#oblivion. or whatever. in that none of those are on the table. just for an example

[unopenablebox]

ntn spoilers even now

this is an insane way to take something too personally but i am rereading ntn and am. secretly still mad/sad about one specific post from when it came out about how the Deep Wrongness we All Feel about paul is because within the gender framework of the book, it is about how being a transgender person who wants to cut their hair and have an androgynous body and leave behind their gendered history is Tempting But Deeply Wrong, an Intrinsic Falseness that if it could ever succeed makes you a Stranger To Your Family, not Good Real Authentic Transness which is Inherently Inescapably Historied And Messy and deep down we all know that and that’s why we all can agree that paul is a creepy fantasy that makes you feel bad

which, like, i get that op of that post was doing stuff about like. the literary meaning of paul in the context of the book and starting from explaining a feeling of uncanniness and also somewhat discussing their personal gender journey, but it did just um. honestly it hurt my feelings

[gwopijon]

Donald Trump has won the president four years after he sat for months on Covid being deadly and after he incited an insurection.

He's an abjudicated rapist. He stole classified documents. He's a traitor. He is personally corrupt but it meant nothing to voters.

He hid the fact that Covid was deadly for months. We had empty shells and long lines at food banks but it meant nothing to voters.

He had zero ground game. He’s a felon. He incited an insurrection less than four years ago. But he was running against a woman again, and if there’s one thing Americans hate, it’s women.

In 2016, I still had some sense of hope that whatever happened during a Trump presidency, we could find a way to survive and recover. I don’t have that hope this time. Not after everything that’s happened, not after the past nine years of this utter sh-tshow. This is the American electorate looking at this orange clown and saying “that’s my guy.” This man spewed the most despicable, hate filled rhetoric and someone who is clearly declining physically and mentally. They heard “mass deportations” and they said “anything to bring down housing costs.” They heard every single warning about Trump’s authoritarian fascism and they said “sounds amazing.” They heard the promise of authoritarianism and they said “sign me up.”

What’s especially crazy is that Trump doesn’t even want to be president again. He was just running to avoid prison. This senile, hateful, disgusting 78-year-old man was exhausted and phoning it in for most of the campaign. He kept disappearing for weeks at a time to golf and sundown in peace. When he went to vote in Florida yesterday, he sounded almost resigned to losing. Even he underestimated the stupidity of Americans. Even he can’t believe that people fell for it again.

Kamala Harris was a great Democratic Presidential Candidate. She still lost.

In 2016, in the hours after Hillary Clinton lost, I was partly in a fugue state, half-numb and half-enraged. Accusations flew across the political spectrum – what if Hillary had done more in the Rust Belt, what if she did this or that differently, why did she run given the “Clinton Fatigue,” why did James Comey f–k her over in the final weeks. There’s really none of that eight years later. We couldn’t have asked for a better candidate than Kamala Harris. Kamala Harris was disciplined, joyful, wonkish, fun and cool. She energized the base and she had widespread cross-party appeal. The only things “wrong” with Kamala Harris were: she’s a woman, she’s a Black woman, and she isn’t Donald Trump.

This isn’t even because of one particular demographic – white women, men of all races, Latino voters, suburbanites, they all swung wildly against Kamala Harris.

I hope Kamala knows that she did the best she could with the hand she was dealt. The numbers don’t reflect a failure on her part, in my opinion. The numbers reflect a failure of the American electorate. Good news for the American electorate: Donald Trump promised that this would be the last votes you would ever have to cast, that he will “fix” everything so no one has to vote anymore. Congrats on making it count.

I’m terrified as a woman. As a biracial woman. As someone with complex healthcare needs. As a gay woman. As the friend of many LGBTQ+ people. And I’m genuinely scared for the many Republicans who had the courage to speak out against Trump, particularly Liz Cheney, Fascists do not deal lightly with perceived disloyalty.

Bibi and Putin are celebrating today. Gaza will be nuked into oblivion and Ukraine will be handed to Russia just like Taiwan will be handed to China. YOU did that!

I am struggling with my faith with feeling anger and hatred towards those ingrates who came and found the table set from the blood, sweat, tears, whipping, lynching and jailing of my ancestors and threatened us with a Trump/Vance/Heritage Foundation/ Project 2025 has Harris not tap danced on Gaza knowing full well, she was doing her job as VP she could not supersede the sitting President of this country. Some of ya'll knew she was personally against arming Israel and has always been for a 2 state solution. For those voters: FUCK YOU!

FUCK you if you voted 3rd Party.

FUCK you if you didn't vote at all while you could and should have.

In order it went white men, white Latino men, and white women who overwhelmingly voted for Trump. We should stop with “economic uncertainty” again as a cover.

Sam Alito and Clarence Thomas will fucking retire and this motherfucker will nominate who Leonard Leo orders him to nominate and the fucking Supreme Court will unleash on our asses for the next 40 years. Roe vs Wade and the overturning of Affirmative Action will be nothing to what is next to come...

We black people have no fucking allies. Folks been piggybacking off black blood, sweat and tears for too fucking long. We're tired. We're fucking done. DON'T fucking expect us anymore

What hurts most is, this is apparently who we are as a country. Racist. Misogynistic. It doesn’t happen twice unless that’s just who the fuck we are. The rest of us will continue to fight against it, but it just got a lot harder. I think MVP and others will still help guide us but DON'T fucking expect black women to fight our battles and YOURS. FUCK that. We're done. We're gonna fight our battles nowadays .

I will not protest anything Trump wishes to do. DON'T expect us black women to play Mammy and clean shit after you anymore. We're done playing Captain Save a Hoe for you ingrates. I think he should have full reign to do whatever he plans and America should get it good and hard. It's what they asked for.

This country is not the Eutopia some of you are foolishly hoping for. IF you think a unqualified backbench like AOC or corrupt Nina Turner (the OPPO dossier on her is out there) or Katie Porter or Warren would have fared better or will ever become president; think again. It will NEVER happen. NEVER gonna fucking happen!

We black women as of last night have done what Pontius Pilate did and to wash our hands with America:

[visage-of-hell]

A bitter laugh replaced the sob she was struggling to keep at bay, though she still subconsciously leaned into the kiss pressed to the side of her head. "Unless you can go up to Heaven and kill what's left of the Exorcists, there's not much you can do to avenge her." There was resignation in her voice--oh, she had fantasized about getting her hands on the winged bitch that had unraveled her entire life countless times. All the good it did her, though, as she had never seen her again. If she'd had it her way, none of the Exorcists would have remained alive to retreat after their attack upon the hotel, but ... that had not been the way things had played out. The tease of revenge Alastor offered was tantalizing, but ultimately fruitless. Ah, but what did help soothe the ache even more somehow was that deceptively gentle touch of his. Nurturing in a way that she had never experienced from him before. Almost ... tender. It filled her with comforting warmth and ice-cold panic all at once. There were still long-neglected parts of the hellhound that yearned for that familiar feeling of safety in the arms of someone she could trust. It would be all too easy to give in... ...But what if...? Always the words that haunted her. What if he rejected her? Worse--what if he became her everything, encompassed the whole of her world, and then ... be taken away? If it had happened once, why wouldn't it happen again? Surely the ache of being emotionally alone was preferable to reliving the nightmare that still plagued her even now. It was hard to remain convinced of that, though ... when he made her feel so safe. So wanted. Would it be so wrong to ... just let herself have this? To just let it happen? Maybe this time would be different. A soft sigh was the sound that heralded in her surrender as her head tilted towards him with a tired defeated look. "...You deserve to know how I really ended up as an Overlord. That last normally-scheduled Extermination Day before the attack on the hotel was supposed to be my last. I'd had it all figured out--pick a fight I couldn't possibly win against a fuckton of Exorcists and make them hafta kill me, hellborn or not. It would all be over. The pain, the regret ... nothin' but just peaceful empty oblivion. With her." A sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh escaped her as she shook her head. "But wouldn't you fuckin' know it ... I picked a fight while Carmilla god-damn Carmine was protecting her girls. And what's she do? Kills an angel--first time it ever happens. Rest of the angels that were supposed to be my deliverance into death book it right there on the spot, scared shitless." "The way Carmine saw it, I was just as much a witness as I was a help, since I kept the rest of that group from gangin' up on her. So to 'buy my silence', she shows me how Overlords bind souls. The contracts. Offers me a seat at the 'Big Boy Table' along with everyone else, even offers to fund whatever it is I wanna get set up in my new piece of turf. She makes it sound kind, but I know there's a threat under all those sweet-sounding deals--accept it or else. So I do." Her gaze falls away from his as her courage starts to falter. "The only reason I'm even here right now ... is because I didn't get to go out in the 'blaze of glory' I thought I would."

(Continued from here with @arcanepactguile: Thankfully most nights, sleep came relatively easy--especially if Visage had done a fine enough job of distracting herself with all the usual vices. And oh, had she indulged earlier than evening. Somehow, though ... even through the haze of uppers and downers floating through her system, the she-wolf had known it wouldn't be enough this time. Not this time. Not while she could still remember what day it was. No sooner had sleep claimed her than familiar images began to reply themselves in the theater of her mind. Things she would have given just about anything to forget. The feel of gravel digging into her knees ... the cold steel of the Exorcist blade pressed to her throat ... the sight of a winged lapine demon held in the exact same position mere feet away. "Dhallia!" She can feel the panicked name tearing free from her throat as raw and and painful as the day it happened. Just as before, she struggles against an unyielding grasp she can't escape. Just as before ... she's powerless to stop what comes next. Tears well up in the rabbit's eyes as she stares pleadingly back at Visage. "Vizzy, please...! Don't--" A spray of blood arcs through the air seconds before the head is fully freed from the neck. It happens in an instant, but it feels like time slows to a crawl as it falls in a cascade of long black curls and pouring crimson. Like every time before, the thud of her lover's head hitting the ground is what finally jolts her awake with a ragged gasp. Sitting upright in bed, Visage's wide tear-streaked eyes darted around the darkened room as her own heartbeat hammered in her ears. It took her several moments to realize that the bed sheets were balled up into her fists, which she slowly released with trembling hands. She almost entirely forgot about the presence of the Radio Demon until the mattress shifted as he sat down. Deep down, she had hoped Alastor being there would somehow stave away the wretched memories that always resurfaced with a vengeance whenever Dhallia's birthday came around--as though his presence, alone, could scour the pain from her heart, if only for a day. Foolish. Sentimental. Disgusting. Anger intermingled with that lingering grief as the vividness of the nightmare slowly subsided. The hellhound's head dropped with a frustrated sigh. ".....Somethin' like that. It's complicated."

[seconds-not-decades]

It takes place during the last episode of season three when they fight the Three Guardians. The reader begins to tangle with Reginald Hargreeves, telling him clearly that she didn't trust him and that it was his fault that Luther was dead.

Reginald begins to tell her that he knows very well what had happened before in the past of the reader and that he knew for her back, nobody understands then the dad Reginald he takes the arm of the reader and places her back to the Hargreeves and ripping her shirt off (I hate their dad 🥲) she struggles screaming then she falls to her knees, completely traumatized and Five tries to hide her whipped back.

The last guardian they didn't kill at first arrives and Five tries to protect the reader as best he can and just as Five's hand was severed the guardian steps forward to finish off Five but the reader steps between the two and the guard sticks his saber into the reader's abdomen and Five catches her as she falls as she tries to stay awake, Five begs her to keep her eyes open.

There you go I know a little sad all this 🥲😂

To Love and Protect {Five Hargreeves x Fem!Reader}

Summary: Upon hearing about Luther's untimely death, you corner Sir Reginald and interrogate him, but he turns the table onto you and reveals his knowledge about your abusive past, in which Five rescues you from him. After facing off against the last guardian, fate has to choose between taking you or Five. However, you make the move first.

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Fem!Reader

Author's Note: Here is a very angsty part two to Books and Banter. Please feel free to reblog and comment!

Edit: We've made 132 NOTES!!! Thank you so much!💙

Requested By: The lovely @madlixxxx🎹

Word Count: 1217

Content Warning(s): Major Season 3 spoilers! Mentions of abuse, Sir Reginald being terrible as always, mini panic attack, blood, violence, scars, injury, cursing, and death.

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : Unsteady

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

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*Edit below is mine, please give credit if you use it*

~ * ~

You couldn't believe it. Luther and Klaus were dead. And now everyone was seemingly stuck in Hotel Oblivion. You hated how it felt to be here. You felt like something was wrong. Obscurely wrong. And not just from what Diego and Lila have told everyone.

They weren't kidding when they talked about whoever cut off Diego's fingers. The guardians were horrible to fight. You, Sloane, Five, and Ben barely made it out alive. When everyone got back to the lobby, Klaus was waiting.

While everyone was fighting and conversing about their experiences against the guardians, you took it on yourself to go interrogate Sir Reginald. Your blood was boiling and you had your suspicions about Luther's death. It was not coincidential timing when Sir Reginald showed up back at the White Buffalo Suite. It was like he planned it. And that scared you. If Sir Reginald was bold and brave enough to kill two Umbrella members, who's to say he won't kill everyone else?

"Y/N! What are you doing? You should be finding the sigil with the others!" Sir Reginald was taken back to see you.

"I don't care about some sigil," you seethed. "What I care about is whatever the hell you did to Luther!"

"Me? What are you insinuating? That I killed him? Why would I kill one of my own children?"

"Because you're insane and psychotic and a cold-hearted schemer!"

"Well, those are quite some outlandish accusations. I say I find them quite offensive!"

"I don't give a shit. What your next move? More death? Destruction? Are we all just pawns in your game of life and death?"

"I think I have heard quite enough from you," Sir Reginald cut you off coolly. "That Number Five has rubbed off on you. I see that now."

"Why is Oblivion so important to you? What is this about?"

"That is none of your concern."

"I think it is since I'm here," you bit out in a low voice. "In fact, it's all of our concern. I don't trust you. You killed Luther! Admit it!"

Sir Reginald scoffed. "You need to learn to keep your impossibly loud mouth quiet. Do you not happen to recall where your voice used to leave you when you were younger?"

Your eyes grew huge from that and you took a small step away. You felt like his words cut across your already scarred back.

"Yes, I know your history. I know where you came from and what you endured," he took a menacing step towards you.

"Dad! What are you doing?" Klaus loudly asked from where he was.

"Y/N! Where are you?" Five called out from behind where you were.

"Stay away from me! Don't come any closer!" you exclaimed, a bit fearful now.

You could fight, yes…but could you hold your own against someone as powerful and dangerous as him? You really didn't want to find out.

"You know, I can help you. I can take away your pain. I can make sure nobody hurts you again," Sir Reginald continued as you started backing away from him.

"Dad!" you heard Klaus's voice come closer.

"Over there!" Diego saw you two.

"What do you want from me? How do you know about my history?" you questioned, glancing down to see the Hargreeves race over to where you all were.

"You've been through too much pain and suffering, my dear Y/N. So much that my children could never comprehend," he said. "I can help the others understand why you protect your back so much. I can help them understand why you hide all this!" Sir Reginald suddenly ripped your cardigan off, causing you to scream when you realized he had exposed your back to the others.

Though you had a shirt on, the back of it still revealed enough of your scars to terrify you.Five suddenly blinked to your rescue. You dropped to the ground as Five tried to hide you, blinking both of you out and up to the second level.

"Hey, hey, hey. I'm here. You're safe, I've got you," he draped his jacket over you, barely in controll of his anger. "Breathe, Y/N, please!" he gathered you into his arms.

You were crying into his chest, trembling horribly as your heart raced and your head spun. You felt like the world was caving in and you couldn't breathe correctly.

"Shhh. Listen to me. Listen to my voice. You're okay. I've got you," he murmured into your ear soothingly.

You felt lost at sea and Five was your anchor. You tried to hear his voice through your raging thoughts, clinging to the sound.

"Breathe. Take a deep breath with me, okay?" he continued, breathing in deeply and you mirrored it.

The more oxygen you got in, the clearer your head got. You felt yourself beginning to calm down.

"That's it. You're doing great, love. In through the nose, out through the mouth," he prodded you, gently running his fingers through your hair.

You finally felt stable enough to look up at him through watery eyes. "F-Five…he…Reginald…"

"Shhh! I know, my love, I know. And I…I should have been with you, so I could have stopped him," he shook his head, full of pained guilt.

"How did he know?" you whispered hoarsely. "How?" your voice was shaky.

"I don't know, which scares me," Five admitted softly, hugging you tightly and protectively.

"Did…Did they all…see me?"

Five snuck a glance over at his siblings, who were engaging Sir Reginald in a heated argument. "I…I don't know. I was more focused on getting you to safety so they couldn't…" he adjusted his jacket over you a bit more.

You faintly nodded, curling up in his embrace. He sighed, kissing your forehead softly and comfortingly.

"Are you okay? Or going to be okay?" he gazed down at you worriedly.

"I…I don't know. I'm scared."

"I'm here. I won't let anyone or anything get to you. I'll protect you," Five promised.

You took a deep breath again and gave him a soft smile. The two of you slowly got to your feet as he looked down below at the lobby. More or less the lobby floor.

"Five?" you asked, noticing a thoughtful, deep frown upon his face. "What's wrong?"

"Hey, I found the sigil!" he yelled to the others. "It's on the-"

A crash occured from above and everyone screamed when the fourth guardian came down. Five yelled out in pain as the two of you fell to the ground. You gasped in horror when you saw his left arm in half.

