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robo-writing · 22 hours

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I saw your requests were open, so I have to ask for… pain 😔

Can I request a Logan x afab!reader HCs or full fic about how reader is getting older and he kinda isn’t yk? Like going from when they first met, to readers deathbed, and how he has to live without them for the rest of his life 🫶🫶

Also take care of yourself DRINK WATER 🥰

Oh yeah, it’s angst time.

It's sooner than later that you'll be alone Synopsis: You live a long life, but not as long as Logan's. Warnings: 3.2k words of gut-wrenching angst, mentions of blood, grieving someone after they're gone Author's note: Hope you're happy anon, I cried five times writing this <3

He had first met you in your twenties—twenty-three, to be exact.

Young, bright eyed, naive. You were kind, where he was not. You were hopeful, where he was jaded and angry at the world. He loved your innocence, how you always saw the best in others—suppose that’s what made you such a good counselor to the children. You listened—really, truly listened—made anyone that walked through your office doors feel welcomed.

Maybe that’s why he found his way to you. When the nightmares wouldn’t let him sleep and the voices wouldn’t let him think, he shuffled to your bedroom door without a goal in sight, bare feet padding against the polished floors. His knuckles meet your door, seconds passing by before he asks himself why the hell he’s even here in the first place.

Before he could walk away he heard your feet shuffling, followed by the click of your doorknob.

He felt guilty for waking you up, eyes red and face puffy, but you didn’t even question why he was at your door, just rubbed your eyes and opened the door wider for him to walk in.

It was silent at first. You offered him some water, passed him a blanket, and just sat there. You never pressured him to speak, and he didn’t feel compelled to. Maybe five minutes later he said something and you just nodded in his direction, encouraging him to continue.

For the first time in a long time, he talked. And you listened.

It became a ritual between the two of you, staying up late at night just to chat. It wasn’t always about his past, sometimes he just needed to let it all out, and you were the perfect outlet. He felt like you didn’t judge him, and that’s all he ever needed.

Eventually he wanted to hear you too—he preferred it that way. Talking about lesson plans and movies, little things that seem mundane but made him feel less like a patient and more like a friend. You were a welcome distraction, and an added bonus was that you were really cute when you were talking.

He was the one who made the first move. He remembers every detail, from your pajama shorts to the over-worn tank top sliding off your shoulder, your eyes bright as you went on about a new baking recipe you wanted to try. Sat on your bed, looking so relaxed he couldn’t help but stare and marvel at your beauty.

“Logan?” You ask, waving your hand in his face. “Hello? Earth to Wolverine?”

The moment you called out his name he was already making his way to your bed. The mattress sinks beneath his weight, and you let out a soft noise of surprise before he plants his lips against yours.

Yours are soft compared to him—everything about you screams softness, innocence and purity, and he’s not sure if a man like him even has the right to be next to you, much less kiss you. He’s certain his soul is filthy, tainted—a layer of black that’s sure to muck up your own if he keeps this up. He knows this deep in his heart, but greedy man that he is, he keeps his lips locked to yours.

Once, and then never again. He can’t be with a girl like you, and he knows it.

You hold him by the neck and pull him back when he tries to leave your embrace. Maybe it’s pity, he thinks, the way your hands tug him by the shirt and cling onto the fabric. Maybe you’re only entertaining him, stringing him along just to laugh in his face, mock him into ever thinking he had a chance. If you are, he doesn't care, because at least now he’s got a taste of what he could never have.

The two of you finally separate, a silk-thread of spit connecting the both of you, looking at each other with a mixture of shock and confusion. What happens after this? How does he return to what you had before—how can he, when he now knows your chapstick tastes like cherries?

He makes a move to leave, but against all odds your hand is still clinging onto his shirt. In that moment he knew he was the luckiest man alive because you begged him to stay in that cute voice of yours, begged him not to leave when his hands made their way up the front of your shirt—begged him for more when his lips wandered lower.

By your thirties you already had a shiny ring on your finger, one that he can say he proudly put on your finger. A gold band adorned by diamonds, it shines in the orange light of the sun, staring at you from its red-velvet housing.

It’s the first time the X-Men see him cry, tears running down his face when you run into his arms screaming yes, yes, over and over as he holds you in his arms, sunset illuminating your features. He always thinks of you as beauty personified, but watching you admire the diamond-studded band with awe—the one thing that signifies you as his—he can’t help but look at you like icarus does to the sun.

The wedding was small—neither of you minded. Hank was the ringbearer, and Charles walked you down the aisle, and when your vows were said and done the priest could barely finish the ceremony before Logan lunged forward and kissed you, dipping you at the altar accompanied with a cheer from the people you consider your family.

Scott has the video saved on his phone. He pretends it pisses him off, but he had Jean send him a copy later. Sometimes he watches it when he thinks you’re asleep, but little does he know you are very much awake.

In your fourties’ you have a house together, somewhere upstate where no one can bother you. A cozy wooden home where it’s just you and him, relaxing by the fireplace and watching tv every day. When he’s not helping the X-Men he works at a local lumber yard, the highlight of his day being when he comes to work, grabbing his equipment from the truck.

His co-workers jeer at him every time, call him whipped like butter, but they wouldn’t understand what he feels. He certainly doesn’t seem to care, especially when it’s your kiss pressed to his cheek.

He can safely say his life is perfect. It’s domestic, it’s everything Logan ever dreamed of, everything he thought he could never have—and it’s all thanks to you. He wakes up every morning grateful to you for giving him the greatest gift he could ever receive: serenity.

Between the fairytale ending and his rose-colored glasses, he doesn’t notice it, not until you’re in your fifties and he’s—he’s not.

You’re aging, and he’s staying the same.

You still love each other and he’d never, ever, think about leaving you, but the realization sticks with him. He thinks about it late at night while you sleep next to him, pressed against his side. Your scent, your touch, he memorizes it all because he doesn’t know when he won’t be able to feel it again.

In your heart you know it too, but you don’t say anything—you don’t want to scare him away. He’s only just begun to get used to normalcy, and you don’t want to take that away from him. You don’t want to watch him fall into the honeyed trap of isolation again, return to that shell of a man you only just helped him shed.

So when you’re watching tv together, he makes sure to cradle you to his chest extra tight. When you’re sitting by the fireplace, heat radiating off your skin, he makes sure to memorize the way the fire illuminates your face. When you’re whispering his name after a night of love-making he etches the sound deep into his synapses, memorizing each syllable.

No matter what, he’ll remember you.

By your sixties you’re faced with an awful truth, one neither of you want to admit but your smile lines and crows feet stand contrast to his barely aging face. You get stares when you mention he’s your husband, some curious, some judging. You were called a cougar once by a shopper, finger pointed accusatory while Logan told her in no uncertain terms to go fuck herself.

He was there to reassure you then, but he can’t be there all the time. You don’t tell him that this wasn’t the first time you were accused of being a predator, and you don’t plan on doing so.

Maybe this counts as acceptance, faced with the truth in the worst kind of way, but at least the both of you can say it out loud now—

You’re going to die, and he’s going to outlive you. It’s just a fact, but it still makes the both of you terrified.

Your seventies are rocky—you want to enjoy the time you have left, but Logan wants to make sure you’re safe. In his eyes you know he has only love for you, but you can see the fear in them too, how he coddles you every day. Your bones are starting to ache, you’re getting slower. Where you used to go on hikes with him you now choose to stay home, your stamina not like what it used to be. He thinks you don’t notice how he watches you carefully around the house, how he’s so eager to help you. You’re flattered, but also annoyed—it’s a short-lived train of thought when you look at him.

He still looks at you like he did when you first kissed.

He still loves you, and you still love him. For now, that’s all you need.

He finds you on the floor in your eighties—eighty-three, to be exact.

The moment he sees your resting form behind the counter he sprints into the kitchen. There’s broken glass, a trail of blood running from your temple, and you’re completely out of it, eyes closed shut. He calls your name, shakes you, but nothing. He knows you’re still alive, he can hear your heart beating but he can feel how weak it is under his clammy hands, the soft thump nowhere near as strong as it should be.

He doesn’t know what to do—he’s long since been familiar with blood but this time it’s you, and he’s panicking. He doesn’t know what to do.

The ambulance arrives, longer than usual because you live far away from the city. Maybe if they’d gotten there faster they would have been able to do an infusion. Maybe if the phone wasn’t so far you’d be able to call 9-1-1 before you passed out. Maybe if he was at home he would’ve been able to see the early signs—

“Sir? Are you alright?”

He looks at the clock on the bedside wall: 7:38 pm.

It’s well into the night, five hours have passed since you were admitted, and an hour since you died.

He’s been staring at your body for who knows how long. The doctor pronounced you dead, said you had a heart attack and hit your head on the way down. An accident.

A fucking accident.

“Sir, was she related to you?” The young nurse asks, contemplating whether or not she should even speak. Wordlessly, he nods.

“I understand you’re grieving,” she continues, standing at his side. Her words are full of empathy, none of which he needs but lets her speak anyway. “I saw on your hospital logs you share the same name, I can’t imagine how it must feel to lose a loved one.”

He nods again.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how old was she?”

“…eighty-three.” He answers. “Her birthday was in a month.”

She shakes her head. “That’s a shame.”

“It sure is,” He says, reaching out to touch her hand. It’s cold to the touch, a cruel reminder. “It sure is.”

You would’ve been eighty-four now.

He still lives in the same house but it’s not the same without you. It’s lifeless, empty—all the love you poured into the decor now just an awful reminder of what he lost. He thinks about tearing it all down sometimes but he knows you’d probably kick his ass if he so much as touched your crystal vases.

Your side of the bedroom is untouched, he moved all his stuff to the separate one the week after you died. It hurts to sleep there knowing you’re gone, but sometimes he’ll sit by the nightstand, a drink in hand and stare at the empty spot where you would be. Sometimes if he stares hard enough, he can see you through tear-rimmed eyes, hear your laughter through the dull buzz of the alcohol.

He misses you. He’s not sure if he’ll ever stop.

He doesn’t know what possesses him, but he opens your closet. It’s an indulgence, a moment of weakness—he promised he wouldn’t touch your stuff and here he is, rummaging about.

Coats, dresses, shirts, all memories flooding back to him as he moves past them. The black dress you wore on your first date, the sundress you wore for your anniversary—

When his fingers brush against the lace, his heart lurches. He doesn’t need to see it to know, but he tugs anyway, revealing your wedding dress hidden deep inside. The most beautiful thing you’ve ever worn.

He takes the gown between reverent hands, as if the fabric would fall apart, disintegrate if he was anything but cautious with it. It still smells like you.

He finds the box labeled “wedding” next to it, and without hesitation pulls it from its corner. Wedding invites, flowers, old videos, everything that you could have taken as a memory, you had it. You even kept the cake toppers.

What surprises him though, is a notebook. It’s tiny, leather bound and slightly worn, every page a new entry. He flips to the first page and his heart nearly stops.

Dear Logan,

If you’re reading this, I’m probably dead.

His eyes widened. When did you write this? The small book suddenly feels like lead in his hands, it’s a struggle to pull his eyes back to the ink-stained pages, but he does so anyway.

I hope I managed to give this to you before I pass. I wish I could explain to you how much I love you, and how much I worry about you. You’re a stubborn asshole, could never see the good in yourself but I did—I still do. I’ve known you for thirty years now so I’m willing to bet you’re probably reading this drunk, blaming yourself for my death.

He doesn’t know when he started crying but your words make him laugh through the pain, wiping the palm of his hand against his cheek. He used to say you were secretly a telepath, always able to read his mind. Seems it’s a talent that extends beyond the grave.

Anyway, rambling aside, I wanted to give you something to remember me by. You’re going to live longer than I am, we both know that: but maybe my memory can live along with you.

His hands are shaking, fingers stumbling through the next page with bated breath.

Entry one, not sure how I should start…I’ll figure it out later. Your beard grew out a little so I offered to help you shave…

I think I did a shit job but you didn’t seem to mind, or maybe you were trying to save my feelings? I don't know which one. In any case remember to take care of yourself, I might be gone but like hell if I’m gonna let you let yourself go!

Attached with a paperclip is a photo of the two of you in the bathroom, you smushing his face while he stares at the camera annoyed, or at least it seems. There’s a hint of a smile on his face.

He remembers that day. You were cuddling him and complained his beard was scratchy. He let you sit on his lap while you gave him a trim, you said your lines were crooked but he didn’t give a shit—he had you all to himself, and that’s all he needed.

A small huff of laughter escapes him, even in the afterlife you’re still bossing him around. He flips to the next page—

Entry two, don’t isolate yourself! I know you Logan, that lone wolf shit doesn’t work and you know it too! When’s the last time you talked to the other X-Men, huh?

Your words rattle in his head, feelings of guilt blooming. They call occasionally, but he never picks up. Charles is the only one he ever gave the time of day and even then the mention of your passing is a sore subject. One time Scott showed up at his house, helped him clean up a bit before leaving; he never said thank you.

His eyes flick to the phone on his nightstand before continuing to read.

Entry three, don’t starve yourself! I left a couple of my recipes in the last pages, just in case you missed my cooking…

Entry four, I have a secret album of us on my phone. The password is…

Entry five, stop being so hard on yourself…

Entry after entry, all stories with advice for when you’re gone. Clean up after himself, don’t try to find peace at the bottom of a bottle, remember to find a hobby…every single page, accompanied by a description of what you did that day. Went hiking, went on a dinner date, stayed at home and watched tv—almost an entire year's worth of reminiscing in the form of a tiny brown journal.

By the time he got to the last one the sun had begun to rise. His eyes burned with exhaustion, but the thought of stopping never crossed his mind.

The big three-six-five, happy anniversary! It’s been a year since I started this project and I think I should end it here, so I’ll end it with the best advice I can give you.

Logan, you need to move on.

I know it hurts, but I’m gone, and you can’t spend your life chasing after a woman who isn’t here anymore. You deserve more in life than to grieve. I love you more than anything in the world, which is why I’m telling you it’s okay to move on.

I’ll always be with you, so don’t think that you need to feel guilty. I know you love me, and I love you.

I’m giving you permission to forgive yourself, and let me go.

He re-reads your words. Once, twice, even three times before they really sink in. I’m giving you permission to forgive yourself, and let me go.

At that moment it all comes crashing down on him. Your death, the funeral, the pain and longing, the grief—all of it. Everything he’d ever tried to push aside by drinking, culminating into this single release of emotion.

He cries. A full-bodied, pathetic display, he sobbed while holding your last memory to his chest until he was red in the face, until his lungs burned. He sobbed until he had no more tears to give, then sobbed some more.

Even in death, you were still listening.

#Robo writes #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #james logan howlett #wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine angst #hope this was sad enough for you anon #graphics by strangergraphics!

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boowritess · 2 days

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i love love love the headcanon of the 141 not having kids and babies and ewey.

i think that john price is still very relevant to that. kinda. i don't really seeing him having a pet honestly. unless you wanted one... sure... but nah y'know... he's old tired af. maybe a cat. probably definitely a cat.

but it's been you and john for as long as you can remember.

happy to be in each other's presence from morning to night, or simply just exist in a shared life that means you two don't have to always be around each other.

you could be shopping and he could be sleeping. he's outside tending to the stuff he had supposed to finish before he left deployment while you're reading on the couch inside. he's on a long deployment again, and you're at work.

plus the prospect of kids just never seemed to work into the schedule. "nah," john says to one of your friends, "can handle kids fine, but when i'm home, this old mans bones are good for sleep and not much else. i mean the breeding kink can get me goi-" john grunts when you elbow into his side.

"crude." you huff with an eyeroll.

"but true." he says into his beer as he takes a sip, eyes sparking with mischief.

your friend turns to you. "but doesn't it get lonely?" they asks. "wouldn't you want a little one running around?"

and well sometimes the days may be lonely for you when he's gone...

but that's become impossibly hard to focus on when your phone is being constantly blown up - not by price though. by the 141.

it's never really anything outrages or civil conversation. it's gaz asking which tie he should wear at an event because price said the black one but gaz doesn't really like the black one. then it's johnny sending you a video of him besting his previous time on a training course. though it doesn't stop there. ghost is messaging late nights for him but mid-day for you, asking about how to deal with insomnia. ghost is asking you because he knows you're awake and the others are asleep, he doesn't want to bother them.

you answer every single one, with so much care and attentiveness. you save every picture, every video and boost about their achievements to other people as if they were your own. however, people always assume you're talking about little kids not grown ass men.

yet on days when you're at home or you've come home from work. you're hardly surprised to find one of them had invited themselves into yours and johns home as if it was their own.

sometimes it's gaz crashed out on the couch who's in a desperate need of a shower but definitely needs sleep more.

or the sounds of soap in your fridge, raking around to find something to eat. "lass, ye out of cheese-" he ate the cheese. the whole newly bought block of it.

gaz and soap like to hover around you when they're home. whereas ghost helps price around the house.

but when it's just you and ghost, the oldest boy. it's quiet. there's no forced conversations but probably a few shitty jokes. it's you or him making food and the other doing the dishes. yet ghost opens up and the conversations turn into some of the most randomist, boyish, silly conversations.

when everyone's at home, it can actually be pretty hectic. so you go do the grocery shopping, but you take ghost along cause he's a little like you in regard for a need of quiet time.

oh and can't forget the days you go out by yourself only to come home with a few other things. socks for john - socks for all of them. you bought johnny a new pair of jeans and gaz a couple of shirts. and simon some more sweaters.

christmas, easter, new years - every single holiday is always hosted at yours and price. where everyone comes. farah, alex, laswell and her wife. rudy and alejandro making their way- then of course your boys...

and it's there where you've kinda realized.

you and john do have kids.

just in the form of grown men.

which both you and john don't seem to mind.

you end up shrugging your shoulders as you look at your friend, "honestly i have my hands full when they're all home. so... i'm good." you say with a hum, sipping from your own drink with a small smile as john just chuckles softly.

a/n: realized I never posted this. oh well. the no baby saga continues with john price. drink water be well ya'll xx

#boowrites #captain john price #captian price #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #john price #captain price x reader #cod #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish

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lovedrruunk · 18 hours

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Dating Jinx Headcanons (´ཀ`」 ∠)

Vi version!

I’m so sorry but this girl is so greasy. Smells like gunpowder and hair grease 24/7. She’s like a sphinx cat where if she sits down on something she’ll leave an oil spot so be warned because you’ll have to throw out any white sheets or cushions. She’s completely in denial about this by the way, loves to say she smells like “glitter and wonder” like no bitch when you get in the bath the water turns rainbow

Loves doing your hair! She’s either really good at it or really bad at it, depends on the day. Loves using accessories that she makes herself + giving you really fun hairstyles. “What was the inspiration behind this look...?” “A swan.”

