#in fact take this anywhere but. extra points for angst

[erstwhles]

open to anyone (w/m/nb), mutuals and nonmutuals

premise: very much "i'm trying to love you. why won't you let me?" energy. because he's not good at letting people close to him (once again a little based on this overanalyzation)

Liam's eyes fall alongside his shoulders—as if shrinking lower will erase the tension brought on by the shift in conversation. As if it will make him disappear. "I'm sorry," he says, voice clear and low. A familiar tightness strangles his chest as his arms come up and around his frame. Desperation and regret fight for control as he carefully selects his next words. "I'm not... good at this. I don't know what you want from me."

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 17: Alone

Summary: Your pack has left on their first deployment since you joined them, leaving you alone on base.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 6,866

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, ANGST, anxiety, fear, nightmares, PTSD, trauma, just super depressing overall.

A/N: I'm so ready for these next two chapters, you have no idea. Things are happening, things are gonna happen, it's just...so good. You'll see 🤭. They're pretty heavy chapters emotionally, but don't worry fluff will be coming very soon. I won't leave you hanging too much for too long.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

“We'll only be gone for a few days. A week at most. Dr. Keller will take you to and from meals and anywhere else you may need to go. If you need anything, contact Kate. We'll call when we can.” 

He leaves you with a kiss to your forehead. You’re forced to stand there and watch his back as he boards the plane, the ramp closing and sealing you off from them. They all looked guilty, as if it was their fault they had to leave, as if they were suffering as much as you at the idea of parting, even just for a short period of time.

You don't sleep that night. You lay in your bed and stare at the ceiling until far too late when you decide to abandon it for John's room instead. You slip under the covers, disrupting the immaculately made bed as you surround yourself with his scent. You’re on edge, the barracks far too quiet, far too empty. Every little sound has you tensing, holding your breath. The door is locked, yet it’s not the same without your pack there to protect you. If you scream, no one will hear you now. 

You manage to fall asleep at some point in the early hours, your mind plagued with horrible nightmares of monsters devouring and tearing you apart. 

You wake with the sun, dragging your feet back to your room. You miss the quiet sounds of your boys getting ready in the morning after their workouts, taking extra care not to be too loud. Now you wish for it. You want them to be loud and wake you, because then they’d be here with you. The hallway feels too empty, the barracks too large. You’ve spent plenty of time alone in the barracks, but it’s never felt like this. They’re not just across base from you, they’re probably in an entirely different country. 

You stare at their closed doors, all four of them feeling like voids knowing the rooms behind them are empty. Even Ghost’s closed door feels particularly empty. 

You shuffle into your room, locking the door behind you as you get ready for the day. You’re not quite sure what you’re going to do, now that you don’t have them around. You suppose you could just go about your day as you usually do while they’re at training, except you won’t have their inevitable return to fetch you for meals to look forward to. 

It’ll be days before you see them again. 

If you see them again. 

You force that thought back into the recesses of your mind. You won’t entertain it, not now while you’re still trying to process the fact that they’re gone. Even if it is a possibility. 

You’re sitting on your bed when the knock comes, clutching your phone in your hand. You don’t want to be without it, in case they call. You don’t want to miss a chance to talk to them, especially if it’s your only chance. Or a call from Kate telling you something happened.

You open the door, Dr. Keller standing in the hallway with a small smile on her face. It doesn’t feel strange having her in this space, even with the rest of your pack gone. She’s been here before, and you trust her. 

“How are you doing?” She asks as you step out of your room, closing the door behind you. 

“I don’t know.” You say, letting out a sigh. “I couldn’t sleep last night.” 

“I don’t blame you. Feels strange, being alone here, huh?” 

You nod. “Yeah. It’s too quiet. Too empty.” 

“I bet.” You follow her out of the barracks and into the cool morning air. “Let’s get some food in you and then you can take it easy for the rest of the day. I know this is a big adjustment, and it happened rather suddenly.” 

“Was gonna happen eventually, though.” You say. “For the three months I was with the CIA, they drilled it into my head that their job would always take priority over everything else. Still sucks.” 

“It does. Separation is hard for everyone in a pack, even if it’s short term. Add on the stress of their jobs and I can only imagine what it’s like.” 

“I’m trying not to think about that.” You say. 

“I think that’s the best thing you can do right now.” She squeezes your arm. “Come on, we’ll get the food to go and we’ll eat in my office. I usually do that anyway. It’s much quieter than the mess.” 

You get your breakfast, following Dr. Keller to the medical center. You are silently glad you won’t have to eat in the mess without the protection of your pack. The stares from the others might have been your tipping point, and without Ghost to scare them off, you’re sure it would have only been worse.  

“Make yourself at home.” Dr. Keller says, letting you into her office. “You can sit at the desk to eat, if that’s more comfortable. I don’t mind.” 

You take her up on the offer, sitting in the chair across from hers at the desk. She moves some papers out of the way before taking a seat herself. It feels almost strange, being so informal in her office, but then again, she’s always been more laid back with the formality between the two of you. 

“If there’s one thing I miss, it’s good diner food.” Dr. Keller says as the two of you begin to eat. 

You stare down at your porridge for a moment, having gotten used to the change in food over the last almost nine weeks. “I miss a lot of things.” 

“Would you ever want to go back and visit America?” Dr. Keller asks. 

You shrug. “I don’t know.” 

“I’m sure they’d take you, if you asked.” She smiles as you stare up at her in surprise. “I don’t think there’s much they wouldn’t do, if you asked. They care about you a lot.” 

“I’m starting to realize that.” You say. 

“Good. It’s reassuring to see such strong, natural bonds forming between all of you, despite how the situation came about. You’ve made a lot of good progress already, even with the few bumps in the road.” 

It falls silent between the two of you as you eat, finishing your breakfast. Your stomach churns with anxiety, hand closing around the phone in your pocket as if it might ring at any moment. It makes you sick, the thought of what they might be doing, what might be happening right at this very moment. 

“Can I ask you something?” You break the silence, needing to take your mind off your swirling thoughts. 

“Of course.” She says, looking up from the papers she’d been looking through. 

“Since I’m your only patient, what do you do all day?” You ask. 

She smiles. “I do a lot of things. After our sessions I log the notes I take and read over them, I make sure your medical chart is up to date, I read through a lot of studies and journals on new research and methods that may be helpful, I talk to colleagues all over the world, including here on base, and I sometimes go around the medical center and sit in on meetings and classes to keep my skills sharp.” 

“Do you ever feel like you’re wasting your skills here?” 

She shakes her head. “No. Before I took this job, I was caring for sometimes over one hundred omegas at various institutes. It was a high stress environment with long hours. While it was fulfilling work, there’s a high turnover rate for Omega Specialists in that field for a reason. Being a private doctor is a bit of a relief after that, and truthfully, the pay is considerably better.” She folds her arms on her desk, leaning forward. “It’s no less fulfilling than working at institutes. It’s nice to have the time to put together the best care plan for you and your needs.” 

“It is nice having an Omega Specialist to myself.” You say. “There were several at the institute, a lot of students doing their residency. They weren’t always...good at their jobs. A lot of them were just going through the motions, doing what the more experienced specialists told them to do.” 

“Unfortunately that’s rather common with residents.” She says. “Most of them don’t make it past residency. Like a lot of specialities in medicine, it takes a certain kind of personality to succeed as an Omega Specialist. Not everyone has it in them. I wish more schools and programs would take notice earlier before they get to their residencies and steer them down a different path.” She smiles at you. “Now my question for you. Would you rather hang out in here today, or would you prefer to go back to the barracks? You won’t hurt my feelings either way, nor will you be a bother.” 

You think about it for a moment. While your knee jerk answer is to go back to the barracks, what are you going to do? Sit alone in the silence and worry until it makes you sick? Sit in the rec room and watch TV alone and worry about your boys until the next meal time? As much as you want to be alone, you also don’t want to be alone. 

“I’d...like to stay here, if that’s okay?” You finally say, making your decision. 

“More than okay.” She smiles. “Make yourself at home, do whatever you’d like. Watch YouTube videos, dig into some books, take a nap. You won’t bother me in the slightest. You’re always welcome to hang out in here.” 

You look over the titles on the bookshelf, picking one that looks interesting before settling on the couch. You spend the day with Dr. Keller, relaxing in her office and going to meals with her. It doesn’t calm the anxious thoughts by much, but at least the loneliness is abated a bit. 

You return to the barracks after dinner, debating whether you should sit in the rec room or just go to your room. The rec room feels too open, too exposed without the safety of your pack, so instead you choose to retreat into your room, locking the door behind you. 

You let out a sigh, your shoulders slumping as tears gather in your eyes. Another night without them, another night without the safety and comfort of their presence around you. Another night knowing they’re not on the other side of the wall, a knock or a yell away. 

You fight the panic starting to bubble as you get ready for bed, your mind swirling with thoughts of something happening, someone breaking in, someone taking advantage of their absence to get to you. You know it’s an irrational fear. Most of the alphas on base ignore your existence, aside from the couple incidents you’ve had with them. The most they do is stare, though that’s to be expected as an omega. 

What if they’re holding back something more sinister, though? What if the only thing stopping them is your pack? This would be their opportune moment. 

You’re shaking, eyes wide in fear as you stare at yourself in the mirror. Sure, you’ve learned a few ways to defend yourself, but could you really utilize them? If the moment called for it, could you defend yourself enough to get away? Where would you go? Dr. Keller won’t be in her office all night. Could you run and seek protection from another medical professional that was still working? Could you find a different high ranking official on base and hope they’d help you? Could you go for the guards at the gate and hope they help you? 

Or would it be safer to run for the woods? Try to lose whichever alpha decided to attack you and hope you don’t get lost in the trees? You would just have to survive the night, and Dr. Keller would notice you missing come morning. What would she do, though? Call Kate? It’s not like the guys could just come home and help you. Would Kate even tell them something happened and put them at risk of getting distracted? What if something happened to them because of you? 

You turn the shower on as cold as it will go, stepping under the spray in your pajamas. You sink to the floor of the shower, letting the cold water snap you out of your panic and prevent you from distressing. No one’s coming through the door, no one’s going to try and hurt you. 

Your teeth are chattering by the time you reach up to turn the water off. Violent shivers rock your body, your hands and feet numb. You take deep breaths, feeling more awake and aware than you have since yesterday. 

The panic has dropped to almost nothing, your shaking now due to the fact you’re freezing. You strip out of your wet clothes, leaving them in the tub as you wrap a towel around yourself. You’re still shivering violently as you change into warmer pajamas, opting for one of John’s shirts and sweatpants. 

You slip under the covers of your bed, piling every blanket you own on top of the covers before tucking yourself against your giant bear. You won’t sleep, but at least you’re not panicking anymore. 

The days begin to blend together without the routine of your pack to keep you steady. Dr. Keller comes to get you at the same time as you expect for your breakfast, and then you spend all day with her, sitting in her office, keeping yourself occupied while you wait for an inevitable phone call. It will either be your pack calling to check on you, or it will be Kate with bad news. 

You’re not sure which is worse. The anticipation of a call from your pack letting you know they’re all alright, or the dread that it will be Kate telling you something happened to them. 

You’re still not sleeping well, the anxiety and the worry you might miss their call meshing with the nightmares that were already plaguing you before they left. You’re exhausted and strung out, the worry beginning to eat you alive. You’re constantly on edge, every little sound close to sending you spiraling. 

Your thoughts have slowly shifted from missing your pack to ruminating about the fact they might not be coming back. It’s a risk you’re well aware of. The kinds of things they do put them at risk, every deployment carries the risk of one, or all of them, dying. One thing goes wrong, one small freak accident and your entire pack could be taken from you. 

You’re not sure you’d survive that. 

Most omegas don’t. 

“Still nothing?” Dr. Keller asks as you sit there, staring at your phone for what must have been an hour at least. 

You shake your head. “Nothing.” 

“Sometimes no news is good news.” She says. “I know you’d prefer to have any news at all, though.” 

“I can’t stop thinking...what if something bad has happened?” You say, fingers trembling from gripping your phone so hard. 

“Kate promised she’d call if something happened, right?”

You nod. “Yeah.” 

“She’s a woman of her word, I can say that much. I’m sure they’re fine. They’re very capable soldiers. They wouldn’t be in Spec Ops if they weren’t, much less on a highly specialized team.” Dr. Keller stands up, moving to the closet. “It’s still hard, not knowing where they are or what they’re doing. I remember when my brother told our parents he was enlisting. Our mother cried for a week straight.” She pulls a pillow and a blanket out of the closet. “I still don’t think she’s completely forgiven him. It’s hard for omegas when someone leaves the pack, even temporarily, especially if you can’t have constant reassurance that they’re alright.” 

Your brows pinch in a frown at her words as she kneels on the floor beside the couch. “Your mom was an omega?” 

She nods. “And dad was a beta. Wound up with two beta children, though I don’t think mom complained much about that. We grew up in a big pack with lots of people around us. I think mom would have been worse off if it had just been her and dad.” She sets the pillow on the couch, gently prying the phone from your fingers. “Come on, lay down.” She directs you. 

You do as she says, laying down on the couch, resting your head on the pillow. She covers you with the blanket, tucking it up around your neck. “Is that why you’re so good at this job?” 

She smiles, setting your phone on the arm of the couch above your head. “Maybe. I think it gave me more empathy for omegas and the struggles you face every day.” She gently squeezes your arm. “They’ll be alright. They’re probably just as worried about you, as you are them. But, you need to get some rest. You don’t have to sleep, just laying with your eyes closed will help.” 

You tilt your head, glancing up at your phone. “What if I fall asleep and it rings?” 

“Then I’ll make sure you get a chance to answer it.” She says, squeezing your arm again. “I promise. Get some rest.” 

You let out a breath, not wanting to risk falling asleep, but you close your eyes anyway. It doesn’t stop the thoughts from coming on, the nightmarish images the anxiety feeds your brain flashing before your eyes. What if they’re lying dead somewhere right now? What if something’s happened to Kate and she can’t tell you? Would you ever find out? Would you ever know? 

Despite the anxiety prickling through your body, the warmth of the blanket begins to lull you into a false sense of security. Perhaps it’s the sheer exhaustion from your lack of sleep over the last couple weeks, paired with the exhaustion from your constant worrying, but you find yourself slipping between sleep and consciousness as you lay there on Dr. Keller’s couch. You don’t mean to, but you can’t help it as you begin to drift off to sleep. 

Screaming. It’s loud, piercing your ears. Something’s holding you, hands clutching at your form desperately. It hurts, nails biting into your skin, fingers gripping too hard, yet you don’t care. 

“You won’t take her from me! I won’t let you!”

You’re crying, sobs wracking your body as you cling just as tightly to the form holding you. 

Hands grab at you, squeezing and pulling, trying to free you from the constricting grip around you, but it won’t let go. You cling to it just as desperately, afraid of what will happen if you let go. 

You know what will happen if you let go. 

“She’s no daughter of mine.” 

The words bite into you, slicing through your skin straight into your very soul, the prickling pain of your own flesh and blood rejecting you making your skin crawl. How could he just let you go like that? How could he turn against you so easily, over something you have no control over? 

Pain erupts across your entire body. Something snaps, your ears ringing from more screams. You’re being pulled away from the safety of the hold around you, your body going cold as the warmth around you disappears. Hands close around you, fingers ripping into you as you're torn from your mother’s hold and into the unknown. 

“Easy, easy.” 

You’re gasping, breathing wheezing as tears choke you. 

“Deep breaths. In and out, nice and slow.” 

Your breath hitches, catching painfully in your chest. 

“You’re alright, you’re safe.” 

You force your eyes open, blinded by tears as something is tucked into your arms. You squeeze the bear against your chest, hiccuping as you fight for control over your emotions. You’re on the couch in Dr. Keller’s office still. You’re not at what was once your home, not stuck in the nightmare you’ve lived over and over. 

Slowly breathing becomes easier, your sobs quieting to sniffles. The tears still spill down your cheeks, dampening the fur of the bear in your arms. 

“You’re alright,” Dr. Keller says, rubbing your back gently. 

You slowly push yourself up to sit, pulling your knees against your chest. You press your palms into your eyes, trying to get the tears to stop. Dr. Keller shifts her position, sitting next to you on the couch. 

“How long have you been having nightmares?” She asks quietly, watching you as you try to calm yourself. 

“Since my heat.” You say, voice rough from crying. You wrap your arms around the bear again, holding onto it tightly. 

“You haven’t said anything about it.” She says gently, shifting slightly so she’s facing you. 

“I didn’t want to.” You say quietly, shame burning through you. She’s not reprimanding you, yet you can’t help but feel like you’ve done something wrong. “I shouldn’t be having them, I mean...it’s not even that bad compared to...compared to what the others have gone through. The kinds of nightmares they have.” 

“It might seem that way to you, but trauma is still trauma. It might not be the worst thing someone else has gone through, but it is the worst thing you’ve been through.” 

Her words give you pause. You’ve never quite thought of it that way. The kinds of things your pack does, the things they’ve seen, the things they’ve done, are far worse than anything you’ve experienced. The things you’ve experienced may pale in comparison, but they’re your experiences. No one else’s. 

“If you want to talk about them, that’s what I’m here for.” Dr. Keller says, leaving things open for you to decide what to do. 

You don’t have to tell her. She won’t force you to do it. She won’t force you to do anything, to say anything you don’t want to. It might be nice, though, to let someone know, someone neutral, someone who won’t tell anyone else. It might be nice to finally put into words the things that are eating you, have been eating you. 

You lay back down, curling up into a tight ball on the couch. You hug the bear close to your chest, letting it ground you. “My nightmares, they’re always about the day I left for the institute.” You start, taking a shaky breath. “I haven’t had them in years.” 

“You were sent early after your presentation, right?” She asks. 

“The day after.” You answer. 

“Being sent to an institute can be traumatic when done within the normal time after presentation. I can’t even imagine what being sent that soon was like.” She lets out a breath. “Sometimes when we go through something traumatic, the brain and body hold onto it, because we don’t feel safe enough to process it in the moment. The brain can hold onto it for years, until we finally feel safe enough. Then the brain can start to try and heal from that trauma without us even realizing it.” 

“You think that’s what’s happening?” You ask. 

“It’s possible. Going through your heat successfully, being claimed, building close bonds with your pack, all could aid in helping you finally feel safe enough to process that trauma. Things usually feel worse as the brain works through the trauma, which could be why you’re having nightmares about that event suddenly.” 

“Is there anything that will make them stop?” You ask. 

“There’s some things we can do together that might help the process. I’m more than happy to help you with it, if that’s what you’d like to do. If you decide to, I think it will be a good idea to set up appointments at least twice a week, at least at first.” 

“What are we gonna tell John?” 

She gives you a look. “Well, I’d advise telling him the truth. I think you should tell your pack about your nightmares. They can at least offer you some comfort and understanding. Of course, that’s entirely up to you and what you want to do.” 

You let out a sigh, getting comfortable on the couch again. Dr. Keller adjusts the blanket over you, squeezing your arm gently. 

“Think about it.��� She says. “We can talk about it more after they get back and things have settled back to normal again.” 

You’re brushing your teeth when the call comes. You quickly spit into the sink, not even bothering to rinse your mouth before you’re answering, anxiety twisting your stomach into knots. You hadn’t even checked the screen to see who was calling. You’re just anxious to hear from someone after days of silence. 

“Hello?” 

There’s a beat of silence before the voice on the other side responds, the audio distant and slightly garbled, but you hardly notice. 

“Hi, sweetheart.” 

You fight back a sob, your inhale shaky as relief floods through you. “Alpha.” The title slips through your lips before you can even catch it, your body nearly vibrating at hearing John’s voice after so many days. 

“I’m here. We’re all here.” He says, distant voices sounding in the background. 

A smile tugs at your lips, happy tears blurring your eyes as you collapse on your bed. “Missed you.” 

“I know, we’ve missed you too.” 

You move to your bed, flopping down on the mattress in relief. “You alright? Is everyone alright?” 

“We’re alright. Few bumps and bruises, but nothing we haven’t had before. How are you holding up?” 

The urge to spill the truth to him is strong. You’ve been depressed and worried and there hasn’t been a day that’s gone by that you haven’t panicked about something. You’ve been having horrible nightmares and haven’t been sleeping. There’s an ache in your chest that won’t go away, and you’re afraid it might kill you if you don’t see them soon. 

“I’m alright. Sad cause I miss you a lot.” 

“I know, sweetheart.” There’s a sound on the other end, something you can’t make out and the line buzzes for a second. For a moment you’re worried you were disconnected, but John’s voice cuts through the noise again. “We’re finishing up here soon, and we’ll be home in a couple of days.” 

You can’t help but sigh in relief at his words. They’re alright. They’re all safe, and they’re going to be home soon. You’re going to get to see them soon, touch them again, smell them again. “Hurry back.” You say, your voice shaky with emotion. 

“We’ll try, sweet girl. We have to get going, but we’ll be back before you know it.” 

Saying goodbye doesn't hurt as much as you expect it to. Maybe it’s the relief from hearing their voices, from knowing they’re really alright paired with the knowledge that they’ll be home soon. Two days doesn’t seem so far now that you know that’s all that stands between you and seeing your pack again. 

You roll over in your bed, pressing your face into the pillows. Nothing smells like them anymore. Not their shirts that they scented before they left, not your pillows or stuffed animals. The couch in the rec room, and even John’s bed have started to smell more like you. 

The first thing you’re going to do when they return is get a big whiff of each of them, even if you have to tackle Ghost to do it. You want to refresh their scents all over everything, roll around in them until they’re the only thing you can smell. 

For the first time in days, you manage to sleep that night. It’s not much, but it’s a deep, nightmare-free sleep, aided by the relief from the constant anxiety that has plagued you. 

You update Dr. Keller the next day on the news of your pack’s imminent return. You elect to spend the afternoon in the barracks instead of her office, the building suddenly not seeming quite so empty now that you know they’re coming home soon. You clean up John’s room, making his bed again after you’d made a mess of it trying to sleep. They’re all going to be tired when they return, and you want to help them in any way that you can. You pick up your room as well, even though you know you likely won’t be spending much time in it for a while. You’re going to latch yourself onto them and not let go until the ache in your chest has disappeared. 

You bristle when the knock sounds at your door. You glance up from where you had been sorting the clothes you’d stolen from the guys from your own so you can get them to scent them again. You’re not expecting a knock yet. It’s too early to be Dr. Keller coming to get you for dinner, and she would have announced herself like she has been, if it was her. 

That means someone else is in the barracks. Someone you don’t know. 

Your mind races as you try to think of who it could be. You don’t know many others on base, and certainly no one that would enter the barracks just like that, unless it’s an emergency. Is there an emergency? You’re almost certain if there was an emergency on base, then there would be alarms going off or something. There’d be some sign that something was happening, but it’s quiet outside, or at least, there’s no noises you’re not expecting. 

The knock comes again, louder and sharper. Whoever is on the other side is obviously not going to just go away. You debate calling Dr. Keller, telling her someone is outside your door, getting her to help you on this, but instead you grab your phone, holding it in your hand as you move towards the door. 

You unlock it, holding your hand on the handle in case the person on the other side tries to force their way in. They don’t, so you open it slowly, just enough that you can see out. There’s a soldier outside your door. A woman. You don’t recognize her, but then again you don’t see many women on the base, and you don’t pay much attention to the other soldiers. 

Maybe you need to start paying more attention. 

She’s a beta, you can tell just by looking at her. She’s wearing scent blockers, keeping her scent from projecting into the barracks to erase the fact she was here. 

She says your name, staring at you with hard set eyes. “General Shepherd is waiting for you.” 

It takes you a moment to process what it is she’s saying. You’ve never met any of the higher ups on base. The person with the most authority you’ve met is John, but you know he’s only a Captain. There’s others above him, but you weren’t any concern of theirs, so you have never bothered to meet them. Even in your time with the CIA, the person with the most authority that you met seemed to be Kate. You hadn’t even been given names of anyone higher up than her. 

Apparently something’s changed. 

Something in the back of your mind begins to tingle. Something isn’t right about this. You should have called Dr. Keller, or even Kate. You shouldn’t have opened the door so recklessly. 

“But, I’m not supposed to-” You begin, unsure of what to do now. 

“It’s a direct order from your superior.” The woman cuts you off, her tone sharp and impatient.

You’re not a soldier. The only superior you have is John and he’s certainly not behind this. 

You wouldn’t dare say that out loud. Not right now. 

“Okay, okay.” You say, stepping back slightly from the door. “Let me just get some shoes on.” 

You close the door, staring down at your phone. You debate calling Dr. Keller or even just sending a text, but you don’t put it past the woman outside to barge in if you don’t hurry. You can feel the panic rising, the thought of someone invading your space so carelessly making the back of your neck tingle. So instead you slip on a pair of shoes, shoes you know you can run in, before you open the door again. 

She’s still standing in the hallway, stiffly at attention. Her gaze pierces into you, making your skin crawl. You close your door behind you, slipping your phone into your pocket. She doesn't say anything as she turns on her heel, walking down the hallway towards the door. You follow behind her, having to walk quickly to keep up with her. You’re reminded of your early days on the base when you would be escorted around by Ghost. 

You’d take those times back over this right now. 

Your palms start to sweat as you leave the barracks, dread starting to fill your stomach as you realize how much of a mistake you’ve made, leaving with this stranger. She could be taking you anywhere to see anyone. You’re not even sure General Shepherd is a real person. 

The thought of being led blindly into a room of alphas like a lamb being led into a den of hungry wolves nearly makes you panic, your steps faltering just slightly as you debate running. You could make it to the medical center quickly from here if you sprint the entire way. Would she chase you if you took off running? Would you get in trouble? Would the guys get in trouble if you did? 

You don’t want anyone to get in trouble. 

Especially not with this being the first time you’ve been on your own. They’ve put a lot of trust in both you and Dr. Keller in their absence. If you get into trouble while they’re gone, that might change things. You could ruin everything you’ve built by misbehaving. 

The woman leads you to a building you haven’t been in before, leading you down a clinical-looking hallway to a door. She pauses in front of it, turning to face you. You stare at her, still on edge. What if this is a test? What if they’re testing you to see if you’d just blindly leave with a stranger while they’re not there to protect you. 

You’ve made a big mistake. 

The woman holds out her hand, and you stare down at it dumbly. “Your phone.” 

You continue to stare at her hand for a moment, trying to swallow the nervous panic rising within you. You don’t have much of a choice now but to obey. Your hands are shaking as you pass your phone over, the woman pocketing it before she opens the door. 

It’s bright inside, the LED bulbs burning your eyes. You’re uncomfortable and uneasy, a dangerous mix for an omega, but the person inside doesn’t seem to care. He stands from his seat, towering over you. He screams alpha before his scent even hits you. You’re thrown back into the memories of your father, the way he carried himself, the way he stood. Back straight like a rod, hands clasped behind his back, face pressed into a stern line. 

He’s in uniform, decorated with more patches and pins than you could put a name to. Army, you think, judging by the color of his jacket. It looks like General Shepherd is a real person after all. 

You try not to flinch as the door clicks closed behind you, sealing you in this room with an unknown alpha. Though it’s only one, you still feel like the helpless lamb standing before a hungry wolf. 

No one will hear you scream. No one will care. 

“My name is General Shepherd.” He says, his voice gruff and laced with authority. “I am the acting commander of Task Force 141.” 

You’re not sure if you should say anything, or even bother introducing yourself. He probably already knows you well, even though you’ve never met him before in your life. 

“I was one of the driving forces behind the omega initiative, and I decided the 141 should be one of the first to participate. I also signed the approval for you to be assigned as their omega, did you know that?” 

You shake your head. “N-No sir, the CIA didn’t give me any names.” 