"Five, no! Oh God!" you raced to his side, trying to help him get his tie undone to stop the bleeding.

"Watch out!" he shouted, seeing the guardian swinging his weapon.

"No!" you exclaimed, jumping in front of him.

You inhaled sharply, feeling a harsh pain in your abdomen. You looked down to see blood stain your shirt.

"Y/N!" Five grabbed you and blinked away from the guardian.

When you two reappeared, you collapsed in his arms, gasping for air.

"No! No no no, oh my God…" he was frantically trying to stop the bleeding with his only arm. "Stay with me! Don't close your eyes! I...I'm gonna save you, just hold on, love!"

"I…can't hold on…" you choked out, feeling your life leave you slowly.

"Keep your eyes open for me, sweetheart, please! Stay awake!" he begged, grasping your hand.

You tried. You tried so hard, but your eyelids were getting too heavy and Five's voice was becoming too distant. You were exhausted and soon you sank into his arms, not able to stay awake any longer.

~ * ~

[arclundarchivist]

[Spoilers C3E29] Seeing Red...

Or What in the fuck is up with that fucking guy?

*Points at Ruidus*

We got two Ruidusborn on the table now, folks. Let's see if we catch anymore by the end.

I know I said I would save this till tomorrow, but I can't sleep and might as well strike while the anvil is hot.

Firstly, before getting into possible connections and origins, I want to postulate if Ruidus is an actual threat or just the funnel for power for other entities.

Much of the lore around Ruidus is conjecture at this point, except what we have learned from the Grim Verity research and as was gleaned from Imogen's visions.

On the surface, its spur of rock is covered in swirling red storms.

It is obscured from magical investigation.

It randomly shifts position in the sky and flares at random intervals.

These flairs can cause, and often do cause, the premature birth of individuals who are then "fated" for lives of trial.

Now, many consider those born under Ruidus as cursed as with Alyxian, yet even he and as shown with Otohan, rose to great places of prominence regardless of whatever might have been thrown at them. There is also no concrete evidence, outside of what has been occurring with Imogen, that Ruidus even cares or takes an active role in complicating the lives of those born under its gaze. Even the idea that they are faced with lives of "ill fate" that consumes them doesn't fully track when you consider that what is likely the most famous Ruidusborn is the Raven Queen herself, and I'm not sure usurping the power of a divinity is a bit of misfortune.

Further complicating matters is that Ruidus, as of yet, hasn't shown any true evidence that the being is even sentient. It can offer boons, seemingly, and there is the argument that it influences Imogen with the voices in her dream, but the latter could simply be residual energy left from her mother and others' interactions with the Moon.

Furthermore, outside of the Grey Assassins, which so far as we know as of yet are not under any actual direction of Ruidus, the Moon hasn't actually done anything that purposefully malignant, outside of course the recent revelations about Fearne, the Feywild and it's intrusions there.

In fact, there are examples of it being almost benevolent in some of its actions. It warns Imogen of Bertrand's death and the possible belief that it saved Alyxian's life during his confrontation with Grummsh, which managed to save Marquet from utter devastation.

Its lack of effect on malignant curses such as Lycanthropy may also need to be considered.

I am curious to learn if Ruidus actually *wants* anything or if it simply acts in a fashion similar to the Luxon. The Luxon is not a conscious entity, at least it isn't anymore, but individuals still have access to its vast breadth of power, as seen with the Krynn, the settlers of Reaching Bluff, and possibly with Ashton. It is a power source, a font, and while Ruidus is influencing Imogen in some sense, it might not be a cognizant one.

Of course, her powers come from her bloodline. While Ruidus is claimed to hand out boons, which could be considered analogous to a Warlock Patron, or as Matt calls them, "Lesser Powers," we have yet to see examples of a Ruidus Warlock, though if we ever get a Marquet book that could change.

On To Origins/Connections:

* One I See Often: Ruidus is Tharizdun/Tharizdun's Prison

* Look, it's a typical war cry of Critters at this point. Tharizdun is behind every dark door, every cunning plot; hell, he could be the reason your grandma made raisin cookies instead of chocolate chips.

* We saw the Chained Oblivion sinking their dark tendrils into a lot of threads throughout Campaign 2, but as Matt eventually noted, those threats were not explicitly Tharizdun and Tharizdun only. They are an opportunist; they take any opportunity they can to push things in their favor. Cognouza, the Hungry Monsters in the early sections of C2, the Angel of Irons, and even the increased activity of the Avatar Trio, none of those were its original ideas, those events occurred, and it reached out to fan the flames. It is a force. So while I could see Ruidus being influenced by Tharizdun, I do not believe the entities are one for one.

* As for it being Tharizdun's prison, that one doesn't carry much weight for me, but I could be wrong.

* 2: Ruidus is an Alien Force Similar to Tharizdun.

* This idea seems to be collaborated by the write-up within Netherdeep and the idea that it emerged after the founding, but what this alien entity is is still an unknown, outside of it being a dark power that emerged from nowhere, whose origin was hidden by the Gods and well...at least part of that seems to follow. I would be solidly on this one if another reveal had not taken place in this episode.

* 3. It's the Meat Mash of The Two Missing Gods.

* There are two Gods that *vanished* from the Pantheon.

* I've seen people claiming that one must have been the Old God of Death, but the problem with that is that their existence is known about in universe. It is known the Raven Queen replaced someone, that they vanished as she ascended; even if the evidence of their existence is threadbare, they are at least recognized as part of the Pantheon.

* These Forgotten Gods are not remembered as being part of the Pantheon at all, except in the texts the Grim Verity stole.

* If their disappearance is tied to Ruidus, it could mean a number of things. They sacrificed themselves to cage the alien power and become Ruidus. Ruidus consumed them; they are still extant but trapped on Ruidus, acting on guards or prisoners themselves. There are a lot of ways this theory can go, and I find it deeply intriguing.

* Someone commented that Ruidus is the remnants of Ka'mort and Rau'Shan, and that they are the missing Gods. However, I'm pretty sure Brennan mentioned Ruidus being in the sky in Calamity, and they were Primordials, an entirely different branch of immortals than the Pantheon.

* 9, Eyes

* While I am uncertain if Ruidus had any part to play in the belief system that spawned Cognouza there are some interesting connections between the two entities.

* The prominent presence of the color red.

* Usage of Dreams as both warning, communication, and possible weapon.

* The Mind becoming a Weapon in the hands of their chosen.

* Physical Transformation, more blatant with those marked by the Somnovem obviously but Imogen is changing into something, and Matt's hints made it seem that the Gnarlstone could have expedited that change.

* And curiously and most notably, an interesting bit of storytelling that many have taken note of.

* 7 years ago, Ruidus flared to live at the birth of Fearne and has been growing increasingly active ever since.

* 7 years ago, Cognouza died at the hands of the Mighty Nein.

* While it could be a coincidence that one creature with power over dreams and the mind, dies right as another one begins to become more active, to quote a wise Firbolg, "There is no such thing as coincidence."

I think I've mixed together every theory I have found so far, and of course more information could render any or all of this utterly incorrect, but I am curious to see what others think.

[fanficimagery]

Talking to the Dead

Imagine your sister calling in a favor, only to find out said favor is for the vampire sheriff of Louisiana.

Words: 6.3K Author's Note: I am not Bill's biggest fan, nor am I Eric/Sookie's biggest fan either. That said, this takes place AFTER all damn drama with King Bill. Eric still runs Fangtasia alongside Pam and Sookie still works under Sam at Merlotte's. They're friends. That's it.

Eric sits behind his desk, the bottom half of his face covered in blood as Pam files her nails. She had been going through Fangtasia's books when she realized the money wasn't adding up and that some of their product was missing. So when Tara brought forward those responsible in making sure Fangtasia was up to date with their taxes and everything, Eric called in a favor from Sookie to get a read on them. Only Eric lost his temper and killed the two men, leaving thousands of his money stashed somewhere only the dead knew of now.

The office door opens and Sookie stumbles inside, still in her Merlotte's uniform. She takes one look at Eric and sighs. "Did you have to kill them? I just wasted a trip out here, Eric Northman."

"How tragic," he deadpans. "You wasted about five dollars in gas, meanwhile I'm still out of thousands, Miss Stackhouse."

"Don't you take that tone with me, Mister!"

Pam snorts. "Shame your little fae powers don't allow you to speak to the dead," she drawls. "That would really come in handy right about now." Sookie opens her mouth to defend her still untrained powers, only to pause and snap her mouth shut. Immediately that catches both vampires' attention and Pam leans forward, interest piqued. "Have you been holding out on us, Tinkerbell?"

"No." Sookie scoffs, suddenly overcome with wariness. "But I, uh, I might know someone who-"

"No." Eric cuts her off. "No witches."

"She's not a witch," Sookie says. "Y/N is, um, she's my sister."

Eric freezes before he leans forward in his chair. "There's a third Stackhouse? How come we never learned of this?"

Sookie sighs and drops onto the couch. She shrugs. "Y/N's powers manifested a lot earlier than mine did and they.. well it drove her crazy. She was in and out of the hospital, and the death of our parents didn't do her any favors. She started rebelling at seventeen and drank herself into oblivion. Constantly."

Pam hums. "Sounds like my kind of girl."

Sookie frowns at her before looking back at Eric. "She's actually due for a visit tomorrow. I'll bring her by."

"How are you so sure she'll do this for us? If I recall correctly, you did not come peacefully," Eric muses.

Sookie rolls her eyes. "Y/N is a free spirit. If I hadn't told you she was my sister, you wouldn't have known we were twins."

"Twins?" Eric seems to perk up, eyes lighting up, and this time it's Pam's turn to roll her eyes.

Sookie scoffs. "Don't be gross. We'll be by after my shift tomorrow."

Finding an Uber into Bon Temps after the sun had set was almost impossible, but fortunately you found someone who was willing to make the trip. You knew Louisiana had become a vampire hotspot, but you didn't know people had found traveling in the state quite so fearsome.

You don't have much on you, with the exception of a small suitcase holding a few change of clothes, so you opt to be dropped off at Merlotte's rather than your childhood home. And upon exiting the car after making sure your payment went through, you grab your suitcase by the handle and walk towards the entrance. A few whispers attempt to reach out to you, but you shake off the echoes of death and march on.

There's only a handful of locals inside Merlotte's, but the no-good nosy folk still all stop to see who's entering their local establishment. Inside, the whispers get louder, but you reign in your control and shake your head clear. What the hell happened here that there are so many echoes?

"Do my eyes deceive me or is that my favorite Stackhouse?"

You're already grinning as you find the source of the comment, grin widening as Sam's familiar handsome self makes his way towards you. "Come on, Sam. We all know who your favorite Stackhouse really is?"

He laughs as he opens his arms for a hug and you drop your suitcase to step into his embrace. "Jason's bragging again, isn't he?"

You huff a laugh and pinch his side, the two of you not speaking of all the years he spent pining after your sister. "So where is my twin?" You ask as you pull back and roll your eyes when Sam readily picks up your suitcase.

You follow him to the bar as he says, "She's taking a call in the back. Want me to let her know you're here?"

"Nah, but can you put in an order for me? I miss Lafayette's burgers."

"Sure thing, chère. What do you want?"

"Cheeseburger with everything, cut the onions. Extra ketchup. Fries. And whatever beer you have on tap."

Sam chuckles as he's already pouring your beer. "So the usual." You grin as he slides your glass across the bar. "I'll be back."

Taking a seat on the stool there at the bar, you grab your glass and sip at the ice cold beer. It feels so good sliding down your throat that the sip turns into a gulp, and before you know it half the glass is gone. Needing a breath, you set the glass down and inhale deeply. As you exhale, you burp, and then take a moment to stretch in your seat while glancing around. A few people are still staring and murmuring far too low to their companions for you to hear, so instead you raise an eyebrow at them- challenging them to say their opinion out loud. None of them do and you scoff an amused laugh before drinking the rest of your beer.

Sam reappears. "Long flight?" He takes your glass and refills it.

"Flight was fine. It's the people of Bon Temps who annoy the shit out of me." Sam frowns, but you shrug off his concern as he quickly glances around at those in his establishment. You're well aware of what everyone thinks of you and Sookie thanks to Sookie's abilities, and you're grateful you didn't quite get the same ability as her. If you had to hear every living being's thoughts on top of the dead's, you'd have permanently committed yourself long ago.

"Well I talked to your sister in the back. She said she'll be right out."

"That's fine." Accepting your second glass of beer, you smile gratefully at Sam before taking another drink.

"Girl, I knows you ain't tryin' to eat my food without saying hello."

You turn on your stool, one knee crossed over the other as you beam at the cook. "Lafayette!" He approaches with your plated cheeseburger and a basket of fries, setting them in front of you before pulling you into a hug. "I wouldn't have left without saying hello. I just wanted my food first."

"'Course you did," he muses. "How long you here for, little Stackhouse?"

"Um, I'm kind of between jobs at the moment," you sheepishly admit. You quickly grab a fry and pop it into your mouth. "I'll probably stick around until I can find something or Sookie kicks me out."

Lafayette swats you with his dish towel. "You know damn well Sook won't kick you out. That sister of yours misses you lots. She's been talkin' nonstop about your visit."

"If you need a job, chère, I'll be happy to give you one."

You pop another fry into your mouth, grinning over at Sam. "Lord knows you can barely handle one Stackhouse, Sam. No way in hell you can two- three if Jason is around as much as I'm assuming." Sam opens his mouth to retort, but a shriek cuts him off. It's Sookie and she barrels right into your side. "Jesus Sook," you laugh. "Warn a girl."

As you and Sookie quickly catch up (she's all for you staying as long as you need), more patrons enter Merlotte's and Lafayette's forced back into the kitchen. Jason and his best friend Hoyt walk in, so you walk over to join them as Sookie gets back to work also.

Jason is glad Sookie won't be in the house all on her own since he has his own place and Hoyt is just glad to see all the Stackhouses together once again. You finish your cheeseburger and fries there at the table with them, along with three glasses of beer and two shots courtesy of your brother who wanted to properly celebrate your homecoming.

Jason and Hoyt leave, you waving them off when they asked if you wanted a ride home. Sookie's shift is just about over and you remember her asking if you could wait for her because she wanted to take you someplace. So when Sookie comes out from the back to collect you from the bar, you're slightly swaying on your stool as you grin at her.

"Are you drunk?" She incredulously asks. "Y/N, I need you level headed."

"Ooohhh," you coo and reach out to bop her on the nose. "And just what do I need to be level headed for, sis?"

"Can you walk?" She asks instead. You laugh and nod, hopping off the stool and giving yourself a moment to make sure the room isn't tilting. She sighs. "That's good enough for me. Come on. A friend of mine needs a favor." She walks behind the bar to collect your suitcase and a bottle of water from the small refrigerator under the bar. "Bye, Sam! See you later!" She then calls out as she leads you down a hall. You hear Sam's muffled reply from one door in particular and then Sookie's leading you out the back exit and towards her car.

Outside she opens the passenger door to her small yellow Honda Civic that looks newer than the last time you saw it, and tosses your suitcase in the backseat. She pushes you down onto the passenger seat and holds the water bottle out to you. "Drink."

You take the bottle without a word, twist off the cap, and start to guzzle the water as she shuts the door and walks around the car to the driver's side door. You only get half of it down before needing to breathe. "What.. am I.. guzzling water for?" You ask in between breaths.

As Sookie starts up her car, she casts a wary glance your way before looking back to where she's driving. "Shreveport. We're going to Fangtasia. The owner of the bar needs you to listen to some echoes."

"Fangstasia?" Your brow furrows as you try to wrack your brain about why that sounds so familiar. A moment later, however, the answer comes to you and you groan. "First off, I can overlook the vampire bar. What I can't overlook is that of all people to tell our secret to, you chose vampires. Vampires! Do you know we're like crack to them?"

"I'm sorry, okay! I got involved with them a while back, which is a mistake that I can admit now, but Eric actually tried helping me in his own way. Somewhat. We've become friends."

"Sookie." You groan again. Your sister pouts and you decide to keep quiet, sipping on your water and wishing it were something stronger. "So what does this Eric know about me listening to echoes?"

"Nothing really," she says. "I know how you like your privacy, so last night was the first time I mentioned that I even had a sister." You grin, not hurt at all by her not mentioning you to others. "I just said that you could listen in on the dead. They don't know about anything else."

"Good. I like to keep 'em on their toes." Sookie snorts at your all too amused expression. "And besides, I learned a new trick! I can't wait to test it out."

Your sister glances between you and the road, her smile faltering. "Are you- are you sure you're okay to do this? I know how it can get when you're not truly focused."

"We're on the road." You giggle. "No turning around now."

This time it's Sookie's turn to groan. "I knew I should have asked beforehand. Now the night's gonna end with one of us pinned to a wall."

"Oooh. Kinky."

The rest of the drive is painfully quiet, with the exception of some gospel music station Sookie has playing on low. You're humming a completely different song under your breath, right arm hanging out the window and letting the humid air rush over the skin of your arm. Thankfully the drive isn't too long and Sookie is soon pulling into the parking lot with a building partially decorated with neon red lights. The outside of Fangtasia is not what you expected, but seeing the line of both human and vampires in their scantily clad outfits makes you excited to see what's going on inside.