Is actually really embarrassing. Taking her out in public feels like a humiliation ritual. Half the time it’s shit she does on purpose just being herself the other half is her being completely unaware. 100% lacks social awareness and you always find yourself apologizing for her. “Isn’t it crazy that they wouldn’t let us in?” “YOU’RE BAREFOOT.”

Overly honest at the worst times. She’ll blurt out stuff like, “That guy smells like wet dog” while the guy is standing right next to you which makes you want to crawl in a hole. If you scold her about it she’ll just snap back with “would you rather me lie?”

Loves to draw on your skin with markers. She’ll doodle hearts, smiley faces, and even little stick figures of the two of you. It’s messy but endearing, and it’s her own quirky way of being intimate with you

Stays up late just to watch you sleep. As scary and creepy as this sounds sometimes after a day full of her usual mayhem, she’ll find peace just staring at you sleep. She’ll never admit to doing it but there’s something about seeing you calm that makes her feel grounded

Your RIDE OR DIE!!! Don’t let her hear anybody say anything even remotely negative about you because she will be on their necks immediately. If there’s anyone you just slightly dislike, she’ll HATE them with her entire soul like it’s crazy. Your opps are her blood sworn enemies it doesn’t even matter if you’re over what they’ve done to you because she very well is NOT like she’s the type to be madder than you and mad FOR you. Unironically loves gossiping and will remember every little detail you tell her

Unbelievably bad at picking up hints. You’ll be sending every signal under the sun when you want her to calm down in a public place and she’ll just smile and wave, thinking you’re being affectionate, meanwhile you're trying to get her to stop climbing a memorial statue.

Loves it when you hold her hand. even if she pretends it’s no big deal. Her fingers will always end up intertwined with yours, and she’ll usually murmur something about how soft yours are or about wanting to do your nails

Has a weirdly sweet way of saying goodbye. Before you leave for the day she’ll pull you into a bear hug and whisper something like “Don’t go dying without me” before planting a quick kiss on your cheek. It’s her own weird version of “Take care.”

All for now!! The jinx brainrot is very much real

#I LOVE HAA I JUST LOVW HAAAAAARRRR #har har har har #jinx #jinx arcane #jinx x reader #arcane x reader #arcane league of legends x reader #arcane league of legends #x reader #arcane

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chlobliviate · 3 days

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Wolfstar Microfic - Azkaban

Words: 993

@wolfstarmicrofic

TW: suicidal ideation in a hyperbolic way

🌙✨🌙✨🌙

The first night that Sirius spent at Remus’ cottage after being ordered to ‘lie low’ there wasn’t ideal. Nobody wanted to wake up their ex-boyfriend with their night terrors. Nobody sane, anyway. Sirius wasn’t entirely sure which side of that line he fell on anymore, but when he woke up to Remus holding him to his chest and reminding him where he was, he hated himself.

By the time they moved to Grimmauld Place, it was established that Remus would tell Sirius a story about their time at Hogwarts as he fell asleep. This helped Sirius to remember, but it also helped with the night terrors, which they both suspected were some kind of lingering effect of the dementors.

Remus had his own room at Grimmauld Place, and he usually retreated to it once Sirius had fallen asleep, even though they’d shared a bed for months before that. It helped him to keep things separate. Telling Sirius stories about their teenage selves was hard at times. Remembering James and Lily, remembering Peter and remembering how in love they’d been. He didn’t know how much Sirius remembered of their relationship, but as most of his positive memories were taken, he probably remembered a lot of the last few months and not much else. He mostly stuck to stories about James and Sirius, or the four of them.

“Tell me about us.” Sirius had whispered after a few weeks, as Remus got comfortable next to him. “I know you’ve been avoiding those stories.”

“I didn’t know if you’d want to hear them,” Remus said. “Or what you remember.”

“I remember shouting at you in the shack and there was blood, but I don’t remember why.” Sirius said, “That seems like an important one but I can’t get to most of it. Tell me that one?”

Remus chuckled, knowing the exact memory he meant. “Alright. So, this was about a month after Lily agreed to go out with James.”

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“Moony!” Sirius sounded frantic as Remus struggled to open his eyes. “Can you hear me?”

“Unfortunately.” Remus groaned. Sirius was shirtless, and covered in blood. He looked up at Sirius, panicked. “The fuck did I do? Are you ok?”

“I can’t stop your shoulder from bleeding. What do I do? James has gone to get Madam Pomfrey but you’re —”

“Oh, it’s mine? Just leave it.” Remus’ eyes shut again, “I’ll sleep it off. It’ll be alright.”

“You can’t sleep off blood loss you unbelievable prick. Wake up!” Sirius shook his uninjured shoulder slightly, pressing his shirt against the wound on the other.

“Sirius.” Remus growled, “Shake me again and you’ll wish you were dealing with the wolf.”

“Sit up!” Sirius ignored him. “You can’t go back to sleep.”

“It’s fine.” Remus’ eyes closed again.

Sirius snapped, “It’s not fucking fine, Remus! Sit up and open your eyes.” Sirius wrapped his arms around Remus’ waist and hauled him into a sitting position before reapplying pressure to his shoulder. He felt Remus smile against his shoulder.

“If you wanted to wrap your arms around me, all you had to do is ask, Padfoot.” He said, and Sirius swore that Remus’ teeth grazed his shoulder. “I think all you can do is apply pressure and hope for the best. I’ve got a lot of blood.”

“Moony, I love you, but when you’re not bleeding profusely in my arms, I’m going to be so fucking angry with you. ‘I’ve got a lot of blood’ is not— No, you don’t. You have the same amount of blood as anyone else, you wanker. Sometimes it’s like you don’t value your life.”

Remus, half-conscious as he was, felt very called out. “My life doesn’t have much value, to be fair.”

Sirius inhaled sharply, “No. Because you don’t have people around you that would do anything for you. You’re not a fucking wizard. Your life has no value.” He said sarcastically.

“Didn’t mean it like that, Pads.” He mumbled. “Don’t.”

“Then how did you mean it?” He shouted. He would have walked out if he didn’t know that Remus wouldn’t be able to hold the shirt on his shoulder.

“Well, I love you too, by the way.” Sirius almost dropped the shirt as Remus’ eyes closed again. “When you have no choice but to turn into a monster once a month and repeatedly take chunks out of yourself, you can judge the way I cope with it. I’m in a lot of fucking pain and I just want to sleep. Thank you for helping, as always, I appreciate it. I’m just so tired.”

“No.” Sirius poked his cheek until his eyes opened again. He looked mutinous. “You're going to stay awake. I think I can hear them in the passage. Once you’re patched up, you can sleep.”

“You’re going to make me talk about this later aren’t you?” His eyes almost closed again, but he managed to open them and blink a few times.

“Of course I am.” Sirius could feel his heart pounding in his head.

"You could just focus on the love part, and not the hyperbolically suicidal part, if you wanted.”

“We’ll see.” Sirius tried so hard not to smile. “If you tell me again when I’m not covered in your blood, I’ll think about it.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Remus said as Madam Pomfrey burst through the door, followed by James, who took one look at Sirius and almost threw up.

🌙✨🌙✨🌙

“So when I got out of the hospital wing, I couldn’t wait, I pulled you behind a tapestry on the way to Charms and told you I loved you again. You were still pissed off, but I convinced you that I was pretty determined to stay alive.” He looked down at Sirius who was asleep. “You don’t know how much you’ve always helped with that.”

He considered going back to his room, but eventually slipped beneath Sirius’ duvet and curled up against his back, wrapping an arm around his waist.

#wolfstar #ao3 #fanfic #fanfiction #remus lupin #sirius black #remus x sirius #marauders #remus loves sirius #wolfstar microfic

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isalisewrites · 2 days

Text

TERRIBLE, BUT GREAT - CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

SUMMARY:

“Harry Potter.” The cold burrowed into his flesh, the scent of cloying death and molding earth clogged his senses.

“The Boy Who Lived.”

A strange sense of loss and disappointment rose within him. That brilliant, yet cruel boy could’ve been so much more if he’d not stepped down this bloodied path.

Terrible, but great. He pitied this creature.

“Come to die.”

Harry Potter faced the flash of green light with the bravery of a Gryffindor and the broken heart of a Hufflepuff.

---

When Death gives Harry a third option, one that can save everyone he ever cared about, he takes it unflinchingly. Even when that means doing the impossible: falling in love with the enemy, Tom Riddle.

---

THIRTY-SEVEN EXCERPT:

Tom put a hand to the back of Harry’s head. The skin was damp with heat. “What did you consume, Harry?”

“Felix Felicis.”

Tom cursed. Fluidly, he maneuvered Harry and scooped him up into his arms. Harry’s head rested against his chest.

“You said fuck.” Another giggle. “Not so proper, are ya?”

“How much did you take?” demanded Tom, looking down at him. He was light—lighter than he should’ve been, but Harry had obviously gained some much needed weight in the last two months. “Harry.”

Harry’s head flopped back, those eyes piercing in their light. “The whole vial.”

“Twelve hours in one go?” said Tom with a horrified gasp.

“Not my smartest move, I’ll admit,” said Harry, pointing at him and tapping Tom’s chest with a finger. “But it was a very good day. Got loads done… I think.”

“You imbecile.”

“Ah, ah, but I got what I wanted. Sacrifices must be made for the greater good and all that rot. Ugh, fuck the greater good. Fuck you, Albus fucking Dumbledore and your dickheaded chess moves over my life.”

“What could you possibly have needed that required an overdose on Felix Felicis?”

Harry grinned up at him. “That’s for me to know and for you to find out!” he said in a sing song voice and bopped Tom on the nose with a finger. Harry was lucky Tom’s hands were occupied or else he’d have been cursed. “Nuh uh. Can’t tell ya. Not yet. But it was fun. Oi, we should go together sometime.”

Tom’s grip tightened on Harry. He was torn from carrying him to the hospital wing, far too worried about the effects the potion could have on him, and taking him upstairs to sleep it off. He’d rather not any of the professors get wind of this.

“Go where?” asked Tom. “Where did you go?”

“None ya business.”

“Did you go to Hogsmeade or somewhere else?”

Harry giggled again.

“How could we go together if you don’t tell me where, Harry?” said Tom in a low voice.

There was another drunk like laugh. “Nice try, Tommy boy, but ya can’t Slytherin your way into getting me to tell ya all my secrets. Felix Felicis might’ve fucked me over, but I haven’t lost it entirely yet.”

“Debatable,” drawled Tom.

Harry’s giggles were beginning to grow on him.

“Why you holding me?” asked Harry, his giggles suddenly dying off. “Put me down.”

“No. I’m questioning over what to do with you.”

“Uh, oh. Ominous.”

Tom rolled his eyes and sighed. He hefted Harry a little higher in his arms, receiving a little squeal of delight for it, and began to go up the flight of stairs to their dormitory.

“Imagine that, Tom Riddle carrying me, the Boy-Who-Lived, like a fucking princess. Never figured ya be a prince type.”

The what?

#harry potter #tom riddle #tomarry #hp #fanfic #fanfiction #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #harry potter/tom riddle #soulseeker #terrible but great #mywriting #isa's writing

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phoenixeclipse-lmkau · 6 hours

Note

so another crumb, might not be accurate to your idea of reader, so bear with me

imagine a reader, who likes to sing, but HATES doing it in front of people. there is no sign of it, no singing, no humming, nothing around people. she will only sing if she thinks she is alone.

and one of the days spirit goes off to get to find food, reader hums a lil tune, because its only her and the cubs around, and animals aren't people.

this develops into a habit whenever the cubs are alone with reader until one day, after many false starts, reader starts to sing. the cubs love it, a song/secret just for them that spirit doesn't get to see. perhaps reader will even sing them to sleep if they're lucky.

but, after the curse breaks, well.

they're people not cubs now.

and reader knows about shapeshifting, so now every animal might be a person in disguise.

and reader hates singing in front of people.

maybe it was because of a bad experience, perhaps she didn't want to make noise and take up space, maybe its a bad case of stage fright, maybe its just some sort of instinct, but whatever it is, reader wont budge.

no matter how much they beg, plead or threaten, reader wont sing for them. reader wont even sing when left alone in the forests of flower fruit mountain. they know of macaque after all, and his ears.

but every so often, when the mountain is quiet in the dead of the night, and not a single soul can be heard, fragments of a quiet humming voice can be heard. it never goes on for too long, but it makes the listener wonder what it would sound like.

its the only thing the monkey duo gets to listen to, after turning back. while they would never want to go back, they do miss those fragile moments sometimes.

macaque is a bit more lucky in this regard. not even the slightest sound will escape him, but reader explicitly avoids singing because of him. only fragments will remain

i hope this crumb is as good as the last?

Yes yes yes!! Let me have it!! I love this!! After having a long day this is just what I needed!

Omg! Yes, actually I love the idea of Reader liking to sing but is too afraid to share her singing with anyone else.

Wukong and Macaque knowing that they are the only ones to hear it? Oh now, everyone else better pray they don't hear her sing. They are possessive and depending on who hears it other than them? May very well end up dead.

Now, not cubs or a few specific people (such as Spirit. She's safe from most of their wrath because of her relation to Reader)

They would be desperate to get her to sing again. They would do anything... well almost anything.

___

"Freedom," you said calmly, your eyes shifting to the side.

"What?" Wukong was the first to speak his eyes widening at the word.

He had to let go of your arms, which he had been gently holding. He didn't want to hurt you, but the rage that swelled in his chest almost made him hurt your arms.

"I said... I'll sing if you give me my freedom," you were quiet, your voice timid as you made your 'demand.'

"Darling you do have freedom. You can travel anywhere on Flower Fruit Mountain that you want,” Macaque spoke up as he brushed your hair out of your face.

You looked at him, his face held a warm and soft smile. With a frown you shook your head. “Freedom, I want to go home.”

As soon as you said the word home both of the monkey demons in front of you growled harshly. You immediately took a step back only to be pulled back towards them as they held you like you were about to disappear. A shiver ran down your spine as you looked at them with fear.

“We are not letting you go, ever.”

Just like that their desperation for the simpler times when you would sing to them in private or sing them to sleep caused an argument. They didn’t want to let you go, they would never let you go. No matter how much you wanted your freedom. To them you had freedom to travel around the island, safe where the monkey demons of the mountain would watch over you.

“Leave me alone,” You muttered looking downcast.

“But-,” Wukong started before storming out of the room.

Macaque looked at you sadly before nodding and following, “We’ll be here if you need anything.”

At least you could depend on that. If you wanted privacy they’d leave you alone. If you wanted food, they’d give you anything. They spared no expense to get you anything you wanted, except for your freedom. Looking down you wiped a tear away from your eyes. This was one of the few times that you’d completely closed them out.

It was over an hour later before you managed to force yourself to leave the room. You slowly opened the dark, oak wood door way that was carved with delicate roses, something that Wukong thought you would like. You couldn’t help the weak smile at that, before pushing the thought away. These monkey demons your Peaches and Plums were the ones who kidnapped you and forced you to live on their island. But they were kind to you, they gave you everything you could ask for except for your freedom.

“Your Majesty,” A sweet and small voice spoke up, one of the island cubs.

“Oh… hello there sweety,” You couldn’t help the smile at the small and very cute cub. A dark brown cub with blue eyes, and wore a pink hanfu.

“The Monkey King and His Warrior would like you to eat with them. If that would be alright, they said they’ll send your food to your room if not,” The cub said smiling, blissfully unaware of the reasons behind this encounter.

Your heart squeezed at the thought. Even while they constantly craved for your attention, for your touch they would keep their distance until you came to them or called out to them. You smiled, kneeling down to pick up the cub who chirped happily as you did so. Even though many of the monkey demons seemed to hate you when you first arrived they had all calmed down when not only their Kings adored you but the four generals had also watched over you. You were now adored by the island and none of them wanted you to leave.

“I’ll attend,” You smiled, knowing that the cub would likely not like it if you rejected the invitation. No doubt she was sent because the two Kings knew of your ever bleeding heart.

As much as you wanted to not talk to them just for the foul play as you thought it was, you couldn’t help but cuddle the small cub in your arms. You received happy chirps and chitters from it before you let her go to run off to tell the kings. They would meet you before you even made it to the dining hall within the stone palace. With a sigh you walked on through the large stone palace. Your hanfu (a gift from the monkey demons) slightly dragging on the floor behind you. A gorgeous gown made of red silk with golden thread embroidered throughout the fabric in rose patterns.

“Darling,” Macaque muttered as he stepped out of your shadow.

You barely glanced at him as he wrapped a hand around your waist and gave you a soft kiss on the cheek. He nuzzled his cheek against yours afterwards which you didn’t fight. As much as you hated to admit it you didn’t mind the kisses and nuzzles that the two monkey king’s gave you. Even if they still terrified you with their nature at times.

“Macaque,” You responded calmly.

“Are you feeling better?” He asked with a small smile, his tail wrapping around your waist protectively too. He acted as though you may disappear but there wasn’t much pressure that would make it painful.

You didn’t get the chance to respond when Wukong suddenly came around the corner sitting atop his golden colored cloud. “Darling!~ You’re feeling better!”

You were pulled into a hug by the monkey king, a kiss on the opposite cheek that Macaque kissed. They loved showering you with affection, especially after you three got into an argument. They wouldn’t change. At least not now.

So this ended up sadder than I planned… oops. But you gave me the angst to work with, can I blame you anon? Nah, I’m the one who wrote this part. Anyways thank you for the noms!! I really do love reading these. Sorry for slow replies but I do love writing these extra little scenes.

Now that I look at it, it kinda went off topic of the singing… Eh oh well. I’d like opinions if possible! Plus kudos to this anon I loved reading this!! I love these crumbs, the tasty noms!!

Be careful, I might start calling you Crumb or Cookie Anon hehe~

#dead dove do not eat #sun wukong x macaque #yandere sun wukong #yandere macaque #macaque x reader #sun wukong x reader #sun wukong x macaque x reader #shadowpeach x female reader #shadowpeach x reader #cursed warlords Au #cursed warlords lmk au

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itsnotbird · 3 days

Text

Orphic ~ File 8

Alexthymia (n.) ; The inability to express your feelings

Bucky!Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: TW! Blood, trauma, sad stuff, angst, guns, Blue needs a hug.

