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ruinofchimera · 2 days

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Please tell us more about Voldemort's relationship with Severus, and why you think it differs so much from Voldemort's other relationships

Whatever it is that lingers between Tom and Severus—power, manipulation, some dark bond none of us can fully grasp—it naturally ignites chaos in the mind of the beholders. And if you’re eager to feel that burn, I’ll gladly embrace you in it. To you brave, reckless souls, I say this: your wish is my command.

So, here we are, picking apart how Severus Snape—mudblood, poor, and bruised from the heavy hand of a Muggle father—managed to land himself a spot at the table with the most rabid pack of blood purists you’ve ever seen. A table, mind you, he had no business sitting at. The Death Eaters, that tight little clique of privileged purebloods, had no real reason to let in this scruffy little outsider. Sure, Snape was useful. Very useful. His skills were sharp as knives, and he could do their dirty work, get his hands filthy so they didn’t have to. But useful doesn’t mean welcome. Useful doesn’t mean accepted. You know who else was useful? Fenrir Greyback and his mangy lot. They brought terror to the doorsteps of half the wizarding world, and did Voldemort’s cause no small service. But did they get a place at the inner circle? Did they get respect? Hell no. They were the dirt beneath the boots of the real Death Eaters. Useful filth. And then there’s Snape, embodying everything these purists claim to despise—a half-blood with a tainted surname, living in squalor, dragged through the muck by a Muggle brute of a father. By all accounts, Death Eaters should have spat in his face and tossed him out like yesterday’s rubbish. But no. Not only does he get a seat at the table, he rises. He’s placed on a pedestal, standing closer to Voldemort than some of the most loyal, purest-blooded lackeys in the room. Voldemort, in all his cold-blooded glory, didn’t just tolerate Severus. He raised him up, right in front of their sneering, offended faces. Now, here’s where it gets really interesting. If you think Voldemort did this out of some sense of gratitude, you’ve missed the point entirely. Tom Riddle doesn’t do gratitude. That kind of sentiment is beneath him, an alien concept. Voldemort doesn’t reward; he uses. Deeds done in his name are expected, not appreciated. You’re not going to get a pat on the back from a man who thinks the world owes him its loyalty. Snape’s service should’ve earned him nothing more than a brief reprieve from pain. A loosening of the noose around his neck, if he was lucky. That’s Voldemort’s way—keep them all desperate, keep them all afraid. So why did Snape, of all people, get raised up? Why did he, the least likely among them, become a favorite?

Mind, it’s not just me declaring Snape as Voldemort’s favorite. That dark, twisted bond is laced into nearly every interaction between the two, as if something unspoken and festering passes between them. But it’s Narcissa Malfoy who lays it bare. A woman born into the highest echelons of pure-blood privilege, the very foundation on which Voldemort’s so-called supremacy stands, doesn’t hesitate when she calls him “the Dark Lord’s favorite, his most trusted advisor.” Let that sink in.

Here is the wife of Lucius Malfoy, a man whose lineage is steeped in the darkest of traditions. But when her family’s future is on the edge of a wand, when her son’s life dangles by a thread, she doesn’t rely on Lucius, doesn’t turn to Bellatrix. No, she comes to Severus, because deep down, she knows. They all do.

It’s something more insidious, something that slips through the cracks in the floorboards of Voldemort’s ideology. He is the one Voldemort trusts, the one Voldemort leans on, the one whose counsel can shift the dark winds of fate. That is real power, raw and untouchable. Narcissa sees it—how could she not? Even with all her aristocratic pride, even with the weight of her name and her family’s legacy pressing down on her, she understands that none of it means a damn thing next to what Snape has. Narcissa, with her family’s long, proud heritage, has to grovel before someone who, by the very logic of Voldemort’s cause, should be inferior. But Snape is different, and everyone knows it. They may not say it, they may not even want to admit it, but they know. He operates outside the lines, above the fray, immune to the very rules that were meant to keep people like him down. Snape, the half-blood, the one with the muddied past, holds a kind of sway that no one else in Voldemort’s ranks can claim.

Oh, there comes the bitter irony of Peter Pettigrew. After years of scraping and groveling, thinking he’d earned his place in the Dark Lord’s favor, Peter is handed over like a rag for Severus to wring out. Peter, one of the smug Marauders who’d gleefully hounded Snape through school, reduced now to something just shy of a house-elf, bowing and cringing under Snape’s very roof. A cruel twist of fate, no doubt arranged with Voldemort’s signature malevolence. Was this some attempt to plant a spy in Snape's house? Maybe, if you take it at face value. But think for a moment—Voldemort, who couldn’t pry Snape's treachery from his skull with all the power of Legilimency, putting his trust in Wormtail to do the job? The rat that couldn't outsmart a dormitory prank, never mind a master of deception like Severus?

No, this isn’t espionage; this is karma. Cruel, twisted karma orchestrated by the Dark Lord himself. You can almost picture Severus watching Peter scuttle about his house, casting him those withering, superior glances—knowing full well that Tom has given him this indulgence, this little taste of vengeance. Snape treats Wormtail with open contempt, because he knows he can. He knows it’s allowed, expected even. It’s as if the tables have turned in the most bitter of ways, a humiliating reversal of fortune. Pettigrew, who once revelled in Snape’s humiliation, now reduced to the lowest of roles, while Snape—Voldemort’s golden boy—sits at the top. Isn’t it delicious? You’d have to be blind to chalk it up to coincidence. Moreover, Pettigrew’s fate is all the proof you’ll ever need that Voldemort’s rule isn’t founded on something as simple or sentimental as loyalty. Loyalty? Sacrifice? Please. Pettigrew’s life was one long, groveling act of desperation to stay in the Dark Lord’s good graces. You bring your master back from the brink of death itself, and still, all you get is contempt. Voldemort demands service, sure. But service? Guarantees nothing. And when you set Severus and Peter side by side, the question gnaws at you. Why? Why is Snape the favored one, the exception, the enigma in Voldemort’s otherwise brutal, predictable hierarchy? What makes him different? There’s something between them—something that doesn’t follow the usual logic of power and punishment. Voldemort doesn’t just tolerate Snape’s defiance; he rewards it, bends the system to accommodate it. Something unspoken, something hidden behind the masks they both wear, grants Snape a level of favor that Pettigrew could only dream of.

What’s crucial to grasp here is that Voldemort doesn’t spare anyone. His entire ideology is rooted in cruelty, in domination, in the ruthless obliteration of all who oppose him. He doesn’t just eliminate enemies; he obliterates them, wipes them from existence without a second thought. And yet, here’s the anomaly: Lily Evans, mother of Harry Potter, a member of the Order of the Phoenix, and a Muggle-born witch, is offered a chance to live. Live. This decision, however, is directly tied to Snape. Snape had begged Voldemort to spare her, and it is this plea—Snape’s plea—that softens the Dark Lord’s otherwise unyielding cruelty.

To truly grasp the enormity of this act, we need to take a step back and consider Snape’s position in all of this. Remember, Severus was just 21 years old when he found himself pleading with Voldemort, one of the most dangerous dark wizard in history, to spare Lily Evans.

Snape wasn’t the imposing, confident figure we often associate with him thanks to Alan Rickman’s performance—he wasn’t a man exuding quiet menace, seemingly capable of standing toe-to-toe with Voldemort. No, at this point in canon, he was barely more than a boy, a young man fresh out of Hogwarts, with no powerful lineage or wealth to protect him.

And yet, despite this—despite the sheer imbalance of power between them—Snape dared to approach Voldemort. Voldemort. With a plea. Not for himself, but for a Muggle-born witch. At best, Snape’s request might have been laughed off, dismissed as the desperate wish of a foolish young Death Eater. But it wasn’t. For some reason, Voldemort didn’t just tolerate Snape’s plea—he actually acted on it.

Consider how critical this moment was to Voldemort’s larger agenda. At the heart of his entire scheme is a singular, consuming fixation: the annihilation of the child prophesied to be his undoing. Harry Potter is Voldemort’s obsession, the one threat he must eliminate to secure his dominion. The Potters were no longer just enemies—they were the key to his future, and Harry was the focus of his most crucial mission. In this context, sparing anyone even remotely connected to Harry was an extraordinary risk. Leniency wasn’t just unnecessary—it was dangerous. By showing mercy to Lily, Voldemort risked undermining his own carefully constructed agenda. And this wasn’t a moment where Voldemort could afford to make mistakes.

This unprecedented act of “mercy,” this concession Voldemort granted Snape, became the very thing that led to his downfall. Had Voldemort simply killed Lily Evans on the spot, as he did James, she would never have had the chance to sacrifice herself for Harry. The protection her sacrifice invoked—the ancient magic that saved Harry’s life and turned Voldemort’s killing curse back on him—would never have existed. Voldemort, the cold strategist, fell because he didn’t bend for anyone—except, inexplicably, for Snape. And that single, dangerous deviation cost him everything. That’s how it’s all started.

And there it is— how it’s all ends. Voldemort’s final words to Severus Snape before he executes him. But pay attention to how he begins. “Clever man,” he calls him. He suggests that Snape might’ve already known the truth of the Elder Wand’s treachery. Tom would never acknowledge someone’s cleverness if it undermined his own intellectual abilities. If he implies that Snape may have already unraveled the mystery of the Elder Wand, it undoubtedly indicates that Voldemort had recognized Snape’s crucial role in the wand’s problems long before. It’s not just idle chatter or casual flattery. No, it’s a bloody confirmation that Voldemort himself had long ago pieced together the mystery of Snape’s involvement with the wand. This wasn’t some last-minute realization that forced his hand. It wasn’t ignorance that delayed Snape’s death, not at all. It was deliberation. Voldemort, for all his cruelty, wasn’t stupid. He suspected, long before that moment, that Snape was at the center of the problem with the wand’s loyalty. He just chose not to act on it until the very last moment.

He held back from executing him, searching for any other way around the wand’s limitations, trying to find a solution that didn’t involve killing Snape. But when it came down to it, when all other options were exhausted, Voldemort finally made his move.

And what does he do? He delivers a speech. A bloody speech, full of regret and excuses—“I regret what must happen.” Does that sound like the Voldemort we know? The Dark Lord who kills without a second thought, who carves his empire from the bones of the disobedient? Hell no. This is the man who thrives on fear, on swift, brutal punishment. And yet, here he is, delivering justifications like some guilty executioner. This isn’t Voldemort’s usual method. This isn’t the whip coming down fast and hard. This is something altogether more… hesitant.

That speech, soaked in rationalizations, tells us everything we need to know. Snape’s death wasn’t just business—it was personal. It’s a messy, ugly end to the unexplainable dynamic between them. Even at the very end, Voldemort is bending, twisting, trying to justify his actions to the one man who had managed to worm his way under his skin. And in that second, we see something rare—a glimpse of the complexity in their relationship. Voldemort’s usual ruthless efficiency is absent.

His “I regret it,” spoken once more, stands out like a blade in the gut, sharp and unexpected, slicing straight through Voldemort’s usual cold indifference. The Dark Lord, who has never spared a thought for the wreckage in his wake, lets these words hang in the air, unnatural as they are. A man who’s never known the weight of remorse now offers something that almost feels like regret. Not true regret, of course—Voldemort doesn’t have the luxury of feeling something so weak, so human. But still, It’s not a sentiment he offers to anyone else. It’s almost as if Voldemort doesn’t know how to process this lingering attachment, as though Snape’s mere existence demands something from him that Voldemort is incapable of giving. Snape occupies some strange corner of Voldemort’s mind, twisted and dark it may be, that not even the Dark Lord himself seems to understand. Despite the fact that I’ve painted a whole canvas of tangled thoughts on the strange relationship between Severus and Tom, I’ve barely begun to tug at the thread of their inexplicable dynamic. There’s so much more I could unearth, layers of intrigue and tension that ripple through every scene between them, and I could easily go on for hours about the small, delicious details woven into their story. But, as it happens, my full-time job is already sharpening its knife and aiming for my back, so I'll have to bring this whole saga to a close with the following quote:

For me, the intensity of this scene speaks volumes about their relationship, capturing the very essence of what makes these two so bloody fascinating. The way their gaze alone can make Death Eaters flinch under the weight of their unspoken understanding. It’s not fear, not exactly. It’s something colder, something deeper. As though they’re witnessing a bond forged in the dark, a grim understanding that none of them can ever be a part of.

That’s what keeps dragging me back to these two. The tension, the labyrinth of contradictions, the complex tangle of manipulation. I want to look away—hell, I should look away, just like the Death Eaters did. But there’s something about it, something that coils around me, tightening like a serpent’s embrace. Can you blame me?

#severus snape #tom riddle #voldemort #harry potter #lily evans

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juletheghoul · 8 hours

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a/n: I asked for requests and y'all came THROUGH. Freaks - all of you!! (same) hope you enjoy this fucking ovulation-fueled fever dream lmao. @quicax3 - I am dedicating everything I post today to you- Happy birthday! 🩷hope ya'll enjoy (not even a little beta'd or proofread lol all mistakes are mine)

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, hand stuff, rough / marathon sex, homeboy paints the boobies- Marcus gets dosed with something and is * d e s p e r a t e *(a little graphic / I guess this could be hurt / comfort?), master / slave dynamic (power imbalance) he’s still pretty possessive, Marcus calls reader Girl, reader calls Marcus Dominus - let me know if I missed any! 🩷

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 2.6k (😅)

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist series masterlist

You frowned to see her darkening his doorstep once more from your place just inside the giant doorway.

“Announce my arrival to Marcus if you would, I have brought him a gift.” She smiles her prettiest smile at you, moving to walk past you but you hold fast, blocking her path.

“Apologies my lady, the Dominus is absent. I do not know when he will return and I am not to allow visitors in his absence.” Part of you felt a twinge of guilt at the way her face fell, but the memory of her proposal, and her apparent attempts to change his mind twisted something in your gut. She clutched at the wine bottle in her hands, cradling it as her eyes scanned what she could see of the house behind you.

“Do you know when he left.” She frowns, eyes focusing on you once more.

“He has been gone since first light, and as I said before, I am unsure of when he will return. He did not say when he left.” You were telling her mostly the truth, he had left early in the day, but you knew he’d be back before nightfall. He’d told you.

“I could just wait, I doubt he’ll mind–” She flashed her winning smile, thinking it would work on you as it had worked on everyone throughout her years but she had no notion of your ire for her.

“Apologies my lady, I cannot permit you inside, it will be my head.” It would never come to that, you knew it but he would not be pleased.

“Oh come now.” She huffed just outside the door, crossing her arms and for a moment you saw a spoiled child on the verge of a tantrum. One of his guards heard the commotion and came over to assist.

“Apologies my lady, but you will have to return another time, when the Dominus is here to greet you.” He was large, and her demeanor changed instantly.

“I have brought him a gift, he will be happy to see me I swear it–” She held the bottle out to the guard and he took it, looking over what seemed to be a dark red wine.

“I will make sure Dominus receives your gift.” He closed the door in her face despite the widening of her eyes at having been left outside, giftless, and unwelcome. She knocked again, but the guard only put the bottle in your hands, and sent you off with a nod. You went about your business and left him to it.

Your Dominus was true to his word. The sun had just kissed the horizon when he walked through the door. His brow was furrowed in frustration and you rushed to greet him, hoping his business hadn’t gone awry. His eyes found yours and they softened, but only a touch.

“Shall I prepare your meal Dominus? Or would you care to rest first?” You followed as he made his way towards his study, his stride quick enough to make you hurry after him.

“I’ll take my meal in my study, fetch me clean water and linens to cleanse before I eat–and the red wine if you would.” He sat at his desk, putting down scrolls he’d brought with him. His talk of wine reminded you of his visitor.

“Oh–I just recalled. You had a visitor while you were away today, Dominus.” You brought the empty basin from the corner and set it up at the little table beside his desk for the water you’d have to fetch. His eyes shot up, his attention solely focused on you. “I obeyed your commands, no one came in–it was Lavinia.”

His eyebrow raised, and a small, half-smile formed on his lips. The scrolls sat on the desk, forgotten as he leaned back a little in his chair, amused now at the way your chin jut out in uncharacteristic defiance.

“Was it now? And just what did Lavinia want?” He narrowed his eyes, his smile widened a fraction.

“I think I can divine what she wanted.” You mumble the words under your breath, picking at your nails and he clears his throat, a gentle warning. “Apologies Dominus, I said, I think I can divine what she wanted. I do not think she took your refusal with good grace. She brought you a gift, in hopes to sway you if I had to hazard a guess.”

“Well, seems she would like me to reconsider.” He crossed his arms, watching your face and it’s hard to keep it free of emotion. “Bring me her gift, I would like to see it.” He gestured to the door with a playful smile and although your belly twisted at the thought of her working her charms on him from afar, you knew in your heart of hearts he simply liked to frustrate you.

The temptation to smash the bottle into pieces was almost too big to ignore. The thought of him being displeased however kept your grip on it tight, kept you obedient as you did everything he’d asked of you. With his hands cleansed, with his food served, you put the bottle onto his desk.

“So this is what she offers.” He took the bottle in his hand, turning it over with more interest than you would have liked. He opened it, and put it under his nose. You watched him, fighting tooth and nail to keep your expression neutral. He only smiled the harder, reveling in your poorly disguised discomfort.

“It smells like good wine, but fortified with something.” He poured some into a goblet, swirling it with growing interest.

“Shall I leave you to enjoy your meal, Dominus?” You kept your head held high, reminding yourself that he had refused her after all, and a cup of wine wasn’t going to change anything.

“No. I would have you here.” He smiled, bringing the cup to his mouth and draining it in a few gulps.

It was almost instant, the change in him.

“Dominus?” You approached him, heart sinking at the way his eyes momentarily lost focus, at the way his face went slack, all of him utterly empty for a moment. A wild fear gripped your heart, surely she wouldn’t poison him? “Dominus? Dominus!” You almost scream, pushing between him and the desk to pull his face up.

“Hmmm?” For a moment he couldn’t focus, and it looked as though he might faint into a feverish sleep but then his eyes found yours and he smiled, truly smiled.

“Dominus—“ he moved cat-quick, pulling you into his embrace roughly.

“Gods above, why do you smell so good?” He pressed his nose to your chest, pulling in greedy sniffs of you while his hands slipped under your tunic.

“Dominus, are you well? What is happening?” You tried to get him to look at you, but his eyes were focused on his hands, on pulling at the seams of your tunic. You can’t help but let out a little scream when he rips it open.

“I am going to die if you don’t sit on my cock this instant, Girl, I need it, I need to feel you, I need to take you—fill you with my seed.” He moans out the words, more desperate than you’ve ever seen him and for a moment you give in, his face tilted up to beckon your mouth to his.

There is a strange taste in his mouth, something honeyed and full of an almost seductive smoke.

You pull away despite his iron grip on your waist.

“Dominus, Dominus wait—” You try to look into his eyes again but it’s like he’s not there. Something in you awakens, and you do something you’ve never even considered, you do something that could cost you your life. You strike him clean across the face.

The crack of it is loud enough, and hard enough to stop him cold.

“Dominus—I beg your forgiveness but I need you to listen to my words—I think Lavinia has slipped you some sort of love potion, some magic to seduce you—“ your hands shake as you speak to him, praying to all the Gods that you aren’t punished for trying to help him.

“Girl…” he speaks slowly, his face splotchy and red and an ache builds in your throat, fear threatening you with tears. “Girl, I think you may be right.” He trembles slightly, his skin warm where you still touch him. You can see the effort on his face to keep himself under control, to keep his wits about him as the potion works through his body.

He stands, swaying slightly and takes the bottle to the door while you watch, clutching at your ripped tunic. He hands it to one of his guards and instructs him to dispose of it, to not let anyone have any of it because it is corrupted.

“Shall I get you something else?”

“I need your body, Girl.” He holds onto the wall for a moment to steady himself, his eyes cast downwards. “I need to bury myself inside you, I am sick with it, I feel as though if I don’t I will surely die.” His eyes are red when they find yours and there is a fire there you have only ever seen after a battle.

“If you do not desire this, then leave and lock yourself in your chambers. I will make do with my fist.” He takes a steadying breath, waiting with an almost divine patience despite his state.

The anger you feel for Lavinia knows no bounds, that she would resort to something like this to force him to give her his body makes your blood boil. The way in which he devours you however, that makes your cunt clench and drip for him.

“I am yours, Dominus.” You let the tunic fall and beckon to him with open arms. You see his prowess in the moment it takes him to cross the room and all but dig his fingers into you. His mouth is insistent, his hands are rough at your waist and on your breasts, his passion is hard as steel at your hip where it digs into your skin, all of his sharp desire, his sharp edges scraping at your softness with an inhuman strength.

“I am in pain Girl, every fucking inch of me aches—“ his words are a painful moan as he all but tears at his layers. You help as best you can and once he is bare you gasp. His cock is so red, his balls look so swollen, you think he really might burst if he does not find his release.

There is no time for gentle touch.

You turn and bend over his desk uncaring of his papers falling to the floor and present your backside to him. It’s with trembling hands that he slots his cock at your entrance. He enters you with one brutal shove of his hips and moans like you’ve never heard him moan before. Despite your own arousal, you wince.

“Forgive me Girl, I cannot be gentle-“ He does not ease you into it, it is a rough pushing and pulling of himself into your sex and he is too thick, too deep, you feel him in your lungs, in your throat.

“I do not wish to hurt you, but you feel so fucking good, so tight, so wet I cannot stop myself.” His words help, his true nature helps. You focus on the feel of him, on the reassuring grip of his big hands on your hips, on the noises he makes as his groin hits the plump of your ass with every sharp thrust.

Your cunt leaks around him, coating him, raising the volume on the sounds of your coupling and before long he’s pulled you up, his chin resting over your shoulder while one hand holds onto your breast tight enough to almost hurt.

“Here it comes—“ he barely gives a warning before he groans long and loud, filling your poor little cunt with his gift. He presses his forehead to the back of your neck, taking greedy pulls of air into his lungs while he keeps himself buried deep.

You catch your breath for a moment before he pulls out and turns you to face him. His eyes are shut tight, and then he looks down. His cock has not softened, it looks just as angry, just as hard as it did before, his balls still heavy and full of seed.

“I fear I may be like this for a while, the pain returns even as I stand here.”

You sit him in his chair and climb onto him, sheathing him inside you once more but this time, with his mess and your arousal easing his passage, and you setting the pace things are better.

“I will take care of you Dominus, let me take the pain away.” You wrap your arms around him and slip your tongue into his mouth with a deep kiss, relishing the noise he feeds directly into your lungs. His arms are a cage around your ribs, tight enough to make you fight for every breath but it matters not. He feels so good like this, so deep and with every roll of your hips his noises become more frantic, more imploring.

He comes again almost without warning as you keep your rhythm, wincing when he tightens his grip a little more but still, he does not soften.

He lets out a whine, a pathetic, gorgeous thing when you keep rolling your hips, clenching around him in search of your own climax.

“Please Girl, please please, I beg of you, milk my cock, I need to spill inside you again, over and over, please—“ his voice is not his own, it’s some needy, powerless creature under your spell and you want nothing more than to oblige him. You speed up despite the sweat shining on your shin, despite the ache in your body and again he spills, crying out like a teenage boy touching a woman for the first time.

“Again Dominus?” You’re tired, but it feels so good, and the desperate, slack jawed expression makes you ache for your own climax.

“Yes Girl, Gods yes- again—“ he helps you move, your sweat slicked flesh spilling between his fingers, his lap is a mess of his own seed and your arousal, you cannot stop now. He takes your nipple into his mouth just as his thumb slips into the mess between your thighs and swirls it around your clit.

Your own climax hits you like a slap across the face- all at once making you seize and he comes again at the feel of it, both of you suspended in exquisite agony.

You are truly sore now, every muscle aches, everything burns.

“Dominus- I don’t think my body can handle more.” You brush back his hair, placing a small kiss where you slapped him.

“It is a little better now, come to my bed with me.”

Hours pass, and he still stands at attention but he relieves himself with his fist as you lay on his bed. He begs for your hand, and you oblige him. He begs to look at your cunt, and you show him, he begs to let him paint your breasts in his seed, and you position yourself for him, until he finally softens and rests.

You cleanse him, and yourself, and fall into his arms, asleep before you’re fully settled.

He does not leave his chambers the next day, and orders you to take a full day of rest yourself. While grateful to sleep and give your tired body time to recover, part of you fears he might not want to see you, but then one of the older women brings a feast to your chambers at his instruction, good wine and more food than you could eat in a whole day and you know you are forgiven.

You smile around your bites of food, content with your thoughts of what he might do in retaliation.

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #marcus acacius #marcus acacius x reader #general marcus acacius #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x female reader #marcus acacius smut #marcus acacius fanfiction #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii

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selarina · 2 days

Text

True Blue

→ Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader (Series Masterlist)

Chapter 3: The Party

Summary: Back home after your first year of university, you try to spend the bone-dry heat of summer with your boyfriend, Gojo Satoru, but restrictions prevail.

Content Warning: college bf!gojo, fluff, light angst, established relationship, birthday, implied parental issues, class differences, gojo is rich, casual violence (mentioned), social anxiety, reader and gojo are business majors (for now lol)

Word Count: 3.9k words

Author's Note: happy end of summer!! played cigarettes after sex the entire time i wrote this

Taglist: Open

In all honesty, you had expected Gojo to immediately whisk you away into a secluded corner of his house, and rid you of your clothes, blaming the summer heat or something just as ridiculous in the process. But instead, you were witnessing a far different side of him, it was baffling. Like he’s Jekyll and this version of him is Hyde in all his unfamiliar glory. He’s restrained, and poised. He’s not slinking his hands about as he speaks, they remain steady. It was jarring, to say the least.