“Good.” His lips twitch in what you assume was supposed to be a smile. It doesn’t ease your nerves any. “They weren’t supposed to. I’m sure you’ve learned that confidentiality is everything in this line of work.” 

“Yes, sir.” You try not to flinch under his gaze, piercing and probing. The back of your neck is tingling, every single instinct in your body screaming at you to run, to escape, to get somewhere safe. 

“I came here today to ensure your pack was doing as they were instructed. I’m impressed with what I’ve seen so far. You’re getting along well with them?” 

You nod again. “Yes, sir. There were some...bumps along the way, but we all get along fine now.” 

“Good.” He closes the file on the table, taking a step closer to you. You fight the urge to take a step back, not wanting him to invade your space while you’re so vulnerable. “The success of this program is imperative to the future of the military and its functionality. You’re doing important work here with the Task Force.” His hand lifts, slowly pulling the collar of your shirt to the side so he can see your mating mark. 

You fight the urge to lift your hands and wrap them around the back of your neck, the instinctual urge to protect yourself nearly winning out as he stares at your mark. Your heart is pounding in your chest, the fear-driven adrenaline making your fingers tremble. Half a second and he could scruff you, half a second and he could overpower you. 

No one would know. No one would care.  

“I’m satisfied with what I’m seeing so far. Of course, the true measure of success will be their efficiency in their current task.” He steps back away from you, moving back to the table. “How have you been adjusting to them being gone?” 

“It’s been difficult,” You say, breathing for a second to collect yourself. “But I know separation can be a rough adjustment at first.” 

His lips twitch again in a twisted smile. “You’re a smart girl. That’s why I chose you for this position. You’re doing good work. Your efforts will change the course of military history, hopefully for the better.” 

Something about his words don’t sit right with you. 

You’re trembling as you exit the room, led out by the woman that had brought you to the building. Your breaths are heavy as you try to keep a grip on the anxiety threatening to overtake you. Your hand is trembling uncontrollably as she give you your phone back, your knuckles going white as you clutch it to your chest. You’re sweating, the cool air chilling your skin as you step outside. 

You barely remember the walk back to the barracks, numbly following the woman as she leads you back to your safe space. It doesn't feel so safe anymore, now that she’s breached it. She entered without permission, breaking that trust that’s so sacred to packs. 

She doesn't even seem bothered by it. 

She pauses outside the door to the barracks, staring down at you. You fight the urge to race inside and lock yourself in the safety of your room before she can change her mind and enter again, or take you somewhere worse. You stand your ground, meeting her gaze. 

“Thank you for your cooperation.” She says, as monotone as she had been the first time she spoke to you. 

You finally realize what it was that made her seem so off to you as you think over her words. 

She’s American. 

“Thank you for escorting me.” You say politely, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Have a safe trip home.” 

You quickly enter the barracks, speed walking down the hall towards your room. You want to burrow under your covers and hide until the guys return and you can feel safe again. You pause in front of your door, staring down at the handle. The back of your neck is prickling again, anxiety burning hot in your veins. Your hands have begun shaking again, clinging to the phone still pressed against your chest. You fight the urge to hyperventilate as you stare at your door, half of your brain telling you to run and the other half stuck, staring in shock and disbelief. 

Your door is ajar. Open just a crack, just enough to be noticeable by looking at it. 

You always close your door. You always ensure it’s shut every time you leave the barracks, even when the guys are home. You remember shutting it before you followed the woman out of the barracks. You remember distinctly listening to the click of the handle as you pulled it shut behind you in the quiet of the barracks. 

You stare at the gap, the line of the frame visible. It’s open. Your door is open. 

Someone was inside your room. 

NEXT ->

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[sun-kissy]

I am BEGGING on my knees for a part two to "Meant to be" 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

your wish is my command, sweetheart!! here is part 2. thank you guys so much for all the love on part 1 ♡

meant to be | poly!wolfstar (part 2)

part 1 | part 2

tw: angst, hurt/comfort

poly!wolfstar x reader

The chillness radiating off the wall behind you does nothing to ease your pain as you slump to the ground outside the common room.

You press your fingertips to your lips, nibbling on your nails anxiously as you feel the hot tears dribble down your cheeks.

It was over. Your relationship with Sirius and Remus was over, and it was all your fault. You had ruined it.

It had felt like the right decision two minutes ago when you were admitting your troubles in the common room. It had felt like something you had to do for the past few weeks, whenever you saw the boys together without you, whenever you felt like an extra in their relationship.

So why did it feel like there was a gaping hole in your heart? Why did it feel like your insides had just been clawed out and crushed to pieces? 

This was your doing, your choice, you told yourself. No point mourning for a relationship that was already dead. 

Maybe Sirius and Remus were bubbling with laughter and cuddling in the common room right now. You really hoped that they were glad to be rid of you, because it was worth feeling this hurt if it meant they were happy.

As your thoughts of culpability begin to consume you, your vision starts to blur with tears. You lean your head against the wall, eyes closing as a soft sob escapes your lips. 

It was dawning upon you that you really had lost the boys you loved, and there was nothing you could do about it.

You freeze, your train of thought evaporating into thin air when you suddenly feel a hand on your cheek, thumbing the tears away.

You could recognise his touch anywhere, hands calloused from animalistic tendencies but gentle as a lamb when he traced hearts on your skin.

Eyes fluttering open, you come face to face with Remus, his beautiful face scrunched up in a sullen frown. Your vision flickers over to Sirius, standing behind him.

Sirius looks unsteady on his feet, swaying slightly from side to side with bloodshot eyes and tear tracks on his cheeks. Your heart feels heavy in your chest, and you know you probably look just as bad as he does. He was gazing at you with an unfamiliar desperation in his eyes, which truly, really mortified you. And to think you thought he would be pleased with the breakup - god, you were horrible.

“Dove,” Remus breathes out in a quiet rasp, drawing your attention back to him. You will your heart to stay intact as you look into his hazel eyes, but you feel it breaking anyway. Not a single word comes out your mouth knowing full well that you would break down into a sobbing mess if you spoke. You avert your gaze and opt to stare at the ground instead.

“Hey, look at me, please,” he whispers, rubbing your cheek again with those stupidly lovely hands and looking at you with those disgustingly pretty eyes and all the love in the world that you wished that you could die. You quietly raise your head to look at Remus again, and he offers you a small, forced smile to compensate you for your effort. “There’s my girl,” he murmurs.

His hand suddenly retracts from your face, and you hate to admit it but you miss his warmth immediately. His eyes widen slightly, and it’s like he remembered that you’re not his girl anymore. You’re not his. 

There’s a beat of sad silence as all of you sit with the fact that things weren’t the same as they used to be, maybe they never would be.

“Y/n,” Sirius croaks out, breaking the silence as you whip your head up to look at his grief-stricken face. It’s not so much the brokenness of his voice as the fact that he isn’t trying to hide it which hurts your heart. “Can we… can we please just talk this out? Please?”

He takes a small wobbly step toward you, extending his hand. You feel the sirens in your head start to sound loudly. Should you give him your hand? Should you give him your heart again?

You despise the feeling of longing which immediately strikes you. The desire to feel Sirius’ fingers intertwined with yours again, the wish to hold him in your arms, the need to wipe those tears from his lovely face. You wished things to be as they once were, his arms around your waist and lips on your forehead. Remus’ head on your lap as you combed your fingers through his hair, eyes fleetingly meeting before smiles full of love were passed around. It wasn’t just a relationship, it was a home. It was achingly sacred.

That home was broken, tarnished. Maybe it had been broken since the day you fell in love with them. Maybe it had been torn apart when they carried their relationship along without you. Or maybe you had ruined it when you told them you wanted no part in this affair anymore.

But if there was one thing you knew, it was that things that were broken could be fixed. You knew this fact like the back of your hand, from the countless times Remus had uttered those exact words to you when you were dissolving into a mess of tears and panic. You knew the words from when Sirius murmured them softly in your ear, stroking your hair as you sobbed yourself half to death. When you were trapped under the debris of problems that was your life, broken and scarred, they had pulled you out. They had fixed you.

Undeniably, Sirius and Remus had made their fair share of mistakes, unintentionally shunning you from the best parts of their relationship. They had torn your heart apart, but they fixed it up every single time they kissed you or smiled at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. Those fleeting moments had made all the hurt seem like nothing.

So who were you to deny the boys your affection? Even when they made mistakes, it was okay; because they loved you, and that was enough. You knew they might stumble and they may mess things up, but they would always get back up and take your hand. The sheer force of their love would be enough to overcome their shortcomings, you were sure of it.

So when Sirius stretches out his palm towards you, you wrap your hand around his. Remus watches on quietly, wide eyes darting between the both of you. 

Sirius’ face lights up immediately, a hint of relief in his eyes. It looks like all the tension has left his features as he gives you a small grin. Your lips curve upwards in a soft smile.

“Yeah, I think… I think we can talk about it. I’m sorry for just walking out on you guys like that.”

“No, angel,” Remus retorts immediately, standing up and wrapping an arm around your waist to haul you up as well. “It’s not your fault at all. We… we screwed up, big time. We were blind to your feelings, and we’re really fucking sorry for that,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair defeatedly. 

“But we’re gonna do better. We’re gonna make it work,” Sirius pipes up uncharacteristically firmly, his hand squeezing yours reassuringly. Remus nods, lifting his gaze to look at you as well. “Yeah, for you. We’re gonna try harder just for you.” Seeing the determination and love on their faces involuntarily melts your heart and brings a smile to your face, a real one this time.

The hint of happiness on your face is a big enough victory for them, Sirius’ smile morphing into a usual full-blown grin, and Remus’ arm tightening around your waist as he pulls you into his side. He moves towards the common room, Sirius’ hand still tightly gripping yours.

“We’re gonna talk about it, but not after some much-deserved cuddles and hot chocolate,” Remus murmurs, a small grin gracing his face when he sees the smile on your lips. The three of you walk in that awfully awkward position, you pressed against Remus with your hand tightly gripping Sirius’.

But you wouldn’t have it any other way. Just like this relationship, which had its ups and downs. That was especially the case for a three-way affair, something foreign to all of you. You were bound to slip up and you were bound to make mistakes.

But you loved them, and they loved you. That was all that mattered.

[shelby-fangirl00]

Hiii! Could you write a Tommy x reader where the reader grew up with the shelby and has always been super close with either John or Ada because she's closer to their age. Then as she got older Tommy started to become protective/jealous over her? Maybe some angst with some fluff at the end? You're the best (:

HI! I love this request. Sorry it took a little longer than expected! Hope you enjoy!

Kempton Race

Warnings: Adult language, mentions of sex

Word Count: 2327

‘Red or white?’ Ada asked me as she held up two different colored heels. 

 I turned around and faced her, tilting my head and squinting my eyes.

‘Definitely red today. You’ll ruin those white ones in all that mud.’ 

She smiled and sat down at my small kitchen table, placing the small red heels on her feet. 

Ada had invited me to join her and her family at the Kempton Race. It was a big day for the Shelby’s or at least for Tommy. Monaghan Boy was racing today. 

As we continued to get ready in my tiny home in Small Heath, we decided to have a couple of drinks. 

‘Do ya think Avery will be there today?’ She asked me, hiding the mischievous grin from behind her glass.

 I shot her a warning look and threw my whiskey back before answering. 

‘Jesus, I hope not.’ I rolled my eyes.

‘Is that over with then?’ 

‘He’s such an arse. I’m only of use to him when he needs his balls emptied. Fuck him.’ 

She raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders. 

‘Don’t they all?’ she laughed out. 

‘Fuck em, eh?’ She said to me as he held her glass up in the air. She was referring to her strange relationship with Freddie. She didn’t like to talk about it much, but what I did know about him is that he was also a dick in the same way Avery was. 

Avery was a local boy who, on occasion, visited me in the night. It was nothing serious, just fucking. I had finally stopped letting him come by. It was doing more harm than good at this point.

I smiled and clinked my glass into hers before taking another swig. 

Me and Ada had been the best of friends since we were little girls. We were both the same age, 22. We had been inseparable for years. Growing up around Ada and her older brothers was interesting, to say the least. I was close enough to John growing up too. All three of us used to get ourselves into trouble quite often. I have many fond memories with the Shelby’s, even Tommy. Me and Tommy’s relationship, as children, mostly consisted of him teasing and embarrassing me in front of his brothers. 

Over the last couple of years, he was…different. I didn’t know what it was about him that had changed. He seemed to be protective over me at times, which I found to be odd. If me and Ada stayed out extra late with other men at the Pub, instead of scolding just Ada, I also was lectured. Was it jealousy of the other men in my life? Or did he see me as more of a sister? I could never tell with him. The tension between us lingered often. I didn’t know what we were, but he had never expressed any feelings towards me. To him, I’m probably just his sister’s friend, too young for him to even consider me in that way. 

The older we all get, the more I noticed Tommy. He was obviously always the pretty boy growing up, but now, it was different. Every time I was near him, his beauty seemed to just…radiate. It was quite intimidating. 

                                                                  -----

Ada and I were sitting in a booth at the races. Looking around to see all of the nicely dressed betting men bustling around outside. I wondered if Thomas was anywhere nearby. 

‘Don’t you worry, dear, Tommy will be here any moment now.’ Ada giggled out. 

 I swatted at her arm and shushed her. 

‘What are you talking about? Think that I’m looking for your brother?’ I chuckled out. I was, in fact, looking for her brother. I would never admit that to her. 

‘Oh come’on! I see the way you two look at each other when you think the other isn’t looking. It’s quite adorable actually!’ She whispered to me as she leaned in. 

Just then, we heard a low voice coming from behind us. 

‘Evening, ladies.’ Tommy sighed out, his hands stuck in his pants pockets, as he walked around us and sat down beside me. 

You eyed him down as he took off his cap and slid it into his coat pocket, slouching into the seat next to me. I couldn’t help but to stare a little longer than I probably should have. His sharp jaw, freckled, pale face, heavy blue eyes…

He then turned his head to face me, catching my eyes in his, face expressionless. 

‘I haven’t seen ya in a while, where ya been hiding?’ He asked me, his thick Birmingham accent flooding my ears. 

‘Not hiding, I know that much. Are you feeling lucky today, Tommy?’ I asked, quickly trying to change the subject. 

He looked into my eyes a second time, making my stomach do flips. 

‘Oh, I am feeling very lucky today, love.’ He said, his eyes not leaving mine. 

I couldn’t help but flash him a small smile, letting my eyes fall down the frame of his body before looking back out at the race track. 

Just then, two large hands grabbed my shoulders and squeezed a little too roughly. 

All three of our heads turned to see Avery standing behind me, a big drunken grin on his long face.

‘Well hello love, where have you been hiding out?’ He asked me sarcastically, mocking Tommy and I’s previous conversation that he had been listening in on.

‘What can I do for you Avery?’ I asked, standing up and facing him. Tommy stayed silent, not looking away from the racetrack now.

‘So official today! Have you already forgotten that I was just in your bed the other night?’ He questioned me loudly, trying to embarrass me. 

My face turned red and my hands balled into fists at my side. 

‘Fuck off Avery, or I’ll smack that shit eating grin right off your face!’ Ada yelled out at him from her seat beside me. 

I heard Tommy chuckle quietly at this. 

‘Alright, enough. Come’on Avery,’ I sighed out as I walked around Thomas to take Avery’s boney hand and pull him away from any more embarrassment. I walked him back towards the stables, stopping in front of Monaghan Boy’s empty one. 

‘What’s going on Avery, why are you here?’ I sighed out, crossing my arms over my chest.

He extended his arms and stepped closer, pulling me into him. 

I turned my face away, rolling my eyes at his awful attempt of affection. He was always handsy like this when he was drunk. 

‘Avery, I told you already…I can’t see ya anymore.’ I whispered, placing my hands on his chest lightly, deciding that fighting him would just make things worse.

‘Why is that? Am I not enough man for ya anymore? Would you rather have some thieving Shelby inside of you now, is that it? Is that why you’re here with them?’ he spat out. The alcohol on his breath stung my nose. 

‘Avery, you’re drunk…please- 

Just before I was able to demand that he let me go, he was jerked back completely flying and slamming down on his back. Clumps of hay and mud covered his clothes and hair. 

‘Sounds to me like you should take a hint and let go of her.’ Tommy said calmy. Avery’s eyes were wide with shock and a bit of fear. 

When Avery didn’t move fast enough, Tommy leaned over his body. 

‘Lay a hand on her again, and I’ll cut ya. Now Fook off.’ Tommy said lowly. 

Avery then stood up quickly, glancing in my direction for a quick second before walking away. Even he was smart enough to know not to push Tommy any further. 

‘Tommy…that wasn’t necessary. I had it under control.’ I said as I straightened out my dress and wiped the dirt off of my shoes. 

‘You sure about that? Cause it didn’t seem like you did.’ 

I rolled my eyes dramatically. 

‘He was just drunk. He gets handsy, but most men do in my experience. He’s harmless-’ 

‘-Until he isn’t. I’ll cut him if he lays another hand on you.’ 

My breath quickened as an awkward silence fell over the both of us. 

‘Well, what do you care anyways Tommy? I don’t need you to protect me.’

I looked up to study his expression.  

‘I don’t want you hanging around him anymore love, I’m serious.’ 

I giggled at this, stepping closer to him.

‘Even if he is a arse, I will see whoever I damn well please. What are you, my father?’ I scoffed at him. What right did he have telling me what to do and who to see?

He raised an eyebrow at me as his face hardened even more, his jaw clenching. 

‘Far from it.’ He stepped an inch closer, so close that I could reach out and touch him. My mouth hung slightly open as I practically gushed over him. His eyes were glossy and full of a look I hadn’t seen before. I could tell he was irritated by my disobedience.

I wondered if this was more than just me being protected and safe. If Ada had noticed Tommy’s affection towards me, then there must be something there, right?

‘Why are you saying all of this? Why do you care?’ practically at a whisper.

‘I care because…I can’t stand to see you wasting your time on someone like that! Some small-town fuck like him.’

‘Tommy, you realize that I am small town too! And so are you! How am I any better than him?’ I yelled out at him throwing my hands up in the air and slamming them back down at my sides. 

‘But you are more than this fucking town and he isn’t! You are different than him! You’re…intelligent and wise beyond your years. You are kind…and forgiving, sometimes too forgiving! You have a bright future compared to the rest of us.’

He stopped and rubbed his hands into his eyes and sighed loudly, realizing the weight of his words that were now up in the air. Practically stunned from this, I twiddled with my fingers before opening my mouth to speak. 

‘You really think that about me, Tommy?’ was all I could think to ask. 

His eyes slowly fell from my face to trace the curve of my body. I shuddered under his gaze, goosebumps covering the back of my neck. I imagined him kissing me, the feeling of his skin making contact with mine. It seemed so unattainable. 

‘Are my affections towards you not obvious?’ He calmly asked, his voice going up an octave. 

‘Tommy…I didn’t have a clue.’ 

‘Do you not feel the same?’ 

‘I…I didn’t say that. I just thought you only saw me as one of your little sister’s friends. I didn’t think you had ever given me a second thought.’ I tried to look at him, but he looked down at his muddy black shoes. I think my response disappointed him.

I took a few steps closer to him and placed the palm of my hand on his cheek to cup his sharp face, forcing him to look at me. As our skin connected, his eyes peered down into mine, surprised by my sudden forwardness. 

He lifted his hand to place against mine. He turned his head slightly, letting his freckled lips plant the softest kisses on my wrist. His eyes studied the nervous expression on my face. I had never seen Tommy act so tenderly. 

A deep warmness filled up my entire body as our skin touched for the first time. We had never been this close to each other before.

 All at once, his hand gently dropped mine to place his rough fingers on my chin, lifting my face up to look at him. He let a light smile flask across his face before he craned his neck to peck my jawline. He lifted his face slightly as I turned my head to face his. 

At the same moment, our lips collided. They slowly molded against each other’s for a few seconds before parting. 

My face flushed and became red under his gaze, but my eyes never left his. 

‘Do it again, Tommy.’ I panted out, trying my hardest not to crumble underneath him.

Without hesitation, he leaned down and kissed me again. His plump lips pushed into mine, this time with more force. Our mouths parted, and recollided again and again and again. The kiss quickly became hot and needy. His hands made their way to tangle into my hair. My heart was nearly beating out of my chest, I was sure he could feel it. 

My hands greedily clung to the clothes covering his chest. I teased him with my tongue, slightly flicking it into his mouth. He moaned desperately into my mouth as I did so, sending a warm wetness in between my legs. I couldn’t fathom what was actually happening. It felt like a fever dream. 

As I parted ways with his mouth, He softly nibbled my bottom lip in between his teeth, pulling at it lightly before letting go completely. 

I stood there, not daring to say a word. We both continued to breath heavily, our chests inflating and deflating. We quickly tried to wrap our heads around what just happened. 

I smiled up at him sweetly as his thumb then made contact with my lips, rubbing them lightly back and forth, studying them with his eyes, his mouth parted open, still reliving the feeling of my lips on his. 

‘You’re even more beautiful up close, which should be impossible.’ He stated quietly, thumbs still tracing my lips.

I smiled before lifting myself up on my tippy toes to crash my lips on his once more, not being able to get enough. I had no idea what would happen after this. What I did know is that after having a single taste of Tommy, I wouldn’t be thinking twice about Avery ever again.

[idontknowreallywhy]

Play it Out - part 3 of… it’s anyone’s guess at this point…

I promise I am definitely fixing this, the two of them are just taking a really long time about it… and this chapter got quite long before I got anywhere near to the point. Err, enjoy anyway?

This will make even less sense if you haven’t read Part 1 and Part 2… (AO3 link)

Virgil carefully stowed his tools in Two’s specifically designed storage compartments and stretched, stifling a yawn. He checked his watch - 2am already! Gordon had bailed and disappeared off to bed a while ago but he hadn’t realised it had got quite so late… he’d got thoroughly absorbed in those calibrations though and it was satisfying to have it finished.

He wiped his hands on his jeans and made his way over to the elevator, turning to look back at the big green behemoth as he waited for the door to open. He was now 3 weeks ahead on his ship’s routine maintenance schedule and she was purring like a kitten. Between the familiar but challenging work and Gordon’s background chatter, he’d been doing a great job of not thinking too much either. Which was… good. Hopefully if he ignored the weird existential angst feeling for long enough it would go away and he’d get back into the more healthy habit of loving his life.

Which he did. 

So. 

All would be well.

As he passed through the lounge he was relieved not to find Scott there working until the early hours again. He’d seemed more tense and frowny than usual the last few days and Virgil was incredibly thankful he’d resisted the temptation to unburden himself to his big brother. The last thing that man needed was anything more to worry about.

Not that he wasn’t eaten up with guilt about it anyway. There was a good reason he was never deliberately untruthful with Scott - it felt like a betrayal even if he knew it was for the best. He was a horrible liar at the best of times, and now he could feel his face burning whenever his brother caught his eye. Every time Scott spoke to him, Virgil’s treacherous heart jumped into his mouth and he was almost overcome by the need to confess everything.

Not that there was much to tell.

Except that he was a fool who needed to get a grip and be grateful.

With stealth borne out of years of practice he crept on silent feet past the rooms of his younger brothers and paused at his own, glancing over at Scott’s. A prickle of… something ran through him and he was seized by the sudden urge to burst in and demand a big bro hug. It had been a few days, in fact, since his last. But Scott slept little enough as it was. Tomorrow, then.

Gosh he was tired. He opened the door and made a beeline for the bathroom, beginning to pull his shirt over his head as he walked. He became vaguely aware of a rustling noise from the vicinity of his right foot and shook it irritably, failing to shed whatever had got stuck to his sock. Flannel tangled over his face he reached down and removed the sock, random scrap of paper and all and abandoned it behind him. 

Once the grease was washed from his hands and teeth thoroughly brushed he drifted back into the bedroom and went to stand at the window. He squinted into the grey, his eyes finding nothing to focus on as the low lying cloud reflected the light from his bedside table straight back at him. He shivered, despite the villa’s consistent, comfortable temperature.

Tracy Island’s sub-tropical winters were very mild compared to those he’d experienced growing up, but the cooler temperatures combined with the frequent sea mists still made him long to hibernate. He pulled the blinds down and shut it out.

Flicking through the playlist on his tablet, he sought a track guaranteed to send him extra quickly into the land of nod for who knew how long he had before a rescue dragged him back into unwelcome consciousness. He smiled with satisfaction as he hit play on the snooze-jackpot - a soaring violin solo by a British composer - and collapsed face first on to his pillow to enjoy the fine arcs of spring green sound swoop and flutter around him like the songbird it celebrated.

And relax.

He was just on the edge of sleep and beginning to drool slightly when the change in texture brought by the woodwind entry nudged him awake again and he realised something was niggling at his sense of peace. With a huff he turned on to his side and opened his eyes. What had he forgotten?

The sock stared back at him.

Virgil considered himself a fairly tidy person, nothing on the military precision of his father or eldest brother but preferring a significant level of order higher than the younger two. An abandoned sock wouldn’t usually bother him however but, well, turned out a lot of irrelevant things were apparently bothering him lately.

He slid out of bed and commando crawled over to the sock in order to banish it to the laundry basket. It made a unexpected crinkly sort of noise and he pulled out the paper, realising with surprise it was a sheet of the fancy monogrammed stuff his dad had stockpiled long ago but nobody ever used in this digital age. Curious.

Humming to himself, he unfolded the note and the bottom fell out of the world.

A week’s worth of dropped eye-contact and excuses slammed into him like a runaway freight train. The background music was drowned out by a sudden high pitched ringing in his ears and a nausea that threatened to overwhelm his senses as he suddenly saw his attempts to hide the truth from his brother’s perspective. He looked at his watch and swore profusely - 3am.

How could he have been so short-sighted? So selfish? Of course Scott would interpret Virgil’s avoidance of him as a failing of his own. 

And he knew… he KNEW his big brother experienced rejection as physical pain. He may as well have kicked Scott in the stomach. In fact, that would have undoubtedly been less cruel.

He struggled back into his discarded clothes, panic making him clumsy and his mind flooded with memories of seeking out his trembling brother in the hayloft. Of finding his hero curled up in agony, borderline incoherent and paralysed by the conviction he’d let their overworked and well-meaning but infuriatingly oblivious father down *again*. That he’d never be good enough. 

It had always been Virgil’s job to look him in the eye and promise him that he was.

Not as much had altered in their adulthood as Scott seemed to believe, except that his over-achieving brother hid that pain better from the world. From everyone except Virgil. Because that certainly hadn’t changed - Virgil would always be there for Scott, would always hear that hitch in his breath, the subtle change in the melody of his voice. He would always catch him as he fell, would always seek him out and would never leave him alone.

Until now.

It must have cost his brother so much to write that note and Virgil had just… not showed up.

Stealth abandoned he raced to Scott’s door, only just restraining himself from barging straight through it - he might be peacefully asleep… maybe.

He cracked open the door and recoiled as a blade of cold damp air rushed into his face. 

The room was empty. Bedclothes neat and smoothed down, fluffy scatter cushions at 45 degree angle to the bottom edge of the pillow and… an ancient guitar propped up against the headboard. That gave Virgil pause, Scott hadn’t got that out in… a long time. He reached out and brushed his index finger across the strings. It was in tune. He’d been playing then? 

His attention was caught by the curtains billowing from the open balcony door, the luxurious material making a low whomp whomp whomp as it flapped back and forth.

His brother had returned from duty with an Air Force zero tolerance approach to clutter but a very definite inclination towards soft furnishings. He shuddered to imagine why.

Surely he wasn’t still out there at this time? In this weather?