Previous part here

You hum a simple song to yourself as you make your way to the ladies washroom, yawning at the lack of sleep you got.

You push the door open, greeted by the white tile and pleasant lighting. You hang a fresh towel on the hook and retrieve your shower things from the shelf they sat on, next to Wanda and Nat’s stuff.

Back at The Unit, you didn’t have things that were unique to you.

Every girl used the same things, the scentless bar soap that would be supplied to each girl every month, nameless shampoo and conditioner. Now, you had products that smelled pleasant, things that bubbled and body wash you didn’t need to conserve.

Pulling back one of the shower curtains, you turn on the water to get it hot, then get your pajamas off.

But to your surprise, another curtain is pulled back. As you turn to see if it was Nat (who usually beats you to the showers), you’re completely caught off guard.

There stands a rather alarmed looking boy, a towel wrapped around him, tucked under his armpits.

“Oh…this is awkward.” He stutters, trying not to look at your half dressed body, clearly not used to a woman in her bra and underwear. “I-I’m Peter.”

The Avengers who were awake could hear your ear piercing scream.

Steve is immediately on his feet, followed by Natasha and Sam. As they run to the direction it comes from, Bucky steps out of his room just as they pass. Looking around, he calls out.

“Why are you running?”

They don’t answer.

He yawns and walks after them.

Peter is backed into the corner as you scramble to tie a robe around yourself. He looks at the growing mass of energy in your hands and how they’re pointed at him.

“You’re the bug boy? Why are you here?” You shout.

“I can explain! It’s not creepy, I promise!” Then he pauses. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

Steve busts through the door, searching the first section of the room, then turns the corner to where the showers are and sees you threatening to harm the boy.

“Oh now this is funny.” Sam exclaims.

“What the hell is going on?” Steve asks.

“Cap! Tell the crazy lady you know me.” Peter rushes, begging for help.

“I am not crazy.” You warn violently.

“Blue, let the kid go so he can explain himself before you kill him.” Nat says, and slowly you lower your hands and rush to Steve’s side as he motions for you.

“Queens, start explaining.” He barks.

Peter stammers. “Nat said I could use these showers when her and Wanda aren’t! They have better water pressure and I don’t have to deal with the guys…it’s like the high school locker room in there.” He grimaces. “And sometimes when Thor comes to stay, he doesn’t put a towel on! And the room has a funky smell-”

“It’s true, I told him he could use our showers because he means no harm.” Nat defends. “I just…forgot to mention that to Blue since the kid isn’t here too often.”

Sam shakes his head, then looks at Peter. “You really gotta get over your fear of getting jumped in the shower.”

“Some of you guys are a little scary.” Peter says in a quiet tone.

“Like who?” Steve asks dramatically.

Bucky joins the scene. He looks from Peter in a towel to you holding a robe around yourself.

“What the hell is going on?” He asks angrily.

“Like him.” Peter admits.

- - - -

Bucky grunts as he punches the hanging bag next to Steve who is doing the same.

“You want to tell me what’s going on with you?” Steve asks, hair hanging on his forehead as it grows sweaty.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Bucky says.

“You’ve been weirder than normal. Distant, on edge.”

He huffs at Steve’s words, getting a little more aggressive with his punches and kicks. He doesn’t answer him though, so Steve continues.

“…Does it have something to do with Blue?”

Bucky’s punching bag flies off the chain and across the room a ways before it hits the ground with a thud. He stands there, breathing heavily for a moment.

“No, of course not.” He lies.

Steve takes a break like Buck does and gets some water.

He’s known his friend long enough to have learned his habits. Bucky always gives himself up, so all Steve has to do is wait.

“Okay…maybe she has something to do with it.”

“Ha! I knew it!” Steve laughs. “Everyone can see it, you aren’t being sly.”

Bucky shakes his head, looking at the ground for a moment. “Steve, I don’t know what’s going on with me. I was really good at the girl thing, you know that, but she looks at me and I’m just completely out of it. She terrorizes me in the best way, it’s like I can’t sleep without her whispering in my head.”

Steve looks at him with arched brows. “Jeez, sounds like she’s making you remember you have feelings.” He teases.

Bucky shoves his shoulder. “I’m serious, Steve…maybe I have some screwed up complex now because I think I saved her or something.”

Steve sets his water bottle down. “You did save her…and I think part of her is drawn to you because you’re the only one who doesn’t watch her like she’s an alien.”

Bucky scoffs and goes to the sparing ring, putting on gloves. “I show her decency, that’s what does it?”

Steve follows suit. “You know it’s more than that. You want to know what I think?”

Bucky puts his hands up, getting into his stance. “You’re gonna tell me anyway.”

Steve throws the first punch, Bucky blocks it. “I think she’s the only thing that’s gonna get through to you. She scares you because she’s the only thing that feels real. And that’s probably the case for her. Sure, Nat’s lived the runaway assassin life but she can’t offer the comfort Blue craves.”

The two dodge each other’s hits, circling each other.

Bucky tries to process his words. “I don’t think I’m what she needs. She’s still trying to figure out how to function, she needs someone who’s steady enough to show her how. Like you.”

Steve laughs. “I knew you’d say that.”

“You have things figured out, Steve!” Bucky reasons. “And she’s already attached to you.”

“She’s attached to everyone! That’s why it’s called attachment issues. If you were around more, you’d see that she will stitch herself to who she knows is going to be gentle with her. The kid has only known kindness as a reward, you know what that’s like, Buck.”

Of course he knows what that’s like. He knows the starved feeling for a gentle hand.

Steve continues. “You need to trust yourself, I know you think you might make her worse- that you might make yourself worse, but you won’t.”

Bucky blocks a punch. “I never said that.”

Steve throws another. “You didn’t have to. Look, all I’m saying is maybe trying to kill the urge off isn’t the solution, just give into it.”

Silence passes as they continue to work on fighting techniques, then Steve speaks.

“You might be too old for her.” He jokes.

“Shut up.” Bucky grumbles.

- - - -

Sitting in the corner of the common room, you scroll through online tutorials.

It’s a discovery that you enjoy. You could watch them for hours, enjoying the idea of knowing how to do things other than kill.

How to make chicken noodle soup!

Tutorial on how to change car oil!

Fifteen minute tutorial- how to wash, dry and fold laundry perfectly!

How to achieve Hollywood curls!

By the time Bucky walks by, you’re learning how to position a curling iron for flawless hair. He looks around, seeing if anyone else is around.

It’s just you and him.

He watches you for a moment, wondering silently how you can be so content with sitting alone, being alone.

Though your eyes are still cast at the phone screen, you know he’s there. Pulling your headphones off, you look over at him.

“You’re lurking.” You claim, watching him not move an inch.

“Says the girl who hides in large rooms.” He rebuttals.

You smile and look away.

He wants to ask about it, wants to get it out of the way. But in all honesty, he’s afraid of what you’ll say. He’s been out of the game for a while but he knows that a girl running away after a kiss isn’t the best sign.

You stand from the corner, now avoiding his eyes as if it will ease the awkward tension.

“Blue…” He starts to say. “About the other night-”

Oh no.

You’ve ruined it all. He’s going to tell you that you were out of place, that he doesn’t see you in that way.

Your mind spirals, but your saving grace comes for you.

“Blue.” Nat comes into the room. “Come on, we need to get you briefed for tonight.”

You nod and come to her side immediately.

Bucky’s left standing there, cursing himself.

- - - -

You finish your glamorous makeup and hair, then turn to the dress hanging in your closet, the one Natasha let you borrow.

Breathing deeply, you prepare. You’ve done undercover work many times before, but it’s different. You aren’t seeking violence, you’re seeking answers and trying to stop a deal from going down.

If all went well, you’d find The Ring boss who has a client ready to meet the hit woman best suitable for the job. They’ll drink scotch while she aims to carry out her duty.

You can’t let that happen.

The little black dress fit snug in all the right places, a deep v neck line, elegant enough to not raise any suspicion on if you belonged in the establishment or not.

Kicking off your red sneakers, you roll the lace top stockings up your legs and put heels on.

This was a weird feeling.

You hadn’t been this put together in weeks.

Making sure your thigh holster is secure, you leave your bedroom and meet the others.

Tony runs over the plan once more with Steve, Nat adjusts her updo, Bruce goes to get the van ready for the computer crew.

You linger off to the side, legs crossed, silent until Tony looks over to you.

“Wow.” He nods with an impressed look.

Everyone turns, eyes widening.

“Is-is it okay?” You ask, smoothing the dress fabric.

“Woahhh.” Peter exclaims. “You look hot- beautiful- pretty?”

Tony smacks the side of his head.

Nat smiles. “It’s more than okay, Blue.”

As they compliment you, Bucky is standing there with his eyes trained on you, thinking a million thoughts. And sure, everyone is dressed for the occasion, but you’re the best looking one in his eyes.

“Let’s roll out.” Tony says, dragging Peter whose eyes are as wide as saucers, away to the van.

Nat takes your hand and leads you to the first blacked out suv.

Bucky’s feet falter in their step, just so he can watch you get into the back seat with Steve and Nat. Then he’s nudged into the second car by Sam.

“Come on, lover boy.”

“Don’t talk to me.” Bucky huffs.

You’re amazed at the lights of the city, you hadn’t left the compound since you got there so it was all unreal.

“Here, put this in your ear.” Nat says, handing you the ear piece.

After a moment of silence, you speak.

The sound of your voice in his ear makes Bucky jump slightly as you talk to Steve and Nat.

Sam gives him a side eye look.

“Do you guys trust me?” You ask the two that’s with you.

“Of course.” They answer.

You nod. “Good, because you’re going to have to.”

- - - -

“What is this music?” Steve frowns.

“Nobody plays jazz in clubs anymore.” Tony says through the ear piece. “Alright, Peter and Bruce have visuals, the club cameras are on the screens in front of us.” He states.

You look around at the populated club. “We need to split up.”

Nat nods, then takes off in one direction while you go another. Steve is left to try and act like he belongs there.

“Maybe sending Cap in here wasn’t the best choice.” Sam chuckles as he sees him stick out like a thumb.

“Yeah, relax Steve, you look like someone’s dad.” Nat says, searching the crowd for the suspect.

“More like someone’s grandpa.” Bucky smirks.

“You have no room to talk, Pal.” Steve defends.

You find the bar and lounge on a chair, watching the crowd carefully.

“What can I get you?” The bartender asks.

You slide him a large bill. “Assistance. You think you can do that for me?” You ask with smile.

He smirks and takes the money. “Your wish is my command.”

No mind altering needed, guys were easy.

“Perfect. Get me water in a martini glass, make it look fancy.” You state, then go back to watching.

“How are we supposed to know what the hitman looks like? Hit-woman? Hit-person? Sorry, what are we calling this girl?” Sam asks from the upstairs balcony.

“Look for a woman who’s with an older man. He’ll be wearing the best suit, she’ll be wearing something easy to hide a weapon.” You answer, bringing your faux cocktail to your lips.

“Blue, there’s a body guard to your right, I believe.” Bruce speaks, and you slowly look over your shoulder.

“You’re very correct.” You nod, then turn to the bartender. “You see that guy over there with the buzz cut? Give him a free drink when he comes over.”

The man nods and doesn’t ask any questions.

You eye the body guard that’s posted by an exit, silently luring him in. And everything goes to plan, he gets a free drink, he sits beside you, he’s impressed by your Russian dialect.

Then you invite him to follow you to a storage closet where you send his body straight back into the wall. He folds onto the ground, letting you search him.

“The south exit is free now, there should be a guard posted at each one.” You huff as you toss his gun to the side and search his pockets.

No information.

Bucky looks around, seeing the man standing at the exit he’s walking past. Making sure no one is paying attention, he makes his move, dragging the man out the back door and making sure he stays there.

“West exit is free.” He says.

“Are we just going to ignore the fact that Blue lured that bad guy into a closet?” Peter asks Tony.

Tony sighs. “Everybody has their ways.”

“I have eyes on the suspect, Adolf is in the upstairs vip lounge.” Nat says.

“That’s a horrible name.” Steve comments.

“It’s a little fitting in my opinion.” Bucky hums, moving in closer to the crowd.

If the client was here, that means the target is lurking around somewhere.

And The Ring members would be here soon.

“I thought Adolf Hitler was a saint?” You say, combing some curls back.

“Blue, we’re gonna need to have a serious history lesson.” Steve cringes.

“I guess I shouldn’t say what The Ring told me about Stalin.” You mumble.

“North exit is clear.” Sam says, grunting as he kicks the body guards body into the music equipment room.

The main doors open, and in comes a man. On his arm is a young girl, behind them are two more guards.

“I think the boss is here.” You say.

Tony starts barking out orders, making sure you’re all positioned correctly.

“Make sure SHIELD is on standby.” Steve states. “I don’t plan on hanging out here.”

“I need eyes in the vip section. Blue and Barnes, you’re up.” Tony instructs.

“What?” You squeak out.

“Move your asses.” Is your only response.

You look back at the bartender. “How many people are behind the bar in the vip lounge?” You ask.

“Two.” He answers in confusion at your urgency.

“Is there any other separate rooms attached to the lounge?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“How many guests are allowed in?”

He takes your glass. “Only four parties are, but the room is booked out completely by one party.”

You quickly run through a plan in your head. “Thanks, you’ve been really helpful.”

Swiftly moving through the crowd, Bucky appears at your side. Starting up the stares to the vip room, you turn to him.

“Room upstairs is clear, two civilians, I guess maybe four or five guards.” You say to the team, then turn to Bucky.

“Let me handle this, okay?” You ask.

He holds your eye. “No promises.”

At the top of the stairs, you button his suit jacket for him and grip onto his bicep.

He looks at you questionably, but you have a serious look about you as you approach the bouncer guarding the entrance.

“This room is booked.” He says.

“Not anymore.” You grin.

Bucky watches as the mans eyes glow an alluring blue color, and as you speak in an almost seductive tone, the man steps away and lets the two of you inside.

“What did you do?” Bucky asks in your ear as he guides you to the booth across from the one where the deal is going on.

“Are you really asking that question?” You state, subtly looking over at the meeting.

You make a quick scan of the room. Adolf has an additional two guards, making this situation outnumbered.

“I need Steve and Nat close by.” You say.

“You wanna let me know this plan you have?” Bucky asks, trying to act naturally but you’re sitting beside him, almost too perfectly close.

“If we let that girl out of our sight, it’s game over.” You mutter to him. “The guards have to go down first, Adolf isn’t going to be armed, the boss is. You leave the girl to me.”

“No.” Bucky immediately says.

“James.” You plead. “You have to trust this.”

“I don’t. It seems too easy.” He argues.

“Trust me, it’s not.” You breathe, looking away to the man staring at the two of you.

He motions for his guard to go talk to the bouncer, surely to complain that they paid good money for the room and he let strangers in.

“A guard is heading your way.” You warn the ones outside the door.

“SHIELD is outside, we need to get this wrapped up.” Bruce says.

“The guard’s dealt with, say the word and we’ll come in.” Nat says.

You look up at Bucky. “Stick to the plan.”

The girl stands after she’s given an instruction.

You follow the action, calmly coming up on her side.

“Count of five.” Bucky signals to everyone.

1…

The men take notice of you following their assassin.

2…

She looks at you with a dangerous look.

3…

You grab her by the back of the neck, sweep her legs out from under her and put her on the ground.

4…

Bucky rushes from the booth and to the guards who draw their guns.

The rest of the team bursts in.

It’s a dog fight, shots are being fired, and the girl quickly gains control of the situation. One moment, you have her pinned, the other she’s teleported behind you.

“I can help you.” You try to reason, your power gathered in your palms. “Позвольте мне помочь.”

She looks at you strangely before she attacks.

Downstairs, SHIELD agents are busting, causing a commotion. Adolf tries to escape, only for Nat to hold him at gun point.

The three remaining guards put up a fight, much like this girl you truly don’t want to hurt.

“я могу освободить тебя!” You reason, blocking her attacks, trying to wrangle the knife from her hands.

The guards are down, agents are coming into the room.

And what no one expects is for the boss to pull his gun from his jacket. With one single command from him, the girl moves away from you and drops the knife.

Before Bucky can even react and disarm the man, he fires the shot and the girl falls to the floor.

“No!” You scream, scrambling to her. Her shaky hands can barely cover the wound to her chest, it bleeds violently.

“No, no, no.” You panic, pulling her into your lap. Applying pressure to the wound, she gurgles and sputters, looking up at you. “Someone get a medic right now!” You scream.

You don’t know what’s happening around you, but everything slows as agents haul off the two guilty men.

“You’re okay. С тобой все будет в порядке.” You promise her, blood coating your hands and dress.

She looks up at you with fear, but eventually a weak smile pulls on her lips. She coughs up crimson, then puts her hand over yours and goes still.

“Blue…” Bucky approaches.

Tears fall from your eyes, hot with anger.

“Blue.” He says again, crouching to touch your shoulder.

You swallow harshly. “She’s gonna be fine, right? Right, James? SHIELD can save her like they saved me? Right, James?” You plead.

Everyone looks away, two agents come to pull the strangers body from you.

“Blue…let’s go home.” Is all he says, pulling you back as the girl is taken.

He helps you stand, all you can do is stare at your red hands and the stained dress.

You are no stranger to being covered in blood, but for once, this isn’t a life you took.

Why does it still feel like your fault?

You’re not sure who wipes your hands clean, or how you manage to make it out of the building. There’s news outlets waiting, there’s cameras flashing and people yelling questions or people yelling at the reporters to get back.

You’re getting wrapped in Bucky’s jacket and put into the back of a car.

The city lights don’t matter to you anymore, everyone’s mood is solemn.

“Sorry that your dress is ruined, Nat.” You speak almost ghostly.

“I was going to let you keep it anyway.” She responds.

- - - -

It’s 3 am.

You’re at the kitchen island with a pen and paper, trying to rewrite the events, trying to come up with a different outcome like it’s a math solution.

You don’t look up when you feel his presence. “Hello, James.” You mumble.

“It’s really late.” He states. “Maybe you should go to bed?”

Your hair is damp from a shower, makeup long gone, you’re wearing boxer shorts and a long sleeve shirt to keep the chill off.

“I’ve written out five different scenarios.” You state. “And they all show one thing. We should have disarmed him sooner. Of course he was going to kill her, it made sense, that’s what they do. One wrong move, they have to cut their losses. They’ll never let anyone have their creations.”

Bucky frowns and comes forward. “You need to stop thinking about this.”

You shake your head. “304. That was her number. They’ll have to replace her. We should be on the lookout for that.”