He was speaking of politics— and a joke? They’re all laughing, so it must be.

You aren’t really listening, you’re far too busy raking through your eyes the crowd, watching the audience he’s garnered in all their collective gaze. It was such an odd thing to witness, the way they all hung onto his every word, as though something unseen and magnetic held their vision in place.

You understood them though in a way. Of course, you did.

A waiter, dressed in a two-piece suit, quietly delivers another bottle of whiskey to the people near the couch. You hadn’t touched a drop, as you found yourself far too anxious to trust a drink in your hand or in your body. The crowd made you feel exposed, you felt seen in every muscle you moved.

Your eyes flit out to the only open window in the big hall — a breeze coming in through there, and you felt you wanted to walk eastward towards it and walk through the soft twilight of the balcony. But you refrained, it would be impolite. You weren’t sure what kind of rules were in place in this crowd, but you could tell it was different from what you were accustomed to.

You felt severely underdressed for starters. That was your tell. There seemed to be an unspoken theme you didn’t know about but perhaps that’s your fault for dropping by to surprise. Why would Satoru indulge in themes for a party if he didn’t know you were making it too? It makes sense, but you wish he had slipped out just once, so you could have prepared. Now, you felt severely plain when standing beside the fancier dolls in the room.

A warm hand enveloped yours, pulling you from your thoughts. You turned, your eyes meeting the face of a slender woman. Her face looked ghostly, otherworldly, with a complexion of powdered milky white.

“Mrs. Gojo,” you recognised.

“Hello, dear,” she smiled. This marked the first time you were seeing her in person. You had seen her only in photographs before, countless of them. Satoru adored his mother. She seemed like a worldly and kind woman somehow. You could tell at just first glance.

"Hello," you replied, your voice catching as though nerves had tangled in your throat.

“You missed the memo, it seems,” she remarked, though there was no sharpness in her tone, merely a simple observation. It didn’t seem like judgment, but it still left you a bit embarrassed.

“Yeah,” you laugh an artificial laugh. "This was all very last minute on my part, so I wasn’t aware of the theme."

“No worries at all,” she reassured you, a poshness in her voice. Her hand rubbed softly against your bicep. “I could dazzle you up if you let me— a few accessories, perhaps a hairclip. That’s all it takes if you ask me.”

The thought of being alone with Gojo’s mother unsettled you, but you nodded with a polite smile. “That’s very kind of you. I would love that.”

—

“So, Satoru tells me you’ve been seeing each other for about a year,” she begins, her voice mild but intent.

The interrogation begins, you think cruelly.

“Yes,” you answer, sitting before the mirror as his mother works your hair into shape. She promises it’ll be lovely, and you’ll have to trust her because, from this angle, you can’t see much of anything. “Almost a year in three months, if I’m not wrong.”

“Ah,” she lets out a soft laugh. “That’s reassuring.”

“What is?” A pause. “Ma’am,” you add, too quickly, and too late.

She hums, amused. “You pick things up fast. It’s just, well, he hasn’t kept a relationship longer than the milk in our fridge, so I suppose I’m just surprised. And relieved, really. I’m sure he’s told you about all his past escapades.”

“He has,” you answer with a small, strained laugh. “I’m just happy to be of service.”

“All done,” she announces, patting your hair lightly. “Would you like to see?”

“Yes,” you reply, though bemused. “But I can’t really see the back of my own head.” You try for humor.

“I’ll take a picture for you, dear. Hold still now.”

Click.

“Here,” she brings her hand forward as your eyes focus on the somewhat blurry picture in front of you. The phone looked ancient. For someone with such a huge manor, you would think they could afford the latest, but you knew how old people were – stubborn and for the routine of things. You think you’ll be one of them too. Back to the picture it looked beautiful, she put a gold hair net thing on your head, and it just elevated everything about your appearance even if you couldn't see it yourself

“It’s… beautiful. Thank you, Mrs. Gojo.”

“You’re very welcome,” she says softly. “Now I really must head back, but I think you can take a minute for yourself before rejoining the others.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to be rude.”

“Nonsense,” she says, sternly. “If the birthday boy’s partner wants to stay in the room for a minute longer she can. Don’t worry about the crowd, I’ll have their tongues if they’re mean to you.”

The casual violence of her words is almost shocking, delivered so gently. It makes sense, though—like mother, like son.

“Alright,” you murmur, grateful. “Just a moment.” You watch her retreat, leaving you with your thoughts.

—

You took your minute, and then, as if your body had conspired against you, you drifted back to the party. Slowly, like a sloth, you moved until you reached the first approachable figure and struck up a conversation. The woman—tall, immaculately put together—turned with a ready smile. It was just too easy — this woman was a natural conversationalist. She spoke of her years at the bank, and just as easily got you to confess your future plans of assisting your mother, of starting your own business — what a miracle of a woman really.

She advised you too. It was really not all that informative, just things you’ve already heard before, but you found yourself grateful nonetheless. If only because she relieved the stress in your muscles, they were lax now.

“Mrs. Lee,” you hear a familiar voice from behind you. “I see you’ve met my beautiful, breathtaking girlfriend.” He finishes as his hand comes to grab your own, before placing a kiss on the back of your hand, eyes intently watching you.

“Oh my,” the lady in front of you gushes on your behalf. “Young love in all its glory. You’ve got a remarkable girlfriend here, Gojo. She’s ambitious and sharp. You better be kind to her, you twerp.”

He laughed, that easy sound you’d heard a thousand times. “I try my best, Mrs. Lee. Now — Do you mind if I steal her away, I haven’t seen her in years.”

And just like that it was just the two of you — not in actual terms, but with Satoru, your mind tended to blur out the rest.

“Hi,” you said, your voice soft, like you were waking from a dream.

“Hi,” he says, smiling back lazily.

“Hi,” you say again. Not really sure what to say next.

“Hi,” he said again. “You’re here.”

“Yeah, I thought I’d surprise you. Get the upper hand for once.”

“You’ve always had the upper hand,” he said like it was a fact too obvious to contest.

“That’s not true,” you reply, defiant.

“It’s true, and it will always be true. Now give your poor tired boyfriend a kiss.”

And so, you do. Despite the crowd.

The kiss wasn’t deep, restrained in a way that was unlike him. It seems Satoru may have found some shame after all. He stops kissing you but doesn't move further away from your lips. You can feel his breath upon your face, right on the side of your nose.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” you say back, your hand still rooted in his hair, at his nape. “What tires my poor boyfriend anyway?”

“Why? You willing to fight the dragons.”

“The dragons wouldn’t dare fight me anyway.”

He chuckles. “No, ma’am. They wouldn’t.” A pause as his gaze lingered. “I like the gold in your hair,” he said, voice lowering. “Noticed it when you came back in.”

Your hand reached up, brushing the adornment lightly. “It’s your mother’s. She offered to put it on me.”

His eyes light up immediately. “She did? Wait — You met my mother already? I wanted to see you meet her. I can’t believe I missed it,” he frowns.

“Aw,” you say. “I can always tell you how it went.”

“How did it go?”

“She saved me — this crowd is…” You look around, gathering all the prim and poised figures.

“Pretentious?” he suggested, blunt as ever.

“I was going to say intimidating,” you corrected him, though his assessment wasn’t necessarily far off. You liked it though. The drama, the properness of it all — there was something about it.

“Please,” he scoffed. “They’re all insufferable, a bunch of stuck-up, overindulged jerks. Wine’s good, though. Need me to get you a glass?”

“Satoru,” you said, cutting him off, “I got you something. For your birthday.”

His face shifted, softer. “You being here is all I need. Don’t need anything else, this makes up for five birthdays at least.”

“You’re being dramatic again,” you say.“I’ll give it to you after the party—if you can find time for me. But it’s okay if you can’t. There’s always tomorrow.”

“No,” he says, bending down to leave a soft kiss against the edge of your mouth. “I’ll make time.”

“Okay,” you murmured. “Now go talk to that couple over there. They’ve been staring for ages—it’s creeping me out.”

He salutes you as he makes his way over and across.

—

"Ready?" you ask, seated behind the wheel, the evening air softly settling around you. “So, where are we going?”

“Nowhere special,” you replied, turning the key with a little growl from the engine. “But I’d still rather not tell you until we get there.”

He tilted his head, mock suspicion painted on his face. “The suspense, the mystery, the build-up…” He gasped dramatically. “You’re trying to steal my job, aren’t you?”

“Guilty,” you say, dry as dust.

“There can only be one of us,” he quipped.

“Well, you can just kill me. Skin me. Wear my face as your own and pretend until you’re caught.” The words spilled out, strange, unsettling, even to your ears.

“Why are you like this?” he asked, his tone flat, but there was amusement beneath it.

“I really, truly don’t know,” you replied, bewildered by the way your mind wandered into strange corners.

“I love it,” he says, sounding a little too close to the words you’ve been fearing, so you brush it off with a chuckle.

“So, how long until we get to this ‘nowhere special but surprise’ place?” he asked, settling into his seat, limbs sprawling too long for the cramped space. You hope this ride doesn’t cause his back to ache.

“Half an hour, tops,” you said. “You can pick the music.”

“What?” He gasps again, mockingly scandalized. “Pinch me, so I know this is real.”

“It’s your birthday,” you shrug. “It’s the least I could do.”

He grinned — languid and lazy — a smile that makes you want to hit the brakes, stop the car, and kiss him stupid. But alas, you were a sane woman, on a mission so you drove on.

A few turns, a handful of bends in the road, and you’re there. Somewhere along the way, you’d asked him to cover his eyes, and, with a rare compliance, he obeyed—though not without protest. Now, as the car halts, he’s still singing a Lady Gaga song, his eyes squeezed shut for your benefit.

And so when the car halted as you helped him step out.

“Ta-da,” you say, monotone. “The closest beach to the town — probably one you’ve been to a million times.”

He doesn’t deny it. Instead, he says — “The sunset looks really pretty.”

“It does,” you say, turning to look at the pink, orange hues in the vast horizon past the sea. “It’s really pretty.”

“So, this is my gift? I could die a happy man.”

And you think, to your surprise, that he actually means it. There’s something startling in the way he says it—so earnest, it unnerves you. “No—what do you take me for?” you mutter, pulling the picnic basket from the backseat, heavy with fruits, yogurt, chips, and a meticulously folded blanket, the kind you only bother with for these sorts of things. "I got you something, but help me set up first."

He takes the blanket, and sets it up for the two of you to sit, as you grab his present from the backseat. Then he drops down onto the left side, legs sprawled, arms braced behind him as he stares out towards the sea.

You seat yourself beside him, since you are in a dress, you try to bend and adjust so you aren’t flashing the outside world with your indecency, despite your shorts beneath the dress.

“So…” you start, voice feeling too quiet against the roaring waves, as you hand him the jar. “Here’s your gift.”

His fingers brush against the glass, and you watch his eyes lower, briefly lingering on the cold surface, before lifting them to meet yours. “You didn’t.”

“I did,” you said.

And you did. You’d made the ridiculous decision to indulge his craving, driving almost two towns over to Al’s for his favorite cookies. Four, if you counted the miles from your grandmother’s. And all before noon, as if there weren’t a hundred better ways to waste a morning.

But you did. You did because you had decided the necklace you got him didn’t measure up. Not when the one he gifted you for 6 months, had real gems on them.

You hope this makes up for it. Not materially, but the sentiments at least. You swear when you’re rich, you’ll splurge on this boy all you can, but for now, you cut your losses.

“Thank you,” he says, setting the jar aside. “For driving all the way there.”

“The town’s so creepy and dead,” you say.

“It is, baby. It is.” He leans in, his lips brushing against yours. “And you drove there. For me.”

“It’s whatever,” you mumble, pulling back with a small smile. “Let’s eat.”

The waves keep crashing, the sun low in the sky, casting a honey-gold light over everything. You hear the slow crinkle of the jar’s lid being unscrewed. Then his laugh. It makes you mush. It always does, but it feels heavier now somehow. You feel there’s something about being in the ocean that charges the atmosphere with something different, perhaps that is what’s it.

He pulls out one of the cookies, breaks it in half, and hands you a piece. His fingers brush against yours again. You accept graciously, as the two of you eat in utter silence, barring the sound of the waves.

“You spoil me,” he murmurs, taking a bite. His eyes never leave yours.

You smile faintly, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “You deserve it,” you say, leaning back on your elbows, your body sinking into the blanket. You tilt your head, gaze tracing the horizon where the sky meets the water, a blurry, infinite line.

His hand finds your thigh, his thumb moving lazily in circles against the fabric of your dress, as he leans back onto his elbows too, to kiss you. This time it’s deep. His lips are hard on your mouth, as though you feel every contour of the molding of his mouth moving against yours.

“Hi,” he whispers against your lips.

“Hi,” you reply, voice barely there.

“Thank you for the gift,” he says. “No one’s been this good to me in a while. You put a lot of time into this.”

You don’t say anything. Not sure what one can say without being cheesy. But if you were to say anything, you’d say it was nothing, not when you can see him beaming down at you like this, all dazed, all into you.

“I love you,” he says then. And your heart flits harshly against your chest.

“What?”

“I wanted— I’ve been wanting to say it for a while,” he says, his thumb brushing against your hips. “In the car, and 2 months ago when you slept over after mid-terms. But I didn’t want to freak you out.”

You blink, your pulse quickening, the moment hanging between you, suspended.

“You don’t have to say it back,” he says, his voice careful, and guarded.

“I do,” you say, the words tumbling out. “I do love you. I love you.” You mean it, and it terrifies you a little, but he’s smiling now.

“Oh,” he grins, as he smushes into you, mouth first, tasting like salt and something sweeter.

“I love you,” he says again, voice low against your skin.

“I love you,” you say back, giggling.

And then, he shifts—his body pulling away from you, the sudden absence of his warmth as chilling as the winds that whip across the beach. He sits up, dragging you with him.

“I have something else to tell you,” he says, and there’s a shift in his voice too—serious now, something grounded in his tone.

“What is it?” you ask, cautiously setting your mind for this, since he’s sounding serious in tone and stature. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he starts, hesitant, like he’s picking his words carefully. “I might drop out of college.”

“What?” The word feels like a punch, sharp and sudden. “Why?”

“I don’t care for it,” he says, his voice too casual, too careless.

“You don’t care for... an education?”

“Just business,” he clarifies. “I don’t really care about it. I want a change.”

Something mean, something bitter starts to rise in you, but you bite it down.

“A change to what?” you ask, calmly — your tone now guarded, your expression carefully neutral.

“I don’t know,” he says, and it’s the ease with which he admits it that grates at you. He doesn’t know, and he’s fine with not knowing. You don’t understand.

“What do you mean? You must want something else if you don’t want to do business, right?”

He turns to you then, and realises he should’ve predicted this, really. You loved plans, and you loved sticking to them. And this was was anything but that. He had a plan and he doesn’t want it. That’s bad enough. And now he doesn’t even have a new plan.

“Not really. I don’t know — I don’t want to do business, that’s all I know,” he says again, frustration creeping into his voice.

“Well,” you say, a little colder now, “you should probably figure that out.”

“Oh, really? Thanks, I had no idea that’s what I had to do.”

“Hey,” you say, softening your tone, trying to pull the edge out of the conversation. “I’m just trying to help. I just don’t like this situation for you.”

“I’m doing fine,” he says, trying to assure you that he hadn’t completely lost track of reality. “Dad hates this, but apart from that, no one really cares. There are so many options. I could change courses, take a gap year, intern—lots of things. You’re the only one bothered besides him.”

“Right,” you say, and that bitterness rises again, sharp and acidic in the back of your throat. “I forgot—you’re a Gojo.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he says.

“It means you can drop out and still be fine. So I don’t have to worry about you.”

“So you don’t care that I’m dropping out?”

"I care, Satoru," you say, but it feels as though your voice is coming from some distant place now, a place he can’t reach. "Apparently, you don’t. You’re making this decision like it’s nothing."

“I’m not,” he snaps. “I’ve been unhappy for a while with the course. There’s no point in doing something I hate.”

“But to not have a backup plan? How can you make a decision like that?”

He looks at you, and for a moment, it’s like he doesn’t understand. You see the distance between you—his nonchalance, your need for structure—stretching wide.

“Can we— I told you because it’s a big decision. I’ll figure it out by the end of summer,” he says. “But I wanted to let you know. I expected the judgement but trust me a little?”

“Okay,” you say. “I just — I would never be able to do what you’re doing.”

“I know, and I could never do what you’re doing. It would kill me.”

“Okay,” you say, suddenly feeling shitty. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I trust you.” You bend forward leaving a kiss at the edge of his lips.

You sit in silence then — the wind getting colder and colder against your skin. The food growing staler, and it’s almost night now. The sun has set and you sit there, serene now, listening to the waves.

You glance at him. His gaze fixed on the horizon, the sea’s dark expanse stretching out, infinite. His hair ruffling gently in the wind, and you notice the goosebumps pricking at his arms. It’s time.

“We should head back,” you say. “Your mother has a dinner planned, doesn’t she?”

He groans, his head falling back. “I don’t want to go.”

“But food,” you say simply, knowing that all the food in the world wouldn’t excite him to meet his family, and his extended family for a night of festivities.

He turns to you, his eyes catching yours in the fading light. “I don’t want to go,” he repeats, quieter now, more real. “You’ll be busy with work soon. You’ll forget all about me.”

“Always so dramatic.” You move now, your limbs feeling heavy from the lack of motion. You move and straddle him now, his hands move to your waist in an immediate response. “You’re very hard to forget, Gojo Satoru.”

“Say more,” he says, smiling, beaming through his teeth. His cheeks alight red.

"No," you say, leaning back. "We should go."

"I’ll move if you give me compliments on the way back," he bargains, like a child.

“Or I could leave you here,” you say, titling your head. “All by your lonesome.”

“What a cruel, cruel woman you are,” he says, feigning a frown again.

“Let’s go,” you say now, feeling more and more convinced to stay here.

“Let’s just stay here forever,” he says, ever so ambitious. There’s a strange sincerity in his voice, to do the impossible.

You laugh, a brief, fleeting sound. "We wouldn’t survive long." You peer into the nearly empty picnic basket. "On just... Pringles."

"I could fish," he suggests, smiling again, "like in The Blue Lagoon. Build you a house out of driftwood.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I’d try.”

#college bf!gojo #meh kinda hate this but i wanna write gojo and reader in autumn so #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader smut #gojo satoru x reader angst #gojo x reader smut #gojo x reader angst #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader fluff #jujutsu kaisen drabbles #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujustsu kaisen x reader

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tmpestuous · 3 days

Text

Moth to a Flame - 7

series masterlist

summary: Bucky Barnes was the love of your life, and you were his. There was no denying it. But after two years of dating, you found yourselves on different paths and decided it was best to go your separate ways. The only problem was how drawn you’d always be to him even after moving on.

pairing: College!Bucky x Reader

warnings: blackmail, angst, toxic relationships, arguments, cheating/infidelity (all over the place..)

word count: 6.5k

a/n: this is a long one… a few time jumps but the next 3 chapters will be a lot closer in timeline. enjoy!

—

Sleep struggled to reach Bucky in the past week; he found himself tossing, turning, and ultimately resolving to staring up at the ceiling until his brain decided to turn off and let his eyes shut. His anxiety had been through the roof, and though it was not a new feeling for him, it felt a lot worse with you at the forefront of his worries.

Natasha and Bucky were the only ones who decided it was worthwhile trying to make amends with you. Well, and Pietro. But their plan to talk to him fell short every time Wanda placed a barrier between her brother and her two friends with the most intense glares.

“He’s not up for talking.”

“Wanda, please,” Natasha pleaded. “You can’t seriously believe that Y/n would be capable of doing something this outrageous.”

“I don’t,” Wanda retorted. “But what else am I supposed to believe? Regardless of if she wanted to keep it a secret or not, she decided to do the former. She didn’t tell anyone. We could have prevented this.”

“But shouldn’t that tell you she’s in this situation a lot deeper than she wants to be?” Bucky questioned.

“It tells me that she still felt the need to protect herself over all of us.”

Bucky sighed to himself at the memory, rubbing his face as he prepared to face the day with yet another 3 hours maximum of rest. Not even a cold shower could wake him up enough, the resolve of shutting his eyes while leaning his head against the shower wall tiles cut short by Steve’s knocking on the door.

Alerting his best friend that he’d be out of the bathroom soon, he shut the water off and quickly made his way back to his room after wrapping his towel around his waist. Thankfully, Bucky knew Natasha would be brewing coffee in the kitchen as the redhead succumbed to a similar path as him.

After getting dressed, he walked out, seeing the steam of the coffee come from his mug on the kitchen counter, Natasha already sipping on hers.

“Have you checked your email yet?” She asked as Bucky blew into the mug.

“No, why?”

“Bucky, the Stark Internship acceptances went out yesterday and you’ve been holding all of us in suspense.”

“Shit,” Bucky said after a sip before setting his mug back down and pulling out his phone, quickly opening his email.

Natasha watched as Bucky scanned his phone, his face looking more disappointed than relieved.

“Well?”

“I- um,” Bucky stammered, shaking his head before putting his phone away. “I didn’t get it.”

“Bucky–”

“It’s okay, Nat,” he cut her off. “I did get that job with Y/n. I guess I’ll just take that one.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Steve interjected as he walked into the kitchen, grabbing his own coffee mug that Natasha had left him. “Wanda isn’t gonna be happy.”

“I need a job, Steve. That’s it.”

As much as Bucky wanted to get close to you again and keep an eye on you, he had worked so hard for the Stark Internship. Part of him hated that he had to go work for you instead, especially since it also added to your uncomfortable situation with your boyfriend. It was a lose-lose for the both of you, but he needed an internship. He didn’t want to beg his dad to bend some rules and give him a spot in the family business. This was his only option.

But Steve was right. Wanda wasn’t happy. The group had met up for lunch later that week when she found out and Bucky heard every inch of it. About the lies, the betrayal, about how she can’t imagine even looking you in the face again. Luckily for Bucky, he had to head out for his first day anyway, and ended up leaving during her lecture.

Bucky could tell from Pietro’s face that he didn’t agree with his sister, but Bucky also hadn’t had the chance to have a conversation with him about you. It was no use asking him there. Natasha had texted him all about her calling Wanda out for being insensitive about the situation, though Bucky didn’t have the energy to reply before walking in to see you.

It had been a week and a half since the incident, and his nerves were eating him alive. Half of him felt the way Wanda did — confused, hurt. He agreed that he would have believed you’d set your pride aside for your friends. But the other half of him knew you wouldn’t just betray everyone like that. After your conversation outside of the hospital—the tremor in your voice, the fear in your eyes behind all of the tears.

“Because it would only make things worse for him. For me. For you.”

God, he wished you had just told him everything. You immediately shut him down upon his question on what Atlas was holding over you. He knew you.

After calming his racing heart, Bucky got out of his parked car and walked towards the entrance of the building he was told to meet you at. The receptionist was nice enough to let him in even though he was half an hour early, but only because you were already in your office.

He took a deep breath after making it to your closed door. His closed fist ghosted the air, waiting for the knuckles to press on the frosted window of the door, but his gaze was set on the shadow moving behind it that hadn’t even noticed his presence. Bucky knocked ever-so-lightly, not wanting to test how impossibly expensive the glass was, and the shadow behind the door froze before making its way towards the door.

Once the door was opened, Bucky was greeted with your gaze, a slightly confused look on your face before you looked over at the clock on the wall.

“You know you’re early, right?” You asked as you turned your attention back to him, but Bucky couldn’t stop looking at you like he couldn’t believe you existed. He hadn’t forgotten anything about you but he had never spent so much time without seeing you, whether in front of his face or across the room. “Bucky…?”

“Sorry,” he said as he pulled himself out of his thoughts, though still staring at you. “Yeah, I know I’m early but I’ve had a really rough morning—well, week— and just kind of really need to dive into some work to distract myself so I thought maybe I’d make a good impression of being overly punctual so you’d let me in.”

Bucky wasn’t usually a rambler. He was a one-liner kind of person, never having too much to say out of fear of saying more than he needed to. You could tell he was anxious, so you nodded and stepped aside to let him in the lab.

It was bigger than what Bucky imagined—open space save for a few tables and some computers atop them. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows and your desk planted in front of one, papers scattered all over.

“I hadn’t really gotten started on anything yet,” you broke the silence. “I honestly wasn’t expecting you to take the offer at all if I’m being honest. I told them to keep you as a last resort since I knew how much you wanted the Stark Internship and that you’d probably take that.”

“I didn’t get it,” Bucky said as he faced you, his back previously to you while he took everything in. Your face was now riddled with more confusion than when you saw him outside your door.

“What do you mean you didn’t get it? You were a lock for it, Tony even talked you up to his dad.” Bucky shrugged, looking away from your gaze on him. He honestly didn’t want to talk about the dark cloud that had been looming over him since he read the rejection email. Part of him wanted to reach out to Tony and ask what went wrong, but he had felt so defeated lately with everything going on that he didn’t even bother. “Are you okay?”

Pulled from his thoughts for the second time today, he looked at you again and nodded. “I will be.”