Thrusting the drapes aside he all but threw himself on to the balcony, the exasperated reprimand almost on its way out of his lips before his brain caught up with the fact that both easy chairs were distinctly empty. Two glasses and a bottle of Virgil’s favourite whisky waited on the table between them. Unopened.

His hands white-knuckled on the balcony rail, as he peered out into the mist, racking his mind for where Scott could be - maybe he would have taken a hazardous, self-punishing run up the volcano? Would he have gone to hide on the beach? There were caves down there and some of them were tidal, would his brother be thinking straight enough to choose a safe place to tuck himself away? His heart hammered against his rib cage as he tried to work out where to start. Should he call John?

He half raised his arm to activate his comm and froze as the faintest of sounds interrupted his train of thought - a shuddering breath and a whisper of a sigh.

Virgil spun around and his already compromised ventricles were strangled even further as the shadow tucked into the tiny space between the far lounger, the wall and an outsized plant pot resolved itself into a tight ball of limbs and a pale chin just visible beneath an oversized hoodie. 

How like his commanding tower of a brother to try to make himself small.

Little music vibe note: the piece Virgil chooses is The Lark Ascending by Vaughan Williams

All the love to @sofasurf @astranite @womble1 @hebuiltfive for incitement their encouragement, sense checking and specifically detailed discussion of soft furnishings.

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Shifting Wings: Chapter Five

Shifting Wings: Before the Raven Matthew, there was Jessamy, and Jessamy came with a little sister by the name of Adrienne. Dream adores his two little Ravens, but after over a hundred years of imprisonment and the death of Jessamy, Dream will find that he has not just lost his companion, but his beloved little Raven Adrienne no longer brightens the halls of his Palace. None of his staff wish to speak of where the Raven has gone, but the silent new resident of the palace is cause for question. After all, she was the one who aided in his release. If none of his subjects would help him find Adrienne, perhaps she could lead him to the whereabouts of the missing Raven. If only the woman wasn’t so flighty and hard to track down.

Warnings: Angst, because why the F not?.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x FemaleRaven!Reader, NAMED Reader (I like the name).

Word Count: ~2.5k

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1935, The Dreaming

“Adrienne,” Lucienne called from where you were curled up in your nest. You had long since abandoned the lavish human sized bed you used to sleep on in your art studio. Now you made the storage closet of your studio your home. You were hiding away from the realm, trying to pretend that you hadn’t lost everything you cared deeply about. “It’s been a while since you preened your feathers. Surely you will feel better it you do so.”

You didn’t bother raising your head from where it lay so you could stare mindlessly at the stone wall opposite your small nest.

“No point,” You mindlessly returned, not moving an inch from where you lay. “I’m not going anywhere and it’s not like people are going to see me so why bother.”

“So you are just going to let yourself go?” Lucienne queried, eyebrow arched. She was concerned for you. Concerned over the fact that you were fading away, just like much of the dreaming. She couldn’t lose you too. “Adrienne, Jessamy would not want you to slip away just because she is gone. She would want you to live your life. Is that not what she fought for? A life for you so that you may be happy and free?”

“I don’t want a life without her,” You replied bitterly. “I can’t do it. I won’t do it. Not without her.” Lucienne sighed, knowing that she wouldn’t be changing your mind this day. 

“If you do not wish to preen, perhaps you would like to go out to the gardens and get some fresh air?” Lucienne offered, reaching over and tugging one of your frayed feathers from your back. It slipped free from your flesh all too easily, showing just how badly you needed to preen your feathers and care for yourself. But you wouldn’t, not with Jessamy dead and Morpheus gone. “Mervyn has cleaned up the north garden, the cherry blossoms are blooming and perhaps you could take inspiration from them?”

It sounded appealing, but you couldn’t bring yourself to actively accept the librarian’s offer. Lucienne could see your hesitation and decided to make the decision for you.

“Come now,” She spoke, collecting your listless body and turning around. She strode from your art studio and took a path through the palace that wasn’t crumbling from the absence of its lord and king. You subtly shifted in Lucienne’s arms, resting your beak on her shoulder and gazing at the palace behind Lucienne.

Even with your despair, you could see how your home was crumbling, breaking down from Morpheus’s absence. It only served as further proof that he was gone. Almost twenty years without Morpheus. You were starting to wonder if he was going to come back. Exiting the castle, Lucienne took the stone path that led to the cherry blossom garden and had high hopes that you would find something to paint or draw to take your mind off Morpheus and Jessamy.

She made it to the little stone bench you used to sit at with Morpheus, and placed you down on the bench before taking her own seat.

“The dryads have taken extra care to ensure that the blooms thrived this season,” Lucienne commented, lifting her eyes to the softly swaying trees and admiring the little petals that floated free of their blooms. “What do you think?”

You were quiet for a few moments, not struggling to find words, but struggling to find a voice and reason to speak.

“Very pink.” You commented, your dull eyes watching the pink petals float around with carefree freedom. “Envious, so carefree. No problems.”

“You should paint them as you perceive them, then, Adrienne,” Lucienne told you. You would do that.

You were surrounded by paintings and drawings, many of them as you had been busy. Almost obsessively with your paint brushes and pencils. Yes, the cherry blossoms had given you something to do, given you inspiration, but the product of your creations were not as light and carefree as those cherry blossom petals you had watched with Lucienne. No. Your paintings were dark, chaotic, grim.

You just wanted to stop feeling these agonizing feelings. You wanted to stop wondering what had happened. You wanted to stop feeling so useless.

There was a solution to your wants, your questions. But Lucienne would never want to you seek your answers from them. But desperation after all these years had whittled you away to nothing but a shell. You felt you no longer had any options left, and were determined to get answers, and relief from this crippling agony. So you took to flight and summoned a portal to take you to the ether.

You flew through the nether worlds and appeared in the dimension they resided in. It wasn’t a given that they would humor you, or offer any word of advice. But it was better to try than to continue to fade away. You dropped down to the rocky outcrop and looked around. You weren’t sure what you were supposed to do next, surely someone would appear and question why you were there.

“You look lost, little one,” You let out a startled gasp and hopped in a circle, wings flaring. A woman stood next to you, with bare feet and raggedly clothing. Suddenly she changed into an older version.

“What is it, child?” The new woman asked, her voice sounding wise yet motherly. You cleared your throat and took a step forward, trying to find the confidence you desperately needed.

“I am looking for the the fates,” You announced, your voice trembling slightly. “I need to ask them some questions… if they are willing to listen.”

“We are always listening,” The woman answered before shifting back to the young version.

“What is it you seek to know?” Oh, now you realized just what this was. The three-in-one.

“I want to know what happened to Lord Morpheus,” You asked, firm with your words but trying to be as respectful as possible. “If that is something you are willing to discuss that is.”

“Oh we are, little raven,” The crone was in front of you now, looking down at you with grandmotherly eyes. “You wish to know where Dream of the Endless has gone? He has been trapped by magic of old little one.” The maiden appeared.

“Alone and bound, raven reduced to red and black.” You flinched at the mention of your sister.

“You look upset dear,” The mother spoke, pointing out what hurt you. You expected this. They would prey on any weaknesses you had.

“Of course I’m upset, my sister died and I felt ever moment of it and my—“ You paused mid sentence, not knowing what to call Morpheus because he surely wasn’t yours. Just your Lord and King. But not yours. “I lost Jessamy and Morpheus is trapped somewhere.”

“Do you want to help him love?” The maiden asked you, looking at you with eyes knowing your truest feelings for the complex being.

“I don’t know if I can.” You answered, waving your wings around. “I’m just a raven, and a very bad one at it too. It should have been me who died and Jessamy that lived. She’d be able to help him.”

“Jessamy is dead, child,” The crone coldly reminded you. “Tis no use wishing to change what cannot be undone.” You ground your beak together to stop yourself from snapping back. The crone could see how you bit your tongue and held in your emotions. You learned in your years of living as a raven.

“I know that, but is there anything I can do? I don’t want to be an annoying useless little sister.” The mother reappeared.

“We can offer you a trade,” She said. The crone returned.

“But a price must be paid, and a steep one.” You didn’t like the sound of that and pressed further, wanting to know exactly what you’d be getting into should you deicide to make a deal with them.

“What is it that you can do for me?”

“Legs, child,” The maiden answered with a smile. “Hands and arms you can use to search for your lost one. A form that shifts between feather and flesh.” Your eyes widened at her words, realizing that you could have your mortal body back, but still be able to fly through the realms… but such a transformation would surely come with a steep and terrible price.

“What is the cost for that?” The maiden disappeared and the crone returned with a crooked smile.

“Our price? Your emotions, your empathy, your humanness. It’s quite delicious.” She spoke with a short cackle. “And that beloved little jewel you wear around your ankle? We’ll add in your original likeness. What you would have grown into,” An echoing laugh surrounded you and a shiver ran up your spine. “So, Adrienne. Raven of Dream of the Endless, what shall be your decision?”

Emotions and Morpheus’ little ruby gift you had never taken off since receiving… was that worth having a humanoid body once more? The agony that was stabbing at your avian heart said yes. To be useful and not feel that terrible pain? It wasn’t a decision you had to think on for long. So you took a step forward and offered the leg with the little anklet and ruby.

“You can have them, I will take this deal.” You announced with affirmation. You could do this. You would find Morpheus. You would bring him back. You would stop hurting so much. The crones eyes glowed with power and her face looked down at you was the last thing you saw.

You stirred as pelting rain hammered your face and skin, leaving a stinging sensation all over your body. Confusion filled you and wondered why your feathers weren’t protecting your flesh and raised a wing to swipe at the sting. Only when you moved your wing, it wasn’t a wing you moved, but an arm and hand. Your eyes flew open as your finger connected with naked flesh.

Gasping as you squirmed in place, you were caught off guard by a change in your body and the heaviness of your limbs. A blanket of black streaked with white partially covered your face and you clawed at it, fingers raking through hair. The fates had given you what you asked! While you normally would have been panicking because you had spent most of your life in the body of a raven and certainly weren’t used to having such heavy limbs, you found yourself to be calm.

No. Not calm. Emotionless. You weren’t able to panic in the first place.

Pushing back the wet hair clinging to your face and shoulders, you sat yourself up and looked down at your hands. Your fingers were as you faintly remembered, but slightly bigger, as was the rest of your body. You were an adult now, and they had given you an adult body. Twisting your hands around and wiggling your fingers about, you shifted your legs and looked at the other parts of your new body. Everything seemed to be in order.

“Good.” You stated to yourself, pleased that the fates had upheld their promise. Your first attempt to get to your feet left you staggering around uncoordinated, for your bones were much heavier and you no longer had your wings to steady yourself. A nearby crumbling statue proved to be your anchor. While you clutched it and further got your bearings, you looked around to see where exactly you had been dropped off. But the looks of the garden, you had been delivered to the great artist garden on the west side of the palace.

“Must find adequate clothing.” You murmured to yourself, stumbling in the direction of the palace. If you were to be hunting down Morpheus and hopefully, Jessamy’s remains, you certainly couldn’t do so without clothing… which is how Lucienne found you. Stumbling around uncoordinated without a scrap of clothing on, muttering about needing to find Morpheus as soon as possible. She was appalled at your state, but clearly recognized your voice through your mumbles.

“What have you done?” Lucienne whispered in horror as she helped you to your art studio. You raised your head at her and blankly stared back.

“What needed to be done,” You answered flatly. “Morpheus is trapped and Jessamy is dead. I must find them and return them to The Dreaming.” Lucienne flinched at how callously absent emotion seemed to be within your words. Was it not even yesterday that you couldn’t even stand to hear the name of your sister? What had happened to your emotional ruin? Your agony?

Lucienne took the blanket from your lavish bed and shook out the feathers before draping it around your shoulders. You watched with empty eyes, observing eyes.

“Adrienne you must tell me what you have done, you are not yourself and should not be in human form!” The librarian told you tersely, fearing that you had done something irreversible and damning. She couldn’t lose you too. You blinked at her and tilted your head, water dripping from your midnight hair that echoed the color of your feathers even down to the streak of white at your temple.

“I have made a deal with the three-in-one,” You calmly stated, not understanding why she was getting so worked up. It was a deal that the fates had abided by and no tricks had been played. Lucienne’s horror intensified and she grabbed your face, pulling your chin up and gazing directly into your eyes.

“What did you give them, they tell half truths and think only of themselves! Do you realize the damage they could have done? Adrienne what did you trade?”

“Nothing of consequence,” You shrugged. “They offered me a way to search for Morpheus, and in return they took my emotions, and Morpheus’s anklet.” Lucienne stilled, fully realizing what you had given up. You had given away all that made you, you. Her eyes dropped to your ankle where she expected the beloved gift Morpheus had given you decades ago. It was gone… but so were the deep and agonizing feelings you had suffered with since Jessamy’s death.

“Adrienne, you let them take all that is you,” Lucienne pointed out. “Why would you do that?” You blinked once more, feeling nothing as Lucienne’s heart broke in her chest all over again.

“It is better to feel nothing, than to feel the hurt of my sisters death as fresh as it was every time I rise from haunted sleep.” You told her. “And I am much more useful now that I have access to legs once more. They are an added bonus.”

Lucienne gazed at you, heartbroken to know that you had reached your limit.

“Additionally,” You went on. “I would not like to be called Adrienne any longer, she is gone.” You explained as you ran your fingers through damp hair, examining the shimmering white streak that you knew started at your temple and ended at the tips of the strands.

“What do you mean she is gone? You are sitting right in front of me.”

“Adrienne died the moment Jessamy did.” You stated. “There is no point in pretending that she still exists.”

“Then what shall we call you if not Adrienne?” You pulled on your white strands and contemplated that thought.

“Please call me Blanche.”

Date Published: 5/31/23

Last Edit: 5/31/23

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[beelmons]

Escapade 5

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!BAU!reader Rating: Explicit, readers under 18 are not advised to read this story. Tags: smut, best friends to lovers, possible angst at some point, porn with plot, mentions of weapons, minor OC appeareances for plot purposes, mentions of death for plot purposes, unprotected sex, reader drinks a bit of alcohol. Summary: The case gets stuck, but Spencer is by your side to keep you going. Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 / 3: Bonus | 4 | 5 | 6 A/N: this one doesn't have as much action ifykwim, mostly plot building, but bear with me, lots of action coming. Tag list: @punkndisorderrly @ickleronniekinsemotionalrange @amywright

Ever heard the expression ‘do not speak ill of the dead’? One of the most misunderstood sayings in the english language, if you were to say so yourself. Through the many years of working in law enforcement, you had come to realize that all it took for the most heinous, horrendous, and evil crimes to go away in the minds of the people was no other than dying.

The interviews didn’t take you anywhere. Every agent was a god-sent angel in the eyes of their loved ones. No criminal record, no wrong-doings, model citizens if someone were to ask you. No additional disappearances or deaths, either, the UnSub had gone dormant, which meant two things: first, the good news, it indicated the possibility that your friend and the HR clerk were probably still alive. Second, for the bad part, without any more victims, getting new leads would be difficult, and the risk of the case going cold was greater.

—We need to go back to victimology. —Emily pointed out.

—If we go over victimology one more time, I will hand in my resignation. —Morgan answered— we have two bodies, no forensic evidence, no clear M.O. other than the deaths being sloppily staged as a suicide, and the only thing linking these people so far, it’s that they were all part of the same FBI academy class. 

—Okay, what about the profile? —JJ asked.

—We can only have a draft for now, the information we’ve got is not enough. —Rossi responded— We know it’s gotta be someone who is reckless or imbalanced, hence why he got kicked out of the academy, but smart enough to be admitted as a trainee in the first place. He has criminology knowledge, yet that can be easily explained by his time as a trainee. 25 to 35 years old. Underachiever. Narcissistic. Mission oriented…

—So, our average weirdo. —Penelope interrupted him, and Rossi nodded in disappointment.

Everyone’s spirit seemed to be down. Empty containers of chinese food laid on top of the round table mixed with files and gruesome crime scenes pictures. No one was paying attention anymore. Hotch decided to look at the time, it was close to midnight. It had been the third night in a row the team had put in the extra hours, not that it was anything out of the ordinary, but the burn out was evident.

—Alright, everyone, let’s go home. —the boss commanded.

—Hotch, we’re not any closer to finding these men. —the muscular man mentioned.

—We’re not doing ourselves any favors by exhausting our energy. Unfortunately, we won’t have much to go on until…

—Until another victim turns up? —you asked, your tone slightly accusatory.

—I understand it’s hard, but that’s usually how profiling works. —everyone shot you a look at his words, mostly trying to make sure you still felt okay. You simply sighed and shrugged the question off. Aaron kept staring to figure out your emotions, but given the time, and the fact that you were also exhausted, he decided it was better to not profile you— We’ll come in at 10, make sure to rest well, we’ll start fresh tomorrow and, hopefully, we’ll be able to see something new.

The team began to gather their belongings, and one by one gave you a reassuring pat on the back before they exited the building. Hotch and Reid were the only ones left while you were still on your desk, reluctantly putting your stuff in your bag to go home.

—Are you going down? —your boss asked, his briefcase already dangling from his hand, your best friend standing next to him.

—Uh, you can go ahead —you replied— I have to do something, but I’ll be right down. —with that said, you stood up and directed yourself to the bathroom. The two men exchanged puzzled glances and sighed in defeat.

You took your time staring at your own reflection. You looked like hell, gently put. You hadn’t slept much. Mixed feelings and thoughts haunting the possibility of unconsciousness every night since his disappearance. You knew it was their job, but the truth was that your team was working extra-hard to help you through it, and you hadn’t been exactly the most pleasant companion during the investigation. Your hostility towards Hotch was unfunded, his patience with you even more so, and you knew you would have to apologize later.

There was no use beating yourself over it now, but you just couldn’t go and rest while your friend’s body could turn up at any minute. You threw some cold water over your face to scare off the drowsiness and decided to head back to the round table. To your surprise, a familiar shape was already sitting on his usual spot during morning meetings.

—What are you still doing here, Reid? —you asked. His head immediately raised to meet your eyes with a faint smile.

—I knew you would stay behind. Figured you could use some company.

—Well, you could use some sleep.

—I had a very heavy dinner, the kitchen’s coffee pot is filled to the brim with espresso, and if I need a nap, I’ll just take Morgan’s couch. —his talking was fast, not allowing for you to interrupt him at any second, and once he was done, he signaled to the chair next to him which already had an open file before it.

You rolled your eyes at his persistence. However, you knew that deep down you were just trying to deflect the warmth that it spread to your chest, but at last you decided to obey his command. Within seconds, both of your heads were buried in FBI files. You decided to go back to victimology, and after an hour of rolling over it, you had come to the same conclusions as earlier that week. Frustrated, you threw the folder on the table, letting it shut close, and you leaned back on your chair, a loud huff leaving your lips as you stared at the ceiling.

—This was dumb, we’re not getting anywhere. Let’s just call it a night. —you spurted out in disappointment.

—Come on, we can still crack something new. —Spencer said without looking up from the paper he was reading.

—Perhaps these were just victims of opportunity. Nothing about this makes sense. The only person who sticks out is Conrad, and even so, he was just a DC police desk clerk, who would have a problem with him? —you continued to complain, part of it was directed to yourself, still angered that you hadn’t been able to figure it out. After seconds of silence, you realized Spencer hadn’t added anything to the conversation, and so you turned to look at him. To your surprise, he was already intently looking at your expression with pity written on his face, which took you aback— What?

—Nothing. It’s just… —he made a quick pause— I know you’re fond of him, but during the entire investigation you haven’t really mentioned him much.

He was right. You had refrained yourself from saying his name. You figured, maybe, if you held to the same hope the families did, if you kept him frozen in your memories, if you remembered him as your old friend, and not as a victim, he would remain as such, and the next day he would be safe and sound, like he had been years ago. Your brows furrowed and your hands went back to the table.

—You don’t expect doctors to get sick, right? What kind of agent am I if I can’t keep safe the very people I wanted to protect in the first place? —you said, pain vibrating in your voice. 

—Only that doctors do get sick.

—Yeah, I guess you are right. —your tone dropped at his observation, sadness taking over you instead.

—Can I ask you something rather personal? —Reid inquired once he realized the emotions he had stirred. You raised your eyebrows curiously, but nodded in agreement anyways— How come you hadn’t contacted him in so long? I mean, I know this job can get in the way of many things, but not even a phone call?

Yes, Spencer was bad at fixing unfortunate comments. Yet, he wasn’t wrong. There were many reasons to not look back at your old pal, to not seek him after, but just as one shall not speak ill of the dead, you had refused to go over the bad memories that would taint the image you had of him. Nonetheless, there was no fooling Spencer, not only because he was a human lie detector, but because he knew you better than anyone else.

—Have you ever looked back and realized you didn’t really like the person you were? —your elbow propped on the table and your cheek rested on your palm to be looking at Spencer. You watched as he took a quick glance at his forearm, and he cleared his throat before he nodded; reality hit you that he was probably remembering the time he struggled with addiction, and you felt a wave of guilt in you, paired with intense pride. He had overcome it almost by himself, but before you allowed your mind to sink deep into the marvelous being Spencer Reid was, you continued your story. —He guided me through my first days of the academy, I was new to Virginia, everything was scary. He became my best friend, I trusted him, during tactical missions, during exams, he had my back, I had his.

—Then what happened? —he asked once you stopped to gather your breath.

—He was holding me back. —you admitted out loud for the first time in your life, him being the first person you have ever told this to— Gideon was teaching a mental disorders assessment class back then, and I got really into it, and so did Conrad, but I was the one who formed rapport with Jason, a friendship really, and so he would help me outside of class, show me additional techniques and cases, he introduced me to Hotch, all while Conrad was struggling to pass his S.W.A.T certifications.

—We met around that time. —he pointed out, smiling a bit to himself. 

—Right, I was doing research for a class and Gideon showed me around the office, and he ended up introducing us. I met Morgan as well, and Elle was still here. —you smiled as you recalled your first time within these walls— See? I was going places, I was trying to start my career, I really wanted to be hired as a Special Agent, and so did Conrad, no matter what it took. Before the final tactical exam, we had to take the mental disorders assessment test. He was already engaged back then, you know? And I knew he was having problems with his fiancé, he came to me, he said he was feeling depressed, and he wanted to make sure it wouldn’t turn up on his assessment, that it was temporary until things got better. He asked me to make a mock test from him, since I surely had access to the test beforehand.

—Because we, the BAU, were the ones who made the questions. —Spencer mentioned in a sudden realization, and you nodded ashamedly.

—I had already taken mine, and so I told Gideon I wanted to quote it for my research, and he gave me a copy. Conrad took it, I went over his answers, and I taught him what to change in order to pass the evaluation.

—Did you ever tell Gideon?

—No. —you shook your head— I knew him enough to understand he would have ended my career then and there, and if anyone were to find out now, I could have my badge taken away. 

—What were the results? —he asked with genuine curiosity, although disapprovingly shaking his head.

—Lack of social skills, narcissistic tendencies, present sociopathy-related traits. He would have never gotten a badge; he wouldn’t have even been allowed to do the final tactical exam if it weren’t for me.

—You put a lot at risk for him. —he paused as if he was trying to find the right way to phrase his next question— Why?

—He was my partner, I felt like I had a duty to protect him. —you reached over to land a hand on his shoulder— Like I have protected you, and will continue to protect you. 

—Yeah, but I would never ask you to do anything like that. I wouldn’t jeopardize your dreams for my own sake. 

—I know. —you said sincerely— It was stupid and reckless. But it made me realize something important; that it didn’t matter how much I cared for Conrad, he needed me more than I needed him, I was going to be okay on my own. After he got married, I figured, well, he’s someone else’s problem now, you know?

Your latter sentence felt a lot more relaxed, and you said it in a half-heartedly joking manner. You realized, however, that Spencer had stopped paying attention somewhere along the way, his lips were parted open, and he had that dissociated look in his eyes.

—Needed him more…—he mumbled as he reached out for Conrad’s file—That’s it!

—What’s it? —you asked as you watched him stand up away from your reach and toward the board.

—Think about it, you’re an Unsub, if your purpose is to kill, why would you keep someone around?

—Well, —you took a second to rack your brain— if they were the object of my rage, I would torture them first.

—But there’s no record of sadism, in fact, both deaths so far have been rather painless. He hasn’t killed Carlos or Conrad because he needs them to get to the real object of his rage. —he began to speak faster by the second— We know he’s targeting FBI employees that have some connection to his time in the academy, but even administrative clerks have their files protected by the FBI database encryption system, hence why he needs Carlos, he’s a Human Resources clerk at Quantico, he has access to the files, addresses, phone numbers, anything so employees can be localized. However, if his end game is to kill an SSA or a higher rank, their files would be far more complicated to obtain. You need to put in a requisition and it has to be approved by other HR superiors and then accessed with your own password, so he would need to keep Carlos alive until he got the approval. 

—But why would he need Conrad then?

—This is just a theory, but there were no signs of forced entry in any of the victims’ houses, which suggests they either knew the UnSub or he presented as non-threatening. Both murders were late at night and in not exactly the safest areas. Who do you open the door for, without hesitation, in the middle of the night and in the heart of a big metropolitan city?

—The police. —you said with certain disbelief.

—Smith was put on desk duty, but he was hired as a cop, he was never demoted, just moved, which means he gets to keep his badge, and that his badge number is still active. —he pointed at the information on the file— I don’t know how, but I think he’s using officer Smith to have access to the houses, and Carlos to get their locations. 

—There’s one problem, though, how did he get the locations for the first two employees? He didn’t have access to Carlos yet, he was only reported missing after the first two bodies appeared. 

Your observation put Reid back into deep thought, he stared at the timeline drawn on the board again, and suddenly, an idea popped into his head, or so you could notice by the way he fumbled with his phone, quickly dialing a known number. 

—Hi, Garcia?—he began talking into the speaker—Yes, I know it’s 2 am, and I’m very sorry, but I really need you to check something for me. Do you have access to the HR databases from your home computer? —he waited a second for her to respond— I don’t really need anything deep right now, I just want to confirm if Carlos Gonzalez was actively working during the two weeks prior to his disappearance. We might have caught a break, but I want to confirm a theory before I call everyone in again. Okay, contact me back if you have something. —with said words, he hung up the phone and turned to look at you. 

—You’re thinking Carlos disappeared way before he was reported missing, aren’t you? —you inquired as you watched him move some things up on the board

—If I’m right, it means he’s had Carlos help him all along. 

—As hostage or partner? —you asked him, but he simply shook his head, unsure of what the real answer was. He fell quiet, and his hands fumbled with the hem of his shirt, it was obvious he was nervous about something. Your eyebrows raised questioningly, it would be so much easier if he just spoke up his mind whenever he got a new thought— What now? 

—It would also confirm that you’re part of the suspect pool. 

—Well, if he has my file, he’ll know that I was the best tactical in my class, so good luck. —your eyes had traveled back to the board, your arms crossed over your chest as you examined the evidence hung from it. Out of the corner of your eye, you were able to spot Spencer dropping his head, and you turned to confirm he was alright; instead, you heard him sniffle. Panic took over you, and you reached closer to cup his face with your hands, forcing him to look at you. —Hey, hey, what’s going on? 

—I just… —he started, struggling to find the right words— Garcia has been shot, Foyet got to Haley, Gideon couldn’t stop Frank, —he made a small pause to swallow a particularly thick knot on his throat— and doctors can get sick. 

—Nothing’s gonna happen to me, Spencer. You hear me? —you said resolutely. You didn’t realize when, but his arms had wrapped around your middle, and slowly your arms began to circle the area of his neck. —You’re not getting rid of me that easily. 