You're practically bouncing in your seat as Sookie parks and she can't help but grin at your apparent excitement. "Get it all out now," she says. "You won't be smilin' the closer you get to the buildin'. Not while you're half drunk."

"Shut up and let's go!"

Sookie fondly rolls her eyes and the two of you simultaneously pull down the sun visors to check yourselves in the small mirrors provided. Happy with your reflections, the two of you climb out of the vehicle. As your sister comes around to your side, you hook your arm through hers and the two of you head for the building.

Instead of heading straight to the back of line, Sookie leads you directly to Fangtasia's bouncer and ignores the grumbled displeasures of those waiting in line to get in. It takes you a few seconds to recognize the dark skinned female checking ID's, but when she turns to greet Sookie and her eyes widen upon seeing you, you grin. "What's cookin', good lookin'?"

"Oh Lord," Tara muses. "Eric's gonna murder the both of y'all."

Sookie huffs and she holds you back as you attempt to poke at Tara's abdomen. "Who put him in a bad mood now?"

Tara shrugs as she swats your hand away. "It's Eric. He's always in a bad mood unless he's balls deep in some fang-banger."

Your sister ew's and you grin, clearly impressed, until Sookie elbows you. Tara just chuckles and gestures inside. "Go on in. You know where to find him. See you later, Y/N."

"Lookin' forward to it." Sookie drags you inside and the second you step foot in the darkened hallway, you sway on your feet as pressure builds up in your head. "Wait, wait, wait." You step aside to lean against the wall, shaking your head clear and trying to build up mental walls. When you catch a glimpse of your sister, you see her smiling sadly at you and are grateful she doesn't gloat about being right. "This is why I don't hang around vampires much," you murmur. "So much death."

"Sorry. I know I should have asked beforehand, but I didn't want to give you a chance to say no. Eric's annoying when he doesn't get what he wants."

"Yeah, yeah." You wave her off, close your eyes, and take a few deep breaths. Once you feel a bite more settled, you push off the wall and meet your sister's gaze. "Okay. I'm ready."

Entering the main part of the club you can't help but look around in wide-eyed wonder. While most would think you were awe, you actually weren't and instead bit back the comment about how ridiculously cliché the establishment is. Everything is in blacks and reds, vampires in leather or electrical tape are dancing on poles, and the humans reek of desperation.

"Huh. No one's on the throne," Sookie muses.

You glance towards a raised platform, eyes lighting up at the sight of two actual thrones. Sookie's grip on your arm, however, stops you from attempting to go up there. "At least buy me a drink before we meet Mr. Scary Vampire." You pout.

"Nope." She starts marching away from the bar and towards a back hallway. "You're drunk enough already. You can have one at home when we're done here."

"Boo. You're no fun."

Sookie stops right outside a black door and impatiently knocks. You grin at her already huffy attitude and then walk in behind her as soon as someone permits entrance. The office is very plain, with the exception of a blood red couch off to the side and the two vampires behind the desk, and you frown as Sookie guides you towards a black leather chair and pushes you down into it.

"So this is the mysterious Stackhouse." The blonde male drawls.

You drag your gaze from your sister to the vampire in question and sit a little straighter in your seat as a lazy smile stretches across your lips. "And you're the mysterious vampire I've only heard about an hour ago." You then look at your sister. "Please tell me you banged this one."

There are simultaneous snorts from behind the desk and Sookie exhales roughly, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Eric. Pam, this is my sister Y/N. She might be a little drunk."

"Just a little," you muse, giggling.

"Well at least we know who the fun Stackhouse is."

You perk up again, putting one finger on the tip of your nose and pointing at Pam who's smirking at you with the other hand. "And don't you forget it."

"As amusing as this is," Eric drawls again, "I need a favor. Are you capable of doing what your sister claims you can do?"

"I wouldn't be here if I couldn't." You smirk. The smirk falters however as you feel a chill slide across the back of your neck. You still and slowly glance over your shoulder, whispers you hadn't been listening to earlier getting louder. You wince and turn back around, strengthening your shields. A moment passes before you clear your throat and say, "But I have two conditions before I start."

Eric and Pam had been watching you closely, intrigued the second Sookie held up her hand to stall their questions when they noticed you zone out and stare at the corner of the room. "Money is no issue," Eric then says.

"Pft. I don't want money."

"Y/N!" Sookie reprimands. "You're in between jobs. Take the money."

Without looking at your sister, you wave your hand at your sister to get her to shut up. You know you've done your job when she swats your hand so you continue speaking to Eric. "First condition, no biting! I don't care how delicious I smell. No gnawing on the tiny little gremlin."

Pam's lips stretch into a wide smile whereas Eric's lips faintly twitch. "And the second?"

"I get free drinks from the bar whenever I'm here."

"Deal."

"Yes!"

"You're such an idiot," Sookie mutters.

You look to your sister, bouncing in your seat in excitement. "Joke's on Dracula. I'm gonna be in Bon Temps for the foreseeable future. That's a lot of free drinks for me. Suck it, Pixie."

"Oohh. I like this mouth breather. Can we please keep her?"

You meet Pam's gaze and wink. "As beautiful as you are, sweet stuff, you are so not my type."

Her left eyebrow raises as she's still clearly amused. "Because I'm a vampire?"

"Nah. Because you're female," you say. "I can appreciate a hot as fuck lady when I see one, but I still prefer cock."

"Okay!" Sookie nearly shouts as she stands up. Eric beams at your drunken blunt attitude. "We're here so Y/N can find out where your money is and we're way off topic. Can we please get on with it so I can get her home?"

You snort. "Prude." Sookie slaps the back of your arm and you squeal, slapping her arm back. You glare at her until her lips twitch and then you're back to giggling, looking back toward the vampires. "So let's do it. Do you have anything of the dead guy I'm supposed to be listening for? It'll make it easier to listen in on him."

Pam shrugs. "His blood is still in the dungeon. Will that work?"

"Gross, but yeah. Lead the way."

As soon as you stand, the voices amp up and you sway at the sudden onslaught of voices. You grit your teeth and tune them out, nodding at Eric who had stilled to keep an eye on you. He gestures to follow after Pam and you do, Sookie and Eric following behind you. Pam makes a beeline for the stage of thrones, but before you can follow there's a hand gripping your wrist and leading you towards a door behind the bar.

You're led down into a dimly lit dungeon behind Eric and you can't help the next words that leave your mouth. "It's always such a let down when the dungeon is actually a dungeon and not a sex dungeon."

Eric turns around to stare at you with a leering gaze and Sookie groans. "Been in a lot of dungeons?"

"Not really." You shrug and walk towards the back of the room where there are metal poles sticking up from the concrete floor. Chains hang from each of them and you shiver as your fingers run over them, the metallic rattling immediately tuning you in to the whispers. Subtly shaking your head, you look towards Sookie. "You know the drill."

She nods, pulling small orange styrofoam plugs from her pocket. "If it looks like you're struggling, plug my ears. Or get out."

"Bingo." You grin at your sister before looking at Eric. "If it gets bad, I expect you to vamp speed her little butt outta here."

"And how would I know what bad looks like?"

"Oh you'll know," Sookie mutters.

Grinning one last time at Sookie and Eric, you turn back towards where Eric obviously chains up those who end up on his bad side. So touching the chains again, you let the rattling and whispers overcome your senses.

"..dangerous. Need to leave."

"..bad place. I just want to go home."

"Stupid fuckin' vampers."

The room turns hazy and silhouettes walk to and from around the basement. You stare at them, letting the voices come and go until you find the one you're looking for.

"..so screwed. Never should have done it." Your gaze zeroes in on the silhouette, watching it pace back and forth. "It was just a little money. Pocket change."

"Never gonna find it. Calm down. We're already dead."

You listen a bit more to their whining, hoping for anything useful when a loud dry sob pierces the air. You wince and whirl around to spot the source of noise.

"Did she- can she hear us?"

"If she can then she can tell that goddamn vamper where his stuff is." You whirl back around, gasping at the too close silhouette. "Hello." A chill rushes through you and your too tense muscles seem to relax as a haze takes over your mind.

"Y/N? You good?" Sookie asks. She warily glances around, she and Eric both noticing the atmosphere in the room thickening.

"Hm?" Your eyes blink rapidly as if clearing your vision. "Yeah. All good," you hear yourself saying.

"Well what did you find out?" Eric asks.

You feel your head turning left and right as if taking in your surroundings before you turn around and walk towards the wall where more chains are hanging. Eric growls at being ignored and Sookie quietly assures him that this is normal. Reaching for a chain, you feel your hand gliding along one chain and picking it up, caressing a metal stake at the end of it.

"Y/N," Sookie cautiously calls out. "What are you doing?"

Getting a good grasp on the stake in one hand, you turn around and smile at Eric- a chilling smile that immediately sets Sookie on edge and lets even Eric know that something is off. "Fuck your money. You're never gonna get it, you dead piece of shit."

"Y/N, don't!" Sookie screams as your arm suddenly thrusts the stake towards the side of your neck, only to stop mere centimeters from the intended target.

Sookie gasps and Eric raises an eyebrow in surprise. "Are her eyes supposed to completely white over?"

"Well she did mention learning a new trick." Sookie nervously shifts beside Eric and they watch you slowly come back to yourself, expression hardening.

Eyes completely white, you stare straight ahead as you lower your hand without any resistance from the spirits. "You dead fucks try that shit again and I will obliterate your fuckin' souls, and mark every soul in your goddamn family. Do I make myself clear?" You seethe. The dungeon gets chilly before the tension seems to suddenly dwindle. The whispers amp up before completely dying out and you stand a little taller. "Good. Now where is the money?"

Eric and Sookie patiently watch Y/N as she lazily glances back and forth before the white recedes from her eyes. Her shoulders sag and she meets Eric's gaze. "That Rafael guy had a building he was renovating over on.. over on.." she trails off, brow furrowing as she tries to collect her thoughts.

"I know of it," Eric says.

She sighs. "Well the money's in the wall on the second floor. Happy demolishing."

Then like a puppet with its strings cut, Y/N collapses right before their very eyes.

          - - - - - - - - - -

A pounding at your temples is what wakes you and you groan as your eyes flutter open. You're apparently still at Fangtasia, back in Eric's plain office and laying on the most uncomfortable couch you've ever laid on.

"You're awake. Good."

You begrudgingly sit up, wincing as the throbbing persists. Glancing around, you frown as you notice you and Eric are the only two in the room. "Where's my sister?"

"Miss Stackhouse couldn't bother a mere hour in my presence so she went out front to pester Tara."

"You two exes or something?"

Not even close. "No. I admit I pursued her once, but it was only to satiate my curiosity about why she smelled so divine." Bill fuckin' Compton was also a cock block of epic proportions.

You snort. "Cock block. Who is Bill and why did he cock block you from Sookie?" Eric stills and he goes quiet. You frown at him and then between one blink and the next, Eric is kneeling in front of you.

Can you hear me?

"Um, yes?" You say. A moment passes and then you realize your slip-up. You groan. "Okay, so yeah. I can't read the minds of humans, but apparently I can read the minds of vampires. It only happens when I'm at my most vulnerable and being slightly possessed makes me vulnerable."

Eric slowly smirks. "Well aren't you my new favorite Stackhouse."

You fall back against the back of the couch, groaning. "Whatever. I don't have the energy to argue with you. Just please don't tell Sookie. She gets all huffy when I can do something she can't."

Another blink and Eric is sitting beside you on the couch. "Is there a reason why you can read vampires and she can read everyone else but vampires?"

"Your guess is as good as mine." You shrug. "I eventually came to the conclusion that we're just a part of different courts. She's Light Fae and I'm Dark. She flourishes under the sun and I under the moon. I don't really know."

"Have you tried getting answers from other Fae?"

"Yeah, no. I met a member of the Fae court and that's a hard pass. Those fairy fucks can keep their imposter foods. I like this realm just fine, thank you very much."

Eric's lips twitch. "If the vampires find out about your powers, they're going to fight to put their claim on you."

"Is that your not so subtle way in trying to convince me that I should ask you for protection?"

"I'm the sheriff of this area, sweetheart. You won't be able to find anyone better suited for the job."

You huff a quiet laugh. "Keep your fangs to yourself, sweetheart. I can take care of myself."

We'll see about that.

Settling in at what was always known as Gran's house, you almost take Sam up on his offer to become a waitress or bartender at Merlotte's. But then a day after doing Eric a favor, a check arrives for you- a check worth thousands of dollars- along with an offer from Eric to work every other day at Fangtasia to read the vampires coming and going from his area.

You didn't get back to him right away, instead choosing to just keep to yourself for a bit and re-familiarize yourself with the town. And then just when you think you have a lid on things, a constant buzzing makes a home just at the back of your skull.

For days Eric tries reaching you through texts and calls, but you just don't have the patience to deal with him. The buzzing is non-stop, the echoes of the dead sound as if they're underwater, and you can't hold a conversation longer than a minute. Sookie seems to understand that you can't be around people, so she leaves you be for the most part.

Your sister is currently at work so you have the house all to yourself. You haven't been able to clear your head and the buzzing is only getting louder and louder. You're nearing your breaking point, so when there's a knock at the front door you try to ignore it.

The knocking persists so you reluctantly roll out of bed, frowning as you march downstairs and towards the front door. Through the screen door you can see Eric standing there. You scowl at him, he grins, and when you push open the door he's immediately leaning against the door jamb. "You've been ignoring me."

You sigh and cross your arms over your chest. "I haven't been feeling well. Something's.. off."

That causes his faint grin to drop. "Is it something serious?"

"I'm not sure. I just- it feels like something bad is on the way."

"Well in that case.." Eric straightens up and stares down at you. "You're going to invite me in so I can protect you-" you scoff, "-or have primal passionate sex with you. You pick."

Though your mind is on overdrive, you can't help but faintly grin at the tall vampire. "I'll take a raincheck on the sex, but if you still want to come in, then come in."

Eric smirks as he crosses the threshold of the house and you shake your head at him before turning around and leading him to the living room. You take a seat in the corner of the couch, curling up with a pillow in your lap, and Eric sits on the middle seat to be as close to you as possible. "How long have you been feeling like this?"

"Few days now," you tell him. "There's this.. buzz. It's constant and it just keeps getting louder and louder."

"And the voices?"

"Muffled. No matter how much I concentrate, I can't hear them clearly. It's like they're trying to tell me something, but I can't tune in to the right station. It's annoying." Eric hums in thought and you attempt to change the subject. "So what brings you down here to Bon Temps? Surely my first impression wasn't that memorable."

He smirks as his arm rests along the top of the backrest of the couch, his fingers tugging on a few pieces of your hair. "It's rare for someone to amuse me these days. And you weren't what I was expecting Sookie's twin to be."

"Between the two of us, Sookie got all the perkiness. I, uh, I got stuck with all the doom and gloom." Eric quirks an eyebrow at you and you chuckle, wincing a moment later as an lingering echo screeches in your ear. Your attention is immediately drawn towards the kitchen where you see a silhouette walk by and the buzzing amps up.

Without uttering a word, you get up and follow it.

Eric watches as Y/N laughs one moment and then in the next second her expression is completely blank and attention elsewhere. Normally he'd be offended, but after learning what he could from Sookie he knows to never bring Y/N out of a trance. So in order to protect this little fae that just continues to become more and more interesting, Eric gets up and follows Y/N through the kitchen and out the back door.

He keeps several feet between himself and Y/N, his curiosity piqued as he notices her stop in the middle of the field behind her home. She glances back and forth as if searching for something, slowly turning in a circle. She winces and stumbles back, eyes wide and heart pumping furiously. Whatever's going on, Eric's instincts suddenly kick in and he doesn't like it. He doesn't like the look of fear on Y/N's face.

One sudden stumble sends Y/N to her knees, hands clamping around her ears.

"No, no, no," you mumble. The buzzing is extremely loud now, voices are screaming but you're still unable to make out what they're saying. Rocking back and forth, you glance around and your heart sinks as you watch Eric standing there across from you. "Go. Get away. I can't-"

"What's wrong? I can help you."

You shake your head. "You can't. You need to go. Get away from me. Please."

Eric watches you and you whimper when you see his resolve strengthen. He's not going anywhere. Clenching your eyes shut against the onslaught of noise, you slam your hands down on the ground in front of you and your fingers dig into the earth. Your breaths come faster and faster, and when you can't take it anymore your eyes fly open as you open your mouth and scream.

Your scream drowns out the buzz, the voices become clearer and it's only there alongside your scream do you understand them. You don't know how long you scream for, but when you stop your throat feels raw.

"What was that?" Eric asks.

"Sookie."

He's immediately kneeling before you, fingers under your chin to tilt your face upward. "What did you say?"

"My sister. She's not- she's not safe."

"She's at work under the ever watchful eye of the shifter."

"She is. Until she walks out back to take out the trash," you say. "Please," you beg. "Just.. just go check on her."

Eric continues to hold your gaze for a moment longer before he gives you a terse nod and then stands tall. Your eyes follow him as she lifts off into the air and it's like a weight is lifted off your chest. You sob in relief, curling in on yourself with your face in your hands.

"..inside.. safer.."

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up and your cries immediately cease. Sniffling, you sit back up and glance around the field you're in. Hearing the chirping insects and the ruffling of tree limbs puts you at unease, so you climb to your feet and hurriedly make your way back towards the house. You don't breathe until you're inside, behind closed doors, but even then you're still a little tense and wondering if your sister is okay.