“Blue…will you please let this rest until tomorrow?”

You ignore him and shuffle your note pad to a blank page, starting to right down a potential plan. “This will be reported to Head Father, that the boss of the bosses, he oversees all four divisions.”

“I thought there was five divisions.”

You stop writing.

“There was, I am the last of the fifth division.” You say simply.

Bucky leans on the island beside you.

As you write, you take a shaky breath. “When the scientist messed up, he was executed. We were transported to the warehouse in Vermont and the others were shot one by one until the man came to me…and I made him turn the gun on himself like I made that bouncer let us pass. I ran like hell, somehow ended up in the city and well, you know the rest.”

Bucky doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t look at you in horror, just…looks at you.

“That is what The Ring does. We are only important if we are doing our labor correctly, otherwise we are just abominations.” You finally look at him, your throat bobs. “I forgot that, and that girl died…so I won’t forget it again.”

He breathes out and nods. You’re standing there with a determined look, broken in a way he isn’t, and he’s never been more clear of his feelings for you. He’d fight whatever battle you asked him to, he knows that for certain. He’d do it if it was his hand you were holding.

“There’s a word, alexthymia, it means you can’t express how you feel.” You say. “It might just be the thing I suffer from because I am so angry and sad, and here I am, trying to rewrite history.” You dryly laugh, shoulders shaking until it turns into a sob.

It’s a silent one that stops your breathing.

Bucky feels like a fool, standing there, watching you break down. It occurs to him that this entire time, he hasn’t seen you cry.

Slowly, cautiously, he pulls you into him. Your face buries in his chest, his hand on the back of your head as you take in broken breaths. At first, your hands are balled into fists, but as you slowly fall into that warm feeling of him, they relax and your arms twist around him.

He’s not sure how long the two of you stand like this, but Bucky is the most comfortable he’s ever been.

Eventually, you pull back and wipe your eyes.

His hand gently strokes down your hair as he looks down at you with care.

There it is, another feeling you’re not sure how to express.

Slowly, your hand raises, the tips of your fingers gently pressing to his lips, imitating the action he did the night before.

Bucky smiles, letting out a small breath. “Please don’t run away this time.” He whispers, gently grabbing your hand and leaning down to you.

Your eyes widen as he kisses you, but after a short moment, your body softly hums in delight and your eyes drift closed. One arm around his neck, you breathe him in deeply, utterly lost in the feeling as you kiss him back meaningfully. It’s not hungry, not lustrous, it caring and slow and something so kind, full of emotion the two of you can’t figure out what to do with.

He pulls you in closer, his hands have never held anything the way they hold you. Even as he pulls away, he keeps you right where you are, watching as you chase his lips for a moment.

“Your heart’s beating really fast.” You tell him and he nods.

“Yours is too.”

There’s not many words spoken as he takes you to your room, making you promise you’ll get some sleep.

You don’t let go of his hand though as he drops you off.

“Can you…stay? Please?” You whisper, afraid of disappointment.

He should say no. What is something happens? What if he has a nightmare and hurts you?

Bucky takes a second, then nods.

Your room is bare, blank walls, a few things on your desk, a grey comforter on the bed.

Nervously, you pull the blanket back and lay on your side of the bed. Bucky watches you roll onto your side, facing the window. He pulls his shirt off, drops it to the floor and comes to the vacant side.

Staring at the ceiling, he determines that he’ll stay until you’re asleep, then go back to his bed on the floor.

He won’t, though, that’s just the nervous side of his brain talking.

You roll over, wordlessly curling into his side, tucking your head against his shoulder, face buried into his neck.

He processes this choice, and though he’s afraid, he smiles and wraps an arm around you.

- - - -

He’s never slept so peacefully.

When daylight comes and he’s finally woken, you’re still sleeping softly, hand gripping his dog tags.

He doesn’t want to move you, but he really should get up and go back to his room, go take a shower.

Carefully, he untangles you from him and waits to make sure you don’t stir awake before he slips from the room.

Rubbing his eyes as he opens the door, Bucky steps out into the hall, only to be met with Peter.

“Bugboy.” He grunts.

Peter, obviously surprised, holds a flower in his hand.

“Oh h-hey, Bucky.” He awkwardly said, then clears his throat and makes his voice deeper. “I was just seeing if Blue was alright.”

Bucky looks the kid up and down. “She’s alright.”

“Well I’ll just…leave this note for her.” He says, putting the note and flower at the door.

“You do know that she’s too old for you, right?” Bucky asks, amused by the pining.

“Some could argue you’re too old for her.” He chuckles.

Bucky glares.

Peter walks off.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barns x reader #james buchanan barnes #marvel #bucky #the avengers #the winter soldier #james bucky barnes #steve rogers #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel fanfiction

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blakelysco-pilot · 2 days

Text

These Foolish Things (Remind Me of You)

From the Love Letter Series Robert “Rosie” Rosenthal x Josephine Harris (OFC)

The realities of Rosie's choice to reup for a second tour hit hard for Jo when Harry Crosby is granted furlough. She must learn to navigate the ugly emotions that come with the situation while simultaneously being there for Jean who is going through her own set of emotions at her husbands temporary return. With the help of friends, Jo is able to find the brighter side of it all, with a renewed hope for her future. Meanwhile, Rosie must deal with the guilt of his decision.

Read part 7 Here Follow along with the Love Letters Playlist

It comes in many forms; jealousy isn’t always the green eyed demon that’s depicted in books and movies. Sometimes, it comes as pain. As sadness. Desire, strangely enough. Jo could feel the emotions taking turns, and after they had all run their course, guilt would take over.

The guilt that she was a terrible friend to Jean, who was over the moon with the news of Harry’s impending furlough. Her best friend who had desired no more than to be in the arms of her husband for the duration of his time away at war, was getting her wish. So then why was she having to remind herself every day to be happy for her? Because it was Harry on his way to New York, and not Rosie? Because she couldn’t understand how after devoting himself to the cause, to signing up for a second tour of duty, didn’t he also deserve a moment of reprieve in the safety of his own home.

The last letter she had received from him had come shortly after the mail that had included news of Harry’s temporary return. It was clouded in sadness, despite his happiness for his friend. She could feel his desire to be home, the emotions palpable on the page. So much that she hadn’t told Jean of the letter. She had simply read it in the quiet of her room at night, hoping to keep her tears from falling too loudly.

Could she stand to be here while Harry was home? To see them reuniting, softly, sweet nothings whispered to Jean in passing, her gentle laughter as Harry pulled her into a hug just because he was close. Because he could. She had decided she would leave for the duration of Harry’s furlough. She could return to her parents for the four weeks, but something in her kept saying that four weeks would crawl if she were to go home. So, she had resolved to call Juliet Thompson in the morning. Her friend upstate was still on summer holiday, and she had a feeling she could use the company as much as she could- John Brady was still being held POW, and whenever the thought crossed her mind, Jo couldn’t help but feel guilt all over again. Rosie was safe in England, and she was beyond grateful for it.

The next morning felt like you could cut the tension with a knife. The days to Harry’s return were drawing near, and while Jo tried her best, she could feel the inevitable dark cloud looming overhead; she had begged for it to not creep in onJean’s good mood, but when she joined her friend for coffee, it seemed it was looming over both of them.

“Sleep well?” Jean looked over from the stove where the coffee was perking, a half smile on her face.

“Alright, all things considered.”

“Humid last night…” Jean mused.

“Slept on top of the duvet again.” Jo half laughed, knowing even if they weren’t tiptoeing around the inevitable, she’d have been a tad grumpy over the heat.

“Me too…” Jean turned, bringing the now finished pot to the table, placing it on the trivet. “Not even a breeze.”

“We want a breeze, we need to go back to Brooklyn, Jean.”

“That’s a hike,” she had set about pouring their coffee, hands staying busy. “Don’t know how you did it for so long before moving in here.”

Jo blanches at the mention of her living there, still not quite sure how to tell Jean that she’s going to be leaving while her husband is home. Guilt, again.

“Jo?”

“Hmm?”

“You haven’t touched your coffee, are you okay?”

“Oh, yes…no… I’m fine.”

“Yes no?”

“Jean… I think it's best that while Harry is home, I’m not here.”

“What! Josephine, this is your home!”

“When Harry is away, yes, but your husband is coming home, Jean, and that does not require a third party awkwardly bumbling around.”

“You could never,” Jean practically cried from her seat across from Jo. “You would never be an awkward third party to me, or Bing! We both love you Jo.”

“I love you both terribly,” Jo was trying so hard to keep the tears at bay. “But he’s your husband. You both have been apart for so long, Jean. You deserve privacy.”

“But…what if he doesn’t…” Jean burst into tears, the Harry that had left for the war was someone Jean Crosby wasn’t sure she knew anymore, and it scared her.

“Oh honey, no, don’t think that! You know Harry is so thrilled to be coming back to you, even if it is only temporary.”

“I’m not sure what to do anymore… I’m a wife but; I haven’t felt like one in so long.”

“You will both just have to take some time to get reacquainted.”

“And you? Will you go back to your parents?”

“I think I’ll call Jules first, and pay her a visit if she’s up to it.”

“Oh she’d love that!”

“Besides, the idea of four weeks at home with my parents after being here seems dreadfully boring.”

“Your mother would dote on you being home, you know that.”

“Dote or smother?” Jo raised a challenging eyebrow at her friend, their laughter somehow finding a place amongst their tears.

“Maybe a little bit of both.” Jean agreed, knowing that Jo’s mother would undoubtedly be worried from the moment she left the house each day to the moment she came home from work.

“We still have some time before Harry gets here,” Jo gave Jean’s hands a squeeze. “Why don’t you come with me to see Jules, and we can sneak Vika away from the hotel for a day and go shopping.”

“Wonderful!”

“We can get you all sorted out for your husband, Mrs. Crosby.”

The phone call to Jules had been easier than Jo initially thought; already missing John Brady terribly, she understood Jo’s feelings on not wanting to encroach on Jean once Harry arrived, and was happy to have the company of a friend nearby. She was thrilled to know Jean would be accompanying Jo on the journey up, and to make the two days with Jean enjoyable for all, she had called Ruthvika and asked if the three girls could stay at the hotel, promising Vika a weekend of fun and martinis. Jules’ childhood friend had been more than happy to set up a room for the girls, and even happier to know she was included in the slumber party. This would be good; it would be a bit of sunshine after a dark cloud, laughter and friendship, and just what Jo knew she needed.

My dearest Robbie,

My sweetheart, I miss you, and I hope you’re taking care of yourself over there. We’re in quite the heatwave here in the city, and from what you’ve told me, English summers are cooler than here at home, so with that, my love I envy you. It's not all bad, though. Jean and I have taken many trips to Coney Island on the weekends, and we brought your sister with us this last time. The fourth of July fireworks were spectacular as always, and I was so glad Jeannie was able to come with us for that.

I’m sorry to say I haven’t seen much of her since you’ve left, and even less so after I moved in with Jean. She calls on occasion, and I know she’s keeping busy with school. Your mother says she’s trying to distract herself with you being away and so, she buries herself in her coursework. I do know how that feels. Work helps to serve as a distraction during the day, but when the day is done, and Jean and I have both gone to bed, I feel that is when I miss you most. We all miss you something terrible, and in our own different ways.

I wanted to let you know that I’ll be heading upstate for a little while, to spend some time with Juliet and Vika. I must admit, I’m not very proud of myself, but it appears I have a bit of a jealous bug as of late, hearing that Harry is on his way home to Jean for a furlough. So, to make myself scarce and not be in their way, I’ve decided to pay a visit to Juliet for two weeks, before she has to return to her classroom to get ready for the school year ahead. I will go back to my parents for the second half of the time; I do miss them and I would love to see your mother as well.

I think being away from Jean and Harry might be for the best. Please, don’t misunderstand, I cannot wait to meet him, he’s not only my best friend's husband but he's your best friend as well, (we won’t tell Pappy I said that) so that makes him special. But Robbie, what have we done so wrong to not be granted the same good fortune? Why is it not you coming home? You’ve sacrificed so much, giving more of yourself and your life to this damn war, and yet, they can’t let you go, can they? Haven’t you done enough? Haven’t I waited long enough? Your mother and sister, don’t they deserve to have you home too?

I feel so guilty for feeling this way, but I can’t help but want the same happiness and excitement that Jean is feeling. I regret waiting so long to tell you I love you, Robbie. Why did we wait so long? We could have been spending time in each other's arms long before, and yet we were both too stubborn to admit how we felt. Do I sound silly? I’m sure I do, all of this griping and crying when you’re over there fighting and missing home. I should be checking on you and asking how you are, and instead I’m staining this paper with tears and going on about how envious and sad I am.

Please, love, tell me how you really are over there, or I will have to seek out Val for the truth. Has it been terribly difficult now that the invasion has passed and the fighting is well underway? I know you’re working and fighting hard, as are the rest of our friends that are with you over there.

Love, have you written to your mother lately? I know she’s missing you as much as I am, if not more, and would do with knowing that you’re alright. Last week she was worried they weren’t feeding you enough, and had it been anyone else who said that, I may have rolled my eyes, but the way she said it had left me in stitches, Robbie. You know how your mother can be. She comes by at least once a week with my mother to check in on me and Jean, and they bring covered dishes and baked goods that they’ve managed with the rations. I think they’re afraid Jean and I are only consuming martinis. They’re half right, and I will only admit this to you, a chocolate chip cookie does pair best with the infamous Jean Crosby martini.

We are leaving for upstate tomorrow, so I will post this first thing on my way out the door and hope it finds you soon. I’m counting down the days until this war is behind us. Until we can begin our days next to each other, and end them the same way. There is a future waiting for us, I just wish I knew when we could begin living it. Come home to me soon.

My heart is yours forever, with all of my love always

They packed light; still summertime and incredibly warm, they were able to get away with comfortable sundresses, and some swimsuits. They didn’t need much when they were together- Jules had said it’s the company that counts most. Vika had been a lifesaver and secured a room at her family’s hotel for Jo and Jean for the two nights that Jean would be with them before returning home. Not one to miss out, Jules had stayed as well. Squeezing into one of the beds with Vika while Jo and Jean occupied the other, it had been a slumber party just like the night at Jean and Jo’s home. Four friends laughing until their stomachs hurt, it had taken a visit from Vika’s mother to quiet them down, Jean rushing to hide the evidence of martinis that were scattered around the room.

It had been so much fun, that Jo had begun to forget why she had made the journey in the first place; until there were three, and they were waving Jean off from the train platform, two with tears in their eyes. The realization of not knowing when their boys would be home striking hard and fast.

“Two weeks and you’ll be back in the city, right?” Jean looked absolutely riddled with fear as she stood with her bag on the platform, Jo doing all she could to reassure her.

“Yes,” Jo sniffled, wiping at her eyes and trying in vain not to smudge her makeup. “I promise.”

“Please, Jo. Promise you’ll be there to meet Binger.” Jean gripped her hands so tightly, her eyes wild and nervous. The last time she had seen her so scared was when news of Bubbles’ death reached home, and worry for Harry had begun seeping in like a crack in the roof.

“I’ll be there,” she winked. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good. I’ll ring Jules once I’m back home. Bing doesn’t get in until tonight… gosh I’m so nervous!”

“You’re going to see that man and forget all about how nervous you were. Now go, before you miss your train.”

“Jo…”

She pulled her into a hug so fast, and so fiercely, that Jo barely had a moment to catch her footing before hugging Jean back. This friendship, forged in a dark time, was more than two women finding companionship while their men were away fighting. This was sisterhood, and as an only child, Jo had never known it before. The closest person in her life had always been Rosie, and now that his role in her life had shifted, Jean had seamlessly filled in that space.

“I will see you soon, yea?”

“Yea… yes, yes you will. I’ll have a martini waiting for you.”

“That’s what I want to hear,” Jo grinned, pulling back to give her friend a smile. “Now go on, otherwise Harry will have my head for making you late.”

“Your Robbie would never forgive him.” Jean laughed, wiping at her eyes just as the conductor hollered for All Aboard!

As the train pulled away, Jean Crosby waving from the window of the car, Jo felt herself become utterly depleted. The sadness that she had tried to ebb away at home, not divulging all of it for fear of guilt, slammed into her full force, and had it not been for Jules and Vika wrapping her up in their arms, she’d have collapsed on the spot.

“Come now, let’s get back to the hotel,” Vika urged her, gently steering her out of the train station and back towards the car. “Mammi can make us some chai, and we can have a rest.”

“I feel terrible…”

“Terrible, sick?”

“Terrible like I’m riddled with guilt and anger and sadness.”

She doesn’t catch Vika looking over at Jules, knowing that this is more than what Mrs. Patel’s chai can fix, because only Jules knows how she’s feeling, and only Jules can be the one to talk this through with her.

The hotel is quiet when they arrive back, and Mrs. Patel is at the front desk, a smile on her face as she watches her daughter and friends walk in, but the smile soon fades as she sees the look on Vika’s face.

“Did Jean get off alright?” She asks, nerves lacing her normally stoic and motherly disposition.

“She did, Mammi,” Vika replies kindly, joining her mother at the desk while Jo and Jules take a seat on the sofa meant for guests. “Can Juliet and Josephine use the apartment for a little while? I think they…well, Jean’s husband coming home hasn’t been easy for them.”

“Of course, you take them up. I will be behind with some chai and bhel puri.”

“Thank you Mammi.”

The pair on the couch sit quietly as Vika approaches, her voice soft as she speaks to both of them, but her eyes trained on Juliet.

“Jules, why don’t you two go up to the apartment?”

“Is that…okay with your mother?”

“It’s fine,” Vika’s eyes softened at Jules’ worry over possibly invading the Patel’s personal space, the phrase bundled in her simple question. “Mammi is going to bring up some chai and snacks.”

“Oh Vika, that’s not necessary!” Jo turned to her friend, knowing full well that the hotel needed their full attention.

“You and Jules need a moment, and I can cover the desk while Mammi is gone.”

“Yes, now you two go right up, and I’ll follow in a moment.” Mrs. Patel is standing next to them, and suddenly it’s as if their own mothers are there, ordering them to eat.

Nodding, Jo follows Jean upstairs to the apartment, and once inside, she takes in just what it is that makes her friend Vika who she is. The decor, the smells, the homey feel, and photos. It’s all very like Vika, and Jo somehow feels like she’s invading a space not meant for her at all, despite the protests of both Vika and her mother.

“Jules…”

“It’s just us, Jo. You can say whatever you need to.”