You nodded once in return. “Guess we should get started then.”

Bucky was grateful you weren’t being distant with him, but rather the contrary. After you explained all the research directions to him, detailing every instruction on how to collect, analyze, and sort all of the data coming in, everything seemed normal. Your banter was normal, you offered small talk here and there. It was like Bucky finally had his best friend back.

He hadn’t realized how long it’s been since the two of you had a normal conversation that wasn’t teetering on the feeling of walking on eggshells. He knew he shouldn’t get comfortable given the current circumstances, and was further reminded of that when you spoke up again after a decent pause in your conversation.

“How is everyone?”

Bucky looked up from the binder that had his attention to see you hadn’t looked up from your computer screen, probably out of anxiety.

“They’re alright, just… navigating things, I guess,” Bucky answered sincerely. “We all haven’t really talked much about anything, honestly.”

You nodded without saying anything else.

The last thing Bucky wanted to do was to tell you how Wanda’s feeling about him working with you, or about how Natasha and Steve have been more distant with each other than usual given their disagreement on the situation, or how Sam barely likes to be in the room after he hears your name. Everyone in the group was on edge, and unfortunately, it had to do with you. But he wasn’t going to let you beat yourself up over it. It was the last thing you needed.

You had removed yourself from the group without a word. You packed all of your things when Wanda and Natasha weren’t in the suite, taking everything to what Bucky now knows was your new apartment. It wasn’t cheap by any means, but your parents did agree it was better than paying thousands of dollars for a shared dorm.

Bucky could tell you were at least content that you weren’t forced to stay with Atlas, whether at his stupid frat house or his own dorm. You never enjoyed it even when you were on good terms with him, so Bucky could only imagine the disdain you held for it now.

The rest of the day went smoothly, and so did all of the following days Bucky worked with you. He felt back in his element, even though he only got to spend time with you for a few hours in a day. But they were the best hours of each of his days; he cherished them a lot more than he anticipated. Bucky was also grateful he could at least give Natasha updates on how you were doing, given how open you’d been about everything and your halted communication with everyone else.

Not only were you doing great work with your research, but you were slowly getting your relationship with Bucky back. Having those moments to catch up kept you both so sane.

For instance, on the week of Halloween, you both were talking about costumes and plans, as this was your final Halloween in college.

“I didn’t change my plan for my costume, though,” you said as you highlighted a completed task in your planner. “With everything going on, I didn’t have the time to think of anything else but it’s not like Catwoman was a bad idea to begin with.”

“I guess we’ll still be matching then,” Bucky responded with a chuckle as you looked at him with a surprised face.

“Batman and Catwoman come out on top,” you grinned. “Are you guys even going out this year?”

“Same old party at the sorority house on Kirkland,” Bucky leaned back in his chair. “You going?”

You nodded. “Guess I’ll see you there, Batman.”

And you did. Bucky honestly had to control himself as the sight of you in the hottest Catwoman costume he’d ever seen in his life. Atlas was there, much to Bucky’s dismay, but it didn’t stop him from grinning at you from across the room when the guy wasn’t looking and Sharon wasn’t paying attention. It was a grin you also had no problem in returning before looking away with a face that let Bucky know you were definitely blushing underneath that mask.

He liked that he still had that effect on you.

More weeks went by and before everyone could process it, it was the week before Thanksgiving. Bucky knew the holidays always made you excited, but your joy was nowhere to be found this go around.

Bucky obviously knew why, with the Friendsgiving tradition you all had coming up, without your attendance. It was bugging him all day to the point that he didn’t even want to go, but he’d never hear the end of it if he bailed.

3 days before the dinner, Bucky promised Natasha he’d pick up all of the cooking tools and ingredients to take to his place where it’d be happening. He knew she’d only asked him given she and Steve weren’t currently on the best of terms. Bucky usually hated being put in the middle of things, but he let it be for the sake of everything else currently happening in his life.

Bucky and Natasha had also built a much stronger bond in a few weeks than they’d ever had in years of knowing each other, so he tried to see it more as a favor to her instead of her avoidance of Steve.

Natasha wasn’t in her suite, but she let Bucky know the door was open so he wouldn’t have to knock. As soon as he entered, he saw Pietro sitting at the dining table, typing away on his laptop before looking up at him.

“Just the person I wanted to see.”

Bucky chuckled, “Are we gonna talk or is your sister going to banish me again?”

“She’s not here, but she’ll be back soon. What are you doing here anyway?” Pietro lowered his computer screen.

“Picking up some things for Nat then headed to the lab,” Bucky sat across from Pietro. “But I’m in no rush, so tell me everything.”

For the sake of time before Wanda made her way back to her dorm, Pietro kept everything concise. He didn’t hold back, though, telling Bucky about the tape, about him being dragged from the internship fair and his dorm the following night, about you keeping everything to yourself out of fear of putting everyone’s lives in danger. He also mentioned Atlas threatening you with hurting Bucky if you got close to him again, making Bucky realize what you were talking about outside of the hospital.

“There has to be something we can do,” Bucky asserted, his chest aching as the realization sunk about how much you’d been suffering.

“Not yet,” Pietro lifted his computer screen again. “But I have already thought out a plan. It is not going to be easy for you or me at all, but it is the only way.”

Understanding what Pietro meant, Bucky nodded. “I’ll do anything for her, Piet.”

“I know. She won’t like it, but we have no other options. But you absolutely cannot tell her, Barnes.”

Bucky sighed and nodded. Ever since he started working for you, with you, you two were closer than ever. You cracked jokes together, you ate lunch together. You confided in each other about your days, your current stressors. You were best friends again. As much as Bucky wanted to know you weren’t alone, he knew Pietro was right.

Almost as if on cue, Wanda walked through the front door, Natasha right behind her.

“I smell trouble in here,” Wanda spoke up as she set grocery bags down on the kitchen counter.

“No trouble,” Bucky shook his head and stood up from his seat.. “Was just keeping Pietro company ‘til you came back. I’m gonna take all the things for tomorrow and head out now.”

Natasha eyed Bucky before he whispered to her, ‘I’ll text you’. She nodded in response before helping him grab everything and walking him out to where he was parked outside. Bucky assured her once more that everything would make sense very soon before getting in his car.

The entire drive to his apartment, the time he spent dropping off the ingredients, then the drive to the research building — he couldn’t take his mind off of you. Bucky, of course, was somewhat relieved that he wasn’t projecting his thoughts about Atlas onto you; but he felt sick to his stomach knowing that you had been suffering for these past few weeks, that you trusted Pietro and not him to know your secret, that you would throw your freedom away to protect him.

Yes, you were protecting yourself as well. You were keeping your job, the work you’d spent so much time and effort on for so long. You weren’t uprooting your research. But there were ways for you to get out of this. He could have helped you, he could have saved you.

Bucky wanted nothing more than to look you in the face and tell you he knew everything. That he was going to do everything in his power to make sure you were safe. But Pietro made it very clear he couldn’t tell you, and he couldn’t go back on his word. Not when it would ruin everything.

So as he sat in his car, mulling over how he was going to play pretend in front of you, Bucky devised a plan of his own. He just needed to get through the next few days.

Once he was calm, Bucky walked into the building, smiling at the receptionist who had told him you had just come in a few minutes ago. With a small ‘thank-you’, he walked to the elevator and headed upstairs.

Once he reached the sixth floor to make his way to the office, Bucky saw the last person he wanted or expected to see.

“Bucky Barnes,” Atlas said with a smug grin. “Been a bit since I’ve seen you, how’s your friend holding up?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I have work to get to. See ya around.”

As he walked past the blonde, Bucky shook his head. He could do so much to him. He could beat the smug look off his face and the ego out of his personality. He could ruin his life. But he wouldn’t.

“You know, the Stark Internship is amazing.”

Stopping in his tracks, Bucky looked at Atlas from his peripheral vision. “What?”

“The Stark Internship that you applied for. I’ve only been there about three weeks after someone dropped out, but it is the best professional experience I’ve had,” Atlas chuckled. “I’m honestly surprised she didn’t tell you. Quite a shame you’re missing out, but I can’t say I’d be thrilled working with you.”

And then he was gone. While Bucky was left shell-shocked in the hallway, left to face you.

Walking into the office, you looked up from your desk, your eyes softening from a more irritated look once you’d realized it was Bucky in the room.

“Bucky, hey,” you said with a half-smile. “You came just in time, I have something to tell you.”

“I saw Atlas outside.”

Making your way in front of your desk which you were standing behind, you crossed your arms over your chest. “I figured, considering he just left. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about actually.”

“So you did know,” Bucky said softly, the familiar ache in his chest from earlier making a reappearance.

“Knew what?”

“That your boyfriend got the Stark Internship I wanted.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was going to tell you—”

“Just because I saw him outside and you knew he’d rub it in my face? Would you have told me if I didn’t see him or would you have kept that from me too?”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you stared at Bucky in disbelief before letting a scoff out, tears welling up in your eyes immediately.

“Wow.”

“Y/n–”

“I don’t know why I would ever believe that we moved past everything,” you shook your head, going back to your desk. “I found out that Atlas has been working at Stark today. That’s what I was going to tell you as soon as I saw you walk in the door. I didn’t know he was working there or I would’ve told you from the first second he stepped through Stark’s doors, Bucky. And I can’t believe you would stand there and think that I’d do otherwise when we’ve been so… normal.”

Bucky exhaled a deep breath before rubbing a hand over his face, his gaze then fixated on his shoes. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he looked up at you as you were trying not to cry, making his way over to you, placing his hands on your shoulders as you avoided his stare. “I’ve had… a day, filled with information that has been tearing my brain apart but that is no excuse for accusing you of lying to me. I’m sorry, dragă.”

Sniffling, you looked up at him with a soft smile. “It’s okay. Maybe we should get to work, okay?”

Bucky was surprised you even forgave him, watching as you walked back to your desk and sifted through some papers.

But he didn’t press on the issue. Not even the next day. Or two days after.

It was the morning of the friendsgiving dinner that Bucky had been more than dreading the whole week. Sharon was talking his ear off about outfit choices as he got ready for the day, having to work then rush back to his place and help prepare for the god forsaken dinner.

But all he could think about was you and the distance you held between you and him for the past four days.

He couldn’t blame you at all. He overstepped, he lashed out and he couldn’t be upset if you didn’t trust him anymore. After weeks of blind confidence in him, he brought you back to square one. Alone.

“Bucky, are you even listening to me?” Sharon said with blatant irritation, snapping Bucky out of his thoughts.

“Sorry,” he said before pulling a sweater on. “I have to head out.”

“Seriously?”

“I have work and then the dinner with everyone and I’m just— I’m sorry, Sharon. I’m stressed. You can stay here and get ready, wear the blue dress.”

Before she could respond, Bucky was rushing out of the door, ignoring everyone swamping his apartment after finishing their responsibilities for the day.

Anxiety had a way of rearing its head for Bucky at the most inconvenient moments, but this, by far, was one of the worst cases. He was counting his lucky graces that he made it to work in one piece, though his anxiety would only get worse the second he had to work alongside you while you were upset with him.

He caught a bit of a break when the building’s receptionist told him you were running late, though it was so uncharacteristic of you to be late to anything.

Maybe traffic was shitty. Your route from your new place was different from his.

Even then, you were always early. Usually an hour or two before your clock-in time. Taking a leap, Bucky texted you.

Bucky: Everything okay? Monica told me you were running a bit late.

No response. Bucky rubbed his eyes, knowing he really didn’t need something to add to his list of anxiety triggers at the moment. Deciding it was best to throw himself into work as a distraction, Bucky kept himself busy for an hour.

He’d worked with you long enough that he knew how you ordered all of your research virtually. Color-coding, organizing all of your results by order of the universities they were coming from, ranking the results in order of responses by question.

This research was huge, a study done through an intense survey of students from some of the biggest and most prestigious universities in the country. Being backed by a company as big as Oscorp among others had colleges falling at your fingertips for a chance to be included. Beyond just wanting to work with you, he was so immersed in your work. The least he could do was advance it a bit more for you as you were running late.

So he did. And an hour and 20 minutes after Bucky walked into the office, you were outside of the door cursing to yourself as you rummaged through your bag in search of your key to the office. Bucky walked over and opened it for you, leaving you staring at him with your hand frozen in your bag and tears in your eyes.

“The door was open,” Bucky said softly, taking in your frazzled state. “Are you okay?”

Wiping your eyes and smearing your mascara as you rushed inside the office, “I had this stupid lunch with Atlas and his parents and it was awful and all I wanted was to leave but I sat there like the good girlfriend I’m supposed to be and listened to him goad on and on about everything at Stark Industries and then diminish everything I’m researching like he’s—”

“Hey,” Bucky shut the door and pulled you into a hug. He noticed you stopped yourself, about to spill everything to him but for the sake of keeping his and Pietro’s plans, he just held you. “You’re okay, I promise,” Bucky looked down at you and cupped your face in his hands, wiping away some of your tears with his thumbs as you sniffled. “I know how much you hate being late so I started on some work. I got through analyzing about 80 results when you came in, color-coded and organized them how you like, all by each school.”

New tears made their way onto your face, Bucky immediately worried he hurt you though you assured him otherwise. After a few beats, Bucky was taken by surprise as you quickly leaned up and kissed him, letting both of your mouths move against each other with unspoken adoration and love before you pulled away breathless.

“I’m— I’m sorry,” you said, stepping back out of Bucky’s grasp, his lips a brighter red now and his cheeks flushed as he looked at you. “I know I hate my ‘boyfriend’,” using your fingers to make air quotes, “but you still have a girlfriend. I’m sorry, I let my emotions kind of take over.”

“I kissed you back, you know,” he said without hesitation.

“Bucky, we can’t—”

“Why not?” He asked as he stepped towards you. “I kissed you back. I kissed you back when you kissed me at that party. I kissed you back now.”

“You still have a girlfriend, Bucky. I just got overwhelmed because nobody’s… cared for me, like that in a while. It’s been so long and I kind of forgot how it felt. But I overstepped and I shouldn’t have.”

“I don’t love her,” Bucky admitted. “I have never loved her, I won’t ever love her. Hell, I didn’t even ask her to be my girlfriend.”

He stepped near you again, back in your personal bubble as he inched his face closer to yours. He caressed your face with one of his hands once more, before leaning down and kissing you again like it replenished the air in his lungs.

Leaning you against the wall, you wrapped your arms around Bucky’s neck, kissing him back with every ounce of energy you could give as he used his free hand to grip your thigh and wrap your leg around his waist. After a few minutes, you both pulled away, catching your breaths as you stared at each other with longing eyes.

“I don’t think you know how long I’ve been waiting to do that again,” Bucky said as you giggled a bit. “I’d continue but it’s probably not best to christen our place of employment that way.”

“Shut up,” you said playfully, pushing him back softly, keeping your hands on his chest. “I still kind of feel bad.”

“Don’t,” Bucky shook his head, placing his hands on your waist.

“Are you sure?” You asked, not fully convinced. “I know how long it took for you to move on and I’d hate to ruin that.”

“I promise. I’ve been racking my brain on how to end things with her anyway,” Bucky reassured as he rubbed your waist softly. You nodded without a word, running a hand through his hair, your attention suddenly elsewhere. “Where’d you go, prinţesă?”

“The dinner’s today,” you said softly, still not looking at Bucky. He could hear the melancholy in your tone. “Are you going?”

“Nat might kill me if I don’t,” Bucky joked, which made you smile a bit. “Why do you ask?”

“I wish I could be there.”

Bucky pulled you back against him, kissing your forehead. “Me too.”

After you and Bucky decided it was best to get back to work, the rest of the day moved swiftly; you and Bucky were back to your normal dynamic once again, though clearly slightly different.

Bucky was anticipating going through a myriad of situations before he could truly savor your lips on his again. When you kissed him all those weeks ago at that party, it was more solemn—an apology for what was about to come. Though your kiss came out of whatever impulse you had, Bucky had been feeling all those urges too.

He wasn’t the cheater type at all and, honestly, the thought of it did make him feel like shit. But he didn’t want you to blame yourself for his actions. He wasn’t lying when he said he was trying to break up with her, but something about ending things right before the holidays also made him feel shitty.

As the day moved on, Bucky’s anxiety creeped up on him again. The looming dread of walking into his apartment and having to sit at this dinner pretending like nothing was wrong wasn’t going away anytime soon. Bucky could tell you sensed he was off with the way you were staring at him as he put his jacket on.

“Everything okay?”

He looked at you and shrugged. “In theory.”

“The dinner will be fine, Buck,” you offered him a smile, somehow knowing how to read his mind as always.

He felt bad leaving you here at work to attend the dinner you were always excited about. He insisted on grabbing something together, so you at least had enjoyed food with him. However, you warned him of the wrath of the Russian redhead if he showed up to dinner on a full stomach. He couldn’t help but chuckle because he knew you were right.

You gave him a tight, warm hug before he left. He knew you needed it, even more than he did. He wanted to tell you then and there that he was going to help you, that he’d get you out of the situation you were trapped in. He debated so hard internally, but, once again, he told himself he had to keep his word.

Once he left the office and made it back to his apartment, Bucky took another moment of silence in his car after parking in his assigned space. A calm before the storm, he convinced himself. After taking a few deep breaths, he got out of the car, locked it, and walked to the entrance. He did his best to quiet his mind as the elevator made it to his floor, as he twisted his keys in the locks, and entered his buzzing apartment.

“It’s about time!” Sam exclaimed from the couch, seated with Steve, Thor, and Pietro in the living room. “We were about to play poker without you.”

“You can go on ahead, I gotta shower,” Bucky said as he shrugged his jacket off. “But when I get back, you’re all getting your asses kicked.”

Smirking at his friends’ complaints as he walked down the hallway, Bucky made his way into his room, seeing Sharon still getting ready.

“Hi,” she said monotonously, sighing when Bucky responded with a ‘hey’ in the same tone. “How was work?”

“Fine,” Bucky responded shortly again, putting his shoes in the closet and grabbing his towel for a shower. As he headed out the door, Sharon stopped him with a question.

“Are you upset with me or something?” Her tone was clearly one of frustration, which Bucky wasn’t in the mood for. “You’ve been avoiding me all week.”

“I’ve had quite a shitty week,” Bucky admitted, knowing it wasn’t too far from the truth. “I just need this dinner to be over with and some time to decompress before we have a talk.”

“A talk? About what?”

“Us,” was all Bucky said before heading to the bathroom.

He made sure to take an extra long shower, needing a moment to relax before the thing he was dreading all day. He noted Sharon wasn’t in his room when he came out of the bathroom, and he was kind of grateful for it.

Once he was dressed, Bucky checked his phone as it buzzed, seeing a text from you.

Y/n: hope the dinner goes okay. Still wishing I was there ):

Bucky: Me too. I promise everything will be okay soon.

Y/n: I hope so.

Y/n: can’t quite stop thinking about earlier.

Bucky knew what you meant, and he couldn’t stop thinking about it either. It was the only thing on his mind, the taste of having you back was consuming his entire being.

He had to tell Pietro the plan needed to start. Soon.

Bucky: Me neither. You still at the office?

Y/n: might sleep here if I’m being honest

Bucky: I’ll stop by later tonight.

Y/n: no christening the office

Bucky chuckled at his phone.

Bucky: No promises. See you later.

After putting his phone to charge, Bucky stepped out to the living room. The boys were all outside on the balcony, while Wanda and Nat were in the kitchen. He didn’t see Sharon at first but then she stepped out of the half-bathroom and turned her gaze away from Bucky immediately.

“Bucky, would you mind setting the table? Ask Pietro to help you.” Wanda asked from the opening in the wall to see through to the kitchen.

“Yeah, no problem,” Bucky said as he turned towards the dining area after grabbing the plates, seeing Pietro walk in, assuring Bucky that he had already heard his sister. “I guess twin telepathy is a thing.”

Pietro chuckled. “How is she?”

Bucky waited for Pietro to place the table mat in front of a seat before placing a plate. “She’s alright, but I can tell she’s hurting.”

“I was thinking that we should get a start on the plan soon,” Pietro spoke quietly, not wanting anyone else to overhear. “I would hate for this to drag into the new year.”

“Yeah, I agree,” Bucky grabbed the utensils once all of the plates were set, passing half to Pietro. “This weekend?”

“That would be optimal. There is a party at their house on Saturday.”

“How do I get their attention in just two days?”

“You will,” Pietro reassured. “Trust me. After tonight.”

Deciding not to pry further, Bucky thanked his instincts as Natasha and Wanda walked into the dining room with the food. Bucky and Pietro helped free their hands and placed everything on the table, the girls calling out to everyone else.

Bucky could sense Sharon’s tension as she sat next to him, but he opted to do his best to ignore her. He needed to break things off sooner than later.

Once everyone dived into their food and made conversation, Bucky didn’t say much. He hadn’t even realized how empty his stomach was until he started devouring his plate.

“Slow down, Barnes,” Sam joked from across the table. “I know you hate talking but you still gotta chew before you swallow.”

Bucky shot him a glare before resuming his task at hand.

“I think he isn’t talking for other reasons,” Sharon spoke up, surprising everyone at the table, especially Bucky who now stared at her incredulously. “What? You clearly invited me here as a placemat for your missing traitor.”

“Excuse me?” Natasha said before Bucky could retaliate.

“I don’t know why I’m here when Bucky so obviously wishes Y/n was here instead. That’s why you’re cheating on me with her, right? That’s what your silly little job is? Become her lapdog again?”

Bucky chuckled. “You should stop talking.”

“Why?”

“You should stop talking,” Pietro interjected, Wanda silently urging him not to get involved. “Since we are bringing up accusations, why don’t we speak about you cheating on Bucky?”

If Bucky could get whiplash from how fast he turned his head towards Pietro, he would have. “What are you talking about?”

“I have been holding my tongue for a while,” Pietro started. “But I do not think I can sit by and watch you stay with this woman as she is involved with the man ruining the life of the woman you love.”

Bucky was very much confused 30 seconds ago, but he was even more confused now.

“Pietro, I don’t know what you saw—”

“But you do know what I saw, Sharon,” Pietro interrupted. “You and Atlas outside of the fair, kissing. Plotting against Bucky and Y/n. He and his friends took me forcefully while you warmed up to Bucky like nothing happened. Like you didn’t know why I was injured that night. Like Y/n was the traitor when you have been the parasite this entire time.”

“Pietro, why would you not tell us this?” Wanda asked, in as much disbelief as everyone else at the table.

Pietro stared at Bucky, though Bucky was racking his brain trying to process what the fuck he just heard.

“Y/n is being blackmailed by her boyfriend. I couldn’t admit anything without jeopardizing her safety. But I’m sure it will be jeopardized now,” Pietro threw a smug look Sharon’s way before calmly turning back to his food.

“Bucky—”

“Get out.”

Sharon pleaded with him, but Bucky cut her off once more.

“Get the fuck out before I throw you out of here.”

With tears in her eyes, Sharon rushed out of the apartment, Bucky standing up to lock the door behind her before walking back into the dining room.

It was so silent, Bucky once again became self aware of his racing thoughts, needing to break the ice—a rarity for him.

“Is there anything someone wants to say?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, rubbing Nat’s shoulder while she was trying to process everything and staring at his best friend. “How do we kill this asshole?”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky angst #bucky barnes x you #bucky x female reader #bucky imagine

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adoresia · 1 day

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Hello there (　＾▽＾)

I read you were taking requests for JJK. I'd like to request something w/ Choso... maybe something along the lines of Reader frequents a small local coffee shop, Choso just happens to be the owner & barista on shift.

• Reader is a coffee connoisseur

• Choso remembers the flavors she likes & dislikes

• Fluff/Angst

• fresh coffee kisses ○o。..。o○

— Flavors of Us

⋆.˚ Featuring : Choso x fem!reader

⋆.˚ Sia here! : HELLO ANON THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR SENDING THIS IN IT WAS SO FUN TO WRITE HEHEHEHDHSHDHHEHSHSHEHS (I Love these Choso requests. I love my man. Just look at him. ISNT HE SOOO FINEEEE 😫😫) okay anyways really sorry I took so long write this I hope you like it!!,

The cozy warmth of *Kurobai Coffeehouse* enveloped you the moment you stepped inside, the familiar scent of roasted beans and rich espresso curling around you like a comforting embrace. The quiet hum of the café settled in your bones, a welcome reprieve from the outside world. You weren’t a stranger here—this little corner shop had become a second home to you over the past year. But more importantly, your boyfriend Choso was here!

Behind the counter, Choso moved with his usual quiet precision. His tall, muscular frame was slightly hunched as he adjusted the grinder, his long dark hair tied back in a messy bun, the small parts of his bangs framing his pale, sharp features. Even from across the room, you could tell he was focused on his work, his sharp, pale features set in that familiar, pensive expression. Choso had always been a bit shy, and sometimes a little clueless when it came to people, but he had this way of paying attention to the things that mattered. Especially when it came to you.

He looked up as you approached the counter, and the hint of a smile tugged at his lips—a subtle gesture, but it was one you’d come to recognize as reserved just for you. His eyes softened, though there was still that flicker of uncertainty behind them, like he was never entirely sure what to do with the feelings you stirred in him.

“You’re early today,” he mumbled, his voice low and quiet, as always.

“Thought I’d change things up,” you replied with a teasing smile, leaning casually against the counter. “But I’m guessing you already know what I’m going to order, right?”

