightened his arms around you, a feat you didn’t know was possible, and you found comfort in his solid form. Din was here. Din made everything better. You weren’t sure how long the two of you sat there, but eventually Din mumbled softly, “We need to get you dressed. You’ll be cold soon.” You didn’t tell him that you’d never feel cold in his hold. “Need to treat your wounds too.”

Din helped you stand. He cautiously led you out of the shower, arm around your torso, and he stopped you in front of the bathroom counter. “I’m going to get the first aid kit from the kitchen. Are you going to be alright?”

You nodded. Din paused, as if hesitant, before returning the nod and moving toward the door. He mumbled a curse under his breath, you could hear it, and then he grabbed the large chunks of the door that had broken off when he rammed it to set aside where nobody would trip over them. While he was out, you grabbed his shirt and tugged it on⏤ using the damp towel to try and pat dry the dripping ends of your hair. Din returned, his visor scanning your body, before he settled beside you again.

With a focused intensity, Din applied a bit of bacta to the wound at your hairline and then rubbed some of it into the bruise around your neck as well. In the midst of his work, you whispered, “Wynn is dead.” Din’s fingers paused in their motion, surprise reading in his frame, but he was quick to return his movements and stance back to baseline. “She’s dead and I didn’t tell anybody. I forgot to tell someone.” Tears returned to your eyes. “I just left her in the street, Din. I left her like she meant nothing.”

“Hey.” Din said firmly. “This was during the firefight, was it not?” You nodded in confirmation. “You had no choice, ner kar’ta. That wasn’t your fault.”

“I think it was.” Your words fell out a pained whisper.

Din’s hands lifted to cradle your face and you leaned into his touch. It felt like he wanted to say something, but he paused. Instead, Din tangled his hand with yours and pulled you out of the bathroom. He didn’t ask, didn’t even hesitate, to pull you into his room. The moment you entered you heard Grogu’s familiar snores and it was such a comforting sound to hear after weeks sleeping in silence that you nearly cried. Din pulled back the covers and helped you slide in.

Rather than follow you into bed, he took a step back and the look on your face must have been obvious enough that he reached out to caress your face. “I’m coming back. I need to change clothes.”

Your eyes focused on the large wet stains from where you had been curled up into him. Din crossed the room and your eyes widened and bit when he began to pull his shirt off. His movements were confident and it warmed your heart that he was comfortable enough with you to reveal himself like this. Your eyes trailed over the expanse of his muscular back⏤ admiring the rugged lines of his broad shoulders and the various scars that littered his skin. Din pulled a new shirt on and you expected him to come back. Instead, Din began to pull off his sweatpants. Slowly, you sat up, pulling the sheets closer to you, and you couldn’t help but let your eyes trace the shape of his lower half. You were blatantly ogling this man in his boxer briefs as he tugged on a new pair of sweats. Before turning back around, you saw him pick up his vambrace, pressing a few buttons, before setting it down once more.

Din turned around, tying the strings at his waistband, and he chuckled. His voice came out as teasing and light hearted. Clearly trying to put you at ease. “Are you checking me out, ner kar’ta?” 

“I missed you so much.” You replied. Too tired, physically and emotionally, to tease back the way that you wanted to. Instead, the truth tumbled out of your lips.

He came back around to the bed and slipped under the sheets. As Din’s arm wrapped around your waist, you let him pull you back into laying down. You shifted so your head rested on his chest and Din began to drag his knuckles up and down your spine. “I missed you too. Being away from you was unbearable for Grogu and I both.” Din hummed. “He tried to stay up for you, but passed out. Grogu didn’t sleep well last night. I think my anxiety kept him up.” Your hand was resting on his side⏤ fingers dragging up and down his ribs. You mumbled into his chest. Din’s hand, the one rubbing your back, trailed up to rake through your hair. “I want to talk.”

“About?” You mumbled.

“Ner kar’ta.”

You let out a soft chuckle. “Din…”

“You don’t have to talk to me, you don’t have to tell me anything, but…” Din sighed, “I’d like to know. I want to help.” He massaged the back of your neck right where it met your skull and all your tension sat. A soft sigh left your body as you relaxed in his arms. “I sent Karga a message about Wynn. They’re going to find her. Put her to rest.” You buried your face down into his chest knowing your tears would dampen his new shirt all over again. “I just want to help.”

After a few moments of peaceful silence where you listened to Grogu’s snores and Din’s heartbeat, you turned so your face wasn’t pressed into his chest and you could speak. Hesitantly, you began to tell him what happened⏤ starting with the bombs that fell on Nevarro and ending with Paz leading you out of the burning city as you carried Elodie. The entire time Din didn’t speak. He’d mumble an acknowledgement or hum here and there, but he made no comment. 

When you finished, Din finally spoke up, “Tell me why you said what you did. You said what happened to Wynn was your fault.”

“She didn’t want to go. She wanted to stay hidden and wait for help.” You closed your eyes tightly as the memory of Wynn’s lifeless eyes assaulted you once more. “If I had listened to her she might be alive. Help did come. I⏤I should have been more patient.”

“Ner kar’ta, you made that decision based on the limited information you had. You didn’t know I was coming and bringing help. Where the three of you were hidden wasn’t safe. If one of the pirates did discover you, you’d be pinned down in a hole.” Din spoke with a firmness that left no room for argument. “In that moment, you made the best decision you could. You made the right decision.” He used the arm not around you to grasp your chin and tilt your head up so you were facing his visor. “Listen to me, ner kar’ta. That was not your fault. You did not take Wynn’s life, she gave it to save Elodie. Wynn is a hero. Don’t take that from her by shouldering needless blame.”

There was something about the way Din spoke that resonated with you. His words calmed the turmoil in your soul. Din could repeat the same sentiment that anyone else would speak, but when it came from his lips it soothed your wounds like a salve. He couldn’t heal everything, there was self reflection only you could puzzle through, but he was a hand to hold as you waded through the worst of it.

“Din…” You started. Before you finished your sentence, it occurred to you that the words you wanted to say were significant. You wanted to tell Din you loved him. That’s what you felt right now. It was overwhelming. It was all encompassing. 

Din still had his hand at your chin and he let his large hand shift from your chin to your jaw. He held the side of your face and let his thumb trace patterns in your skin. “Yes, ner kar’ta?”

Saying those words felt like quite the leap. You were confident in the way you felt about him and how he felt about you, but there was a part of you that couldn’t quite push the words out. You were too mentally wiped out to process those thoughts right now. Not knowing how else to express how grateful you were for this man, you turned your face so you could press a kiss to the palm of his hand.

Din let out a content sigh and he shifted his body so you could rest more comfortably against him. He hummed and you heard the rumble of it in his chest. “Get some rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.” He went back to soothingly dragging his fingers up and down your spine. “I’ll always be here.”

You let your eyes close and took a slow breath as Din’s warmth and the comforting smell of him lulled you into the best sleep you’ve gotten since Din and Grogu left. 

Nevarro was in pieces. Rubble decorated the streets and buildings were in shambles. Despite how terrible it looked, Din couldn’t help but be proud of the citizens of the city he looked after. They were strong. Nevarro was already healing only days after the attack. Din walked down the street with Grogu in his arms. The boy was squirming, wanting to get down, but with the rubble and debris Din didn’t want him wandering around. As he walked down the street, every once in a while a person would pause to thank him for bringing help⏤ bringing the Mandalorians. Din would nod in response, but it would shoot a pang of guilt through his chest. He didn’t deserve thanks. He had left them after all.

Din’s steps slowed as he began to pass the school house. Outside of the building, a memorial had been set up for Wynn. Candles, flowers, and cards covered the front steps and Din found himself letting out a sigh. The school teacher was a hero. Din meant that seriously when he spoke to you. It hadn’t been your fault, absolutely not, and both you and Wynn were the reason Elodie was alive and well. Her and her parents were currently off world. The little girl needed more intensive care than could be provided here, but last Din heard the child was doing very well.

“Miss?” Grogu mumbled. Din recognized the title Grogu would call his teacher. 

“Yes, ad’ika.” Din confirmed. Grogu’s ears wilted as he stared at the memorial. Din rubbed Grogu’s back and began to walk again with the goal to reach the clinic. You had left home early to go to work. You’d be there for any emergencies, per the norm, but you were also using today to see many of the people who were injured the day of for follow up. To ensure everyone was healing as they should. Din was of the opinion that you needed more rest, if not physical then mental, but trying to convince you of that was a near impossibility.

When Din reached the corner, Bo Katan pushed off a wall to join his pace. Her helmet was tucked under her arm. The Armorer had announced that the Mandalorians needed to come together rather than fall apart. It was a sentiment he could understand. Mayfeld had asked him about the helmet situation. Mandalorians coming together was a good idea, Din agreed, but coming to coincide with one another didn’t change the Creed he had dedicated himself to.

“Once this place gets cleaned up, I can see it being a nice place to live. To settle.” Bo hummed. Din nodded once, and she glanced his way. “I’m glad your partner is safe.”

“Thank you.” Din replied sincerely. 

“There is something I’d like to speak to you about.”

“I figured.” He said. “Does this have anything to do with retaking Mandalore?”

Bo chuckled, “Good guess.”

“What about it?”

“Well,” Bo kept by his side, “Is there anything I can say that will convince you to come with me to reclaim my fleet from Axe Woves?”

Din didn’t pause even a beat when he answered. “No. There isn’t.”

Bo sighed in annoyance and Din briefly felt guilt at the waves of frustration wafting off of Bo’s tense frame. Half of him felt like it was his duty to help in any way to restore Mandalore, but the other half could not even begin to fathom leaving you again. It occurred to Din that this might be selfish of him. His people needed him, right? He locked his jaw at the thought. 

“Your help would make this all go smoother, I think. We make a good team.” Bo said.

Din chuckled, “Did that hurt you to admit?”

“It did.” Bo smirked. “Which is why you should take it seriously.”

Din paused when the clinic came into view. He turned to face Bo and shook his head. “It’s not that I don’t want to help. Retaking Mandalore is a noble endeavor. One I would be honored to help in.” He paused. “But my family is here. I got lucky during that attack. I... I almost lost her.”

“I understand that.” Bo replied. “I know the weight of what I’m asking you, Djarin. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it was important.”

Din glanced back to the clinic and did a double take when he saw you coming out. A smile began to form on his features, but it fell when he watched Paz walk out behind her with Ragnar by his side. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You were wearing your white coat, a look Din truly loved on you, and Paz was chatting with you about something. Something that made you laugh in response. Since when was Paz funny? 

“Didn’t know you were the jealous kind, Djarin.” Bo chuckled.

Din snapped a glare at her. “I’m not jealous.”

“It’s all over your face.”

“I’m wearing a helmet.”

“Yet somehow I still know it is.”

Din grunted in mild annoyance. He wasn’t jealous. Per say.  It was just like with Vanth. Din was confident enough in his relationship with you, even as undefined as it currently was, that he wasn’t worried about someone sweeping you away. Din just had a bad habit of accidentally letting his possessive nature show and there was something about seeing his brother flirt with you that stirred him into wanting to fight.

Both you and Paz glanced down at Ragnar who must have been speaking and you set a hand on the boy’s shoulder with a smile. 

“Hm. They’d make a cute family.” Bo teased.

“Stop.” Din snapped.

He was caught off guard when Grogu jumped out of his arms. Him and Bo quickly followed after the boy who was in a mad rush toward you. Din watched as his son shoved past Ragnar, making the boy stumble enough that Din had a feeling the Force was involved, before leaping into your arms. 

“Oh, hey, baby.” You cooed.

“Ma. My Ma.” Grogu cuddled into your arms while shooting Ragnar a glare. 

Bo glanced at Din. “Aw. Like father, like son.”

Din wished he could take his helmet off just so Bo could see the full weight of the glare he currently wore. He continued forward until your eyes shot to him and the bright smile that filled your features just from spotting him. 

“What are you guys doing here?” You asked.

“Just checking in on you.” Din replied. Bo cleared her throat and Din sighed before nodding his head toward the woman standing beside him. “This is Bo Katan Kryze. Bo, this is Soran.”

You held your hand out to shake Bo’s hand and the red headed woman returned the greeting. Paz let one of his large hands settle on your shoulder and Din felt himself bristle at the motion. His older brother chuckled. “No need to worry. Wero’ika is doing more than fine.”

“Yeah, Paz brought me a late breakfast.” You chirped. 

Yeah, okay, Din was going to murder him.

“Oh, hang on,” You glanced over your shoulder, “I see a problem patient walking in. I’m not gonna subject Aayla to that.”

Din nodded once and you shot Bo and Paz a smile, squeezing Ragnar’s shoulder as well despite Grogu’s complaints, and then you turned to leave. As soon as you were inside the clinic, Din turned to Paz with a grunt. “Wero’ika? What the kriff is that?”

“A nickname, Djarin.”

“Mir’sheb.” Din snarled and Paz laughed in response. Ragnar tugged on his father’s arm before pointing off to the side. Paz nodded, telling him to be cautious, before the boy ran off to play with a group of kids down the street.

Bo chuckled. “I didn’t realize this was the beginning of a love triangle. Interesting.”

“It isn’t.” Din said.

Paz tilted his head and crossed his arms. “I’m unaware of Soran being in possession of a token of intention.”

“I’m working on it.” Din said through clenched teeth.

“Perhaps, I’ll work on it faster.”

Din knew Paz was just trying to get under his skin. Part of his frustration was the fact that it was working. His hands drifted to rest on his hips as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. Paz was smug. Din had known him long enough to recognize the set of his shoulders. 

“I’m⏤” Din began then cleared his throat. “I’m giving her time.”

“You’re wasting her time.” Paz argued with a chuckle. “Wero’ika⏤”

“Don’t call her that like you know her.” Din cut in. “A lot just happened. I’m not going to rush her into anything.”

He glanced from Paz to Bo then back to Paz. Din gave the man a gruff good-bye before pushing past the two of them to head into the clinic. He greeted Miriam at the front desk. Before he could cross the threshold into the main room, the young woman caught his attention and let him know that you were down the hall instead. Din furrowed his brow in confusion, but walked down to find you sitting in the break room snipping the sutures off a patient’s wound.

“Marshal.” The patient greeted with a nod that Din returned.

Grogu was playing with a latex glove on the counter while you worked. You shot him a smile before focusing back on your work. Din settled beside his son, leaning against the counter, and just admired you with a sense of calm. He wondered if Paz was right. Not a line he’d ever say out loud, but Din wondered if he was just finding another excuse to hide behind. He wasn’t sure what he was so afraid of. You’ve made your interest in him very clear, the two of you shared a bond like he’d never experienced before, but still he hesitated.

“Alright, it looks good. No need to restrict yourself, but if it starts bothering you again just let me know.” You smiled. The patient thanked you, gave him a final good-bye, then left. You wandered over to where he stood with Grogu and began to wash your hands in the sink. “Hey, so your brother seems cool.”

Din grunted. “Who Paz?”

“Yeah.” You turned the faucet off and grabbed a few paper towels. “I thought he might not like me because I yelled at him during the battle.” Din’s eyes widened. He’d have to ask about that. “But instead I think I accidentally earned his respect? Also, what does ‘wero’ika’ mean?”

Din chuckled. “Little Problem.”

Your jaw fell open. “He’s been calling me a little problem this entire time?” Din nodded. “Son of a bitch. I’m gonna need you to teach me something amusing and mildly rude to call him in return.”