“I just,” the words felt trapped, caught in her throat with no way out unless she forced them up and out into the space between them. “I’m so angry!”

“You’re angry at Rosie?”

“So angry! He should be home, he flew twenty five missions. He was safe, and The Brass pulled the rug out from under all of them!”

“So that’s what happened…”

“Everyone after him needed to fly thirty missions, but his crew was safe at twenty five. He could go home, and he didn’t… he stayed… he signed up for a second tour.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because he’s too good, and doing the right thing is what Robert Rosenthal does, and he can’t help himself. People are dying and can’t fight for themselves, so he’s doing it for them.”

“Oh Jo…” Jules rushed towards her friend. Instantly, her arms are tight around her friend as Jo finally allowed herself the chance to let go of everything that had been welling up. Things she knew she couldn’t say to Rosie’s mother, or her own mother. Things that somehow, right now, only Jules could understand.

“Harry getting a furlough…” Jules started, the words dying halfway as she felt Jo shudder a deep breath.

“When Harry got a furlough, I just… I wanted to be happy for Jean. I am happy for Jean! But I also wish it was Robbie coming home instead.”

“Honey, you’re allowed to feel angry about it,” Jules took a step back, taking Jo’s hands and giving them a gentle squeeze, leading her towards the sofa in the living room. “He’s been gone so long, and all you want to do is start a life that this war has put on hold for you, and you can’t.”

“Jean was so happy, and there I am playing pretend happy over coffee and then feeling guilty, while the poor thing, she’s so nervous that Harry won’t feel the same for her-”

“Oh I doubt that!”

“That’s what I told her,” Jo shook her head, the beginnings of a melancholy smile taking hold. “But since Bubbles’ death, Harry’s been…distant.”

“Oh you don’t think…”

“I don’t know. And if Robbie knows anything, he’s not saying.”

Jules was quiet for a moment, taking a seat on the sofa wordlessly. She seemed far off, her mind somewhere else entirely; if Jo had to wager a guess it was on a certain pilot serving the rest of his war as a prisoner in Germany.

“I haven’t had a letter from Johnny in a few weeks…” the words are nothing more than a broken whisper.

“Jules, honey…”

“I know that letters aren’t as frequent now that he’s,” she stopped herself from speaking the rest out loud, Jo not needing to hear it to know what she was thinking. “Olive writes, and promises updates, but I can’t help but be constantly worried.”

“When did you last hear from him?”

“The start of June, and now, August is on the horizon and I’m scared, Jo.”

She’s beside her in an instant, her arms mimicking Jules’ earlier movements, pulling her close and hugging her tight. Somehow, Jo thinks she can will all of their broken pieces back together just by being there for each other, in hopes that if they love their boys enough from a distance, it will help bring them home faster.

“Oh Jules, I’m sure Olive would have written if anything happened.”

“I know,” she sniffled, swiping under her eyes quickly. “No news is good news and all that.”

“And bad news travels fast.”

“Yes, you’re right,” she took a deep and shaky breath, exhaling forcefully to try and clear the fog that seemed to have settled around her. “I just… I miss him so much Jo. I don’t have to explain to you how that part of it feels.”

“We worry for different reasons but we worry just the same.”

The door of the apartment opened then, and both girls looked up through bleary eyes as Mrs. Patel stepped into the living room. She was holding a tray from the hotel, complete with two steaming mugs of chai and a bowl filled with snacks for them. Her gaze, normally hard and all business, seemed to soften at the sight of them. Crossing the room quickly, she placed the tray down on the table beside the sofa before coming to stand in front of them. Wordlessly, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a simple white handkerchief, handing it to Jules.

“Thank you Mrs. Patel,” Juliet accepts the handkerchief and gently dabs at her eyes, careful not to get too much of her makeup on the clean, white fabric. Afraid to leave a stain, a reminder of this moment. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to get this dirty.”

“That is what the washing is for, Juliet. Go on, both of you.”

Nodding, Jules continues to wipe her tears before passing it to Jo, who is in the same state as she is. Quietly letting the pain escape like rivers down her cheeks.

“Thank you for being so good to Ruthvika, ” Mrs. Patel speaks quietly, unsure of what she should exactly be saying, but knowing that she must offer something to her daughter's oldest friend, and now, Josephine. “Remember, we must continue to fight here every day; our own wars, they are painful, but keep hope, both of you, that they will come home to you safe.”

They were words that only a mother could speak. And because only a mother could offer that comfort, when she leaned forward to pull both girls close to her for the briefest of moments, it was the gauze over a wound that had spread so deep, neither Jo nor Jules were sure it would ever heal. Hope, it seemed, would fill the deep, painful space over time, and it would close the gap until one day, hopefully, the wound did not exist at all.

——————————————————————————————————

It felt longer coming home from upstate this time. Jo had attributed that to not having Jean for companionship. But she was in her home, now with Harry, who had arrived in New York safely, two weeks ago. The jealousy had seemed to fizzle and sit on the backburner of her heart now. Jean deserved every moment with Harry; but Jo couldn’t help the sadness that crept in when it was quiet, knowing that Rosie was still over there.

It had been a wonderful two week reprieve with Juliet, but now Jo was back home in Brooklyn. She had called Jean to let her know that she was coming back, and was promptly given a date and time to meet her and Harry for dinner and drinks. She was excited on one hand, to finally meet not just Jean’s husband but Rosie’s closet friend.

When the taxi pulled up to her parents home in Flatbush, she quickly paid the driver after he had pulled her suitcase from the trunk. The gentleman tipped his hat and drove off quickly, leaving her standing on the sidewalk, gaze fixed on the house. With a deep sigh, she made her way up the steps to the porch and pushed the door open. Once in the foyer, she dropped her suitcase to the floor and swiftly removed her gloves and hat, depositing them on the credenza by the door.

“I’m back!” She called, stepping further into the house. She could hear her mother rustling around, before she appeared in the foyer with an almost frantic look in her eye.

“Josephine!” Hugging her tightly, she stepped back, appraising her daughter and sensing the sadness immediately. “Sweetheart, welcome back!”

“Thanks,” she forced a grin, thankful her mother chose not to ask if she was okay. She knew there would be minimal gossip and cocktails that night, however. “Are you okay? Mom, you look worried.”

“You have a visitor. A gentleman is waiting in the living room for you.”

“Oh god, is he, is it… did something happen to Robbie?”

“He says his name is Mr. Lewis?”

“Lewis?” the name rolled over in her mind for a moment, before it dawned on her. “Pappy!”

Jo rushed from the foyer into the living room, any ladylike behavior thrown out the window as she came skidding to a stop in the doorway. There, on the sofa, sat a man who had been described to her in numerous letters from Rosie. The only person she had ever trusted sitting in the Co-Pilot’s seat of Rosie’s fort, and in his own words Rosie’s best friend.

“Hiya Jo!” Pappy grinned, standing from the sofa as he saw her.

“Pappy! Oh my- what are you doing here!”

“Rosie sent me,” he grinned, coming to greet her properly, the pair finally able to put names to faces, more than just a picture on Rosie’s side table on base or a name in a letter. “He thought with Croz home, you might need some cheering up.”

“You came all the way here just to cheer me up?” that couldn’t possibly be right, could it? Had Rosie sent him all this way just to keep her company for the second half of Harry Crosby’s furlough?

“Well, you’re Rosie’s sweetheart, plus Val would give me a wallop if she knew I didn’t come see you when you needed it. She sends her regards by the way, boy, wait till you meet her! Have you met Croz yet? I’m sure he’ll want to meet you too, you’re very popular amongst the Riveters crew you know? We all-”

“Pappy, slow down!” she laughed, and for the first time in weeks, she didn’t have to force the sound from her chest.

“Right! Sorry, but I am really glad to finally meet ya!”

“I’m so glad to meet you too.” she grinned.

Guiding him back down to the sofa so they could talk. She just caught her mother peeking around the doorframe, a smile giving way as she noticed Jo’s own.

“How did he even get in touch with you so quickly, the mail takes ages these days!”

“He’s a big shot Major now,” Pappy chuckled. “You know him, he finds a way.”

“He does find a way, doesn’t he…” she mused.

“How have you been doing? Your mother said you were upstate?”

“Oh! Yes, well with Harry home, I didn’t want to impose on them by staying with Jean-”

“Oh right, I forgot about that! Rosie did tell me you had moved in with Croz’s wife!”

“Yes, a few months ago, and we took jobs on the switchboard at the War Department.”

“Look at you! That’s great!”

“It’s been a lot of fun,” Jo nodded, and she realized she rather liked talking with Pappy. “So, when Harry sent the date of his arrival, I went upstate to visit with John Brady’s girlfriend, Juliet.”

“How’s she? Must be worried sick over Brady…”

“She’s handling it as well as can be expected, but she gets letters when the mail is cooperative, and Olive sends mail to her in the inbetween.”

“Cousin Olive,” he sounds almost wistful. “I miss her…”

“Wait, she’s your cousin? Robbie never mentioned that…”

“Well, we’re both Lewis’.”

“Does that automatically make you cousins, Pappy?”

“Sure it does! Make your own family, right? That’s what we’re all doing to get by.”

“You’re right about that. And how have you been doing since coming home?”

“Oh, my Ma is fussing over me one minute and the next she’s praying I meet someone and get married so I can be her problem.”

“Well, this is New York, you never know. Your mother might get her wish.”

“Rosie would love that wouldn’t he, hell, I��d love it if I were closer.”

Pappy stayed all afternoon, happy to chat with Jo and enjoy some lunch with her and her parents, before they moved outside to sit on the front steps. It was just bordering on early evening and the kids who lived on the block were still running through the streets, soaking up every second of the summer they could. The fire hydrant on the corner was spraying water, turning her little corner of Flatbush Brooklyn into a water park.

They had skirted around talk of the war and Rosie in detail, but now the sun was setting and Pappy would have to leave, and Jo wasn’t sure she wanted him to before she was able to ask him what she needed to.

“Pappy, where are you staying?”

“Oh! With Rosie’s Ma actually, yea, just down the block.”

“Of course you are,” she shook her head, a smile on her face at Robbie's generous heart. “You went there first, right? Before coming here I mean.”

“Oh sure, yea I didn’t want her getting worried. She’s sweet, I see where Rosie gets it from…”

“His father was kind. Robbie gets his determination from him; but his heart, his love of jazz, the kind look in his eyes, all that comes from Mrs. Rosenthal.”

“He’s alright, Jo, you know?”

“Are you saying that to placate me, or is he really alright?”

“I mean it, he’s really alright. And he’s not alone either…”

“I don’t like the idea of him flying without you, Pappy.”

“I considered it, ya know?”

“Staying?”

“He told me to go home, in the end when I couldn’t make up my mind, he did it for me.”

“And now?”

“Some days I wish I had stayed, finished what he and I started,” Pappy pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, offering one to Jo first, who politely declined. “And then I think of guys like Nash and Speas who didn’t get to come home, and I think I gotta grab it while it’s hot.”

“I don’t resent you for coming home, I hope you know that.”

“Oh, I know, I wouldn’t be here if I thought you did.”

“I just always felt like he was safer with you in that plane, and you with him,” she sighed, taking the cigarette from Pappy and taking a long pull. “This damn war.”

“He’d balk at you if he saw you do that.”

“Then it’ll be our secret.” Jo grinned, passing the cigarette back to Pappy.

They sat quietly while Pappy continued to smoke. The playful shrieks of the kids playing filled the companionable silence. She thought of a day when Rosie would be next to her, pressed shoulder to shoulder and her hand in his, possibly watching their own children play in the street.

They had done the same when they were young. Her father and Mr. Rosenthal would pop the fire hydrant open and they would run in the cool water while the August sun beat down on the street, Rosie’s curls plastered to his forehead, his blue eyes rivaling the clear skies they played under. As they got older, he had picked up a paper route for the summers and Jo would ride on the handlebars of his bicycle, much to her mothers dismay, and help him deliver papers to the neighbors before seeking shade on the front porch of her home. Now, she was on the same porch, and the person next to her was doing their best to fill the void of her usual companion.

————————————————————

Pappy had proved to be excellent company, not just for Jo but Mrs. Rosenthal as well. It seemed Rosie’s mother perked up quite a bit at having a young man to dote on as she would with her son. Pappy brought a sense of humor back to their block, and had Mrs. Rosenthal cooking up a storm once again, the need to feed him until her heart's content much as it was before her son left for war.

Jo had been at the house for dinner almost every night, after spending the days taking Pappy around New York City.

The phone had rang in the middle of breakfast, Mr. Harris stood to pick it up, allowing his wife and daughter to continue their conversation. When he stepped into the room with a smile on his face, Jo knew it was for her.

“Josephine, it’s Jean Crosby.”

“Oh! Wonderful, thank you!”

“Jean!”

“Jo! Oh how are you, I miss you!”

“I miss you too, dear, how’s Harry?”

“Oh he’s wonderful…actually that’s why I called.”

“Oh?”

“Is tonight good?”

“Oh, tonight is great actually!”

“Wonderful! Binger will call the Stork Club and reserve a table, is that okay? I know you don’t want to go to Minton’s without-”

“The Stork Club is perfect Jean, thank you. Tell Harry to make it for four.”

“Four?”

“Yes, Pappy’s here!”

“Pappy?!”

“Yes! Robbie sent him!”

“Oh what a sweet gesture! Well I can’t wait to meet him, and I know Bing will be happy to see him.”

Jo could hear Harry Crosby in the background of the call asking Jean who their fourth was for dinner, before she told him to hush while she was on the phone.

“What time tonight, Jean?”

“Seven thirty, unless you want to make it eight?”

“Seven thirty is fine,” Jo agreed. “I’m taking Pappy to Coney Island, but we’ll be back in plenty of time.”

“Where’s he staying?” Jean suddenly asked. “Surely not with you!”

“Oh no, with Robbie’s mother. And boy is she loving it!”

“I bet!” Jean laughed. “Well listen, I’m going to run, because Harry is looking for breakfast and I’m afraid he might burn our kitchen down if I leave him a moment longer. I’ll see you tonight dear, and I can’t wait!”

“Oh me too, Jean! Now go feed your husband, and I’ll see you later.”

Hanging up the phone she went back to join her parents at the table, her toast now a bit cold, but she wasn’t bothered. Not when she had a full day ahead of her.

“Going out tonight?” Her mother grinned.

“Yes, Harry’s making a reservation at the Stork Club for all of us,” she spoke from behind her coffee cup. “I’m so looking forward to finally meeting him and seeing Jean.”

“You and Jean have missed each other,” her father nodded, inserting himself into the conversation. “I could hear it in her voice when I picked up the phone.”

“I have missed her. Please, don’t think I’m not happy to be home with you both, but it's been so lovely living with her.”

“I think it’s done you a world of good with Robert gone. Naturally when he comes home, so will you, but right now, this is what’s best for you Josephine.”

“Your father’s right,” her mother placed a hand over hers, giving a gentle squeeze. “Then again, once Robert comes home, hopefully it won’t be long until you two are starting your life together.”

She was halfway through formulating a response when there was a knock at the door; using it as her escape from any more talk of her and Rosie’s future, she quickly jumped up to answer it. Pulling back the door, she found Pappy on the front porch with Mrs. Rosenthal behind him. He was dressed in civilian clothes for the first time since he had arrived, and grinning cheekily at her.

“Heya Jo!”

“Pappy,” chuckling, she couldn’t help but shake her head as he stepped inside the foyer. “Good morning.”

He gave her a gentle hug, before allowing Mrs. Rosenthal to greet her, the older woman scooping Jo up in her arms for a hug, the two of them saying so much without saying anything at all.

“Hello dear,” she grinned, hands still holding Jo’s shoulders as she appraised her. “Did we interrupt breakfast?”

“No more than Jean Crosby did just a moment ago.” Jo laughed, closing the door and guiding them both inside.

“Is she getting on well with her husband at home?”

“Oh yes, it seems that she’s doing just fine.”

“Wonderful,” Mrs. Rosenthal smiled. “I’ve had some mail from Robert…”

“Oh? Is everything-”

“He’s fine, dear. Missing you, but otherwise fine.”

“Well, I miss him too,” she pouted slightly. “There’s been no mail from him.”

“The letter I got was weeks past the date at the top, so just hold out hope, yours should be on its way.”

“Don’t worry, Jo,” Pappy chimed in. “He’d never forget about ya.”

“Thanks Pappy…” she gave his arm a gentle squeeze, righting her before turning towards the kitchen. “Coffee?”

The trio entered the kitchen to find Mrs. Harris already preparing a fresh pot of coffee, her father standing to greet Pappy with a handshake before gesturing for him to have a seat while Mrs. Rosenthal took up her regular spot at their table. It was all very domestic, and not lost on Jo how lucky she was to have the family she did; both blood and chosen.

“Pappy, we have big plans today.” She grinned, sitting back at her place to resume picking at her toast.

“We’ve had big plans all week!” He laughed.

“I’m taking you to Coney Island! Because everyone should be forced to ride the Cyclone at least once in their life.”

“…Forced?!”

“Well, Robbie forces me on it every year, and secretly I love it, but don’t tell him that. So now, I get to do it for you.”

“I’ve heard horror stories about that thing from Val!”

“Oh don’t be a baby, it’ll be fun! Jean Crosby even rode it with me!”

“She did?”

“Yes, she did.”

“Fine… if Jean Crosby can do it.”

All three of the parents in the room laughed as Pappy’s face blanched, the airman taking a cautionary sip of his coffee to settle his nerves. Surely, if Jean Crosby could do it… and he’d hate to have to tell Rosie he chickened out on the Cyclone.

_________________________________

The Stork Club was bustling as Jo and Pappy walked in. He had handled an afternoon on the boardwalk like a pro, and she’d be sure to tell Rosie all about it in her next letter, but now he was back in his uniform and she was dressed for a night out and he was guiding her inside and towards the bar so she could try and locate Jean.

“Oh! I see Croz!” Pappy was waving his arm in the direction of Harry Crosby, and when Jo turned she spotted Jean, on the arm of a handsome man, dressed in the same uniform as Pappy.

“Croz!”

“Pappy! Jean didn’t tell me you were the fourth!”

“Surprise,” Jean grinned, arm still looped through her husbands. “When Jo told me this morning I decided to keep it a surprise.”

“Well, this is great,” Harry beamed, giving Pappy a firm handshake, happy to see a familiar face. “What are you doing in the city?”

“Rosie sent me. He thought Jo might need a friend.”

“And now I have three.” She smiled, Jean now standing with her, the two girls’ arms linked as they watched the boys catch up.