He still seemed unable to speak. His head simply leaned forward, forehead falling on yours. His eyes fluttered closed, and you allowed yourself to do so as well. After seconds of complete silence, an eternal moment of enjoying each other’s presence, you felt his hands explore further up, he caressed up your clothed back until one of them finally reached your hair. His fingers tangled on your locks and he finally pushed your head toward him, letting his lips fall on yours in a deep kiss. 

This one was different from the ones you had shared before during sex, it was deep, but slow, your lips moved so gently because his were also taking their time. He was savoring you, and you could tell. Your breaths were loud, every so often gasping for air, mouths unable, and unwilling, to pull apart. The ringing of his phone reminded you briefly of where you were and who was kissing you, but firm hands against your cheeks kept your head in place before you could pull away. He had the utter intention to ignore it, but right before the last tone rang he seemed to remember that he was, indeed, waiting for a call. 

—It’s Garcia. —he mumbled against your lips as he pulled away and rushed to get the device from the table, hitting the speaker button right away— Hey, Penelope, you are on speaker. 

—For a second I thought you weren’t going to pick up, and I swear to God, Reid, if you had woken me up from my beauty slumber, in which Ricky Martin was swearing eternal devotion to me, solely so you could fall asleep right away, the punishment I’d have landed upon you would have made those medieval torture instruments documentaries, that you like so much, look like the hairspray movie, and yes, I do mean the one with John Travolta. —Spencer and you exchanged horrified glances, unable to form a sentence to answer her— Anyways, I can’t access the files from my house network, I’d have to come into the office to connect through LAN to get them without being flagged as a national threat, again. But catch this, your boy Carlos bought a complete package deal on GayEuropeanTours.com, and I mean the whole package, Madrid, Milan, Paris, Berlin, Amsterdam, Brussels, like the party capitals. His plane was supposed to arrive in Barcelona one week before the first murder and the entire tour was supposed to last about three weeks. 

—Is there any way to confirm that he wasn’t on that plane? —you asked on the phone. 

—I can’t have access to airline databases from here, this info I got from a facebook post he made two months ago. However, check this out, no one would pay so much money for a trip without posting pictures to brag a bit, right? His instagram has quite the few of them on it. 

—So he did go on the trip. —Reid muttered disappointed. 

—Tonight we finally have proof of who’s the smartest blond in the office, my dear braniac. —Penelope bragged, and Spencer furrowed his brows in confusion— Social media can say a lot about a person, Reid, Carlos would often post pictures of himself, his outfits, selfies, he was all about that self-love, but the europe ones include only food and places, beautiful architecture by the way, yet his face nowhere to be seen, I reverse-searched some of them and found out they were taken off the internet; and it doesn’t end there, I also looked at the metadata of the pictures, they were all posted at the same time, one per day, and through what seems to be an automated third party service to schedule posts. 

—Can we get a location? —he asked 

—My tracking software is at the office, but I’m packing my things as we speak. 

—Penelope, call Morgan and Prentiss, Spencer get Hotch and brief him on what we deduced so far, I’ll get JJ and Rossi, if we can track a location tonight, we might still be able to find Conrad alive. —you ordered the two of them and heard the line go dead at the end of your sentence. 

Spencer hurried to get his phone to dial Hotch’s number as fast as he could, and you stuck to your own orders, getting Rossi on the line almost right away. It felt good, the hope invading your body once again, it beamed, it felt warm and cold at the same time. There was a chance, a chance to save him. A chance for things to go back to what they were.

—Hotch? Listen, we figured out something important, we need everyone back as soon as- —you heard him stop mid-sentence while you waited for the call to connect to Jennifer’s number, but before you heard her voice, Spencer turned in your direction, his voice sounding concerned and surprised— What?

—What is it? — you rushed to ask, his concern quickly rubbing on you. 

—They just found another body that might be connected to our unsub. 

—But we never got a missing person’s report. —you pointed out with disbelief. 

Spencer’s saddened eyes gave you the answer you were avoiding to find. No one else had been reported, so the body could belong to any of the two current missing people. Either Carlos Gonzalez, or Conrad Smith. 

[reileinaxiu]

Finally obtained the elusive volume 7 of TGCF(It was a calamity and a half trying to find it anywhere in any bookstore when I already had volume 8 for ages (3 months). I binged read everything where I left off from volume 4. I'll be rereading at leisure when I have better time.

Warning ⚠️ Spoilers ahead. Go read the book if you haven't.

Anyways I'm here to gush about the weird roller coaster that was TGCF. HuaLian shall forever have my heart when it comes to best romance journey excluding all the weird add-ons and hanger-ons that was the heavenly court and JW's overall mindf*ckery that he calls favor.

Note: no time to quote anything doing this by memory since I've already stashed my books in the depths of the overly cluttered cabinet that is my bookshelf. Some other time.

The giant mecha fight between divine statue XL and the Heaven Capital was so out of field I felt like the book just added a new genre late into the story. But it was awesome all the same I think my favorite part was when HX's bone pets came to their support.

I just can't get over the fact how profound and all-encompassing HC's love for XL is and that clear moment when XL realized HC's identity(WM), that he was seen so completely in not only his highest but also his lowest most self-loathing destructive moments did XL knew that HC is the one and only person who he can wholeheartedly surrender himself to and love. XL also knows that HC is probably the only one who would ever forgive and accept every part of him even the part that he can't forgive and thinks unworthy. HC would probably say there was nothing to forgive in the first place.

HC dispersing after the final battle just broke my heart for XL. 😭 Dear MXTX knows how to write angst and stab in our vitals where it hurts. There reunion was so heartwarming I'm running out of appropriate adjectives. They should never been parted like that ever again. I would have loved to see more of their fresh reunion interactions where XL utterly spoiled and gave into anything HC wanted.

The extras were also too funny I could barely read them straight with how mortifying some of it was.😂 Nice to know every divine statue got their partner 🤭😏. Happy to have finished this close to HC's birthday.

I was hoping XL coffin trauma would be addressed at some point but I'm happy we got something in the extras, not as lighthearted as I thought the extras would be 😭

The art in the last volume is the best so far 🥰😍. Anyone else screamed upon seeing the blatant HuaLian kissing and domesticity. I sure couldn't not with my mom in the same room 😅. But I really wanted to, it felt like HC got a hundred times more sexy with his prince taking kisses in his arms 🤭🤭🤭

Too many thoughts on the matter! I'll circle back to this in the future I've still got 2ha, Thousand autumn to follow and I haven't finished MDZS novels to my great shame 🙏😖

Next time my dearies.

[handspunyarns]

You Were Marked: Day Six point Five.

pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C   

word count: 8.5 K 

chapter summary: Din still hates vomit, Marathel suffers a great loss, and Grogu gets the hiccups. 

warnings:  illness, angst, allusion to past SA, allusion to suicide ideation, enmeshed misogyny, Mando'a and English cursing  

You Were Marked: Masterlist   

<- You Were Marked: Previous Chapter 

Din awoke to two tiny feet pushing into the side of his stomach.  This neither alarmed nor surprised him anymore.  He’d long come to realize that not only was Grogu a Master Blanket-Stealer, he was also a pro at Bed-Crowding.  Din would automatically allow the little one wide berth to keep him from rolling over on the boy, which allowed Grogu to take up at least four-fifths of any bed.  Grogu had also far surpassed Din in the ability to sleep anywhere, if that time Grogu managed to sleep draped across Din’s neck — and shoving his little foot up under the lip of the helmet, practically up Din’s nose — was any indication.  Din sighed and stretched his arms above his head.  He held aside a curtain to look at the sky.  It was just before dawn.  He looked over and noticed that Marathel was no longer in bed, but he could hear movement over at the table.  Carefully moving Grogu into the center of the bed tick, Din got up and stepped outside the curtains. 

Marathel was at the table, wearing fresh clothes in shades of grey as well as a heavy canvas apron, her hair tied up in a knot on the back of her head.  She was straddling the bench with her hand inside one of Din’s boots as she brushed tallow into the leather.  One boot sat at her feet, apparently finished.  Marathel stopped brushing and ran her hand over the leather.  Not satisfied with the finish, she added some more tallow with a cloth and began brushing again.  Din felt like a voyeur; he had never witnessed anyone performing such a personal service for him, such a wifely duty.  The sight of her polishing his boot seemed so … right.  He was also amused that someone who ran continuously barefoot was so skilled at shoe maintenance, until he remembered her off-hand comment about boys’ shoes going missing in the Hold.  It would not surprise him in the least if girls were not allowed shoes in the Hold but were responsible for the upkeep of the shoes the boys and men were allowed to wear. 

He believed he despised that Hold, as much as he could despise a place he’d never been. 

Marathel tucked a wayward lock of hair behind her ear and said, “You need to take better care of your boots.  The leather is very thirsty.” 

“It’s one of those things I keep meaning to do.” 

“The first boot took up most of the tallow I rendered last night from the gwyrlan birds.  Lucky, I had some extra.” 

“Thank you for doing that.” 

Marathel waved it off.  “No bother.”  She gave the boot one more look-over and held it out to Din.  “I think these are done but let me know if they are not to your satisfaction.” Din took the proffered boot, thinking it looked practically brand-new.  He took a peek inside and noticed that she had also repaired the torn lining.  Marathel noticed and said, “I added insoles I made from sea plant fiber.  They will help keep the insides fresher.”  She handed him the second boot. 

“I am very grateful.” 

“Take care of your boots, they will take care of you.” 

“We Mandalorians say the same about our armor and weapons.” 

“I doubt you strap a boomer to your feet, though.”  Din’s head snapped up to look at her, the word blaster on the tip of his tongue, when he saw her smirk.  “You may keep the socks, if you like.” 

“I couldn’t keep these fine socks.” 

Marathel shrugged.  “I can always make more.  I don’t wear socks very often.  In fact, I can give you a couple more pairs.”  She got up and pulled her curtains into the hanging strap, smiling at the still-sleeping Grogu.  She dug out two more pairs of socks from a basket and held them out to Din. “Go on, take them.”  He took them from her, grabbing onto her hand as he did so.  Surprised, she met his eyes.  Her eyes were marked by dark circles and a look of distress.   

Din tilted his helmet. “How long have you been up?” 

“A while.  I couldn’t sleep.” 

“Why not?” 

Marathel sighed, pulling her hand away.  She pulled off her apron and began folding it.  Looking down at her hands, she said, “Some Dahls are beginning to lay.  A few are still sad that they have no eggs.  A few have never laid before, and they are confused and frightened.  There are also some who are egg-bound, and they are in pain.” 

“What happens to the egg-bound females, if they cannot lay?” 

“They die.”  She stared at the apron in her hands.  “Sometimes mothers die.” 

“Yes, they do,” said Din softly, thinking of his mother as well as the sad-faced woman before him, the one he’d be leaving behind tomorrow.  At least I won’t be leaving her pregnant, he thought, before he decided that was crude thinking on his part.   

Marathel took a quick breath and said, “What would you like for breakfast?” 

Din blinked at the sudden change of subject.  “Anything you make is fine.” 

She smiled indulgently.  “I’m not concerned with what you think is fine, I’m asking what you would like.  It occurred to me that I’ve been giving you meals with no thought about what you may or may not prefer.” 

“Everything you have fed us has been delicious …” Marathel began to roll her eyes. “But, since you ask, traditional Mandalorian food is spicy.” 

“Spicy?  Peppers and such?”  Din nodded.  “That is good to know.  I do grow peppers, but I honestly use most of them for medicinal purposes.  They are tasty, though.” Marathel went to the kitchen and picked up her gardening basket.  “In fact, I’ll go pick some now for today’s meals. I’ll be back shortly.”  She hopped off the back of the platform and was heading off into the morning light before Din could respond.  He looked over his boots again, impressed by her skill, noticing that the insides did indeed smell clean and fresh.  He sat down and pulled them on, stamping them on the floor.  They felt good.  He looked over at his armor, wondering if he should wait to put it back on, remembering Marathel’s disturbing dream.  He felt uneasy without both the armor and his weapons but decided that he might upset her if she returned to find him wearing it.  He didn’t quite believe that her distress was caused merely by the Dahls.   

Din heard Grogu making squeaks in his sleep.  He went over to Marathel’s bed tick and sank down to his knees on the edge.  “Hey, little bub, you wanna wake up?”  Din leaned over, rubbing Grogu’s back.  “It’s morning, kiddo.”  Grogu responded by grumbling and burrowing into the blanket.  Din chuckled.  “Okay, you’re off the hook for now.” He left Grogu where he was and filled Marathel’s kettle to make tea.  He also stoked the fire and rearranged some of the wood within.  He wondered if Marathel needed more wood chopped, or if there was some other chore he could do, something he could do to please her and thank her for her kindness, her hospitality … and for her companionship, something Din hadn’t known he needed until Grogu came into his life.  He went to the edge of the platform to wait for her. 

Marathel was kneeling in her garden.  She had picked her few pepper plants clean, hoping that she could come up with dishes that the Bounty Hunter would enjoy.  So, these Mandalorians like spicy food.  It occurred to her that she knew very little about the Bounty Hunter, which seemed to be by design, considering his armor, full- body coverings, and helmet.  She assumed he had some sort of name, but he’d never offered it, so she had left it at that.  Every now and again, he’d release some tidbit about himself, the most surprising and confusing of which had to do with what he called his religion.  

The word religion meant nothing to her.  Marathel understood rules, that was an easy concept to grasp.  He couldn’t remove his gloves, except when he could; he was not allowed to remove or lift his helmet before her, yet he could behind her; obviously using a woman was allowable — him being a man, of course it was — but she felt reasonably certain that her laying him out mostly naked the other night was an indiscretion, as he called it. 

Then on the other hand, last night, he was insistent on her pleasure, her experience … and her permission.  Never had she heard of such a thing. His apology to her baffled her, even upset her.  He was desirous enough of her body to want her, to have her, wasn’t that all that was needed?  Yet if the use of her body also required her pleasure … then why hide his face?  

Leave it alone, Marathel, you both had too many dreamberries last night. Surely, he regrets having touched you in such a way. 

Then why his insistence on touching her hand this morning? His concern over how she slept following her nightmare? 

It is nothing, he is leaving tomorrow.  Tomorrow, nothing will matter anymore.  He will be gone.  And so will you. 

Marathel slowly stood, picked up her basket, and started back down the path to the hut.  Along the way, she shifted her thoughts back to the Dahls.  Her young females seemed to be okay.  The four who could lay eggs would be laying that night. None were egg-bound.  Old Rodanthe was long past egg laying, but she was very sad today, and Marathel was unsure why.  Rodanthe was the only Dahl who truly mirrored Marathel’s feelings, as if they shared the same heart.  

Marathel’s original plan for the end of her life was to no longer bond with new Dahl kits, but to suffer the loss of the ones she had, and then … decide how to go on from there, if to go on from there.  Now, she didn’t have to concern herself with that.  That decision was out of her hands. 

She looked up to see the Bounty Hunter leaning against her post, waiting for her.  The early morning sun glinted off his helmet, but he still had not put on the rest of his armor.  Somehow, she had accepted the helmet as his face, just as she had accepted his name as “Bounty Hunter.” She wondered if he would allow her to learn the truth about either … or if it even mattered, really. 

He’s waiting for you.   

He just wants breakfast. 

Of course, he wants breakfast, he’s a man, you silly gochgoch.  That doesn’t mean he can’t have …  affection for you. 

The idea warmed her soul and brought a smile to her face. 

Din smiled under his helmet at the sight of Marathel’s smile.  The sun was behind her, making the stray strands of hair that floated away from her head glisten like sparks from a welder.  He was trying to memorize her walk, the way her hips swayed, how her bare feet turned out slightly with each step, the swing of her arm not holding the basket.  He stepped forward as she came to the edge of the platform.  He took the basket from her and offered her his hand to help her up.  Marathel noticed that he was wearing his gloves again as the Bounty Hunter pulled her to his level.  He was still holding her hands, thinking about kissing her, when she suddenly looked down to her feet; Marathel had felt the grasp of tiny, clawed hands around her ankle.  “I appear to have grown a Grogu again.” 

“He loves you.” 

“He’s just hungry.” 

“He’s capable of both.” 

Marathel laughed.  “I suppose he likes spicy food, too?” 

“He has a stomach of beskar.” 

“Well, then I suppose you should try each of these peppers; tell me which ones you like.” 

Din stepped back while Marathel turned to pick up the basket.  She had four or five varieties that went from a large berry-looking thing to a shriveled tiny claw-shaped thing.  He picked up the tiny pepper and turned his back to put it up under his helmet, eating the pepper, stem and all.  “Hm.  Almost but not quite bland.” 

Marathel’s eyebrows shot up.  “That was my spiciest pepper.  You must also have a stomach of beskar.” 

“I wouldn’t be a proper Mandalorian if I didn’t.”  He reached down to pick up Grogu.  “Hey, buddy, let’s get out of Mahr’s way.”  He took the child to the front of the hut.  Marathel took the basket to the kitchen to cook something that hopefully wouldn’t set her head on fire.   

What Marathel came up with was a pan-fry-up of tubers, both sweet and spicy peppers, and sliced sausage in a white sauce over her toasted bread.  It burned her mouth, but she thought it was quite good.  If she had known the combination would be so tasty, she would have tried it long ago.  Grogu, of course, inhaled the contents of his bowl.  She was wiping Grogu’s mouth clean when she heard Rodanthe calling for her.   

Marathel looked up and saw the Dahl standing alone at the edge of the yard, just out of the tall grass.  Confused, she stood and went towards the animal.  Rodanthe sat on her haunches, eyes whirling. “What is it, pet?  Where are the others?” Marathel went to one knee and stroked the Dahl’s head.  Rodanthe made a quiet keening noise as she looked deeply into Marathel’s eyes.  Marathel felt a sense of great loss.  “What are you doing, Rodanthe?” The Dahl remained still, and the whirling of her eyes came slowly to a stop. Marathel gasped.  “No, please, Rodanthe, why would you leave me?  You’re not dying, I know you’re not.”  Marathel put her forehead to the Dahl’s broad face.  “I don’t understand; why are you doing this?” Her voice began to grow shrill as she felt Rodanthe pull herself from Marathel’s heart.  “No, no!  Stop this!  Don’t leave me!  You can’t, please!” Rodanthe escaped Marathel’s grasp and ran off into the tall grass.  “Noooooo!” Marathel screamed as she gave chase. 

Din had finished eating and was replacing his helmet as he heard Marathel’s cries.  He looked up to see her run into the tall grass.  He grabbed a blaster and ran after her.  Marathel continued to cry out for Rodanthe as the Dahl outran her through the grass and up into the mountain pass.   

“NO!  Please, please stop!  Don’t leave me now, I beg you! ONE MORE DAY!  Rodanthe, please!” Marathel stopped running, put her hands over her head, and shrieked, the same shriek Din had heard in his dream. It was soul-crushing, heart-destroying, the shriek that Marathel uttered as she felt Rodanthe unbind herself, removing herself from her heart, mind, and soul, and Marathel screamed, “DON’T LEAVE ME ALONE!” as Din reached her, putting his arms around her, but she broke free of his grasp, crying, “Don’t touch me!  Oh, it HURTS!”   

Din stood back, surprised, but did not approach her again. Marathel rocked on her feet, holding her head in her hands, crying out, “Why, Rodanthe, why?!”   

Din wondered why himself. Why would Rodanthe leave Marathel now, of all times?  And why would Marathel say ‘one more day’?  Did Rodanthe see me as Marathel’s new protector? 

Din didn’t know.  He didn’t know much of anything, other than Marathel’s heart was broken and there was nothing he could do for her.  Grogu came running — making Din feel like a right heel for leaving him behind — crying himself as he hugged her ankle tightly. 

Marathel stood with her face in her hands, sobbing, and it was some time before she got some hold of herself.  “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s all right, cyar’e.”  Din reached into an inner pocket and found one of the cloths he’d taken to carrying since Grogu appeared on the scene.  Damn kid would leak from all ports on occasion.  Stepping to her side, he pressed it against the back of her hand, and she took it, holding it to her face.   

After another long while, she wiped her nose and looked out over the landscape.  Her shoulders slumped and her face fell.  Din recognized that look: defeat.  “It’s so quiet now,” Marathel murmured.  She looked down at Grogu and silently removed his hands from her ankle before she turned and started to walk back.  Din picked up Grogu, who whined and buried his face in Din’s neck.  He let Marathel walk ahead of him for a while before he followed her. 

Marathel stood in the yard, staring at her hut.  She’d lived here alone for so long, with only the Dahls for company.  Now it seemed she was truly alone.  Rodanthe must have been her lifeline to hearing all the other Dahls, and now there was almost silence, just the slightest of background noise to remind her she still had some contact with them.  She sighed and stepped up into the hut, picking up the empty breakfast bowls from the step.  She deposited the bowls in the sink, intending to clean the kitchen, which now seemed pointless.  An ocean breeze came through the hut, and her shaking hands stilled.  She turned to the corner post, where she had spent so much of her time since coming here, leaning, thinking, wishing, hoping for some slight elevation to her life from the dreary path she knew it would ultimately take regardless.  She pulled her hair down from its untidy knot and let it fall, then sat down and leaned back against the post, staring off into the distance, hugging her knees with her elbows.   

Din set Grogu down and joined Marathel on the floor, sitting behind her, taking a lock of her hair and curling it around his gloved finger.  “Has a Dahl ever left you like that before?” 

“No.”  Marathel sighed.  “When they’re ready to die, they come to me and let me hold them as they go, so they don’t have to be alone.  They just slip away from me.  But this … it hurts so much worse.  She’s unbound herself from me, and I don’t know why.”  Marathel went quiet for a while.  “I feel like you’ve seen nothing but the worst of me since you’ve been here.” 

Din thought about that, but the only images that came to mind were of her smile, her eyes, the gentle curve of her lips and jaw and shoulder, her strong hands holding Grogu so tenderly, the swells of her breasts and generous hips, and the look of her face in climax – the way she held her mouth, her eyes almost closed but not quite, the flush spreading across her cheeks, the way her eyebrows knitted together.  “If that’s what you think, Marathel, then you should know that your worst is better than the most people’s best.”  Marathel was silent.  “I’m sorry she’s gone, mesh’la.” 

Marathel took a deep breath, but still said nothing.  Grogu toddled to Marathel’s side, placing a hand on her hip.  She looked down at him, and he looked at her cautiously, as if afraid she would reject him again. Marathel lifted her hand and stroked the child’s face.  “My sweet, my dear, my darling child, soon you’ll be far away from me,” she sang.  Her voice was sweet and clear as a Naboo lake.  “Forgive me, little one.  Mahr is very sad.” 

“Sad Mahr?” crooned Grogu, startling Din. 

“Yes, sweet, sad Mahr.” 

“Marathel …” breathed Din.  “He said sad.” 

“Yes, he did, Bounty Hunter.  Clear as day.” 

“No, you don’t understand …” Din rolled up to one knee behind her, reaching for the boy. “He said sad.  He’s never said actual words before.”  

“He says Patu and Mahr quite well.” 

“Well, fine.  Understandable words.” 

“You are Patu and I am Mahr. I think he’s quite understandable.  I am not happy that his first Newtalk word is sad, however.”  Marathel drew her legs under her to stand.  “Still … such a momentous occasion should be celebrated.”  She stood and sighed.  “Who likes clams?” 

Minutes later, they were walking towards the lava flats.  Din had donned his armor — he didn’t feel right about leaving it unattended, despite Marathel’s assurances no one would bother it — and he carried Grogu in a bag and the wooden rake, while Marathel had a large shallow basket.  Marathel kept looking out over the landscape, trying to hear the Dahls.  Without Rodanthe’s connection, she could barely hear them now.  The ones that she could hear were currently laying, and she made a mental note of where the Dahls’ clutches were.

Din looked towards her.  “Are the Dahls laying?” 

“Yes.” 

“What of the ones who were egg-bound?” 

Marathel didn’t know any longer. Finally, she said, “They are quiet.”  The Bounty Hunter nodded, which she took as acceptance.   

“I can help you find eggs tonight.” 

Marathel shook her head.  “That won’t be necessary.  I know where the clutches are … and it’s only proper I do it myself.” 

“This is the way?” 

“Just so, yes.”  They went past the lava flats to a low-tide beach that was flat as far as Din could see.  “The clams we want are in the shallows.  It would be about hip-high on Grogu.  But the sand is solid, and he won’t sink in like you did in the mud.  The only thing out there to worry about are sand fleas.  But they only bite if you stand on them for too long.” 

“I suppose that would be okay,” said Din, as he removed Grogu from his bag, and took off his tiny robe and beskar shirt.  “Off you go, you little nudist.”  He set Grogu on the ground and the boy immediately ran for the water.  

“Oh, I wasn’t thinking, Bounty Hunter … you shouldn’t come into the water with us.  Your boots are waterproofed, but they haven’t cured yet.  I’m sorry.” 

Din looked at her, and then saw a large boulder close the the water’s edge.  “Fine.  I can sit there and keep an eye on you two.”  He hoisted himself on the boulder, and Marathel went to join Grogu in the shallows. She had rolled up her pants legs over her knees and was showing Grogu how to find the clams by looking for little spouts of sand in the water.  She dug up the clams with her hands, placing them in the shallow basket she had floating beside her.  She tied the basket to Grogu’s wrist with a tether, and began searching for clams herself, dragging the rake across the sands.  As Marathel dug out the clams, she tossed them into the basket.  She had the basket about half filled when a pair of sock-covered feet waded into view.  She straightened up to see the Bounty Hunter, resplendent in armor, standing in ankle-high water with stockinged feet, looking back at her.   “Oh, for the love of Frith,” she said, rolling her eyes. 

Din shrugged.  “I got bored.” 

“I have seen your hands, but bare feet are out of the question?” 

“Feet are more … intimate.” 

“Don’t tell me you’re going to pew-pew-pew the clams out of the water.” 

“That would be inefficient.  Now, if I had my net launcher … what the shab is biting my foot?” 

Marathel sighed.  “Step back.”  He did, and she bent down and outdug a white crawly crustacean-type critter, about the size of his palm, with an articulated shell.  She held it up before his visor. “Sand flea.” 

She flicked her arm, and Din watched the ugly thing skip half a dozen times on the water’s surface before disappearing under a wave. “Some flea.” 

Marathel went back to raking the sandy bottom.  She brought up a number of clams, and she bent over to pick them up, unintentionally giving Din quite a view. He shifted to one hip and tilted his head before she realized what he was doing.  “Are you staring at my backside?” 

“Of course.” 

She sighed and straightened, tossing the clams into the basket.  “You are infuriating.” A little smile belied her words, however, and Din was stepping closer to her when Grogu squawked in pain.   

Marathel was closer, and she plucked Grogu out of the water with one hand and a sand flea out of the sand with the other.  She held it in her palm before Grogu, saying, “Nasty, mean, sand flea!  Show me how you throw it, Grogu.” Grogu grunted and the sand flea flew from her hand, skipping across the water’s surface and far out of sight.  Marathel laughed.  “Show-off.” She looked at Grogu’s foot where he had been pinched by the sand flea.   “So brave in the face of mortal danger!  But I think you’ll live, little one.” She nuzzled his nose and began to hum her tune again, swaying back and forth, twirling in big circles in the water.  As she passed by the Bounty Hunter, he slipped his arm around her waist and joined her in her lazy spins, which made Marathel laugh.  The basket tether entangled around their legs, pulling them tightly against each other.   Din lifted his other hand to her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb, leaning down to keldabe kiss her on her forehead.   

After a few more slow spins, he said, “Come with me.” 

Marathel stopped moving and pulled back to look at him.  “What do you mean?” 

“Come with me.  Don’t go to the Hold, forget the Aurodium.  Just come with me and leave this planet.” 