“Oh, I can think of some names for him.” Din replied. He cleared his throat. “I, uh, wanted to talk to you about something, but don’t feel any pressure with this, alright?” You quirked an eyebrow at him. Your eyes briefly glanced at Grogu and you shot your hand out to snatch the latex glove from Grogu’s mouth and wagged a finger at him. “I left to redeem myself. To restore my Creed with the plans to…” Din shifted awkwardly. “To court you.” The corner of your lips curled up. “I know a lot has happened recently, so again there is no pressure here, but I wanted to…make my intentions known.”

You reached out and wrapped your hand above his elbow, between his armor plates, and gave it a small squeeze. “Din, I appreciate your patience and concern, but I⏤ I want this. I want you.” He sucked in a sharp breath. “So, just tell me how we do this. How does Mandalorian courting work? Do I sign on the dotted line or…?”

Din laughed, in part due to relief, “No. Nothing like that. I have…” He reached to the back of his belt to unhook the blade and sheath that was once his. Din brought it around to hold out to you and you stared at the blade curiously. “In Mandalorian custom, a token of intention is given to the person being courted and to accept it means accepting those advances.” Din cleared his throat again. Maker, his mouth was dry. “Tokens are usually a weapon with the person’s signet on it.”

He pulled the blade out of the sheath enough that you were able to see the mudhorn etched into the blade’s side. Din tucked the blade back into the sheath and gave you a small nod. With a bright smile, you took the blade from his hands and he felt like his heart was going to explode in his chest watching you run your finger against the mudhorn.

You held the blade against your chest and nodded. “I accept, Mandalorian.”

Grogu began to clap his hands together and you broke out into laughter that relaxed every single bone and muscle in his body. The only regret Din had was not doing this at home where he could pull his helmet off and kiss you.

mando'a translations:

ni ceta: sorry wero'ika: little problem ner kar'ta: my heart mir'sheb: smartass

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[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Napoleonville [Chapter 5: The Haunted House]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, smoking, drinking, drugs, infidelity, kids, parenthood, Adventures With Aegon, Targ family dysfunction, bodily injury, no Willis this time yay!!! 🥳

Word Count: 7.3k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @toodlesxcuddles @era127 @at-a-rax-ia @0eessirk8 @arcielee @dd122004dd @humanpurposes @taredhunter @tinykryptonitewerewolf @partnerincrime0 @dr-aegon @persephonerinyes @namelesslosers @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @daenysx @gemini-mama @chattylurker @moonlightfoxx @huramuna @britt-mf @myspotofcraziness @padfooteyes @aemonddtargaryen @trifoliumviridi @joliettes @darkenchantress @florent1s @babyblue711 @minttea07 @libroparaiso @bluerskiees @herfantasyworldd @elizarbell @urmomsgirlfriend1 @fudge13 @strangersunghoon

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Every house is haunted, not just by phantoms of the past but by the ghosts of what could have been. They live in shadows, in doorways, in the periphery of your vision; you walk through them like smoke or mist. Their blood—pooled and pulseless—is a cold spot in a sweltering room, their fingerprints are the woodgrain swirls of floorboards. If you listen closely, you can hear them at night in the chorus of the cicadas and the owls and the wet westbound wind. They whisper questions you’ve never been able to answer: Have I made the right choices? Have I done the best I could? Is love a myth or does it only exist for other people? Am I a prisoner of the past or the future or myself? Why have I never been chosen?

In the bathtub, you stare at the pale blue walls veined with cracks like the legs of a spider. On the tree swing in the front yard—here long before you moved in, inherited from the effort and care of another family’s hands—you skim your bare feet over emerald blades of grass and watch the lightning bugs appear at dusk. In Cadi’s room, you play the Nintendo when she asks and try to forget who gave it to her; and when she asks about Aemond, you say he’s busy with work, because how else can you explain his absence to a child? In the kitchen, you break eggs into glass bowls of vanilla, sugar, flour, butter, baking powder, but you keep getting pieces of shell in the mix, something that almost never happens anymore. You snap, grab an egg, pitch it against the refrigerator where it explodes into calcium carbonate shrapnel and sterile yellow gore.

Amir looks up, startled. Behind his rectangular tortoiseshell glasses, his eyes dart between you and the viscera that stains the refrigerator door. At last he says softly, seriously: “What is it you liked so much about him?” Implicit in this statement are others: You’ve never liked a man this much. You’ll never see Aemond again.

You study your palms, tools of creation, tools that destroy. “I spend every second of my life consumed by responsibilities. The house, the car, the bakery, the bills, Cadi, Willis, myself, even you. There’s no one to tell me what the right thing to do is. There’s no one who can carry the weight for me. I can’t show it when I’m tired or frustrated or scared. And so to have someone who—even for an hour, even for fifteen minutes—could take care of me, and make all the decisions, and convince me to trust him…it’s the closest I ever get to being at peace.”

Amir gives you a sad, vanishingly small smile. “I’m so sorry.”

“Me too.” And you wet a dishcloth so you can begin to clean up your mess.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Thursday, and you’re coming home after delivering cakes for a birthday party down in Thibodaux. Your car radio is blaring Message In A Bottle by The Police. When you roll into the gravel driveway, the red Audi Quattro is waiting for you: parked right beside the house, like he belongs here, like he owns it. You throw open the door of your Chevy Celebrity and rage up the sloping, groaning steps of the front porch.

The first thing that hits you is the cold. There is an ambient humming, a chill that raises goosebumps on your bare arms. When you rush to the kitchen, you find an air conditioning unit in one of the windows, a metal box that turns the Fall-Down House into a tundra. They’re sitting at the hastily-cleared counter: Aemond leafing through the ledger book containing the financial records for the bakery, Amir beside him sipping a glass of sweet tea. Aemond glances up at you and then back down at the pale green pages, the lines of his face intense, focused. Amir greets you with a nervous titter, hiding behind his sweet tea. Ice jangles in the glass.

“What the fuck is that?”

“Our new air conditioner!” Amir says, overjoyed. “The customers are going to love it. No more waiting around in a stifling kitchen. You know how miserable it gets in here during the summer. We won’t be able to get rid of them! They’ll be purchasing cupcakes by the dozen just to have an excuse to get out of the heat!”

Aemond is still scrutinizing the ledger. “Why aren’t you buying in bulk?” he asks Amir. “The shelf life on things like sugar and flour has got to be six months at least.”

“We don’t have the liquid capital. We can’t spend cash if we don’t have cash.”

“And all these business expenses—mixers, coolers, pans, blenders, knives, the gas you burn when you make deliveries, the water you use to wash dishes—those are all tax write-offs, right?”

Amir hesitates. Aemond is aghast, his eyebrows shooting up into the blonde hair that shags over his forehead. The strands are damp with sweat and curling at the edges; he’s been working hard. He’s the one who heaved the air conditioner up onto the window ledge. His Marlboro jacket is draped over the back of his barstool. He’s wearing jeans, a black MTV t-shirt, and his Adidas sneakers.

“Please tell me you haven’t been paying income tax on money you aren’t actually keeping.”

“I didn’t know what we were allowed to write off, I was petrified to make a mistake! I don’t want to end up in Rikers!”

“They don’t put people in Rikers for tax evasion. You’d only go to minimum security.”

Amir rolls his eyes. “Well now you’ve convinced me.”

You are betrayed, furious. “You’re showing him the book?”

“He’s very bossy,” Amir says, slurping his sweet tea. “As you know.”

Aemond asks you, making notes on a legal pad he’s commandeered: “Do you have an IRA?”

“A what?”

“An IRA,” Aemond repeats slowly, emphasizing every syllable. “An individual retirement account.”

Should I? Could I? What the hell is that? “Um. I don’t think so.”

Aemond sighs, exasperated. He jots down another bullet point on his legal pad. “You need one.”

“I need you to get out of my house.”

“Shh!” Amir pleads. “He bought us an air conditioner!”

“Do you know how much that’s going to cost us in electricity? The bill is going to go through the roof. We’re not going to be able to afford this. And he doesn’t care, because he hasn’t even thought of it. Drop an oil rig into a lake and solve the unemployment crisis. Throw an air conditioner in a window and buy someone’s loyalty. He doesn’t understand us. He doesn’t care about us. He’s not capable of it.”

“I’ll pay for the electricity,” Aemond says. Now he’s looking at you.

“Get out,” you demand.

He seems—perplexingly—to be genuinely wounded. “I’m trying to help you.”

“Get out!”

Aemond stands, walks to you, backs you up until your shoulder blades hit the refrigerator. The metal door is cluttered with Cadi’s drawings, secured there with multicolored alphabet magnets: dinosaurs eating people, Rambo, astronauts rocketing to the moon, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Aemond is so close you can smell the cigarette smoke and cologne and sweat on him, see the smudges of ink on his fingers. His right eye travels all over you, defiant and hungry. His left eye—and you only notice when there’s no space left between you—is an impassive, glassy, not-quite-identical blue that never moves. It’s an imposter, and a very good one; but it’s not him. You think, unable to say it: What happened to your face? Who hurt you? Instead you strike out to shove Aemond away with both hands.

“Get out of my house—!”

“You want to get rough with me? Will that make you feel better?” he murmurs darkly, ignoring your palms when they collide with his chest, his collarbones, his jaw. Your flesh can’t hurt him, it can only graze his skin like stray bullets. “You want to hit me? Go ahead. I’ve had worse. I promise you I have.”

“I hate you!”

But you haven’t said the right word, and you both know it. He grabs your wrists, holds them still, whispers low and menacing into your ear as you struggle to rip your hands out of his grasp. “I dreamed about you all night. Tying you down, stretching you open. I want that. I think you do too.”

“I don’t want it,” you hiss; but already you’re imagining him on top of you, inside you, in control of you, and to resist that is like trying to fight the instinct to seek water, sleep, sunlight.

“Then tell me to stop.”

You glare up at Aemond, raging, burning. His gaze locks with yours and stays there. You are suddenly aware of the heat of his fingers linked around your wrists, of the pressure of his hips against yours as he pins you to the refrigerator. You can’t say it. I don’t want him to stop touching me. I don’t want him to leave and never come back.

Again, Aemond dares you: “Tell me to stop.”

From the kitchen counter, Amir is gawking at you both, his eyes huge, stunned, painfully uncomfortable. Nonetheless, he doesn’t look away. “I’m not leaving,” he informs Aemond. Just in case you’re weak enough to agree to something you’ll regret later; just in case you need a friend.

The spell breaks, the curse lifts. Aemond releases you and takes several steps back. He breathes deeply, running his fingers through his damp hair, composing himself. “You’re a good person,” he says to Amir.

“Thanks. I’m afraid I can’t return the compliment.”

Aemond turns back to you. Now he’s penitent, measured. Already, a part of you misses the weight of his bones on yours. But that’s not why Aemond is here. “Let me talk. Let me explain.”

No, you almost say. I’m not interested. I don’t want you anymore. There’s nothing you can tell me that will make me feel at peace with you again.

Instead, after long moments colored by waning sunlight and the whirring of the new air conditioner in the window: “Okay.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re on the tree swing, gripping the ropes and swaying slightly back and forth as you push off with your bare feet, rocking from your heels to your toes and then back again. Aemond lights a cigarette and takes a drag as he sits cross-legged on the grass in front of you. Amir keeps peeking out from between the blinds of the living room windows. Aemond glances around the yard, and you realize he’s searching for the alligator. His Marlboro jacket is folded neatly on the ground next to him.

“The gator’s not here right now, Aemond. She’s probably over in the trees. She’s not going to hurt you.”

He nods, but he doesn’t seem convinced. He fidgets restlessly with his cigarette.

All that money, all that power, all that ecological ruin, and he’s petrified of a five-foot gator that’s probably never eaten anything bigger than a pelican. It’s ridiculous. You smile weakly. “I think you have a phobia.”

He gestures to his scar, to his ruined left eye. “I’m afraid one will sneak up on me and I won’t be able to see it.”

He’s never spoken like this to you before, acknowledging his limitations, his impairment. He’s trying to be honest. He really is. “Where’s Christabel?”

“Back in the U.K.”

“When are you getting married?”

He shrugs, uninterested. “A few months from now, I guess. July. August. It doesn’t matter. I’m not really involved in the planning.”

“You’re a cheater,” you say. It comes out less accusatory than mournful. Why did you have to disappoint me? Why did you have to ruin this?

Aemond is dismissive. He puffs on his cigarette. “Everyone cheats.”

“No they don’t.”

“Everyone from my world cheats,” Aemond amends. “You marry for money or status or land or whatever, to prove you can snag someone who should be above you, to make your parents proud of you, to make sure your children have the right last name and titles. Then when the novelty fades—and it does, it always does—you find passion elsewhere.”

“That’s barbaric.”

“That’s aristocratic. Poor people get divorced two or three times. They have public brawls and call the cops on each other. We just have a different solution to life’s inevitabilities. My mother cheats with Criston, Daemon and Rhaenyra cheated with each other, I cheat with you, Aegon cheats with…I couldn’t even list them. A lot of people.”

Aegon. So that’s the debaucherous brother’s name. “Not all fancy rich people cheat. Prince Charles doesn’t cheat.”

Aemond bursts out laughing. “Of course he does! He’s been fucking Camilla Parker Bowles since like 1970!”

Your stomach sinks. Poor Diana. “I thought they were just friends now.”

“Yeah, sure, that’s what the tabloids say.” He inhales smoke—cancerous, lethal—and then exhales it in a grey gale like fog. “I think they stopped for a few years after he got married. But presently they spend as much time as they possibly can rendezvousing at all their friends’ country estates. Charles and Diana are miserable, but they’ll never split up. She’s entertaining herself with a cavalry officer named James Hewitt. Who looks suspiciously like Prince Harry, by the way.”

“And who does your father fuck on the side? Nancy Reagan?”

“He prefers the memory of a dead woman to my living mother. I’d say that counts as infidelity.”

The photograph Aegon showed me on the Targaryens’ refrigerator. Rhaenyra’s mother. And what else had been on that refrigerator? Pictures of the rest of the family? Old sketches and report cards? Souvenirs? A calendar with upcoming birthdays circled or starred? No. There was nothing. You consider Aemond with a disorienting blend of pity and barbed, venomous frustration. “I’m sorry Viserys has never been a good father to you. But that’s not an excuse to ruin other people’s lives.”

“Look, what you did…” Aemond begins with sizable effort. He puts the end of his cigarette out on the sole of one of his Adidas sneakers. “To walk away from something you believe isn’t right when everyone else is telling you to stay…that’s not easy. And maybe for you it didn’t feel so insurmountable because you’ve had to learn how to survive painful things on your own before. But all I’ve ever done was break my own bones so my father would notice me. I don’t mean that as a metaphor. I’ve fractured my ribs, my hands, my skull. And it’s still not enough. Love isn’t given in my family. I have to earn it. It’s all I know.”

“You could learn something new.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t. I won’t. That’s not a language I speak.”

Exactly how bad of a father was Viserys Targaryen? “Aemond, what happened to your face?”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

You study him. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to be my Camilla,” Aemond says.

“No. No way.” But you’re amazed by how badly you want to say yes. One word and he’ll touch me again? One word and I can have him back the way we were before? It doesn’t seem possible to resist that. It’s not something that should be expected of any mortal.

“I want to be around you. I want you to keep making me feel the way you do, because it’s…it’s…it’s not something I get from anyone else. And I want to make your life better. I have the ability to do that.”

“Because you’re an oil tycoon.”