“Josephine,” Harry turned to her, and she just felt Jean nudge her forward to say hello. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to finally meet you.”

His uniform looked almost identical to the one she had sent Rosie off in at Grand Central all those months ago. Olive green shirt and jacket, tie, khaki slacks, and crush cap. Harry was sporting oak leaf pins on his lapels, along with multiple other citations and pins that he had served long into this war. She imagined that Robbie's uniform looked much the same these days, save for his flight wings indicating him a pilot, while Harry’s was a globe for navigators.

Harry Crosby had big, brown cow eyes, and a gentle smile about him. He was every bit of how both Jean and Rosie had described him; Jean going on about how handsome he was and Rosie describing him as terribly capable but riddled with nerves. He was fiddling with his fingers, his hat tucked under his arm as he watched her step forward. Harry quickly handed his hat to Pappy and pulled her close for a hug, shocking her only slightly before she felt a sense of familiarity and comfort fall over her.

“Thank you, Jo, ” He whispered to her before stepping back. “I can’t say it enough.”

Before she could ask what he was thanking her for, he stepped back, taking her hands and continuing to talk to her.

“You two really have looked after each other haven’t you.”

“That’s what friends do,” she smiled. “And I should be thanking you for doing the same, Harry.”

“Oh, it’s Rosie who looks after me, really.”

“Still, you two keep an eye on each other and it just makes me feel more at ease.”

“Well, the feeling is mutual,” he grinned, releasing her hands and moving to wrap an arm around Jean’s waist. “Now, let’s go sit and we can exchange stories. Somehow I have a feeling you two girls have gotten up to quite a lot.”

Dinner was delightful, and the conversation flowed effortlessly. Friends, the really good ones, it seemed, were the key to getting through tough times, because they would laugh with you, and let you cry on their shoulder if you needed it. Jo had done just that with both Jo and Pappy, as well as Jules and Vika earlier on. They had let her get it all out, those bottled up feelings, and she felt grateful for it. Lighter and less tense, she was able to enjoy happy moments like this.

She was sitting next to Jean, the pair quietly conversing while Pappy and Harry spent some time catching up on the goings on at Thorpe Abbotts; it was something that both girls knew was meant for their ears only, so they took the time to chat amongst themselves.

“Has it been alright, now that he’s home?”

“We’ve had a lot of good, long talks.” Jean nodded, sipping her martini with a slight frown.

“What? Something wrong?”

“Mine are better.” She rolled her eyes slightly, making Jo laugh.

“Yours are dangerous,” she corrected her friend with a gentle slap to the wrist. “But they are the best I’ve ever had.”

“But yes, Bing and I have done a lot of talking.”

“Just talking?”

“Josephine!”

“Well, he is your husband, I would hope you’ve done more than talk.”

Jean fixes her with a stare, eyebrow raised and mock challenging as she sticks her tongue out in the most Jean Crosby way possible, causing Jo to fall into a fit of laughter so loud, that both men turn to look at the girls. Jean is quick to wave them back to their own conversation, while Jo composes herself.

“Did you have to do that?”

“Yes,” Jean grins. “It’s entirely too fun to watch you fall into stitches like that.”

“Now, tell me,” Jo rights herself again, placing a hand over Jean’s on the table. “You and Harry, you had a good talk?”

“We did. He told me about… her.”

“Oh Jean!”

“There was an affair,” she nods. “A woman in London, and while I understand he was coping with Bubbles, and then all of his friends being captured, Jo, it hurts.”

“It’s allowed to be hurtful and understandable. So much of life is.”

“He said he’s ended it, now coming home if even for a short while, he doesn’t want to see her again.”

“Oh Jean, I don’t know what to say.”

“You’ve listened for months while I cried over his distance, and that’s all I could have ever asked of you.”

“Well, then I should be thanking you too, and apologizing for being such a grump the last few weeks.”

“You were not a grump!”

“I was an absolute grouch, and it was not like me. I misplaced my feelings over Robbie being gone on your happiness.”

“Josephine…”

“Speaking of your happiness,” she grinned. “Looks like he’s trying to catch your eye.”

“Oh, Binger can wait just a second.” she pulled Jo tightly to her, the two women sharing a hug that spoke volumes.

There was no animosity, and no one upping the other. They were best friends, getting through the hardships of war together. Harry would be gone in another few days, and so would Pappy, and they’d both go on together again. There would be days at work and dinners from the automat, weekends with Juliet and Vika up in Victor, and nights spent in the quiet of their house with just the radio on while they sipped martinis. In between all of that, there should be two men to join in the simple moments of their lives, and one day they would be there, it was only a matter of time.

She knew, deep down, Rosie being in England was where he was supposed to be right now. If he had come home, he’d have been restless and unsettled, and neither of them could start a life properly that way. She knew that. As Jean said, we understand but we hurt, and that’s what all of this had been. Hurtful, and confusing but understanding. A part of her life that she needed to go through in order to get to the next part with the man she loved. It was just another chapter, the ticking hand on a clock, a turn around the sun.

Pappy’s laughter pulled the two girls apart, and they found him doubled over while Harry sat patiently waiting.

“Are you finished now?” Harry glared at him.

“No!” Pappy wheezed, reaching for his napkin to wipe at his eyes. “Tell me again how you face planted and Tattie had to put you to bed!”

“Pappy…”

“Oh come on! Croz, that’s funny!”

“Not for the fellas who had to haul me out of Operations.”

“Who did?” Jean posed the question to him casually, already knowing the answer from Val’s letter but wanting to hear her husband admit it.

“Rosie and Dougie…”

“Oh Dougie must have loved that!” Pappy roared with laughter again.

“He grumbled about me being heavier than I look for a few days after I woke up.”

“Slept three days straight through the landings. Only you Croz.”

“Yeah, yeah, only me.” He shook his head, letting Pappy get his licks in while he could before turning the conversation somewhere Jo would appreciate.

“You tell Jo about how Rosie was up in the sky humming Artie Shaw over the radio?”

“He did what!” She crowed, eyes wide in amusement knowing just how much he loved his jazz.

“I hadn’t… that one was rough.”

“You don’t have to,” Jo replied, understanding. “He says a lot of those early flights were rough, so-”

“No, no, if you want me to tell you I will!”

“He conveniently left out how he hummed his way back home, so…”

“It was our third mission, ever. And I won’t go into too much detail but, we ended up alone in the sky, and I guess to distract himself or us, he starts humming.”

“Artie Shaw, you said?”

“Over the radio, all of us heard it!” Pappy chuckled.

“The Chant, right?”

“How did you! Jo!”

“I’ve known him my whole life,” she laughed. “And I know what makes him tick.”

“Well, on that note, how about a dance ladies?” Harry posed the question to both of them, but he and Jean exchanged a quick glance that Jo didn’t miss.

Harry was at her side just as she stood, extending his hand to her just as she caught Pappy leading Jean to the dance floor, the two chatting idly.

“Harry? No, go with your wife, I know she’s missed you.” Jo tried to convince him, but he looped her arm in his and carried on walking.

“Promised Rosie I’d give you a good spin on the dance floor, and while I may have two left feet, a promise is a promise.”

“Oh goodness, Harry, you can tell him we danced, it’s really alright.” She laughed, letting him lead her regardless, Pappy and Jean fumbling along next to them in a fit of their own laughter.

Harry spun her through the upbeat songs, and took Jean in his arms during all the slow ones. They had carried on this way for quite a while, before returning to their table for a drink, both Pappy and Harry having removed their Class A jackets. How they had lasted as long as they had, especially in July, was unbelievable. The Stork Club was beginning to empty out, and as Harry and Pappy flagged down their waiter to settle the bill, Jo and Jean excused themselves to the ladies room to freshen up. With a bustling restroom filled with women reapplying lipstick and powder to their noses, both Jo and Jean were back at their table in no time. Harry and Pappy were fussing over the bill, the two of them doing quick math before placing some bills on the table just as the girls sat back down. Jean gently nudged Harry, drawing his attention to her as she gestured to his jacket with a nod of her head and a gentle smile. His eyes lit up before he reached behind to the jacket draped over the back of his chair, digging into his inside breast pocket, pulling out an envelope that Jo had become very familiar with over the course of the months Rosie had been gone.

“Before I forgot,” Harry handed the envelope to Jo, a smile on his face. “Special delivery.”

The front of the envelope didn’t have her address on it like all the others she had received before. No, this one had Rosie’s handwriting scrawled across the front and the words My Dearest Jo to indicate that it was for her.

“Oh Harry, he sent this with you?”

“He wanted you to have one that didn’t go through the APO review before going into transit,” Harry explained. “You didn’t think Pappy was the only surprise, did you?”

“You’ve been holding on to this the entire time you’ve been home?”

“Well, I had assumed I’d meet you a bit sooner but when Jean told me you were upstate with Juliet…”

“Harry…”

“She explained it to me, and it’s alright. I understand.”

“I shouldn’t have-”

“No, don’t say that,” Harry frowned, placing a hand over hers as Jean and Pappy looked on. “I know that me coming home wasn’t easy for you, and I know that Rosie taking on a second tour has been even harder. I hope you know we all gave him an earful when he signed those papers…”

“I’ve got it on good authority, from multiple sources.” She chuckled, swiping at her eyes to stop the tears.

“Val.” Harry and Pappy said at the same time, the woman’s name punctuated with a laugh.

“She keeps me informed,” Jo grinned. “Thank you, Harry.”

“For the mail?”

“For everything.”

_________________________________

Pappy had dropped her back off at her house after they had all left the Stork Club, before bidding her goodnight and turning to go back towards the Rosenthal home. Turning towards the living room, she expected to see her mother waiting up for her, but found that both of her parents had gone up to bed. With the living room vacant, she pulled Rosie’s letter from her purse before placing it on the table, and removed her shoes before curling up on the cushions. Carefully, she slid her thumb under the back of the envelope, and pulled the paper from inside. Unfolding it, she found Rosie’s handwriting scrawled across, his message to her waiting.

My dearest Jo,

I know that by the time you get this, Croz will already be home, and I hope he’s gotten this to you in one piece, and himself to Jean. I also hope Pappy has gotten there safely and proven good at cheering you up. I thought he might be a nice change in pace for you right now.

Honey Pie, I’m so sorry. I’ve hurt you without even realizing how badly at first, and I don’t know how I could ever ask you to forgive me. I’ve been selfish in staying to fight, when we could be together at home, starting our life. I thought that by fighting, staying here, I was doing the job I needed to keep you safe. It was also selfish, in part, because I thought if I left, I’d be restless. And you didn’t deserve me like that. You didn’t deserve to start a life with someone who felt like he should still be in the fight. As it turns out, I’m restless here most days, thinking of what we could be doing at home.

I’ll admit, when Croz got furlough, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. Of course I’m happy for my friend, our friends if you include Jean, but part of me wondered why it wasn’t me. I’ve served twice over now, and yet somehow they can’t see fit to let me go for a few weeks. It’s rough, knowing that he gets to return to his wife, my crew is all home, and the other fellas here have their sweethearts. Sometimes seeing Ev Blakely and Dougie with Val and Olive stings, no matter how good they are and how much they make space for me in their circle. There are others who’s special someone isn’t here, and we lament on occasion, but I'm not nearly close to anyone the way I am with the fellas in Ops, and the Red Cross girls.

I wish you were here with me, in that navy blue jumpsuit slinging coffees with Val and Olive, yelling at us all for crowding the truck, helping to wrangle Meatball until Benny DeMarco comes back. But then, I know you’re safe at home, you and Jean looking after each other, your parents and my Ma all close by. I think that’s where I find I’m more grateful to have you, sweetheart. Safe.

I suppose I should update you on the goings on here, so that you know how our friends are doing as well. Val and Olive are just fine, keeping every fella in line and then some. It’s enjoyable to share an office with Ev Blakely; he’s mostly quiet while we work, unless Val stops by with coffee and a bit to eat for the pair of us. She often joins us for a while before going back to the Clubmobile. The same for Olive and Doug. Those two girls are never far apart, if one’s visiting so is the other. Dougie shares an office with Croz; it stresses him out. Dougie is usually very relaxed, but being office mates with Croz tends to work him up. Helen, Nash’s old sweetheart, has started corresponding with one of the fellas in the Stalag- Charlie Cruikshank. Everyone calls him Crank, but she has a special nickname for him that no one will divulge to us fellas. All I know is, she seems happy, and that’s good, because losing Nash tore her up. Red Cross Tattie is seeing Air Exec Jack Kidd- but no one is supposed to know. Jack’s not that great at locking his door. Poor Doug got an eye- and an ear- full last week. See honey, you’re not the only one who can gossip. I do alright from over here. Oh! Can’t forget Meatball- husky fur everywhere but, when it’s cold out, he’s great for staying warm. We shuffle him back and forget between our racks and the girls so that everyone gets a turn. Turns out, the dog likes sleepovers with the girls best- Val paints his nails with her red varnish! Not sure how much DeMarco is going to like that when he’s back though.

Speaking of our friend Harry, I need to apologize twice, because though I’m sure you know by now, I’ve kept this from you. It was not the easiest of positions to be in, because he trusted me, then again you have stood by Jean this entire time. There was someone in London, and I hope he’s confessed to her by now. He confided in me on New Years, and then Doug and the others saw him with her in London while on a weekend pass. I assume that’s part of what had Doug so stressed out, Croz was using the phone to make calls to her and arrange meetings when days were particularly rough. I hope you know that I would never step out on you, you’re it for me my sweet girl, and you always will be.

I’ve often pondered what our life might be like when this is all over, Jo. It’s a pretty picture that I like to conjure up when the days are particularly dreary. You and me, in a house all our own, with a front porch to sit on, just like we do now, watching the neighborhood kids. Maybe we’ll be watching our own kids play in the street, and I’ll be the dad who’s opening the fire hydrant for them to keep cool in the summer. We’d have our friends, and maybe spend summers at the Cape with them. Go dancing at Minton’s on Saturday’s, or have Jean and Croz over for dinner. Curl up on Sunday’s and drink coffee in bed, spend the day tangled together lazily. I can’t wait for all of those days, honey. I can’t wait.

Promise me you’ll keep your chin up, and that smile on your face. I know it’s hard now, and hopefully, Pappy’s been good company. You’ll have to let me know what adventures you two get up to while he’s there. If you do anything, I’m begging you to take him on the Cyclone. It’s a right of passage after all, and somehow, I imagine it would be quite comical. He’s a good friend, Jo, and he cares about you as much as he does me. He’ll be there to listen when you need it.

I love you honey pie, and I’ll be home soon. I promise. Sending millions of hugs and kisses and all of my love.

Yours forever,

Robbie

His signature and declaration of love were blurred as tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill over and onto the paper. Holding his letter close to her chest, where it was free from the salty reminders of his absence, only then did she allow the tears to fall. Quiet sobs in the empty living room, praying to whoever was listening, begging, for him to come back to her.

_________________________________

“Mail call, fellas!”

Rosie looked up to find Tattie Spaatz in the doorway of his and Ev Blakely’s shared office, a handful of envelopes in her hands as she leaned against the doorframe. Blakely looked up, pulling the cigarette from between his lips and resting it in the ashtray on his desk before taking the offered mail from her.

“Thanks Tat,” he nodded, passing Rosie’s over to him. “Dougie’s off with Olive so, if he’s got anything you can drop it here, his office is locked.”

“Oh, even better, thanks Ev. See you later Rosie.”

“See ya Tattie…” Rosie half waved as she walked out the door, looking up from the papers on his desk just in time to see her casually stroll into Jack Kidd’s office.

“They’re at it again…” he shook his head, Ev’s laughter filling the silence.

“Yeah well, whatever she’s doing got the bug out of his ass.”

“You sound like Val.”

“Who do you think said it first?” Ev grinned, picking up his mail.

“Anything good?” Rosie nodded towards the envelope in his hands, his own mail resting next to him on his desk.

“My mother, more than likely with a few sentences for me and three pages for her future daughter in-law.”

“Aren’t all our Ma’s like that…”

Blakely didn’t respond, instead leaving Rosie to open his mail while he set to reading from his mother back in Seattle. Slipping his thumb under the back of the envelope, he pulled out a letter written in Pappy’s messy scrawl, but legible at the very least.

Hey pal!

How’s it going over there in East Anglia? Have you single handedly won the war yet, or did Harding tell you to save some Krauts for the rest of the crews? I’m just kidding, I know you’re up in Operations with the other guys, so hopefully the paperwork isn’t putting you to sleep yet.

I’m back at your Ma’s house. Croz and I took the girls to the Stork Club for dinner and some dancing, and before you ask yes, I warned your girlfriend that I have two left feet. She seemed happy to go out, and I think a little relieved to meet Croz. She’s trying really hard to be brave, but pal, she’s ready for you to come home. And don’t worry, Croz delivered your letter- I left her to read it after I dropped her back off at her folks house. You weren’t kidding when you said the same block! She’s practically across the street from your Ma’s house! Oh, and thanks again for letting me stay at your place while I’m here. Your bed is pretty comfy for a big shot Major. That’s payback for having to ride the Cyclone, by the way! She dragged me on that thing, and said that if Jean Crosby could do it I could too. Didn’t have it in me to tell her no, but dear god, how could you make that girl ride it year after year!

I don’t think I need to tell you, but just to make sure we’re all on the same page I’m going to do it anyway. Jo is amazing, and she’s so much more than how you described her. And she loves ya. I mean, she really truly loves ya! That kind of thing isn’t easy to find, so, would ya finish this damn thing and come home to her? She deserves to have at least that much. So do you.

Anyway, take care of yourself Rosie. Give my regards to everyone still over there with ya, especially Cousin Olive.

Your friend and Co-Pilot

Pappy Lewis

The paper fell to the desk with a sigh, Rosie’s head falling into his hands almost as fast as the paper from his grip. How could he be so stupid? Sure, Pappy was a great friend and he trusted him to be the friend Jo needed during Croz’s furlough, but Jo had a friend. She had Jean, and she had the girls here who wrote to her, and Juliet upstate. What she needed was him, and he dropped the ball.

“God damnit…”

“Rosie? You okay pal?”

Looking up, he found Blakely putting his own mail back in its envelope, turning in his chair to face him fully. He deftly pulled the cigarette from behind his ear and lit it quickly, focusing his attention back on him.

“Rosie…?”

“Yea, I’m just…” he swiped a hand down his face with a groan, trying to find the words to actually make sense of it all. He couldn’t. “No, Ev. I not okay.”