Her brow furrowed.  “No … No!  You have to get those coins.  The Elders have no use for them!” She tried to push herself away from the Bounty Hunter, but the basket tether was tangled around both of them.  “You must receive that reward, you are bound to take it to your people, for the foundlings, for ransoming your beskar!  Otherwise … it’s all pointless.” 

Din felt his stomach drop.  “What is pointless, Marathel?” 

“I … you have your path you must follow.  I have mine.  Your path is to take the reward and help your people.  And I remain here.” 

“Then I will come ba …” 

“NO.  Don’t say it … don’t make that kind of promise to me.”  She untied the tether from Grogu’s wrist and gave him to the Bounty Hunter as she untangled the line from their legs.  “You won’t be able to keep that promise.  I will be …” She gestured vaguely, her back to him.  “I will be nowhere,” she said, indicating the land around her. “I am far, far away from anywhere you need to be; I would be nothing but a burden to you, a woman who is useless and ignorant of everything you know so well.  You have to protect Grogu, be with your people, follow your Creed.  This is the way, yes?” 

“This is the way,” Din responded automatically.

“Then we understand each other,” said Marathel as she picked up the basket.  “You take me to the Hold with the Dahl eggs, you get your reward, and you leave.” 

“And happens to you in that Hold, Marathel?” 

“Nothing.  I only deliver eggs.”  Marathel began to walk back up the sandy flat to the path. 

“Stop lying to me, Marathel.  Horrible things happen to the women there.  The children, too.”  He followed her, placing Grogu in the carry bag over his shoulder, quickly stripping his wet socks and pulling his boots on.  Hurrying to catch up with her, Din demanded, “Tell me why you have a brand on your leg.” 

Marathel misstepped just enough to prove to Din he’d touched a nerve, then carried on walking.  “You are mistaken.  I have no brand.” 

“Yes, you do.  It’s on your inner thigh.  And it’s been there since you were a small child.” 

She whirled around to face him.  “That is a scar from when I was jumping over rows in the Hold garden, and I fell on a stake.  And I was not aware that you were … studying my body so closely.” She turned back to continue down the path.  “When were you doing that?  Before or after you begged my permission to touch me?  With your helmet that lets you see in the dark?”

“Marathel …” 

“You were quite eager to have me those other times.” 

“Those other times were not exactly consensual, Marathel.” 

“I didn’t hear you complaining.” 

Din sighed. “You didn’t consent. Your bond with the Dahls forced your actions.”  Marathel continued to walk before him on the path.   “Are you angry with me again, mesh’la?” 

“I don’t know.  Are you staring at my backside again?” 

“Of course.”  Marathel scowled at him over her shoulder.  “What is a Whyn, Marathel?” 

“Frith save us,” she muttered. “A Whyn is … it’s nothing more than a woman who is come of an age that she can be matched to a man.  That’s it.” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“I can’t help that.  And I also don’t understand your religion.” 

“I don’t expect you to.” 

 “I suppose that’s good, then.” Marathel stopped on the path and turned to the Bounty Hunter. “Why are we even arguing?” 

Din shifted to one hip and crossed his arms.  “Lucky for you we are not at the covert.  Arguments there are usually fought until first blood.” 

“It is good we did not follow your example in the Hold.” 

“You didn’t argue with anyone?” 

Marathel started back down the path. “We had enough to be worried about.” 

“Marathel,” said Din, reaching for her arm, stopping her.  “What happens tomorrow?” 

“As I said.  You take me to the Hold, I deliver the eggs, you get the reward, and you leave.” 

Din put his hands on her jaw, forcing her to keep eye contact with him.  “What happens to you?” 

Marathel put her hands over his, trying to remove them from her face, but he held fast.  “Nothing happens to me.”  Din shook his head in disbelief.  “They may …” She swallowed and averted her eyes.  “They may want me to stay close, for the hatching, to make sure bonds happen.  That is it, that is all. I have no other use there.” Not anymore. 

Din did not believe her, but he also knew that she would not tell him the truth.  He released her, and she headed back down the path towards the hut.  Grogu took hold of Din’s thumb, and they looked at each other.  Grogu’s face told Din he didn’t believe Marathel either. 

Finally, back at the hut, Marathel set the basket of clams in the stream, placing rocks in the basket to weigh it down.  She climbed up into the hut and sat on the counter to wash her hands and feet in the sink.  Din stepped up after her.  “Give me those wet socks, Bounty Hunter, I will wash them.  I repaired your other clothing.  If you will change, I will wash and repair what you are wearing.” 

“Grogu needs a bath as well.” 

“I can do that.  I have some new clothes for him.  I’ll take him; you can bring your things to the washtub out back.” Din handed Grogu off to Marathel. Stepping off the platform again, she said, “Your clothes are on the table, Bounty Hunter.  I will give you privacy.”  She disappeared behind the hut. Din followed her example and sat on the counter to wash his feet in the sink, thinking to himself he had lied to her as well … feet were not exactly off-limits: he just thought his feet were ugly.   

Once his feet were clean of sand, and his boots shaken out, Din took his stack of clean laundry behind his curtains.  He looked over the topmost jacket and found that Marathel had indeed repaired his clothing.  Every seam was tight, every rip sewn closed with extra reinforcement. The thread she used was almost an exact match to the fabric of his flight suits, and he had not noticed it before, but the thread matched the fabric of the curtains that surrounded him.  Even the fabric of the bed tick he stood on was the same color.  And then he saw, inside the jacket, on the inner pocket that would be over his heart, he saw his signet, the Mudhorn, carefully embroidered in the same thread, almost invisible.   

He removed his glove with his teeth so that he could touch with his fingertips the threads that she had placed there.  He pulled up his helmet and pressed his lips against her handiwork, overwhelmed by even this small gesture of hers. 

“Bounty Hunter?” Marathel called. 

Din snapped out of his reverie.  “Yes?” 

“Is the clothing repaired to your satisfaction?” 

“Yes, yes, it is … I’ll be just a moment.”  

Behind the hut, Marathel frowned.  She could have sworn that his voice was different, somehow, not as … flat.  She shook her head and returned her focus to the little child.  “I know, my little Godynferth, two baths in as many days is such an insult.  So is getting pinched by a sand flea.”  She vigorously soaped up Grogu, who squirmed and giggled, and then hiccuped a soap bubble, making Marathel giggle as well. She massaged both of his sweet ears, and Grogu purred.  She bent down to look into his lovely eyes.  “I am going to miss you so much, my little one.  Thank you for letting me be your mam for a little while.  Thank you for letting me borrow you from your da,” she whispered. Grogu reached up to touch her cheek, and his tiny hand caught the tears there, and she felt a warmth where her tears had been. She kissed his head, and then laughed as she managed to sniff some soap suds up her nose.   

Din came around the corner just then to see Marathel laughing and choking on the soap suds in her nose, and Grogu hiccuping another soap bubble.  “Problems?” 

Marathel sneezed.  “No, just …” she sneezed again.  “Soap up my nose.” She sniffled and scrubbed her nose with her hand. 

Din sighed and rinsed off Grogu, who continued to hiccup.  “A hot mess, both of you.  C’mere, kid,” he said, lifting the boy out and wrapping him in a towel.  “You said you had new clothes for him?” 

Marathel held up her finger, her face contorted, and then she sneezed again, the loudest one yet. “Frith, that one felt good.” 

“Try that again, Marathel, I don’t think they heard you on Nevarro.”  She laughed, and Grogu hiccuped again.  “I don’t know how to get rid of hiccups, little guy, I’m sorry.” 

“Just rub his back, Bounty Hunter.  Give him a couple little thumps; he’ll be fine.”  She took the Bounty Hunter’s flight suit and wet socks and dumped them into the washtub while he bounced the boy and tapped on his back.  “Oh, for the love of Frith, you are far too timid with him.”  She took Grogu back and swung the boy upside down and then up, catching him roughly and giving him a solid thump on his back.  Grogu made one last belching hiccup and then squealed, wanting more horseplay.  “There.  All better.”  Marathel plunked Grogu back on Din’s arm, then deftly fed his little legs into a pair of soft knitted underwear with a smocked waist.  Before Grogu could squeak, she grabbed both his arms and flipped a little tan-colored shirt over his head.  Next, Marathel took Grogu and set him on his feet on the bench, wrapping him in a cunning overall type of dark grey pants that had shoulder straps.  The pant legs were open on the sides, much like a backwards apron, but she ran the fabric through his legs, tying the whole affair around his waist.  Grogu was fully dressed in less than half a minute.  Din generally had to both wheedle and coerce the kid to wear any damn thing, and it often took forever. 

Din crossed his arms.  “Again, I’m impressed.  That might have taken me half the afternoon.” 

Marathel shrugged and fastened the little ties at Grogu’s ankles to hold the pants’ legs closed.  “Sometimes you just have to show them who’s boss.  Especially when you’re trying to dress over a dozen little squirmy boys by yourself.”

“What are these — pants things you’ve got on him?” 

“We always just called them jump-ups; they are easy to make and put on little ones.  Easy access, too, for the necessary.” 

Din realized that everything Grogu was wearing was new.  He looked at the stack of tiny clothing; there were several more items that he had not seen before.  “When did you make all this, Marathel?” 

Marathel started to agitate the laundry in the tub. “Yesterday and last night.  Early this morning.” 

“Did you not sleep at all?” 

“I had much to do.  There will be time to sleep later.” 

Din lifted Grogu — who seemed quite taken with his new clothing — into his arms.  On the hem of the right shirtsleeve, Din saw a tiny embroidered Mudhorn.   Again, Din felt overwhelmed by what this woman was willing to do for a man and a little boy she only met a few days ago.  “Thank you, mesh’la … thank you for what you have done for us.” 

“It was nothing, Bounty Hunter.” 

“No, cyar’e … you have shown us such a great kindness.”  Din reached for Marathel, turning her away from the washtub.  He cupped her jaw with his free hand before wrapping his arm around her and pulling her against him, Grogu tucked between them.  It took her a while, but she embraced him back, tucking her face against his neck, their heights almost equal, and Din had never experienced such a perfect fit against him before. 

She is so soft. 

He is so strong. 

I wish I could hold her forever. 

I must ask him before I lose my nerve. 

“If … if I …” Marathel stammered, her forehead against the Bounty Hunter’s throat. 

“If you what, mesh’la?” 

“If I … give myself to you, fully as myself, for tonight … would you remove your helmet, so that I may have a memory of your face?” 

Din was not surprised that she asked, only that it took this long for her to do so.  “You know I cannot, Marathel.  My Creed forbids it.” 

“Not even … not even in the case of affection?” 

Din sighed.  There were ways around the helmet, he knew.  But blindfolding her, forcing her to face away from him – especially since he would be leaving her behind -- seemed as tawdry as how he only bared just what was necessary for a quick bang in a brothel.  And Marathel deserved better.  So, there was only one answer he could give while he still possessed a thimbleful of honor.  “If there were someone for whom my affection was stronger than my devotion to the Creed, then yes, I would. But …”  

But that person is not you, Marathel, she thought.  She had expected a rejection such as this, and it did not devastate her as much as she had anticipated; she only felt a weariness that was all too familiar to her.  Yes, he had been putting his hands on her for the past few days, holding her, caressing her, but not for any kind of fondness, but only as a preamble for him to use her as he wished, while maintaining his anonymity.  Even his request for her to come with him when he left was nothing more than a solicitation for her to be his concubine.  She had known better than to ask, but she had held out hope that for once, just once in this miserable life of hers, that she could ask for more than what she apparently deserved. 

She pulled away from Din, but Grogu held on to her tunic.  She looked down at the boy.  “Forgive me for asking such a thing in front of the child.  It was cruel of me to ask you to break your Creed.  Of course, that honor should be bestowed on the one you love best … and that should be Grogu.  Your son.”  Marathel peeled Grogu’s little fingers off her tunic, turned away, and went back to turning the paddle in the washtub to clean the Bounty Hunter’s clothing. 

“Marathel, I …” 

“Would you be so kind to pull the basket of clams out of the stream?  They should have spit out all the salt and sand by now.  Chuck out the ones that didn’t open.  They are bad and shouldn’t be eaten.” 

Din stood there a while, knowing that he’d not handled that well, limited as he was to what he could do within the rules of his Creed.  And now he’d been dismissed.  “Of course,” he said, and headed back around the corner of the hut, Grogu reaching for Marathel over Din’s shoulder.  Marathel managed to keep her tears in until the Bounty Hunter was out of sight, and then she quietly sobbed into her hands. 

Too much had passed between them to allow them to ignore each other.  Marathel was civil and formal, with vague smiles for the Bounty Hunter and loving cuddles for Grogu.   For dinner she made a fragrant and spicy clam stew that she served over cooked grains with the ubiquitous bread and soft cheese.  Din held the bowl in his hands as he sat behind the dark curtains, watching Marathel and Grogu play in the yard.  The stew smelled delicious.  The bread, of course, was Marathel’s bread, so Din naturally inhaled it first.  The only problem was … Din hated clams.  But he decided he would eat every last one of the slimy fuckers in this bowl before he hurt Marathel’s feelings again.  Making her mad enough to chuck eggs at him was one thing, but he’d heard her crying behind the hut and Grogu had looked at him with all the reproach a fifty-odd-year-old toddler could.

Marathel and Grogu were playing their running game, the rules for which escaped Din.  Sometimes they hopped on one foot, sometimes they had to walk backwards, and sometimes Marathel pretended she had no bones and lay there like a lump while Grogu tried to move her.  Din was no good at dissembling, telling stories, or making up running games.  At that moment, Marathel was lying on her back, balancing Grogu on her upraised feet.  Her loose pant legs slid down to her hips, exposing her long legs, still sporting bruises.  Grogu stood up on one of her feet, and balanced there, motionless, for an impossibly long time, as stones began to rise all around them.  Din could feel the air crackle with power as he watched Grogu harness more of the Force.  Slowly, the stones returned to the ground, and Grogu lost his balance on Marathel’s feet.  He tumbled into her arms as she sat up and praised the boy.  They both stood up and the running game began again, this time ducking in and out of the tall grass.  Din finished the stew with a grimace.  It was spicy and had wonderful flavor, but those clams left a bad taste in Din’s mouth.  He hoped he wouldn’t be revisiting them later.  He replaced his helmet and stepped out to locate Marathel and Grogu. 

Just then, the two came tearing out of the grass, Marathel carrying a pile of small sticks, Grogu holding a stick like a spear.  As they passed Din, Marathel called out, “You’re just in time for another round of poosticks, Bounty Hunter!” 

“Poosticks?” 

“The floating stick race, of course, you silly gochgoch!”  They bounded up into the hut, finding the yarn and tying the yarn around their respective sticks.  “I’ll pick a good one out for you, Bounty Hunter,” called Marathel.   

“Okay,” Din called back as he felt his stomach turn over.  Oh, those clams were already rebelling against him.  Looking for an escape, he dashed into the tall grass, dropped to his knees, and ripped off his helmet just in time to hurl his dinner across four feet.  He didn’t think Marathel had noticed, or heard, but then he heard her feet hitting the ground as she ran across the yard to the edge of the tall grass. 

“Bounty Hunter?  Are you all right?” 

Din dry heaved, and called out, “Yes.” 

“But you’re throwing up,” said Marathel, noticing that his voice was lacking that flat quality again, same as the voice she had heard earlier.   

“It … I’m sorry, it was the clams.” 

“The clams?” 

“I hate clams.  They make me sick.”  Din sat down and tucked his head between his knees.  He hated throwing up as much as he hated seeing others vomit.  He took a couple of deep breaths before he realized that Marathel was laughing.  “Yes, go ahead, laugh.” 

“I’m so sorry … but why didn’t you just say you hated clams?  I would have made something else.” 

“I didn’t want to be a bother.” 

“Foolish pride, Bounty Hunter, and now I have to live with the fact that my cooking made you sick.”  Her tone was more amused than vexed, however.  “Are you feeling any better?” 

Din lifted his head from between his knees, and Marathel just caught the top of his head moving in the tall grass, and she noticed his brown hair.  He has brown hair.  Brown hair and brown eyes and tanned skin.  It was a pretty brown too, brown as the shells of the tree nuts she liked to make a dense flour out of for cookies.  “I’m fine.  I’ll be a few minutes.” 

“I’ll make you a cup of tea to help settle your stomach.  I can also make some broth for you.” 

“Please don’t make a fuss.” 

“Toast?” 

“Yes, please.” 

“Thought so.”  Marathel went back to the hut, where Grogu was levitating the little sticks.  Din took another breath and spit a couple times before putting his helmet on again.  On a good day, breathing his own exhales was tolerable, but having to breathe in recycled clams was not enjoyable in the least.  He stood up unsteadily and went back to the hut, straight into his curtained cubicle, and stripped off the helmet again.  He laid down on the bed tick, put his arm over his eyes and felt his stomach rumble.  After a few minutes, he heard something sliding on the floor.  He looked over to see a tray sliding under a curtain.  “I’ve closed my eyes, Bounty Hunter, I’m not peeking, I promise.”  On the tray was a mug of weak tea, another mug filled with cool water, a clean cloth, and a plate with toast soldiers and crackers. 

“Thank you, mesh’la.” 

“You’re welcome, ma’mwsh ha’laa.”  Din chuckled.  “Is your helmet off, Bounty Hunter?” 

“Yes, it is.” 

“So that’s what your voice sounds like?” 

Din was not accustomed to hearing his voice outside his helmet, and he wasn’t fond of his voice in the helmet.  “Yes, it is.” 

Marathel was quiet for a moment.  “Your voice is very nice.”  She collected Grogu and went back to play in the yard for a while as it began to get dark.  Din rested until his stomach decided to calm down, sipping the tea, nibbling the crackers, watching the woman and the boy gambol about the yard, just like the first day they arrived.  Six days.  Six days on a hunt normally would have pissed the living shab out of him ten times over, but he would have been willing to wait here sixteen days.  Sixty.  Anything to extend the time he could remain here in this little hut with Marathel and this idyllic life.  Din put on his helmet and stepped back out in time to find Marathel coming back to the hut, holding a sleepy Grogu.  “Feeling better?” 

“Yes, thank you.” 

“I truly am sorry about the clams.” 

“You didn’t know,” said the Bounty Hunter.   

“No, I didn’t, because a certain Bounty Hunter is a twmffod.”  Marathel set Grogu down on the table and deftly undressed him from the shirt and overalls and into a soft-looking set of pants and shirt to sleep in, something Din never bothered with. 

Din tilted his helmet.  “I’m assuming a twmffod is similar to an osi’kovid?” 

“I suspect so.”  Marathel lifted Grogu and put him into his pram.  She gave him a goodnight kiss, and stroked his ear while Din whispered his nightly Mando’a to the boy before snapping the lid closed.  “What is it that you say to him each night?” 

“It roughly translates to sleep, little soldier, in the morning we will battle and draw first blood.” 

“How charming.”  Marathel gently placed her hand on his arm between his pauldron and elbow.  “You are feeling better, yes?” 

“Yes, thank you, mesh’la.”  He lifted his hand and stroked her cheek with his gloved finger.  “I’m sorry … sorry I can’t give you what you have asked of me.”  What you deserve. 

Marathel dropped her chin and slid her hands up her sleeves, a move Din hadn’t seen her make in days.  “It is nothing, Bounty Hunter.  I was in the wrong for making such a suggestion.” 

Din slid his hands down her arms and drew her hands out of her sleeves.  “Would you, though … would you allow me to lay next to you again tonight, and let me hold you?”  Marathel’s eyes remained downcast.  “I promise you, Marathel, on the honor of my people, I will only hold you.  Nothing else.”   

Marathel looked up at the Bounty Hunter’s face, furrowing her brow, wishing that she could see some expression that matched what was in his voice.  He had brown hair; he had brown eyes, but this knowledge did not alter the dark visor set in the middle of an expanse of metal.  She nodded and said, “Okay.” 

Din stepped back, pulling gently on her hands, asking wordlessly for her to follow him to her bed.  Marathel followed, and Din pulled aside the curtains and handed her through, and then got down to one knee to assist her down to the bed.  He lay beside her on his side, Marathel on her back, and he slipped his arm underneath her head, reaching his other arm across her middle, his hand resting on her ribs.  “My mesh’la, my cyar’e,” he whispered. 

Marathel did not respond.  She lifted her hand to hold the Bounty Hunter’s gloved hand that lay on her.  She felt cold and alone.  He had pretty words, but they were spoken from behind a wall of  protective fabric, leather and metal.  His hands were strong and warm, but they were only revealed to her when he wished to fondle her skin.  She offered him everything she had, which was little to be proud of, being plain, fat, and dumb, with only the request that he allow her all that he had as well, to be equals, but he denied her. But, being a man, that was his privilege, after all. 

You are less than, Marathel, you always will be. 

But not for much longer. 

Marathel lay still, listening to the Bounty Hunter's even breathing while she waited for him to fall asleep. 

You Were Marked: Next Chapter

[slowpoke272]

“when you finish saving the world” by jesse eisenberg

finished: july 13, 2023

i’m not sure what brought me to add this audiobook to my queue, to be honest. i guess i do like jesse eisenberg, and i was interested to see what he had to comment on society, but this was pretty much exactly what i thought it would be. jesse seems kinda dorky but with good intent and subpar execution, which was reflected in this tale. this was written as an audiobook first and then was adapted in film in 2022. i had never heard of the movie but i would give it a chance, i guess, if it were free and i had extra time to kill. i would be interested to see what the whole point of the story was, from a cinematic perspective, and it appears that the film relies heavily on ziggy. is the dad even in the film?

there are some really solid elements here and some really great ideas sprinkled in an otherwise completely forgettable and pointless story. i’m not sure if story is even really fitting here. i don’t mean to be brutal but i honestly am not sure of the point of this whole thing was. on one hand, i deeply enjoy getting things out of chronological order, i like having numerous narratives/perspectives, but ultimately none of the characters had me rooting for them or anything they stood for. maybe ziggy.

it starts off with a disconnected father, who just seems uninterested in everything except his work and burying himself in technical things, or something. he doesn’t seem to have any real identity or hobbies even. at least an alcoholic asshole father would have some personality. it’s hard to feel any sympathy for this man because he just seems to be whining about why his life is the way it is when he is entirely not a victim and living out the life he chose. he also clearly doesn’t want to be a father, we get that loud and clear. talking as if to a therapist is also super cheesy, and i get what eisenberg was going after here, but it just came off so manufactured to me. i’m sorry jesse but good job creating a boring character nobody cares about.

next, we get the son’s perspective, ziggy. i think my favorite parts were within ziggy’s “sessions,” which are essentially his punishment for hitting a kid at school. ziggy shares some common coming of age angst, and some of it is a big over-the-top, but at least it’s relatable. ziggy gets really whiny and overuses the “futuristic” slang and we’re generally just beat to death with the fact that this is taking place in the distant future. jesse, my man. are we on the same planet? are we in the same society? i mean, 2032 is a bit away but it’s not that far away, my dude. haven’t we learned anything from back to the future, the jetsons, and other futuristic tropes? we’re just not that smart or cohesive as a society to have things like robotic therapy and universal basic income. i would love for everyone to make a living wage and to be receiving therapy, but there is no way any of this could be a reality by 2032. ziggy postulates the kind of rhetoric that feels unfinished and unrealistic to a liberal like me but is likely to disappoint and otherwise “trigger” anyone who doesn’t think like a liberal... and for what purpose, i’m not sure. isn’t this supposed to be about the characters and their relationship with one another? it feels like ziggy’s future is supposed to be a character on its own. when ziggy’s crush challenges him regarding morality and capitalism, then it feels like we might be getting somewhere, but ultimately it doesn’t go anywhere and this is the last of the family as we know it. ziggy complains about his parents but we don’t hear from them currently and we have no idea if they’re even still together or have worked things out. i can understand trying to keep the topics separate with the characters, but again i just don’t think this was executed well enough and it just feels unfinished.

then, finally, we get rachel. this woman we’ve heard so much about and is such a humanitarian, so much that it actually bothers her teenage son down the road. she’s also been incredibly hurt by the loss of her first love, and this becomes the focal point of rachel’s tapes, which are voice messages to her lover who is serving overseas in the military. like nathan and ziggy, rachel starts off manageable but then becomes like an exaggerated caricature and it’s borderline cringe. she starts off so enthusiastic about school and life, but in months’/a semesters’ time, suddenly becomes completely distant from her friend group, studies, and is no longer interested in studying psychology at all. don’t get me wrong, this sort of thing does happen all the time in higher education, especially those that whisk themselves away to a new place and end up biting off more than they can chew, and it can happen that fast but... idk. rachel just seems really, really naïve. her last message she has a plan that doesn’t seem very mature or realistic and we never get to hear what exactly happened to her beloved and how she coped with it. we also don’t know how she met nathan and she’s so enamored with her current dude that it seems pretty sad to think back on how much nathan adores her. we don’t get to hear from her as a mother or as a wife so it’s kind of just like hearing someone’s thoughts before the most traumatic thing happens to them... but no resolution. also, rachel becomes super solemn in her last entry and pivots to becoming anti-education, pro-war, pro-military, and it just feels very unbelievable that this all happened in one academic year. was rachel on qan*n all year?

i should state that i really do like the cast of jesse eisenberg, finn wolfhard, and kaitlyn dever so i definitely wanted to like this for them... but honestly i think the roles were really limiting for all three of them, though at least finn is just playing a whiny teenager. i wish there was some point or some depth or something to grab onto here at all, but it feels like this was made for a middle school level pupil at best, to illustrate how three people have three different sets of morals, values, and motivations. i’m just not really sure what the point of any of this was.

well, that’s over. next.

rating: 4/10 experienced some good qualities and moments in an otherwise forgettable tale, would not recommend

[twilight-orchid]

How the Undatebales React After A Fight

Thank you to my friendo @wholelottatiffy ​ who helped me brainstorm this one. I’m only on chapter 19 at the moment, so I haven’t interacted with anyone but Diavolo much. And thank you to everyone who wanted a follow up to my previous post, I did not expect that. Y’all are super sweet!

tw: Fighting (a bit more in depth than my first post), description of panic attack, minor name calling, insecurity, depression, angst with resolution.

Diavolo:

Diavolo doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

To start, we need to talk about how the argument unfolds.

He’s not used to arguing. 

He’s Lord Diavolo, Prince of The Devildom, head of the RAD student council. No one defys him on anything.

So you raising your voice at him, trying to get him to see your way,

It was very overwhelming.

He tried to reason calmly with you at first, but he felt cornered. 

When fight or flight kicked in, his body chose fight.

His wings burst open in all their glory as he screamed back, his towering frame far more intimidating than yours.

The blind rage is slapped out of him when he sees your terrified face.

If you’re at the castle, he’ll order you to leave if you haven’t already. Anywhere else, he’ll turn and leave without a word. 

He wants to put distance between you both for fear of making things worse.

He absolutely cannot believe he just blew up at you. He would have never thought he'd raise his voice at his partner regardless of the situation.

He can’t shake the image of you flinching from him from his mind.

Now, being the prince of hell certainty has it’s perks; He has power, influence, and everything he could want.

But the one thing he wants the most seems to evade him no matter what: a friend.

A real friend. 

He has Barbatos and Lucifer, but it’s Barbatos’ job to accompany the prince, and Lucifer is bound to Diavolo whether he likes the future king or not.

MC was the first person who chooses to be with and around him for no other reason than the fact that they love him.

And now he’s terrified them. Gotten in their face and screamed at them.

He assumes he’s permanently driven you away.

As soon as you leave or he gets home, he rushes to find Barbatos. To explain what happened and hope his butler would know what to do.

He’ll text Lucifer and ask him to check on you as well.

He just feels lost. 