“Yes,” Aemond agrees. “I was born to be one, and so I am. But even if I wasn’t—if I refused, if I died—it’s not like the trillion-dollar industry would just disappear. There’s Jade Dragon, sure, but there’s also ExxonMobil, Shell, British Petroleum, Chevron, Valero, Marathon, a hundred others. Someone would be drilling on Lake Verret regardless. But the person in charge might be less scrupulous than I am. I’m doing the best I can here.”

“Were you in Ketchikan when the spill happened there?”

“No. I’ve never been to Alaska. That was someone else’s project. It was a fuckup, it was Jade Dragon’s fault. But my father is the one fighting it in court. I have no control over that.”

Someone else’s project…

“Come to my house tonight,” he says.

“No, Aemond.”

“Then come over on Saturday.” And you think: He remembered which days Cadi is usually with Willis.

“I don’t want to be your mistress.” I want to be more than that, oh God, I want so much more. You think of Christabel touching him and wrenching nausea cuts through you like a blade. You imagine Aemond’s hands taking off her clothes—zippers, buttons, ribbons, belts—and you feel like there’s almost nothing you wouldn’t do to stop it from happening.

“We’re from two very different words,” Aemond says calmly, sensibly. “And it’s going to be impossible for us to understand each other unless we make an effort to learn about where we’ve come from. You’ve invited me into your home, your business, your family, and I’m very grateful for that. Now I need to do the same. And I think if you see more of my life, you’ll realize why I make the decisions I do and what it would mean for us to be together. Because in my experience, husbands and wives aren’t soulmates like they are in books or movies. It’s someone else who you actually…” He breaks off, then continues once he’s decided on the phrasing. “Spend most of your time with.”

Part of you knows that this arrangement would be hopelessly inadequate; you would feel like you were settling for less than you want, you would feel unchosen. But the louder part of you is clinging to it like a life raft. I want him to touch me again. I want him to make me forget about everything else. “I’ll think about it. Visiting the house, I mean.”

“Please do,” Aemond says. “How was Cadi’s weekend fishing?”

He really does listen to you; he remembers things. Even things you mention once and then never again. “She loved it. Willis knows more about the bayou than I’ll ever know about baking. They caught three catfish, four breams, and a bass, and then they made them into fish sticks. Thank God she has one parent who can cook. Even if Willis thinks Hungry Jack mashed potatoes are a vegetable. You know what he puts in the pot instead of milk? Coffee creamer. Cups of it.”

Aemond doesn’t seem pleased to be reminded of Willis’ existence. He says, rather mechanically: “I’m really glad Cadi enjoyed herself.” He grabs his Marlboro jacket, rises to his feet, scans the yard for the alligator. She’s made an appearance at last: she’s sunbathing about ten yards away, nowhere near close enough to be a nuisance. Still, Aemond frowns. Then he clears his face and looks back to you one last time as he strides towards his Audi Quattro. “And Cupcake?”

You peer up at him, shielding your eyes from the late-afternoon sun. “Yeah?”

“When you come to the house…” He grins. Not if. When. “Bring your swimsuit.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You cut the engine and survey the grand entranceway of the house that the Targaryens call The Last Desire, words in Greek that you couldn’t pronounce. The blue merle Great Dane—Vhagar, you recall, yet another bizarre foreign name—is lurking between the towering white columns of the wraparound porch. “Fantastic,” you mutter, stepping out of the car. It’s Saturday, 2 p.m., hot and muggy and cicadas screeching in the southern live oaks. Green anoles dart across the cobblestones and freshly-painted white wood of the porch. Whooping cranes, haughty and fragile, ogle you with reptilian yellow eyes.

You pause when you reach the bottom step of the porch. The Great Dane growls at you, her lips curling up to show long fanglike teeth. You’re carrying two bakery boxes stacked on top of each other: one contains a dozen blueberry pie cupcakes, the second filled with fresh Cap’n Crunch Treats. You glance around for someone to assist you with the hostile dog situation. You have no interest in attempting to shove her away like Alicent did on the day of the engagement party.

Blessedly, the head butler materializes in the doorway and beckons you inside. When Vhagar snarls as you approach, the butler pulls a small plastic water gun from the pocket of his black dress pants. “I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience,” he tells you, and then squirts the dog several times. Vhagar reluctantly lopes away. “Please allow me to escort you to the pool. Mr. Targaryen instructed us to be on the lookout for you.” Then he breezes into the house without checking to make sure you’re following him.

You trot after the butler through the white-and-gold foyer, the deep red living room, and then out into the garden. There is a long row of neon green lounge chairs on the side of the pool opposite of the water slide. Three of the chairs are occupied. Helaena is stretched across one wearing a frilly one-piece, floral with ladybugs; her chameleon is perched on the top of the adjustable backrest. Alicent is in the chair beside her, dressed in a turquoise blue coverup that matches the pool water and reading The Silence of the Lambs. They both wave nonchalantly, seemingly unsurprised by your presence. And then there’s Aegon. He’s smoking a joint as a black boombox beside him plays The Cure’s Why Can’t I Be You? You place both bakery boxes on a table shielded from the sun by a large green umbrella.

“What’s in there?” Aegon asks. He’s wearing pink plastic sunglasses, a radiant fuchsia sunburn, and a Speedo patterned with pineapples. His ferret is curled up in his lap and napping.

“Blueberry pie cupcakes and Cap’n Crunch Treats.”

“Yes! Pass me one of each.”

“Don’t be rude, Aegon,” Alicent says dully, turning a page of her book. “She’s not a servant.”

“She’s a literal baker. I’m asking for baked goods.”

“Dear, I’ve been singing your praises to every single person I cross paths with in this jungle of a town,” Alicent tells you, ignoring him. “Have you noticed yet?”

You hand Aegon his treats; he marvels at the miniature blueberry pie placed atop the cupcake frosting before scarfing it down. “I think we’ve had more customers than usual this week, now that you mention it. Thank you so much! Amir and I are more grateful than we could ever express.”

“Oh, it’s the least I could do, love,” Alicent says. Criston appears with a strawberry daiquiri and gives it to her, complete with a swirl of whipped cream and a little pink toothpick umbrella pierced through a wedge of lime. Criston wears a pair of roomy Hawaiian board shorts and his single gold earring. Alicent takes a sip. “Heavenly! I am completely revived.”

“Helaena, would you like one?” Criston asks.

“Yes please.”

“And one for Aemond’s friend too, please,” Alicent says. Criston nods and hurries off again. Nobody asks if Aegon wants a strawberry daiquiri. He gnaws moodily at his cupcake and then when it’s gone moves on to the Cap’n Crunch Treat. Helaena’s chameleon snatches a dragonfly out of the air with its tongue. Alicent shudders.

Aemond’s friend? Friend?? You sit down on the lounge chair next to Aegon, still wearing your pale pink coverup. He tells you: “Aemond should be back soon. He got a phone call and had to swing by the rigs after lunch but he didn’t think it would take long.” Then Aegon smiles toothily, and you notice he has residual white powder around the corners of his lips and just inside his nostrils. “It’s good to meet you properly this time, now that I’m aware of all your talents.”

“You know about Aemond’s…uh…preferences?”

“Oh yeah, and I knew he had a girl. He always has to have a girl. I just didn’t know it was you. He doesn’t usually bring them around the family.”

You steal a glimpse of Alicent and Helaena. If they’re listening in, they’re doing an excellent job of not acting like they are.

“I think we should address this,” Aegon says.

You are stymied. “Address what?”

“It would never work, me and you.”

“I hadn’t even thought of it.”

“Sure you haven’t,” Aegon says. He flourishes a hand melodramatically. “You need a dom. I am, lamentably, an irredeemable sub. I’m a sheep in wolf’s clothing.”

“Okay, Aegon.”

“I just needed to break the tension.”

“I think you’re imagining that.”

There are footsteps, the slapping of flip flops against the cobblestones, and then someone who looks like a younger, more cheerful, more sober Aegon arrives at the pool. He is dressed in royal blue swim trunks that stop at his mid-thigh; his wavy blond hair is down to his shoulders. Like his family members, he also does not seem at all surprised to see you. “Hi,” he says, shaking your hand. “I’m Daeron. I didn’t get to introduce myself at the engagement party. I’m sorry about that. I was entangled in a very competitive tennis match on the courts out back for most of the day.”

Alicent asks: “Daeron, love, would you like a strawberry daiquiri when Criston reappears?”

“Yeah, Mum, that would be great.” He parks himself on the available chair beside her and begins asking about her book. As they chat, a blue macaw flaps through the garden and uses its long, leathery talons to claim the backrest of Daeron’s lounge chair.

“It’s so sweet of you to take an interest in my reading, Daeron,” Alicent gushes. “None of my other children ever do…”

Aegon groans loudly. Everyone ignores him. Criston arrives with two strawberry daiquiris, one for you and one for Helaena. You take a sip through a plastic straw with several loops in it: icy cold and jarringly sweet.

“And one for Daeron too please, Criston,” Alicent requests. “Did you hear that he just got another article published? It’s about evaluating rock wettability.” Her tone suggests that she has no idea what this means; nonetheless, she is ardently enthusiastic.

“That kid is going places,” Criston says admiringly.

Aegon counters: “That kid’s had phone sex with Michelle Pfeiffer.”

You laugh, thinking that it’s a joke. Daeron just gives you a sheepish smile. Oh, you think. Not a joke.

Criston hustles back inside the house. An old man passes Criston as he strolls out to the pool. He looks around blearily, like he’s hungover or has just woken up from a nap or both. His bloodshot eyes skate over you without much interest. He squints at the pool floats that bob in the rippling, crystalline water, sparkly rings and an assortment of foam noodles and a giant cartoonish alligator.

“How was Kiribati?” Aegon says.

“Much better than here. This goddamn humidity!”

“I can’t believe you missed the engagement party, Father,” Alicent says glumly.

“Oh no, how could I! I’ll never have any way of knowing what transpired!” He plops down onto a chair near the end of the row. His bare feet are gnarled, his toenails long and yellowed. “Let me guess. Cake was served, champagne was toasted, people bragged about their stupid hobbies and their ugly children, that girl scuttled about with her perpetually-startled eyes and asinine comments. Do you remember when she tried to give me her condolences when she learned your mother passed away years ago? Why would I want some moonstruck idiot’s condolences? She didn’t know your mother. She doesn’t know anything.”

“Christabel is very young,” Alicent offers gently.

“She’s very something, that’s for sure. Very useless. Very irritating. This family would be in a much better state if Viserys wasn’t the one making all the decisions. His judgment has declined precipitously.” He casts a poisonous glare at Aegon. Aegon pretends not to notice.

“I like Christabel,” Helaena says. Her chameleon gobbles up a butterfly that ventures too close.

“Yes, I’m sure you do.” The old man’s voice is kinder now. “You see the best in everyone. But dear Helaena, we are in for a lifetime of insipid simpers and vapid conversations.”

“A lifetime?” Aegon says. “So not much longer for you, Grandfather. What a comfort.”

The old man glowers at Aegon. “We should have left you in Alaska to have your throat slit by those animals.” And you hear Aemond’s words reverberating in your skull: I’ve never been to Alaska. That was someone else’s project.

Aegon is rolling himself a fresh joint, accidentally spilling sprinkles of weed on his slumbering ferret. He snorts. “I don’t care what Alaskans think of me.”

Daeron says: “Aegon, you poisoned 1,000 square miles of the ocean.”

“The fucking ocean,” Aegon mutters. “What do we even need the ocean for?”

“Vacations,” Otto says.

Helaena adds: “Sushi.”

Daeron is distressed. “Actually, the ocean is super important.”

“Why are we talking about the ocean?” Aemond asks as he strolls through the garden and pauses by the edge of the pool to dip a foot in to test the temperature. He’s wearing black swim trunks and nothing else, just his skin, just his scar and his glass left eye. He sees you, smiles, goes to the bakery boxes and lifts out a cupcake. He sits down on the edge of your lounge chair as he licks off the wave-blue frosting. No one makes any comment, and no one brings up Aegon’s role in the Ketchikan oil spill again.

Criston returns once more with a strawberry daiquiri for Daeron. “Well, I’ve just about killed the blender, so hopefully we don’t need any more—”

“But Criston!” Alicent cries. “What about Aemond and my father? Perhaps they are in need of refreshments.”

Criston sighs. Crestfallen, he looks at Aemond. “Do you want a strawberry daiquiri?”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll just have a few sips of hers.”

Aegon says: “Can I get a pina colada?”

Criston turns towards the old man. “Otto? Daiquiri?”

“No, but if you could immediately teleport me back to the South Pacific, I would greatly appreciate it.”

“Pina colada??” Aegon says again.

“Okay, Aegon,” Criston snaps. “Calm down. Let me figure out if we have any more coconut cream.” Alicent’s part-time bodyguard and personal assistant, part-time babysitter, part-time affair partner vanishes into the house yet again.

Aegon lurches to his feet. “No one listens to me,” he tells you morosely. “You see that? No one remembers. That’s how you know they don’t care.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Alicent tells Aegon, not looking up from her book.

“Wait, someone is missing…” Otto muses, stroking his beard.

Aegon staggers to the edge of the pool, drags over a sparkly turquoise inflatable ring, and flops onto it. He paddles himself out towards the center of the pool. His ferret bounds after him, leaps into the water, and swims until it reaches Aegon, wriggling through the blue like a golden-furred snake. “Hey Sunfyre, you wanted to come too?” Aegon lifts the soaked ferret from the water and places it on his chest, soft and sunburned. “My bad. I assumed you’d prefer dry land.”

Otto—cantankerous and grating—looks around, baffled. “Wait, where’s Viserys?”

“He’s inspecting some of the rigs out in the Gulf of Mexico,” Aemond says as he finishes the cupcake and takes a slurp of your daiquiri. “He won’t be back until the end of the week.”

“Thank God,” Aegon exclaims from the middle of the pool.

Alicent changes the subject. “How long have you been baking, dear?” she asks you.

“Forever, basically. But I started getting serious about making it a business when my daughter was really young, about nine years ago. Now Amir and I sell hundreds of items a week, sometimes thousands.”

Daeron is nodding along, but he appears a little confused. He has gotten himself a Cap’n Crunch Treat and is feeding pieces of it to his blue macaw. “And you do that because…you want to?”

“Well I have to pay rent.”

“Oh. Right. Of course.”

“And I could have been a checkout girl at the Doller General, or worked seasonally harvesting soybeans or sugarcane, or begged my ex-husband to get me a job in the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office…but I wanted to do something that didn’t make me miserable. And something that was really mine, that I chose.” Aemond is watching you thoughtfully. The other Targaryens are a tad interested but far more perplexed. They can’t understand work the way you do. They can’t understand money as something that must be counted.

“Brilliant!” Alicent declares at last. “Well, maybe one day we’ll have you making six cakes for Helaena’s engagement party, who knows!”

“It would be my absolute pleasure. Do you have a potential husband hanging around, Helaena?”

She giggles, covering her blushing face with both hands. Her chameleon creeps down to cling to her shoulder, as if to make sure she’s alright. Its conical eyes flit in random directions, an unmitigated freak of nature. You should have more compassion for it.

Aemond grins. “Helaena is responsible for no less than three broken engagements. She can’t commit.”

“And she’s only into guys who look like Aegon,” Daeron adds.

“No!” Helaena objects. “That is such a lie, that’s not true!”

“Evander?” Daeron says.