“Alright, well, what’s eating at ya?” The smoke billowed from his lips as he spoke, swirling around both him and Rosie. Though he wasn’t a smoker, Rosie found it oddly comforting as it wrapped around him.

“Pappy sent a letter. I asked him to go out and look after Jo while Croz was home, I had a feeling she wasn’t going to take his furlough all that well, and it turns out I was right.”

“Couldn’t have been easy, what, with Croz being home and you-”

“I should be home already, Ev.”

“Do you regret it? Reupping?”

“They say hindsight is twenty-twenty, right?”

“Jesus, Rosie,” Ev exhaled, turning to knock the ashes off the end of his cigarette. “What did Pappy have to say?”

“He took her to the Stork Club for dinner and dancing with Croz and Jean. She made him get on the Cyclone. I should be taking her to the club for dinner and dancing and dragging her on that damn ride.”

“Pal, I know we all tried to talk you out of it before you went in to see Bennet, and I’m not going to sit here and tell you that you should have listened to us. It’s not going to change anything.”

“There’s a but coming,” Rosie raised an eyebrow at him. “I’ve known you long enough, Blakely.”

“There is a but coming, you’re right. When you do get home, make sure that girl knows how sorry you are, and how much you love her.”

“Gonna marry her.”

“Good, put a ring on her finger. Shit, pal, if I could run away from all this with Val right now, I wouldn’t stop to question it. I’d just go.”

“I’m a bonehead. At least that’s probably the word Croz would use.”

“Want me to call you a bonehead?”

“No, please. I feel bad enough.”

“Don’t feel bad, you can’t beat yourself up too much. You’ll never get out of your own head if you do.”

“Thanks, Ev.”

“I know I’m not Croz, but we're friends so don’t ever feel like we’re not.”

“Sometimes it's easier to talk to him,” Rosie sighed. “His wife isn’t here, Jo isn’t here, we just have that to gripe over. You and Doug…”

“I get it, Val and Olive are here, and it seems like it’s a million times easier, but I’ll tell ya what, there was a time it wasn’t.”

“Bremen?”

“Bremen, and everything before Bremen. Africa especially.”

“Biddick…”

“Yeah,” Ev sighed. “I always worried something would yank me from her too soon. Then Curt went down and I realized I could just as easily have been the one to go down, and leave her without so much as a warning. Jo doesn’t see all of this, so she’s protected. Val sees bodies carried out of the hospital, and most of her friends covered in blood when they’re pulled out of a fort, or limping into Interrogation. I wish she didn’t have to.”

“I see your point. Sometimes it’s not always greener on the other side.”

“It is, and it isn’t.”

“Jo is protected back home, just wish I was there to protect her.”

“Soon enough, Rosie. Soon enough.”

“Thanks for the chat, Ev.”

“Anytime, Pal,” Ev stood from his seat, and clapped a hand on Rosie's shoulder. “Now come on, I’ll buy you a drink at the club.”

“And Val?”

“She’ll meet us later, I think she’s up in Harding’s office working on some stuff.”

Quickly, they shut off the lights and locked the office, leaving their paperwork for the next day. Rosie stuffed Pappy’s letter into his jacket pocket, following Ev out the door and through Operations until they were outside. Neither bothered to attempt to bid Jack Kidd goodnight.

The air was cool, and the lights that illuminated the walkways were just flickering on as they turned towards the officers club, already filling up with replacements spilling from the mess halls, and the odd crew they were friendly with.

“You think he told Jean?” Rosie turned to catch Blakely’s gaze as the other man lit up a cigarette. Realization dawned on him when he figured out what exactly Rosie was hinting at.

“He’d be stupid not to.”

“I only just told Jo, though I’m guessing she had an idea.”

“When did Croz tell you?”

“Remember New Year’s Eve? Before you and Dougie came into the racks with the bottle of Vat 69 I’m still not sure how you got your hands on.”

“Ohhhh yeah!” Ev grinned. “Wait! You knew from then?”

“I did…”

“He’s your guy for this stuff isn’t he…”

“Isn’t Doug yours?” Rosie replied.

“I’m Doug’s,” Ev laughed. “You want good advice, come to me. You want someone to tell you it’s okay to bring a donkey home from Africa, you go to Doug.”

“I will, uh, remember that.” Rosie laughed.

He couldn’t change any of this, and his decision would be something he’d live with for the rest of his life, but support made it easier. Jo had support at home. She had her parents, and his Ma, Jean Crosby and now Juliet and Vika upstate. Rosie had Croz, and though Ev Blakely had always been a friend, he realized this was the first time the two of them had gotten deep and shared the realities of war together. He had envied the man for months that Val was here with him, not realizing just how hard it had been for the woman to watch him fly off and potentially never come back. How rough it was on him to leave her on the ground time after time. To have pulled her through the aftermath of the Africa mission, while his crew had simply stood down and been meant to watch it all unfold.

These were the realities of this war. You missed people, you lost people, you made mistakes and you learned lessons. But, you also made friends, and sometimes if you were lucky those friends became your family. Rosie hadn’t realized it at first, but his family was growing both back home, and here at Thorpe Abbotts, and it all came down to one person.

My dearest Jo…

A/N: Thanks for reading! This series will continue for Rosie & Jo, so if you enjoyed this, please like, comment, reblog- whichever is your poison. Feedback is always welcome & my ask box is always open. If you want to be added to my tag list, or removed, let me know!

Tag List: @winniemaywebber @sagesolsticewrites @bobparkhurst @rosiesriveter @victoryrollsandredlips @bcolfanfic @major-mads @footprintsinthesxnd @roosevelt-stalin-cocacola @justheretoreadthxxs @claireelizabeth85 @hephaestn @ktredshoes @barrykeoghussy @peachessndreamss @hellfirequinnie @spinteresting @prettyinlimegreenboots @manonsmanicmind @precious-little-scoundrel @beingalive1

#love letters #love letters: rosie & jo #rosie & jo #oc: josephine harris #rosie rosenthal #masters of the air #mota fanfic #masters of the air x oc #rosie rosenthal x oc #gina baker writes

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epickiya722 · 10 months

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... no because why I suddenly have a headcanon that Yuuji's eyes will seem to glow in the dark, like light reflecting off his eyes like a cat's eyes would do?

#... yeah i think my recent fic got to me #also that yuji is cat coded to me #don't ask he just is #can you imagine though?#he also has this stare that reminds of how cats will look at you #like sometimes they have this look where they want to get you in your sleep or they're confused by your presence #just kiya's thoughts #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #itadori yuji #itadori yuuji #yuji itadori #yuuji itadori #itadori #💖🐯👊

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skeletalheartattack · 1 year

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thamks

you after i free you from the tetrisphere

#ask #anon #im not sure what the thanks is for without assuming it to be like ''thanks. for those tags.''#anyway youre welcome? youre free from the tetrisphere now. find and enjoy life. out from the egg made of tetronimoes youve hatched from.#or whatever.#im still recovering from that nap #its fucked. i nap on my bed sometimes if i havent had enough sleep earlier in the day. and instead of using the bed normally #my ass just sleeps at the end. watching my moavies (youtube streams)#like a dog #ended up having to wake myself up cause i had my legs rested over a nearby table cause the width of the bed is not very wide #and my body feels so good when i wake up. scrunched up and shit. i feel So normal #anyway tetrisphere is a game i got long ago that. i dont know from where.#i either got it from a yard sale. or ebay. but im leaning towards yard sale. since it was around the same time i got hey you pikachu #also did you know the mic quality for hey you pikachus microphone is actually pretty decent #anyway i dont remember a lot about tetrisphere beyond you picking a robot to play as. and you drop tetrominoes onto a fucking ball #i completely forgot you freed a thing from within #as for why this was the first thing i used to reply to the ask. anytime i get an ask im not sure how to respond to. i look through my phone #and. this tetrisphere image made me laugh seeing it back when i first downloaded it #i think i had more i wanted to say but im at a loss for words now that im looking at this image again #its so beautiful and hes so free #that is how baby birds leave the egg. but opposite. they do it from the inside. instead of needing tetrominoes to open the egg.#can you tell im still not fully recovered from my fuckim nap #anyway thanks for the ask anon. i think!

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iniziare · 3 months

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Tag drop: Seele (Honkai: Star Rail). Listen, I used to write her and I miss her a bit, and also: there's Belobog people around. And also, well, she's much more interesting than people give her credit for. Also, prepare for some 'rewriting', because Belobog's pacing in specific ways kind of blew a little bit much.

#seele. [ we tell them “things will be better tomorrow.” everyone knows it's a lie; but it gets them to sleep with some hope. ]#seele: ic. [ he always says “humanity's endless conflicts”; but you don't get peace by offering everything up on a silver platter. ]#seele: inquiries. [ that's not the only thing you won't have heard of down here; princess. ]#seele: countenance. [ to all those thugs and gangsters in the underworld; i'm like a spectre always haunting them. ]#seele: introspection. [ the chief's right. sometimes a sharp blade is the only way to get people to come to their senses. ]#seele: meta. [ she got used to people losing their homes. and she got used to people losing their lives. but crying alone was useless. ]#seele: little notes. [ they only eat half their meal; throw the rest away. do they know people below haven't got enough food to eat? ]#seele: wishes. [ where there's hope: there's the will to fight. ]#seele: etc. [ a young girl smiles subtly. “how? right here; right now; i am alone… but it feels... very lively.” ]#seele: underworld. [ what's more important than miracles; seele. is to protect people's hopes for miracles. ]#seele: overworld. [ oleg saw how a look of gloom passed over her tender face. “let's go back. i don't want to come back here again.” ]#seele: sampo. [ wildfire has countless issues on its place right now. we don't need a side order of koski. ]#seele: sampo. [ so we're there; now it's real. now that you have me; do you want me still? ] inominati.#seele: bronya. [ they go their separate ways: one stepping into the light; and the other into the shadows. until one day; they meet again.#seele: natasha. [ i learned quickly that tantrums won't get you anywhere. she knows how to give you a taste of your own medicine. ]#seele: oleg. [ i probably owe my life to the chief. ]#seele: hook. [ don't let her appetite for chaos fool you; i think that kid's going places. ]#seele: v. youth. [ everyone in the dark side of town knew that fearless homeless girl. everyone wanted to avoid that wild; stubborn rascal.#seele: v. underworld. [ just what we all need: more lies about a world that never was and never will be. ]#seele: v. present. [ can you imagine the consequences if we told the people what happened here? they'd be devastated. ]#seele: v. future. [ ... priorities? what do you mean? are you saying rebuilding the underworld isn't one of your “priorities”? ]

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outlying-hyppocrate · 1 year

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unwell about things,,,,,,, have not slept,,,,,,,, i can taste the numbers now

#random thoughts #taste.......... that reminds me. plazma. i still want to try plazma #plazma look lovely........... fucking......... biscuits or cookies or whatever you call them. fucking delicious #12 12 12. very 12. so 12. what a concept it is!#infirmum sum infirmum sum but it is an illness of mens once again! lacking proper diagnosis or simply sleep-deprived. oh crispin #you quote konstrakta now?? illustrate the concept of “mens infirma in corpore sano” in your own terms. oh certainly not. ridicule me please #well......... you've fallen? but where to? where to my love? who is your love? myself #carve cavities scoop out my own viscera like pomegranate. we are still we are still we breathe flowers and disease #viscera. viscera viscera viscera. viscera <12 #a word! a word. becomes your new favorite #stand here to listen listen to the ramblings of an idiot. he believes his words will weave well into music #hyvä suomi! your country loves you once again where your own mother does not #hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh the words they hold me together. twist them as i were to wring out my own organs. soft shoulders #my skin feels strange on me sometimes. it feels rather like my brother's skin than my own but so so pale now #when was it last have i seen the sun? burn holes into seemingly poetic eyes get a grip on reality!#here we break character and watch as the fool begins to slap himself repeatedly in the face. why? because he likes it of course. masochist #i'd like the title branded into this skin sewn together of my dearly beloved family. yes please

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crossbackpoke-check · 2 years

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most boys could be improved with a little nail polish bit thomas bordeleau especially. like what is not clicking for him that he hasn’t done it already my god

EX 👏 ACT 👏 LY you understand. i saw this post one time and simply never looked back so without further ado here are the top ten nail polishes, in no particular order, that i think thomas bordeleau should try:

1. sally hanson xtreme wear in 140 rockstar pink

we’re starting with this one because i previously mentioned it in another post, and, while i think thom gives the vibes of a single color natural nail mani, i like this one because it’s one polish that’s multicolor—dark pink glitter with a little bit of blue to call in the sjs and the baby blue suit he was wearing. also, glitter nail polishes will last you FOREVER

2. chanel le vernis in 339 cassis

also have to start out by including my closest approximation to the nail polish in the photo that started this all. i love the sheerness of this polish, which means it can be more unobtrusive and a little blink-and-you’ll-miss-it barely-there detail or more prominent with more layers

3. gucci glossy in 715 winterset snow

personally i don’t often go for a white nail but i think borde would like something very crisp and clean (white does look nice on him). however, i think his white and/or cream needs to be a little cooler and not as much on the yellow side, which made finding this polish difficult but like. what else was i doing today (so many things)

4. les mains hermès in 85 rouge h

we have solid evidence that borde loooves a good maroon moment and i did specifically pick hermès (no idea why. fancy? would appeal to him?). love the cooler tones in this red for him and i heavily debated giving him this really deep rich purple (violet byzantin) of the same style of polish but we can work up to wearing that one

5. cirque colors x live. love. polish in puttin’ on the ritz

while i know the first color on here is literally a fine glitter, To Me thomas bordeleau is a chunky glitter gorl. it’s got artsy details, a bunch of different types of glitter, it’s iridescent, it can be layered, i’m in love with it. it will match any outfit thom i promise

6. maniology in b333 gold rush

imho i would wear more silver jewelry to compliment the cool tones he likes to wear BUT. borde almost always sports gold (honestly not bad wrt bringing out the california tan, it doesn’t wash him out) so i am giving him a boring, but very specific metallic not-too-yellow-or-light-or sparkly gold nail color. sorry. just paint one nail and use it like an accent or for french tips for spice, idk bud you’re the hand model here and i am simply an incredibly picky art director

7. àuda.b in my cactus

i love how vibrant this green is, i love the finish on it, i think we could convince thom to branch out into more jewel tones and pastels. also yes i picked this to match his houseplants

8. nails.inc caught in the nude in hawaii beach & boy de chanel in 404 black

i have a lot of shiny and glittery finishes on this list and i reeeeally wanted to throw in a matte finish so. this is a two for one because i couldn’t find a matte version of this chocolate brown that i really liked for him but also i’m giving him a special matte black polish because to me these are both neutrals

9. mooncat in millennia

this one just looks dope. i feel like he would like the chrome effect to it? it is more high effort because it’s a magnetic polish, but also given that he loves juicewrld now i think i could swing this one on that basis alone (it’s the same colors as legends never die).

10. zoya in zp797 cecilia

how could i make this list and not include a pacific teal nail polish for the san jose sharks 🦈 this also would be stunning as a pop of color to accent his grey game day suits just saying

ok if you made it to the end of this i love you ✨ thank you for coming to my ill-advised impromptu ted talk @ thom please paint ur nails and also confirm or deny whether you have pierced your ears thank you

#please take all opinions with a grain of salt #at the point where i am simply Inventing a man thomas bordeleau is not real i made him up #nail polish is soooo gender to me sometimes #i have spoken at length but i forever will say that thom = chipped mani natural nails #like the worst part of this is that i could actually see him painting his nails for a look & i want it so baddd #also you don’t escape having a little sister without having your nails painted at least once in your life like thom please what don’t u get #@ thomas bordeleau paint your nails 💅#thomas bordeleau my worstie my hatred spirit my incorrigible terrible meow meow #liv in the replies #me haggard finally reaching the tags again after Quite Some Time like ah. fun! what was i saying at first in these?#if i were like. normal this post would not have taken me over three hours to write because i had stupid specific Visions of nail polish #i am sooooo picky so so sooooo picky akdjskndkahdi thom please take my recs i think they would look nice on you also i like them #ok also i mentioned the juice wrld thing and i’m not getting into it now but 😶 the indescribable faces i just made #also i know i made a little nail thing for trevor of nails i think he would wear but i need to find the tags so i can sort them together lol #baby blue shades 🦋🐬🫧💎🛼#please amend my prior tags to four and a half hours and everyone pray for my sleep schedule because. she f**ked

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imaginedisish · 2 months

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Lover, You Should've Come Over (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Get ready to cry. This is based on a request I received yesterday where the reader gets jealous of Jean. I tried to take this in a different direction just because I feel like this is a popular trope that has been done by many fantastic writers. It's also inspired by "Lover, You Should've Come Over," by Jeff Buckley. Hope you guys enjoy.

Summary: You've been pining after Logan since you joined the X-Men, and you're convinced he'll never love you back. He’s obsessed with Jean—always has been. Or...maybe he's not.

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI, Oral (f!receiving), fingering, PIV (unprotected...pls WRAP IT UP THIS IS FICTION!), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, f!reader/afab!reader, telepathic!reader, cocky!Logan, softdom!Logan (kinda? yeah.), non-canon compliant (you'll see what I mean...no spoilers), cursing, angst, feelings, implied mutant trauma (kinda a given in X-Men), probably some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 4,197 sorry

Wanting someone you can’t have—it’s that crying in the shower, pulling your legs into your chest, screaming into your pillow kind of heartache. You’ve come to know the feeling intimately. It’s an awful, horrid, stomach-churning kind of pain.

But you want him. Despite all the pain, you want him. Logan Howlett. You can’t seem to keep him off your mind. For the few months you’ve been one of the X-Men, Logan has been a constant. He’s always there—whether it’s to train or just to talk. But you know he’ll never want you. You see the way he looks at Jean. You wish you didn’t. You wish you were oblivious to that sort of thing. But you don’t need to use your telepathy to reach inside his mind for proof—you just know.

You keep holding on, savoring every moment, every interaction you have with Logan. You sit on the lawn of the mansion with him, watching the sunset. You’ll come down to the living room late at night to find him sitting in front of the T.V. and join him. Sometimes he’ll drape an arm around your shoulder. He’ll draw circles into your side as you drift off. You’ll wake up the next morning back in your bed, Logan having carried you there long after you’ve fallen asleep.

You’ve decided you’ll take all he’ll give you, even if it means nothing to him—even if it's platonic.