The minutes tick on by as you pace back and forth in the kitchen, and you yelp when you turn around and Eric is standing right there. You raise a fist in order to punch him, but stop halfway there and instead poke his chest as you push him back a step. "Don't do that."

He smirks. "Sookie is fine. A couple of human junkies needed some money for their next fix. The sheriff is on the way to take care of the issue."

"Thank you." You sigh. As you move aside to take a seat at the table, you glance back at Eric and see a blood trail falling from his ear. Your eyes widen and you rush towards him, uncaring about boundaries when one hand lands on his chest and the other grasping his chin to turn his face sideways. "Your ear! I told you to leave before I screamed. Why didn't you listen?" You let go of his chin and then shove him a step back as you go back to pacing.

Eric chuckles. "You've been keeping secrets. You're not just Fae, are you?"

You shrug. "I'm not really sure what I am. I only found out I was part Fae because you guys told Sookie she was. The mind reading is from Fae abilities, but the screaming-"

"The wailing is a whole different breed."

You stop pacing and face him once more. "There's only one creature that wails," you say, "but I gave up on digging into our family history a long time ago."

"You truly are a rare breed, Miss Stackhouse. Half fae, half banshee. The vampires are going to be in a tizzy over you."

You groan. "A problem is inevitable until I agree to a claim, isn't it?"

"Aren't you a smart cookie."

You scowl at Eric then, holding his gaze until you sigh. "If I say yes to a claim, can I have your word that you won't take advantage?" He smiles then and though this vampire is ridiculously good looking, you rather not be someone's pet. But alas, you know he's right. "If the offer for a job at Fangtasia is still open, I'll take it. I don't plan to leave Bon Temps anytime soon and I'm going to need the cash."

"Sweetheart, if you agree to be mine I'll give you all the cash you could want."

Your nose wrinkles. "I'm so gonna regret this." There's a faint click! as Eric's fangs appear, his eyes darkening as he readily bites into his wrist. "Don't tell my sister."

Drink up, little one. We're going to have some fun.

[screamingatanemptyroom]

Please Fix the Story Pt 20 - Sci Fi

New part! I've felt more inspired lately, and am happy to share the next installment of the PFTS series.

Warning, a little bit of angst ahead.

Masterpost linked here.

Enjoy!

_____________________________

“That’s amazing!”

Pausing in my exercise with the Mech, I turned to look over at Liam who was standing off to the side of training room. He was watching me with bright eyes, a small container and a water bottle held tightly in his hands.

I stood in the training room holding a sword, practicing different strikes, while the Mech behind me held its own large sword, mimicking my movements through the Connection. The distance between us made it more difficult, but I felt the stuttering in its attacks slowly smooth out as I practiced.

I made an overhead swing, feeling the mild throbbing at my temples increase as the Mech made the same movement just a quarter second behind. Now, finished with the set of attacks I had set for myself, I sheathed the practice weapon and turned towards my enthusiastic audience.

“Hey, Liam!”

Severing the Connection with my Mech, I felt relief as the mental drain halted. Now free to move around, I walked towards him with a smile. “What brought you here?”

He grinned shyly. “I wanted to see you practice. Your control is amazing! I can’t believe you can Connect with your Mech from that distance. Also…” He hesitated, “You seem much more comfortable with a sword than you did with the pistols, no offense.”

“None taken. The sword IS much more comfortable.” I thought about the memory fragments of me refusing to give up using a sword. “I just think I might not be meant for ranged weapons.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re happy! Here you go.” He reached out, holding up a container of water for me to drink from.

“Thanks.”

“I also brought cake.”

I nearly choked in the midst of taking a drink. “Really? You didn’t have to. At this rate you’re going to spoil me.”

“Good.” Liam clutched the container to his chest, looking pleased. “You deserve it.”

“Whatever you say.” I shook my head, finished my drink and then paused. “…Can I ask you a question?”

His smile faded at my serious tone. “Go ahead.”

“Your mental barrier… if it’s up all the time, how are we standing so close together? Also, you’ve handed me things, and even touched me when you helped me up that one time, right?” I felt excited internally, but tried not to show it. “Does that mean I’m not affected by your barrier?”

“… I wish that were true.”

My heart sank with disappointment as Liam sighed, looking down at the ground. “With people I trust, the barrier shrinks. The more I trust them, the smaller the barrier is. My parents can stand close to me.” His eyes turned towards me again, and then back down. “You… you can get closer than anyone else.”

Liam reached out his hand, and following his lead I reached out as well until our palms touched. He studied our hands with a fascinated but sad expression.

“We are so close, it almost seems like we are touching. But there’s still a barrier.”

“So I’m not touching you?”

“No, not directly.” He looked like he wanted to cry. “I can’t feel it. It’s just the barrier.”

“… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m used to it.” Shrugging, he grabbed my hand and led me over to a nearby table and chairs. “Honestly, getting as close as this is already a miracle.”

I sat down on the chair, watching as he set up the cake on a plate with utensils. “So you really trust me, huh?”

The movement of his hands paused as he ducked his head, blushing. A mumbled “yes” made it to my ears. Chuckling, I didn’t push him any further. I sat and ate, enjoying the cake he had brought. We didn’t talk, but it was a comfortable silence.

I feel like I’ve known him forever, but I just met him recently.

Putting the odd thought aside, I finished the cake and stood up, brushing the crumbs from my uniform.

“Well, thank you for the delicious cake! But now, I'm afraid I have to get back to practice.”

Liam stood up as well, his expression concerned. “Really? Already? I thought the doctor in the infirmary told you to take it easy after the strain during the mock battles?”

“Just a few more practice swings, it will be fine.”

I don’t know how I’m going to save the world without a Connector. The best I can do is try to become as strong as possible, and hope my mind holds together long enough.

I took a stance near my Mech once more, drawing my practice sword. Glancing over at Liam, who still looked worried, I grinned. “Want to join me?”

“No, I’m terrible with a sword.” He slowly returned the smile, and sat down on the sidelines. “I’ll just watch you from here. Make sure not to overdo it.”

“I know. Just a little more practice.” I made the Connection, pleasantly surprised when my head didn’t ache right away. “Honestly, I think I’m tolerating the mental drain better.”

Liam didn’t seem reassured. “Be careful.”

_____________________________

“Be careful.”

I swung my sword in a quick practice swing, and laughed. “I’m always careful.”

“Says the woman who is going monster hunting.”

“You don’t have to come along.”

I was pulled into a warm embrace. “And let you face danger without me? Never.”

_____________________________

I blinked, mildly disoriented by the sudden memory. They had been coming more and more frequently, as if my mind was desperate to piece together who I had been before I arrived in this world.

“Alaira?”

“I’m fine…” I blinked again, but the forest in my memory didn’t fade away, but simply overlapped with the practice room around me.

Where am I?

“Alaira?”

I tried to look around, but everything was fading into darkness. “I’m…”

“ALAIRA!”

Liam’s panicked shout followed me into oblivion.

_____________________________

Well, at least I recognize this place.

I woke up in the infirmary, groaning as I held my pounding head.

“You’re an idiot.”

The stern voice of the doctor pulled my attention, and I looked up at the middle-aged woman who was glaring at me from a few feet away.

“Wow, your bedside manner is so warm and fuzzy.” I mumbled, rubbing my forehead.

“My bedside manner is saved for patients with a brain. You obviously lost yours somewhere, so you get tough love.” She waved a scanner over my head, frowning. “I told you to take it easy after you passed out during the mock battles!”

“I did! I haven’t done any fighting since that day.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What were you doing in the practice room, then?”

“Practicing with my sword?”

“WHILE Connected to your Mech from 20 feet away?? You didn’t think that might cause a bit of mental strain??!” She sighed, staring up at the ceiling hopelessly. “Lord, give me strength to deal with young, dumb students.”

The doctor sat down on a nearby chair, staring at me seriously. “You have to listen to me, Alaira. This is really important.”

“Okay.” I sat up in bed, folding my hands in my lap and trying to appear attentive. “I’m listening.”

“Your powers have grown. You were already S level when you underwent your health check at the beginning of your second year, but now… it’s at least multiplied by 10.” She shook her head. “We don’t even have a ranking for your power level. I don’t know what’s happened in the last month, it’s almost as if you’ve become a completely different person.”

I am a completely different person… at least I think I am. Is it because I’m in Alaira’s body now that her powers have changed?

I had no way to explain that to the doctor though. “So the power increase… that's a good thing, right?”

“It would be… if you had matched with a Connector.” She sighed. “With your current power level, your mental degradation rate has sped up exponentially.”

“…”

“The passing out is just one of the early signs, Alaira. Have you experienced anything else? Headaches…”

Yes.

“Irritability…”

I thought that was just my personality.

“Hallucinations… flashes of people or memories that aren’t real or never happened?”

“…”

I sat silently, stunned.

No… It can’t be. The memories in my head… the mission… Alaira’s memories of dying in a fight against the Hive… me waking up in a different world… could it all be just my mind breaking apart?

She watched my facial expression and silence with a frown. “So it’s even worse than I thought.” She brought up a holographic file and made a note.

“I…”

“No. No excuses, Alaira. You are temporarily suspended from duty until further notice. I can’t risk your safety any further.”

“But, I’m the strongest Guardian we have!” I was desperately grasping at straws. “You can’t sideline me! What if I found a Connector?”

The doctor shook her head. “I don’t even want you trying to match right now. It takes mental power, and could be the tipping point to full mental degradation.”

“But…”

“No. Alaira. You’re suspended. That’s final.”

WARNING! MISSION FAILURE IMMINENT!

TOTAL COMPLETION 5%

MISSION FAILURE WILL RESULT IN WORLD COLLAPSE AND DESTRUCTION OF THE SOUL. PLEASE COMPLETE THE MISSION.

The bright blue words appeared in front of my eyes. I glanced over at the doctor, who didn’t seem to notice them.

Is this real? Am I really here for a mission to save the world? Or is this just a product of my mental degradation?

“Do you understand, Alaira?”

WARNING!

“I do.”

She relaxed. “Good. Then return to your dorm and rest. I’ll notify your father to come pick you up.” She gathered her things and stood up, giving me a sympathetic smile. “I know it’s hard, but put being a Guardian, the Hive, all of it to the side right now. Just focus on your health.”

WARNING! MISSION FAILURE IMMINENT!

“I know.”

“And Alaira?”

WARNING!

“Yes?”

“Stay away from your Mech and the matching center, okay?”

“Of course.” I smiled. “I’ll just stay in my room.”

_____________________________

I snuck out of my room that same night.

I don’t know what’s real and what’s not… but I really don’t want to risk world collapse and soul destruction. Those both sound pretty bad.

As I crept through the hallways towards the Match center, I thought through possible plans to get me out of this situation.

First. Let's try matching again. If that doesn’t work… Maybe talk to Alaira’s father? See if there’s any research in slowing the progression of mental degradation?

I heard a security guard coming down the hallway. Panicking, I hid in the nearest classroom. The floor was ice cold even through the cloth of my uniform; my heartbeat was loud in my ears as I listened to the guard pass by on the other side of the door.

Either way, I can’t get caught just yet. I can’t risk missing what might be my last chance to match.

The guard had moved on. I waited a few moments just to be safe before opening the door and sneaking down the hallway once more. My mind was racing, circling around the disturbing idea that it was too afraid to touch:

The possibility that everything I thought was real was actually just my mind breaking down.

Am I really Alaira? Why does the man in my memories keep calling me Bel?

Who am I?

What is real?

It was agonizing, every moment of uncertainty. Questioning every memory, every conversation.

I pushed it from my mind, focusing on each step ahead of me. I needed to get to the Match Center.

If I can match a Connector, it will resolve my mental decay, and then I’ll know what's real.

I tried really hard not to think about what would happen if I still couldn’t find a Connector.

I quietly opened the door to the Match center.

“Match unable to be made.”

At the sound of the cold, robotic voice, I froze in place. For a wild moment I wondered if the match computer had sensed me walking in the building, and decided to reject me at the doorway just to save time. But reason set in and I recognized the figure hunched over the panel:

Liam.

“Unrecognized tester. Please let down your mental barrier to proceed with Match testing.” The voice echoed around the room, seeming to almost physically strike Liam as he slumped further in front of the glowing panel.

His hands tightened into fists as he pressed them harder against the machine. “I’m trying to let it down. Just run the test!”

“Please let down your mental barrier to proceed with Match testing.”

“Just let me test, dammit!”

“Please let down your mental barrier to proceed with Match testing.” Despite his franticness, the voice was cold and unchanged.

“PLEASE!” His fist struck the panel as he slumped to ground. “Let me try. Please…”

He was crying, and my chest hurt as I watched. “Please… let me match her.”

“… Match unable to me made.”

“Liam.” I whispered his name, feeling as if my heart was tearing in half.

“Please.” He sobbed into his hands. "I can't... I can't put it down... I just want to help her... please!"

_____________________________

“Please. Let her go. I’ll do anything.” His voice was shaking with fear, his wide eyes staring at me as I was trapped in place, unable to move.

“Just give up. This is her fate.”

“Let her go!” He reached forward desperately, unable to reach me. “BEL!”

_____________________________

“Liam.” I was crying, unable to control it.

These memories can’t just be hallucinations. They are too real. I looked over at Liam who was striking his fist over and over against the panel, ignoring the blood staining the surface as his skin tore under the repeated blows.

He’s just hurting himself. It was painful to watch. I have to stop him.

I started to walk forward, my hand reaching out…

“Liam…”

Before I could call out, I felt a sharp prick on my arm. I tried to turn to around and look, but soon a burning sensation was building deep in my muscle and my mind went blank.

“Liam…” I tried to call him once last time, as the drug injected into my arm forced me into unconsciousness.

_____________________________

Okay this whole passing out thing has gotten really old.

My mind grumbled as I slowly regained consciousness. I blinked, trying to clear the blurriness in my vision. Did a security guard find me? If so, their curfew enforcement is pretty insane if they are knocking out students.

The room around me slowly came into focus.

Wait… this isn’t the infirmary.

It was a pale grey dorm room.

This isn’t’ my room either. Feeling uneasy, I looked around, barely able to move. My limbs felt as if they were filled with lead, my head foggy.

The dorm room was clean, with barely any personal items on the desk and dresser. On the wall was several posters of famous Guardians, a calendar was pinned nearby with a vigorous Mech training schedule.

I have a bad feeling about this…

“Alaira, you’re awake!” A voice called out from the doorway, sounding pleasantly surprised.

I turned my head with great difficulty, my eyes widening at the sight. “…Chris?”

“I’m so glad you’re okay!” He smiled at me, grabbing the chair from the desk and dragging it to the bedside before sitting down. “When you asked me not to take you to the infirmary, I was worried I was doing the wrong thing.”

He seems… different.

“…” I wanted to shake my head, but felt to weak. “No… I was in the Matching Center…”

He frowned at my words, looking confused. “Matching Center? We ran into each other in the hallway. You were on the verge of passing out, and asked me to take you back to your room. “ Pausing, he shrugged embarrassedly. “Then you fainted. I don’t have access to the female dorms, so I brought you to my room instead. I hope you don’t mind.”

“…Liam.” It was difficult to talk. “Where’s Liam?”

“Liam? Do you mean Prince William?” Chris seemed even more confused. “He took leave and returned home after you passed out during your training.”

“But…”

“I think he felt a little guilty at not being able to help you match. Not that it’s his fault he can’t form the Connection.”

“I saw him.” I tried to focus my thoughts, but they kept scattering. “I saw him in the Match Room.”

Chris leaned forward, reaching for my hand. I pulled away, but was too weak to break his grip. “Alaira. You’re undergoing mental degradation. The doctor in the infirmary said you were already in the late stages. It’s common to have hallucinations, memories of interactions with people and conversations that never happened.”

I blinked. Could I have imagined the whole thing? Did I want to think that Liam was in the Match Room trying to save me, instead of running away without telling me?

How far gone was I? What was real, and what was just my mind degrading?

Something’s not right.I remembered the needle prick in my arm, and brought my free hand to the spot in confusion.

“What are you rubbing your arm for?”

“I… was stuck with a needle…”

He shook his head. “That didn’t happen. You hit your arm on the wall when you passed out, so it might be a little sore, but that’s it. There was no needle. Your brain just came up with a reason to explain the pain.”

“…”

“It’s okay, Alaira. It’s okay.” Chris squeezed my hand. “It’s normal to be confused, and a little paranoid. Your brain is breaking under the strain of the Connection to your Mech. We’ll help you. You’re going to be okay.”

WARNING! MISSION FAILURE IMMINENT!

TOTAL COMPLETION 3%

MISSION FAILURE WILL RESULT IN WORLD COLLAPSE AND DESTRUCTION OF THE SOUL. PLEASE COMPLETE THE MISSION.

“Alaira? Do you hear me?” Chris called out, concerned.

“I’m… not going to give up. I have to face the Hive. Save… the world.” My thoughts were still jumbled. I wasn’t sure if it was from the drug or mental degradation. What was real and what was fake was blurring.

“You’re not going to be suspended. You’re going to be the most powerful Guardian the world has ever seen, and you’re going to save humanity.”

I looked over at Chris, feeling confused. He wore a pleasant smile on his face, his posture relaxed, but his grip on my hand was just a little too tight, and his eyes…

… His eyes were different. The color, the shape, was the same… but the way he looked at me had changed.