Helaena pauses to think. “Okay, yes, he looked kind of like Aegon.”

“He did, didn’t he?” Alicent frets, nibbling at the fingernail of her pinky.

“Dimitri?” Aemond says.

“Oh no,” Helaena moans; but she’s laughing too. “Oh no.”

“Sebastian?” Aegon says, and now they’re all howling.

Otto shakes his head. “Freud would definitely have some thoughts about this.”

“Bloody hell,” Helaena whimpers, swiping tears from her face. Her chameleon nudges her jaw with its shimmering, blue-green muzzle. “I totally only date guys who look like Aegon.”

Aegon shrugs from where he’s floating in the pool with Sunfyre. “Good taste, I’d say. Fuck them all, homegirl.”

“Aegon!” Alicent shouts, scandalized.

Criston dashes out of the house and to the edge of the pool, clutching a pina colada that is swiftly melting. “You better paddle yourself over here, kid. I don’t offer in-water delivery.”

“You’d do it for my mother.”

“Probably. But you’re not her.”

Aegon groans as he splashes around without making much progress. “Okay, okay, give me a second…”

Aemond turns to you. “How do you like the house? I realized I never got the chance to ask last weekend.”

“I like all the stained glass, and I like that every room is a different color. The living room is red, the dining room is yellow, the kitchen is teal, Aegon’s bedroom is black—”

“Wait, how do you know?” Aemond is alarmed.

You chuckle. “No, no, not like that. I was lost and looking for a bathroom.”

“Didn’t do anything,” Aegon announces from his pool float. “Didn’t do it, didn’t try it, didn’t even think about it. Well…maybe I thought about it. But I definitely did not do anything.”

“Okay.” Aemond exhales, relived. “Close call.”

“What color is your room?”

He’s not going to waste the opportunity to extend an invitation. “Let me show you.”

On the same floor as Aegon’s punk rock bedroom and the lilac bathroom, you trail Aemond to the end of the hallway. At last he opens a door to reveal a room that is a deep, vivid blue like sapphires. The bookshelves that touch the ceiling are filled not with texts on engineering or the energy industry but histories of people whose names you don’t recognize. He has a massive wooden canopy bed swathed in dark blue velvet patterned with circling koi fish made of stars. He has a writing desk, a wardrobe full of suits, a television with an extensive VHS collection. The stained glass windows are a whirlpool of cerulean, navy, aquamarine, indigo, steel, azure. When you peer through the glass, you can see the gleaming currents of Lake Verret and the twisted dead ends of the bayou that forms at its edges, treacherous and untamed.

And when you start to feel that if Aemond tried to grab you, undress you, tie knots around your wrists you wouldn’t stop him, you tell him that you want to go back outside to the pool; and Aemond listens, and he doesn’t try to touch you even once.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Monday, two days later, and Aemond calls to ask if he can bring you and Cadi dinner. He shows up with all the trappings of what he insists is real Italian food, doubtlessly prepared by his family’s private chefs: focaccia, caprese salad, ossobuco, risotto, Bolognese, panna cotta. He forgets the red wine, so you drink sweet tea instead, the three of you crowded around the kitchen counter, ceaselessly passing dishes back and forth while the little pink Panasonic boombox plays You Spin Me Round by Dead Or Alive.

“Hey Mom?” Cadi says as she chomps on a hunk of focaccia.

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you ever cook dinners like this?”

There’s a tiny little gut punch, something you’re used to swallowing down even if it bruises you to the heart, to the bones. She doesn’t know any better. You can’t cry, you can’t get mad. You shrug, dispassionate. Aemond glances over at you, abruptly tense but not saying anything. “Well honey, it’s probably because my job can be really busy sometimes, and I spend most of the day in the kitchen, so when dinner time comes around the last thing I want to do is cook. But we always have food to eat, right?”

“Yeah. Like Amir’s leftovers or frozen pizza or something. But all my friends’ moms cook nice dinners most nights. Can’t you do that? When I go to Michelle or Erica’s house for dinner their moms make barbeque ribs, gumbo, seafood boils, etouffee, tasso ham, homemade macaroni and cheese, like real dinners. I want us to have that too. What if my friends want to eat dinner here sometime? I can’t bring them over and then just throw some Swanson’s meals at them.”

Aemond has put his fork down on his plate and is clasping his hands together, trying to figure out what to say. But he shouldn’t say anything. It’s not his place.

You tell Cadi, as calmly as you can: “Different families have different kinds of dinners, and that’s okay. I bet your friends’ moms don’t have cakes and cookies around all the time, but you always have tons of dessert options. Our situation looks different than theirs, but there’s nothing wrong with either one.”

“But desserts aren’t even good for kids. Dinner is way more important. You can’t say I get cakes instead of dinner, too much cake will give me diseases or something.”

“Okay, Cadi. That’s enough. Let’s talk about this later.”

“I’m just saying it seems totally unfair that my friends get real dinners and I almost never do.”

Michelle and Erica’s moms don’t work. They have husbands to support them. So they can spend all day babying a fucking tasso ham, but I don’t have that luxury. And I don’t want to be chained to a man. I don’t want to trade having a say in how my life turns out for being able to slave away over dinner for four or five hours. “I regret to inform you that I’m not like Michelle and Erica’s moms.”

“I wish you were,” Cadi murmurs, entirely unaware of what she’s done. You bite your lower lip so you don’t snap at her, or try to explain, or break down sobbing. You taste blood, hot sharp copper that blooms like wildflowers.

Aemond stands up. His barstool squeals against the sloping wooden floor. “Hey, can I talk to you outside for a minute?” he asks Cadi.

“Aemond, what…?” you begin, but he’s already headed for the front door.

Cadi blinks up at him, horrified. “Why?”

“You’re not in trouble or anything. I just want to show you something. Come on. It’ll be quick.”

“Okay,” Cadi says doubtfully, looking at you. You give her your best reassuring smile, and she slides off her barstool and follows after Aemond. The front door opens and shuts. You don’t hear shouting, you don’t hear much of anything except the air conditioner and the boombox and the mourning doves, the long-eared owl, the cicadas, the bayou, the universe. You go to one of the living room windows and part the blinds to peek outside.

What you see is strange. Cadi is sitting on the swing, and Aemond is kneeling in front of her so they’re just about at the same eye level. You can see half of Aemond’s face; Cadi is blocking the rest. He’s explaining something to her with patient yet insistent gestures of his hands. Cadi says something, and Aemond nods and replies. He points to his scar, his glass eye, and says something else. Cadi asks a question, and Aemond hesitates. Then he acquiesces and moves closer to where she is perched on the tree swing. He reaches up towards the scarred side of his face, but you can’t see his eye. When he lowers his palm, there’s a small piece of curved, oval-shaped glass that glints in the dying sunlight.

“Cool!” you can hear Cadi exclaim, muffled through the windows that are now closed on account of the new air conditioning unit. She says something else, and Aemond agrees. You watch her hand extending towards his face, towards the injury he has revealed to her for reasons you can’t comprehend. You rush to other windows, trying to get a better view, but there’s no way for you to get a clear line of sight. Before you know it, your hear their footsteps drumming up the porch steps. The front door opens just as you’re scrambling back onto your barstool.

“Everything alright?” you say, more nervously than you intend to.

“Yup,” Cadi replies. She climbs into her seat and resumes wolfing down focaccia and Bolognese.

You look over at Aemond, bewildered. His glass eye is back in its socket. He appears composed, but you notice the fresh sheen of sweat on his forehead, at his temples, at the nape of his neck. He gives you a casual little smirk and then returns to his barstool. He picks up his full glass of sweet tea and drains it in three massive gulps.

“Hey Mom,” Cadi says, and your throat is suddenly full of embers.

“Yeah, honey?”

“Tonight is really fun,” she says. She twirls her fork in the pappardelle pasta of the Bolognese, splattering red sauce over her cheeks. “This is great. I want to do this more often.”

And the embers in your throat cool, vanish, are replaced by something vast and free.

“You really do need a new house,” Aemond says as he helps you clean up after dinner; Cadi has already abandoned you both for her Nintendo. “There are new constructions a little further down Route 401, between here and Lake Verret. Three bedrooms, two baths. Not a castle or anything, just the right size for you and Cadi. We can go look at them sometime.”

“I don’t need a whole new house. There are midcentury homes all over the place down here. They’re small, and they might need fixing up, but they’re a lot cheaper.” Then you add, because it sounds less pathetic: “And maybe it’s nice to have a house with some history, some character.”

“Old can be charming and quaint, sure. But brand new is better.”

“Why’s that?”

He smiles. “No ghosts.”

[ancientstone]

As we enter the Retail Hell time of year, I thought I would put together a list of ways you can help retail workers and make their lives a little easier.

1. Not interested? Leave it be!

People are great at telling kids this (looking no touching!), but adults do not lead by example. This isn't to say you can't pick things up unless you're 100% certain you're going to buy it, but I don't think people realise how much they browse with their hands. I very often watch customers walk around absently picking at things with no real interest.

Trying not to do this means workers aren't constantly having to straighten out displays, as messy displays indicate a messy shop, which puts buyers off, meaning it's drilled into us to keep the place clean. It also means at the end of the day there is less to do so we can go home quicker.

2. Don't grab the one in the middle

If there is something hanging up or on the shelf, and you're curious what the item looks like, take the one off the end. It is so much easier to put back neatly. Taking something from the middle usually means (especially with clothes) that it doesn't go back in properly without a lot of faffing, which most people can't be bothered to do and leave for workers to sort out.

3. Put it back where it came from (or ask!)

You would be horrified at how people leave changing rooms. I've seen clothes screwed up on the floor, flung over random rails, and have even found a bikini sanitary sticker stuck to the mirror.

If you can remember where something goes and you are able to do so, please put it back. Even if it's not entirely correct, I promise it's a thousand times easier for me to mildly adjust something than it is to walk out the changing room with a giant armful of clothes or stomp across the store because it got abandoned in a random spot.

If you don't remember where it came from, please ask! We can direct you! More often, you'll probably find retail workers offer to take it back for you - please take this offer! It means we can put it straight back exactly as it needs to be, and saves us a tidying job later. If you need help to put something back (e.g. you're in a wheelchair and can't reach), again ask and we will be happy to help!

4. Be Patient

It's a busy time of year and that can often mean workers are stretched thin. Please queue patiently at the tills. Please understand we can only go so fast. Please don't interrupt if we are clearly helping someone else. Ultimately, please remember that we are human too and have worked long hours multiple days in a row.

5. Check closing times

A lot of people feel that they can come in and start browsing five minutes from closing time. How this is handled will vary from store to store, but coming in at this time often means people messing up what we just tidied and stops us from going home.

Also, a lot of shops will do their cashing up in the last hour, especially near the end. Once the cashing up is done, cash payments are not likely to be accepted. If you are going to do last minute shopping before closing time, bring your cards with you.

6. Be Black Friday/Saturday savvy

I'm not in the US and I can't say this is true for every store, but for some Black Friday is treated as the midwinter sale. Again, I can't speak for everyone, but where I work we will be in Black Friday prices at least a week beforehand, if not longer.

Repricing takes time, often multiple days depending on how much stock there is to get through, and unless a brand forks out for their staff to do discounting the night before after closing time, there's a good chance that prices will be down earlier than that. The Thursday is probably a good bet.

Also, on these days it gets very busy very quickly. If you're adamant to do Black Friday shopping in person, be prepared to get there early. Of the two days, Friday will be the quietest as there will still be people working, but the Saturday will be manic.

7. Give your kids headphones

If you plan to either give or use a device to occupy your child at some point during your shopping trip, even if it's just offering them your own phone, for the love of god buy some kiddie wireless headphones.

This is included for the white noise as well. Because holy hell, people do not understand volume control. I have been one side of the store and able to hear every word of Peppa Pig coming from the other side. It disturbs the entire shop, and is especially frustrating when these customers spend a long time in the store, because we, the retail workers who cannot escape, have to listen to nursery rhymes and stormy rain noises and whatever else for however long it takes for things to be browsed, tried on, discussed, and bought.

We hate it when people play tiktoks in public. Also hate cocomelon in public.

8. Understand why your children are bored and misbehaving

Parents do not realise how awful shopping is for kids.

You are going to different stores, but cannot pick which ones you go into. Your parents are touching things, but you cannot touch them. Your parents are buying things, but you can't have anything. Stay still in this spot with nothing to do. Don't move away. Follow me exactly. Be quiet. Don't be hungry, thirsty, or need the toilet.

The result? Misbehavior and embarrassed, flustered parents! Rinse and repeat several times and now shopping is the Dreaded Activity that parents hate (feel judged, feel like bad parents) and kids loathe (get told off, nothing nice happens)

Suggestion: Give them a list of things to find (a pink jacket, black shoes with laces, a bag of pasta, a purple notebook), ask for their input (do you think Uncle James would wear something like this?), let them safely explore a little (can you go up this aisle and get the flour?), give them the bag to hold, literally think of anything to engage your kid! And understand that if you are out all day, then they are probably getting tired! Have regular breaks! Let them rest!

When kids are wound up, bored, and under-stimulated, they seek things out to do. In my store, that usually manifests in them climbing onto the displays where the mannequins are. I always have to step in (risking the wrath of parents who don't like their children being told off), because this is not safe. There are a lot things that can hurt kids in shops. You will find companies cheap out when fitting stores, resulting in things not being made to withstand the weight of a six-year-old.

Stands are wobbly. Rails will tip over. Here in the UK, a boy was literally killed when a mirror fell on him. By figuring out ways to help keep your kid engaged and happy, you reduce the likelihood of them misbehaving and potentially getting hurt.

What a happy note to end on...

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk. Fellow retail survivors, feel free to add with more advise!

[dreamofbecoming]

yeah alright this got away from me. posting in pieces, part one is just stobin, no shippy stuff. steddie and rockie to follow. i'll drop it on ao3 once all 3 parts are done

now on ao3!

platonic stobin

rating: t

wc: 3.5k

---

Robin stopped being surprised by Steve Harrington showing up at her bedroom window months ago. Jesus, there's a sentence her 16 year old self wouldn't fucking believe for a second. The Hair, climbing up the trellis her dad built for the roses her mom planted and then forgot about three months later? Yeah right, as if. But it turns out alternate dimensions and sci-fi movie monsters and Russian conspiracies in Bumfuck, Nowhere, USA are all real, so how surprising really is The King himself, collapsing through her window with all the grace of a baby giraffe, out of breath like he- holy shit, did he fucking run here?

"Dingus, did you run here? What the hell?"

"Had to- hang on, Jesus. Holy shit." He bends over, hands on his knees, panting like he just ran a marathon. Which, she guesses, he almost did.

"You have a car, you lunatic, what could possibly be so important?"

"Didn't think about it. Had to get here."

"Is someone dead?!" Oh fuck, Is the Upside Down back? Oh shit, oh no, it can't be back, right? Superhero girl closed the gates! Right?! Oh god, oh no, oh fuck, it's back, the Russians are back, they realized they couldn't let her live after what she's seen, her parents will never even know what happened to her, and they'll kill Dingus too, and dorky little Henderson, and that menace Erica, oh god, they're gonna die, and Hopper's gone and superhero girl is far away and she doesn't have superpowers anymore anyway, which is frankly bogus because what the hell, Robin never even got to hang out with a real live magic person before, which, ok, that's a selfish thought, but that's ok, we can think selfish thoughts and then set them aside and not act on them, thoughts are not actions, thoughts happen all the time without our consent, they don't determine our character-

"Bobs, you're spiraling. Nothing bad happened, I just realized something and I freaked out and I had to talk to you right away. Forgot to call. Sorry, I should have called. Ran straight out of the house. I don't even think my shoes match, what the fuck?"