But tonight, you wish something would come up through the floor and swallow you whole. A void, a black hole maybe. That would do the trick. Disappearing would make everything so much easier. The second-best thing to disappearing is sitting in the kitchen of the mansion, alone, with a pint of ice cream. You decide to practice your powers, moving the silver spoon with your mind, concentrating as you dig the spoon into the top of the pint and into your mouth.

You hear a warm, familiar chuckle from the doorway as the spoon lands on your tongue. You look up, and there’s Logan, arms tucked across his chest. “Wish I could do that.”

You can’t help but smile around the spoon as he strides over to you, taking a seat on the stool next to yours. You slide the spoon out of your mouth and rest it on the napkin next to the ice cream. “Hey,” you mutter, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

His shoulder brushes against yours. He’s so close it hurts. You try to shove the pain down and enjoy the moment.

“Was hoping I’d run into you down here. Thought maybe you’d be in bed already,” Logan says, his eyes locked on yours.

You shake your head, doing your best to keep that fake smile plastered on your face. “Couldn’t sleep.”

You can see the sudden concern appear on his face. “Everything okay?” He asks, tilting his head to the side. Fuck, you think to yourself. Maybe he’s catching on.

“Yeah,” you murmur, looking down at the ice cream. “Just still having a hard time adjusting.” It wasn’t a lie. You had always struggled with your powers, longing to hide, to shove them down. Your whole life, you were either a freak or something to be used—whatever was most convenient in the moment. The struggle between visibility and forcing yourself to be “normal” was an impossible battle. You were no stranger to being taken advantage of or being experimented on.

Logan was the first person who understood that—understood you. He made you feel seen in a way that no one ever had. It’s part of the reason you’ve fallen so hard for him.

His hand is suddenly on your back, yanking you from your thoughts and back to reality. “I’m here,” he whispers. “Whatever you need, anything.”

Anything. You wish he really meant it.

“Thanks, Lo.” You smile up at him, letting your eyes linger on his lips for just a second before looking back down at the ice cream. “Want some?” You ask, nodding at the pint.

“Only if you feed it to me the way you did when I walked in.” You can hear the smirk in his voice as he taps the spoon. You side-eye him incredulously. “I mean it. Wanna see you do it again.” There’s a husk in his voice, a shift in his timber that sends a chill down your spine. You try not to think about it too much as you pick up the spoon with your mind.

You guide the spoon inside the pint, scraping the top, and lifting it up towards Logan’s mouth. He opens wide as you lead the spoon inside, his tongue hitting the bottom as his lips close around it. The implications of the moment don’t dawn on you until he’s grabbing the spoon with his hands and sucking on the metal. There’s something undeniably suggestive about this.

Heat rises to your chest as you replay the image of him taking the spoon into his mouth in your mind. It’s so intimate, so domestic. And, certainly, something else—something that makes you tick, that makes that familiar fire grow deep within your belly.

But—like always—the moment doesn’t last long. You wince, feeling someone itching against your thoughts, prodding at your mental shields, begging to be let in. Suddenly, there’s another voice in your mind.

I gotta try that myself. You flinch at the sound, taking the spoon from Logan’s hand and shooting it across the room to where you sense the person’s presence. You turn around, and there’s Jean, resisting the spoon’s trajectory with her mind.

It's almost pressing into her skull, shaking in mid-air, ready to break her skin. You gasp and drop the spoon, embarrassed to have registered her as a threat. “I’m so sorry,” you say, watching as Jean crouches down and picks up the spoon. “I didn’t know that was you in there, I swear.”

You expect Logan to stand from the chair and rush over to Jean, but he stays next to you, glued to your side, the palm of his hand resting gently on your back. “Jean.” His voice is firm, almost cold and harsh. “What was that?” You’re surprised at how curt he’s being with her, surprised he remembered that you’re sensitive to people probing around your mind, even if it’s friendly.

Jean mutters a curse. “I was just communicating with her. I didn’t think she’d—”

Logan stands, his hand still steady at your back. “Don’t do that again. Ever.” His voice is louder now, heavier.

She whispers an apology, setting the spoon on the counter and walking towards the doorway. “I really didn’t mean to hurt you,” she says. “I should’ve remembered given your…” she pauses, searching for the word, “past…that it wouldn’t be a good idea.” She takes another tentative step. “I’ll leave you two alone,” she says, and she slips out.

Logan settles back into the stool next to you. You’re shocked that he’s still here, that he hasn’t run away yet. You can hear him breathe—in and out—gentle, long breaths. You close your eyes and listen, the sound calming you down. You’re still expecting him to leave, to walk away, but he doesn’t.

“You okay?” He asks, your eyes fluttering open, his voice hanging in the air. His head is tilted to the side, worry painted across his face.

“Y-yeah. I’m fine,” you stutter, your voice cracking. “You don’t have to stay with me. You can go check on her if you want.” You nod towards the doorway—to wherever Jean wandered off to.

“And why would I do that?” Is all he says in return, furrowing his brows.

You put on that fake smile again. “I almost jammed a spoon into her forehead because she spoke to me telepathically.” You shake your head. “Don’t really think my reaction was particularly friendly—or something that good people do.” You break eye contact with Logan and look to the other side of the kitchen. “Plus, you two are…close.”

“Hey.” His voice is firm again, but gentle this time, reassuring. His hand slips across your back and rests on your waist. You’re so shocked by the contact that you almost miss what he says. “First of all, she knows better. Charles warned her about what you’ve been through. And second…” He trails off, smirking at you. “I’d rather be with you.”

Oh? Oh. He’d rather be with you.

“I just thought, you know, you and Jean were…” You’re too embarrassed to finish the sentence and too nervous to hear him say the words you’ve been dreading most.

He shakes his head, that smirk still spread across his lips. “No, it’s not Jean I want. Never has been.”

Your breathing becomes shaky—your heart beating rapidly in your chest. “If it’s not Jean, then—”

Logan cuts you off as he suddenly moves. His arm lifts from your waist as he stands, turning your stool around so your back is against the cold countertop. He’s gripping the arms of the stool now, caging you in. Your mind is hazy—you can’t concentrate with him this close.

“You think I do the shit I do with you with Jean too, hm?” He’s towering over you, his head cocking to the side, his voice self-assured and confident. “Think I’m watching movies and sunsets with her? Carrying her to bed, too?”

You’re overwhelmed, dizzied by his words, his size, him. “Just thought that—”

“Just thought what?” He cuts you off again. “That I didn’t want you, darlin’?” He brings his lips to the shell of your ear, one hand moving from the counter to your hip. “Wanted you this whole time,” he huffs, goosebumps rising on your arms. “Only you.” He presses a kiss to your ear, and then just underneath your jaw.

“Logan,” you whisper. “W-want you too,” you choke out, your hands coming up and around his back. “B-but someone’s gonna walk in on us.”

He’s ignoring you, biting your pulse point lightly and licking the pain away. “Let them,” he husks, refusing to stop. You instinctively bring your hands up to the nape of his neck, your nails digging in slightly. He groans at the contact, his chest heaving against yours.

“One of the kids is catch us in here, or somebody else,” you mutter, his face still buried in the crook of your neck. “W-we should—”

“Go to my room.” He finishes your thought.

“Please.”

And then he’s picking you up from the chair, his hands under your thighs, grabbing your ass. You wrap your legs around his waist as he prowls out of the kitchen. He looks both ways as he crosses the hallway and makes his way to the stairs. There’s no one in sight. He carries you up the steps and down the hall to his room, practically breaking down the door as he swings it open and slams it shut.

And then he’s laying you down on his bed, crawling over you, pressing his forehead against yours. “Wanted you in here sooner,” he murmurs, his lips just inches from yours. “Hoped you’d come over one night. You should’ve.”

His lips crash down onto yours before you can find the words to say. He’s starving for you, swallowing your moans as his hands slip under your shirt, his nails digging lightly into your sides. “So fucking beautiful,” he rasps against your lips. Everything is desperate and rushed, hands pawing at bare skin in the dim light of his room.

Logan tugs on the hem of your shirt, rolling it up your body and over your head. He tosses it to the side as he sits up on his knees, taking you in. He curses under his breath, looking you up and down.

“Logan,” you whine, arching your back. You need his hands on you again, his lips. Something. Anything.

“I know, pretty girl,” he soothes, his fingers hooking inside the waistband of your shorts. “Gonna take care of you.” He yanks them down your legs, leaving you in just your bra and panties.

He pulls off his own shirt, tossing it carelessly, letting it get lost on the floor. He settles back down over you, balancing on his forearm as his free hand finds your waist. He slides up to the bottom of your bra, teasingly pulling on the fabric before slipping his hand behind your back—skillfully unclasping the bra with one easy motion. You arch your back again, the bra straps sliding down your arms as Logan tosses the bra to the floor, too.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, his hand tracing the curves of your breasts, massaging gently. “Perfect.” He captures your lips in another kiss as his thumb ghosts over your nipples, just barely giving you the relief you need before pinching softly. The pressure feels so good, so right, but it’s not enough.

He draws circles around your nipples with his thumb, the sensation feeding the aching fire between your legs. Your hips involuntarily lift off the mattress, meeting his. “Need me that bad, huh?” He is always so incredibly cocky, even now—especially now. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and what to do next.

Logan grinds his erection into your core. You can feel how big he is, the weight of him heavy against your cunt even in his jeans. You clench around nothing, whining his name as his strained cock teases your panty-clad pussy. “You want me to make you feel good, pretty girl?”

“Y-yes,” you stutter, biting your lips as his hand leaves your tits and sweeps down your stomach, stopping just above your clit. He slides his fingers down just a bit more, feeling where your arousal seeps through your panties.

“Already soaking for me, sweetheart.” The bassy timber of his voice stokes that flame deep within your belly. Without warning, he’s hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties and yanking them down your legs. “Can’t wait anymore, pretty girl,” he whispers. “Wanna taste this pussy.” He kisses your belly button, leaving a trail down the rest of your stomach as his mouth travels to where you need him most.

There’s something depraved about the way he’s crawling down your body, taking in every inch of you. He spreads your legs apart with the palms of his hands—his thumbs brushing against your bare skin, licking teasingly at your inner thighs as he settles in between them.

He pauses, looking at you under hooded eyes. You can see the want—no, the need—in the way his muscles flex and how he works his jaw. But he’s hesitating, his breath hot against your core, sending another jolt of desire through your body. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, your eyes searching his for his next move.

He finally presses a kiss to your clit. “You don’t understand how you make me feel,” he mumbles against your heat, licking a long stripe through your folds and back to your clit. “No idea how long I’ve fucking wanted you.” You throw your head back, whimpering his name as he laps again and again. He’s starving, and you’re the only thing that can satiate his hunger. His tongue swirls around your clit, flicking it, taking it in between his lips and sucking hard.

Your hips lift off the mattress and Logan quickly moves to hold them down. “You’re not going anywhere, darlin’,” he grunts against you, the vibration of his voice going straight to your core.

His free hand slips up the inside of your thighs, teasingly climbing higher and higher, his nails skimming your flesh. He’s toying with you, leading you on, taking his time. His fingers finally ghost over your folds, exploring you, stroking up and down as his tongue laps at your cunt.

Logan prods your entrance with two fingers, slipping in just a bit, testing the waters. “Please,” you beg, pushing your hips down in an attempt to sink his fingers deeper into you. He stops you, his hand still firmly holding your hips down, refusing to give you the release you’re dying for.

“So fucking impatient, aren’t you?” He tuts. And then he’s shoving two fingers all the way inside you, down to his knuckles. “Such a pretty pussy.”

“F-fuck!” You cry out, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as he sets a relentless pace. He’s drinking you in, sucking roughly, his long fingers pumping in and out with a vengeance.

“’This what you wanted, pretty girl?” He asks condescendingly in between laps. You’re too fucked out to form a sentence, your legs trembling underneath him. You know he’s loving this—loving that you’re a wet, needy, whimpering mess.

Your walls squeeze around his fingers, your swollen clit throbbing as he laps at you. You’re so close already. “Lo,” you call out, fisting the sheets of his bed. Everything in here smells like him: pine and mint and musk and tobacco and that thing that’s uniquely Logan. It’s all so overwhelming and overstimulating. You’re ready to fall apart, to melt into nothingness. “S-so close.”

He squeezes your hip. “I know, sweetheart,” he soothes, his pace unwavering as his fingers fuck into you, scissoring inside you, drawing you closer to your climax with that come-hither motion he does so well. Your walls flutter again. “That’s it,” he coos. “Wanna feel you come—wanna know what it tastes like.” He licks harder, faster. “Let go for me, darlin’.”

He pushes you over the edge, pleasure warming your belly as you let go. It washes over you in waves, his fingers still pumping in and out, his tongue still hanging on to the taste of you. You ride it out, his thumb brushing your hip, coaxing you through it. His fingers slip out of your cunt, but his head is still buried between your legs. You shudder as he licks long, slow stripes through your folds.

“So fucking sweet,” he growls, still starving for more. “Not done with you yet.”

Fuck.

But you need more—need his cock deep inside you, pounding into you. You need him in front of you, his lips on yours.

“Logan,” you whine, your voice shaky and trembling just like the rest of your body. He finally lifts his head, his hair a disheveled mess, your juices glistening on his lips and his chin. The sight of him makes your breath hitch in your throat. There’s a feral, needy look in his eyes. He’s starving for more of you, and you’re not quite sure he’ll ever get enough.

But he can see your chest heaving and the desire in your own eyes. He knows what you need—he always does. He sits up on his knees, staring at you while he slowly unbuckles his belt. The tension is palpable, the clinking of his belt against the hardwood floors cutting through it like a hot knife—the only sounds the melding of your quick breaths and the shuffling of bed sheets as Logan finally comes up to meet you.

He's balancing on his forearm as he unbuttons his jeans, undoing the zipper and shoving the denim and his boxers down his legs. You swallow at the sight of his cock springing against his stomach. You had felt his erection before, but he is far bigger than you ever anticipated.

With one hand on his cock, he lowers himself in between your thighs. You instinctually spread your legs for him, inviting him in. He nudges against your entrance, taking his time.

His forehead meets yours, your chests flush against each other’s, panting in sync. You’re both waiting with bated breath, his tip slipping inside, but stopping short before going any farther.

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “Thought I’d never have you,” he confesses, pushing his tip a bit further in. “Would’ve given up anything for this. Would’ve waited forever.”

“You don’t have to,” you murmur. “I’m right here. I’m yours.”

“Mine?”

“All yours.”

And then he’s pushing deep inside you, down to the hilt, bottoming out. He swallows your moans with a kiss, biting your lip, drawing blood, and licking it away. “All fucking mine.” He stays buried inside you, unmoving. “Wanna stay inside you forever, sweetheart,” he growls, your heart bursting at the thought.

He pulls himself all the way out and all the way back in, stretching you out, working you open. You look down in between your bodies and watch as his cock disappears inside of you. “Feels s-so fucking good,” you stammer, already drunk off him.

“Like watching me fuck into you?” Logan husks, picking up his pace, his hips snapping into yours.

“Y-yes,” you whimper. His muscles flex as he ruts into you. He takes the hand that was on his cock and brings it in between your bodies, his fingertips quickly finding your clit and giving it a soft pinch. Your back arches off the mattress at the sensation.

Logan hums at your reaction. “So sensitive,” he groans. “Taking me so good, sweetheart.” You can feel him losing control as he rams into you, his thrusts growing harder with each pump of his cock. He’s drawing firm, fast circles into your core.

It’s all too much, him, his cock, his fingers. Your skin is on fire, your nipples pushing against his chest—the friction absolutely delicious. You’re already so close, just a few steps away from the ledge, and you’re ready to fall.

“Know you’re close, darlin’,” Logan moans in between kisses. “Can feel you squeezing me.”

You hum in response, but Logan refuses to let up. His pace is beyond brutal, pounding into you over and over again, his fingers working your clit in tandem. Your muscles contract around him, gripping tightly.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “So fucking tight, so fucking warm.” His praises are more than you can handle. “You gonna come on my cock, just like this?”

“Yes, fuck, Logan!” You’re a babbling mess, his name the only thing on your mind, on your lips, hanging in the air like it’s a sacred prayer. Everything is him, and it always has been. In this moment and in every other, he is your end and your beginning.

“Let go for me, sweetheart. Know you can do it for me.” His deep voice is all you need to walk you through it. You’re breaking down, coming on his cock, the pleasure coursing through your veins, spreading like an untamable fire.

He’s stroking your clit long after you’ve come, still snapping his hips into yours, still working up towards his own orgasm. His pace is getting sloppier, but he shows no signs of stopping. You can feel yourself growing overstimulated, his cock rubbing against your walls, his fingers circling your clit. “S’too much,” you whine, your nails digging into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist.

Logan presses himself closer to you, as close as he possibly can be. “You’ve got one more in you, sweetheart,” he coaxes, not letting up. “Know you can take it.”

You’re breathless, clinging onto him helplessly. You’re clamping down on him again, taking him deeper than you did before. He’s hitting that sweet spot with every thrust. “Lo,” you whimper. “I’m gonna—”

“I know, darlin’,” he grunts. You can feel him throbbing inside you. “Let it happen, I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

The tension is snapping again, breaking in half as he pulls another orgasm from you. You shudder as you come for a third time, overstimulated and beyond fucked out. You know he’s close behind, his hips slowing down, his forehead pressed against yours. He slips his hand away from your clit and around your back, pulling you closer to his chest. It’s so intimate, so perfect.

“F-fuck,” he mumbles. “Where do you want me to—”

You hold him closer. “Stay,” you whisper. “Want you inside. Wanna feel you come.”

“Oh fuck,” he mutters, plunging deep inside you, his muscles tensing as he fills you up, your name on his lips. His thrusts slow, pumping in and out every now and then before finally stopping.

You stay like this for a few minutes, his arm keeping you tight against his chest, his cock still buried inside you and your foreheads still pressed together.

He brings a hand up to your cheek, his thumb brushing gently across your skin. You sigh, your eyes fluttering open and closed.

He shakes his head. “I always wanted you,” he says, his voice low and raspy. “The whole time. It was only ever you.”

His words could make you cry. It’s everything you’ve ever hoped to hear. You smile, his hand finding its way to the crook of your neck, his fingers lightly stroking your sensitive skin. “Can’t believe I didn’t see it,” you breathe, your voice laden with sleepiness. “I never knew. Thought you’d never want me.”

“I’ll always want you.” His cock finally slips out of you, leaving you feeling empty. His legs tangle with yours, his lips pressing a chaste kiss to your temple. “Would’ve waited forever for you, darlin’.”

“Forever?”

“Longer.”

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