Choso’s brow furrowed slightly, his eyes narrowing in concentration. You watched as he silently replayed your usual preferences in his mind, the way he always did when you teased him like this. Over the months, he’d learned exactly what you liked and disliked when it came to coffee. You weren’t just a casual drinker—you were a connoisseur, and Choso never let you down.

“Colombian beans,” he said after a pause, his tone thoughtful. “Medium-bodied, floral, no sugar… but maybe not too strong today?” He glanced up at you, his expression uncertain as if waiting for confirmation.

You smiled, genuinely impressed. “You know me too well.”

A faint blush crept up Choso’s neck, and he quickly turned back to the grinder, his hands moving a little faster than before. “I just… pay attention,” he mumbled, barely loud enough for you to hear.

You bit back a laugh, charmed by his bashfulness. He was always like this, quietly remembering the details that mattered—what kind of beans you preferred, the strength of your coffee depending on your mood, and even the way you liked to linger at the counter just a little longer when the café wasn’t busy. He never made a big deal about it, but that was just who Choso was.

As he worked, you let your gaze drift around the café. The wooden floors creaked softly under your feet, the low jazz playing in the background adding to the cozy, intimate atmosphere. The shop was small, tucked between two towering bookstores, and the soft glow of amber light from the sconces bathed everything in a warm, golden hue. You loved the way it made the world outside seem far away, like you and Choso were the only two people in it.

Before long, Choso slid your cup across the counter. The familiar aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled your senses, rich and floral with a hint of brightness. It was perfect—just like every other time he’d made it for you.

“Thank you.” you murmured, your fingers brushing his as you took the cup from him. You noticed the way his hand lingered for just a second longer than necessary, and your heart skipped a beat.

Choso glanced away quickly, his cheeks tinged with pink again. He was always so easily flustered, especially when your hands touched, even after all this time.

You took a sip, savoring the way the flavors bloomed on your tongue. “It’s perfect, as always,” you said softly, meeting his gaze over the rim of your cup.

He blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the compliment. “I— I’m glad,” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. He was trying to play it cool, but you could tell your praise had gotten to him.

The café was quiet today, only a few other patrons scattered at tables, engrossed in their books or laptops. With the lull in activity, you leaned forward a little, resting your elbows on the counter. “You’ve really got this down, huh? I could never make coffee this good.”

Choso’s eyes flickered to yours, then back down to the counter. “It’s just… practice. I’m still learning.”

“You’ve mastered my order, though,” you teased, your voice low and playful. “That’s gotta count for something.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. Instead, he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he glanced at you from beneath his lashes. “I just… don’t want to get it wrong. Not for you.”

The sincerity in his words, paired with the soft, almost nervous look in his eyes, made your heart clench. For all his awkwardness, Choso always managed to say the things that mattered most without even realizing it.

You felt the warmth of the coffee in your hands, but there was a different kind of heat spreading through you now—the kind that came from being so close to him, from the way he looked at you like you were the only person that mattered.

Without thinking, you reached out, your fingers gently curling around his wrist, tugging him just a little closer. “You never get it wrong, Choso,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

His eyes widened, startled by the sudden closeness. “I—” He tried to speak, but the words died on his lips as your gaze lingered on his mouth.

Before either of you could second-guess it, you closed the distance between you, your lips brushing softly against his. The kiss was gentle, tentative, as if testing the waters, and for a moment, Choso froze beneath your touch. But then, slowly—so slowly—he melted into it, his free hand coming up to rest on the counter as if steadying himself.

The taste of fresh coffee lingered on both your lips, bitter and warm, mixing with the softness of the kiss. It wasn’t rushed or sloppy—just slow and sensual, like savoring the perfect brew. His lips were slightly parted, unsure but responsive, and you could feel the slight tremble in his breath as your lips pressed a little more firmly against his.

When you finally pulled away, the café seemed quieter, the world smaller, as if time itself had slowed for just the two of you. Choso’s eyes were wide, his cheeks flushed a deep red that stretched all the way to the tips of his ears.

“I—uh—” He tried to speak, but the words were jumbled, completely lost to the haze of what had just happened. “Was… that okay?

You couldn’t help but smile at how utterly flustered he was, his usual composure shattered in the most endearing way. “Yeah, Choso,” you whispered, your thumb brushing lightly over his wrist. “It was more than okay.”

He blinked, still dazed, but a small, shy smile tugged at his lips as he nodded. “I’m glad.”

And just like the perfect cup of coffee, the moment lingered—warm, comforting, and undeniably sweet.

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ohsohoney · 1 day

Text

When it comes to love you're just as blinded.

Part Ten

Eminem x Musician

Summary: It starts with a drunk embarrassing video, it spirals into something a whole lot more.

Note: Later than usual, sorry! But I've been busy with a whole load of shit ngl, it's just been stress:) Let me know if anyone else wants to be added to the taglist though, I realise my updating is a bit sporadic? Maybe? Just a little? Lmao, anyway here's 10, hope you enjoy!

| Set in 2014, just after the release of LP 2

taglist: @thelastemzy

Masterlist

Jacket potatoes were a fucking delicacy.

Any Brit back home would tell you that. You could top ‘em with all sorts; Chilli, Tuna, Cheese, Chicken, Stuffing, Coleslaw, Bacon, Gravy, Bolognese— some people even liked them plain. But my favourite, as well as the only real and true way to serve a jacket potato, was with an ungodly amount of butter and baked beans.

Being in the States, it was a rather hard dish to come by. But, seeing as Marshall always appeared to go above and beyond, beans (No, none of that shoddy American shit) could be found in the little basket he’d gone and gifted me the day before. A little wicker bowl full of goodies to soothe that little ache of homesickness.

I smacked the can down onto the countertop and levelled Rosie with a long stare.

“You’re serious?” She asked me around a wary glance, extending her arm out cautiously to get a better look at the bright blue tin as though she thought the contents might just reach out to try and grab her back.

“Deadly.” I remarked, attempting to keep my smile hidden when I met her question with a raised brow, “You’ll love it.”

Rosie didn’t look too convinced about that fact and yet, she rolled up her sleeves and took a seat at the counter to watch me work, helping out with the few things that she could.

She had waltzed in through the front door a while earlier, just a second after I’d made it up the stairs, and the grin she’d worn when she had spotted me had had my heart warming and the pair of us wandering into the kitchen, arm in arm and already talking at a mile an hour.

I was sauteing some mushrooms in a pan after having peeled and diced them up, whilst she kept a keen eye on the warming potatoes. “So Dad’s finally found some inspiration then?” Rosie asked me after a while, peering into the oven.

I smiled when I peered over at her, seeing how the orange glow of it washed over the side of her face to softly illuminate her features. “Seems so, we got a lot done but he was on a roll by the end of it.” I told her in reply, shaking the pan again and blinking at the sizzle that sparked up, “What do you mean anyway? Finally.” I dragged out that last word in a small singsong which made her chuckle as she stood to her full height once more and turned.

“He’s been trying to write for a couple weeks now, I think. Or months.” She shrugged, stepping back to watch the mushrooms fry with a slight wrinkle of her nose, “Not sure, but he keeps complaining about it whenever he’s on the phone.”

With a small hum, my eyes flickered back over to her, then to the pan again, “He didn’t mention it.”

Rosie blew out a faint chuckle and leant back against the counter, knuckles wrapping around its edge, “Why would he? He hates jinxing himself.”

It was cute that she noticed things like that about him, something I’d begun to note in the short time I’d been staying with the two, but I didn’t know... A large part of me wished that Marshall would have said something about it before, or at least alluded to it. It made me feel a bit bad for bowing out so early now.

Still, my mind was quickly recaptured by the task at hand and then the story that Z deemed to tell me about, apparently a teacher thought that one of her friends was a shoo in for these auditions that they had coming up soon. The familiarity of the scene made me think back to Lottie, to everything that was happening back home, and I wished, silently and not for the first time, that it could be possible for a person to exist in two places at once.

The spuds took their time baking but soon enough they were ready and piping hot, fluffy on the inside and with a crisp exterior. Rosie gathered up the butter and cheese at my signal, face lighting up at the prospect of being able to drown her own in the latter, whilst I pinched the tops of the spuds with a clean tea towel and plated them up, spattering them with a small amount of herbs.

I was going to keep Marshall’s wrapped up in tinfoil, if only to save it from going all horrible before he had the chance to try such a delicacy, but thankfully he’d worked his way back up the stairs just in time. I wondered how he’d managed it.

“Hey, you’ve got table duty.” Rosie exclaimed as soon as she saw him bustling over the threshold, handing the cutlery she was already holding to him without a second thought, which caused Em to blink down at his hands whilst he struggled not to drop the sudden weight he'd just been shafted with.

“‘Scuse me?” Marshall prompted, brow furrowed as his gaze wandered about the rest of the kitchen. I wondered what he thought of the bubbling pot of red sauce sitting on the hob, as well as the absurd amount of butter both Rosie and I had already lumped onto our steaming plates.

“You can set the table, Dad.” Z explained as she jumped back to help me with the mushrooms, her voice edging the line of a whining lilt, “We cooked! So it’s only fair.”

Marshall stared at her for a second longer before he ultimately snorted, “Right.” He murmured, recapturing his hold on the silver he held and eyes finding mine, before he spun round on his heel and left the room once again with a small smirk. When he returned, his plate was almost ready and just about to be loaded up with– “The hell’s that?”

I withheld my snarky reply in favour of smirking when Rosie answered for me, her eyes widening in the face of her father’s obvious leery expression. “Beans, Dad. El told me it’s one of her favourite meals, she wanted to share it with us.”

It wasn’t hard to hear the undertone there, the kind that told him to keep quiet on how he felt about the bubbling bowl I was currently holding because Z obviously didn’t want me feeling disheartened in any way. It was adorable, as was the stern face she’d paired with it, the same face that her dad found hard to waver against. His shoulders slumped ever so.

“Right.” He repeated for the second time tonight, dragging the first syllable out a tad, “Looks good?” He tried.

I had to laugh then, “That a question or statement, Mathers?”

His eyes flickered over to meet mine, but I motioned for Rosie to get a start on heaping the cheese we’d grated onto her plate, the girl’s responding grin was giant.

“I–” Em appeared stumped for a split second before he eventually just pressed his lips together and decided to jump in on helping us. Although he did complain when he spotted the frying pan sat off to the side, “Mushrooms too?” But with Rosie’s short warning of Dad, Marshall only appeared to raise his hands in mock surrender and then moved over to grab the plates so that he could carry them off into the next room.

I shared a conspiratorial smile with the younger girl before we followed after him, the three of us settling into the same seats as we had occupied the day before. Marshall still looked wary, even with his beans being hidden beneath a thick layer of cheese that I figured he had reasoned to himself would mask whatever taste was under it, but Z, to my utter surprise, looked ready to dig in.

“Changed your tune there, lovely.” I mentioned with a sly smirk, my gaze lingering on her long enough to catch the sheepish reaction she bore before she just shrugged and dipped her head around a grin, fork already in hand.

“Smells good.” Was the excuse she used and so I softened my face into a smile too.

“Well you helped so of course it does,” I quipped easily, picking up my fork as well before nudging Em’s forearm, “Come on, you big baby. Just try it. If you hate it, I’ll order you whatever you want. On me.”

That had him rolling his eyes, but he picked up his knife and fork with a determined expression.

I bit back a round of chuckles I could feel bubbling in my throat and used my chin to getsure for the pair of them to get stuck in. Rosie was quick to tear into hers and I was silently thankful for the way the potato easily broke apart under her knife, its texture fluffy and golden.

“Oh wow, this is so good.” She blew out the second that she could, already moving onto her next bite whilst Marshall was still working his way up to trying his own. “When you first showed me those beans? I was so sure I was gonna puke.”

I snorted quietly at that image, perfectly content with the plate of home I’d gone and conjured up for us, whilst Em’s face wrinkled. “Well if you had hated it, you’d have only had your Dad to blame, he’s the one who bought them.”

“I jus’ looked up British shit, they were top five on every list.” Marshall defended before he finally took a bite, slow in the way he raised his fork to his mouth, his eyebrows raising a little as he let the taste settle in, “Shit.”

My eyes narrowed a tad around the smile that I was chewing on to keep hidden but I watched him cut further into the potato, beans and melted cheese puddling around the sides. “That a good shit or bad shit?”

“Three dollars.” Z acknowledged, voice muffled by the food she still had in her mouth.

I laughed at that and shook my head in fond amusement before I turned to Em for an answer. He took another bite, a big one, something I took to be a good sign, and just nodded. My brow quirked in hope. “So good?”

He hummed, one shoulder shrugging, “Ain’t gone die if I finish it.”

Snorting, I could only shake my head at him, hiding my smile behind my fist. “Idiot. You like it.”

Marshall rolled his eyes, though the gesture was obviously fond as he raised his fork to point at me, “Just grateful you didn’t burn down my damn house.”

Rosie’s giggles filled the room and with them we all settled in to enjoy. Marshall asked after his daughter’s day and the girl was all too happy to ramble and rant to him, face lighting up at the prospect of it. She mentioned her English lesson, the book they had started on and how her teacher had explained this one paragraph to her class, then she went into detail about the play that was set to happen just before the Christmas break. I chimed in here and there, putting in my two cents where it was worth, but in truth, I was perfectly content to simply listen and watch on.

The clean up that followed was mainly made up of me and Z messing around and singing to the music Em had stuck on, never the type to linger in silence. The pair of us did manage to rope the man into joining us once he had loaded up the dishwasher though, something he thoroughly complained about but followed through on all the same. He was just a sucker for his kid's smile, I reckoned, went above and beyond for the girl and it was all too easy to see.

It was a lot later that we all fell into a comfortable silence around the tele, Rosie sat crossed legged on the sofa with her homework whilst I offered help whenever asked. Marshall had joined the two of us a little later, after his phone had rang and he’d stepped out to take the call, he’d padded into the room with only the explanation of ‘Royce’ before he’d fallen into the seat beside me. I’d hummed but was too distracted by Rosie’s newest question to prod him further on it.

By the time she had finished up, handwriting practically perfect, her books had fallen into a heap on the coffee table and she’d slowly but surely scootched her way further up the sofa. I kept my eyes on the tele when I’d outstretched an arm in quiet invitation but hadn’t missed the grin she’d given in turn before she’d settled into my side, head coming to rest on my thigh. I caught Marshall’s watchful stare from out of the corner of my eye but didn’t glance back over, smiling at the scene that played out on the screen whilst my hand smoothed over the girl’s hair.

I wasn’t sure how much time had passed between us before Marshall’s quiet cough broke the peace we’d since created, but the sky was more of a hazy cast of dark blue now rather than the ruddy auburn that had lined it much earlier. I stifled a small yawn.

Rosie sniffed softly in my lap, twisting a tad to cast her Dad a quizzical glance. Throughout the duration of the film that Z had picked out for us to watch, the man had gotten close enough that he now only had to drop his shoulders to poke at her cheek.

“Bath and bed, kid.”

The scrunch that overwhelmed Rosie’s face at the order had me grinning and so I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before moving my hand to pat her shoulder. “Up and at ‘em, soldier. Heard what the old man said.”

“Do I have to?” Z huffed, just as a hand came up to rub at her eye. Marshall’s mouth ticked ever so slightly into an amused smirk, his fingers replacing mine in an effort to smooth the front of her hair.

“School tomorrow.” He reminded her all too gently, dropping his hand lower to shuck the underside of her chin which only made the girl smile sleepily. “You know the deal.”

She sighed heavily in retort, but did eventually make the move to push herself up and out of my lap, legs stretching across the couch cushions before her feet found the floor. It was just as she went to stand that she turned to face me though, her expression a little meek but rapidly losing the residual somnolence it had just held. “Will you do my hair again for me tomorrow?”

I was caught by surprise at the question she’d asked. I wouldn’t lie, but I didn’t let the reaction show as I smiled warmly back at her, reaching out to tap a finger on the top side of her hand, “‘Course. Anything you want, lovely.”

Rosie’s little grin had her eyes squinting and forced the corners of her mouth to pinch upwards in a move that only deepened her dimples. She leaned over to give me a hug of thanks, whispering the word into my ear before she pulled away and rounded the sofa, kissing her Dad’s cheek on her way out.

“No messin’ about, Z. An early night, ‘kay?” Em reminded her, leaning against the back of the couch so that he could tilt his head far enough to see her, “I’ll be up soon.” He added, his words met by another charming grin whilst she shook her head in fond exasperation and slipped out of the room, leaving just the pair of us and the tv.

It was a long while before Marshall disturbed the quiet once more, the film we’d been watching had finished some time ago and so now all that was playing on the screen was a couple repeats of South Park and the odd advertisement. “She’s different with you.” I heard him voice.

With a furrowed brow, I let my head turn to find him. He was perched in the same position he had been, but now with an arm stretched along the back of the sofa and a knee bent to fill the small gap that still separated us. “What d’you mean?”

When he replied, it was low and soft, a murmur if not for the sincerity behind it. “She don’t act like that ‘round nobody.” He told me, fingers jumping in a steady rhythm on the back of the cushion, his eyes peering between mine. “Me, sure. She’s a fuckin’ koala when she wants to be, but with other people… it’s something she second guesses.”

His words confused me. Or rather, threw me. “I don’t get it.”

He dropped his gaze, blowing out a small but mirthful huff through his nose, his thumb dragged along the edge of the sofa. “You known her what, three days? And she don’t think about gettin’ close to you. Sure she’ll be coy with it, sly even, but that’s ‘cause she don’t wanna overstep with you. Like that right there–” Em said, getsuring his chin out towards my lap, I followed the gesture, then blinked back up at him, remembering the way she’d approached me, “She don't do that with people.”

My face must have given away to the fact that I was still trying to process the weight of what he meant, because his smile was soft, warm even.

It made me think of Lottie, who was always so open with her affection, who gave it out without thought or focus, her smile always great, always there. Then of myself. I tended to avoid affection where it mattered, a reason as to why I’d never let many people too close to my heart, why I hadn’t had something fulfilling to divulge when Marshall and I had spoken about past exes, I supposed. It baffled me to see some of the same tendencies I’d shown growing up in Rosie, in a girl too sweet, too loving, too happy to be so aware of how to guard herself.

I looked to him again and let him have his fill, allowed him to see how his words, the sentiment behind them, had pierced through the armour I’d long since moulded around myself.

One side of his mouth lifted and he used the hand resting on the back of the sofa to circle my wrist, leaning in a little closer, filling that previous gap. “Ro’s had her mom, her sister. They’ve been there. They love her, and she loves them. I know that. But with Kim, it ain’t always parentin’, it’s fun and games. It’s showin’ off, not showin’ up. It’s messin’ around until she finally grows–”

He paused there, eyes flickering left and then right as his tongue swiped over his lower lip, almost as though he was resentful of the term he wished to use.

He settled for, “Bored. Or maybe jus’ tired, you know? She’s there until it's her time to step up and do the job she’s ‘sposed to, til it's missed recitals and forgetting pick-up, that’s when she reacts. Pulls away.”

He sighed, gaze caught on his fingers, on the easy way they engulfed my wrist. His thumb brushed over the freckle that dotted the bone, and continued on through a slow exhale, “Ayla, she’s a lot older. She does her own thing, she’s got school, work, friends. Z obviously filters into all that, but there's always been a small divide. I like to think it’s just ‘cause of their ages– it’s how me and Nate worked growin’ up, you know? But there’s this whole idea that fuckin’ messes with my head, like maybe it's all down to me. Ayla’s my niece, but she’ll always be one of my own. I love that girl as much as I love Rosie. More than life itself. But I know I hurt her, havin’ her here, watchin’ me fail and fuck up whilst she was growin’ up. And jus’, maybe I can’t help but wonder if I ever let her know that enough, that I loved her, if it’s that that’s impacted her relationship with Z.”

I was quick in my attempt to soothe his doubts, the hand he didn’t hold jumping over to lay across the top of his own. “I’d call you an idiot, but I reckon you already know that.” I chuckled halfheartedly, though my smile was genuine when his eyes snapped up to meet my own, “You’re an amazing father, Em. I honestly believe that with my whole heart. And it doesn’t take much to see it either. I mean, I was here not even a day and was so quick to see the love you held for your daughter. I saw it in your reactions too when we called, when you spoke of them, however brief it was. I haven’t met Ayla but I don’t think I’d have to for me to see that your worries are just that, worries. I’m sure that girl loves you in the very same sense that I am sure that she knows you love her. That you see her as much more than just your niece.”

My thumb trailed over the back of his hand, skimming knuckles, taking in their slight discoloration, the faint white lines that could have only been age old scars. I dipped my head a tad so that my gaze could align with his shadowed blues, prompting him into lifting his eyes from off the floor.

“I’m also honoured that you think Rosie’s comfortable enough around me to mention the gravity behind it, that you’d trust me with her company, let alone her affection.” I said sweetly, gifting him another smile, it was close lipped but one that appled my cheeks. His stare caught onto it, fingers tightening around my wrist by a fraction in a squeeze that showed only his appreciation. So I squeezed back, fingers fastening over the top of his fist. “Z’s hard not to love, she’s all of your best parts and more. Sometimes…”

I took a small breath, fretful over saying what I had intended to until Marshall met my flickering gaze once more, silently prompting me on. I swallowed thickly, feeling the force of it travel through my throat, but did follow through, “Sometimes it’s just hard raising kids, I guess not everyone’s made out for the harsher reality of it all. Of having to be a parent and not a friend. I mean, it was forced on me in a way, I’ve been raising my siblings since Danny the day came along, since before I knew what being a mum meant. What one was.” The weight of that admission had me reeling for a split second, at the truth it held. But I pursed my lips before allowing my eyes to find Marshall’s once more, “Kim, I’m sure she tries, I’m sure it’s more than my mum ever did, ever could do, but it’s okay for you to fear that it’s not enough for Z, too.”

Marshall worked his jaw, blinking for a second before he eventually spoke, voice rasping with the emotion he felt. “Kid deserves the world.”

I found myself grinning at that, the teary kind which glossed over your eyes but was strong enough that you couldn’t prevent the fluid motion of it. It was without thought that my arms came up to wind their way around his neck and I relaxed further in the gesture when I eventually felt his face come to rest against my shoulder.

“She does.” I murmured, hand cupping the back of his neck, fingers resting over the fine hair which lined his nape. “She does.” I heard myself repeat again as my eyes slipped closed.

When we parted, I watched as Em knuckled the corner of his eye, grunting faintly to clear his throat and rid the room of any tension that then clouded us. I felt the corner of my mouth twitch, but did look away towards the tele when he started to shift once more, giving him a sense of security that he hadn’t been caught out, that I wouldn’t dig too deeply into his reaction.

“Thanks.” He murmured after a stunted moment and it was only then that I glanced back over to him. I smiled in turn.

“Nothing to thank me for.”

When we parted ways for the night, I chose to head on up to bed, mind so full of thoughts that I found it hard to latch onto a singular one, whilst Marshall stopped at the bottom of the staircase to gift me a quiet goodnight, eyes caught on the reflection of moonlight that crept its way across my cheek, the sight mirrored on his own face.

I didn’t know it then but I would eventually, he’d never felt so inspired.

So as I’d slipped beneath my duvet, my mind stuck on the words we’d shared, Marshall was back down in the studio, writing away once more. But this time, it was for a completely different reason.

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morphodae · 2 hours

Text

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ღ HSR Men Becoming Parents (part 2) ღ

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

(≫ Part 1 here)

≫ Note: some children of these characters are biological and some are adopted! :)

✦ CW: some related story spoilers for characters, non-graphic mentions of labor and delivery, pregnancy, fluff, light angst, suggestive in Jing Yuan’s part lol, spoilers for Otto Apocalypse HI3 in Luocha’s part (iykyk), no partner in Sampo’s it’s simply platonic parental fluff, creative liberty for Sunday’s destiny after Penacony, the Trailblazer/MC is Stelle in this

✦ Characters: Jing Yuan, Luocha, Sampo (platonic), Sunday x Reader all separate (gender-neutral for the most part as anyone can be a “mom” or parent!)

≫ Jing Yuan

“So… (Name) and the General go at it like rabbits? Not surprised, tbh.”

“Eww! I don’t wanna think about that! We already know they can hardly take their hands off each other when we see them together!”

A loud clearing of someone’s throat is heard as Dan Heng appears in the hotel doorway of the two gossiping girls. Arms crossed, expression unamused.

“Speaking so crudely about the General while we’re visiting isn’t exactly proper,” he admonishes, he turns to the pink-haired girl, “and I thought you’d know better than to encourage her behavior, March.”

March 7th waves her hands up frantically in defense. “I’m just as surprised as Stelle is, that’s all!”

As the young man turns to walk away, the thought of someone from his old life — an old friend — becoming a father was a thought that brought the faintest of smiles to Dan Heng’s face.

During your pregnancy, it was easy and lowkey. Your Yuan made sure to keep you out of his affairs as much as possible and you were grateful. Additionally, you had an easy process welcoming your little girl together into the world. The only thing was — your husband might have kept things a bit too secret.

——————

Yanqing is playing another game of chess in the General’s garden, asking question upon question about the newest bundle he saw his master carrying days ago.

“When were you going to tell me, General?! That’s huge news!”

“All in due time,” the white-haired man grins, taking another piece off the game board.

Yanqing was quite ecstatic, if not surprised, to find out his Master had a daughter behind the scenes. He respected you and the General greatly, so a part of the young boy wanted to get stronger so that he could protect the General’s daughter as though she were his little sister.