He wanders the palace aimlessly and he can’t focus on his work without his thoughts drifting to you.

He doesn’t feel like going to school or even getting out of bed. He doesn’t want to speak to anyone - to put on a happy face and pretend his world isn’t shaking.

Yet, a prince has his responsibilities. He will go about his normal public appearances as usual, smile and laugh and carry on, but it’s a mask.

Those close to him clearly notice the prince isn’t himself.

After school he visits the spots that you two visit together frequently.  

Anything to make him feel as if you are still at his side.

If you don’t sleep in his bed that night, he’ll take it as proof that he was right and that you don’t want to be with him anymore.

He doesn’t sleep that night. He clutches your pillow that still smells of you and just bawls. 

He will tell Barbatos he feels unwell the next morning and to postpone his obligations for the day.

This prompts Barbatos to seek you out and see if he can help resolve the issue.

Barbatos tries to stay out of your relationship as he doesn't feel it's his business, but his job is to assist Diabolo in any way necessary. And right now, he needs you more than anything.

If you sleep at his side still, it will be a glimmer a hope. That all may not be lost. 

He’ll give you you space that night. He’ll walk around you on eggshells but always watch you from the corner of his eye to gauge the temperature.

He avoids your gaze, stays on the other side of the room as you prepare for bed, and as much as it kills him, doesn’t hug you or kiss you goodnight.

He spends the night staring at your sleeping face and making silent promises that, if you forgive him, he will never let this happen again.

He thinks of how to apologize. What he could say, what he could do. 

Ultimately though, it feels like everything he could think of is too little of an apology. 

He pretends to be asleep when he sees you stir and decides to let you choose if you want to forgive him on your own.

You will have to approach him first. 

He thinks losing his temper with you was unacceptable and feels like he has no right to ask for your forgiveness.

Worse, he’s terrified of not being given forgiveness.

Thus, I feel a fight with Diavolo will take as long as you let it. He’s willing to suffer as long as you need him to.

Barbatos:

Barbatos doesn’t argue. He sits quietly and watches you, his responses calm but absolute.

He’s no pushover, he will defend his side, but he’s not going to enter a screaming match. It’s just not him.

You know you’ve really gotten under his skin when he offers a tight, forcefully pleasant smile.

He finally shuts down the conflict with "It's your right to feel that way just as it's mine to disagree." And leave it at that.

Post argument, he will avoid you and lock his feelings about the fight inside.

He tells himself he doesn’t have time to deal with the terrible feeling clawing at his heart and takes to his duties as an escape.

If you sleep in another room, he realizes that this isn’t a minor disagreement and he’s suddenly very distressed.

His instinct is to use his future vision. 

To scour the timelines and see how the different versions of himself handle it and to replicate the one with the most desirable outcome.

However, he stops himself. He feels it isn’t fair to you. 

You have a right to be upset about things and he doesn’t want to manipulate the situation, and by extension, you.

Thus, he must find another way to cope.

He’s always a devoted butler, but it’s not his whole life. 

He takes time for himself throughout the day and in the evenings. Unless Diavolo needs him, nights are usually his to do with as he wants.

Now, however, his identity becomes Diavolo’s butler. 

He’s constantly asking for extra work and hovering more than usual around the young lord in hopes of being given a task. 

Diavolo finds it odd and asks about it, but he brushes it off. This isn’t anyone else’s business, least of all his employer’s.

Even though Barbatos won’t tell him, Diavolo can clearly tell his friend is off.

In hopes of giving him something to distract himself with, Diavolo requests hellfire mushroom rolled cigar cookies and Barbatos jumps on the opportunity. 

Baking has always been his escape as well as his happy place. Diavolo’s favorite isn’t easy to make, so he looked forward to the task.

And it worked. Keeping track of the ingredients, the steps, and the technique required was enough to occupy his mind.

But then it was time to wait for it to bake. 

He suddenly feels trapped in the suffocating silence of the kitchen.

His mind replays the argument on repeat as he falls down a rabbit hole of what ifs.

He loves you more than anything and the last thing he could ever want is for you to be mad at him.

No, the worst thing would to no longer be able to call you his.

Suddenly, he becomes aware of the sharp scent of burnt food.

He jumps up and runs to the oven. He’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t noticed the timer go off.

He pulls the blackened desert out, puts the cookie sheet on the stove top, and just stares at the burnt cookies.

His sight blurs and a soft sob escapes from the prison he’s created in his heart.

He wasn’t crying because he burnt the cookies, but because they were a visual representation of everything he’s been trying to suppress.

Once he collects himself, he knows he can’t continue like this. 

He doesn’t want to invade your space in case you’re still mad, but he needs a resolution.

He’ll send a quick text and silently begs you to respond. 

“MC, I understand if you are still upset with me, but would you be willing to talk though it? I look forward to hearing from you.”

If you still sleep with him that night, it is a great weight off of his shoulders. 

He hopes it means that it will be easier to make up with you and that you aren’t too mad.

When you wake up, he will be watching you like he has all night with a small, tired smile. 

He’ll put on your favorite tea as you get ready for the day then asks if you’d be willing to talk things over.

Because of how it affects both his job and himself, a fight with Barbados will not last long. He’ll seek a resolution by one, maybe two days tops.

Solomon: 

Lucifer may be the avatar of pride, but Solomon can certainly give the demon a run for his money.

In the moment of a particularly heated argument, he absolutely will not admit he’s wrong. 

In fact, he really doesn’t consider it a possibility.

There’s no point in trying to get him to see your side until things have calmed down. It’s like talking to a brick wall.

He won’t yell, but he gets a pissy, condescending tone and almost talks down to you.

If you really push his buttons, his patience with this “useless” argument runs out.

“Oh please, listen to yourself! You’re acting like a dull child!”

Freezes as soon as it leaves his mouth.

He didn’t mean to say that.

He opens his mouth to apologize immediately, but upon seeing your hurt reaction he becomes flustered and can’t get the words out.

He’ll simply turn and leave. 

He’s absolutely furious with himself. 

Solomon is old and wise. He’s seen many things, been many places, and he knows many things.

Sometimes though, he needs a reminder that he doesn’t know everything.

Even if he still feels he was right, he knows name-calling is unacceptable.

In fact, he doesn’t miss the irony that he was the one being childish. 

His self-fury is replaced by overwhelming worry if you sleep in another room that night.

Of all the treasures he’s come across, none were as precious as you. 

He can’t stand the thought of losing you because of his thoughtlessness.

For once, he feels like an idiot.

He locks himself in his study that night and brainstorms on how to make it up to you.

He decides to approach you in the morning at RAD. He’s terrified that you think he actually meant the insult and wants to clear the air as soon as possible.

He’s afraid of you taking anything less than his highest praise to heart or for you to think that he views you as below himself. 

The thought of how he must have made you feel makes him sick to his stomach.

The more he thinks about it, the more his body demands that he act. 

While he has many virtues, patience is not high on his list. 

Assuming you returned to The House of Lamentation that night, he’ll text Asmo to explain what happened and asks if he’d let him in first thing in the morning.

Thus, when you leave to head for breakfast, be careful not to trip over your sorcerer who’s seated against the wall outside of your room.

He scrambles to his feet, his hair and clothes a mess and bags heavy under his eyes.

“MC! Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I just- *sighs* I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that. Would you be willing to discuss the matter again? The right way this time.”

If you do sleep with him, he’s at least relieved that you don’t seem like you plan to leave him.

Once again, however, he wants to clear the air as soon as he can.

You’ll both be sitting in silence as you get ready for bed. He’s clearly lost in thought, his eyes focused unblinking on his feet and any movements slow and disjointed.

He's not sure how to apologize, if it's too soon, and is afraid to make things worse if it's not an appropriate time.

However, seeing you move about the room he decides to risk it so he doesn't risk losing you.

Suddenly, he stands up straight and locks eyes with you.

“MC, we don’t have to talk about the fight tonight, but I need you to know that I didn’t mean what I said. I’m sorry.”

It’s up to you if you want to forgive him immediately, but he will at least apologize for the insult as soon as he gathers his thoughts.

Simeon:

If you yell at him, Simeon is just gonna sit there stunned

Your relationship is usually as laid back as he is, so he doesn't know what to do with you blowing up at him.

All he knows it that this is bad and he needs to find a way to make you happy again. 

The thought of losing you takes precedence over everything and, though he will not sway to your side just because you’re upset, the argument loses any worth it had to him.

He’ll go to Solomon almost immediately in hopes your fellow human might know better about how arguments are resolved between human couples.

He becomes very distressed when Solomon says everyone handles it differently. He then asks what he should to make up with you specifically.

He doesn't have a defined emotion right now, he's just on edge. He wants to gather information first and foremost so he can figure out what to do from there.

He’s just a walking ball of anxiety and those close to the angel even become concerned. No one has seen him like this before.

If you decide to sleep in another room, the anxiety just takes over. 

His chest feels like fiery chains are crushing his ribs, he can hear his heart is hammering in his head, and his body begins to shake as if he were buried in an avalanche.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying as he struggles to breathe.

Solomon had expected something like this may happen so he made sure to be nearby to help coach him though it.

Once he’s calmed down, Solomon urges him to talk to you as soon as possible.

Simeon isn't sure though. True, he wasn't in a good place, but he didn't want to push you if you weren't ready to talk.

He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t feel like he can think let alone coherently tell you how he feels.

He begins to feel overwhelmed again and decides to try writing down his thoughts in hopes of it helping him sort through the tsunami of emotions consuming him.

While it doesn't completely calm him down, it does help.

He stares down at the messy, tear blotted papee and has an idea.

The next morning you should expect to find a hand-written letter slipped under you door.

The letter is long and and rambling. His usually pristine handwriting is as shaky as his hands were when writing it.

It's not as dense and heartbroken as his original one, but the further it goes the more desperate his words become.

He writes about how much you mean to him and apologizes for allowing things to get that intense. He writes that he loves you and doesn’t want to lose you. 

He reminisces about his favorite memories of you two together more than once.

Finally, that no disagreement you two could ever have is more importantly to him than being with you.

It's really just a collection of everything sitting on his heart at the moment.

That day at RAD he’ll watch you from the sidelines and pray you approach him about the letter so you two can work things out.

If you still sleep in his bed, he’ll be very conflicted about if he should approach you yet. 

He’s afraid of making it worse if you’re still mad.

However, Simeon is an open book when it comes to his emotions so you will absolutely be able to tell that he’s freaking out.

So please, save the man a terrible night and talk it though with him.

He wants you to not be angry anymore, but even if you’re still upset just having concrete information to cling to will help him immensely. 

He’s thinking of all the worst case scenarios and needs reassurance that the relationship isn’t over.

Simeon will try to make up within a day, so however long it lasts after that is up to you.

Luke (MC is his best friend):

Luke will be very, very distressed. 

You’re his best friend aside from Simeon. Friends don’t fight like this, right?

Wait, so if you’re fighting with him, does that mean you’re not his friend anymore???

As soon as the thought enters his mind, he decides that must be the case. 

Real friends don’t fight with each other like this.

Externally he takes a “I don’t need a lousy human like you for a friend anyway” attitude. 

He’s not just testy with you though, anyone who interacts with him that day learns that chihuahuas bite.

Simeon immediately realizes something isn’t right and is very concerned.

As soon as he asks him what’s wrong, Luke's mask of anger is discarded and he tosses himself in the older angel’s arms crying hysterically.

He doesn’t want to lose you for a friend.

I doubt Luke has ever truly argued with someone so this uncharted territory is earth shattering to him.

Simeon, as he tries to calm Luke, he will text you and ask you to come to wherever they are immediately.

Because of Simeon’s intervention, the fight will only go undiscussed for a few hours max.

Again, sorry if I don’t know these characters as well as I’d like yet. Thank you for reading! 

[iheardarumorthings]

Hiii! Was just wondering if you would be up for writing a Jesper x reader where the reader is acting weird after a mission (maybe one where he almost died) and he tries to cheer them up, in the process revealing his feelings to them? Need some Jesper fluff in my life right now :)

heyy! so sorry i couldn't get this to you earlier! i hope this is what you were looking for and that you love it!! <33 (kinda took it in another direction though) also, i hope you love it, my friend <3

Warnings: angst, guns and mention of guns, reader brooding

I DON'T TO BE ANYWHERE YOU'RE NOT

The irony was grand. Cruel, unfair, but grand.

The Sharpshooter, the grisha who could control the trajectory of the bullets, had been shot. Two centimeters before his beating heart.

The scream that had left your lips must have deafened half of Ketterdam. Nina had held you back, but you wrestled and squirmed in her arms, desperate to get to Jesper.

Which led you to now. To when, thank the good saints above, he was alive before you. Unconscious, barely breathing, but alive.

And there you were, too scared to breathe at his bedside, counting every single inhale and exhale that came and went through his lips.

~*~

You hadn’t spoken. At all. Especially not to Jesper. You asked for more work, and Kaz was happy to give it to you. You didn’t know whether it was out of empathy, pity, or merely just getting rid of extra jobs.

Jesper was up and at it again, of course, but still. You couldn’t look at him without thinking of his lips becoming more blue every second, the life leaving his body.

“Why so silent, Doll?” you heard someone say behind you. You jumped, turning around, immediately pressing the blade of your dagger against the man’s throat not even knowing who he was- only that he was possibly a threat to your life.

You were half right.

It was Jesper. A threat to your health and well-being.

Only because of the near heart attack you were given a week and a half ago.

“Hello, Jesper.” You couldn’t bring yourself to smile at him, the one thing on your mind all day, all night, all the time.

The one thing that meant the most to you. The one thing that was almost, despite the odds, taken from you in a flash. You couldn’t deal with that again.

You had to take yourself away. You had to stifle your feelings for Jesper.

“What? No Jes, no pet name? Something’s up. You wouldn’t ignore your one access point to someone hot unless you were pissed. What’s going on?”

“Nothing, Jesper. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a job to carry out. So, if you will move just three inches to your right to clear a path, that would be lovely.”

“Woah, ok. Yeah, I do mind.” He looked affronted. “You need to tell me what’s going on right now.”

“There’s nothing going on, and even if there was, it would be none of your business.”

You shoved him out of the way, driving home the point you were trying to make.

~*~

Jesper was convinced that he had died and replaced a Jesper in another universe, a universe where nearly everything was the same but you.

If anything, everything could change but you. Brilliant, wonderful you.

So, he did what any logical person in his situation would do. He asked Nina.

The two of you had been binging on coffee and waffles twice a week since as long as you two had known each other. And, with that, had binged on gossip and talk about thoughts and weird stuff like that.

But, now more than ever, important stuff like that.

He’d have to ask Nina.

~*~

“You do realize that you nearly died like two weeks ago, right?”

“Yup,” he said, proud of the fact that he held on just long enough for Nina to spare his life once you were… passed to Matthias.

“And you do know that she lost her shit. Like, how would you react if she nearly died?”

He didn’t know. He hadn’t imagined it, ever. You were invincible in his eyes. Anything happening to you was impossible, or so he seemed to be thinking.

Panic overtook his chest, seizing his breath.

“Exactly,” Nina said. “And why do you think she’d feel the same way, if not, a worse version, of what you felt just now?”

A part of him was anguished that you felt that, especially if it was real.

The other part of him grew more alive knowing that you would have him.

~*~

Ever since you were a child you had liked the chill of autumn. Your legs swung from the roof ledge, your elbows resting on your knees, chin digging into the fingers of your clenched fist.

“I wouldn’t have died, you know. I would’ve stayed.”

You turned around. “Impossible. You can’t control when or where you die, Jesper. That’s not how that works.”

“I would have, I swear. I would’ve made it work for you. Only for you.”

If that meant what you thought it meant, all bets were off. If that meant what you thought it had meant, then you would love Jesper freely, life or no.

“Oh?” the playful tone creeping back into your voice. It made him glad, you were connecting with him again. “And how would you have done that, Sharpshooter?”

He sat beside you, calves and feet dangling over the edge just as yours did. “Because you’re here, and I would be there. I don’t want to ever be anywhere you’re not.”

He put his hand on your back and around your waist, pulling you closer and rubbing up and down your side in a comforting manner. You put your head on his shoulder and in return he placed his head on top of yours.

“You sure about that?”

“Darling, the love I have for you will tie me down to the Earth for as long as it lives and I will love every minute of it.”

[wearywinchester]

These Moments

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: At first Dean thinks kisses on the nose are worth an eye roll, but it doesn’t take long to change his mind.

Requested by @halietigges : “It’s me again! I wish to request another Dean Winchester based on this prompt please: Kisses on the nose. ❤️”

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: angst, mentions of injury, blood, swearing, comfort, fluff, kissing

One

You bid Sam a goodnight as you stood outside the door to your motel room, him at his before you twisted open the door knob. A sigh was immediate at the sight before you, one you can’t say you didn’t expect to find but one you hoped would be the opposite. There Dean sat, hunched over in his seat at the tiny motel room table with his head resting against his fist.

He’d been like that when you left, only this time he’d been a little more frustrated. That crease between his brow is just a little deeper, and those dimples by the corners of his mouth a little more pronounced. He’d been glued to his laptop ever since you got there, newspaper clippings scattered along the scratched up and tattered hardwood table. He was researching this case for hours, and to be fair it was trickier than most. Each time he read over an article it brought with it something new, something that took him down a different avenue of just what kind of monster you’re dealing with.

Normally, he wasn’t one to dwell on research too much, jumping on the first lead he gets and hoping for the best and usually that’s all there is to it. Normally, Sam is the one nose deep in a book or scrolling through articles because that’s what he liked to do. But every once in a while Dean will get like this, will stress himself out to the max on a case.

You locked the door behind you and tossed the keys on the table, his eyes still on the screen as you stood with a brow raised.

“De,” you say after a few moments, another sigh in your words especially after his only response is a half-hearted hum. “Dean.”

Green eyes flicker to you at the extra insistence on your tone, taking in your expression with his brows still furrowed. His shoulders relax a fraction, maybe even half that as he squints up at you. “Hi sweetheart.”

You simply hold up the grease stained paper bag in your hand, two burgers and two orders of fries inside from the diner right down the street from the motel. You saw a brief moment of excitement in his eyes at the thought, at the smell, of the food in there just waiting to be eaten, but it wasn’t so easily swaying to him as he hummed once more.

“Thanks,” he says, the single word coming out distracted as something in whatever article he’s got his hands on pulls his attention.

You huff this time, a little bit of frustration simmering in your stomach. You reach over and close the laptop, eying his narrowed stare and the clench of his jaw as you tilt your head and smile at him.

“Y/n, I was reading that,” he said, less than amused.

“And now you’re not.”

“I’m not gonna get anywhere with this douchey vampire if I don’t read up on the articles in this town. We can’t have Count Dracula getting his freakin’ fangs hooked in someone else,” he says, voice a little louder than before as he rubs his hands down his face.

Your shoulders slump a little bit at the stress he’s got written all over him, biting the inside of your cheek as he stands to his feet. You can see it in the tension in his shoulders and the way his hair stuck in every direction as he runs his hands through it for what has to be the millionth time in the last hour. Dean Winchester knew exactly how to stress himself out with the absolute worst ways of handling that stress. You weren’t blind to the fact that there were three empty beer bottles on the table.

“You’ve been at it ever since we got here, Dean. I’m telling you to take a break,” you say.

He was quiet and you watched as he rifled through his duffel bag in search of his dad’s journal, the one that quite possibly was in Sam’s. You watched him dig and dig and dump everything out on the bed before inevitably stuffing everything back inside with hasty movements and huffs and puffs, throwing the bag to the ground and nudging it less than nicely with his boot.

“Great, now I can’t find dad’s freakin’ monster diary,” he grumbles.

You grab his wrist before he can pace around any more, his huff puffing warm against your face as he stared down at you in discontent.

“Would you relax?”

“I am relaxed.”

“You’ve had three beers since I left, Dean. And you haven’t even started eating the burger I got you,” you counter with raised brows. “And you got that look on your face when you’re stressed too.”

“Look? What look? I don’t have a look, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, you do. It’s that broody, pouty look you’ve got going on right now, actually,” you say, smiling up at him as he rolls his eyes.

He looks back to you at the feel of your hand on his cheek, the tension in his jaw relaxing as he exhales a sigh. A soft smile tugs at the corner of your mouth when he hooks his arm around your waist, pulling you closer. It’s then that you drop your hand to press to his chest as you lean on your toes, pressing a kiss to the very tip of his freckled nose in that moment.

You watch the flurry of emotions flicker across his expression when you stand back on your heels then, his brow raising slightly. He swears kisses on the nose are the cheesiest thing possible, swears by it, but you don’t fail to notice the way he relaxes at the action, and you definitely see the softness of a smile pulling at his lips as he looks down at you, his gaze following you as you pull away from him and grab the paper bag from the table while he takes a seat on the bed.

You open it up and give him his food, nearly losing your balance when he tugs on your hand and pulls you down with him. He’s still plenty tired and you can see that clearly, but you can tell he’s relaxed a little more now.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, the words brushing against your lips before kissing you, lingering and sweet as his hand settles on your cheek briefly.

He kisses you once, twice, three more times before he’s got his hands on his foot, humming at the mere sight of his bacon cheeseburger.

“You’re welcome, De.”

Two

It was quiet when you woke up, quiet save for the soft patter of the rain coming down against the Impala. It couldn’t have been late, not with the way it’d still been fairly dark outside. The cloudy, rainy weather certainly didn’t help you want to get up and keep driving, absolutely not, even if you’d been laying on top of the older Winchester for the better part of a few hours stretched across the front bench seat that wasn’t quite so accommodating. Sam was in the back seat, likely even less comfortable with the amount of room he’s got back there.

But you were comfortable, you were plenty comfortable as you laid on Dean’s chest, his jacket sprawled out over top of you at some point in the night. You didn’t fall asleep with it on, didn’t remember it, but he must have covered you when he noticed you were cold. It was toasty and warm now, the fleece lining having worked wonders to combat the chilly fall temperatures seeping into the car.

He’d been snoring softly, a given, the sound vibrating against your cheek, rising and falling slightly as he breathed. Your legs were a tangled mess, his back curved and pressed against the door as his head rested against the window. It wasn’t entirely ideal sleeping crammed up in the Impala in the middle of who-knows-where, but there wasn’t a motel with a vacant room available so it would just have to do.

You stretched a little against Dean before you looked up at him with a yawn, head resting on his chest as you looked at him with tired eyes. He’s got that crease between his brows still, even when he’s sleeping, a telling sign he’s stressed and you know why. This demon’s got you driving all across the state with no chance of letting up on the chase soon.

You sigh softly as you hug him a little tighter, as tight as you can with the fatigue you’ve got weighing heavy on you. It’s enough to have him stirring, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards in a half smile.

“Ease up with all the wigglin’, would you, sweetheart?” He asks, humor in his tone as he murmurs the words.

You look up at him with a narrowed gaze and a frown, something that draws a soft chuckle from him the second he sees it. He runs his hand over your head and down to your shoulder, tugging up on his jacket that rested over you when he felt the cold of your hands seep through his shirt.

“Just for that, ‘m not gonna,” you mumble, moving around a little more for the sake of getting comfortable and not at all to prove your words true.

“Yeah, I know you won’t,” he sighs, a certain contentment in his exhale and you hum.

“Anything happen with that demon?” You say softly, his gaze focused outside the windshield for a moment before it drops down to you.

“Not a damn thing.” His lips purse, those dimples appearing by the corners of his mouth.

You hum again as you give him a gentle squeeze, leaning up to press a kiss on his cheek, and another for good measure before laying your head back down. You didn’t fail to see the smile he’s got on his lips, or the way it lingers as his eyes fall closed for a moment. And you definitely didn’t fail to notice the way his arm wrapped a little more snug around you, legs tangling up all the more.

“Don’t worry, Dean. We’ll kick some demon butt soon,” you mumble.

You feel that chuckle again, rumbling quietly within his chest. “Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah.”

He smiles down at you then, soft and telling of those very three words without the need to say them out loud. It’s a look that’s always been reserved for you and no one else, because there isn’t anyone quite like you and there never will be. You’ve just got a way about you, a special hold on his heart that he’s not ready to admit you’ve got but you have your guesses. But you won’t tease him about it quite yet.

He smiles and he dips his head down, pressing a kiss to the very tip of your nose. Those kisses he swore were too cheesy. You knew he loved them and this was proof enough.

He kissed your nose and ripped his head back against the window, letting his eyes fall closed once more.

Three

The hunt hadn’t gone entirely as the three of you anticipated, as the three of you hoped. In fact, it was one more thing away from being an absolute train wreck and that much was clear. You nearly wound up dead that day and Sam was coming up on being halfway there, and as a result, Dean was trying his best to refrain from bursting in frustration.

You could see the way his worry ate him up inside, you can’t say you blame him. His biggest fears nearly came true all in one day over some rogue spirit after you told him it’d be fine. You told him it’d be fine and it couldn’t have been any more the opposite of that. He was so in his head about everything else that happened, so in his head about you that he nearly forgot about the cut dragging across his forehead and the jagged scratches adorning his jaw.

He was so fixated on the potential nightmare of losing you and Sam, the nightmare that replayed in a taunting loop, that the pain he so clearly felt was indistinguishable amongst his anger. He was like that all the way back to Bobby’s, wordless as he white knuckled the steering wheel and didn’t spare a glance to anything but the road ahead.

When you got there, he headed straight for the room the two of you had been staying in, the one he always stayed in at Bobby’s. You were hot on his heels, quiet as you followed behind him until he spoke up.

“You don’t have to coddle me, Y/n. I’m a big boy,” he snaps, anger in his tone.

“Someone’s gotta patch you up and we both know it’s not going to be you.”

“I’m fine, Y/n. I’ve had worse.”

He was being short with you, that much was clear.

“Wasn’t asking.”

You watched as he huffed, nostrils flaring as he did so and you heard the door slam shut behind you once you walked into the room. He tugged off his jacket and slung it over the back of the chair hastily, sitting down on the bed. You could feel his eyes on you, his stare full of a hundred and one different emotions you were sure, you were certain of it when you snuck a glance his way.

You bite the inside of your cheek as you dig through your duffel bag, snagging the first aid kit. He’s got that broody look again when you move to stand between his thighs, his palms pressed to the mattress as he leaned back on them a bit.

“Stop doing that,” you say, brushing the pad of your thumb along his bottom lip, the indents of his teeth present amongst the pink of his lip from having been biting it from a nervous habit.

He simply rolls his eyes and looks away, an action that’s only brief as your hand presses to his cheek and redirects his gaze back to you.

“You know, I’m relieved you’re so carefree about this,” he says, sarcasm dripping from every word as he looks up at you. “Honestly, it’s really nice to know.”

“Dean—”

“No seriously, that’s just great,” he says, his tone the opposite of serious and every bit representative of the anger and frustration and fear simmering within him. That very fear was pooling in his eyes as he sat there and let it twist his stomach in knots.

You say nothing more other than your huff through your nose, wasting no time in cleaning up his jaw. You saw the way his eyes lingered on your shirt, lingered over the wrinkles in the fabric where that spirit reached right through you and quite literally almost stopped your heart. She would have had Bobby not gotten to her grave in time. You would have been just as gone as she was.

His anger was inevitable, and it wasn’t directed at you, not really. Ideally, he wished you’d never hunt again. Ideally, he wished you weren’t as brave as you are, so eager to dive into every hunt as a hunter should. But he knows he can’t ask that of you, knows he won’t ever have it his way and it kills him. Hunts like this kill him. Every time there’s a close call, every single time, it tears him up. The mere thought of losing you makes his stomach churn, makes him get in his car and drive till that very thought leaves him alone.

But to see it, to actually see it almost happen, it nearly sent him over the edge.