She's gonna kill him, she really is.

She loves him so much.

"Jesus, you're insane. Sit, you absolute dweeb. I'm getting you some water, when I get back you can tell me what the hell is going on."

He's sitting on her bed when she gets back upstairs, staring at something in his hands. Christ, his hands are shaking. What the fuck, Dingus?

He takes the water and downs it in one go- ugh, sports guys- then flops onto his back and covers his eyes with a miserable groan.

"I know we've got the whole twin telepathy thing going on, bubba, but I'm gonna need at least a little bit to work with here. Give me something. Is it your parents? The kids? Uh, what was her name? From Thursday? Janice?"

"Janine, and no. Ugh. Here." The arm not covering his eyes flops out towards her, holding- ah. A zine. He had promised to drive up to Indy last weekend to the secret bookshop she told him about and get her some new ones, even though she couldn't go with him because her cousin Randy got caught cheating on his fiancée and her parents made her come with the rest of the family to help him move. Fucking Randy. Maybe he should make better choices, so the rest of them wouldn't have to clean up his messes. Jerk.

Anyway.

"Marked the page." Which, yep, there's a purple paper clip stuck to a page near the middle, because Steve knows how much she hates people who dogear books, even books that aren't really books at all, so he's been training himself out of it, because he's sort of the best. Again, 16 year old Robin would have her committed for thinking that, but here we are.

The pamphlet isn't one of the periodicals she sent him for, so he must have picked it up on his own. It looks handmade, just some folded sheets that look like they came out of a typewriter, bound with the kind of twine you can buy at the hardware store. It's called Awakenings. The page he's marked looks like a personal essay, no title, no real signature, just a pair of initials at the end of the page and a half of writing. She starts reading, trying to figure out what the hell spooked Steve so bad.

"I've always been normal. I've always had crushes on men, just like the other girls. There was never a feeling of "I'm different," or "Oh, this is wrong." There was never anything to think very hard about. I'd giggle and blush when the boys looked over at us on the playground, same as everyone else. Later on when I was older I looked at my poster of Harrison Ford, shirtless and hairy and sweating, and I touched myself, and it felt good, just like it was supposed to. I didn't mind thinking of my future husband, and our future kids, and the pretty house with the pretty garden we'd have, just like my parents have, just like they wanted for me. I was normal. Everything was fine.

I thought everything about me was normal. So I didn't understand why the other girls at sleepover parties would giggle and stop and say "Ew, gross!" when we practiced kissing. It felt nice! I wanted to keep going! But it seemed like no one else did. I didn't understand why none of them talked about getting butterflies in their stomach when Laura, who was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen, transferred in our senior year, why they seemed so angry at her. Those butterflies were what jealousy felt like, right? So why did the other girls seem to feel so different?

I made my first lesbian friend in college, on the very first day, right across the hall in my dorm. We sat next to each other at Orientation and I thought I'd never have another best friend that wonderful in my whole life, so I'd hold on to her with everything I had. She came out to me the night before Christmas break, hiding under the blankets in my dorm room with the twinkling lights glowing. She was so scared. I held her and told her I loved her no matter what, and she seemed so glad, to have someone to talk to.

When she talked about falling in love with girls, I was so confused. The way she described it sounded like what it felt like to have girlfriends, I was sure. I felt that all the time. I asked her if she was sure she was gay, and she looked so shocked and angry and hurt, and I didn't know how to fix it, so I tried to explain. That what she felt couldn't be liking girls, because I felt that too, and I was normal. I liked boys, so I couldn't be gay. I couldn't be.

I'm glad it was her I said all that to. If someone else had told me about being bisexual, I think I would have hated them. I would have cried, and screamed, and said horrible things. Because I wasn't gay, I was normal, and it was so scary to think that might be a lie. Thank God it was her, my best friend in the world, who I never want to lose. Thank God I listened.

Because I'm not normal. I'm queer. I like men, and I like women. I can love them both the same, but it doesn't matter anymore, because I love her. I love her, and she loves me, and I don't need to be normal anymore."

Robin's face feels wet, which probably means she's crying. She cries a lot, reading these sorts of stories, in the zines she has to keep hidden under her bed, or, these days, at Steve's house. It's never going to be her, she knows. Not here in Hawkins, but it still makes something ache deep inside her, like pressing on a bruise, but in a good way, seeing love happen to other people. People like her. Seeing that it can.

"So?"

Oh shit. Right, Dingus. They're about him right now. Something about this essay in particular freaked him out.

"Uh. It's. A nice essay? I'm glad things worked out for them?"

Stevie lets out a pathetic whine, sort of like back at Scoops when he earned a particularly bad tally on the You Suck board. "Robbiiiiiiieeeee!"

"I'm sorry! I think I'm missing something, what's wrong with this essay? I don't get it, bubba, I'm sorry. I need some context." She does feel bad. Usually she can pluck whatever's bothering him right out of his brain and into the light, where it almost never looks as bad, but she's at a loss right now.

He's got both hands over his face again, and his response is so muffled she can't make out a word.

"Try again in human sounds, please."

"Ugh! I thought everyone felt like that!"

Huh? "Felt like...what, exactly?"

"Like that!" He flails wildly at the pamphlet in her hands. He's sitting up now, hair all askew from tugging at it, and there's a vaguely worrying crazed look in his eye, like right before he tackled that guard. "Like kissing boys and girls both feel nice, and like seeing a handsome guy and feeling jealous of him makes my stomach flutter, and like having friends feels the same as having crushes! I thought that was just how everyone felt all the time!"

Oh.

Oh.

Oh no.

Poor Dingus! No wonder he panicked and ran here like a crazy person!

"Stevie, can I hug you? Please?" She's not much for physical touch most of the time, but Steve is, and also she's found in the last few months that she doesn't mind so much when it's him. She sort of understands why other people like hugs so much, if they always feel like hugging Steve feels for her. And she really thinks he needs to be hugged, right now.

He nods miserably. She drapes her arms around his shoulders and holds on as tight as she can, hauling him sideways until he's practically laying down on her. He clutches her back and buries his face in her shoulder. She can feel her neck getting wet with tears, a sensation that would normally make her want to claw off her own skin, but this isn't about her. Dingus needs her.

"It's ok, bubba. I'm so sorry. I know how scary this is. When I first figured out I had a crush on Linda Sanderson I cried so hard I threw up, you know? I get it. It's gonna be ok, I promise. We'll make it ok. We faced down evil Russians and giant meat monsters, what's a little sexuality crisis, huh? We got this! We're the goddamn Wonder Twins!"

He snorts at that, which she's pretty sure leaves snot on her neck, which. Ew. Still. Problems for Later Robin.

"We are not, Will and El are the Wonder Twins."

"Uh, nope, no chance, I barely even met them so therefore I am vetoing their application. Sorry kiddos, better luck next time! Find your own nickname, losers!"

Steve sits back, laughing, and she preens a little at being able to bring him back from the brink so easily. She loves him so much she feels like she's glowing with it, sometimes. It almost makes her wish she was straight, because what girl is she ever going to find who loves her this much? But only almost, because. Well. Girls, amiright? Phew.

"So what now, Stevie? You wanna say it out loud? That helps, sometimes. You wanna not say it out loud? You wanna go to a gay bar and find you a boy? You wanna never think about it again? It's totally your call."

"Say it out loud, huh?"

"Hm. It took me like a month, and then the first time I could only say it sitting in the back of my closet with the bedroom door locked and the closet door closed, and I could only whisper it. Just "I'm a lesbian," to myself, like the world's most ironic little goblin. And I had to throw up again after. But it did feel good, once I rinsed my mouth out, anyway. Cleansing, you know? And it gets easier every time." Steve's eyebrows are raised and he's chuckling again, so that's a win. She's not lying, but it is sort of funny, she supposes. In hindsight, anyway.

"Ok. Ok, I can do that. I think. Yeah, I can do that."

She's so proud of him. He's the bravest person she's ever met, she thinks. "You wanna get in the closet?"

"Isn't the whole point to come out of the closet, Robs?" He's smirking at her. Bastard. She whacks him in the shoulder on principle. He may be having a crisis, but he's still a jackass. Her favorite jackass in the whole world, but still.

"Har har, you're a regular Bob Hope. Alright then, bigshot, let's hear it."

A little of that fear creeps back onto his face, and she wishes she could wipe it off, but that's not how this works. They can't make the scary things less scary. He couldn't make the Russians less terrifying, but he could hold her hand and make her laugh and carry some of that fear with her. She can do that for him now, too.

She grabs his hand, and he clutches back tightly. He takes a deep breath.

"I'm...fuck. Ok. Ok, I can do this. I'm...bisexual." The air leaves him in a big whoosh, and he laughs a little. "Yeah, ok, fuck. I'm bisexual. Holy shit, Robbie, I'm bisexual!"

"Hell yeah you are!" She's grinning so hard her cheeks hurt. She's so fucking proud of him.

He's laughing again, a little hysterically, and he hugs her tight again, and she holds him back just as close and thinks oh, he's like me. I'm not alone. I have Steve, and he's like me, and he's mine forever and ever.

When they separate, she looks at him seriously.

"So do you, like, want this to be a thing? Because we can totally make it a thing, and like, get me a fake ID and go to a gay bar and do all kinds of wild shit if you want, but we don't have to, you know? If you need to just, like. Digest this, for a while. It's totally up to you, I just know it took me a while to feel ok with it, and I have no idea if it's different for you but I just want to be what you need, you know? You've been so good with me, and I've never had a queer friend before, so I don't know how, but I want to be just as good to you. You're my Dingus and I love you and I don't know how much of a gay guru I can be on account of, you know, I've never met any gay people besides me and the pretty lady at the bookstore but I couldn't even get real human words to come out of my mouth when I tried to talk to her so I don't think that counts, you know? But I still wanna help! Let me help!"

"Bobbie! Bobbie breathe, you're gonna pass out. I don't think I need a gay guru, I just need a gay best friend, and I have that, so I promise I'm good, ok? Promise. Also I love you too.”

She takes a deep breath, following his lead the way they worked out in the horrible days after Starcourt, when she couldn't sleep without him next to her, warm and alive and breathing, and even then she would wake up in the night with her breath coming short and her vision tunneling and Steve would hold her hand against his chest and breathe slowly, in and out, until she could follow him, and the world wasn't so terrible and scary and loud anymore.

She still thinks about that awful hour underground, thinking she was strapped to the corpse of a boy she never let become her friend, but Steve is always there now when she needs him, and he never complains when she grabs his wrist or puts her head on his chest to make absolutely sure that big, stupid heart is still beating.

When she's breathing normally again, he drops their joined hands down between them, toying idly with the chain linking her ring to her bracelet. "I think...I think I'm glad I said it, and I'm glad we talked about it, but can we maybe just...put it away, for a while? Like it's not...ugh. I guess this is kind of shitty to say, so like, hit me if you want, I guess, but I kind of don't think it matters right now?"

"No no, that makes perfect sense! Like, you still like girls, right?" He nods. "And you don't like. Have a crush on any boys right now. Or do you? Oh man if you do you have to tell me though, it's platonic soulmate law. It's in the bylaws, Steve, don't make me soulmate fine you!"

He laughs and shoves her face away. "Jesus, Rob, no! I don't have a crush on any guys, who would I even crush on in this town? We're not exactly swimming in eligible bachelors. I don't have a crush on anybody at all, I'd tell you, I swear. I know the rules!"

"Oh phew, good. You have to tell me when you do, though, I'm way excited to get you back for making fun of Tammy."

"It was the God's honest truth, Bobbie! She sings like a muppet!"

"Oh my god, shut up, Dingus! Ugh! As I was saying, you super duper have to tell me when you do, but for now, I think maybe you don't have to think about it really at all if you don't want. I mean, practically speaking, it's not really relevant to your everyday life, so we can totally revisit when that changes, but you don't have to like. Join a pride parade tomorrow, you know? You are you who are no matter what. You don't have to prove anything to anyone, especially not to me, not ever."

He leans his head on her shoulder, and she scritches her nails through his hair. It really has no right being as soft as it is, with the amount of hairspray he uses. It's frankly rude, is what it is.

"Thanks, Bobs. I think I'm just gonna put it away for now. It just...another thing to know about me, you know? Like, I'm bad at fighting people but good at fighting monsters, all my best friends are kids except you, I'm bi but it doesn't matter because there aren't any boys to date in Hawkins anyway. Plus my dad would kill me if he found out. Like actually kill me, not "oh geez I missed curfew, my dad's gonna kill me" type kill me, like I think he'd actually try and beat me to death. So there's really no reason to talk about it right now, you know?"

There's a pit of ice in her stomach, and she tightens her arm around him like she can keep him safe just by holding on tight enough. She hates how casually he said that, just like she hates how casually he always talks about how his parents treat him, like he honestly believes it's normal. "Jesus, Dingus. You know you can come here if you need, right? My parents love you, they already think we're getting married. They'd make you sleep in the guest room, but I could sneak you in here easy."

He snorts again. "We're totally gonna end up married for tax reasons anyway, we're never beating the rumors." That makes her snort, too. He's not wrong, though. She isn't going to be allowed to have a wife anytime soon, and if she has to choose someone to be her next of kin, it's always gonna be him. They're planning to move in together when she goes to school next year anyway. No one is ever gonna believe them that they aren't dating, but that's...fine. Honestly, there are worse things. Better to have Steve by her side than not, and if no one else understands them, well, they understand each other, don't they? That's more than enough.

"Yeah, I know I can come here if I need, Robs. It's fine mostly, I swear. They're not home until Christmas anyway."

He takes another deep breath, like he's settling himself. "I'm just glad we talked about it. I feel better now."

She cards her fingers through his hair again, basking in the feeling of her favorite person so close, and so content. "I'm glad, Dingus."

They're alive, and they're together, and they're queer, and neither of them is ever going to have to be alone again.

"Hang on, did you say you've kissed girls and boys?!"

part 2 part 3

[canonicallyobserving911]

"Math is a universal language." - Ficlet

Fanonwriter2023 on AO3

Where CANON and FANON collide!

New Buddie Fanfic and New Buddie Series

The second ficlet in the "What do you want?" Series in now available on AO3. "Math is a universal language." - Eddie reconnects with an old acquaintance and they spend a lot of time together. However, now that Buck’s single, he finally tries to understand math is a universal language but when he sees Eddie talking to another guy, he wonders if it took him too long to figure it out.

"Math is a universal language." - 5.0K Words; Rated: Teen and Up Audiences

___________

Here's a snippet from an emotionally angsty conversation Eddie and Buck are having inside of the firehouse.

___________

Buck asks, “Uh... the alarm sounded before you had a chance to tell me what you did this weekend. Did you talk to Chris?"

“I did and he told me to tell you hi and that he misses you. I talked to him every day and it finally seems like we're making some progress.”

“Hmm… that's good and I miss him too.” He replies while his Christopher smile graces his lips. He pauses as he wipes the cleaning agent off the engine’s side mirror then he asks, “What else did you do?"

Instead of verbally responding, he smiles and his cheeks turn rosy.

Buck wants to spit nails because he thought he was the only person who could make Eddie blush like that.