“Speaking of, there were rumors going around of you and (Name). And during one of our sparring matches, Yunli got embarrassed when I asked her what she heard about you and (Name)…” Yanqing trails off, gold eyes deep in thought. His expression far too innocent. “I mean, General, don’t babies normally just… come from an ancient bird? That’s what I heard, anyways. If that’s the case then maybe Yunli and I can raise one someday as our apprentice and—“

Jing Yuan cuts off his apprentice with a deep rumble of laughter. “—Perhaps that’s something for you to worry about in several decades time.” The General rises from his cushion gracefully, changing the subject on the endearingly naive boy.

“Speaking of Miss Yunli, weren’t you going to gift her a weapon you saw in a shop and then take her to see a new play?”

Yanqing’s eyes widen comically, his face turning a bright shade of vermillion. “Huh?! How do you know that?”

The General merely walks away, a knowing laugh and closed-eyed smile as the only response he offers.

“General? H-hey! General…!”

≫ “Luocha”

The merchant “Luocha” knew better than to stay too long in one place. To form attachments and risk the confrontation of heartbreak of the other party. The contents of his mysterious coffin kept him grounded to his mission that none should know about.

But yet. He met you.

Another merchant, one with a penchant for travel, like him. A Foxian with a natural sense of business relations and ensuring every customer could receive what they asked for; and if they didn’t, then there would also be an offered compromise. In a way, he was the one in the shadows, preferring to keep things simple, business-only, and secretive. You, however, would greet everyone as one would a friend; polite, direct, extroverted, personable. The sun to his moon. Yet, he had to admit: it was a perfect complement in terms of business.

The one day you take off and he’s left to finish up at your shared stall in Aurum Alley, is the day he finds his life changes forever.

Two young children; a girl and a boy, are being cornered by Cloud Knights who insisted they stole and by the looks of things, are being quite aggressive with the two children. The girl, the slightly taller of the two, is huddled protectively over the boy, trying desperately to shield his trembling form. The boy is coughing, clearly unwell and scared.

Usually, Luocha wouldn’t get involved in trivial matters. The galaxy is a vast place, and oftentimes, it can be cruel. Yet the sight of the two children mirrors a distant, hazy memory — and that is enough to get the blond man in action. With graceful steps, he approaches the Knights, assesses the situation, and fishes for information. Supposedly, the girl had been stealing food and medicine for the boy since they had no one but themselves, despite not being related by blood, the girl felt the need to care for him. The boy was born sickly and had inventions that he eagerly showed Luocha when asked, stating that no one wanted to buy them.

Leaning down to the children’s heights, Luocha reimbursed the Knights for any credits lost that the kids were responsible for and dismissed them. Taking a look at the young boy’s inventions brought a smile to his face. “You are quite the genius, you know?” With a beaming smile, the boy stood a little closer to the blond merchant and offered to show him more of his ideas.

“No need. Not right now, at least,” Luocha responds smoothly. “How about I treat the two of you to a proper meal? Then, I can show you the stall that my partner and I run.”

—————

The next day, the little boy’s inventions stood proudly on the display cases; garnering in several customers as Luocha and his partner swore that the two children, who were all alone in the galaxy with no one but each other, would never go hungry or want for shelter ever again.

≫ Sampo Koski

How does a Fool, one who lives for himself, his Aeon, and theatrics, ever find anyone to grab his attention permanently?

The truth is, it’s an extremely rare occurrence and not something Sampo Koski saw happening for himself. Still, one fateful day in the slums of Belebog changed the course of his life forever.

A young boy — a street performer, it seemed — was excited to show any passerby his tricks and jokes. Naturally, Sampo had to see what the fuss was about. With no Silvermane staff or pesky Captain Gepard to ruin his fun, Sampo felt compelled to join the show.

When parts of the crowd seemed bored or uninterested in stopping by, Sampo made sure to draw more attention to the boy’s performance. With a wink and a dramatic bow, the blue-haired man encouraged the kid to continue on; stating that his show was going to be worth it.

With newfound confidence, the boy continued the performance with Sampo; drawing in stray credits until the pair were eventually chased by off-duty Guards into a hidden alleyway.

“Nice going!” He offered the kid a fist bump as they caught their breath hiding from the Guards near some trash bins. “Name’s Sampo Koski, by the way!”

“I’ve never heard of you, mister,” the boy answered earnestly before shyly giving his own name. “Why would you do that for me back there? Grownups never pay me any mind…”

“Well, call it a bit of generosity on my part,” the man grins. “Say, do you have anywhere to go?”

“No, sir. My parents died long ago to the Fragmentum. It’s just me trying to make it in The Underworld.”

“Well, you’re in luck! Because if you come with Sampo, you’re bound to have endless fun and all the credits you can ask for!” He nudged the kid playfully with his elbow. “What do ya say? Wanna get off this ice rock and see the rest of the galaxy?”

The boy eventually nods, eyes sparkling with newfound joy at a chance of finding himself in the vast galaxy and seeing new sights besides Jarilo-VI.

≫ Sunday Oak

A deal between the IPC and the Family left Sunday at the mercy of those above him… those who were always above him. Yet again, he felt he’d never escape the confines as a caged bird. When the Astral Express offer him a place to stay with him, he’s hesitant before his pragmatism reluctantly agrees. Who else would he stay with? Where else could he go? At least with the Express, he’d have a chance at knowing the well-being and whereabouts of Robin from time to time.

When he meets you on board, he’s as dejected as one would expect; shy, moping, and not a single word uttered to you as he quietly adjusts to a room made just for him. He avoids you and the others save for a word or two out of a necessary response.

You didn’t know him well and met him once or twice in Penacony, so it was jarring to see the once confident Oak Family head so… defeated. But, that never stopped you. If anything, you took it as a challenge.

The Express also took you in and you saw them as family. You were going to do the same for Sunday, no matter what.

The Halovian frustrated you many days but you were slowly breaking down his cautious walls, reminding him of his sister, playing her songs for him to hear, and letting him call her on your phone as he pleased. As such, he found himself falling for you. It was a classic case of “you fell first but he fell harder” as March had said in passing. And so, sooner than later, the two of you became romantic. If anything, Sunday saw you as a savior, a soulmate. Despite kicking himself for becoming so attached, you were a delicious sin he couldn’t help but partake in.

When he received the news, he requested to leave at the nearest stop to clear his head. He knew it wasn’t fair to you and he was sure to get an earful from some Express members once he returned, but his mind was swimming with every possibility. Was he ready for a child? Would he be worthy enough to bring them into a cruel, unrelenting galaxy that he once tried to change for the better? Eventually, he returns back and hugs you wordlessly. You reassure him that if he wanted it too (he did, oh Aeons he wanted both you and his child), that things would work out. And yes, Sunday did receive a stern lecture for leaving from Pom-Pom, March, and even Stelle, but the entirety of the crew sat him down for a long, heartfelt talk to assure him that he was family to them now, and they’d be there for the two of you no matter what.

When the day comes for you to give birth, you’re taken to the best galactic doctor Sunday researched. He’s more nervous than you are and he can’t sit still. His wings flutter at every sound of pain you make and his heart threatens to beat out of his chest. Fourteen system hours later and not one, but two little babies are placed on your chest; each with the tiniest wings sprouting under their ears. A girl and a boy — a subtle reminder of him and Robin.

Only this time, through blurry vision of nonstop tears, Sunday swore he’d never let either one of them succumb to a fate akin to that poor Charmony dove. Your children would have no cages, but instead, boundless freedom.

#tw pregnancy mention #x reader #jing yuan x reader #luocha x reader #sunday x reader #hsr sunday x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #star rail x reader #hsr fluff #hsr scenarios #star rail x you #sampo koski

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johnwickb1tsch · 2 days

Note

I demand when John met Helen (please?🥺)

Anything for you, my love! 😘😘😘

(this is an outline-ish thing from...last january? I don't know if ill ever truly write it out, so here's the whole caboodle)

warnings: violence, serious amts of shmoop

Helen goes to a rare book shop curious if they can fix the binding of her dog eared copy of Jane Eyre. They quote her an insane price. She has a meet cute with John in the shop. Maybe she's looking through the classics, trying to find a copy of Jane Eyre so she doesn't destroy her other one more. Maybe she tells him she can't afford to fix her copy. She brought it in to ask. He is sheepish about it, but he says he could fix it for her. “What would you charge?”

“Nothing. It's a hobby for me. I do it for relaxation.”

“Wow. Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. You'd be doing me a favor. I could use a new project.”

She cants her head, looking at him. Weighing him. He finds himself standing up a little straighter, hoping he'll make the cut.

“Ok. But you at least have to let me buy you lunch.”

“I would like that,” he admits.

“Deal.” She holds out her hand to shake. He takes her small hand in his, and doesn't want to let go.

So he fixes her book.

They go to lunch. And when it's time to part ways, they don't really want to. They go for a walk. And keep talking. He shyly asks if he can take her to dinner. She agrees eagerly. They fall in love in the span of a week, or maybe just that one perfect day.

They have a date set but John has to text her to say he's not feeling well. She offers to bring him soup. He says that sounds amazing, but he doesn't want her to see him like this. In truth, he was working, and things got out of hand. He's told her he works in security. But she is not prepared for how he looks.

Black eye. Cuts on his face. Bruised ribs. Bruises everywhere, really.

She worries that he's trying to break their date. Making up an excuse. He can hear it in her voice. Scared he’ll lose her, (and wanting badly to see her) he agrees to let her come over that night, not sure how it will go.

He thinks about his Manhattan apartment. Expensive, modern, very few personal touches. He's afraid she'll hate it.

When she comes over with takeout she is shocked, and teary eyed. Seeing him in pain like this hurts her.

“Oh my god, John, what happened to you?”

“Sometimes, my work gets a little...spicy?”

Lol. She just looks at him. That look.

“I'm guessing you can't actually tell me what happened.”

With a sad smile he shakes his head. “I want to share everything I can with you,” he admits. “But some things, it's better you don't know.”

She chews on her lip as he tells her this. He wonders if this will be their deal breaker. But in the end she nods. “Ok, John. I trust you.”

Hearing that makes him feel better than the pain pills he'd taken earlier.

“We could...watch a movie?” he offers, thinking snuggling with her in his arms might fix him.

“Okay.”

He falls asleep halfway through, and she holds him, looking at his wounds. He looks so boyish and innocent in his sleep. She fights not to cry.

To make up for ruining their date night he offers to cook her dinner. Afterwards they kiss, in front of the window, the lights of New York shining down below. He pulls her against him, squeezing her in his strong arms like he can't get enough of her. It steals her breath away, she wants him so much.

Later, they're out and about. She hugs him under his suit jacket, feels a blocky shape at his back. “Are you...carrying a gun?”

“Honestly, I'm usually carrying a gun,” he admits.

After the business that went sideways, he doesn't want to get caught unawares. He can tell she doesn’t like it, but trusts him enough to go along with it.

“Ok…”

Something happens where she gets to see him in action. It's awesome... and scary, honestly. Maybe they're walking to his car when they're ambushed by five guys. The leader is like, “Evening, John.”

“This isn't a good time, Mickey.”

M looks between Helen and John with a leer. “No time like the present, I say.”

They fight, and John lays them all out. In the end he’s taken Micky’s gun and is about to shoot him in the face. It's instinct and reflex. Finish the job. But he hears a gasp behind him. Looks to see Helen looking terrified. So he disassembles the gun. Drops all the bullets into Mickey’s face before throwing the pieces at him.

“Come on, sweetheart, let's go.” They drive away. She is in shock.

Afterwards, they go park somewhere with a view of the city below. She is only looking at him though. “I scared you,” he says. It's not really a question.

“Yes and no,” she answers honestly. “I don't believe you would ever hurt me.”

“Good. It's the truth.”

“But I…” She trails off.

“It's OK,” he sighs, feeling so tired inside. “You can say it.”

“I'm not sure I really believe your job is legal, John.”

He sighs and looks at the steering wheel. “You... might be right about that.”

She nods. His heart is in his throat. This is it. This is how he loses her, he's convinced. And she has every right to leave. He never had any business pursuing her in the first place, but…it feels like dying.

He waits for the axe to fall, his eyes squeezed closed.

“I don't know how to reconcile the man I saw today, and the man I know who repairs books, and cooks me gourmet dinners, and takes me on long walks while holding my hand.”

John rests his forehead on his steepled fingers. “I’ve...never really had a choice. I was trained from childhood, to do what I do, for very bad people. It doesn't excuse me...but it is what it is. Maybe I enjoyed it, once. I am not a good man. But now…” He looks at her, with the look of a drowning man. “I would give anything, just to have you.”

There are tears in her eyes too, he realizes.

“Do you have to do it, forever?” she asks. “Is there no way out?”

He shakes his head, to himself as much as her. “It's very rare,” he tells her. “And very difficult.”

She nods, and moves closer. “Will you hold me?”

“Always.”

He pulls her in close, thinking he could die happy like this, with her in his arms.

Later, he asks point blank. He has to know, he can't contain it. “Are you leaving me, Helen?”

He's so certain the answer is yes. She'll try to let him down softly. I'm not sure I can do this. It's not you, it's me.

He can hardly believe his ears when she answers, “You're not getting rid of me that easily, John Wick.”

He's not sure if the sound he makes is a laugh or a sob. He kisses her, desperate for the affirmation of her love, hardly able to believe his luck. He feels like his heart might explode, for all the love he feels for this woman.

“I love you so fucking much,” he growls as he kisses her like he might devour her.

Likewise, she tells him with tears in her eyes and her fingers in his hair. “Don't stop kissing me.”

“Never,” he tells her.

The next week he finds himself buying a ring.

And the week after that, he finds himself bargaining with Viggo Tarasov, his freedom in exchange for slaughtering all of the boss’s rivals in one mad night of mayhem.

If anyone can do it, it’s John Wick.

#john wick #john wick x helen #helen wick #john wick imagine #keanu reeves #keanuverse

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rosedere · 3 days

Text

The Liyue Lotus and the Merchant from Snezhnaya (Pantalone x Fem Reader)

MDNI +18

Cw: kidnapping, Stalking, non con elements, Graphic violence (later chapters), Yandere content *will update as the series goes

Cross posted on AO3

Part 1,Part 2,Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6,Part 7, Chapter 8: The lotus sailing into Port (you are here), Part 9, Part 10~

Synopsis: Unfortunately, The Regerator develops a fixation with you while you are working undercover for Yelan. And there’s no one who can get in his way of his prized Lotus.

You tell me you're the best I'll get

Just don't know how to treat you yet

You pin me down, I make you let

Me do what I like and baby you're mine

Even learned to like the way

I get so close to say your name

And baby we'll learn to ride that wave

You could give it time, you'd learn to be mine

You didn't realize how soon you were supposed to go to Snezhnaya.

But you didn't expect the next weekend that was already upon you. Naturally, you didn't know what you needed to prepare when you went to the most frigid region in all of Teyvat.

And worst your missing Bow and Vision were nowhere to be found, bothering Galina every day if she had found your vision only for her to insist it had been nowhere once more, you were going to be completely vulnerable in a new world.You tried telling yourself through the small panic that it probably was at most going to be similar to Pantalone's recent trip back to Liyue.

This was going to be a vacation at best; maybe you'll finally figure out what he was currently planning with his various branches of banks. And maybe he might grow tired enough of you to slip away.

But oddly enough you weren't finding him to be as unbearable as he was when he first decided to court you.

Pantalone's entire demeanor changed since he had come back from his business trip. The quaint smile you remember when you first crossed paths with him was back as he carried on with his duties in his office downstairs.

And to your surprise he would now allow you to wander the outside courtyard you barely knew existed, coming up with his work sometimes or just to read beside you on the bamboo benches underneath the tall trees.

Of course, his lone eye was watchful as you busied yourself with various hobbies Galina and Fedor had gotten you into as he sat in blissful silence with you.

You couldn't place your finger on what was making you feel off about his abrupt mood change, but every day since then he would also come to check on you.

Sighing to yourself you gave up trying at the task you were busying yourself with before bed by packing your things.

Abandoning the small bag filled with just the basics you could think of you looked back towards the bed briefly before you began to walk back downstairs.

Pantalone was only casually browsing some papers in the bed that you couldn't see, just assuming they were notes he was making to himself, his hair casually let down revealing the true length as you heard him scribbling on the paper.

Deciding not to bother him you only slipped out of the room entering the hallway.

Reaching the spiraling staircase you were beginning to descend, your foot on the lower step when you heard the pained hiss and groan from below you.

Your ears perked up at the sound you turned back towards Pantalone's open bedroom behind you making sure it wasn't him.

Only once more was he in his world scratching the document with his ink pen.

Deciding it probably was something you confused for the stairs you kept going down the stairs, your destination to once again bother Galina.

At a third of the way down the sound once again was heard, this time very clearly.

“A -aaa h”

Stopping in your footsteps you leaned over the guardrailing of the stairs staying hidden as you looked over. You couldn't see anything in the lower foyer but the hallway was brightly lit up, unusual for this time in the evening since most of the help would be in the kitchen or cleaning before bedtime came.

“I—is it bad ?”

“ It's got to be bad if you aren't saying anything ”

“Hold still Lina– I can't properly see with this ambient lighting ”

Your eyes widen in realization, their voices sounding hushed and panicked from the usual formal tone they had around you gone.

“Did you inform the Lord harbinger?”

“Of course not– This is more of an urgent matter anyway”

“But Fedor that spy is trying to take (Name) to god knows where ”

A pained groan was heard once more before the shushing from Fedor.

“Please Galina calm down, I will take care of it before we depart tomorrow back home”

“Right now I need to make sure the arrows didn't pierce your vitals ”

“but what if she attacks you? That goddamn psycho woman almost killed m e ”

You didn't need to think too deeply about the words from the conversation you weren't supposed to be witnessing's actual meaning.

Yelan.

Starting to feel bad about what you had accused her of only weeks ago about not trying hard enough.

But you only let your frown take over as you realized the stakes once more in this highly complicated infiltration.

Deciding it was best to withdraw with your new knowledge you returned up the stairs assuming you'd see Pantalone back at his desk writing diligently.

But a thankful surprise was instead waiting there.

At the desk was the silhouette of your boss and roommate sifting through the journal he had been occupying most of his time filling out when he wasn't focusing on you.

You took a few footsteps to approach before you saw the blue and white flash beside you grazing your cheek.

The damp spot turned to frost as you gazed at it with your fingertips before it bled out little rivets of scarlet.

“You're losing it (name)” Yelan chuckled before flickering her deep sapphire eyes at you standing in the middle of your bedroom.

“well maybe if I was back on the field I'd be strong as ever” You pouted your lip, “You know I lost some vitamins since pretending to be his girlfriend?”

Yelan only raised a brow at you, noticing her face you realized she had certainly been roughing someone up by the few scratches she had on her neck and hand.

“Hopefully he wasn't poisoning you or anything; I'll have to get you checked out by Dr. Baizhu once we get back to the safe house” She muttered to herself.

“Wait? Like today?”

I'm finally free?

“Of course; He murdered all of my operatives that bastard— and if what I'm reading is true…” she shook her head.

“W-wait but I can't leave yet I haven't found my vision or my bow yet,” you said to her looking over to where your bed was

“I had it and I lost it a few days ago; I have zero idea where it could have gone” you panicked.

“Unfortunately you're going to have to abandon them for now; the Fatui are all leaving this fortress tomorrow to Sneznyhaya we can retrieve them after they leave” Yelan reassured you putting a hand on your shoulder.

“Come on; let's get out of here before he realizes I'm not down in the dungeon he has” She grabbed your evening dress sleeve pulling you towards the balcony; you didn't have any shoes but if it meant your freedom you assumed you could handle a few rough pebbles as you and yelan ran off towards the open balcony.

“Lián !”

You paused but Yelan only pulled you along by your dark navy sleeves.

Fedor was standing in the entrance with his sacral blades out around his form.

“Hurry! This is our only chance!” Yelan pulled harder on your sleeve almost ripping the delicate fabric.

Your eyes flicked back at Fedor for a moment; you had spent so much time with him and Galina but your freedom to go home was finally here.

Desperately you flashed a look of apology before running along with Yelan towards the balcony.

“Lord Harbinger The target has Lián!” You heard Fedors deep voice call from behind the paper screen panels lined across the balcony.

Yelan got up first over the railing, grabbing your hand you tried to get yourself up on the railing, but every time you tried your bare feet couldn't get a grip only causing you to slip under the sleek metal.

Desperately you tried to lift yourself into the metal. Finally feeling defeated you found some success in grabbing the railing hoisting yourself up and semi heavy gown you'd pick for the night.

“Grab on tightly (name) I've never used my glider with two people before” Yelan grabbed your hands placing them around her waist.

You tried not to look down; despite being inside a cave the drop was still at least as tall as a skyscraper below in the carved rocky surface below.

Closing your eyes you braced for the drop as Yelan jumped and began to glide.

Trying to resist the urge to kick you held on so tight to Yelans curved waist you thought you were going to squeeze the life out of her as you felt the cool breeze around your bare feet.

The sound of chatter and banter coming from the balcony growing distant from behind your billowing hair from the small draft in the cave opening coming slowly into view.

You began to squint as the choppy wind began to subside now smoothly gliding forward down out of the tall cave mouth.

Calming a bit you busied yourself with looking down at the passing clouds and the small amount of fog forming from below the mountain.

“Yelan what happens now?” You asked still holding onto her tightly.

“Well first things first we're not going to the Harbor— those rats are going to try to swarm and search for you over there before they decide to check in the mountains,” she said still focusing on gliding down towards the opening.

“And of course, our home is off limits for a bit— were going to take you to Chenyu Vale near Fontaine so if they do find you at least it's going to be hell for them to get into the village” Yelan dropped a little lower finally reaching the mouth.

Your stomach dropping now being completely in the sky with no ground in sight for meters on any side of you.

“Darn, I thought I could make sure all my snacks were still in my stash and not in the stomach of a certain Official I'm riding on” you teased.

“Tch– your snacks are all in the cupboard, I've mainly been running around doing what you and the trio used to do,” Yelan said.

After a bit of gliding through the tall mountains that made up the Mt. Aocang Yelan began to glide down slightly.

“Man this is a workout I wasn't expecting to make but at least we're away from That spiraling battle palace that rich guy has” Yelan sighed to herself.

“I see a flat patch of ground there maybe we can stop,” you said pointing towards a flat plain below the two of you.

Taking your advice Yelan began to gracefully glide down towards the quiet grassland.

Your feet were firmly planted to the ground as you both landed.

Of course, you practically fell forward onto the grassy knoll below you as you sighed in relief.

Yelans laugh once again becoming a melody that would be familiar to you as she stood over you.

“Yeah definitely once we get you back to work you're going to do some stamina training once again–” Yelan teased before she stood next to you.

Groaning you only peeked up at her.

“ugh anything but that— I’ll admit maybe thats the only thing I'll miss about pretending to be his girlfriend” You sprawled yourself on the grass.

“Speaking of, now what do we do about him? Since there's no more intel on him what are we going to do” you casually asked.

Yelan looked in the distance at the starry sky beginning to form above the both of you.

“well I did find a lot of stuff when I broke into his estate— Him and the Knave and Il Dottore are all in cahoots together,” She said scratching her chin for a moment.

“He was the one responsible for the attempted infiltration to become the new Tianshu— he even admitted to getting his agent to flee and hide out in the place you were staying out before secretly letting him slip back to Snezhnaya”

“Woah so he has his secret agents working with him?” You narrowed your eyes.

“If what I read was true; he's got a whole prison down there in the mountain,” Yelan said

You shuddered remembering everything you had seen down in the mountain after following the mountain water stream.

“So did he ever mention me? Was I good enough at hiding my identity” you asked rolling in the grass to lay on your back.

Yelan only stayed silent looking back up at the sky for a moment.

“Come on!!! I thought I did a good job I even pretended to have feelings for him and everything” You punched the side of her leg from where you lay.

“Maybe too good of a job (name)” Yelan lowly said

“What do you mean?” You snorted not picking up on how tense Yelan had become.

“Do you really wanna know?” Yelan said to you.

“I mean yeah I wanna know if you're going to torture me and force me to become someone's lover again” you bickered, “it was already difficult since he kind of looks like him if he was younger”

Yelan flinched at the mention.

“You still think about that traitor?” Yelan scoffed

“He was probably going to turn on all of us and do what that damn Harbinger did to all our shadows” Yelan coldly said, not an ounce of compassion she usually had

You frowned looking up at her now.

“How dare you say that— we were a team and he was going to Abandon the Fatui and work with us permanently”

Your words however only went into the empty void of the sky as Yelan began to keep gazing out towards the rolling hills surrounding both of you.

“Well I'm all rested now; we should hurry towards the Vale before the Fatui follow my energy” Yelan gestured to her back getting ready to walk off the edge of the hill.

You only quietly followed grabbing onto her waist once more getting a sturdy grip onto her before you both took off down the mountain once more.

It was after midnight when you both crossed the unofficial border towards Chenyu Vale. The lights and different water that flowed through the secluded mountains were otherwordly, different turquoise and deep reds were all around the two of you as you both were gliding down.

Only occasionally coming here once every 4 years to do errands it was a welcomed sight to the horrible trip to Snezhnaya he had probably planned for you.

Most likely selling you off to someone as the human trade in that region was high in demand .

Shuddering at the thought you only focused on the close-approaching the wooden planks of the small boat dock near the main village you and Yelan had been to before.