You were gentle as you cleaned him up regardless of your own frustration with the older Winchester’s mood, regardless of his attitude. You were light handed with your actions and you were trying your best to be quick but it was becoming distracting when he’s got that look on his face.

You were nearly finished with that cut on his forehead when you couldn’t bear the look in his eyes any longer or the way they continued to bounce over that part of your shirt.

You settle your hand on his cheek, gentle as you tip his head back slightly to look at you. You can feel the tense of his jaw in your palm as he does, but despite that you can see every ounce of vulnerability in his eyes, eyes that are seconds from glossing over. It was something subtle, something you wouldn’t be able to see if you didn’t know Dean Winchester like the back of your hand. Something you wouldn’t be able to tell if you hadn’t seen the slight quiver in his bottom lip.

Your gaze was soft and patient as you looked at him, thumb brushing back and forth over his freckled and pink tinged cheek. It was quiet as he looked at you, quiet as his brows furrowed a little bit more.

In a matter of moments, you brought your other hand to settle on his other cheek, cautious of those scratches he’s got there. After a passing moment or two you dip down, pressing a tender kiss to the tip of his nose. He’s not so eager to stray very far, his forehead resting against yours.

A kiss to the nose. It was something awfully simple but something that worked wonders to soothe the heavy weight of his worries. To soothe the fear that sat heavy in the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t going anywhere, it was still very much there, but that small act of affection lessened that weight for the time being until the next hunt. Until the next time you’re in danger.

His anger, his frustration, it dissipates a little more at that, and in a matter of moments his lips are one yours in a kiss that’s just as gentle. It’s a matter of seconds before he’s pulling back to look at you, gaze careful as it bounces across your face and back to your eyes.

It’s the softness of your smile that does it, that smile that always makes everything better. He might still be all kinds of torn up about the events of that day and he’s damn sure he’s not going to get over it in a while, but for now, for now in that moment he’s okay.

You’re okay.

Four

The diner was quiet as you sat at a booth, but you can’t say it comes as a surprise because it is two o’clock in the morning. Romantic dates weren’t exactly Dean Winchester’s area of expertise, and you were more than okay with that.

But traditions were.

He liked the idea of traditions, something steady to hold onto and something that was constant. A whole lot of things he didn’t have growing up. And one of those traditions is late night diner trips with his sweetheart. It was always burgers and fries and a slice of pie. It was always that without fail on just about every hunt you go on. He tried to take Sam along once or twice, but he said one too many things about cholesterol and called it quits with the eye roll of a century and a scoff around a mouth full of cheeseburger.

But he was more than happy with some quality time with you.

It was a small diner, one that smelled like a whole lot of bacon and a hint of maple syrup for the truckers passing through getting an earlier than early breakfast. He took the side facing the door, he always did that. You knew exactly why even if he never says it, it’s for your own safety.

“You know, I think pie is so much better when it’s the last slice,” he says, talking around a mouth full of apple pie and vanilla ice cream.

“I’ll bet it is, De,” you chuckle, sipping on the last of your milkshake. “It’s always you that gets the very last one.”

“And I like it that way,” he says, humming against a heaping forkful he stuffs into his mouth.

You rolled your eyes, a smile playing on your lips as you looked at your beau. He’s got ice cream in the corner of his mouth and tired eyes, but he insisted he wanted to go grab a bite to eat and you’d never turn down a moment like this, not in a million years. Even if they’ve got their radio set to the cheesiest hits from the nineteen-eighties they can find. Dean ran out of quarters for the jukebox on the table, playing out all the classic rock hits he can get his money’s worth of.

His slice of pie lasted all of a minute before he set his fork down on an empty plate, rubbing his hands together with a satisfied hum and a lick of his lips.

“We’re coming here next time we’re in this state. Hell, maybe we’ll even stay a couple more days ‘cause that—” he says, pointing at his newly emptied plate. “Was freakin’ delicious.”

You can’t stifle your smile or your laugh for that matter, shaking your head at his antics as he slaps some cash on the table and gets up from his seat.

Your hand slips in his in a matter of moments, instinct at this point as he holds the door open for you on the way out, and again before you get in the car to head back to the motel. It wasn’t that long a drive, not even long enough for him to finish singing that AC/DC song they’ve got playing on the radio but you don’t mind it, you were tired anyway.

You’re seconds from opening the door to your shared motel room when he stops you in your tracks, your brow raised in amused curiosity.

“Dean, are you walking me to the door?” You ask with laughter in your voice.

“What, can’t I be a gentleman?” He asks in faux offense.

“I don’t think you’ve ever walked me to my door, De. Not even that cliche first kiss on my doorstep.”

He pretended to mull it over in his mind, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth and you knew he was up to no good.

“Well, to be fair, sweetheart, I’m pretty sure Bobby would kill me if we were kissin’ on his doorstep,” he said, that smirk widening. “Besides, we did a whole lot more than ki—”

There it is.

You shut him up with a kiss that he very much was more than happy about, his hum pressing against your mouth and his kiss tasted every bit like his ice cream and apple pie. A kiss that was much shorter than he would have liked but the smile he’s got on his face is something else. It’s softer than soft and he’s trying not to get weak in the knees with the way you’re looking at him, and you’re trying your hardest to stifle your laugh.

But in a matter of moments he dips down and kisses your nose, soft and tender as his forehead rests against yours.

“Us and these damn nose kisses,” he mumbles, kissing you once more with a quiet laugh, shaking his head against yours.

You and those nose kisses.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @agalliasi @campingmonkey @deandaydreaming @lanea-1 @akshi8278 @kidd3ath @taikawho

[narutogwriting]

Ruin the Friendship

⋇✦ Pairing: Naruto Uzumaki x Reader

⋇✦ Genre: angst; fluff; oneshot

⋇✦ CW: none

⋇✦ Length: 2.5k+

⋇✦ @gaarasandpit just a angst/fluff naruto x reader request if you’re up for it 🥰 maybe where the reader and him are somewhat close friends and he notices she’s drifting from him because her feelings get in the way? he’s oblivious and hurt about it then confrontation happens ending up in a good old love confession

“Cmon! Open up!” Naruto called from outside your house, pounding on the door like he had been incessantly for the past five minutes. “I know you’re in there!”

He did not, in fact, know whether or not you were in there, but he couldn’t imagine where else you would be.

All week you’d been missing; Naruto couldn’t find you anywhere. Sometimes he would see the flick of your hair from the corner of his eye or his ears would pick up the sound of your laugh, but by the time he turned to find you, you’d be gone.

Your absence in Naruto’s life wasn’t something of a minor inconvenience; it was a constant pain, as if he was missing a part of his own body. Iruka had joked that Naruto missing you was akin to that of a phantom limb, like there was something of him that should be there and it wasn’t and he ached because of it.

“No, Naruto. We haven’t seen her,” Shikamaru shrugged. Ino nodded her agreement.

“Sorry. Maybe she’s on a mission or something.

Naruto frowned, sighing in frustration. “Alright, well, thanks.” He muttered before he sulked off. Shikamaru and Ino watched him go, waiting until he disappeared before Ino gave you a kick under the table.

“Ow!” you whined as you crawled out from underneath, rubbing your shoulder.

Ino rolled her eyes at you. “You’re lucky Naruto’s an idiot, or he definitely would have seen you.” She told you as you slid yourself down into the seat next to her. “Remind me: why are you avoiding him again?”

Propping your elbows on the table, you rested your head in your hands as you gave a forlorn sigh. That was a loaded question. You were avoiding Naruto because the absolute worse thing that could ever occur had happened.

You’d fallen in love with the idiot blond.

And how could you not? You’d been best friends with Naruto for the longest time. He was a constant in your life, always at your side. It was rare that one of you was seen without the other.

There was no one in the entire world that could make you smile or laugh the way that he could. Whenever you were sad or hurt, he always had the words to make it all better. Naruto had the type of smile that could save people, and you were no exception. There wasn’t a person in the world that could meet someone with a heart like Naruto’s and not walk away changed.

It had been a slow thing, a soft, unsure growing. It wasn’t a feeling you’d recognized at all once, because you always loved Naruto.

It wasn’t totally strange for you to get excited when you saw him or miss him when he was gone. It wasn’t unusual to think about him before you went to sleep.

But when you began to wake up and your first thought was, “my god he’s beautiful” when you looked at the picture of the two of you on your night stand, that was a little strange. You never used to spend extra time in the morning doing your makeup when you knew you were going to see him soon.

And you never used to blush when he smiled at you. Even you could tell you laughed a little too hard when he said something even remotely funny.

It was one day when the two of you were taking a walk that it happened. He was telling you a story, his motions large and exaggerated. Of course, he wasn’t paying attention to where he was going. As he turned to you, arms raised high over his head, his foot hit a rock. Naruto went sprawling to the floor, rolling across the ground and landing flat on his back.

You burst out laughing at the scene, hurrying to kneel at his side. “Are you okay!?” You asked him between giggles.

Naruto’s face was bright red with embarrassment as he laid on the floor. He looked up at you, smiling sheepishly. “Oops…”

It was such a simple thing, but you’d looked at Naruto and thought, “I love him so much.”

Nothing had ever startled you more.

Of course you loved Naruto; that was a given. It was never anything that needed to be thought or said. It was just a fact. But as soon as you had thought the words, you knew that it was different this time. You didn’t just love Naruto.

You were in love with him.

You’d hoped that the feelings would fade. Maybe it was just a fluke or a passing crush. Day in and day out, you waited for your feelings to go back to normal, but now that you’d acknowledged them, they only seemed to grow stronger. It got to the point where you couldn’t even look at naruto without turning into a blushing mess. It was pathetic.

So you’d decided there was only one reasonable solution: you would have to avoid him for as long as it took for the feelings to go away.

And of course you didn’t want to stay away from him. Being with him was as natural as breathing. But the way you saw it, if he found out about your feelings, your friendship could be ruined forever. This way, you could take some space, move on, and resume your friendship like nothing happened.

But Naruto wasn’t making that easy.

You hadn’t realized just how much time you and Naruto spent together until you were trying to distance yourself from him. He was everywhere. Every meal, every free moment, he was by your side or trying to be at least.

“Wanna go eat?” “Wanna go train with me?” “Let’s watch a movie!” “I heard there’s gonna be a festival in the next town over!”

You couldn’t get away from him. So this past week, you’d taken to hiding from him every time you saw him, deciding it was easiest to just avoid him completely. In all honesty, you couldn’t believe just how much time and effort Naruto was putting in to trying to find you.

But of course he was putting in effort. Because you were his best friend and he couldn’t understand it; where you’d gone or why you weren’t talking to him. Had he done something wrong? Were you mad at him or something? Your absence in Naruto’s life was drawing out every insecurity he hadn’t even realized he still had. He was worried, drowning in anxiety.

What if you’d decided you didn’t want to be his friend anymore? Maybe you were annoyed with him, found him to be too much. When you and Naruto had first become friends, he thought it was too good to be true. There was no way that someone as nice and pretty and cool as you would want to be friends with him. No one had ever wanted to be his friend before.

But there you were with your sweet smile and calming presence. You had accepted Naruto, every piece of him, without question or reservation. You meant everything to him, so the thought of losing you had sent Naruto into a panic.

You’d managed to avoid Naruto for a full week and a half. The past three days, as far as you knew, he hadn’t even made an effort to find you. It was a relief and heartbreaking all at once. You needed your space, but it hurt to think that maybe Naruto didn’t miss you at all anymore.

These were the thoughts racing through your head when you crawled into bed that night. You doubted you’d be getting much sleep; you’d barely gotten any since you had started avoiding Naruto.

Pulling the covers over yourself, you closed your eyes and tried to get comfortable. It seemed like hours you laid there awake before tiredness finally started to drift over you. You could feel yourself slowly dozing off to sleep when a sudden loud noise startled you awake. Sitting up quickly, your eyes darted to the window where the noise had come from.

Naruto had forcefully pried open the window, shoving himself not-so-gracefully through the opening and crashing onto the floor.

He quickly jumped to his feet, rubbing his head with a small wince before his eyes landed on you, widening slightly.

“Ah ha! I got you!” He shouted victoriously, pointing his finger in your direction. “You can’t hide from me anymore, believe it!”

God, he was too cute for words and that was exactly the problem. Your heart practically burst just looking at him as he appeared so accomplished and excited.

But the triumphant look on his face slowly vanished as he stared at you. When he spoke, his voice came out quietly, dripping with dejection. “Where have you been?”

Quietness settled over the room as the two of you stared at each other. Naruto made no move to get closer to you, and you likewise stayed strapped in your seat. “I’m sorry…” You offered weakly, unsure of what else to say.

“Don’t be sorry!” Naruto snapped, anger quickly replacing his despaired features. “Tell me why! What the hell? You think you can just avoid a guy? Cut me off like I’m nothing to you!?” He was trembling, his usual happy grin twisted into a broken grimace so despondent it took you off guard. You had caused that hurt that Naruto was feeling. The thought made you sick.

“If you don’t want to be my friend anymore, at least say something!” Naruto spat. “Don’t just run from me like a coward! If you have something to say, say it to my face!”

There was a harsh edge to Naruto’s voice that he never used with you before. Not in all of your years of friendship. You realized suddenly just how badly you’d hurt Naruto by avoiding him. It wasn’t something you’d considered; you’d only wanted some space so you could get back to normal with him.

But you saw it clearly now, the damage that you had done. Suddenly, in this moment, he was the lonely, isolated child that he had been before you met, feeling alone and abandoned in the world. And this time, it was because of you.

The regret was like bile on your tongue, and you wished fiercely that you could take back the past week and do it differently. You couldn’t stand the thought that it was you who had caused this damage to your best friend, the guy you loved so much.

You didn’t have any words to fix it. All you had was the truth.

“I love you.”

The words slipped from your mouth before you could pull them back in. And once they were out, they couldn’t be taken back.

Confusion quickly settled on Naruto’s face. It was as if you could see the anger dissipate from his body. He stared at you, mouth slightly agape, while he tried to process what you’d just said. “You… What?”

Turning bright red, you pulled the blanket back over your head in embarrassment. You couldn’t believe you’d just said that! Now there would never be any going back to the way that things were, but you had to tell him. You couldn’t just let him think that you were cutting him off without reason.

“I said I love you…” You muttered from under the blanket. “I’m in love with you, Naruto. I have been for a while now, and I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. So I thought if I just took some space and didn’t see you for a while, then maybe I would get over it, and then we could just keep things the way they were…”

It was much easier to get the words out when you were under the blanket and couldn’t see him, but you were still nauseous with anxiety as you told him how you felt. Your heart was steeling itself for rejection as you waited for his response.

The only noise was shuffling as Naruto came to your bed. You could feel the indent as he sat down next to you. He grabbed your blanket, slowly peeling it off of you and despite your reluctance, you let him.

You didn’t look at him as you pushed yourself back up into a sitting position. You’d never been so embarrassed before.

“Did it work?” He asked you quietly.

Fidgeting with the hem of your night shirt, you mumbled, “Did what work?”

“Are you over me?”

The question took you off guard, lingering between the two of you, and you couldn’t help but flicker your eyes to his. He was staring earnestly at you with those wide blue eyes you loved so much. You wanted to lie to him but you just couldn’t.

“No.”

Naruto’s focused expression stretched into a wide grin as he wrapped his arms around you, hugging you to him. You were too startled to respond, so you just stared at him, confused, instead.

“You scared me!” Naruto laughed happily as he rested his cheek against your head. “I thought you didn’t want to be my friend anymore! You didn’t have to completely avoid me, ya know.”

There was a mix of relief and disappointment at his reaction. So, he wasn’t weirded out about your confession? Things didn’t have to change. The two of you could stay ‘just friends.’

“So, we’re okay?” You asked him nervously. “We’re still friends?”

Naruto gave a puzzled hum as he pulled away from the hug to stare at you. He raised his eyebrow as he studied you for a moment. You could almost see the light bulb go off above his head as he realized.

“Oh!” He laughed, grinning sheepishly and rubbing his neck. “I guess I forgot to tell you it back, huh? I thought it was obvious! I love you too, believe it!”

You blinked as he giggled embarrassedly, that signature smile of his on his lips. “Naruto!” You snapped at him, lunging and knocking you both off the bed. He landed on his back with you on top of him as you rubbed your fist into his head. “You dummy!”

“Hey! Cut it out!” Naruto whined, squirming under your touch. “Is that any way to treat your boyfriend!?”

The question was enough to make you stop, your mouth frozen in a surprised “o” shape, just like he hoped. He laughed, sitting up and holding you to him before he placed a happy kiss to your cheek, making your face flush over red.

You placed your hands on his shoulders, looking at him as it finally sunk in what he said. He loved you too. He called himself your boyfriend. “Is that your way of asking me?” You questioned.

Naruto nodded earnestly. “And my way to get you to stop giving me a noogie! It’s a win win! Well, if you say yes, that is…”

Shaking your head, you laughed as your whole body softened in relief. Your arms slipped around his neck as you hugged him tightly. “Yes, obviously!” You told him. “Yes! I love you.” Naruto hugged you back just as fiercely. When he finally pulled away, he didn’t hesitate. His hand reached up to cup your cheek as he leaned forward, pressing a sweet, soft kiss to your lips.

Well, you guessed your friendship was officially ruined. But suddenly, you didn’t mind so much.

[tarosin]

the great adventures of y/n and ranboo

this is an extra part to the great adventures series

summary: part two to the angst imagine (the not so great adventures of y/n tommy tubbo jack and ranboo) it’s a happier ‘ending’ please read what is written in bold

this is an “alternative ending” around 15 years into the future this doesn’t mean this is actually how the series is going to end im writing it now and including it as part of series as their friendship is already established i can confirm y/n and the group are going to have a happy ending when the series eventually comes to an end this also does not mean the series is anywhere near the end i plan on continuing the series as vlogs come out, i feel the need to confirm this now love between y/n and ranboo in this imagine is completely platonic

it had been about a month since you last streamed whereas ranboo continued to stream a few days after the fallout as he wanted to make sure you were going to be okay. even though ranboo knew this huge fallout would eventually happen, it still hurt him, especially since he knew there was no way to prevent it, the four of you in the same house mixed with the stress of being some of the most-watched content creators made living rather difficult. it was like walking on eggshells as you didn’t want to interrupt someone's stream, then there was the additional stress of obsessive fans finding out where the four of you lived, you still remember that day very vividly. you were sat in between tubbo and ranboo watching the office whilst Tommy was in an interview when you received a message from your mod.

Chris: hey y/n I received this message earlier I don’t want to scare you, but maybe get the locks changed. someone sent a message claiming this is your address *image of message from ‘fan’*

it didn’t take long for tubbo and ranboo to receive a message from their mods saying the same thing

“holy shit...”

“chances are Tommy has the message too. we shall go check around the house when Tommy is done with the interview.”

luckily no one ever showed up to the house, but the fact some people were so obsessed to the point they found your address was enough to put everyone in the house on edge. and now it was just you and ranboo in the house. you didn’t feel safe as even though ranboo promised to not let anything happen, you didn’t wanna risk it.

“we should move. there’s no point in having such a big house for two people, what are we going to use the extra space for heh? hide and seek with people who have our address. no thank you. I say we move leave this mess behind and start completely over, hell I’d feel safer in the us and that’s saying something”

ranboo agreed the house didn’t have the happiest memories attached to it anymore, it hurt walking past the hallway as it would bring back the memory of him crying into the crook of y/ns neck whilst tubbo left the house.

“let’s do it, I’ll do an early stream then we can look for houses. go take a shower. I’ll stay close to the door so you’re safe, then you can stay in my room whilst I stream, you can join me if you would like.”

“you’re being very protective all of a sudden...let me guess you got the message from our mods announcing the obsessive fans are at it again?”

“go take a shower.”

“no.”

ranboo ended up picking you up, carried you to the bathroom and turned the shower on before putting you on your feet.

“quick shower I’ll see you later.”

and with that he left the room shutting the door behind him, 30 minutes later you got changed and followed ranboo to his room ready to join him whilst he streams

“hey boo, can I join you? I kinda wanna get into streaming again.”

“I'm so glad you asked, I was going to do a face cam stream, if that’s okay?”

“of course.”

you grabbed his mask and glasses whilst he locked the door so you were both safe. “here you go.”

“thank you.”

the pair of you started the stream and it was honestly going well, you were having so much fun you forgot about all the negative things currently going on, you began to understand why ranboo continued streaming as for those 2-4 hours of streaming it felt as though everything was back to normal. 3 hours later the two of you ended stream and Twitter went crazy. tweets ranged from fans talking about how ranboo was streaming with you, how Tommy was in chat, and how tubbo was modding as people who mentioned anything about their address being leaked were banned by tubbo. the one thing that caught ranboos eye was fan art and a picture of you both from the stream captioned ‘they’re platonic soulmates your honour’ ranboo went as far to like, retweet and comment on it.

ranaltboo: glad you liked the stream it was great having y/n back, think I might make them play tattletail next stream

definitelynoty/n: isn’t that the Furby game that terrified you in 2021? bring it on boo!

Twitter went crazy over this interaction, you had finally come back to social media after months of being inactive, and it looked like you were here to stay. a month later you and ranboo moved out of the house and sold it to your aunt and her wife and their three adopted children, you explained the situation and even changed the locks for them all before they moved in.

“Please do tell us if anyone shows up who shouldn’t be. we changed the locks as you were aware- oh hello little one.”

you noticed one of their children decided to cling onto your leg

“I like your hair it’s colourful!”

“Indeed it is.”

“WOAH A GIANT!”

the little girl let go of your leg and ran to ranboo asking to be picked up, unsure of what to do he looked towards you. however, you were too busy laughing about the fact he was compared to a giant.

“I'm so sorry uh if you want to pick her up you can, you don’t have to.”

“pick me up, tall man... I want to be taller!”

ranboo ended up standing next to you with an arm around your waist whilst the child sat on his shoulders happily playing with his hair.

“ranboo do not drop that child.”

“I didn't- I didn't plan on it y/n.”

eventually, it was time to leave and the child reluctantly let go of ranboo.

“bye-bye!! hope to see you soon!”

soon enough you were at a smaller house, far away from the old house, leaving behind the negative feelings. it could only get better, a week later the pair of you had settled into the new house, it finally felt like home. you and ranboo were now streaming full time again, safe to say the two of you were thriving and closer than ever.

“so I’m thinking if I hit the sub-goal today I’ll let chat pick what colour I dye my hair.”

“make it higher, and I’ll let you cut my hair.”

“Are you being serious? oh my god!”

a few minutes later you took to Twitter to announce you were going live.

y/n: kidnapping children in the sims with ranboo psst check the subgoal.

within 20 minutes you had hit the sub-goal, chat ended up picking another random neon colour for your hair.

“right hair dye and the cutting stream will be this weekend, now let’s go back to kidnapping.”

tubbo, tommy, and jack felt awful for what happened and went back to the house where you used to live, hoping to see you there so they could apologise, tubbo knocked on the door only to be met by a young child.

“my sister watches you on twitch!”

“oh that’s lovely.. are y/n and ranboo here?”

an older woman came to the door.

“oh no, I’m sorry dear they both moved out, but they left this box and said to give it to you if you returned.”

“do you know where they moved to?”

“I'm sorry dear, I'm not allowed to tell you that information for safety reasons.”

“I understand, thanks anyway.”

they ended up going back to jacks where the three of them had been staying.

“We should open the box.”

tubbo opened the box and emptied the items onto the floor, inside was the rocks y/n handed tubbo from every trip, photos of the group, a necklace y/n had gifted to Tommy a day before the argument, and a hat y/n had taken from jack during a trip to a zoo.

“what the fuck!”

“holy shit!”

“they really kept all these in hopes we would come back?”

“and now we’re too late.”

it was now the weekend you and ranboo were ready to stream, you stood leaning on ranboo who was significantly smaller than you as you lowered the chair he sat on.

“starting stream...now.”

after the starting soon intro played, you explained what was happening to any new viewers or people who didn’t watch the stream.

“so I’m about to become Edward Scissorhands...I love that film can we watch it later?”

“yeah mhm sure!”

you didn’t know this but your ex best friends were watching and ever so often would show up in the chat.

“so boo, what are we doing with your hair today?”

“just a trim please darling?”

“This is y/ns hairdressers you get what I’m capable of!”

you ended up doing a pretty good job of cutting ranboos hair, even he was impressed.

“I didn’t doubt you for a minute!”

“mhm sure thing please don’t mess up my hair tall one!”

soon enough you had the dye on. 45 minutes later you left to wash it off, leaving ranboo to entertain stream,

“chat I think I missed some of their hair it’s okay, I own scissors, I’ll just cut it.. speaking of they did a great job, didn't they? I honestly expected them to mess up.”

a few minutes later you joined ranboo again and spent the next few hours talking with chat. tubbo, tommy, and jack stayed the entire time. they loved the fact you and ranboo were able to stay close after what happened, Tommy noticed you were still wearing the necklace he got you many years ago and spammed them chat with him tubbo and jack

Tommy: THEYRE WEARING THE NECKLACE!!

jack: so what? they clearly don’t wanna talk to us.

tubbo: shut up listen to them.

“chat why are we spamming platonic soulmates?”

“they’ve been saying it all over Twitter, look on trending y/n.”

you started to blush slightly at all the amazing artwork soon enough the stream came to an end, after saying goodbye the pair of you sat together going through fan art. unfortunately the one that caught your eye was this one twitter post where the artist had created a drawing of a piece of paper with you, ranboo, tommy, tubbo, and jack, however the paper was ripped separating you and ranboo from the others, captioned ‘it was never meant to be’ this clearly upset ranboo as he took off his mask and glasses placing them on the desk before going straight to his bed.

“boo…are you okay?”

“Are you tired of me? are you going to leave next?”

“what? no of course not! I could never get tired of you, why do you ask?”

“everyone else has left..i thought they cared about us, i knew it would happen eventually and i couldn’t stop it, i’m sorry, y/n, please don’t hate me.”

you sat on the edge of the bed looking down at the floor,

“come here.”

you watched him roll over to face you.

“you know there’s no one else who I'd rather spend the rest of my life with, right…if i hated you i wouldn’t have moved house with you. it’s not your job to fix everything and make everything better, you’re a streamer for christ sake not a therapist.”

“i guess so.. can we watch that thing you were on about for ages.”

“edward scissorhands? “

“mhm!”

you could tell he wanted to be distracted, so you agreed and put the film on, towards the end you began to get upset due to how overwhelming everything was.

“Why are you crying?”

“poor Edward.”

“come here.”

ranboo pulled you into a hug you laid there crying into his chest, he knew that wasn’t the reason you were crying, but he wasn’t about to make you tell him, luckily it didn’t take long for you to stop crying as ranboo quickly distracted you.

“ranboo..”

“yeah y/n?”

“I feel bad i didnt realise how much pressure was on you whilst everyone was arguing.”

“Hey, it’s okay, is that what’s upsetting you?”

“mhm.”

“don’t blame yourself, i’d do it all over again to keep you safe and happy..then again i didn’t do a good job on keeping you happy.”

“you did..you were always there for me even when i gave up on social media, you shared your room with me after i started receiving creepy messages from that obsessed fan, hell you even went on adventures with me even though it was clear you hadn’t been sleeping, just so we could spend time together and forget about what was happening. you mean a lot to me boo.”

“i love you.”

“i love you too bud, I’m tired.”

“go to sleep, it’s been a long day.”

“okay.”

“you just staying there?”

“yes.”

“oh, oh okay, goodnight.”

about a year later the two of you were still thriving, ranboo got you a promise ring a few months earlier.

“heh what’s this for?”