“Who are you?” I asked quietly, forcing the words out through slightly numb lips.

He looked shocked. “What do you mean? It’s me, Chris. We’ve known each other since the first Mock battle in school.” He chuckled. “You kicked my butt, remember?”

“Now I know you aren’t Chris. You haven’t yelled at me that 'you’re going to follow your dream and I can’t stop it' this whole conversation. You’re not Chris. “

He laughed, a light, easy sound. “You’re right, I’ve changed. But I’m still Chris, I promise.” He reached out and patted the back of my hand, still grasped tightly in his own. “You see, I came to a realization: I was jealous of you.”

“…”

“I know, right? Self-insight from me seems like a foreign concept. But from the first day I was in awe of your skills, jealous of your level S abilities.” He sighed, leaning back, still holding my hand, ignoring my attempts to free it. “My only consolation was that you were a loner, that you couldn’t find a Match. It was the one thing that I beat you in.”

“You…”

“I kept trying to brag in front of you, hoping that you would recognize me. Hoping that you would tell me that I was the real deal, that I was a true Guardian. But that doesn’t excuse how poorly I treated you. How my friends treated you.” His regretful gaze held my own. I felt trapped in it. “I’m sorry. I will do better going forward.”

“…” My head was starting to clear, but it was a slow process.

“Seeing you pass out after our fight… seeing you in the infirmary today… in the hallway just now… I can’t ignore this.” He sighed. “You’re breaking down, right in front of me. And I can’t let this happen… not when I can stop it.”

He got off of the chair kneeling next to the bed. He reached out with his other hand, holding mine between both of his palms.

“Alaira… you’ve already have a high resonance match with me. I can save your mind, and help you save the world. It’s such an easy solution.” He smiled at me, without any sign of reluctance at all.

I felt a silent scream of terror and rage build up in my chest. I wanted to reach out and stop him, to silence his next sentence. Despite my wishes, however, his words came out all too clearly:

“I’ll be your Connector.”

[sinner-as-saint]

My Favorite Kind Of Night - 6.

Camboy!Bucky x CEO!Reader

Part 6 of this series

Run-through: On Friday nights, you are punctual to your virtual meet-up with your favorite camboy over a streaming platform, for your private stream session. You’ve known him for a couple of months now. He goes by the alias of ‘Winter Soldier’ on the platform, which is perfect for the kind of man he is; brawny and drop dead gorgeous. Over the past few months, he has become your favorite kind of night. And secretly, you became his as well. You two get closer over time, and things get interesting when your real, professional lives gets intertwined.

Themes throughout the series: sex worker!bucky, smut, phone sex, fluff, language, dirty talk

a/n: we’re here! This will be the final part of this series! Thank you to everyone who loved camboy!bucky as much as I did and thank you for always supporting my work!! I love you my babies!

“Hi baby!” Bucky said with excitement, his big and bright smile flashing on your screen.

You couldn’t help but smile back. “Hi Buck!” you sat up straighter in bed and inched slightly closer to your screen.

He had stopped livestreaming on the camming site since you both began dating about almost a year ago. And ever since then, you turned to video calling each other whenever you were apart. Especially when you were in desperate need of one another.

“I’ve got nothing to do without you here. What time’s your flight tomorrow?” Bucky’s voice came through your computer and you chuckled at the thought of him bored at home without you.

He moved in with you a couple of months ago. And it was the best decision you two had ever made;

 -flashback-

You laid your head on his damp, muscular and warm chest. Wrapping your arms around his broad and hard torso, you clung to Bucky like a koala bear to a tree. He secured his arms tightly around you and pulled you closer.

“What are you thinking about, baby?” he asked, tucking your messy hair behind your ear so he could get a good look at your face. He loved the glow you had on your face right after he had spent hours fucking you. And the hazy look in your eyes as you blinked, like a playful but sleepy, cute little puppy as you tried to reorient yourself after he fucked you into oblivion.

You blinked a couple more times and then looked up at him. “Move in with me.” You said, and he raised his eyebrows and chuckled.

“Jesus woman.” He sighed dramatically. “Now what, you’re gonna tie me to your bed? I’m gonna start having back problems if you keep this up, I-,” you cut him off by smacking his chest playfully.

“That’s not what I mean!” you whined and he laughed loudly.

“I know baby, I’m just messing with you.” He stopped laughing. “Okay then, what do you mean?” he gave you a kiss on the forehead.

You exhaled and kissed his chest before placing your ear right on top of his heart and listened. You closed your eyes and relished the feeling of him so close to you. “I mean, we’re always staying over at each other’s place. Wouldn’t it better if we moved in together?”

He rubbed his hand soothing up and down your back. “Hmm, very tempting.”

You smiled, knowing you were roping him in perfectly. “Think about it, I have a gym. And an indoor pool. A home theater. And-,”

He cut you off by lifting your head up and pressing his lips you yours. “There’s no need to bribe me for it. You know I’d do anything just to wake up next to you every morning.” He mumbled against your lips before he leaned in to kiss you again. “Yes baby, I will move in with you.”

-end of flashback-

 “I have an early flight in the morning. I’ll be back home before dinner.” You couldn’t wait to be with him either. “I miss you.” you pouted.

He fake pouted back. “I do too, babe. I wish you were back home already, with me. It’s been a long, lonely week. I miss you so bad.” He mumbled, giving you the best puppy dog eyes ever. A skill which you didn’t know he had mastered until recently.

Your pout morphed into a smirk. “Really? How much? Let me see.” you teased and sensually removed the robe you were wearing, exposing your newly bought, lovely black lingerie set. Bucky’s bit his lip for a moment trying to hide the smirk he had on upon seeing your almost naked body, then he shook his head with a faint smile on his face.

“Here I am, pouring my heart out and telling you how much I miss you and there you are, planning on using me to satiate your sinful thirst. Should’ve known you were only dating me for my body.” He shook his head dramatically.

You laughed. “Oh shut up…”

-

Minutes later, after he was done messing with you, you found yourself sat in bed, back against the headboard and a vibrator pressed against your wet heat.

You watched your boyfriend on the screen and how he touched himself; stroked his cock up and down, moaning and groaning shamelessly while at it. “Are you close, baby?” he asked, gasping as he stroked himself faster.

You whined and moved the vibrator around gently. Moaning loudly and wantonly, meanwhile Bucky was having the time of his life watching you. He caught each moan, each soft gasp, each whimper which escaped your lips. Fuck the things he would do just to be there with you…

“You look so good, you know? Legs just spread apart and touching yourself like a dirty little girl,” you heard his chuckled come through the other side and you knew he was enjoying himself. “Fuck… keep going babygirl, keep teasing that wet, greedy little cunt for me.”

You kept your eyes on his body as you set the vibrator on a faster setting and you immediately moaned as it teased your throbbing clit.

“Wish I was there, babygirl…” Bucky hissed in pleasure as he stroked himself faster, thinking about how much better it feels when you’re the one wrapped around him; your lips, your wet walls, your hand; he’d take anything you give him. “Wish I could taste you,” he moaned as he felt his release approaching, “and touch you and remind you that you’re all mine,” he groaned. “And tell you that I love you more than anything…” he growled as he fought back his pressing need to cum.

You whined upon hearing his voice, you were right on the edge and seeing him touch himself was not helping at all. The vibrator didn’t feel half as good as he did when he was deep inside you, filling you up so perfectly, stretching you out deliciously. Fuck you missed him.

“Baby… I’m gonna cum,” you whined, mind foggy and cloudy with lust.

You heard Bucky sigh and swear under his breath. “Cum for me babygirl, come on,” he threw his head back and moaned out loud. “Cum for me now!”

You whined and moved the vibrator around faster; taking yourself higher… and higher… until you came hard, mumbling Bucky’s name under your breath and gushing out all over the toy. You could hear Bucky pant and gasp just as hard as you were, trying to calm your racing hearts and recover from the previous orgasm.

You heard Bucky whine again, and you gave him your full attention. “What is it?” you asked softly, wishing with all you had in you that you could just wrap your arms around him and fall asleep to the steady sound of his heartbeats.

“I miss you.” he whined.

You gave him a weary chuckle. “I’ll be home soon, baby.”

 ---

 Bucky welcomed you home with open arms, and you hurried your way into his tight and warm embrace. He kissed the top of your head and held you close to him, right there at the foyer. He bent down a little and pushed his face into your neck, and inhaled your scent. Meanwhile you basked in his body heat.

“Fuck… I was going crazy without you, all alone in this big house.” He mumbled against your skin and you giggled at how it tickled. You pulled away and admired your man.

His long dark hair was down, and he had a light stubble and those stormy ocean blue eyes looked down at you in pure adoration.

“Hmm, maybe we should get a dog.” You suggested and began walking towards the spacious living room. Bucky kept his hand around you and walked beside you, nodding in agreement.

“I think we should. We’ll be great dog parents.” He said and watched you as you sat down on the couch to take off your heels. And hopefully actual parents one day, he thought. And his mind went straight to that second drawer in his closet where in a small, black velvet box, carefully tucked in, rested a diamond ring.

Bucky was planning on proposing to you sometime soon. But he couldn’t decide when or how to do it, so for now, he waited. Should he just ask you tonight? Or should he do it over a date night? Or is that too cheesy?

“I think so too.” You agreed, thinking about the dark blue velvety box, safely stored in your bedside table, which contained a simple gold ring.

You planned on asking Bucky to marry you, because you loved him more than anything. But you couldn’t figure out how to ask him, or when. So you just waited for now. Perhaps on date night, this weekend? You were nervous just thinking about it.

You stood up from the couch and faced your boyfriend again. “I should shower, and then we’ll order something for dinner. Sound good?”

Bucky nodded. “And I should join you in the shower.”

 --

Throughout dinner, you noticed something was weird about Bucky. He was quiet, overthinking. You tried to get him to talk but he would give you bland replies. And you were having none of it, you had just spent a whole week without him and this silent treatment was killing you.

“Okay, out with it.” you turned to face him while you two were doing the dishes, initially in complete silence which was now ruined by your question.

“Huh?” he gave you a puzzled look.

You sighed and looked down to see that you were both wearing the same kind of fuzzy socks and PJ bottoms, and you almost broke into a smile. “You’ve obviously got something on your mind. What’s going on? Was it something I did?” you were anxious, awaiting his reply.

“What? No, babe I just- I’ve been…” he exhaled loudly. “I’m just thinking about something. It’s nothing too worrying, it’s just… eating away at me.” He confessed.

You hated seeing him like this. “Well, whatever it is, I’ll fix it. Okay? I’m worried, Buck, you’re never like this. Maybe you could just tell me, and I c-,”

He cut you off rather abruptly, just blurting out, “Will you marry me?”

You were frozen in place. Did he just-

You opened your mouth to answer but before you could he shook his head and looked away. “Sorry, I just thought- I was meaning to ask you soon and it sort of just slipped out. It’s not the right place, I-,”

Then you cut him off by reaching up and grabbing his face with your cold, damp and soapy hands and leaned in to press your lips to his. He was shocked for a brief moment, then he reached out and cupped your face with his cold, damp and soapy hands as well; kissing you back.

You poured it all through the kiss; all the love you had for him, and he did the same. Then you pulled away and looked up at him, not bothering that the soap from his hands was dripping down on your shirt. “Yes, Buck. I will marry you.”

He gave you a big smile and leaned in to kiss you again. His kiss was more heated this time, he walked you a couple of steps back and pushed you onto the counter, spread your legs and stepped in between them. His one hand held your face as the other quickly slid your shorts down your legs, followed by your underwear.

He didn’t pull away from the kiss as he lowered his pants just enough, and slowly filled you up; stretching you just how you liked it. Your body was still a little sore from fucking in the shower just an hour or two ago, but it welcomed him in just as it always did. He chuckled at how wet you were already. “Always so ready for me, huh?” he whispered against your mouth before kissing you again as he started rocking in and out of you. You felt all of him, each vein, each stroke and every inch of his skin.

You moaned and whimpered through the kiss, and Bucky grunted as he gripped your hips tightly while he slammed his cock into your entrance repeatedly.

“Fuck babygirl…” Bucky groaned. “I love you and your greedy little cunt so much.” He chuckled darkly in your ear before speeding into you again. Your head fell back as you moaned at his words, he leaned in and nibbled on your bottom lip as you gasped.

His hand moved up to your throat. His long fingers wrapped around your throat and made you open your eyes to look into his. He fucked you relentlessly; earning more and more moans out of you each time his cock stroked your walls.

Bucky growled against your lips. “You feel so good around me, babygirl…” he murmured, voice low and hazy in pleasure. He moaned and gasped as he felt your walls milking him and squeezing him just right. “So good…” You cried out as he kept rocking into you, speeding up with each thrust. “You’re all mine, you hear me?”

Your senses couldn’t focus on anything other than him; the warmth of his body, the lust in his voice, the passion behind his actions, and the love he had for you being reflected in his eyes. “Fuck…” you moaned, your mind getting foggier and foggier with each passing second. He slammed in and out of you continuously, moaning and grunting in the process.

He growled and pushed his face into your neck, “Go on babygirl, cum for me.” He bit down on your shoulder and sped up even more. His thrust violent and animalistic. You moaned loudly and gushed out around his cock; gasping and whimpering.

He moaned out loud when he felt your walls pulsating violently around him. His thrusts became irregular as he came right after you as well, shooting his load at your walls. He didn’t pull out even after the two of you came. He just kept his throbbing cock carefully buried in you.

He pulled away to look at you with a faint smile on his face. “I love you so much.” He whispered and leaned in to kiss your forehead. You smiled and basked in his body heat and scent.

“I love you more, Buck.” you whispered back and he heard, and smiled.

He chuckled against your skin, then pulled away to look at you. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He confessed.  

You smiled up at him, wondering how you got so lucky to be able to call him yours. You whispered back, “You’re the best part of my life too, baby.”  

Out of all the ways you two had been planning on proposing – popping the question while doing the dishes wasn’t one of them, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. This was perfect. Disorganized, and a little messy and impromptu – but perfect nonetheless. 

Life would come with its ups and downs, you both knew that. But you also knew that no matter what, you’d both be each other’s favorite part of this long and blissful life together.

 Fin.

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Love Cuts Deep

Chapter 13- Avengers. Assemble

Summary: With the new Infinity Gauntlet finally put together, things are about to get more chaotic then you could have ever realized. But in the aftermath, there is a joy within the sadness.

Warning: fighting, some blood, angst, fluff, bucky returns!

Masterlist

With no time to waste, Tony’s robotic tech ever so carefully placed the Infinity Stones onto a new gauntlet specially crafted by the man himself. With the utmost precision, he designed the piece in the familiar likeness of the Ironman suit, specifically taking into account the hand area. All in all, it looks just like that blasted Infinity Gauntlet that’s caused yourself and the universe so much pain.

But you known this is different, this is necessary above all else and must happen or you’ll face the dreary facts of never seeing Bucky ever again. No one still left behind in the aftermath like yourself will ever see their loved ones again, and Natasha’s death would all be for nothing. This is it.

You stand around Rocket with the rest of your friends, everyone suited up for the inevitable unknown while he carefully finishes up a few lasting touches on the metalwork with the aid of Tony to keep it steady.

“All right, the glove’s ready.” Affirms Rocket with a confident nod as everyone stands around him waiting expectantly, “Question is, who’s gonna snap their freakin’ fingers?”

 The room keeps to a heavy silence before Thor immediately makes hastily overconfident steps forward, “I’ll do it.” States the bearded god of thunder, no surprise to you, like he’s even in the right headspace to take on such a task. Especially looking like he just walked out of a homeless shelter.

Thor quickly earns a puzzled look from Tony. “Excuse me?” Asserts Stark with a raised brow as just about everyone else gives Thor a similar look of bewilderment.

Thor waves him off with a casual swing of his thick paw, “It’s okay.” Calmly dismisses Thor as he walks in closer to the perched gauntlet, eyes set for the powerful object within arms reach. Tony, Steve, and Clint immediately raise their arms to hold him back for the time being as your eyes widen at his go-getter attitude for something so seriously dangerous. He would fucking die.

“Stop, stop. Slow down.” Advises Tony while Steve steps between the gauntlet and an eager Thor. Blue eyes set and steady though a friendly softness flashes through them knowing the true reasons why Thor wants to do this above all the others, “Thor. Just wait. We haven’t decided who’s gonna put that on yet.” Implores Steve while Thor blinks, clearly not satisfied with this answer.

“I’m sorry. What, we’re all just sitting around waiting for the right opportunity?” Laughs off the large Asgardian as his eyes trail around the room to the unclear hesitant faces of you all.

“We should at least discuss it.” Interjects Scott as Thor turns to face him before looking to all of you again.

Thor finds Steve’s conflicted gaze of uncertainty, “Look, sitting here staring at that thing is not gonna bring everybody back.....I’m the strongest Avenger, okay? So, this responsibility falls upon me...”

Tony sets a friendly hand on his chest, “Normally you’re right...”

“It’s my duty.” Interrupts Thor, more heatedly this time as Tony slowly draws him away from the gauntlet. Doing his best to sway Thor’s mind, “It’s not about that...” Begins Tony as Thor interjects. “It’s not that...” Rambles Thor as you frown, eyes set on the glowing Infinity Stones as they rest comfortably atop the Vibranium laced metalwork.