“you glad to see something that isn't mountains,” Yelan asked you as she landed with grace onto the open landing.

Trying to shake your legs awake you only merely nodded, rubbing your calves in discomfort.

“I just can't wait to see a bed; way past my bedtime” you murmured as you began to observe your surroundings.

“Well, follow me; Thankfully we aren't that far from the room you'll be staying in” Yelan gestured for you to follow.

Both of you weaved past the few people in the stony streets, some people still roaming around due to the weather and the clear skies as you both walked almost to the edge of the village towards a small run-down house.

“I'm not going to lie it's not the best quality but Once Dr. Baizhu checks you out and makes sure you're clear you can come back to our home in a new disguise” Yelan smiled.

You only observed the small run-down house, it was a step down from what you had been staying in.

Grabbing onto the creaky rickety door you walked in to see a cozy one room; one bed beside the window and a small stove and bathroom on the side of the house; nothing too special from what you had seen in the harbor.

Reminding yourself this was temporary as you plopped onto the bed sprawling yourself over the stiff mattress.

“Ah~” you let out a sigh of relief as you rolled onto your side.

“I still can't believe this is real— I thought I was going to be married off officially in Snezhnaya tomorrow” You stretched your legs letting yourself get comfortable on the bamboo mattress below your body.

You looked up to see yelan looking back at you with a small smile on her face.

“And I'm glad that at least I was able to rescue you from the trio,” she said before going towards the small 4x4 table near the stove and sitting on top of the small oak stool.

“You should get some rest (Name) I'll just be on watch here just in case Pantalone and his little pitiful guards come by again” She let her feet stretch underneath the table leaning with one arm folded on top of the table.

“I will but I can't sleep without you being here too,” you said propping your arm up on the bed.

“Like I said maybe once we go back home we can but for now” she looked over her shoulder towards the window.

“I gotta be on the job” she smiled at you.

Once more you practically had no recollection of how you fell asleep.

Or how long...

But you were being carried in someone's arms.

You couldn't open your groggy eyes but you heard the sound of something opening akin to a window maybe.

Before falling asleep you did fall asleep right next to the wide gated window you calmed down realizing it was probably Yelan closing the window before she crawled into bed herself.

The arms around you did feel like her after all.

You lazily swatted turning away from whoever was holding you.

But your sense came to you when you realized you weren't in your bed; the fabric around you was similar to a sheet.

And heavily insulated.

“Ye…?” You mumbled with barely functioning lips.

“Hmm? Oh, are you finally waking up?”

The voice was not Yelan.

But neither was anyone you'd heard around you either; Their voice was hearty and light with a hint of a fontainian accent.

“Yelan?” You asked once more in your groggy voice, your eyes were still heavy with sleep however leaving you to just see the spaces your eyes created.

“You must be silent Lián– If that spy woman notices anything is amiss We might not make the ship in time”

Lián…

Oh no

You carefully let your eyes flutter open just enough to see a slit view of whoever was carrying you against their chest.

You could see a dark ebony hood over her snow-white hair peeking from underneath her hood.

Her face was obscured by a dark black mask, adorned was what seemed to be her darl red eyes.

Looking inside of the now cracked window where you were just sleeping in.

You froze.

This had to be an assassin from the Fatui ,no way was this associated with Liyue.

You only shut your eyes tighter. When trying to think of anything to save yourself an irrational thought occurs.

Maybe if you make yourself heavy you could fall from the woman's grasp, she was only barely holding onto you anyway as she was balancing out of the window trying to shut it at the same time as holding you in her arms.

Concentrating you tried making yourself heavy in her arms; she didn't budge now but you knew if you let yourself stay heavy she would either drop you or just give up.

“The coast is clear” she whispered.

You felt yourself jolt up.

Was she flying?

You felt yourself being transported in the early morning winds.

Despite the urge to try to open your eyes, you kept them closed only experiencing your trip through sounds and smell as you heard the two of you fly through the night.

A soft thud indicating you both landed was how you knew you were not in the small sleepy village anymore.

The sound of water rushing was all you heard like the oppressive sound of waves crashing at sea.

“Lián!”

This time you knew exactly who was calling you from somewhere behind you.

“Galina— please allow me” The timbre tipped you off who it was exactly.

A precession of footsteps came from out of nowhere around you and the woman holding you.

You tried to relax your breathing pretending you were still asleep, or at the very least unconscious.

“Oh? I didn't realize how popular your beloved lotus was” your feminine kidnapper said to Pantalone somewhere in front of both of you.

“trust me when I say it was an unexpected ambush by the Tianquan of Liyue's eyes, Snatched away and taken to a dump of a town for god knows why” Pantalone snickered.

“Maybe she was going to be a bargaining chip,” Your kidnapper said extending their arms into Pantalone's feeling the weight transfer now in Pantalone's arms.

“Perhaps; but if it's who I think it was the vendetta that woman has against me knows no bounds” Pantalone replied.

Silence for a moment from what you could hear.

“Are you heading back to Snezhnaya? To the capital of course,” the woman asked.

“Yes, I decided to immediately go from here to the port before That spy tries to harm my lotus once more” You felt his gloved hands run a finger over your rustled hair as he said this.

“You need not worry Knave, I will not back out my word— the funds agreed upon for the children and the house of hearth will be immediately released by the bank once we arrive”

“I thank you for your kind patronage,” Pantalone said once more.

“Bon voyage Regerator” She said, the sound of heels hitting the wooden planks below away from the group near you.

Now was a good time to pretend to wake up.

Fluttering your eyelashes open you now were greeted with a dock that you weren't familiar with. The water was reminiscent of Chenyu Vale but was more Blue and clear.

The grass was not the same as the familiar grass from Liyue.

And of course to confirm your worst fears was Pantalone looking down softly at you; his hair tied back into a neat bun and his heavy insulated cloak around his body.

A whole squad of fatuus on each side of both of you from what little you could see over their shoulders.

The urge to widen your eyes in silent shock was suppressed when you realized the ship you were supposed to board tomorrow was also on the horizon.

“Pantalone?” You managed to say.

“Where am I?”

Instead of answering your question, however, he only began to walk towards the luxury liner in front of the small dock.

Feeling every step underneath he crossed the dock towards the unloading ramp only feet away from you as he brought you inside the small vessel.

It was around daybreak when you sailed from the small port near Fontaine.

Pantalone had left you in his private chambers; once again lying on the plush mattress facing the enormous wrap-around window.

You were defeated.

It seemed like this morning would have been spent going back to your small run-down upstairs room with Yelan.

The sunrise was pretty however, you thought to yourself.

You still haven't changed from your dress; mostly since you weren't sure where any of your things were.

A lurch was felt in your abdomen.

You clutched your stomach instinctively.

A feeling akin to butterflies was beginning to burn into your lower abdomen wall near your pelvis.

Now rolling yourself into a ball as the sensation began you assumed the worst— you had never been on a ship as long as this one before maybe you were getting motion sick.

But as much as you laid in your form under the dark amethyst silk sheets you realized it wasn't hurting.

Just a small flutter.

You heard the heavy metal door behind you swing open.

“Lián?” The familiar sing-song voice was heard.

You unsprawled yourself looking over your shoulder; Galina was holding a tray of a simple breakfast, some fruit, and a glass of water.

However, you were more concerned about the bandages on her arms and shoulders.

Yelan must have gone in on her from the way Galina struggled to walk over to your bedside.

“I didn't realize you would be awake” She smiled from underneath the mask.

“Thank goodness my timing is impeccable even under the Hydro archons region,” She said leaving the tray on top of the desk furthest from the bed near a small wardrobe similar to the layout of his home in Liyue.

“Were in Fontaine?” You asked with alarm.

“Of course, Thankfully your kidnapper was dumb enough to take you near the Knave's territory; a little small favor to them and they brought you back safely home” Galina smiled to herself as she sat herself in the desk chair firmly bolted to the ground with nails.

You smiled masking your unease by trying to get up off the bed.

Momentarily you forgot the weird sensation in your stomach until you felt it once more when you went to retrieve the tray.

“Are you alright Lián?” Galina asked from where she was sitting.

“Not sure—” you dismissed waving with your hand.

“I think my stomach is trying to be seasick despite only being a few meters away from the dock still” you smiled to yourself.

Grabbing a hold of the tray before returning to the side of the bed grabbing for the piece of Sunsetta sitting on the furthest corner.

The door was once again opened; this time being faced with Pantalone as he entered the room.

“Oh? Am I interrupting something”

“No, I was just sitting for a moment before I headed back” Galina began to get up from the chair, slightly hissing from the speed at which she got up.

“Galina I told you it was fine to rest during the Voyage— you defended with honor during the attempted kidnapping” Pantalone smiled interlacing his fingers together.

“I know, I just wanted to be sure Lián was safe” She finally steadied herself before brushing her cloak off.

“Besides, I won't see her for a while once we return”

“Wait what? Are you leaving” you asked with surprise dropping the half-eating Sunsetta in the tray.

“ah– yes I'm taking a temporary leave along with Fedor once we reach the port of Snezhnaya” Galina responded meekly.

“But don't worry! Once you get to the palace you will see us again” She smiled.

Suddenly they both began discussing something unrelated to the conversation leaving you to sit with your thoughts as the boat began to rock slowly, the flutter beginning to grow intense with each bite of the fruit.

Patting your stomach helped you enjoy the rest of your meal sitting next to the warm sunlight hitting your backside.

#yandere pantalone #Yandere Pantalone x reader #pantalone x reader #yandere genshin x reader #genshin x reader #reader insert #yandere x you #yandere content

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darth-jess-my-writing · 3 days

Text

Anakin x Padmé

This is smut. MDNI. 18+. Mind the tags on AO3.

~2366 words

These are the early days of the Clone Wars. Padmé is frustrated about Senate business, and Anakin is frustrated with the Jedi Council. So when Anakin approaches Padmé in the Senate building all hot and angry, they decide to blow off some steam in her office.

Teaser posted below, link at the bottom to the full scene on AO3.

This is totally unedited, it might be awful I wrote this in kind of a frenzy. If you guys have edits or comments lemme know!

P.S. This is my first attempt writing smut for these two lovebirds, so while I do take constructive criticism very well (in fact I welcome it, if you have tips for me lemme know I'm always trying to improve my writing) I don't appreciate outright bullies, so try to be nice!

A Jedi Comes to Call

Padmé Amidala stood, locked in deep conversation with Senator Organa just outside her office. A large portion of the Senate hearing today had been a discussion of whether or not the clones should be given full Republic citizenship after the end of the war, and it had not gone well.

“I can’t believe how many Senators are more concerned with how this might affect the job market,” Padmé said under her breath. “It really shows where our priorities lie.”

Senator Organa nodded sadly. “We should be setting them up with pensions, not arguing about whether or not they deserve citizenship after fighting our war for us.”

Padmé was about to respond with her agreement when she felt him.

She wasn’t Force-sensitive, but the bond she had with her husband went beyond the Force. Padmé could feel echoes of his resentment, and they melded with her own frustrations from the day, though she had no idea what he was upset about. The Council? Something Obi-wan said? Something Ahsoka did? It didn’t really matter in the end.

And then she saw him.

Anakin rounded the corner, looking dark and handsome and angry. She knew it was wrong, but damn was he hot when he was angry. His every stride toward her was confident, powerful.

Intense irritation radiated from his form. He was tense, on edge, and he needed…oh, he needed release from it.

Padmé’s breath hitched and her face began to burn.

That’s why he was here.

He was coming to her because he wanted her.

Because he needed her to grant him that sweet release that only she could give him.

“Senator Amidala?” Bail asked. “Are you alright?”

Padmé cleared her throat. “Y-yes, I’m fine, thank you,” she said, completely embarrassed because she’d honestly forgotten Bail was still there.

Had he been talking to her?

Bail’s eyes went to the tall, beautiful, Jedi who was now close enough that Padmé could reach out and touch him if she wanted to. And she really, really, wanted to, despite being incredibly annoyed at him for assuming she wouldn’t refuse him even here at her place of work.

That gentle smirk on his lips as he looked at her made her doubt herself.

Definitely doubt herself.

Alright, maybe his assumption was correct.

But she was still irritated.

“General Skywalker!” Bail said. “How good of you to visit the Senate. Did you watch the hearing?”

Anakin’s demeanor changed completely, and he smiled at the man, hiding everything that was burning within him. “No, Senator, I’m actually here to speak with Senator Amidala.”

Anakin’s eyes went to Padmé, and she still felt the pent up anger rolling of him like boiling water, but beneath that there was lust, there was hunger. And it was all for her.

Excitement and anger heated her blood.

Who did he think he was, marching in to her place of work expecting to seduce her? He was insufferable, couldn’t he tell that she was working on something important? She was already angry and upset with how the hearing had gone, and she would have to spend the next few days working up some way to get other Senators on her side of this.

And yet his boldness seriously turned her on.

And maybe he could help her clear her mind.

He was a Jedi, after all.

“Of course,” Bail said. “Senator Amidala and I were just finishing up.” His eyes glanced from Padmé to Anakin, once, then twice. He stepped back, awkwardly. “I’ll be on my way.”

Finally, the two of them were relatively alone in the hall. There were others nearby, but they were all out of earshot.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, General Skywalker?” Padmé asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Can’t I visit a friend at work?” Anakin asked.

Padmé watched his lips move and all she wanted was to feel them against her own. But his words were absolutely infuriating and cocky. She would show him. Her mouth watered thinking about what she’d do to him later to torture him for this. “You’re going to regret this,” she sneered quietly.

“I really don’t think I am,” Anakin replied, smirking again.

She looked up at him, studying him, probably a little closer than a senator and a Jedi general should ever stand. She could feel his hot breath on her face.

The way he looked at her like he could ravage her here, now, against the wall of the Senate with everyone watching, made her knees feel weak.

The tension between them had become electric, and Shiraya help her, she wanted him so badly.

Heat pooled in her core, and she made her decision.

“I’m going to regret this,” she muttered, and walked toward her office.

Anakin’s voice was low, and seductive. “I’ll make certain you won’t.”

#star wars #Star Wars smut #padme amidala #anakin skywalker #anakin x padme #my writing #anidala #smut fic #18+ mdni #one shot #anidala smut #fanfiction #Star Wars fanfiction #Star Wars the clone wars #tcw #anidala fanfiction

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unhappycylinder · 2 days

Note

I have a funny dps request. This happened to me once, lol

Female reader becomes friends with the poets and is talking about her first kiss on night. Say this happened maybe back in like 1st grade or something. And while she’s talking about it, one of them realizes he was their first kiss back then, and she’s like… Oh, hell, no, not you 😭🤣 Anybody else.

I loved this, thank you so much for the request!!

wc: 1.2k

It was a night like any other, the cool autumn breeze rustling through the trees as the Dead Poets gathered in their secret cave.

Y/N sat comfortably among them, her knees drawn up to her chest as she smiled at the antics of her new friends. She had always known these boys from a distance, but it wasn’t until she had joined their circle that she realized how much fun they were.

And Y/N fit right in.

That night, the conversation had meandered through various topics: poetry, girls (much to Y/N's chagrin), and the usual teasing banter that seemed to dominate every gathering. But somehow, the conversation took a sharp turn into more personal territory when Knox suddenly asked, “So, Y/N, have you ever been kissed?”

Y/N chuckled, leaning her head against the stone wall of the cave. “What is this, truth or dare?”

“Come on!” Knox pleaded, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “We’ve all shared embarrassing stories about ourselves. Let’s hear yours.”

She rolled her eyes, but deep down, she couldn’t help but feel a bit excited. It was rare for her to be around a group of people she trusted enough to let her guard down. “Fine, fine. I’ll tell you.”

The boys leaned in eagerly, their curiosity piqued.

Y/N took a deep breath, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “Well, my first kiss wasn’t exactly… romantic. I was in first grade.”

The group erupted in laughter, and she couldn’t help but laugh along with them.

“First grade?!” Charlie Dalton said with mock disbelief, shaking his head. “That doesn’t count!”

“Oh, it absolutely counts,” Y/N replied, still grinning. “It was during recess. I was hanging out by the swings, minding my own business, when suddenly this boy from my class ran up to me, kissed me on the lips, and then ran away as fast as he could.”

More laughter ensued, and Y/N joined in, the memory of the moment both ridiculous and strangely endearing.

Knox was the first to recover, still chuckling as he said, “So, what happened after that? Did you chase him down?”

Y/N shrugged, leaning back. “Nah, I was too stunned to do anything. I just stood there, confused, wondering what the hell just happened.”

“Classic first-grade romance,” Neil said, shaking his head with an exaggerated sigh. “So, do you remember who the kid was?”

Y/N thought for a moment, her brow furrowing in concentration. “You know, I’ve been trying to remember his name, but it’s so blurry. It was so long ago, and it’s not like we stayed friends or anything. He was just some random kid in my class who decided that day was the day to make his move.”

“That kid had guts,” Todd said quietly, earning a nod of agreement from the rest of the group.

“Or he was just a little maniac,” Charlie added with a grin.

Y/N laughed again, shaking her head. “Yeah, probably. But hey, it makes for a funny first kiss story.”

The conversation shifted after that, but something about the way Charlie had been looking at her since she’d told the story made Y/N a little uneasy. He kept glancing her way, his brow furrowed as if he was trying to work something out.

It wasn’t until everyone was starting to pack up, ready to leave the cave and sneak back into the dorms, that Charlie finally spoke up.

“Hey, Y/N?” he said, his voice sounding unusually hesitant for someone who was usually so brash.

She turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

He hesitated, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Uh… that story you told. About the kiss. You said it happened when you were in first grade, right?”

Y/N nodded slowly, not sure where this was going. “Yeah… why?”

Charlie’s face flushed red, and suddenly, the confident, rebellious boy she had come to know looked… shy. “This is gonna sound weird, but… do you remember what school you went to in first grade?”

Y/N frowned, confused by the question. “Yeah, it was Hadley Elementary. Why?”

At that, Charlie’s eyes widened, and he let out a groan, running a hand through his hair. “Oh, no.”

Y/N’s confusion only deepened. “What? What’s wrong?”

Charlie looked at her, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “I went to Hadley Elementary too. And I think… I think I might have been the kid who kissed you.”

There was a beat of stunned silence, and then Y/N’s eyes widened in realization. “Wait… WHAT?!”

The rest of the group froze, their eyes darting between Y/N and Charlie in disbelief.

“No way!” Knox exclaimed, his face lighting up with amusement.

Y/N shook her head, holding up her hands as if to stop the oncoming realization. “No. Nope. There’s no way. You’re joking, right?”

Charlie shrugged, still grinning sheepishly. “I mean, I don’t remember everything from back then, but I do remember kissing some girl on the playground in first grade. And if we both went to the same school…”

Y/N buried her face in her hands, groaning loudly. “Oh, hell no.”

The boys burst out laughing, Knox practically doubling over in laughter while Neil clapped Charlie on the back.

Y/N shook her head, still groaning in disbelief. “Anybody else! It could have been *anybody* else! But *you*?!”

Charlie feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart. “Ouch! That hurts, Y/N.”

She shot him a glare, though there was a hint of amusement in her eyes. “No offense, Dalton, but first-grade me did not know what she was doing.”

“Neither did first-grade me!” Charlie replied, laughing.

Neil wiped a tear from his eye, still chuckling. “This is too perfect. Y/N, you’ve been reunited with your first kiss, and it’s Charlie Dalton of all people!”

Y/N groaned again, though she couldn’t stop the smile that was creeping across her face. “Seriously, though, why couldn’t it have been anyone else? Anyone!”

Charlie smirked, leaning against the wall with that familiar air of arrogance that Y/N had come to expect from him. “Admit it, Y/N. First-grade Charlie was ahead of the game. I knew what I wanted, and I went for it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, sure. Let’s just say you peaked in first grade.”

The boys howled with laughter at that, and even Charlie couldn’t help but let out a chuckle.

“Well, at least now we know I’ve been irresistible since day one,” he teased, shooting her a wink.

Y/N groaned, but this time she couldn’t help but laugh along with them. “Unbelievable. Out of all the people in the world, my first kiss had to be Charlie Dalton.”

#dead poets society #dead poets fandom #dead poets fanfic #dead poets society fluff #charlie dalton #dps fandom #knox overstreet #dps x reader #charlie dalton x reader #nuwanda x reader

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blakelysco-pilot · 1 day

Text

These Foolish Things (Remind Me of You)

From the Love Letter Series Robert “Rosie” Rosenthal x Josephine Harris (OFC)

The realities of Rosie's choice to reup for a second tour hit hard for Jo when Harry Crosby is granted furlough. She must learn to navigate the ugly emotions that come with the situation while simultaneously being there for Jean who is going through her own set of emotions at her husbands temporary return. With the help of friends, Jo is able to find the brighter side of it all, with a renewed hope for her future. Meanwhile, Rosie must deal with the guilt of his decision.

Read part 7 Here Follow along with the Love Letters Playlist

It comes in many forms; jealousy isn’t always the green eyed demon that’s depicted in books and movies. Sometimes, it comes as pain. As sadness. Desire, strangely enough. Jo could feel the emotions taking turns, and after they had all run their course, guilt would take over.

The guilt that she was a terrible friend to Jean, who was over the moon with the news of Harry’s impending furlough. Her best friend who had desired no more than to be in the arms of her husband for the duration of his time away at war, was getting her wish. So then why was she having to remind herself every day to be happy for her? Because it was Harry on his way to New York, and not Rosie? Because she couldn’t understand how after devoting himself to the cause, to signing up for a second tour of duty, didn’t he also deserve a moment of reprieve in the safety of his own home.

The last letter she had received from him had come shortly after the mail that had included news of Harry’s temporary return. It was clouded in sadness, despite his happiness for his friend. She could feel his desire to be home, the emotions palpable on the page. So much that she hadn’t told Jean of the letter. She had simply read it in the quiet of her room at night, hoping to keep her tears from falling too loudly.

Could she stand to be here while Harry was home? To see them reuniting, softly, sweet nothings whispered to Jean in passing, her gentle laughter as Harry pulled her into a hug just because he was close. Because he could. She had decided she would leave for the duration of Harry’s furlough. She could return to her parents for the four weeks, but something in her kept saying that four weeks would crawl if she were to go home. So, she had resolved to call Juliet Thompson in the morning. Her friend upstate was still on summer holiday, and she had a feeling she could use the company as much as she could- John Brady was still being held POW, and whenever the thought crossed her mind, Jo couldn’t help but feel guilt all over again. Rosie was safe in England, and she was beyond grateful for it.

The next morning felt like you could cut the tension with a knife. The days to Harry’s return were drawing near, and while Jo tried her best, she could feel the inevitable dark cloud looming overhead; she had begged for it to not creep in onJean’s good mood, but when she joined her friend for coffee, it seemed it was looming over both of them.

“Sleep well?” Jean looked over from the stove where the coffee was perking, a half smile on her face.

“Alright, all things considered.”

“Humid last night…” Jean mused.

“Slept on top of the duvet again.” Jo half laughed, knowing even if they weren’t tiptoeing around the inevitable, she’d have been a tad grumpy over the heat.

“Me too…” Jean turned, bringing the now finished pot to the table, placing it on the trivet. “Not even a breeze.”

“We want a breeze, we need to go back to Brooklyn, Jean.”

“That’s a hike,” she had set about pouring their coffee, hands staying busy. “Don’t know how you did it for so long before moving in here.”

Jo blanches at the mention of her living there, still not quite sure how to tell Jean that she’s going to be leaving while her husband is home. Guilt, again.

“Jo?”

“Hmm?”

“You haven’t touched your coffee, are you okay?”

“Oh, yes…no… I’m fine.”

“Yes no?”

“Jean… I think it's best that while Harry is home, I’m not here.”

“What! Josephine, this is your home!”

“When Harry is away, yes, but your husband is coming home, Jean, and that does not require a third party awkwardly bumbling around.”

“You could never,” Jean practically cried from her seat across from Jo. “You would never be an awkward third party to me, or Bing! We both love you Jo.”

“I love you both terribly,” Jo was trying so hard to keep the tears at bay. “But he’s your husband. You both have been apart for so long, Jean. You deserve privacy.”

“But…what if he doesn’t…” Jean burst into tears, the Harry that had left for the war was someone Jean Crosby wasn’t sure she knew anymore, and it scared her.

“Oh honey, no, don’t think that! You know Harry is so thrilled to be coming back to you, even if it is only temporary.”

“I’m not sure what to do anymore… I’m a wife but; I haven’t felt like one in so long.”

“You will both just have to take some time to get reacquainted.”

“And you? Will you go back to your parents?”

“I think I’ll call Jules first, and pay her a visit if she’s up to it.”

“Oh she’d love that!”

“Besides, the idea of four weeks at home with my parents after being here seems dreadfully boring.”

“Your mother would dote on you being home, you know that.”

“Dote or smother?” Jo raised a challenging eyebrow at her friend, their laughter somehow finding a place amongst their tears.

“Maybe a little bit of both.” Jean agreed, knowing that Jo’s mother would undoubtedly be worried from the moment she left the house each day to the moment she came home from work.

“We still have some time before Harry gets here,” Jo gave Jean’s hands a squeeze. “Why don’t you come with me to see Jules, and we can sneak Vika away from the hotel for a day and go shopping.”

“Wonderful!”

“We can get you all sorted out for your husband, Mrs. Crosby.”