Eddie starts looking off into the distance like he’s remembering something or someone and it makes Buck’s head start hurting because he hopes he isn’t spending time with that weirdo Kim. She changed her hair so she could look like a dead woman and he thinks it’s no wonder she’s been out of work as an actress for so long because she obviously wasn’t very good at her job.

After a few seconds of silence, Eddie admits, “I spent time with a guy who graduated from the academy with me.”

Internally, Buck asks himself, “What the hell?” then his mouth falls open and his brain goes offline because he could have sworn Eddie said he spent time with some guy that’s not him. Once he comes back to himself, he starts talking without considering his words. “Uh… who’s he?”

Eddie can hear the frustration in Buck’s voice and he wonders if he should say his name but he shrugs his shoulders when he remembers Buck’s dating Tommy now so it shouldn’t matter to him who he spends time with. He explains, “Well… his name is Chuck; he works at the 121 and we ended up at the bar together Thursday after work.”

“Huh? Eddie… I—I’m confused because uh… you hardly ever go to bars.”

“I know but I was tired of sitting at home waiting for my life to happen so I got dressed and went out. He showed up a few minutes after I arrived and we got to talking. We agreed to stay in touch and we ended up going to Manhattan Beach Friday night, the beer fest on Saturday and yesterday… we cooked lunch and dinner together.” He knows telling him all that is petty as hell but in this moment, he’s unconcerned.

Will "Petty Eddie" stick around? 👀

Is "Jealous Buck" here to stay? 🙃

___________

"What do you want?" - A Series of Ficlets

Currently 2 works completed; 8.3K Words: Rated; Teen and Up Audiences:  This is a series of “Ficlets” that I’ll be writing over the course of the next few weeks and my goal is to keep them under a certain number of words. I’m challenging myself to do it this way for multiple reasons but mainly because I want to see if I can write a full Buddie story by including smaller fics in a series in comparison to the multi-chapter fic I’m still in the process of writing titled, “I’m still in love with you but… I needed to learn how to love myself too!” I only have 9 chapters left before I finish it but once I’m done, I’d like to continue writing Buddie fanfics. However, this time I’ll start with my dislike for the way season 7 ended instead of the way season 6 did. Finally, I have a lot of WIPs that I want to finish and I figured I can turn them all into ficlets to build the full story for Buck and Eddie.

Since these ficlets will be posted in order, it’s imperative to read them one after the other. Each part ends at a specific point with a cliffhanger and the next part will begin with the ending of the previous part. Therefore, part 1 should be read prior to reading part 2 and the series will continue in that manner until it’s complete.

"You don't know math!" - 3.3K Words; Rated Teen and Up Audiences: Buck is forced to choose while Eddie might be presented with another option.

"Math is a universal language." - 5K Words Rated: Teen and Up Audiences: Eddie reconnects with an old acquaintance and they spend a lot of time together. However, now that Buck’s single, he finally tries to understand math is a universal language but when he sees Eddie talking to another guy, he wonders if it took him too long to figure it out.

Now Available on AO3

[nightlyrequiem]

The Other Side of Paradise

2) Sing My Praises and I Will Bow to You

Cross posted from AO3

Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch.4, Ch.5, Ch.6, Ch.7, Ch.8, Ch.9, Ch.10, Ch.11

You try to make the best of your life working at a small bakery in a city with rising cartel violence. One slower day, a man starts harassing your coworker. Despite the obvious threat, you stand up to him anyway. Unbeknownst to you, Valeria just so happened to be there to witness it.

A/N- All chapters containing smut will be labeled mature. The fic is fully written with the whole thing on AO3 but chapters on Tumblr will be posted one a day.

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Dual POV, Happy Ending, Plot with Porn, Graphic Violence, Inappropriate Use of a Knife, Masturbation, WLW

You took the day off. You actually took a few days off. You feel cowardly hiding up in your apartment, but you were just too afraid of that guy coming back. You should really learn to think before you speak. Trying to be a hero only works out in books and movies. In Las Almas, it gets you shot.

Unfortunately, no matter how afraid you may be, the bills won't pay themselves. You get ready for work. Neck uncomfortably moist with sweat. The AC must be broken again. You can do nothing but hope it will be fixed before you get back. Otherwise, you'll have bust out the old fan to keep you at a reasonable temperature while you sleep.

You grab your keys, phone, and wallet and walk towards the front door. It's so quiet in your apartment that you're glad to be getting out, even if it is just for work. Staying holed up in your apartment for three days did nothing but remind you of how lonely you are. It doesn't help that the only notifications you received were full storage warnings.

You leave and start your short walk to work. Greeting the elderly man that owns the small corner store below your apartment. It's a nice day today. A little too warm but the sky is blue, and the trees are green. There are children running around. It would be perfect and picturesque if it weren't for the 'soldiers' skulking around.

You've spent most of your life living in Las Almas. Such a shame it is to watch it fall into the wrong hands. It's not like the cartel sprouted up overnight like an invasive plant. It belonged to La Araña, then sometime over the last ten years power shifted to El Sin Nombre. Whoever that may be.

The cartel has always been around. It just wasn't as big of a presence when you were a child. Whoever ran it back then had the decency to keep things lowkey. You spot a murial. Splashes of colour put together by someone who clearly takes pride in their work. Too bad the person used their talents to support El Sin Nombre.

You reach the bakery and walk inside. Eyes automatically scanning the crowded room for the man from last week. You almost feel sick with relief when you don't see him. You quickly go behind the counter and grab an apron. You're not entirely sure why they make you wear it. It's not like you are the one making the treats. More often than not you're on dish duty. Which is your first task today. Lucky you.

You go around back and begin to fill the sinks. While you're letting the dishes soak, your manager, Mateo appears behind you. Silent as a cat and scaring you out of your skin.

"Christ!" You exclaim quietly.

"Mateo." He corrects. Judging by his serious expression he's not here to have a friendly chat. "I heard about what happened on Thursday." He says. "I get what you were trying to do, but we have a good thing here." He continues. "Don't go bringing trouble."

He leaves before you can respond and you feel annoyed. People only ever talk to you to tell you what to do or tell you what you're doing wrong. You pick up a rag and scrub at a plate angrily. Although, you do see some sense in what Mateo said. You will be more careful in the future. That's what you tell yourself.

Your shift goes by pretty quickly. Afternoon turns to dusk. You go from dishes to working the counter, to cleaning. You're the only one closing tonight. You still have forty minutes left but you haven't seen a single customer in the last hour. You decide to start your closing tasks early, Mateo doesn't care. There are only five things left in the display case. Not one for wasting you decide to just put them in a basket to take home later.

You start sweeping. Pushing dust and crumbs and whatever else to the center of the room. The bell above the door chimes and you look up. It's Valeria. You straighten, feeling a little flustered because you weren't expecting customers. She sees the lack of other people and you sweeping.

"Are you closed?" She asks. Her voice is pleasant. Smooth and feminine.

"No." You reply. "What would you like?" Valeria turns to look at the display case and you follow her gaze. Feeling like an idiot when you remember you already took everything out. "Uh, there's still some stuff left in the back, I'll go and get it." You say quietly.

You set the broom against the wall and hurry off behind the counter, clipping your hip on the edge. You hope she didn't see that. You bring over the little basket containing leftover treats and take out a couple of mini cheesecakes and three cookies. Meager pickings but if she wanted better, she should've come in earlier.

Valeria looks over her options. She looks back up at you with a lazy expression. "Do you have any conchas left?"

"Sorry, this is all that we have." You say apologetically. She looks a little disappointed but doesn't comment. Instead, she just looks at you. It starts to border on rude when she finally speaks again.

"We went to the same school." She remarks. You already knew that. You're a little surprised that she recognized you. You didn't exactly run in the same crowd. You nod in response. "I don't quite remember your name...?"

You tell her and she nods. She doesn't share hers. Probably assuming that you already know it. Another uncomfortable silence settles over you two like a too-warm blanket. You're trying to think of something to say to ease the awkward tension when she speaks again.

"Do you make the pastries?" She asks, tilting her head slightly. You shake your own in response. Starting to pick up the food from off the counter. Putting the items back into the basket. "What do you do here then?" You look at her and study her expression. Wondering if she's being hostile. Her expression looks relaxed.

You move the basket to the side. "I help out." You reply. She can probably guess what you do. It's not like a service worker's tasks are top secret knowledge.

"Cleaning, selling treats, and security." She murmurs. "You're quite the package." So that's why she's talking to you. You were wondering why. She was here last week; she witnessed the events that transpired. You had seen her in her corner. Why should she care though?

You shrug. She continues. "That man is in the cartel." She states obviously. Because clearly you couldn't tell. "I've seen him patrolling."

"Yes." You reply. Suddenly a little less eager to talk to her. She's wearing jeans and a tank top that shows off toned arms and tattoos. Is she a part of the cartel? You feel a little judgmental for thinking that way. Don't judge a book by the cover and all that. Even though that's the whole point of the cover.

Leaning against the counter in a way you hope comes off as nonchalant, you try to do some damage control. Just in case she is in the cartel. "He can be whatever he wants to be," you say. "But he doesn't have the right to come in here and throw his weight around." Actually, that might not be the best thing to say to someone you suspect of being in a dangerous organization.

Valeria smiles. "You're right." She says. You feel like a child being told 'good job' by a teacher. "Some people seem to think that just because they have a gun, they're invincible."

You like what she's saying. Your feelings do a one-eighty, and you decide you do like talking to her.

"It's refreshing to hear someone be more honest with their opinions." Valeria praises. "I can respect that." You feel flattered. You know a few people who are pretty honest about their opinions but clearly, she doesn't. That's fine with you. As long as she keeps complimenting you.

Valeria's phone buzzes and she takes it out from her back pocket to check. You're caught off guard by how outdated it looks. Not everyone can afford or wants the newest phone on the market, but seeing a flip phone catches you off guard. Her easy-going expression falters only for a few seconds before she relaxes her facial muscles again.

"I have to get going," she says. "I enjoyed talking to you though. I'll be seeing you tomorrow." She gives no room for response or protest. She just smiles once then turns and walks out. You finish cleaning. Feeling slightly giddy. You also feel nervous, going over your conversation in your head.

You go home after closing and bound across the sidewalks. Feeling as light as a feather and bright as the sun. Your pleased mood sours slightly when you enter your apartment. It's sweltering and humid. The AC is still broken.

[jacksprostate]

My boss invites me into his office, he's telling me, we've got a problem. It is always, "we." "We" are all in this together. "We" need to put a little more effort in, if "we" want our yearly bonuses. "We" have got to up profits by next quarter, or "we" are going to lose our jobs.

"We" don't all have half a million salaries and a three letter job title, but what can you do.

If you asked my boss, he'd tell you about his. The guy above him. Yeah, "we" are all beholden to him. My boss, he's just regional. Small fry, really.

I'm entering his corner office, big tall windows gaping, stretching the condo construction happening across the street for as far as the eye can see. He sees me looking.

"Perks of the job," he says. A little laugh in his voice. He's not funny.

"We need to talk about your performance last quarter," he says.

We, unto me.

I am Jack's rejuvenated individuality.

My boss had his secretary let me in, so really I've spent the past minute standing awkwardly, insomnia haze locking my gaze some place beyond our broken city horizon. My boss had his secretary let me in because that means he could sit at his desk and pretend to be doing something important. Wave me in, make me wait, give him the opportunity to boast about his jail cell amenities.

You'd think it makes him feel powerful, the way he's clinging to it all. I tongue at the hole in my cheek as I take a seat. Managerial threat displays have lost their effect on me, I think.

It makes him antsier. I can see it, taste it like the blood in my mouth. Oh, iron. Oh, fear.

If Tyler was here, he'd lean on those windows and get them splotched with dirt and worse. Those windows, they're spotless because my boss pays into the building fund with company money to get an old spanish speaking lady to wipe the glass clean before he arrives each morning. I saw her once, at a support group for some combination of cancer and impoverishment. She coughed, introducing herself. Said she couldn't speak well, but wanted company. She has to keep working, but it's making her sick.

The building doesn't pay her enough that she can buy PPE in between their scant offerings, so she's without a mask most of the times I've seen her.

Truthfully, there's been someone else under the building's thumb for a while now.

I found a different group for Thursday nights.

I still think I'll hear Rosa's wheezing when I see her cart by the restrooms.

My prolonged silence, it's unnerving him now, so he's puffing up like a bluffing frog.

I am still with my boss, and I've been staring at a damp spot of drywall behind his head as he yaps at me about how I need to follow dress code. Raise my numbers. Be more engaged.

I should be a precious bouquet of flowers, brightening up the office.

He just wants to help me out. Get me back on track. We used to have amazing figures coming out of Compliance and Liability, my one-man department.

If Tyler was here, he'd be filling the janitor's Windex bottles with 90 proof and blue dye instead, so when my boss comes in early for once in his life and spooks Rosa's replacement, the bottle gets spilled all over my boss and his carpet and his desk and then my workplace smoking habit really would be a fire hazard.

I tune back in, and my boss is informing me that it's with his sincerest regrets that he has to tell me that I won't be getting my bonus this year, oh, maybe something if I shape back up, yeah, he's sure he could fight upper management for me if I showed a good effort. He just wants to help, but I have to help him help me.

Whatever is going on in my life, it's got to be over.

I imagine going to Tyler. Going to fight club. Saying, let's pack it up boys. Fight club's over. I need to sit pretty for my boss so he can feed me a quarter of the salary he always conveniently has to withhold each year, due to all sorts of things impacting the car industry. A typhoon hit mainland China. The US dollar grew too fast with the collapse of the Soviet Union. A sparrow chirped in Belgrade on a Wednesday.

The usual.

Fight club's over. I've got to go be a recall campaign coordinator full time. Working hours, waking hours, what's the difference?

Tyler is always telling me, I could follow my boss home, and when he goes to work on his stupid meaningless hobby in the nice little air conditioned shed at the edge of his two acre two storey home, I could lock him in with nothing but millet. And when he runs out of millet, I could drag his body out and drown him in his pool, laced with armagnac, just like the French do it. And I could pluck and roast the corpse and eat it uncovered, hoping God has no choice but to see me now.

Or I could just give him a poisoned bottle of whiskey.

There's many options, according to Tyler.

The thing is. The truth is, I like my boss.

It's Tyler who wants to come in in the early morning and when my boss pushes open the door to his office, it's Tyler who wants to have a block of concrete in a bucket fall down and crack his skull like a rotten egg, looney tunes style.

It's not me. I gave my boss soap for the mandatory holiday office gift exchange.

I tell my boss, thank you for the concern.

Unfortunately, my grandmother's diagnosis seems dire, and it's unlikely I'll be able to switch gears before the year rolls over in March. Apologies.

He looks at me, and my battered face, at stitches painted across my temple. I can tell, he wants to shake me. Demand from me, why I can't I even pretend to give him a real excuse? Why do I have to make his life so very difficult? Why can't I just keep the broken toddlers from coming out of the woodwork with a smile on my face?

But he doesn't. He says, my condolences. It sounds a lot like get the hell out of my office.

With that in mind, I get up and take a nice, long moment to watch nothing through his huge, sparkling windows. Papers conspicuously rustle. There's the ambient noise of pointless keyboard clicking. I take a sip of my coffee. Behind me, my boss starts to pretend to get a call in hopes it gets me to move on, and I'm watching construction crews like ants. Perks of the job, indeed.

[small-sinclair]

do you think you could write married life headcannons with Lester and Reggie (separate)?