“Sheeesh stop it!” Whines the agitated god of thunder, “Just let me....Just let me do it.” Whispers Thor in defeat, face falling with remorse as he focuses on Tony, “Just let me do something good. Something right...”

Tony lets out a disheartened sigh, “Look, it’s not just the fact that glove his channeling enough energy to light up a continent. I’m telling you. You’re in no condition.” Sincerely adds Tony, trying his absolute best to sway Thor from doing this to himself.

“What do you think is coursing through my veins right now?” Asks Thor with a reasonable bout of self confidence while Rodney throws a sarcastic. “Cheez Whiz?” In reply. Thor clenches his fist, pointing a threatening finger to him but ignores the verbal blow.

Eyes set on Tony as the god smiles, “Lightening.”

Tony doubtfully nods, “Yeah.”

“Lightening.” Says Thor again, like that’s going to hold all the answers and save everyone from oblivion.

Taking an anxious breath, you’ve already made your decision as you take a step forward, “Lightning won’t help you this time, Thor. You couldn’t take it.” He sends you a defeated look, eyes falling to the floor as the others gain your attention. Frowning, your eyes study the glowing colors of the new Infinity Gauntlet as you nervously swallow, “I’ll do it.”

“Y/N...” Begins Steve like a concerned father while his blue eyes grow with apprehensive doubt, he opens his mouth to speak more on the matter but you cut him off with a stern look, “My body can regenerate its genetic makeup, essentially I should heal from anything it does to me, it won’t kill me Stev...”

“We don’t know that,” Interjects a worried Bruce as he walks in closer to your little group, “It’s gotta be me, we saw what those stones did to Thanos. They almost killed him, these are the Infinity Stones we’re talking about. None of you could survive.” Explains Bruce honestly as he finds your troubled gaze, “Even you, Y/N.”

Your brows furrow in thought while you let a depleted sigh escape your lips, “How do we know you will?”

“We don’t.” Begrudgingly admits Banner, “But the radiation’s mostly gamma. It’s like...” He stares solemnly down at the beacon of destructive hope for a small moment, its shimmering colors glowing with a dangerous beauty, “..I was made for this.”

“Then it’s settled then.” Declares Tony with a confident nod, “We do this today. Everyone suit up, we have no idea how this is going to go.” And with that does the room quickly file out, your small team of nine hastily on the move to prepare yourselves for the impending future still held in mystery and a growing hope.

Soon, you and the rest of the Avengers nervously watch as Bruce picks up the metal gauntlet while Tony sends him a concerned brotherly look. “Good to go, yeah?” Wonders Tony as he stands a couple feet away for safety reasons like everyone else. Bruce gives the stones a last fleeting glance before raising his eyes up to meet him, “Let’s do it.”

“Okay, remember, everyone Thanos snapped away five years ago you’re just bringing them back to now, today. Don’t change anything from the last five years.” Warns Tony as Bruce nods. “Got it.”

Everyone takes a cautious step backwards, making sure to shield themselves from whatever’s about to happen next with either their actual suits or in Steve’s case his legitimate shield. All you got on is your usual dark attire that’s armored comfortably in the areas needed. That and your uncanny but evidently helpful ability to heal yourself instantly. Which may either become unneeded, or hold true to its helpful wonder if things go south for whatever reason.

Tony quickly has Friday adorn the protective barriers around the buildings interior so whatever happens inside, stays inside. A moment later Banner puts the gauntlet on with a hesitant grimace, the metal grows as it adjusts to his hand, immediately the power of the stones glows bright. The raw energy crawling wickedly up his arm as Bruce falls to his one knee in pain. Loud grunts of strained discomfort emitting from the half-hulks throat. Shit that looks painful.

“Take it off! Take it off!” Worries Thor as Steve throws up a cautious hand. “No, wait. Bruce, are you okay?” Banner groans in agony as Tony adds, “Talk to me, Banner.” More pained moans are heard before Bruce is finally able to give a reassuring nod, well, at least the best one he can manage.

“I’m okay.” He mutters through clenched teeth, sending a small spark of relief through everyone as he forces his fingers to reach one another. Yelling like a charging warrior through the pain of battle, Bruce forces his stiffened digits into submission, snapping his fingers through the gauntlet with all the strength he has left before a blinding bright light emits forth in an instant. Cascading the small lab into an almost heavenly glow, you can’t see anything it’s so obnoxiously bright.

When the light fades a swift moment later, you’re able to witness the aftermath of a brave Bruce Banner who’s currently semi-unconscious on the floor, metal appendage laying a couple feet away from him as Steve races to Banners side, “Bruce!” Panics Steve.

“Don’t move him.” Warns Tony as he sprays some type of healing particles onto the ashen green of Bruce’s right arm to increase the natural healing process from the stones hefty damage. “Did it work?” Wonders a drowsy Banner while he blinks back the blurry fuzz of the gauntlet's intense power.

Thor smiles brightly, “We’re not sure. It’s okay...just relax, it’s alright you did it.” Both him and Steve give Bruce some more encouraging words of praise as you take a step back from the scene to release a breath you didn’t know you had.

Holy shit, you think, heart slowing down from the adrenaline rush of it all. Trying to take in everything's that’s just happened, you ignore as Scott wanders away to the giant opening windows as your ears prick to the sound of Clint’s phone ringing on the nearby metal table. You watch curiously as he slowly walks over to it before picking it up and answering with a teary eyed grin from witnessing the picture of his beloved significant other. The sound of his confused wife reaching your ears in an instant and your heart immediately swells with joy.

Bucky!

Suddenly a dark shadow bestows itself upon the compounds opened sunroof, you quickly twist on your heel to face the others who are looking up at a dark shape with an equally as baffled expression. A second later your world turns to darkness.

Then nothing.

——

Someone’s shaking your shoulders. God that’s annoying.

But you can’t see or hear anything, can’t even feel your own body but the stuffy thick air that flows forcibly into your healing lungs. Slowly, your senses of touch and perception come back to life, vision deciding to wake up from the blurry void next and with that so does your hearing, “Y/N! Wake up! Come on, wake the fuck up!” Shouts the annoying voice of.....Clint. While his dirt smudged face flashes with uncertain panic. The fuck does he want? And where the hell are you?

Coming to, you suck in a needed breath before he quickly sits you up against a rock, a dull throbbing making itself known from the right side of your forehead that feels oddly wet. Ignoring his concerned gaze, you press a hand to it only to find your fingers coated in blood, “Clint, what the fuck just happened? And where the hell are we?” You grumble before taking a good look around you, finding nothing but rocks and ruble. “This looks like a sewer system, goddammit my suits ripped.” You complain, still a tad bit disoriented from the head trauma that’s still healing while you eye up the nasty blooded gash on your left thigh.

Clint huffs in frustration before taking a calculated look around at your minimal surroundings of rock and red warning lights as he takes a step forward, boot quickly smashing into something hard as he looks down to find the fucking gauntlet of all things right by his feet as something oddly familiar sounds in your sensitive ears. Oh, shit. Jumping to your feet, you turn your head to the cavernous tunnel on the right, night vision giving you the perfect view of... “Space dogs. Fucking space dogs!” You fearfully whisper yell as he sends you a perplexed look.

“Ugh what?” Mutters Clint as you throw him a look of pure panic, understanding something is most definably wrong if you of all people are scared shitless, he quickly sends a lighted arrow past your head before catching a glimpse of exactly what you were warning him about. Thanos’ army of monstrous bastards from space. This is your nightmare all over again.

“Shit.” Mumbles an alarmed Clint as he tugs on your arm before the two of you book it in the other direction, screams of fury and death sounding from the beasts pursuing you. For a good twenty yards do the both of you run until by some wondrous act of the universe are you able to climb your way to a higher level where the creatures can’t get to either of you. Clint shooting a skilled blow to the creatures brave enough to pursue you further, killing them quickly enough so you both have a moment to rest. And inhale much needed oxygen from the swift sprinting session you just unwillingly endured.

Laying on the metal floor next to a worn out Clint, your breaths are heavy and labored when Nebula randomly walks out of nowhere like she owns the place, glad to just see a familiar face you pay her no mind when she leans down and quickly retrieves the gauntlet from Clint before raising her hand to her ear and speaking, “Father...I have the stones.” 

Uh, what? Oh wait! Your eyes widen in fear as you swiftly jump to your feet, Adamantium claws protruding out of your fists as you prepare yourself for a fight to the death over that damned gauntlet when without warning she sends a swift blast straight through your chest. Shit, you can barely breath.

You gasp, falling to the metal earth as she’s immediately confronted by some green chick and another Nebula, though you’re too frazzled and in pain to listen to their arguing. A couple long moments later the traitor Nebula is shot, falling to the ground right next to you as your lung muscle and bones fuse back together again. Body at long last letting you take in a proper breath. Dammit she got you old western style too.

Clint’s at your side in an instant, “Jesus Y/N, you okay? That looked bad.”

Grumbling in annoyance for the misadventure you’ve just found yourself in, he kindly helps pull you to your feet, “I’ve had better days Clint, I’ve really had better days.” You deadpan as he chuckles before the both of you follow Nebula and the green woman out and into the clearing of the destroyed Avenger’s Facility.

Once foggy ashen sunlight hits your dirt smudged blood spattered face, a pearl white pegasus flies above you and Clint, “The hell?” Mumbles Barton as the two of you start jogging into the destroyed landscape of the desolated Avengers base that’s currently in the midst of a chaotic battle between Thanos’ army and the Avengers, and clearly a lot more then just your lost friends. God today just keeps getting worse, not to mention weirder.

“Come on, this way.” Shouts Clint as you two begin making your way through the mess, both on a mission to protect this stupid gauntlet and try not to get yourselves killed in the process. Though soon some type of giant lumbering beast starts trailing you two as Clint calls in to anyone listening, “What do you want us to do with this damn thing?” You can’t hear what they’re all saying due to the fact that your earpiece is broken, but quickly enough Clint glances at you.

“Y/N! We gotta find Scott and that ugly brown van of his, it’s got the time machine portal in it so we can get these stones away from here!” Shouts Barton as he jumps over a protruding piece of shrapnel before one of Thanos’ loyal creatures jumps near, throwing him to the side as you launch yourself onto the beast. Digging your shimmering talons deep into its neck as it screams in agony, dying a second later.

“Give me that fucker, I can see the van from here.” You urgently exclaim as he hands it over to you without a second thought, too exhausted to run any longer. With the stones in your possession now, you book it on swift legs across the demolished battlefield as monsters of all kinds pursue you.

You’re luckily able to slash a few while dodging heated blows in an attempt to stall your progression, although unknowingly to you while you’re sprinting like a bat out of hell, mumbling a distressed chorus of “Fuck off, Fuck off, Fuck off..” to no one in particular. Bucky’s gaze is able to track your panicked form as it races across the destroyed landscape, Infinity gauntlet in hand. So that’s what you’re doing, thinks Bucky with relief, glad to know you’re okay. Well, for the most part.

Slipping from his curious view, you make it a good ten yards before a lumbering beast knocks you from your stable legs and onto the ground just as T’Challa ends its ugly life. Body hurting all over, you finally give up the gauntlet into the arms of the Black Panther, “I got it Y/N, you’ve done well.” Praises the king of Wakanda as you give him a weak thumbs up in reply, too damn winded to really answer with anything fully comprehensible.

God it’s a good thing you heal quickly cause shit, your everything hurts.

When will this shit end! Huffing in irritation, you swiftly pull yourself up before joining the Avenging masses into the storm of chaos. You slay monster and beast of all kinds before Proxima of all beings throws her spear at your head, just narrowly putting a full damper on your already hectic day as you dodge left.

“Didn’t I kill you already?” You growl in irritation as she begins hand to hand combat with you, more so claws to sword then anything else. For the next minute do you two hash it out on the battlefield, Thanos and other brave Avengers doing what they can to fight the Infinity Stones off of him as you slice up her face in a moment of valuable weakness.

Unfortunately she’s able to kick you into the cement, raising her shimmering blood coated weapon before thrusting it downwards straight for your naked jugular when suddenly it turns to dust against your exposed skin. Eyes wide in bewilderment as you breath in heavy breaths, you’re pleasantly surprised when the bitch disappears completely, nothing left but ashes floating on the breeze.

Wiping some fresh blood from your nose, you slowly stand on sore legs, eyes quickly scanning the surrounding area only to find all of Thanos’ army turning to dust as well. A relieved smile falls upon your chapped lips, though quickly enough your heart sinks when you wander over to Steve and Thor as they watch Pepper say her last goodbyes to a dying Tony Stark. So he was the one who did it, he killed Thanos for good. And this is the price that must be payed.

Your chest rises and falls with labored breaths from battling the enemy as his reactor core flickers, white light slowly going out soon after. You frown deeply as Pepper sobs by her husbands side as you notice the others beginning to slowly gather around behind you, and the ones nearest to him. Peter, Rodney, Steve, and Thor.

The dismal scene breaks your heart to watch so instead do you drop your gaze to the ground where you study the ripped fabric of your pants and the dried blood that coats it. You can’t believe after all this shit and time spent tirelessly in pursuit of those fucking stones has the deed been done at last. Two friends lost in the taxing journey to save the world from a deepening pit of confusion and despair, but it’s done, and Thanos will never hurt anyone ever again.

You’re so tired you could probably curl up and fall asleep on the rocks below, but yet your body shakes with adrenaline that keeps you from submitting to the earth for a long rest.. “Y/N?” You freeze, going still as a statue when your ears fully register the voice it belongs to. You’d recognize that voice anywhere.

Blinking hard, you turn around, your eyes slowly trailing up to meet the beautiful blues of the one and only, James Buchanan Barnes. Your breath catches in your throat, it truly feels like your whole world has just stopped and reset itself. Tears immediately prick at the corners of your eyes from the intense feelings of being overwhelmed from battle and by him, he looks exactly the same as when he left you five whole years ago. Long dark hair falling to his broad shoulders, metal arm apparent as it shows itself freely in the cloudy sunlight.

His eyes of stormy ocean studies your awestruck expression, handsome face softening as he takes a cautious step forward, “Y/N.” Mutters Bucky as your lip begins to quiver, so many emotions rushing through you like a giant waterfall, a couple stray tears draw clean marks down the sides of your dirt smudged face as your heartbeat begins to race.

You feel like hyperventilating right now but are to astounded to completely lose your shit, instead do you let him silently walk the rest of the way to you before gently placing his hands against your tear stained cheeks. He hands you a handsome grin of pure love and adoration as you place your shaking hands against his forearms. So incredibly awestruck that he’s actually with you right now in the flesh for you to form a coherent sentence.

You swallow, eyes furrowed as they wander all over his beautifully dirty face, “Please tell me this isn’t some sick dream.” You whisper, voice raspy while you try and keep your inhales as less erratic as possible. “Oh God I hope this isn’t another dream.”

Bucky chuckles a sweet tune of joy before engulfing you into a ginormous Bucky bear hug, he gently wraps his strong arms around your tired vessel with ease, burying his head in the crook of your neck as tears flow freely out of you now. Shaky hands holding him as close and humanly possible while you breath him in for all he’s worth. Your Bucky, finally in your arms at last.

You can’t believe it, after everything you’ve endured, after a thousand nights spent alone and days lasting for too many hours to count. He’s holding you like his whole life depends on it, every single muscle and fiber of his entire being wills himself to hold you in his arms like nothing and no one else matters.

Because right now, in the midst of a desolated battlefield, you can finally feel at peace with the man you have never stopped loving for even a single second. The man you will swear on your life to never leave his side ever again if you can help it. Your sweet James Buchanan Barnes. Your beloved Bucky.

You can feel as a feather light kiss brushes past your hairline before he slowly pulls away, metal and flesh hands still holding yours as his blue eyes soften, “This isn’t a dream.” Chuckles Bucky as he studies your teary eyed face, a growing confusion clear on his puzzled features, “Why would this be a dream Y/N? I mean, well I’m not sure where we are actually or how I got here or why your hair looks different now....and uh...clothing too?” His brows furrow as he trails his gaze all over you, clearly unaware of the time differences between you both and what troublesome lengths it’s taken to see him again.

He doesn’t know. Biting your bottom lip anxiously, you blink with saddened eyes before resting a hand on his metal shoulder for a bit of self comfort, “How long until you came through those portals?”

Blue irises flicker to the ground in puzzlement before finding yours once again, “Uh, I think it was about five minutes actually....it’s, it’s weird. I remember seeing you by Steve and then, I don’t remember anything else until it felt like I blinked and suddenly these huge portals were appearing in Wakanda. And you weren’t with me. I don’t know what happened....I’m not sure why you look a little different now either?”

Smiling at his adorable confusion, you trail a hand up to drag it through his messy dark locks, “You weren’t gone for five minutes Bucky, you were gone for five years.”

His lips part likes he’s about to speak though nothing comes out, handsome face slowly falling into a frown while he gently touches the side of your bloodied cheek, “What?” Whispers Bucky in astonishment, “Five...five years? Five whole years? That’s why....that’s how....how you, Jesus Y/N...”

“You have no idea how much I missed you James....how much I, I...” Your throat feels like it’s tightening as you lip quivers, voice unable to produce any sounds but your labored breaths. You feel like bawling.