The phone call to Jules had been easier than Jo initially thought; already missing John Brady terribly, she understood Jo’s feelings on not wanting to encroach on Jean once Harry arrived, and was happy to have the company of a friend nearby. She was thrilled to know Jean would be accompanying Jo on the journey up, and to make the two days with Jean enjoyable for all, she had called Ruthvika and asked if the three girls could stay at the hotel, promising Vika a weekend of fun and martinis. Jules’ childhood friend had been more than happy to set up a room for the girls, and even happier to know she was included in the slumber party. This would be good; it would be a bit of sunshine after a dark cloud, laughter and friendship, and just what Jo knew she needed.

My dearest Robbie,

My sweetheart, I miss you, and I hope you’re taking care of yourself over there. We’re in quite the heatwave here in the city, and from what you’ve told me, English summers are cooler than here at home, so with that, my love I envy you. It's not all bad, though. Jean and I have taken many trips to Coney Island on the weekends, and we brought your sister with us this last time. The fourth of July fireworks were spectacular as always, and I was so glad Jeannie was able to come with us for that.

I’m sorry to say I haven’t seen much of her since you’ve left, and even less so after I moved in with Jean. She calls on occasion, and I know she’s keeping busy with school. Your mother says she’s trying to distract herself with you being away and so, she buries herself in her coursework. I do know how that feels. Work helps to serve as a distraction during the day, but when the day is done, and Jean and I have both gone to bed, I feel that is when I miss you most. We all miss you something terrible, and in our own different ways.

I wanted to let you know that I’ll be heading upstate for a little while, to spend some time with Juliet and Vika. I must admit, I’m not very proud of myself, but it appears I have a bit of a jealous bug as of late, hearing that Harry is on his way home to Jean for a furlough. So, to make myself scarce and not be in their way, I’ve decided to pay a visit to Juliet for two weeks, before she has to return to her classroom to get ready for the school year ahead. I will go back to my parents for the second half of the time; I do miss them and I would love to see your mother as well.

I think being away from Jean and Harry might be for the best. Please, don’t misunderstand, I cannot wait to meet him, he’s not only my best friend's husband but he's your best friend as well, (we won’t tell Pappy I said that) so that makes him special. But Robbie, what have we done so wrong to not be granted the same good fortune? Why is it not you coming home? You’ve sacrificed so much, giving more of yourself and your life to this damn war, and yet, they can’t let you go, can they? Haven’t you done enough? Haven’t I waited long enough? Your mother and sister, don’t they deserve to have you home too?

I feel so guilty for feeling this way, but I can’t help but want the same happiness and excitement that Jean is feeling. I regret waiting so long to tell you I love you, Robbie. Why did we wait so long? We could have been spending time in each other's arms long before, and yet we were both too stubborn to admit how we felt. Do I sound silly? I’m sure I do, all of this griping and crying when you’re over there fighting and missing home. I should be checking on you and asking how you are, and instead I’m staining this paper with tears and going on about how envious and sad I am.

Please, love, tell me how you really are over there, or I will have to seek out Val for the truth. Has it been terribly difficult now that the invasion has passed and the fighting is well underway? I know you’re working and fighting hard, as are the rest of our friends that are with you over there.

Love, have you written to your mother lately? I know she’s missing you as much as I am, if not more, and would do with knowing that you’re alright. Last week she was worried they weren’t feeding you enough, and had it been anyone else who said that, I may have rolled my eyes, but the way she said it had left me in stitches, Robbie. You know how your mother can be. She comes by at least once a week with my mother to check in on me and Jean, and they bring covered dishes and baked goods that they’ve managed with the rations. I think they’re afraid Jean and I are only consuming martinis. They’re half right, and I will only admit this to you, a chocolate chip cookie does pair best with the infamous Jean Crosby martini.

We are leaving for upstate tomorrow, so I will post this first thing on my way out the door and hope it finds you soon. I’m counting down the days until this war is behind us. Until we can begin our days next to each other, and end them the same way. There is a future waiting for us, I just wish I knew when we could begin living it. Come home to me soon.

My heart is yours forever, with all of my love always

They packed light; still summertime and incredibly warm, they were able to get away with comfortable sundresses, and some swimsuits. They didn’t need much when they were together- Jules had said it’s the company that counts most. Vika had been a lifesaver and secured a room at her family’s hotel for Jo and Jean for the two nights that Jean would be with them before returning home. Not one to miss out, Jules had stayed as well. Squeezing into one of the beds with Vika while Jo and Jean occupied the other, it had been a slumber party just like the night at Jean and Jo’s home. Four friends laughing until their stomachs hurt, it had taken a visit from Vika’s mother to quiet them down, Jean rushing to hide the evidence of martinis that were scattered around the room.

It had been so much fun, that Jo had begun to forget why she had made the journey in the first place; until there were three, and they were waving Jean off from the train platform, two with tears in their eyes. The realization of not knowing when their boys would be home striking hard and fast.

“Two weeks and you’ll be back in the city, right?” Jean looked absolutely riddled with fear as she stood with her bag on the platform, Jo doing all she could to reassure her.

“Yes,” Jo sniffled, wiping at her eyes and trying in vain not to smudge her makeup. “I promise.”

“Please, Jo. Promise you’ll be there to meet Binger.” Jean gripped her hands so tightly, her eyes wild and nervous. The last time she had seen her so scared was when news of Bubbles’ death reached home, and worry for Harry had begun seeping in like a crack in the roof.

“I’ll be there,” she winked. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good. I’ll ring Jules once I’m back home. Bing doesn’t get in until tonight… gosh I’m so nervous!”

“You’re going to see that man and forget all about how nervous you were. Now go, before you miss your train.”

“Jo…”

She pulled her into a hug so fast, and so fiercely, that Jo barely had a moment to catch her footing before hugging Jean back. This friendship, forged in a dark time, was more than two women finding companionship while their men were away fighting. This was sisterhood, and as an only child, Jo had never known it before. The closest person in her life had always been Rosie, and now that his role in her life had shifted, Jean had seamlessly filled in that space.

“I will see you soon, yea?”

“Yea… yes, yes you will. I’ll have a martini waiting for you.”

“That’s what I want to hear,” Jo grinned, pulling back to give her friend a smile. “Now go on, otherwise Harry will have my head for making you late.”

“Your Robbie would never forgive him.” Jean laughed, wiping at her eyes just as the conductor hollered for All Aboard!

As the train pulled away, Jean Crosby waving from the window of the car, Jo felt herself become utterly depleted. The sadness that she had tried to ebb away at home, not divulging all of it for fear of guilt, slammed into her full force, and had it not been for Jules and Vika wrapping her up in their arms, she’d have collapsed on the spot.

“Come now, let’s get back to the hotel,” Vika urged her, gently steering her out of the train station and back towards the car. “Mammi can make us some chai, and we can have a rest.”

“I feel terrible…”

“Terrible, sick?”

“Terrible like I’m riddled with guilt and anger and sadness.”

She doesn’t catch Vika looking over at Jules, knowing that this is more than what Mrs. Patel’s chai can fix, because only Jules knows how she’s feeling, and only Jules can be the one to talk this through with her.

The hotel is quiet when they arrive back, and Mrs. Patel is at the front desk, a smile on her face as she watches her daughter and friends walk in, but the smile soon fades as she sees the look on Vika’s face.

“Did Jean get off alright?” She asks, nerves lacing her normally stoic and motherly disposition.

“She did, Mammi,” Vika replies kindly, joining her mother at the desk while Jo and Jules take a seat on the sofa meant for guests. “Can Juliet and Josephine use the apartment for a little while? I think they…well, Jean’s husband coming home hasn’t been easy for them.”

“Of course, you take them up. I will be behind with some chai and bhel puri.”

“Thank you Mammi.”

The pair on the couch sit quietly as Vika approaches, her voice soft as she speaks to both of them, but her eyes trained on Juliet.

“Jules, why don’t you two go up to the apartment?”

“Is that…okay with your mother?”

“It’s fine,” Vika’s eyes softened at Jules’ worry over possibly invading the Patel’s personal space, the phrase bundled in her simple question. “Mammi is going to bring up some chai and snacks.”

“Oh Vika, that’s not necessary!” Jo turned to her friend, knowing full well that the hotel needed their full attention.

“You and Jules need a moment, and I can cover the desk while Mammi is gone.”

“Yes, now you two go right up, and I’ll follow in a moment.” Mrs. Patel is standing next to them, and suddenly it’s as if their own mothers are there, ordering them to eat.

Nodding, Jo follows Jean upstairs to the apartment, and once inside, she takes in just what it is that makes her friend Vika who she is. The decor, the smells, the homey feel, and photos. It’s all very like Vika, and Jo somehow feels like she’s invading a space not meant for her at all, despite the protests of both Vika and her mother.

“Jules…”

“It’s just us, Jo. You can say whatever you need to.”

“I just,” the words felt trapped, caught in her throat with no way out unless she forced them up and out into the space between them. “I’m so angry!”

“You’re angry at Rosie?”

“So angry! He should be home, he flew twenty five missions. He was safe, and The Brass pulled the rug out from under all of them!”

“So that’s what happened…”

“Everyone after him needed to fly thirty missions, but his crew was safe at twenty five. He could go home, and he didn’t… he stayed… he signed up for a second tour.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because he’s too good, and doing the right thing is what Robert Rosenthal does, and he can’t help himself. People are dying and can’t fight for themselves, so he’s doing it for them.”

“Oh Jo…” Jules rushed towards her friend. Instantly, her arms are tight around her friend as Jo finally allowed herself the chance to let go of everything that had been welling up. Things she knew she couldn’t say to Rosie’s mother, or her own mother. Things that somehow, right now, only Jules could understand.

“Harry getting a furlough…” Jules started, the words dying halfway as she felt Jo shudder a deep breath.

“When Harry got a furlough, I just… I wanted to be happy for Jean. I am happy for Jean! But I also wish it was Robbie coming home instead.”

“Honey, you’re allowed to feel angry about it,” Jules took a step back, taking Jo’s hands and giving them a gentle squeeze, leading her towards the sofa in the living room. “He’s been gone so long, and all you want to do is start a life that this war has put on hold for you, and you can’t.”

“Jean was so happy, and there I am playing pretend happy over coffee and then feeling guilty, while the poor thing, she’s so nervous that Harry won’t feel the same for her-”

“Oh I doubt that!”

“That’s what I told her,” Jo shook her head, the beginnings of a melancholy smile taking hold. “But since Bubbles’ death, Harry’s been…distant.”

“Oh you don’t think…”

“I don’t know. And if Robbie knows anything, he’s not saying.”

Jules was quiet for a moment, taking a seat on the sofa wordlessly. She seemed far off, her mind somewhere else entirely; if Jo had to wager a guess it was on a certain pilot serving the rest of his war as a prisoner in Germany.

“I haven’t had a letter from Johnny in a few weeks…” the words are nothing more than a broken whisper.

“Jules, honey…”

“I know that letters aren’t as frequent now that he’s,” she stopped herself from speaking the rest out loud, Jo not needing to hear it to know what she was thinking. “Olive writes, and promises updates, but I can’t help but be constantly worried.”

“When did you last hear from him?”

“The start of June, and now, August is on the horizon and I’m scared, Jo.”

She’s beside her in an instant, her arms mimicking Jules’ earlier movements, pulling her close and hugging her tight. Somehow, Jo thinks she can will all of their broken pieces back together just by being there for each other, in hopes that if they love their boys enough from a distance, it will help bring them home faster.

“Oh Jules, I’m sure Olive would have written if anything happened.”

“I know,” she sniffled, swiping under her eyes quickly. “No news is good news and all that.”

“And bad news travels fast.”

“Yes, you’re right,” she took a deep and shaky breath, exhaling forcefully to try and clear the fog that seemed to have settled around her. “I just… I miss him so much Jo. I don’t have to explain to you how that part of it feels.”

“We worry for different reasons but we worry just the same.”

The door of the apartment opened then, and both girls looked up through bleary eyes as Mrs. Patel stepped into the living room. She was holding a tray from the hotel, complete with two steaming mugs of chai and a bowl filled with snacks for them. Her gaze, normally hard and all business, seemed to soften at the sight of them. Crossing the room quickly, she placed the tray down on the table beside the sofa before coming to stand in front of them. Wordlessly, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a simple white handkerchief, handing it to Jules.

“Thank you Mrs. Patel,” Juliet accepts the handkerchief and gently dabs at her eyes, careful not to get too much of her makeup on the clean, white fabric. Afraid to leave a stain, a reminder of this moment. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to get this dirty.”

“That is what the washing is for, Juliet. Go on, both of you.”

Nodding, Jules continues to wipe her tears before passing it to Jo, who is in the same state as she is. Quietly letting the pain escape like rivers down her cheeks.

“Thank you for being so good to Ruthvika, ” Mrs. Patel speaks quietly, unsure of what she should exactly be saying, but knowing that she must offer something to her daughter's oldest friend, and now, Josephine. “Remember, we must continue to fight here every day; our own wars, they are painful, but keep hope, both of you, that they will come home to you safe.”

They were words that only a mother could speak. And because only a mother could offer that comfort, when she leaned forward to pull both girls close to her for the briefest of moments, it was the gauze over a wound that had spread so deep, neither Jo nor Jules were sure it would ever heal. Hope, it seemed, would fill the deep, painful space over time, and it would close the gap until one day, hopefully, the wound did not exist at all.

——————————————————————————————————

It felt longer coming home from upstate this time. Jo had attributed that to not having Jean for companionship. But she was in her home, now with Harry, who had arrived in New York safely, two weeks ago. The jealousy had seemed to fizzle and sit on the backburner of her heart now. Jean deserved every moment with Harry; but Jo couldn’t help the sadness that crept in when it was quiet, knowing that Rosie was still over there.

It had been a wonderful two week reprieve with Juliet, but now Jo was back home in Brooklyn. She had called Jean to let her know that she was coming back, and was promptly given a date and time to meet her and Harry for dinner and drinks. She was excited on one hand, to finally meet not just Jean’s husband but Rosie’s closet friend.

When the taxi pulled up to her parents home in Flatbush, she quickly paid the driver after he had pulled her suitcase from the trunk. The gentleman tipped his hat and drove off quickly, leaving her standing on the sidewalk, gaze fixed on the house. With a deep sigh, she made her way up the steps to the porch and pushed the door open. Once in the foyer, she dropped her suitcase to the floor and swiftly removed her gloves and hat, depositing them on the credenza by the door.

“I’m back!” She called, stepping further into the house. She could hear her mother rustling around, before she appeared in the foyer with an almost frantic look in her eye.

“Josephine!” Hugging her tightly, she stepped back, appraising her daughter and sensing the sadness immediately. “Sweetheart, welcome back!”

“Thanks,” she forced a grin, thankful her mother chose not to ask if she was okay. She knew there would be minimal gossip and cocktails that night, however. “Are you okay? Mom, you look worried.”

“You have a visitor. A gentleman is waiting in the living room for you.”

“Oh god, is he, is it… did something happen to Robbie?”

“He says his name is Mr. Lewis?”

“Lewis?” the name rolled over in her mind for a moment, before it dawned on her. “Pappy!”

Jo rushed from the foyer into the living room, any ladylike behavior thrown out the window as she came skidding to a stop in the doorway. There, on the sofa, sat a man who had been described to her in numerous letters from Rosie. The only person she had ever trusted sitting in the Co-Pilot’s seat of Rosie’s fort, and in his own words Rosie’s best friend.

“Hiya Jo!” Pappy grinned, standing from the sofa as he saw her.

“Pappy! Oh my- what are you doing here!”

“Rosie sent me,” he grinned, coming to greet her properly, the pair finally able to put names to faces, more than just a picture on Rosie’s side table on base or a name in a letter. “He thought with Croz home, you might need some cheering up.”

“You came all the way here just to cheer me up?” that couldn’t possibly be right, could it? Had Rosie sent him all this way just to keep her company for the second half of Harry Crosby’s furlough?

“Well, you’re Rosie’s sweetheart, plus Val would give me a wallop if she knew I didn’t come see you when you needed it. She sends her regards by the way, boy, wait till you meet her! Have you met Croz yet? I’m sure he’ll want to meet you too, you’re very popular amongst the Riveters crew you know? We all-”

“Pappy, slow down!” she laughed, and for the first time in weeks, she didn’t have to force the sound from her chest.

“Right! Sorry, but I am really glad to finally meet ya!”

“I’m so glad to meet you too.” she grinned.

Guiding him back down to the sofa so they could talk. She just caught her mother peeking around the doorframe, a smile giving way as she noticed Jo’s own.

“How did he even get in touch with you so quickly, the mail takes ages these days!”

“He’s a big shot Major now,” Pappy chuckled. “You know him, he finds a way.”

“He does find a way, doesn’t he…” she mused.

“How have you been doing? Your mother said you were upstate?”

“Oh! Yes, well with Harry home, I didn’t want to impose on them by staying with Jean-”

“Oh right, I forgot about that! Rosie did tell me you had moved in with Croz’s wife!”

“Yes, a few months ago, and we took jobs on the switchboard at the War Department.”

“Look at you! That’s great!”

“It’s been a lot of fun,” Jo nodded, and she realized she rather liked talking with Pappy. “So, when Harry sent the date of his arrival, I went upstate to visit with John Brady’s girlfriend, Juliet.”

“How’s she? Must be worried sick over Brady…”

“She’s handling it as well as can be expected, but she gets letters when the mail is cooperative, and Olive sends mail to her in the inbetween.”

“Cousin Olive,” he sounds almost wistful. “I miss her…”

“Wait, she’s your cousin? Robbie never mentioned that…”

“Well, we’re both Lewis’.”

“Does that automatically make you cousins, Pappy?”

“Sure it does! Make your own family, right? That’s what we’re all doing to get by.”

“You’re right about that. And how have you been doing since coming home?”

“Oh, my Ma is fussing over me one minute and the next she’s praying I meet someone and get married so I can be her problem.”

“Well, this is New York, you never know. Your mother might get her wish.”

“Rosie would love that wouldn’t he, hell, I’d love it if I were closer.”

Pappy stayed all afternoon, happy to chat with Jo and enjoy some lunch with her and her parents, before they moved outside to sit on the front steps. It was just bordering on early evening and the kids who lived on the block were still running through the streets, soaking up every second of the summer they could. The fire hydrant on the corner was spraying water, turning her little corner of Flatbush Brooklyn into a water park.

They had skirted around talk of the war and Rosie in detail, but now the sun was setting and Pappy would have to leave, and Jo wasn’t sure she wanted him to before she was able to ask him what she needed to.

“Pappy, where are you staying?”

“Oh! With Rosie’s Ma actually, yea, just down the block.”

“Of course you are,” she shook her head, a smile on her face at Robbie's generous heart. “You went there first, right? Before coming here I mean.”

“Oh sure, yea I didn’t want her getting worried. She’s sweet, I see where Rosie gets it from…”

“His father was kind. Robbie gets his determination from him; but his heart, his love of jazz, the kind look in his eyes, all that comes from Mrs. Rosenthal.”

“He’s alright, Jo, you know?”

“Are you saying that to placate me, or is he really alright?”

“I mean it, he’s really alright. And he’s not alone either…”

“I don’t like the idea of him flying without you, Pappy.”

“I considered it, ya know?”

“Staying?”

“He told me to go home, in the end when I couldn’t make up my mind, he did it for me.”

“And now?”

“Some days I wish I had stayed, finished what he and I started,” Pappy pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, offering one to Jo first, who politely declined. “And then I think of guys like Nash and Speas who didn’t get to come home, and I think I gotta grab it while it’s hot.”

“I don’t resent you for coming home, I hope you know that.”

“Oh, I know, I wouldn’t be here if I thought you did.”

“I just always felt like he was safer with you in that plane, and you with him,” she sighed, taking the cigarette from Pappy and taking a long pull. “This damn war.”

“He’d balk at you if he saw you do that.”

“Then it’ll be our secret.” Jo grinned, passing the cigarette back to Pappy.

They sat quietly while Pappy continued to smoke. The playful shrieks of the kids playing filled the companionable silence. She thought of a day when Rosie would be next to her, pressed shoulder to shoulder and her hand in his, possibly watching their own children play in the street.

They had done the same when they were young. Her father and Mr. Rosenthal would pop the fire hydrant open and they would run in the cool water while the August sun beat down on the street, Rosie’s curls plastered to his forehead, his blue eyes rivaling the clear skies they played under. As they got older, he had picked up a paper route for the summers and Jo would ride on the handlebars of his bicycle, much to her mothers dismay, and help him deliver papers to the neighbors before seeking shade on the front porch of her home. Now, she was on the same porch, and the person next to her was doing their best to fill the void of her usual companion.

————————————————————

Pappy had proved to be excellent company, not just for Jo but Mrs. Rosenthal as well. It seemed Rosie’s mother perked up quite a bit at having a young man to dote on as she would with her son. Pappy brought a sense of humor back to their block, and had Mrs. Rosenthal cooking up a storm once again, the need to feed him until her heart's content much as it was before her son left for war.

Jo had been at the house for dinner almost every night, after spending the days taking Pappy around New York City.

The phone had rang in the middle of breakfast, Mr. Harris stood to pick it up, allowing his wife and daughter to continue their conversation. When he stepped into the room with a smile on his face, Jo knew it was for her.

“Josephine, it’s Jean Crosby.”

“Oh! Wonderful, thank you!”

“Jean!”

“Jo! Oh how are you, I miss you!”

“I miss you too, dear, how’s Harry?”

“Oh he’s wonderful…actually that’s why I called.”

“Oh?”

“Is tonight good?”

“Oh, tonight is great actually!”

“Wonderful! Binger will call the Stork Club and reserve a table, is that okay? I know you don’t want to go to Minton’s without-”

“The Stork Club is perfect Jean, thank you. Tell Harry to make it for four.”

“Four?”

“Yes, Pappy’s here!”

“Pappy?!”

“Yes! Robbie sent him!”

“Oh what a sweet gesture! Well I can’t wait to meet him, and I know Bing will be happy to see him.”

Jo could hear Harry Crosby in the background of the call asking Jean who their fourth was for dinner, before she told him to hush while she was on the phone.

“What time tonight, Jean?”

“Seven thirty, unless you want to make it eight?”

“Seven thirty is fine,” Jo agreed. “I’m taking Pappy to Coney Island, but we’ll be back in plenty of time.”

“Where’s he staying?” Jean suddenly asked. “Surely not with you!”

“Oh no, with Robbie’s mother. And boy is she loving it!”

“I bet!” Jean laughed. “Well listen, I’m going to run, because Harry is looking for breakfast and I’m afraid he might burn our kitchen down if I leave him a moment longer. I’ll see you tonight dear, and I can’t wait!”

“Oh me too, Jean! Now go feed your husband, and I’ll see you later.”

Hanging up the phone she went back to join her parents at the table, her toast now a bit cold, but she wasn’t bothered. Not when she had a full day ahead of her.

“Going out tonight?” Her mother grinned.

“Yes, Harry’s making a reservation at the Stork Club for all of us,” she spoke from behind her coffee cup. “I’m so looking forward to finally meeting him and seeing Jean.”

“You and Jean have missed each other,” her father nodded, inserting himself into the conversation. “I could hear it in her voice when I picked up the phone.”

“I have missed her. Please, don’t think I’m not happy to be home with you both, but it's been so lovely living with her.”

“I think it’s done you a world of good with Robert gone. Naturally when he comes home, so will you, but right now, this is what’s best for you Josephine.”

“Your father’s right,” her mother placed a hand over hers, giving a gentle squeeze. “Then again, once Robert comes home, hopefully it won’t be long until you two are starting your life together.”

She was halfway through formulating a response when there was a knock at the door; using it as her escape from any more talk of her and Rosie’s future, she quickly jumped up to answer it. Pulling back the door, she found Pappy on the front porch with Mrs. Rosenthal behind him. He was dressed in civilian clothes for the first time since he had arrived, and grinning cheekily at her.

“Heya Jo!”

“Pappy,” chuckling, she couldn’t help but shake her head as he stepped inside the foyer. “Good morning.”

He gave her a gentle hug, before allowing Mrs. Rosenthal to greet her, the older woman scooping Jo up in her arms for a hug, the two of them saying so much without saying anything at all.

“Hello dear,” she grinned, hands still holding Jo’s shoulders as she appraised her. “Did we interrupt breakfast?”

“No more than Jean Crosby did just a moment ago.” Jo laughed, closing the door and guiding them both inside.

“Is she getting on well with her husband at home?”

“Oh yes, it seems that she’s doing just fine.”

“Wonderful,” Mrs. Rosenthal smiled. “I’ve had some mail from Robert…”

“Oh? Is everything-”

“He’s fine, dear. Missing you, but otherwise fine.”

“Well, I miss him too,” she pouted slightly. “There’s been no mail from him.”

“The letter I got was weeks past the date at the top, so just hold out hope, yours should be on its way.”

“Don’t worry, Jo,” Pappy chimed in. “He’d never forget about ya.”

“Thanks Pappy…” she gave his arm a gentle squeeze, righting her before turning towards the kitchen. “Coffee?”

The trio entered the kitchen to find Mrs. Harris already preparing a fresh pot of coffee, her father standing to greet Pappy with a handshake before gesturing for him to have a seat while Mrs. Rosenthal took up her regular spot at their table. It was all very domestic, and not lost on Jo how lucky she was to have the family she did; both blood and chosen.