💚💚💚My husbands🩵🩵🩵

Lester Sinclair

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

He is the best man you’ll ever love. Always hugging you, loving you, kissing you, holding you— you’ll be smothered by love.

Your ring is made from bones… lol, no, Lester would never— he actually works up enough money and buys your a simple silver ring with your and his birth stones in shape of a heart.

But if you want bone jewelry, he’ll gladly make you something.

Lester comes home every day with something new. It could be flowers, a cool rock, dinner (a fresh kill good enough to cook), bones… the list goes on.

If you don’t want to cook road kill, he’s okay with it. He’s happy with whatever you’d like :3

Kills spiders for you.

Whenever you argue, he tries not to yell. I feel like he doesn’t yell or doesn’t like to yell. He cries when someone screams at him… so, communication is his strong suit.

Leaves you sticky notes of love or just simple ones.

He’ll have you two live in a cabin he and his brothers built, and it’s a nice log cabin with a lion legs bathtub, kitchen with a dishwasher, and a staircase leading you to y’all’s room.

The first thing he does when he comes home is take a shower before loving you. Bonus if you take a shower/bath with him.

He’ll take you on his rounds if you want, and he’ll let you be a passenger prince/princess/royalty.

Breakfast in bed every Friday morning.

Thursday Nights: Date Nights. He’ll clean up nice and take you to town for dinner, a walk around the little shops, and a movie if there’s anything good. If you don’t go out, he’ll cook you a good southern meal, take you outside for a walk with Jonesy, and end the night with a movie or just go straight to the bedroom for cuddles (maybe more ;) ).

Lester also does surprise dates! He’ll call up and say, “Sweet pea, I jus’ finished ‘n be there in twenty. Dress righ’. ‘M takin’ ya out.”

He does worry that he’s not enough for you, thinking that you might leave him if he does something wrong, but you always show you love him when he feels that low.

Bonus: If you’re pregnant, he’ll be nervous. He doesn’t want to end up like his father. But then he’ll melt when you show him the pictures of the alter sound.

Reggie Morgan

My beautiful Aussie would love you with ever fiber of his being.

I imagine he’ll take you far away from his brother. He doesn’t want his brother to try and hurt you.

Actually… he’ll make sure you never meet his family.

Your ring was his grandmother’s, and he was able to grab it from James before running away with you.

Hand holding in public to show off your ring and that you’re married to him.

He still delivers and drives, though, but he comes home, kissing your cheek, and a smile on his lips.

You two have one of the best gardens, too! He loves planting with you and taking care of the plants.

Reg loves taking you to the weekend markets and fairs. Fairytale Land is another place you two go (I think that’s the name) and this was where he proposed to you by the wishing well.

He can’t cook, but he can bake! He’ll make you muffins and cookies when you’re sad or had a bad time at work.

Slow dances with you in the kitchen at night in the dim light to the old country music on the radio.

Much like Lester, he leaves behind sticker notes with love letters or just a simple note.

If he knows you have a bad day, he’ll do his best to make you smile. Flowers, making dinner, asking your to talk… Reg will do anything to make you smile.

Breakfast in bed every Tuesday.

When arguing, he’ll storm off and be by himself for a while, but he’ll always come back with Mr. Frooty box and a sandwich for you. He’ll apologize and tell you that he didn’t mean it.

Like Lester, Thursdays are Date Nights. It’s pretty similar, too.

He’ll call you with a surprise, saying, “Heya, love. I just finished me- rounds. I saws tis amazin’ pizza stand. I reckon we try it. Dress righ’. I’ll be home in two ticks.” You can always hear his smile when he talks on the phone, too.

Yes, you two get a dog and name him Indy (it’s kinda cute because of Jonesy). It’s a German shorthair; they’re good hunting dogs.

Also kills spiders for you because it’s Australia. They got fucking spiders.

He’s still a bit shy around you and nervous, but Reg warms up to you with smiles and hand holdings. He really loves it when you cuddle close to him at night. He loves you so much it hurts sometimes. You’re the best thing to happen to him.

Bounce: If you’re pregnant, he’ll try to be the best father he could be. He never had a father going up, but he’ll make sure your kid doesn’t feel less love than he has.

[pink-sparkly-witch]

The One That Got Away - Chapter Four

Warning: tw: child abuse, tw: verbal abuse, tw: physical abuse, mentions of therapy.

Word Count: 1.8k

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x Female Reader

A/N: There are TRIGGER WARNINGS in this part - please heed these, and if you think you’ll be affected by any of them, please do not read.

You can catch up here!

 My Masterli st AO3    Ko-Fi

“Hey, kiddo! Did you just come off shift?” Jody greeted her brightly.

“No, I came off an extended double at two o’clock this morning, and I’m back in tonight at seven. Is Uncle Bobby home?” Y/N asked.

“Not yet, sweetie. He took his crew for breakfast. Why? Is everything okay?” The concern she heard in Jody’s tone made her smile.

“Yeah, everything’s good, it’s just… are you still looking for a new tenant for the apartment? ‘Cause I got myself a job at Lawrence Memorial and need to find somewhere to live!” Y/N grinned.

“You did not!” Jody’s excitement made her buzz.

“Emergency Nurse Practitioner, Y/N Singer at your service!” she laughed at Jody’s gleeful screech.

“Bobby’s gonna be so happy! He might even crack a smile!” Jody joked.

“Hold up now. Let’s not get crazy!” Y/N replied, and both women cackled with laughter.

“When do you start?” Jody asked once their joy settled.

“The beginning of next month. I’ll work for three more weeks, hammer the overtime, and get extra money for moving costs and furniture. I’ll spend the last week packing and shipping. I’ll probably move out there the Thursday before I start. That gives me the weekend to unpack and settle,” Y/N said.

“How are you feeling about coming home, kiddo?” 

“Uhm, okay, I guess? It’s time. Uncle Bobby was right about that, but don’t tell him I said that!” Y/N giggled.

“I’d never dream of it!” Jody chuckled.

“It’ll be strange, don’t get me wrong, but it is time. I need to stop hiding. I need to finally deal with my shit, you know? My father and…”

“Dean?” Jody pushed gently at Y/N’s sudden silence.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Bobby doesn’t talk to me about him. I know he’s not married, but he might be with someone. There’s still so much there for me, and I think… I know I need to talk it out. Move forward, whatever that looks like.”

“He’s single. He’s had as much luck on the dating front as you have. He doesn’t have a friend like you do, though. He’s more of a one-night-only kinda guy,” Jody chuckled.

“Ha! Been there, done that!” Y/N scoffed a laugh.

“I did not need to know that!” The grin she could hear in Jody’s voice told her she was teasing, and both women laughed heartily.

“Seriously, kiddo, I think reaching out to Dean is a great idea. I’m sure you both have a lot to discuss. You both need to move on, one way or another.” Jody said gently.

“Yeah, I know. It’s easier said than done, though,” Y/N sighed.

“Everything worth having, doing or saying always is, Y/N.”

“When did you become so wise?” Y/N sniggered.

“Hey! Watch it, or you’ll be sleeping in your car when you get back!” Jody jokingly scolded, and Y/N laughed again.

“Alright, kiddo, I gotta get ready for my shift. Bobby and I will have the apartment cleaned and freshened up for you. Let me know when you start shipping stuff, and you can send it to us first. We’ll get it there for you.”

“Thanks, Jody. I’ll call Bobby later after he’s had some time to sleep, but if you see him before you head out…”

“I’ll tell him his princess is coming home,” Jody said excitedly, and she was starting to wonder who was more excited about her coming home.

“Thanks. I love you, Jody.”

“Love you too, kiddo.”

Y/N ended the call and fell back onto the mattress with a relieved sigh. She knew she’d be welcomed back to Lawrence with open arms, at least by Uncle Bobby and Jody. Still, she’d been gone far too long, and there was this tiny nagging doubt in her mind that said no one wanted her back after the chaos she’d caused by leaving in the first place.

Jody had become so much more than an aunt to Y/N when she and Bobby started dating. She was her best friend and confidante but never slid into the ‘mom’ role. That was, and would always be, Mary Winchester. 

As part of her therapy, Y/N had written five letters. One to herself, three to the people she cared for most in the world, and one to her father. She’d sent three of those letters. Okay, technically, she’d sent two. She felt the people hurt most by her departure needed an explanation: Mary and Uncle Bobby.

Dean knew everything she’d been through - it was why she understood him not asking her to stay - but Mary and Uncle Bobby didn’t. Y/N made Dean promise not to tell anyone, and Dean was a man of his word. She knew everyone knew something was going on at home; the bruises and flinching at loud noises needed no explanation, but she never admitted to it to anyone but Dean.

The blame she had for her mother’s death, the wish it’d been her instead, Dean was the only one who knew all of it. He was also the only person who knew the vile words, insults, and almost daily degradation she’d been through. Only she, Dean, and her therapist knew about every time he struck her and every harsh word he’d voiced at her.

So, it was with incredible strength that Y/N wrote it down in a letter. She relived everything her father had subjected her to and apologised to Mary for breaking her son’s heart. She’d put Dean’s letter beside Mary’s with instructions to give it to him “at the right time.” However, Y/N also knew there was a chance Mary would never give him the letter, so she’d reluctantly added, “if you think it’s in his best interests,” at the end.

She still didn’t know if Dean had read her letter, but Mary replied, telling her she had forgiven her and loved her. She’d always love her and was sorry for everything her father had put her through. Y/N had expected it but was still shocked by the anger Mary had expressed towards her for not speaking up when she and John would’ve done everything in their power to protect her and get her out of her father’s house, but Y/N knew it ultimately wouldn’t have made a difference.

“Dean?” Bobby said at the end of the shift. “Can I have a minute?”

“Sure, Chief. What’s up?” Dean asked as he walked into Bobby’s office.

“Close the door and take a seat,” Bobby said as he pushed aside the paperwork from last night’s fire.

“I’m sure you remember I spoke to Y/N and asked her to think about coming home,” Bobby said gently.

“Yeah, I remember,” Dean swallowed nervously. She wasn’t coming. He could feel it.

“A few weeks ago, she came here-” Bobby started, raising his hands in a ‘hold on, let me finish’ gesture at the anger and hurt that settled on Dean’s face.

“I didn’t know she was here. She flew in and out the same day because she had an interview at Memorial. She didn’t tell us because she had to be back in Chicago to work a night shift,” Bobby smiled softly as Dean’s body and face relaxed, and he slumped back in his chair.

“How’d she do?” Dean asked, his voice shaky.

“She starts on Monday,” Bobby grinned as Dean smiled. “She’s moving into Jody’s apartment over the weekend.”

“Does she, uh,” Dean started and cleared his throat before he tried again. “Is there anyone coming with her? You know, boyfriend, kid, dog?” he chuckled, trying to act nonchalant, but Bobby saw right through him.

“No,” he smiled at the younger man. “She’s dated, but nothing ever stuck. According to Jody, she was the love ‘em and leave ‘em type until she made an arrangement with a friend,” Bobby shifted in his chair uncomfortably. Dean couldn’t stop the smirk crossing his face at seeing his mentor squirm. 

“No doubt she broke a lot of hearts!” Dean chuckled, and Bobby smiled wistfully.

“I’m sure she did. Now go on, get outta here! Enjoy your long weekend fishing at the cabin. I’ll see you next week.”

“Thanks, Bobby,” Dean said as he stood.

“For what?” Bobby raised his eyebrow in confusion.

“Telling me about Y/N/N.”

“Promised I would, didn’t I? Besides, can’t have you running into her with one of your love ‘em and leave ‘ems on your arm now, can we?” he winked. “Go on now, get!”

“Hey, are you okay, babe?” Sam asked, flustered as he ran into his parents’ house.

“I’m fine, Sam!” Jess smiled as she rolled her eyes playfully at his concern.

“Are you sure? Did you get checked out properly?” he asked, eyes scanning every inch of her to ensure no sign of illness or injury.

“Sam, babe,” Jess said as calmly as she could, smiling a greeting at John when he entered the kitchen. “I’m fine. I felt a little faint at work, and the new nurse, who is so lovely and not a bitter old bitch like the last one, took me into a room and checked me over. She took a blood sample and gave me a scan just to be sure. It was a little low blood sugar, and she made me sit on the bed until we’d eaten chocolate and drank a soda. I promise I’m much better now. Rowena sent me home for the rest of the day to take it easy. I’m under strict orders to eat at least one more chocolate bar or a slice of cake, put my feet up, and get some rest.”

“You’re sure?” Sam checked again.

“Oh my God, Sam!” she laughed. “Yes! I promise! I’m taking Y/N’s advice and being waited on by an anxious grandmother-to-be for a few hours while I take it easy!”

“Y/N?” Mary asked, placing a generous slab of lemon drizzle cake before Jess and Sam. “It wouldn’t happen to be Y/N Y/L/N by any chance, would it?” Mary finished with a little chuckle as if it was nothing, but it came out more like a plea.

“No,” Jess mumbled around a mouthful of cake. “Y/N Singer. But when she heard my name was Winchester, she asked if I was any relation to you guys. She said she went to school with Dean. Maybe she got married?” she said, putting more cake in her mouth.

“What?” Jess asked at the sudden silence in the room.

“Maybe she took her mama’s name when she left,” John voiced what had been on everyone’s mind.

“Do you think Dean knows?” Sam questioned, and Jess looked downright confused.

“Dean knows what?” Dean asked, returning from the bathroom and leaning against the kitchen doorframe.

Next Chapter >>

Tag list: @deans-baby-momma @deans-spinster-witch @leigh70 @stoneyggirl2 @hobby27 @candy-coated-misery0731 @iprobablyshipit91 @twinkleinadiamondsky @mrsjenniferwinchester @spnwoman @snackles87 @perpetualabsurdity @hoboal87 @synmorite @nancymcl @trannydean @nic-kolas @jc-winchester @winchestergirl1720 @globetrotter28 @nelachu2423 @kayleighmeister @venicesem @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @suckitands33 @tristanrosspada-ackles @silentbutscreaming @lacilou @kazsrm67 @sandlee44 @kmc1989 @chriszgirl92 @ashbatz @k-slla @waters-2567

[moonlight0934]

Public Display

Nagisa slips into his house, deciding to enjoy the quiet while his mom is still at work. He drops into a chair in the living room, then pulls out his homework. He doesn’t end up actually working on that for very long, and ends up falling asleep. It’s an hour later when he wakes up to the door opening.

“Hey, Mom,” Nagisa calls, blinking to dislodge the sleep from his eyes.

“Why do you sound like that? Your voice is so deep,” his mom says, sounding annoyed.

“Sorry, I was asleep. It’ll regulate. Anyway, how was your day?” Nagisa asks as he slips the rubber bands out of his hair.

He runs his hands through his hair, frowning as he realizes how long it’s gotten.

“It was fine.” She walks in, and sits beside him. “I had a good day at work, and I picked up the groceries for your favorite soup.”

Nagisa frowns.

“Oh, why? You don’t like that soup.”

Shit, she wants something. What could she possibly want right now?

“I just thought I’d make it. It’s not like I dislike it.”

Oh no, she’s dodging. It’s bad.

“Ok, that’s fine. What are your plans for the rest of the week?”

“Well, my company is having a party this weekend, but I haven’t gotten the exact details yet.”

Yes she has. She definitely wants me to come, but there’s no way that’s it. What’s she going to ask me to do?

Nagisa hums.

“Well, I hope you have a good time. I need to do my homework, so I’ll be upstairs doing that unless you need help with dinner.”