Bucky takes this like the dutiful lover that he is, pulling you flush against him once more as he gently squeezes you close, face pressed into your neck as he mumbles out a soft but meaningful, “I love you Y/N.” That causes you to almost crush him in your loving embrace.

“I love you too, so fucking much.”

——

Standing on the grassy edge of the Starks riverside house somewhere in upstate New York, dressed in your usual dark attire. Though for this instance, it’s a rather dismal affair that truly represents the black clothing adorning your body with more purpose this time. But you don’t feel as terrible as you thought you would have.

A soft late summer breeze blows your hair back as you keep your hands deep in your jacket pockets while you let yourself enjoy the beautiful view of the water shimmering in the sunlight. It truly couldn’t have been a nicer day for such a day filled with melancholy for the loss of Tony. In fact, when you arrived for the funeral today, you could barely look at Morgan without feeling the urge to shed a few tears.

She’s surprised you though, her little heart is stronger then you’d realized, she’s clearly filled with confused grief for the sudden loss of her father. But she’s admittedly able to handle the dreary situation better then you’d expected, though it is true we all grieve in our own way and in our own time. Luckily she has a plethora of friendly people by her side, plus your cat Silver who you let her adopt considering you’re technically homeless.

Soon the familiar sound of footsteps walking across the grass alerts you to a new presence approaching you nearby, you could smell his scent a mile away. The blue eyed man in question, stops by your side, eyes trailing over you while you keep a steady gaze on the water. “Y/N.” Your name on his tongue, spoken so gently as he forms your letters into a term of simple greeting.

A smile immediately tugs at the corner of your lips when he literally says anything now, you turn to face him as you raise a brow, imitating his tone, “Bucky.” You practically tease.

He flashes a quick grin before shrugging, eyes glancing up to the house before finding your undivided attention once more, “They made sloppy joes if you want one. They’re not too bad actually, I had one so....yeah.”

“I’ll take your word for it, but uh...I’m okay thanks.” You add, gaze set back onto the water beyond as you let out an admittedly tired sigh, “I’m just, I don’t even know.....whatever, I’m okay.” You mutter while giving a weak shrug, a frown crossing your features as your mind wanders to your lost friends and the reason why you’re even at this funeral. It’s been a long fucking road to peace, if this even is peace.

Bucky, noticing your disheartened expression, gently nudges your arm, “Hey, you know you can talk to me.” Assures your sweet lover, eyes softening as he gently tugs at your sleeve, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Making a sour face at the water, you avoid his gaze while your heart swirls with a conflicted sadness, “No. Not really.” You freely admit, “Both of them, I never got a chance to say goodbye. I wish I could have, I really do Buck.” Biting your lip to hold back the tears, Bucky wraps a comforting arm around you, knowing how much this all pains you since he’s been back and was filled in on everything that’s happened.

You don’t even hesitate to relax into the warm embrace as you throw an arm around his waist to bring him in even closer to you now, “Truth be told Y/N, I never got a chance to tell Tony how sorry I am for what I did to his parents. If there was onl...”

“He forgave you, Buck.” He shares a puzzled look with you.

“He did?” Whispers Bucky in confusion though a slight hopeful relief laces his words.

 You nod, “Tony...we had a long conversation about that when I was visiting once for some birthday party, it was a difficult subject. But after everything we talked about, he forgave you for what you did. Of course we had no way of knowing this was all going to happen but uh, I just want you to know that. And so did he even if you weren’t there to hear it. Guess it was the thought that counts.”

“oh.” Mutters Bucky in clear astonishment as he keeps silent for a long moment, truly processing the solid fact that Tony Stark actually forgave him for such horrendous crimes committed against his closest family members. Bucky lets out a heavy breath of relief, giving you a small squeeze before speaking, “That’s, that’s good. Yeah, alright um...” His eyes flicker to the side as he pauses for a brief moment, “..you, you want anything up there?”

Chuckling, you roll your eyes at him, “What? Let me guess? You’re still hungry and don’t want to eat alone?”

Bucky keeps silent for a brief but telling moment as he mumbles out a soft, “Yeah.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

He nervously laughs before gently squeezing your shoulder, “Or we don’t have to, it’s fine I was just wondering...”

“Buck.” You throw him a humored glance as he smiles before you lose your grip on his torso, “Come on hot stuff let’s get you a sandwich.” He grins as you start backing up towards the house filled with multiple guests of all kinds still socializing amongst one another.

“Y/N I could go myself if I wanted to.” Says Bucky as he wanders across the grass by your side, “I could....but yeah, I’d rather have you with me.”

You snicker quietly as his stubbled cheeks redden in slight embarrassment, “Well Mr. Barnes, if you must know, I don’t plan on letting you do anything alone for a long time so get used to my company.”

“Sounds good to me.” Smiles Bucky as he gently nudges your shoulder, “But seriously you gotta try these sandwiches they’re really good.”

“Buck, I don’t doubt it.”

-

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[light-yaers]

No Saints: Chapter Three

This content is explicit and is 18+

Warnings: Graphic sexual content, violence, implied effects of PTSD, death and explicit language.

Read on Ao3 here | Fic Masterpost

Word Count - 6.1k

Chapter Three

By the twelve-day mark, you started getting worried. You knew Mando could take care of himself, that was a given, but you couldn’t stop the anxiety as it shoved its way into your blood stream permanently for three whole days.

Fifteen days and no sign of the Beskar clad hunter. Fifteen days seemed like an awfully long time for him to be gone—unless he was doing that thing again—not coming by to visit you anymore.

You wanted to believe he wasn’t doing that. The last two times you’d been together, he’d made no indication of being uncomfortable, despite the fool you can become under immense arousal and horniness, apparently. You just had to ask him to stay, didn’t you?

You just had to place a kiss upon his fucking helmet.

Stars—maybe he really had decided not to come back.

You busied yourself with work like usual, working through the thoughts and the worry and the fucking stress of not knowing if he was okay. It was stupid; you knew what it meant to be a bounty hunter, you knew the struggle of racing after a quarry, of having to figure out the timeframe of your job, of calculating where to get your fuel from, your Bacta from, your upgrades from—

But still you found yourself feeling incredibly uneasy about the fact he hadn’t returned yet, despite the clear signs of it being a longer job, or a harsher client, or whatever else.

You stopped polishing the blaster you currently had, suddenly frowning at nothing. Your heart panged in your chest, your brow started to sweat, and stars, you felt tears in your fucking eyes.

You didn’t often think about your past, too overcome with the memories of what had gone wrong. You were too young to have been doing what you were doing, but you did it to survive. When there was nothing else in this universe for you, it was the only option—

It was all you knew.

It was just ironic that you ended up settling on Nevarro, another planet crawling with bounty hunters; none of which knew your name. That was something you always kept to yourself. You chose not to even have an alias; they could get messy, fast. Besides, if anyone knew who you really were already, you wouldn’t be alive to even be worrying about the Mandalorian.

You would have been killed as soon as you stepped on the planet, as soon as someone realised who you were.

Mando and yourself had more in common than he’d ever know, and you didn’t plan on telling the hunter about your past—he was still a mystery, still unknown to you, and you didn’t know if he’d simply turn on you immediately after revealing your old alias to him.

You forced yourself to rub your eyes, angrily wiping away the stray tears that you’d allowed to fall down your cheeks. Stars, you knew you had problems about thinking back. You knew your mind was plagued with those memories, you knew you could remember them too vividly, that sometimes you got sucked into them again, in the body of your younger and more naïve self, tripping over rocks and fallen trees and avoiding blaster shots—

“Stop,” You said once, sternly. Your voice echoed throughout your empty shop, before dissipating in the air until there was nothing but white noise filling your ears. You were here, on Nevarro, polishing another fucking blaster and waiting for a glimpse of Beskar. You were here—not there.

You sighed deeply, forcing yourself to stay present, to stay focused upon your work. You cleared up your desk as the sun began to set over Nevarro, casting your shop with an orange and yellow glow that felt pleasant against your bear arms. You took inventory, keeping the door of the shop open all the while you were packing up for the end of the workday. When you were done, you strode to the door, shutting it with a frowning smile as you realised it was another day without seeing Mando.

Stars, if he’s dead, someone is going to pay.

You locked the door sadly, swivelling on your heels and thinking about getting the whiskey out again, when the most subtle of knocks tapped from the metal of the shop door. You were immediately on edge. You rushed to your desk, grabbing your blaster, before you slowly tiptoed towards the door—

Your heart was in your throat, your limbs were frozen in fear, but you felt adrenaline course through your muscles right on time, spurring you forward to be totally on your guard. The knocks sounded again, louder this time, but you didn’t falter. You approached the door, holding the lock with one hand, before you quickly clicked it and swung the door open, aiming your weapon at light speed—

“You told me to knock after hours,” Mando stood in your doorway, arms and gun by his side. You’d guess he wasn’t even the slightest bit surprised at how you looked right now—defensive stance, gun pointed at his skull, breathing shallow and controlled.

This bastard breaks into your shop more than he’s ever knocked. No wonder you were fucking scared.

You let out a stuttering sigh, dropping your weapon, but not quite being able to let go of the adrenaline spike that just slammed through your body.

“What happened to picking my lock?” You stuttered out, annoyed.

“It’s less fun when you expect me to do it,” He replied, and stars, as much as you fucking loved it when he actually joked, now wasn’t the time. You raised hands to your forehead, pushing your hair back and trying to calm yourself down. You were awash with a shaky feeling as your heart continued to try and crawl up your throat.

Mando took a tentative step forward as he saw you on edge, reaching out a hand to touch your arm, but stopping himself before he could. “Hey—,” He began, and you exploded.

“Fifteen days,” You let out slowly, not even trying to cover up the wobble in your voice. You’d been worried sick, you were certain your hair was going to start falling out if he was gone much longer. “Fifteen kriffing days, Mando—,”

“I know, I’m late,” He interrupted, taking a few steps towards you and into the shop. He turned slowly, shutting the door and clicking the lock. A sound you knew well, one that often made you excited, but right now only existed to make you overthink to oblivion.

What if he never came back one day? What if he never came back and clicked that lock again like he always did?

You continued to try and calm yourself down, all too aware of Mando standing behind you. Stars, you wanted to hug him—and that was the most idiotic thing you’d ever admitted to yourself. What the fuck had happened to you? How had this bounty hunter reduced you to an ancient portrayal of a woman; waiting around for him to return, worrying about him when he was gone, feeding him, for stars sake?

“I need a favour,” He spoke up once more, and you scoffed immediately. Maybe it was from hurt, maybe it was from something else, and as much as you wanted to laugh at this situation, all it did was boil your blood.

“Right,” You said firmly, finally turning to face him. You placed your hands on your hips, staring him down like a pig for slaughter.

“I need you as collateral,” Mando said awkwardly. “Karga was expecting me back four days ago. If you’re there, it may just stop him shooting me on behalf of the Guild,”

You froze in your spot. “You’re kidding,” You stated. Mando didn’t reply, he didn’t even move. “You’re not kidding,” You added, bringing a hand to wipe down your face. Fuck. This was just great. “Why me?” You questioned, shooting him an almost scowl.

“He knows you. And Karga loves a pretty face that he can shove shots into, as bad as it sounds,” Mando said honestly. You would have been more pissed if he’d made it up, but it was the truth; Karga was as easy to manipulate with a woman as you were when Mando touched you in any sense. Like butter.

You thought for a moment. As much as you wanted to vomit at the prospect of needing to butter Karga up, you were also doing it to avoid Mando’s execution—

You could live with that. Stars, you could definitely live with that.

But if Karga actually shot him, there was no telling what you’d do to that slimy Guild contact in return. You glanced at Mando, softening your expression. You could tell he felt uncomfortable— he didn’t want to put you in this situation, ever, but he almost had no choice. And stars, you weren’t about to let him go to his death.

“What’s the plan?” You said abruptly. Mando let out a pent-up breath. You heard it trickle from his modulator; relief, thanks.

An hour later and the plan had been laid out. Mando would wait while you went to the bar first. You were wearing the most revealing outfit you owned, just as an added bonus. Your shoulders were bear, your trousers were flush against your skin and your blaster belt fit snuggly around your waist.

“I’m about to enter the bar,” You spoke to your wrist. Mando had insisted on giving you a communicator, just to know when he should rendezvous with you inside the bar. “Give me ten minutes before you come inside,”

“Ten minutes. Copy,” Mando said sternly. Your heart fluttered at his hunter voice—the tone he adopted when he was on missions, out in the galaxy by himself. “You... look good, by the way,”

You almost jumped at his words, as a blush appeared across your cheeks. Not that he could see it, though. He was safely back in the shop, instructed to lock up and bring the keys with him when he made his way to you and Karga.

“I’ll say a proper thank you to that when we both leave the bar alive,” You stuttered back, clenching your jaw painfully. Stars, now wasn’t the time. You muted the other end of the comms line, so noises on Mando’s end couldn’t be heard, before you entered the building.

You knew Karga was at his usual table. His cronies patrolled the booths around him, just waiting to see if any trouble broke out. You approached the droid at the bar, getting ready to order, when Karga spoke up from behind you—

“Back again so soon?” He said. You had to stop yourself from smiling as you turned round to face him. Exactly to plan. “Need a change of scenery, again?” He added, shooting you a smile.

“Am I that predictable?” You sent him one back, playing yourself up to be more of a sweet-hearted being than you were ever capable of actually being. Karga shot out that chesty cough laugh once more, before gesturing his hand to the booth seat opposite him.

You nodded sweetly, practicaly skipping over to sit opposite him.

“Is business any better since our last toast?” Karga began, clicking for glasses like he’d done before and revealing the same blue liquor bottle. You forced yourself to pout slightly.

“It’s been... okay,” You replied sadly. Karga took the bait, leaning in slightly closer to you.

“Oh, I don’t buy that,” He spoke softly. “Money troubles?” He questioned. You nodded sadly, forcing on a small, quivering smile when a droid came over and deposited the glasses on the table. Karga was looking at you the whole time, analysing your face, your body language—you knew he wasn’t an idiot, but he was so easily swayed when it came to women. It was every man’s weakness; almost every man’s weakness.

He filled the glasses up one by one, pushing one over to your side of the table. You took in a sharp breath, raising your hand to the glass before he’d even taken his own fingers away. You let out a giggle, forcing down the sick feeling you had in your stomach at what the fuck you were actually doing.

“Oh—sorry,” You let out, pushing some stray hairs behind your ears and bringing the glass closer to your side of the table.

“It’s no trouble, dear,” Karga said in response. Stars, you wanted to hit yourself. Mando was not getting off easy for this, the bastard. He raised his own glass, bringing it to the middle of the table. “To getting back on your feet,” He proposed. You sent him another puppy-eyed smile, clinking your glass with his and letting it linger, just for a few moments longer than you needed to, before both of you downed your shots.

You made the fucking stupidest face imaginable, playing up the taste of the alcohol as it slinked down your throat once more. You let out a breath. “Is it just me or does it get stronger with every shot?” You and Karga laughed together, as your desire to kick yourself only increased.

“It gets easier eventually,” Karga began. “When you’ve been sitting in the same bar, drinking the same liquor and dealing with the same hunters for as long as I have, it becomes easy,”

You tried not to fucking glow at his subject choice. It was perfect for what you needed to discuss with him.

“Stars, yes, your job,” You replied, acting more interested in him than you had ever been in the seven or so years you’d known the snake. “Tell me about it—oo, who’s your favourite hunter?”

Karga smiled smally, but you could tell by the way his brow had furrowed that you were heading into unchartered territory. He was probably as secretive about his role in the same way you were about your name.

When he didn’t reply, you had to think on your feet. “Sorry, that was probably overstepping,” You let out sweetly. “It’s just... that guy, in all the armour, what was his name—Mando?”

Karga perked up at your mention of him, softening his face back into something more animated and less thoughtful. “Mando, that’s him. Our resident Mandalorian,” Karga explained, going to refill both of your glasses.

“Stars, he’s scary,” You trickled out. You could only imagine what Mando was like, hearing you say all of this while he listened intently on the other end of the communicator. You were never going to live this down, he was probably laughing his fucking Beskar covered ass off. It boiled your blood just thinking about it.

“Scary? No,” Karga scoffed. “He likes to think he is, but our Mando is more heartfelt than a lot of other hunters,” Karga grabbed his glass, raising it to the sky once more. “It’s a shame that he might be dead, but we’ll have to see,” You grabbed yours as well, clinking it with his once more and downing the shot quickly, almost forgetting to put on the dramatics.

“D-dead?” You stuttered out. Karga nodded grimly.

“In both senses, I suppose. He was due back almost five days ago, but he hasn’t arrived. Lateness is not usually tolerated in the Guild. So, he’s either dead, or he’s as good as if he ever comes back,”

Fuck. He wasn’t kidding.

You immediately put on your best pout. “But, that’s so sad. Isn’t he an excellent hunter?” You asked, and Karga immediately nodded, noticing the sadness washed all over your face. You saw him gulp slowly, like he felt bad.

“One of the best, arguably. He’s always been so on the ball. I’d be curious to know what happened this time around, if he’s actually still alive,” You nodded severely, making this conversation out to be incredibly scarring to your poor, weak, womanly heart.

“I hope he’s not dead,” You spoke up. “He’s been good for the Guild, as you say. Probably gets you a lot of credit as his contact, right?” Karga was silent as he went about refilling the glasses for the third time. Stars, you may actually get a bit drunk without meaning to. You hardly drank anymore, unless the situation arose. “I bet being a bounty hunter isn’t easy,” You added, prompting Karga to nod sullenly.