“as your best friend i promise to stay by your side and keep you safe and make sure that you’re happy, in other words you're stuck with me till the end of time.”

“boo…i really don’t know what to say.. thank you so much!”

“you don’t have to say anything!”

you ended up going out to buy him a promise ring when he started the stream and decided to take your cousins with you now that they were a little older. ranboo was doing a facecam stream when the door slammed open revealing you covering your three younger cousins ranboo not realising you were hiding them from the camera, instinctively stood up covering the camera

“ranboooooo!”

“yes you three and y/n ,what do you need?”

“we would like to watch a film!”

“Okay, i’ll go put one on, y/n will you entertain chat?”

“sure thing boo boy!”

once they left you sat fixing your hair forgetting you were wearing the ring chat noticed this and went crazy, so did Tommys group with tubbo and jack.

tubbo: that’s a ring, right??

jack: yeah looks like it.

Tommy: holy shit I always thought if anyone was gonna get married it would be tubbo and y/n, they were inseparable.

tubbo: hilarious.

jack: it could just be a ring, no one mentioned marriage tommy!

Tommy: we should congratulate them.

jack: at least let them explain fucking hell.

soon enough ranboo came back into the room,

“sorry one of them found it hilarious to steal my glasses...”

“they’re little shits i swear to god but i love them.”

you both noticed chat going crazy and both looked at each other before laughing.

“i'm sorry, i can’t take you serious in the mask and glasses!”

“i can’t take you serious with neon hair, but here we are!”

“rude!”

you and ranboo quickly put an end to the rumours,

“no we’re not engaged or married, it is a promise ring. no they’re not our children, they’re y/ns cousins they just spend a lot of time here..chat stop calling me and y/n parents and comparing us to phil that’s not..that’s not how it works okay!”

“parent arc!”

“y/n, don’t encourage them!”

“it’s a little bit funny!”

soon enough the bit came to an end and eventually ranboo ended the stream.

“hey boo look what i got you”

you handed him a little black box, inside was a ring similar to yours

“i promise to always stick around and be here for you”

“oh my god”

ranboo tackled you into a hug thanking you several times for his rings. you and ranboo were living your best life meanwhile jack, tommy, and tubbo were stuck dealing with the guilt of what happened, but they’re weren’t giving up that easy. they wanted you both back, that’s when you received a notification, tommyinnit has sent you a message request: hey y/n can we talk..please?

taglist

@dumb-chaotic-bi-energy @uselesssapphickitten @l0ver0fj0y @etheriaaly @xx-smiley-xx @hawarun @kylobensgirl @cawcaw-pretty-thing @reverse-iak @renleicrashed @augustine-is-joy @c1loudee

[wkemeup]

Sunrise (8)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 5.3k warnings: sweet happy beautiful bucky, a unpleasant reminder of the past, whiplash of emotion, the angst I warned you about 🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

Bucky wasn’t quite sure how to hold onto this feeling without suffocating it.  

It had been nearly a year since he’d felt even an ounce of the relief like what washed through his body when you walked through the door. All it took was a single smile from across the room, the soft brush of your hair over your fingers as you nervously tucked it behind your ear, and he was gone.  

Enough for his cheeks to ache from smiling. Enough for his stomach to twist and knot from laughter. Enough for the wrinkles by his eyes to draw long and pronounced— the physical embodiment of joy upon his face.  

He wasn’t walking on eggshells, waiting for the carpet to be dragged out from under his feet, for the paralyzing darkness of an empty void to consume him whole. The shadows weren’t lingering in his wake, itching to clench their claws into his spine and drag him away from the one thing that finally drew light back into his life.  

For the first time since he stepped back on American soil, Bucky Barnes was happy. Truly and honest to God, happy.  

“So! What do you think?” your voice called to him, breaking the trance he’d been in. 

“Hmm?” Bucky blinked a few times to adjust to his surroundings. You were laughing at him, a hand over your lips in an effort to muffle the sound. Behind you, a woman directed a pointed stare in your direction despite the busy chatter inside Luciana’s.  

“The book, Bucky,” you grinned, tapping on the edge of the binding.  

He glanced down. The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue sat propped in his right hand, the clip you’d given him the first day of book club nestled in at the center to keep the pages open. Truthfully, he hadn’t read a single word of it since he sat down with you an hour ago. His attention had been better kept watching how you tugged your lower lip between your teeth in concentration, how your eyes widened at a particularly suspenseful part of your chapter, how you clicked your nails against the coffee mug in perfect rhythm with the café music.  

“It’s good,” he said, though you pouted at him. 

“Bucky you’ve been on the same page for twenty minutes!”  

Busted. He shrugged, a laugh in his breath.  

“Guess there were better things to look at.” 

Your lips parted for a second, caught off guard, before you settled back into your seat. Your hands wrung out in front of you, eyes darting down the floor. It wasn’t easy to make you flustered, but damn if it was Bucky’s favorite feeling in the world.  

“Don’t insult my books like that, Barnes,” you teased, lingering smile upon your face.  

“Wouldn’t call it an insult,” he said simply. “There’s not much that can hold a candle when you’re around.” 

The stun didn’t leave your face for a few seconds. You stared at him, then glanced around the room nervously as if he’d said something incredibly intimate. He couldn’t remember the last time this came so easy to him – the flirting, the charm. It was something he’d thrived on before the war and now, it seemed you brought that side out of him again.  

“You’re a charmer today,” you observed, laughing through the nervous energy. “What’s gotten into you?” 

“Nothing.” Bucky shrugged, reaching across the table to break off a piece of your pastry and plopped it into his mouth. “I’m happy. Can I be happy?” 

You nodded quickly, almost a little too enthusiastically, with a smile so wide on your face he wondered if it were possible for it to touch your ears.  

“Yeah. Yeah, you can be happy.” The words left your lips almost breathlessly. You were looking at him like he was the goddamn sun and damn if that didn’t tug straight at his heart. “I like you happy.” 

“I like me happy, too,” Bucky chuckled. He glanced up at the clock. “Come on, we should head over to the VA.” 

You downed the rest of your coffee in a single chug and set the cup on the counter. Luciana waved at you as you moved towards the exit, Bucky in tow, and she winked at him as he passed by. He nodded, offering her a tight-lipped smile as he stepped out into the cool Autumn air. Your hand naturally slipped into his and you tugged him along the sidewalk.  

“Promise me you’ll actually pay attention to Steve’s spiel instead of staring at me the whole time,” you teased him as you walked over the crosswalk, nudging his side.  

Steve was giving a presentation at the VA for the open house; explaining the benefits, the groups, different opportunities, and the respite rooms. It was a big deal apparently and helped to bring a lot of former soldiers into the fold. It was one of your favorite days because there was usually an increase of members at book club for a few weeks after.  

“No guarantees,” Bucky replied, face as even as he could manage it. That was, until you swatted his chest and he burst into laughter, drawing the attention of a group of teenagers who eyed him as they walked by. Their lingering stare meant nothing to him when he stood at your side.  

When you reached the VA, you pushed open the door, considering his hand was otherwise occupied, and led him inside. There were dozens of people in the lobby, certainly more than he’d ever seen inside. Men and women were mingling around the tables, some sitting on the couches, with paper plates of cheese and crackers from the grocery store.  

Tony stumbled by carrying about four boxes filled with cookies, barely keeping his balance.  

“I could use a little help, kid!” he called, eyeing you as he frantically made his way to the kitchen.  

“Coming, Tony!” You turned to Bucky, smile still present on your face as you ran a hand along his arm in comforting sweeps. “Will you be alright?” 

“Yeah, I’m good. Go.” 

Maybe if he looked close enough, he might have seen a well of pride on your face, but you didn’t give him the chance before you leaned up and pressed a kiss straight to his lips— no cares for the crowd in the room or the fact that Sam and Steve were lingering around the VA somewhere. Bucky couldn’t find it in himself to worry about the stares because, hell, maybe he wanted people to know you were the woman he had the privilege of kissing. 

“Go,” Bucky said again, pulling away from you reluctantly as a clanging could be heard from the kitchen, followed by an aggravated moan which could have only belonged to Tony Stark. You pouted, stealing one last kiss before bolting down the hall and out of sight.  

Bucky spent a few extra seconds staring down the end of the empty hallway before he turned back to the room. The crowd didn’t bother him as much as it might have a few months earlier. He didn’t feel the same rush of anxiety in his veins as he felt on busy streets, but it didn’t mean he was explicitly comfortable either.  

So, he kept to the outskirts of the room, standing along the wall and observing quietly from the corners.  

The event seemed to be going well. He’d spotted Steve mingling with a group of older guys with long white beards and biker jackets, laughing as they told him about their adventures biking cross country. Sam found his way over to the couch beside a few of the guests who had busied themselves with the food instead and even found a way to get them talking to one another. Bucky kept his hand pressed into his pocket, a semblance of a smile on his face as he watched Sam pick a chip of the plate of the woman he was talking to without reservation. 

It was a good place. A respite. Just like Sam had told him it would be. Bucky found a sense of normalcy in this building he couldn’t have hoped to find out in the real world alone— a belonging – and he knew a lot of that had to do with you.  

He was just about to head down to the kitchen to see if you needed any help when he heard a voice that ran like ice through his veins. What it had said was indistinguishable, but Bucky could recognize the thick grovel of the tone almost anywhere. Slowly, he glanced over his shoulder, trying to remain as small as possible, as he spotted Jack Rollins emerging from the entrance.

With slicked jet-black hair, hardened angular lines upon his face, and a permanent scowl etching down on his features, Jack Rollins was not a man Bucky ever wanted to see again. He spoke with the two men in his wake, gesturing to a woman who was standing quietly by herself, reading the flyers on the bulletin board, as if he were stalking prey.  

Bucky’s heart was thunderous as he took a step back. His black slammed against the wall, catching the breath in his lungs. His fingertips brushed over the chill of the pealing wallpaper, trying to find his grounding before Rollins noticed he was there. But luck was never so kind to him.  

It only took one scan of the room before Rollin’s eyes landed on Bucky. He stilled, just as surprised to see him, but then, something dark twisted upon his features. 

“Sergeant Barnes!” he called over the crowd, a jeering sort of laugh in his voice. 

Bucky gritted his teeth, forcing himself to meet Rollins in the eye. “Jack.” 

“Been over a year, man. How you been?” Rollins was conversational only in statement. His tone was near threatening, his men following behind him like a shadow. Dark eyes trailed down along the empty sleeve on Bucky’s side, a smile rising on his face.  

Bucky tried to pretend as though he didn’t notice. “Recovering. You?” 

“Yeah, I bet you are.” Rollins chuckled. Then, he puffed his chest up. “I’ve been working for the private sector.”  

That didn’t surprise him. Rollins always had an affinity for the darkest parts of the job overseas. He took too much pleasure in the use of his weapon, paid no mind to the destruction left behind in his wake. Rollins was exactly the sort of man the military hoped to produce; follow chain of command without question, find purpose in your mission, execute without remorse. Seemed he found more of the same when he returned home. Only this time for a bigger paycheck.  

Bucky could still picture him dressed in army camouflage with the weight of near forty pounds of combat gear on his back, finger always on the trigger. It felt a bit like that now, Bucky realized, as Rollins narrowed his eyes as if he were going in for the kill.  

“You know, Barnes,” Rollins shrugged, exchanging a snide grin with his friends, “I’m a little surprised you’d even show your face around here after what happened. Takes guts.” 

Bucky swallowed as though there weren’t blades in his throat. He tried not to let the hitch in his breath show or how his stomach dropped about ten feet below the surface. Instead, he pressed his lips together into a thin line, holding Rollins’ stare as if he were made of stone.   

“You should leave,” Bucky said, his voice low enough to break gravel.  

“Me?” Rollins mocked, laughing as he turned to his friends. Then, facing Bucky again as a darkness clouded over his features. “That's rich, coming from you.” 

Bucky held his breath. He tried to draw on images of you sitting across from him at Luciana’s, how you smiled at him, how you made him feel like he didn’t carry such a heavy weight upon his back. He pictured you curled up next to him in your bed, imprints of the pillow on your cheeks and the covers pulled up tight to your chin. He imagined how your hand felt in his, how it brushed along his back, how your lips felt on his cheek, on his mouth.  

But those pictures started to fade the longer Rollins stared at him, that devilish smirk upon his face as he ran a hand along his jawline, cracking his knuckles against the bone. Those comforting images of you sunk into the darkness, pulled from him somewhere far beyond where he could reach and suddenly, he felt like he was standing on a pillar at the center of the ocean, nothing but violent waves surrounding him for miles. Alone.  

“I mean, what the fuck are you doing here, Barnes?” Rollins jeered, picking up a cookie from the table, inspecting it for a moment before he tossed it back on the platter. It crumbled on impact. “You think you even deserve to step foot in this building after what you did?”  

“It didn’t go down like you think,” Bucky shot back, his voice uneven, wavering, as if he didn’t quite believe it himself.  

He tried to repeat the words that Sam had worked to instill in him again and again for months after he came home. They never seemed to stick until the last few weeks but now – now they felt as far away as ever.  

I did everything I could. 

Some things are outside of my control.  

It wasn’t my fault. 

He wasn’t sure he believed that with Jack Rollins circling around him like a vulture, amused by the distress quickly forming against Bucky’s features.  

From across the room, Sam stood up from his place on the couch, a hand gesturing over to Steve as he caught sight of Rollins. Bucky retreated in his stance, feeling as though Rollins was towering over him, his chest caving in. Rollin smirked, teeth bared and ready to strike.  

With venom like precision, Rollins spat, “You’re the reason half our unit is dead, asshole.” 

It hit like a sucker punch to the gut, made him stumbled back a few paces as if he were clocked in the chest. The initial blow only lasted for a few seconds before the overwhelming sense of shame seeped back into his veins, slipping through his blood like muddied waters and stealing away the careful, steady progress he’d made.  

Then, a lingering acceptance as it cleared him to the surface. 

A numbness took over, casting back to the shadows inside his mind. It was what he’d been waiting for since the day he’d stepped foot off that plane – for someone to confirm all the destruction and self-loathing he’d felt since that day.  

Rollins was right.  

I could have saved them. 

I could have prevented all of it. 

It was my fault. 

He’d been foolish to convince himself otherwise. 

“Hey!” Sam barked, jutting out in front of Bucky and shoving a hand to the middle of Rollin’s chest as he attempted to draw closer. “What the fuck is your problem, man?” 

“My problem? My problem is you’re letting just about anyone walk through those doors!” Rollins shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at Bucky. “Your buddy here is responsible for eight of our own coming home in caskets!” 

Bucky flinched, visibly recoiling as if something had burned him, and it seemed to be the reaction Rollins was looking for because a snide grin slid up along his cheeks.  

Steve was suddenly on his left, a hand pressed to his shoulder. He was whispering something in his ear, but he couldn’t quite hear him. He could hardly make out what Sam was shouting as he attempted to push Rollins towards the door. A crowd was gathering – standing in watch to observe the shame of a soldier who should have burned in the desert with his friends.  

“What’s going on?” 

Bucky’s heart dropped at the sound of your voice as you appeared on his right. He didn’t know how long you’d been there or what you heard, but it was the first time he ever regretted allowing himself the luxury of your presence, of your warmth and kindness. You should have been an anchor beside him, but he could feel the rope slipping from his grip, letting him sink down into the ocean or float high into the clouds – somewhere far away from where you were.  

You ran your hand along his arm, trying to thread an ounce of comfort back into his body, but he was rigid as stone. The touch was paralyzing. It was a reminder of his emptiness, of his ill attempt to be worthy of your affection. You seemed to notice as you stared up at him, worry filling your eyes.  

“Ah, so you’ve got a girl now, too?” Rollins sneered towards Bucky, shoving Sam aside.  

“Leave her out of this,” Bucky warned, his voice returning to him only in your defense. He stepped out in front of you, shielding you from Rollins’ gaze.  

It only seemed to amuse him more. “Tell me, sweetheart. What’s it like? I mean, can he even get the job done? You wanna try being with a real man again?” 

It was Sam that roared in response. “Watch your fucking mouth!” 

Your hand rested on Bucky’s shoulder blades as if you were trying to ease him but he felt like he was on fire. Rollins shoved Sam aside to get a better look at you, a predator going in for the kill.  

Rollins’ cold eyes stared directly into yours and Bucky felt his breathing stop.  

“Did you know half of our unit died under his watch?”  

Everything became white noise after that. Bucky didn’t dare turn to look at your reaction, nor could he hear Sam’s defense or Steve’s angry shouts as Rollins continued his taunts. He didn’t know how it happened, but suddenly, Rollins was on the floor. Sam was shaking his hand out, holding his fist against his chest. 

Rollins stumbled his way back to his feet with a vengeance, folding his hands into fists as he charged at Sam. 

“Get him out of here!” Steve’s muffled voice called to you as the crowd began to swarm in. Former soldiers joining the chaos, cheering or barreling fists. A man bumped into Bucky’s shoulder, but there was no trace of a reaction on his face. He was empty. He was numb.  

Bucky could vaguely feel your hand as you slipped it into his pocket, drawing his own to intertwine between your fingers and you tugged him down the hall. He knew better than to look over his shoulder at the mess he was leaving behind.  

*** 

You took Bucky into the empty library, quickly closing the door behind you to muffle the sound of the shouting down the hall. Bucky stood at the head of the couch, his eyes downcast.  

“Are you alright?” You knew there was no good answer. It was a foolish question. And still -- you asked. 

Your hands slid along Bucky’s chest, up to his shoulders to try and draw some of the tension away, and for the first time, he recoiled under your touch. Your hands quickly dropped down to your sides as you took a few steps back, hands held tightly in front of you. A flash of remorse covered his features as he looked at you, but then the stone swept back in its place and hardened the softened edges you adored. You pushed aside the splinter inside your chest.  

“Who was that guy anyway? He seems like a real piece of work.” You laughed, though it was tense and forced. Bucky didn’t so much as crack a smile.  

It was silent for a moment. The only sound coming from the low hum of the radiator in the corner of the room. Bucky’s gaze was fixated on the carpet, staring at the years’ faded stains and the dust bunnies at the foot of the couch. A terrible aching tugging down on his lips, on his eyes, on his cheeks, and he barely resembled the man who had teased you over coffee at Luciana’s just an hour earlier.  

“He was right, though.” 

You swallowed, daring to ask, “what do you mean?” 

“I'm the reason half my unit is dead,” Bucky replied flatly. When he looked at you again, you found his eyes were red, his lips swollen from chewing on the edges. His right hand had indents in his palm from where he’d dug his nails into the skin. Your stomach lurched.  

“Oh, Bucky.” Your heart broke at the sight of him. “That... That can’t be true.” 

He didn’t say anything, but the grit in his teeth was enough to tell you that he believed it. You’d only seen glimpses of how the war had touched him, how it cast shadows over the man he’d been before he stepped on that plane and adorned the uniform, but now – now, it felt like those shadows had consumed him whole. He couldn’t so much as see the soft rise of the sun over his shoulder. He was too swept up in the embrace of darkness. The light couldn’t touch him where he stood shielded by night.  

“Why don’t we go to my place?” you offered, inching a step closer. When he didn’t retreat, you gathered his hand into your own. While he didn’t pull away again, you could feel the reluctance in his grip, the rigidity in his stance. “I can make dinner and we'll throw on a movie, okay? Let’s just get out of here.” 

Your right hand slid along the side of his face, cupping at his cheek. He usually leaned into the touch, pressed a kiss to the inside of your palm. Instead, the most he could force out was a tight-lipped smile that did not touch his eyes. You could practically feel how hard he was clenching his jaw, the muscle tired and aching. Still, he nodded. 

As you led him out the back exit of the VA, you glanced behind you to see Rollins sitting on the floor, nursing a bloody nose as a police officer stood over him, jotting down notes as he spoke with Steve. Sam caught your eye for a second, nodding in your direction. A relief washed through you and you tugged Bucky outside before anyone could notice him slip out.  

It was silent the whole walk to your apartment. It wasn’t entirely unusual, but it was the first time the air carried a lingering sense of discomfort in it. You wondered what was going on in Bucky’s head, how badly he’d construed whatever Rollins had said to him, even before you arrived. Sam had told you of Bucky’s self-destructive habit of carrying guilt far heavier than he could carry, guilt that didn’t belong to him. He seemed to welcome it like it was made for him. He didn’t mind if it ripped him apart and left him broken and empty when it was done. He seemed to think it was what he deserved.  

You squeezed his hand, hoping it might draw back a sense of comfort, but he kept his eyes forward on the empty streets ahead. His hand was little more than limp in your hold.  

*** 

Bucky was just on the edge of sleep when it began to creep up on him. Slow at first, and then, sudden, in violent flashes. 

Sweltering heat. The low rumble of a jeep. An infectious laugh on his left and the cold compress of a gun in his hands. A sudden stop.  

Bucky gritted his teeth, trying to turn away from the images attempting to draw him under, to sweep him beyond the current, to drown him in the darkest parts of the depth. But the riptide caught hold of his leg and forced him underwater.  

Heavy equipment on his back. Sand under his feet. The sun blinding in his eyes.  

He swallowed, but his throat was lined in rust. It burned. He couldn’t breathe.  

A reflection over a valley. Someone shouting. Screaming. Warning. Frantic.  

The kid. Get to the kid! 

Then – the heat of a fire scorching his skin. Ringing in his ears. Muffled. Agonizing silence. Blood on the sand, on his shoes, dripping down his side and soaking into his uniform.  

Pain. So much pain. So much pain. So much— 

Bucky’s eyes shot open. He sucked in a breath of air and it came in short and shallow, barely filling his lungs, and he was panting for more. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, gasping for breath until he took enough in that the dizziness started to subside. His forehead was lined in sweat, his right hand shaking uncontrollably as he gripped at the sheets.  

It was as mild as it’s ever been – the nightmares. Usually, he woke up screaming, his voice so raw it ached until morning. He thrashed and kicked and drew blood until something finally jarred him awake. He’d broken the lamp beside his bed four times in the weeks after he came home. It was violent and messy, and it was a damn miracle he’d only felt a sliver of it tonight.  

But it had been so long since he had one. He almost thought they had finally released him from their hold before Rollins showed up. For a while, they let him be happy. He should have known better than to expect it to last.  

The mattress dipped slightly behind him and with a sharp hilt, Bucky suddenly remembered where he was.  

He turned over his shoulder to find you laying on the bed beside him, hair cast up and around you against the pillow, eyes closed, the steady rhythm of your breaths indicating you were still fast asleep. He stilled for a moment, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the light scrunch in your nose.  

You’d tried so hard to get him to smile the whole evening after what happened at the VA. Constant touches to his cheeks, along his arm, playing absentmindedly with his hand. You made him dinner and curled up against him as you put on a movie that you were certain would turn his mood around, but he remained stoic and cold until you finally resigned to the bedroom.  

He could tell how exhausted you were. Even reaching for his hand, there was a helplessness in your grasp, but you’d begged him to stay, insisting you didn’t want him to be alone after what happened at the VA. You held him tight to your chest, told him over and over again that you didn’t care what Rollins said, you knew he was a good man and that was all that mattered. 

Bucky wanted so badly to believe that.  

But here you were – so beautiful, a light, something good in his life he didn’t deserve.  

Sam would kill him for giving into those thoughts again, but all he had in his head was violence and agony and there you were – so peaceful and soft and kind. He'd taint you with all the mess threatening to break through his seams. He’d hurt you. He'd break you. You couldn’t hold him together no matter how hard you tried. He didn’t deserve such kindness. Today reminded him of that.  

Bucky leaned in and pressed a short kiss to your temple. It was feather light and still, you sighed in your sleep. He tried not to notice when the corners of your lips curved up into a smile.  

Then, he crept out of the room, stealing one last look at you as you turned onto your side, arms crossed over your chest protectively. Something tugged inside his chest, begging him to stay. He could feel it pushing him back toward the bed, to your embrace and the comfort it brought, but he turned his back. He ignored his every instinct to return to your side and dragged his feet of the bedroom instead.  

Despite his reluctance, he found himself lingering on the photograph in your hallway of the Air Force pilot; sandy blonde hair, a tight-lipped smile, features that made him look younger than he probably was. A pang of jealousy wretched into his stomach at the sight of this nameless man. Shame quickly followed. 

You never spoke of the man in the photo – the nameless Air Force pilot who stood at your side in front of your parents. The way you pressed out a smile despite your tears, the position of your stance angled closer to the pilot as if to preserve your last remaining moments together, made Bucky question what had happened to this man. This was clearly a man you had loved. Might still love. 

Bucky didn’t dare allow himself to wonder if he had ever measured up. He supposed now he would not get the chance. 

Bucky let out a sigh as he turned away from the picture. He made it all the way to the door before he heard the squeak of the floor boards behind him. 

“Bucky?” 

Sleep was still etched in your voice. You yawned as you folded your arms, squinting at him to adjust to the dim light in the kitchen. Bucky clenched his jaw, reluctantly turning to face you.  

“It’s the middle of the night,” you said, eyes flickering to the clock above the stove. It was then you must have noticed the jacket draped over his shoulders, boots on his feet, hand begrudgingly releasing the door knob. Your face fell. “Where are you going?” 

He didn’t know what to say. Was there an easy way to break your heart? Was there any excuse that could allow both of you to walk away from this unharmed? There was no good answer, but his silence certainly was worse.  

“Bucky?” you tried again and he could hear the inflection of concern etched into your tone. You took a step closer to him and he held himself firm. He was stone now. It was what he had to be.  

“I’m sorry,” he muttered out, voice low, though he met your eye. “I can’t do this.” 

If you were still half asleep a moment ago, you weren’t anymore. Your eyes widened, lips parting. Your arms fell down to your sides.  

“What... What are you talking about?” you exhaled, barely above a whisper. He could hear the hurt in your voice, the confusion, and he hated himself for it. You stepped closer, reaching out for his hand. “Please, just come back to bed. You look like you haven't slept for—” 

Bucky pulled his hand away the moment you touched his fingers. It forced a hitch in your breath, a step back. You hadn’t expected him to recoil from you like that. Two times in the same day. You were losing him, the realization clear in your eyes. He was slipping and he would not take the tether as you threw it to him.  

“This is about what that man said at the VA, isn’t it?” you asked timidly, your lip quivering. You shook your head, trying to hold back tears though Bucky could practically hear the tension from the lump in your throat. “He was... he was just being cruel. I don’t believe a word of it. And neither does Sam or Steve – the people that love you, Bucky. Don’t give in into him. Don’t let him win.” 

Bucky didn’t say anything, rendering his reaction colder than you deserved. 

You reached out for him again, a habit, though you pulled your hand back to your chest before you could touch him. It was shaking.  

“Honey, please,” you tried again, unwilling to give up on him like you should. “Come get some rest and maybe you’ll feel better in the morning. Just... don’t go. Don’t be alone with this.” 

You were begging. He could hear it in your voice. The desperation. And still—Bucky offered you nothing in return. 

He sank so far inside himself you couldn’t reach beyond the cliffside to offer your hand. All it took was a single push. He was already standing so close to the edge. Rollins had set a hand on his back, like an old friend, like an enemy, and shoved. Bucky didn’t even try to catch his fall.  

“Whatever this is...” Bucky murmured and eyes focused down at the tile, unable to look at you as he broke your heart, “it’s over.” 

His heart was splintering as he said it and still, he turned and left without another word. He didn’t wait for your response, didn’t wait to see whether his cruelty had ended in tears, and closed the door behind him. You didn’t attempt to follow.  

You’d understand eventually, he convinced himself. Even a woman as compassionate and loving as you couldn't possibly love a man so broken, with jagged edges and open wounds, with shards of glass embedded inside him and poison in his touch. Empty and hollow. Broken.