“Pappy, we have big plans today.” She grinned, sitting back at her place to resume picking at her toast.

“We’ve had big plans all week!” He laughed.

“I’m taking you to Coney Island! Because everyone should be forced to ride the Cyclone at least once in their life.”

“…Forced?!”

“Well, Robbie forces me on it every year, and secretly I love it, but don’t tell him that. So now, I get to do it for you.”

“I’ve heard horror stories about that thing from Val!”

“Oh don’t be a baby, it’ll be fun! Jean Crosby even rode it with me!”

“She did?”

“Yes, she did.”

“Fine… if Jean Crosby can do it.”

All three of the parents in the room laughed as Pappy’s face blanched, the airman taking a cautionary sip of his coffee to settle his nerves. Surely, if Jean Crosby could do it… and he’d hate to have to tell Rosie he chickened out on the Cyclone.

_________________________________

The Stork Club was bustling as Jo and Pappy walked in. He had handled an afternoon on the boardwalk like a pro, and she’d be sure to tell Rosie all about it in her next letter, but now he was back in his uniform and she was dressed for a night out and he was guiding her inside and towards the bar so she could try and locate Jean.

“Oh! I see Croz!” Pappy was waving his arm in the direction of Harry Crosby, and when Jo turned she spotted Jean, on the arm of a handsome man, dressed in the same uniform as Pappy.

“Croz!”

“Pappy! Jean didn’t tell me you were the fourth!”

“Surprise,” Jean grinned, arm still looped through her husbands. “When Jo told me this morning I decided to keep it a surprise.”

“Well, this is great,” Harry beamed, giving Pappy a firm handshake, happy to see a familiar face. “What are you doing in the city?”

“Rosie sent me. He thought Jo might need a friend.”

“And now I have three.” She smiled, Jean now standing with her, the two girls’ arms linked as they watched the boys catch up.

“Josephine,” Harry turned to her, and she just felt Jean nudge her forward to say hello. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to finally meet you.”

His uniform looked almost identical to the one she had sent Rosie off in at Grand Central all those months ago. Olive green shirt and jacket, tie, khaki slacks, and crush cap. Harry was sporting oak leaf pins on his lapels, along with multiple other citations and pins that he had served long into this war. She imagined that Robbie's uniform looked much the same these days, save for his flight wings indicating him a pilot, while Harry’s was a globe for navigators.

Harry Crosby had big, brown cow eyes, and a gentle smile about him. He was every bit of how both Jean and Rosie had described him; Jean going on about how handsome he was and Rosie describing him as terribly capable but riddled with nerves. He was fiddling with his fingers, his hat tucked under his arm as he watched her step forward. Harry quickly handed his hat to Pappy and pulled her close for a hug, shocking her only slightly before she felt a sense of familiarity and comfort fall over her.

“Thank you, Jo, ” He whispered to her before stepping back. “I can’t say it enough.”

Before she could ask what he was thanking her for, he stepped back, taking her hands and continuing to talk to her.

“You two really have looked after each other haven’t you.”

“That’s what friends do,” she smiled. “And I should be thanking you for doing the same, Harry.”

“Oh, it’s Rosie who looks after me, really.”

“Still, you two keep an eye on each other and it just makes me feel more at ease.”

“Well, the feeling is mutual,” he grinned, releasing her hands and moving to wrap an arm around Jean’s waist. “Now, let’s go sit and we can exchange stories. Somehow I have a feeling you two girls have gotten up to quite a lot.”

Dinner was delightful, and the conversation flowed effortlessly. Friends, the really good ones, it seemed, were the key to getting through tough times, because they would laugh with you, and let you cry on their shoulder if you needed it. Jo had done just that with both Jo and Pappy, as well as Jules and Vika earlier on. They had let her get it all out, those bottled up feelings, and she felt grateful for it. Lighter and less tense, she was able to enjoy happy moments like this.

She was sitting next to Jean, the pair quietly conversing while Pappy and Harry spent some time catching up on the goings on at Thorpe Abbotts; it was something that both girls knew was meant for their ears only, so they took the time to chat amongst themselves.

“Has it been alright, now that he’s home?”

“We’ve had a lot of good, long talks.” Jean nodded, sipping her martini with a slight frown.

“What? Something wrong?”

“Mine are better.” She rolled her eyes slightly, making Jo laugh.

“Yours are dangerous,” she corrected her friend with a gentle slap to the wrist. “But they are the best I’ve ever had.”

“But yes, Bing and I have done a lot of talking.”

“Just talking?”

“Josephine!”

“Well, he is your husband, I would hope you’ve done more than talk.”

Jean fixes her with a stare, eyebrow raised and mock challenging as she sticks her tongue out in the most Jean Crosby way possible, causing Jo to fall into a fit of laughter so loud, that both men turn to look at the girls. Jean is quick to wave them back to their own conversation, while Jo composes herself.

“Did you have to do that?”

“Yes,” Jean grins. “It’s entirely too fun to watch you fall into stitches like that.”

“Now, tell me,” Jo rights herself again, placing a hand over Jean’s on the table. “You and Harry, you had a good talk?”

“We did. He told me about… her.”

“Oh Jean!”

“There was an affair,” she nods. “A woman in London, and while I understand he was coping with Bubbles, and then all of his friends being captured, Jo, it hurts.”

“It’s allowed to be hurtful and understandable. So much of life is.”

“He said he’s ended it, now coming home if even for a short while, he doesn’t want to see her again.”

“Oh Jean, I don’t know what to say.”

“You’ve listened for months while I cried over his distance, and that’s all I could have ever asked of you.”

“Well, then I should be thanking you too, and apologizing for being such a grump the last few weeks.”

“You were not a grump!”

“I was an absolute grouch, and it was not like me. I misplaced my feelings over Robbie being gone on your happiness.”

“Josephine…”

“Speaking of your happiness,” she grinned. “Looks like he’s trying to catch your eye.”

“Oh, Binger can wait just a second.” she pulled Jo tightly to her, the two women sharing a hug that spoke volumes.

There was no animosity, and no one upping the other. They were best friends, getting through the hardships of war together. Harry would be gone in another few days, and so would Pappy, and they’d both go on together again. There would be days at work and dinners from the automat, weekends with Juliet and Vika up in Victor, and nights spent in the quiet of their house with just the radio on while they sipped martinis. In between all of that, there should be two men to join in the simple moments of their lives, and one day they would be there, it was only a matter of time.

She knew, deep down, Rosie being in England was where he was supposed to be right now. If he had come home, he’d have been restless and unsettled, and neither of them could start a life properly that way. She knew that. As Jean said, we understand but we hurt, and that’s what all of this had been. Hurtful, and confusing but understanding. A part of her life that she needed to go through in order to get to the next part with the man she loved. It was just another chapter, the ticking hand on a clock, a turn around the sun.

Pappy’s laughter pulled the two girls apart, and they found him doubled over while Harry sat patiently waiting.

“Are you finished now?” Harry glared at him.

“No!” Pappy wheezed, reaching for his napkin to wipe at his eyes. “Tell me again how you face planted and Tattie had to put you to bed!”

“Pappy…”

“Oh come on! Croz, that’s funny!”

“Not for the fellas who had to haul me out of Operations.”

“Who did?” Jean posed the question to him casually, already knowing the answer from Val’s letter but wanting to hear her husband admit it.

“Rosie and Dougie…”

“Oh Dougie must have loved that!” Pappy roared with laughter again.

“He grumbled about me being heavier than I look for a few days after I woke up.”

“Slept three days straight through the landings. Only you Croz.”

“Yeah, yeah, only me.” He shook his head, letting Pappy get his licks in while he could before turning the conversation somewhere Jo would appreciate.

“You tell Jo about how Rosie was up in the sky humming Artie Shaw over the radio?”

“He did what!” She crowed, eyes wide in amusement knowing just how much he loved his jazz.

“I hadn’t… that one was rough.”

“You don’t have to,” Jo replied, understanding. “He says a lot of those early flights were rough, so-”

“No, no, if you want me to tell you I will!”

“He conveniently left out how he hummed his way back home, so…”

“It was our third mission, ever. And I won’t go into too much detail but, we ended up alone in the sky, and I guess to distract himself or us, he starts humming.”

“Artie Shaw, you said?”

“Over the radio, all of us heard it!” Pappy chuckled.

“The Chant, right?”

“How did you! Jo!”

“I’ve known him my whole life,” she laughed. “And I know what makes him tick.”

“Well, on that note, how about a dance ladies?” Harry posed the question to both of them, but he and Jean exchanged a quick glance that Jo didn’t miss.

Harry was at her side just as she stood, extending his hand to her just as she caught Pappy leading Jean to the dance floor, the two chatting idly.

“Harry? No, go with your wife, I know she’s missed you.” Jo tried to convince him, but he looped her arm in his and carried on walking.

“Promised Rosie I’d give you a good spin on the dance floor, and while I may have two left feet, a promise is a promise.”

“Oh goodness, Harry, you can tell him we danced, it’s really alright.” She laughed, letting him lead her regardless, Pappy and Jean fumbling along next to them in a fit of their own laughter.

Harry spun her through the upbeat songs, and took Jean in his arms during all the slow ones. They had carried on this way for quite a while, before returning to their table for a drink, both Pappy and Harry having removed their Class A jackets. How they had lasted as long as they had, especially in July, was unbelievable. The Stork Club was beginning to empty out, and as Harry and Pappy flagged down their waiter to settle the bill, Jo and Jean excused themselves to the ladies room to freshen up. With a bustling restroom filled with women reapplying lipstick and powder to their noses, both Jo and Jean were back at their table in no time. Harry and Pappy were fussing over the bill, the two of them doing quick math before placing some bills on the table just as the girls sat back down. Jean gently nudged Harry, drawing his attention to her as she gestured to his jacket with a nod of her head and a gentle smile. His eyes lit up before he reached behind to the jacket draped over the back of his chair, digging into his inside breast pocket, pulling out an envelope that Jo had become very familiar with over the course of the months Rosie had been gone.

“Before I forgot,” Harry handed the envelope to Jo, a smile on his face. “Special delivery.”

The front of the envelope didn’t have her address on it like all the others she had received before. No, this one had Rosie’s handwriting scrawled across the front and the words My Dearest Jo to indicate that it was for her.

“Oh Harry, he sent this with you?”

“He wanted you to have one that didn’t go through the APO review before going into transit,” Harry explained. “You didn’t think Pappy was the only surprise, did you?”

“You’ve been holding on to this the entire time you’ve been home?”

“Well, I had assumed I’d meet you a bit sooner but when Jean told me you were upstate with Juliet…”

“Harry…”

“She explained it to me, and it’s alright. I understand.”

“I shouldn’t have-”

“No, don’t say that,” Harry frowned, placing a hand over hers as Jean and Pappy looked on. “I know that me coming home wasn’t easy for you, and I know that Rosie taking on a second tour has been even harder. I hope you know we all gave him an earful when he signed those papers…”

“I’ve got it on good authority, from multiple sources.” She chuckled, swiping at her eyes to stop the tears.

“Val.” Harry and Pappy said at the same time, the woman’s name punctuated with a laugh.

“She keeps me informed,” Jo grinned. “Thank you, Harry.”

“For the mail?”

“For everything.”

_________________________________

Pappy had dropped her back off at her house after they had all left the Stork Club, before bidding her goodnight and turning to go back towards the Rosenthal home. Turning towards the living room, she expected to see her mother waiting up for her, but found that both of her parents had gone up to bed. With the living room vacant, she pulled Rosie’s letter from her purse before placing it on the table, and removed her shoes before curling up on the cushions. Carefully, she slid her thumb under the back of the envelope, and pulled the paper from inside. Unfolding it, she found Rosie’s handwriting scrawled across, his message to her waiting.

My dearest Jo,

I know that by the time you get this, Croz will already be home, and I hope he’s gotten this to you in one piece, and himself to Jean. I also hope Pappy has gotten there safely and proven good at cheering you up. I thought he might be a nice change in pace for you right now.

Honey Pie, I’m so sorry. I’ve hurt you without even realizing how badly at first, and I don’t know how I could ever ask you to forgive me. I’ve been selfish in staying to fight, when we could be together at home, starting our life. I thought that by fighting, staying here, I was doing the job I needed to keep you safe. It was also selfish, in part, because I thought if I left, I’d be restless. And you didn’t deserve me like that. You didn’t deserve to start a life with someone who felt like he should still be in the fight. As it turns out, I’m restless here most days, thinking of what we could be doing at home.

I’ll admit, when Croz got furlough, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. Of course I’m happy for my friend, our friends if you include Jean, but part of me wondered why it wasn’t me. I’ve served twice over now, and yet somehow they can’t see fit to let me go for a few weeks. It’s rough, knowing that he gets to return to his wife, my crew is all home, and the other fellas here have their sweethearts. Sometimes seeing Ev Blakely and Dougie with Val and Olive stings, no matter how good they are and how much they make space for me in their circle. There are others who’s special someone isn’t here, and we lament on occasion, but I'm not nearly close to anyone the way I am with the fellas in Ops, and the Red Cross girls.

I wish you were here with me, in that navy blue jumpsuit slinging coffees with Val and Olive, yelling at us all for crowding the truck, helping to wrangle Meatball until Benny DeMarco comes back. But then, I know you’re safe at home, you and Jean looking after each other, your parents and my Ma all close by. I think that’s where I find I’m more grateful to have you, sweetheart. Safe.

I suppose I should update you on the goings on here, so that you know how our friends are doing as well. Val and Olive are just fine, keeping every fella in line and then some. It’s enjoyable to share an office with Ev Blakely; he’s mostly quiet while we work, unless Val stops by with coffee and a bit to eat for the pair of us. She often joins us for a while before going back to the Clubmobile. The same for Olive and Doug. Those two girls are never far apart, if one’s visiting so is the other. Dougie shares an office with Croz; it stresses him out. Dougie is usually very relaxed, but being office mates with Croz tends to work him up. Helen, Nash’s old sweetheart, has started corresponding with one of the fellas in the Stalag- Charlie Cruikshank. Everyone calls him Crank, but she has a special nickname for him that no one will divulge to us fellas. All I know is, she seems happy, and that’s good, because losing Nash tore her up. Red Cross Tattie is seeing Air Exec Jack Kidd- but no one is supposed to know. Jack’s not that great at locking his door. Poor Doug got an eye- and an ear- full last week. See honey, you’re not the only one who can gossip. I do alright from over here. Oh! Can’t forget Meatball- husky fur everywhere but, when it’s cold out, he’s great for staying warm. We shuffle him back and forget between our racks and the girls so that everyone gets a turn. Turns out, the dog likes sleepovers with the girls best- Val paints his nails with her red varnish! Not sure how much DeMarco is going to like that when he’s back though.

Speaking of our friend Harry, I need to apologize twice, because though I’m sure you know by now, I’ve kept this from you. It was not the easiest of positions to be in, because he trusted me, then again you have stood by Jean this entire time. There was someone in London, and I hope he’s confessed to her by now. He confided in me on New Years, and then Doug and the others saw him with her in London while on a weekend pass. I assume that’s part of what had Doug so stressed out, Croz was using the phone to make calls to her and arrange meetings when days were particularly rough. I hope you know that I would never step out on you, you’re it for me my sweet girl, and you always will be.

I’ve often pondered what our life might be like when this is all over, Jo. It’s a pretty picture that I like to conjure up when the days are particularly dreary. You and me, in a house all our own, with a front porch to sit on, just like we do now, watching the neighborhood kids. Maybe we’ll be watching our own kids play in the street, and I’ll be the dad who’s opening the fire hydrant for them to keep cool in the summer. We’d have our friends, and maybe spend summers at the Cape with them. Go dancing at Minton’s on Saturday’s, or have Jean and Croz over for dinner. Curl up on Sunday’s and drink coffee in bed, spend the day tangled together lazily. I can’t wait for all of those days, honey. I can’t wait.

Promise me you’ll keep your chin up, and that smile on your face. I know it’s hard now, and hopefully, Pappy’s been good company. You’ll have to let me know what adventures you two get up to while he’s there. If you do anything, I’m begging you to take him on the Cyclone. It’s a right of passage after all, and somehow, I imagine it would be quite comical. He’s a good friend, Jo, and he cares about you as much as he does me. He’ll be there to listen when you need it.

I love you honey pie, and I’ll be home soon. I promise. Sending millions of hugs and kisses and all of my love.

Yours forever,

Robbie

His signature and declaration of love were blurred as tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill over and onto the paper. Holding his letter close to her chest, where it was free from the salty reminders of his absence, only then did she allow the tears to fall. Quiet sobs in the empty living room, praying to whoever was listening, begging, for him to come back to her.

_________________________________

“Mail call, fellas!”

Rosie looked up to find Tattie Spaatz in the doorway of his and Ev Blakely’s shared office, a handful of envelopes in her hands as she leaned against the doorframe. Blakely looked up, pulling the cigarette from between his lips and resting it in the ashtray on his desk before taking the offered mail from her.

“Thanks Tat,” he nodded, passing Rosie’s over to him. “Dougie’s off with Olive so, if he’s got anything you can drop it here, his office is locked.”

“Oh, even better, thanks Ev. See you later Rosie.”

“See ya Tattie…” Rosie half waved as she walked out the door, looking up from the papers on his desk just in time to see her casually stroll into Jack Kidd’s office.

“They’re at it again…” he shook his head, Ev’s laughter filling the silence.

“Yeah well, whatever she’s doing got the bug out of his ass.”

“You sound like Val.”

“Who do you think said it first?” Ev grinned, picking up his mail.

“Anything good?” Rosie nodded towards the envelope in his hands, his own mail resting next to him on his desk.

“My mother, more than likely with a few sentences for me and three pages for her future daughter in-law.”

“Aren’t all our Ma’s like that…”

Blakely didn’t respond, instead leaving Rosie to open his mail while he set to reading from his mother back in Seattle. Slipping his thumb under the back of the envelope, he pulled out a letter written in Pappy’s messy scrawl, but legible at the very least.

Hey pal!

How’s it going over there in East Anglia? Have you single handedly won the war yet, or did Harding tell you to save some Krauts for the rest of the crews? I’m just kidding, I know you’re up in Operations with the other guys, so hopefully the paperwork isn’t putting you to sleep yet.

I’m back at your Ma’s house. Croz and I took the girls to the Stork Club for dinner and some dancing, and before you ask yes, I warned your girlfriend that I have two left feet. She seemed happy to go out, and I think a little relieved to meet Croz. She’s trying really hard to be brave, but pal, she’s ready for you to come home. And don’t worry, Croz delivered your letter- I left her to read it after I dropped her back off at her folks house. You weren’t kidding when you said the same block! She’s practically across the street from your Ma’s house! Oh, and thanks again for letting me stay at your place while I’m here. Your bed is pretty comfy for a big shot Major. That’s payback for having to ride the Cyclone, by the way! She dragged me on that thing, and said that if Jean Crosby could do it I could too. Didn’t have it in me to tell her no, but dear god, how could you make that girl ride it year after year!

I don’t think I need to tell you, but just to make sure we’re all on the same page I’m going to do it anyway. Jo is amazing, and she’s so much more than how you described her. And she loves ya. I mean, she really truly loves ya! That kind of thing isn’t easy to find, so, would ya finish this damn thing and come home to her? She deserves to have at least that much. So do you.

Anyway, take care of yourself Rosie. Give my regards to everyone still over there with ya, especially Cousin Olive.

Your friend and Co-Pilot

Pappy Lewis

The paper fell to the desk with a sigh, Rosie’s head falling into his hands almost as fast as the paper from his grip. How could he be so stupid? Sure, Pappy was a great friend and he trusted him to be the friend Jo needed during Croz’s furlough, but Jo had a friend. She had Jean, and she had the girls here who wrote to her, and Juliet upstate. What she needed was him, and he dropped the ball.

“God damnit…”

“Rosie? You okay pal?”

Looking up, he found Blakely putting his own mail back in its envelope, turning in his chair to face him fully. He deftly pulled the cigarette from behind his ear and lit it quickly, focusing his attention back on him.

“Rosie…?”

“Yea, I’m just…” he swiped a hand down his face with a groan, trying to find the words to actually make sense of it all. He couldn’t. “No, Ev. I not okay.”

“Alright, well, what’s eating at ya?” The smoke billowed from his lips as he spoke, swirling around both him and Rosie. Though he wasn’t a smoker, Rosie found it oddly comforting as it wrapped around him.

“Pappy sent a letter. I asked him to go out and look after Jo while Croz was home, I had a feeling she wasn’t going to take his furlough all that well, and it turns out I was right.”

“Couldn’t have been easy, what, with Croz being home and you-”

“I should be home already, Ev.”

“Do you regret it? Reupping?”

“They say hindsight is twenty-twenty, right?”

“Jesus, Rosie,” Ev exhaled, turning to knock the ashes off the end of his cigarette. “What did Pappy have to say?”

“He took her to the Stork Club for dinner and dancing with Croz and Jean. She made him get on the Cyclone. I should be taking her to the club for dinner and dancing and dragging her on that damn ride.”

“Pal, I know we all tried to talk you out of it before you went in to see Bennet, and I’m not going to sit here and tell you that you should have listened to us. It’s not going to change anything.”

“There’s a but coming,” Rosie raised an eyebrow at him. “I’ve known you long enough, Blakely.”

“There is a but coming, you’re right. When you do get home, make sure that girl knows how sorry you are, and how much you love her.”

“Gonna marry her.”

“Good, put a ring on her finger. Shit, pal, if I could run away from all this with Val right now, I wouldn’t stop to question it. I’d just go.”

“I’m a bonehead. At least that’s probably the word Croz would use.”

“Want me to call you a bonehead?”

“No, please. I feel bad enough.”

“Don’t feel bad, you can’t beat yourself up too much. You’ll never get out of your own head if you do.”

“Thanks, Ev.”

“I know I’m not Croz, but we're friends so don’t ever feel like we’re not.”

“Sometimes it's easier to talk to him,” Rosie sighed. “His wife isn’t here, Jo isn’t here, we just have that to gripe over. You and Doug…”

“I get it, Val and Olive are here, and it seems like it’s a million times easier, but I’ll tell ya what, there was a time it wasn’t.”

“Bremen?”

“Bremen, and everything before Bremen. Africa especially.”

“Biddick…”

“Yeah,” Ev sighed. “I always worried something would yank me from her too soon. Then Curt went down and I realized I could just as easily have been the one to go down, and leave her without so much as a warning. Jo doesn’t see all of this, so she’s protected. Val sees bodies carried out of the hospital, and most of her friends covered in blood when they’re pulled out of a fort, or limping into Interrogation. I wish she didn’t have to.”

“I see your point. Sometimes it’s not always greener on the other side.”

“It is, and it isn’t.”

“Jo is protected back home, just wish I was there to protect her.”

“Soon enough, Rosie. Soon enough.”

“Thanks for the chat, Ev.”

“Anytime, Pal,” Ev stood from his seat, and clapped a hand on Rosie's shoulder. “Now come on, I’ll buy you a drink at the club.”

“And Val?”

“She’ll meet us later, I think she’s up in Harding’s office working on some stuff.”

Quickly, they shut off the lights and locked the office, leaving their paperwork for the next day. Rosie stuffed Pappy’s letter into his jacket pocket, following Ev out the door and through Operations until they were outside. Neither bothered to attempt to bid Jack Kidd goodnight.

The air was cool, and the lights that illuminated the walkways were just flickering on as they turned towards the officers club, already filling up with replacements spilling from the mess halls, and the odd crew they were friendly with.

“You think he told Jean?” Rosie turned to catch Blakely’s gaze as the other man lit up a cigarette. Realization dawned on him when he figured out what exactly Rosie was hinting at.

“He’d be stupid not to.”

“I only just told Jo, though I’m guessing she had an idea.”

“When did Croz tell you?”

“Remember New Year’s Eve? Before you and Dougie came into the racks with the bottle of Vat 69 I’m still not sure how you got your hands on.”

“Ohhhh yeah!” Ev grinned. “Wait! You knew from then?”

“I did…”

“He’s your guy for this stuff isn’t he…”

“Isn’t Doug yours?” Rosie replied.

“I’m Doug’s,” Ev laughed. “You want good advice, come to me. You want someone to tell you it’s okay to bring a donkey home from Africa, you go to Doug.”

“I will, uh, remember that.” Rosie laughed.

He couldn’t change any of this, and his decision would be something he’d live with for the rest of his life, but support made it easier. Jo had support at home. She had her parents, and his Ma, Jean Crosby and now Juliet and Vika upstate. Rosie had Croz, and though Ev Blakely had always been a friend, he realized this was the first time the two of them had gotten deep and shared the realities of war together. He had envied the man for months that Val was here with him, not realizing just how hard it had been for the woman to watch him fly off and potentially never come back. How rough it was on him to leave her on the ground time after time. To have pulled her through the aftermath of the Africa mission, while his crew had simply stood down and been meant to watch it all unfold.

These were the realities of this war. You missed people, you lost people, you made mistakes and you learned lessons. But, you also made friends, and sometimes if you were lucky those friends became your family. Rosie hadn’t realized it at first, but his family was growing both back home, and here at Thorpe Abbotts, and it all came down to one person.

My dearest Jo…

A/N: Thanks for reading! This series will continue for Rosie & Jo, so if you enjoyed this, please like, comment, reblog- whichever is your poison. Feedback is always welcome & my ask box is always open. If you want to be added to my tag list, or removed, let me know!

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