She shakes her head, and Nagisa stands up. He takes his bag and books up the stairs to his room before dropping onto the bed.

“Ugh, I am not ready for the other shoe to drop. I wonder how long it’s going to take. It’s already Thursday, so it can’t take that long if the party is this weekend.”

Nagisa buries his face into his pillow with a long-suffering sigh. He’s right, and his mother sits him down after dinner the next night for a chat.

“So, I want you to come with me to my party this weekend. It’s going to be on Saturday, and it’s going to start at six o’ clock. So cancel any weekend plans you have.”

“Ok, I’m just going to have to call Karma, but that’s easy enough. Is there anything else?”

“No, just know that I’ll be helping you get ready on Saturday.”

Nagisa nods, standing up.

“Ok, what time do I need to start that process?”

“Three.”

That’s a long time. There’s definitely something she isn’t telling me.

Nagisa tries to put it out of his head until he has to talk to Karma the next day.

He walks out with Karma while Karma chatters about something he’s going to be doing later.

“Why are you so quiet?” he asks suddenly.

“Oh, I actually needed to talk to you about that. I’m not going to be able to help you with that writing project this weekend. My mom wants me to go to some work event with her.”

“Then why don’t we just push it to Sunday?”

“Um… I’ve got a lot of cleaning to do this Sunday. I know it’s already Thursday, but can you find someone else to help you with it?”

Karma frowns.

“Yeah, I guess I can. Are you excited, or is it going to be boring?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t have much information yet, but I guess I’m not too bothered that I have to do it.”

Karma hums.

“Well that sucks, especially since I’m not coming into school tomorrow. So, I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Ok, bye, Karma. Thanks for being understanding.”

Karma laughs. Nagisa walks home, and forces himself not to think about it again. Since it’s only a day and half away, there’s no reason to stress about it. He just needs to wait and see what happens.

His mom doesn’t end up coming into his room until three thirty on Saturday. She’s holding the most extravagant midnight blue dress that Nagisa has ever seen.

“What is that?”

“This is your outfit for the event. We have to get started if we want to have your hair and makeup done in time. It took me longer than I thought to do my own makeup.”

“I thought I was going to be wearing my tux if it was that fancy.”

“No, sweetheart, you’re going to look much better in this.”

“I don’t want to wear that, Mom.”

“Well, if you don’t wear it, then I’m going to pull you out of that stupid E-Class. If your teacher still has a problem with it, then I’ll pull you out of the school entirely. It has not been good for you, and those people are bad influences.”

Nagisa sighs, his eyes darkening.

“Ok, fine.”

“Good, now let’s get you ready.”

She dresses him up, curls his hair, and puts makeup on him.

“Why do I have to do this?” Nagisa asks as he steps into the heels that his mother bought him.

“Because I told you to. You’re so beautiful like this.”

The drive is quiet. The venue is extravagant, and huge. There are tons of people milling around, and most of them wave as Nagisa’s mom leads him to the door. Nagisa’s face burns, but he doesn’t say anything. She’s smiling widely though.

“Hey, Hiromi, it’s good to see you. Oh, and I see you finally decided to bring your daughter. Hi, sweetie, how are you?” a man at the entrance asks.

Nagisa doesn’t look up until his mother elbows him.

“She’s just shy.”

“Hi,” Nagisa says lamely, barely glancing at the man’s face.

“Come on, dear.”

His mother spends the next hour and a half parading him around to all of her friends, cooing about how adorable her daughter is. Nagisa barely says anything until she finally sits down.

“You told your co-workers that you have a daughter?”

“Well, not exactly. They just assumed, and I never corrected them.”

“I’m leaving.”

“No you’re not. You want to go back to school, don’t you? Just stay for another hour or two. It’ll be more fun from here on out.”

“Why do you even care if I walk home?”

“Because my boss isn’t here yet, and I want you to meet him.”

Nagisa sits down too, tucking his chin in his hand.

“Don’t do that, it’s not cute.”

Nagisa huffs, but leans back. He almost immediately sits up, straightening his spine before his mother can say anything. It’s another hour before two men walk over. One is older, and the other one looks like he’s in his early twenties.

“Hi, how are you?” Nagisa’s mom asks, standing up.

The older man smiles.

“Good afternoon, I’m good. Is this Nagisa?”

“Yes, this is my baby, Nagisa.”

“My son’s wanted to meet you for some time now. Your mother speaks very highly of you.”

Nagisa forces a smile onto his face as he glances at the younger man. He still looks like he can’t be younger than twenty two.

“Well, it’s wonderful to meet both of you.”

“Why don’t you go dance with Trevor while I talk to my boss?” Nagisa’s mom asks, pushing Nagisa towards the younger man.

Trevor holds his hand out, and Nagisa has to stop himself from physically recoiling. He takes Trevor’s hand, and lets himself be led onto the dance floor. The music is quiet and slow, but Nagisa still has them dance arms length from each other. Trevor tries to talk to him a few times, but he isn’t really listening. Eventually Trevor gets the hint, and takes him back over to the table.

“Ah, how was your dance?” the older man asks.

“It wasn’t great. Can we go, Dad?”

“Yes, of course. It was nice seeing you, Hiromi. It was also a pleasure to meet you Nagisa, I hope to see you again.”

They’re walking away before either of them can respond. Nagisa’s mom turns back to him.

“Come on, we’re going home.” They’re in the car before she speaks again. “You could have at least pretended to be nice.”

“I was nice. I just wasn’t the kind of nice that he wanted. Also, he thought I was a girl.”

“Yes, I know that.”

She opens her car door, and slams it shut again as soon as she’s out.

“Mom, I don’t want to go to your work functions so I can act like I’m a girl.”

She turns around to face Nagisa.

“I am doing this for your own good. You could have so many opportunities if you just stop being so stubborn. I could have gotten assigned something that could have changed our lives. Instead now they’re annoyed with me, because you were rude.”

“I wasn’t rude.”

“You were rude. Now go to your room.”

Nagisa goes to his room, changes, and throws himself down on his bed. He silently sobs, his face buried in his pillow. His mom comes by to take his phone, but leaves him alone otherwise. So, he spends the rest of the night crying alone in his room.

[sunnyrealist]

Chapter 60: Take Care

The Sun, the Moon, and All Our Stars

Summary and Details…

Previous Chapter Recap/Context: Sebastian is in a great mood after hearing back from his friend Ruby, who wrote that she wanted to meet to catch up and share some information with him about Anne. Kate, never having connected the dots previously, finally realized that Ruby was the "Hero of Hogwarts" - the girl who had mysteriously arrived at Hogwarts as a fifth year in 1890. Later, Kate reveals some exciting news - when she met with Matilda Weasley, she posed the idea of having Sebastian help her with library work over a summer weekend, and the deputy headmistress had agreed. Sebastian and Kate both get a little hot and bothered, imagining all of the things they could do in the unoccupied castle, but before things get too heavy, Seb realizes that Kate is supposed to be on her monthly cycle. She admits rather worriedly that she hasn't bled, and the two of them panic, wondering if she is pregnant. This chapter picks up on the evening of the following day.

Pairing: 25-year-old, post-Azkaban Sebastian Sallow x 24-year-old Kate Mayflower (my OC), the assistant librarian at Hogwarts

Content warnings: In general, this is rated 18+, so minors should not read or interact with this story. In this chapter, there's a big focus on a woman's monthly cycle. Also featured is panic over parental disapproval and worrying about a dangerous job.

The full chapter is available below the cut; it can also be found on AO3 (link is posted below). Please leave some feedback if possible, especially if you like what you read! 🥰

Chapter 60: Take Care

“Seb, Seb!” Kate cries, sprinting outside the moment she sees him apparate near the gate.

He looks her way in both confusion and adoration, unsure if her tone is one of romance or one of concern. He closes the gate behind him and his girlfriend barrels into his arms. He wraps his arms around her, picking her up.

“Hello, sunshine,” he murmurs, embracing her tightly. He kisses her, and then puts her back down on solid ground.

“I got it!” Kate tells him breathlessly. 

“Got what?” he asks, and a beat later, it dawns upon him. His eyebrows raise in hope.

“My monthly courses,” she replies. “I bled. I’m not pregnant!” 

Sebastian lifts her back up and twirls her around, pressing his lips to hers enthusiastically. “Oh, thank the gods. Thank bloody Merlin!”

She chuckles, poking his chest. “I guess I was just a bit late. We didn’t have to worry after all.”

Kate takes his hand, leading him inside. He drops his satchel by the door, then unlaces and removes his shoes with a sigh. Next, he loosens his tie and unfastens the top buttons of his collared shirt, untucking it from his pants. “It’s been a hell of a long day. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” she answers with an amused smile. “You’re home. You get to be comfortable here.”

Dinner is simple but delicious - aged cheddar cheese toasties with a roasted tomato soup. Sebastian wolfs down two helpings with cider and gratefully accepts her dessert - a warm cinnamon apple cake with vanilla ice cream. He regales Kate with stories about his long day, finally asking about hers.

“Oh, nothing all that exciting happened,” she murmurs. “Just did some chores around the cottage. I worked in the garden most of the afternoon, then did some cleaning and laundry. I also wrote some letters.”

“Sounds like you were busy,” he replies, taking the last sip of his cider. “To whom did you write?”

She inhales deeply and hesitates for a moment. “After all the worrying with my lack of… well, bleeding… and knowing you’re going to be miserable for a couple of days working with the Kelpies, I figured I might as well get something tough out of the way for myself. I wrote to my family, requesting a luncheon together next week on Thursday. I don’t think I can avoid my mum much longer now that she knows I’m dating someone.” She sighs. “It’s… time for me to tell them about you.”

Sebastian’s eyebrows raise. “I didn’t realize you felt ready. I thought that might take a while.”

“Yeah, but with what could have happened, I’d rather they at least know who you are in case anything serious really does happen,” Kate explains. “It’s for the best, my love.”

He nods in response, but his eyes betray his obvious internal anxiety. He’s quiet for a moment, but then once he starts talking, it devolves quickly into blabbering. “And… What if they forbid you to see me? What if they say they’ll never approve of our relationship? What if they hate me? What if they think I’m just… a thug? Or see me as someone trying to take advantage of you? What if they try to separate us?”

Kate listens, then silences him with a kiss. When she pulls away, she murmurs, “Seb, I obviously want this to all go well, but if it doesn’t… I don’t care. I’m an adult. We’re adults. We make our own choices. I love you. You’re my soulmate. They can’t separate us. And I won’t ever abandon you.”

Sebastian studies her face for any sign of doubt, even though she’s previously reassured him of these same fears many times now. She stares back confidently at him, and he relaxes a bit.

“You’re the only man I’ll love for the rest of my life,” she whispers while intertwining her fingers with his. “We were born to be together. You’re the moon to my sun.” She kisses his cheek. “If they don’t understand at first, it isn’t the end of the world. Someday, they’ll see the strength of our love, our connection… and imagining me with anyone else will be impossible.” She presses her lips to his, tasting sweet apples. “I love you, Seb. I’ll love you forever.”

He takes a shaky breath. “I love you, too, Kate. I just get nervous… and I know - I bloody well know - it’s my mind playing tricks on me, but I can’t help it. I still feel like everything that has happened with you is… too good to be true, and the rug is about to be swept out from under me… by your family, no less. It terrifies me because I love you so much. I love you so much it hurts.”

Almost as if on cue, Kate suddenly doubles over. “Ooooof…”

Sebastian’s eyes widen, concerned, and he reaches out a hand. “Whoa - sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“Ooooh,” she moans, her eyes shut tight. She attempts to sit up. “Just… cramping.”

His eyes flicker with understanding. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” He places his hand delicately on her abdomen and gently rubs in a circle. “Before Anne was cursed, she would complain a lot about her monthly cycle, so I know how uncomfortable it can be.”

Kate nods, trying to put on a smile even with her voice strained. “It’s alright. I manage.”

“Let me help you tonight,” he offers sincerely. “You deserve to be taken care of after all you’ve done for me. Come on, now…”

Sebastian walks her to the bedroom, where he helps her to undress and put on a soft nightgown. He lays her on the bed and minutes later returns with a book, warm green tea, and a particularly warm pillow, which he places over her abdomen. She accepts it all gratefully, amazed at the lengths to which he is willing to go. He disappears again, and soon, she can hear the bathtub running. When he comes back once more, he returns with peppermint oil, which he massages into her feet. 

“Thank you,” she whispers, sighing in relief. “That feels so good.”

Later, he scoops her into his arms, carrying her towards the bathroom. She smiles as she takes in the sight - a steamy bubble bath - and then her smile grows even bigger when she detects the calming scent of lavender and chamomile. 

“Just for you,” he murmurs. “It might help you fall asleep.”

Sebastian gives Kate some privacy, and when she is finished in the bathroom, she feels like she could melt into a puddle of relaxation. Back in the bedroom, he sets a warming charm on her side of the bed, lights a candle, and offers her a piece of sweet chocolate. She settles under the blankets and he follows, coming close to her. 

A kiss is pressed to her forehead. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“Love you, Seb,” she murmurs sleepily.

He softly rubs her abdomen. Her eyes close, and soon, her rhythmic breathing becomes a soft snore. He chuckles to himself, blows out the candle, and spoons her. Taking care of her has allowed Sebastian to completely ignore the dread of what he might experience with the Kelpies over the next two days, and he falls into a deep sleep.

The hormones from Kate’s monthly cycle certainly don’t make Wednesday morning any easier.

Tears stream down her face. “Please don’t go. Convince the Ministry to take you out of the field. Please.”

He closes his eyes, pained by her plea. “I can’t do that, Kate. You know I can’t.” He pulls her close, wrapping his arms around her. “I love you. You know I would do anything to come home to you safely. And you know that if there’s something I’m good at, it’s surviving.” He pauses, tilting her chin up. “I will think of you every moment, think of what you might do in any situation I find myself in. You’re my motivation. My inspiration. My reason for living.”

“I love you, Seb,” she replies softly, wiping away a fresh fallen tear, “but I’m afraid. What if you don’t come back?”

He’s quiet for a moment, trying to determine the best way to soothe her. “Then… I probably am delayed… or fighting my way back to you. And even if things are going well, I still may not come home around dinner time. It’s unpredictable in the field. I hope I will return home before you go to bed tomorrow night. But don’t wait up all night for me just in case I get stuck. That happens sometimes. I don’t want you to worry. I’ll be alright.”

“But what if you aren’t?” she whispers, afraid to say it louder - to make it more real.

He gazes into her eyes. “Listen to me. I am going to be fine. But if something ever happens to me, I want you to know that I love you more than I love my own life. In just over a month, you gave me hope and purpose… and I’m happier than I’ve ever been. If I don’t come back, it’s not because I didn’t try. It means that there was no way to. And if I… if I die, it was in an attempt to make the world a better place - to make the world safer for you. I think I would feel… redeemed for all I’ve done if I passed in service to the good people of the wizarding community.” He takes her hand, kissing it. “But that isn’t going to happen. I need you to be strong, sweetheart. I need you to be strong for me.”

She swallows, trying like hell to toughen up. Falling apart will only make this worse. “Be safe, Sebastian. Come back to me.”

“I will. I promise I will,” he assures her. 

“I trust you. I love you. Please take care of yourself”

Sebastian kisses Kate tenderly, lingering, memorizing the feel of her lips against his. “I love you, sunshine.”

And within moments, he is gone.