“It’s not an easy profession, not an easy life,” He replied, before perking up slightly and smiling at you widely. “But you don’t need to concern yourself with that, dear. You’re strong for making your home here, for doing what you do, even without hearing about the cut-throat world of bounty hunters and the Guild,”

You nodded in what you tried to get across as thanks, despite the strong urge to throw up. Karga pushed the full glass in your direction once more, and stars, you didn’t want to drink it. Nevertheless, you persisted. You picked up the glass slowly, giving Karga the sweetest eyes you had imaginable—but then Karga looked away from you, shooting his eyes to the door of the bar.

He slammed his glass back on the table as a mixture of happiness and something sinister crossed his face. “Well, well. Mando,” He said. You made a show of gasping, looking round behind you as he approached your table slowly.

“I... I better go,” You spoke quietly, rising up, but Karga stuck out a hand for you to stay sat.

“No, that’s okay, dear. Stay. This won’t take long,” You did as you were told, sitting back in the booth. To your surprise, Mando shoved himself into the booth next to you, until you were pressed up against the side of the seat to show you were fucking terrified.

Terrified. That’s funny.

“Let’s make this quick, Mando. You’re scaring my guest,” Karga added. You made a show of facing forward and being utterly frozen while Mando tilted his helmet in your direction. You had a feeling he was trying not to laugh, and honestly you didn’t blame him. You looked fucking ridiculous.

Mando let out a sigh. “It was an ambush, Karga. I had to hide for two days before getting back on track,”

Karga nodded, but you had a horrible feeling in your gut. He clicked his fingers once and all of a sudden, the table was surrounded by his cronies, all pointing their guns at Mando. He raised his hands slowly in surrender, but you fucking lost it—

“No—wait! Please—,” You stood with your hands out, slightly covering Mando and putting on the shakes like you were an A class actress from Naboo, showcasing her absolute stardom. You looked to Karga, willing tears to pool in your eyes. “Please—there’s so much death. I know it’s not my place, and tell me to be quiet if I haven’t already overstepped every line, but Karga... please don’t kill this man,” You pleaded with him, using all of your strength. “There’s just... so much death,” You let out a shaky breath, descending back to your seat and pushing yourself away from Mando once more.

You allowed two tears to trickle from your eyes, wiping them away in silence, but noticeably so. You prayed this was enough—a crying woman, a shaking body—for him to listen, or at least try to appeal to what you wanted.

Honestly, you were simply trying not to think about the true way you felt, and how it almost matched up with your acting displays right there. The tears, sure, it was a tad overkill for you, but just the thought of Mando being killed in this way was enough to activate your fight or flight—and evidently, fight always came out on top.

“You owe me, Mando,” Karga finally let out, raising his hand to pull away his cronies. They retracted their guns, stepping back once more. “You get three pucks this week, instead of four. And you get half your pay. If you’re late again, I won’t be as kind,” He stated, and Mando nodded once. Karga dropped the pucks on the table, along with half of his pay. Mando picked everything up, placing it in his satchel.

“Loud and clear,” Mando replied sternly, but you could hear the triumph in his voice. He stood from the booth, and you finally let out a breath.

“Karga, I should go, too. Before I cause anymore disruption,” You spoke tentatively, keeping up the act despite it making your gut physically hurt. Karga regarded you kindly, before shooting a stern look at the Mandalorian.

“You owe this woman your life, Mando,” He was blunt. “Walk her out,”

You stood shakily, making your way out of the booth, when you fully tripped up— your foot snagged on the underside of the booth, causing you to topple forward right towards Mando—

He reacted immediately, catching you as you almost fell straight to the floor. Karga let out a small chuckle at the unfolding scene, and as much as you were ready to throw hands, you kept the act up for a few moments longer.

Mando got you back upright, popping you down to stand next to him, before he turned on his heels and immediately went to leave the bar. You shuffled on the spot, nodding at Karga one last time before you scuttled away to catch up with Mando.

When you both left the bar, the anger rose to your surface immediately. You strode off, faster than Mando, heading back to the shop as you disgustingly wiped your hands on your trousers to get any sense of Karga off of you. You muttered to yourself, absolutely seething, all the way back to the inner city.

When you reached the shop, you turned to Mando, a few paces behind you. “Keys,” You demanded. He threw them at you without any hesitation and you caught them swiftly, unlocking your front door and storming inside. God—you were exhausted.

You stormed round to your work desk, grabbing the bottle of whiskey beneath the counter and pulling the cork off aggressively. You downed a large gulp of the liquid, grimacing as it travelled down your throat and settled in your stomach.

Stars— you couldn’t believe you’d actually done that willingly. Your skin felt dirty, remembering the way you’d spoken and the expressions you’d given the old Guild contact made you fucking shiver.

Mando entered the shop, shutting the door behind him, but not locking it this time.

You immediately turned to him, red in the face. “Why didn’t you lock it?” You said, annoyance utterly present in your voice.

Mando stood awkwardly before you. “I... didn’t know if you wanted me to stay or not, this time,”

Fucks sake. This man, after all he’d asked you to do, was still somehow making you feel something. He was so soft, so awkward, stood right before you. He’d known putting you through that was horrible, he’d given you the opportunity to refuse his company.

But stars, you’d just done all of that for him. You didn’t want him to leave, not one bit, never.

You scoffed from a lack of what else to do, too afraid you’d utterly embarrass yourself more by making it clear that, honestly, you’d probably go through all of that shit again just so he didn’t die.

“You’re insufferable sometimes, Mando,” You whispered, knowing that your words sounded harsh. You softened your expression, slamming down the whiskey on your desk. “But not as insufferable as Karga— or these kriffing trousers,”

You suddenly were all too aware of how your waist was being sucked in painfully. You stuck your hands in the waistband, pulling them in an attempt to stretch them out. You took of your blaster belt, letting it drop to the floor as you continued to struggle.

And those chuckles— those goddamn modulated chuckles filled the room. You glared at Mando, watching the way his shoulders were bobbing up and down subtly, the way his helmet was tilted away from you in an attempt to conceal his laughter.

“You think this is funny?” You raised your brows, widened your eyes. As much as you wanted to yell at him, you couldn’t stop the corners of your mouth upturning into a smile. It was uncontrollable.

“No,” Mando said breathily. The bastard was blatantly lying. But—it was hot. And that was the most annoying thing of all.

You steamed towards him, going to give his Beskar chest another smack, until you remembered the pain it had caused two weeks ago. You stopped your balled fist in front of his chest abruptly, and he stopped, turning to face you. A gloved hand wrapped tightly around your wrist, the other one fitting snuggly on your waist.

Alright. He’s used to this now. Good.

“Remember what Karga said, Mando— you owe me your life,” You shot him an amused smile, but his grip didn’t falter on you. Instead, he pulled you in closer, helmet staring down at you unwaveringly.

“Then let me help,” His voice had changed in a matter of seconds from playful, to hungry. The tone slid over your body, forcing you to simply accept his grasp and melt into his embrace. That’s when you gasped—as he knelt to the floor slowly, until you heard the unmistakable sound of his Beskar knee pads making contact with the metal ground.

You didn’t know what the fuck to do—place your hands on his helmet? Place them in your pockets? You had no idea what he was doing, or what he was going to do, but either way, your senses were dialled to a hundred in a matter of milliseconds.

You dared to look down at him, and the sight that beheld you was one that made you cease to breathe; Mando was taking off his gloves. Slowly, gently, finger by finger releasing the leather from around his hands, until he pulled them both off and dropped them to the floor without a care.

The breath caught in your throat the moment his fingers found your waistband. Your cheeks blossomed a neon pink and adrenaline began to pump into every crevice of your body, making you feel everything, every graze, every poke, the heavenly feeling of his fingers finally touching your bear skin.

You took a moment to look at his hands, finally, with nothing to cover them from your eyes. His skin was tan, worn. His finger pads were calloused and rough, scratching at your skin softly like sandpaper, but the sensation was already making your legs wobbly.

Stars, you had to stop yourself from moaning when you felt his fingers reach the buckle on your trousers. He was taking his time, finding his own way around this part of your body that he’d never experienced before, and fuck—you loved it. He heard you, despite his laughter, he heard you complaining about those godforsaken trousers and how they were literally cutting off your blood circulation—

And he was fixing it, and sexily, which was just a massive fucking bonus.

“Is this okay?” He asked quietly. All you could do was nod in response, not being able to find any words to fit the bill. Then, he stopped completely, you groaned as he retracted his hands, having to steady yourself by leaning on his shoulders. You looked down at him, utterly broken, wondering why the hell he’d stopped. “Tell me. Is this okay?” He demanded once more, but with more ferocity. You exhaled shakily, peering into his visor.

“Yes,” You said quickly. “Yes—stars, yes,” The words tumbled from your lips involuntarily, existing only to make Mando latch himself back onto you, fingers travelling up and underneath your shirt with one hand, while the other continued to work on your trousers.

You were in ecstasy, feeling nothing but him, and his warmth—a warmth that was usually taken up by the coldness of his Beskar, but stars, you loved his hands more. The feel of his fingertips, all too aware that he was close to unbuckling your trousers—

And then what? The slow and utterly painful suffering of him peeling them off of you, stopping every so often to place his hands around your bear thighs, or, god forbid, he moved up, finally giving in and making you utterly unwind from the pulsing spot between your legs.

You could almost cry just imagining it, so you had no idea how you’d cope if he actually did all of that—but there was no time to prepare, not after the buckle on your trousers finally opened. Mando unzipped you the rest of the way, being careful not to snag the fabric of your underwear in the metal zip. That’s when his hands reached for your waist, slowly beginning to pull down the suffocating garment.

You had to dig your fingers into his shoulders, otherwise you were going to scream. His hands travelled down your waist, your hips, reaching your upper thighs agonisingly slowly. Your pussy was right in front of him, and stars, you prayed he couldn’t feel the heat radiating off of you.

Mando continued his slow descent, taking his time just like you’d expected. His fingers roamed all over, wanting to touch and feel and know every portion of your bear skin that he possibly could. You stifled a whimper, but it only spurred him on—

When he reached your knees, you heard him growl beneath his helmet, and suddenly—he ripped the trousers down to your ankles, causing all of the air in your lungs to disappear as you moaned out freely. Before you had time to lean on him, he was lifting you up, wrapping your legs around his hips as he brought you to the work desk and placed you atop the surface.

“Mando— I—,” You started, but his bear finger trickled up to your lips. Where a leather covered thumb would normally be, it was now replaced with his bear thumb, swiping back and forth over your bottom lip and making your gut coil with arousal. Fuck—you were putty in his hands.

“Not finished yet,” He growled out, almost threateningly. It made you squirm, as your gut continued to scream within you. He dragged his fingers down your legs, allowing his nails to scratch you all the way down, until he reached your ankles. One by one, he pulled the fabric off of you, opting to throw the trousers behind him after they were completely off.

You stared at him, not stopping to think about what you looked like. He was up close, he could see the arousing droop of your eyelids, the way your mouth was permanently dropped open as a shaky flow of air flooded in and out of your aching lungs, the blotches of red blush that speckled your cheeks, like freckles that only appeared when he was this close to you.

He gripped you with a ferocity that you fucking craved. His fingers felt every bump, every scar, every dimple that your thighs had to offer, as he pushed himself further between your hips suddenly. You yelped out in pleasure, having no other option but to wrap your arms around his shoulders and push him closer—

Closer to your sweet spot, your poor and utterly aching pussy that had been waiting for a moment like this for a collection of agonising months.

“What’s your name?” He whispered through the modulator. You froze up immediately, as your heart catapulted into your throat. You didn’t move, you didn’t speak, maybe you didn’t breathe for a few moments, until you realised you were running out air, spluttering out a shaking breath.

Mando slowly peeled you from your grip around his shoulders, but he kept you close—he just wanted to see your face, to see your eyes and the expression you held; one of utter surprise—

One of utter terror.

“I’m—sorry,” He stuttered out, upon seeing the fear washed all over your face. “I let my curiosity get the better of me,”

Stars, you were an odd pairing, weren’t you? A man with no face and a woman with no name, with their limbs wrapped around each other and holding on for dear life, taking in every shudder and moan and growl and feeling.

“It’s okay,” You finally spoke, albeit in a coarse whisper, having lost your voice amongst all of the events. You allowed yourself to smile at him sadly. “I—I’m scared,” You let out involuntarily, just from the simple look of his fucking helmet. God, you’d spill everything to that helmet if you could—

You’d spill your past, you’d spill your present, you’d spill just how much you wanted him to fuck you.

“You don’t have to,” Mando replied, bringing a hand to your face slowly. You shuddered, shutting your eyes as he placed his palm against your cheek. His hand, his actual hand, laying upon your face for the first time. Your stomach swelled with a warmth you could no longer control.

“I want you to know my name,” You admitted, keeping your eyes closed. Mando was slow and gentle, as his fingers roamed the entirety of your face. They fluttered across your forehead, swiped down the bridge of your nose and trickled over your lips, working their way back up around your cheeks and repeating the pattern all over again.

Stars, this was it. You were about to tell him your name, your actual name, not your old alias. No one in the galaxy, besides your very long-gone family, knew your birth name. It was sacred to you, and you held onto it for dear life. But this—

You were trying to rationalise your decision. You wanted him to know it, you wanted him to call you it, whether that was like this, close and sweating and fucking hot, or slumped in your usual chairs, laughing about useless bullshit. You wanted him to yell it, as you gave him pleasure or opened yourself up to him completely—

You felt him tense, stopping the usual pattern of his fingers over your face—because, stars, you’d just blurted it out, right then and there, while you were still thinking about whether to say it or not—your name. He knew your name.

You’d just pulled the trigger, sent the bullet flying and fucking shot yourself in the foot by mistake.

You fluttered your eyes open, taking in the unwavering gaze of his chrome visor and noticing that, despite his tension, his hand was still on your cheek warmly. His hips were still placed within yours, one of his arms still holding your legs tightly around him.

But fuck—that’s what he said it back to you.

As clear as day in his modulated drawl, sounding out the letters and letting it trickle from beneath his helmet into your ears. Honestly—you could have cum right there. You felt your entire body shudder as the sound of him saying your own name floated over, fucking destroying any sense of composure that you had left.

It only made him grip onto you tighter. “I like it,” He added, after noticing the wreckage he’d done to you, just by saying a simple name.  

Your eyelids drooped even further, as a sudden and inconsolable exhaustion flooded over you. “I like it when you say it,” You let out, not fully knowing what the hell you’d just admitted to him. Mando seemed to like it either way, as he flicked his fingertips over the side of your jaw, placing a few strands of loose hair behind your ear.

“Now, I’m finished,” He said, as he slowly began to retract himself from you. You were ashamed of yourself as soon as you heard the whine that left your lips. It was somewhere between a no and a please stay, but you couldn’t understand which came through more.

Mando let out a soft chuckle, before he slipped his arm underneath your knees, the other coming up to grab you beneath your shoulder and wrap around your back. He carried you, bridal style, to your bedroom, popping you down on your bed before you could protest.

When he stood, you grabbed onto the closest thing of his—his hand. Your fingers held his own, feeling the groves of his prints and the roughness of his calloused skin; but you loved them. God, you loved them. You weren’t going to get over his hands anytime soon.

“Mando,” You spoke up, causing his gaze to move from your hand to your face. “Thanks for the help,” You finished, before unapologetically curling yourself into a ball and basically immediately, falling asleep.

“You’re welcome,” He whispered out, but you weren’t in any position to hear him properly.

That meant you didn’t hear him say your name once more, rolling it over his tongue slowly, before leaving you to your dreams.

[cdyssey]

Need

Summary: After Nick arrives at the beach house, Frankie escapes to her studio to process her emotions. Post 7x04.

A/N: I've had such Grace and Frankie brain rot these past few days that I figured I should put it to good use and write another fic. It was really fascinating to try Frankie's POV. Lily Tomlin imbues her with a lot of subtle pathos that I totally wish the show would explicitly explore more.

AO3 Link

—

Frankie excuses herself to the studio for dinner, so she can process her very big, astonishingly inappropriate, and entirely overwhelming emotions without resorting to calling Nick a “wavy-haired, Pierce Brosnan wannabe douche canoe.” 

As delightful (and totally true) of a turn a phrase that it is, even she knows that saying it aloud would be trespassing a boundary that she’s sworn herself never to cross: Grace is married.

Unhappily married, maybe. 

Complicatedly married at the very least.

But until the day that they mutually say “I do” to divorce papers, there isn’t enough room for three people in the Skolka marriage, however much that Grace—bless her increasingly unthawing heart—tries to ensure otherwise. 

So Frankie lets the newly reunited couple have their dinner alone under the guise of a generosity that she doesn’t exactly feel, and she takes leftover pasta into her studio to moodily pick around the bowl until her fettuccine looks less like fettuccine and more like unevenly perforated confetti.

(Woo fucking hoo.)

After a few minutes of this aggressively unconstructive practice, she places her nearly full bowl on a nearby work table and stretches out across her paint-stained couch, staring at the ceiling and resisting the reactionary urge to light a joint. Mary J might help her feel better for the present moment, but tomorrow morning, she’d still wake up and feel invaded in her own home.

Paradoxically, she’d also feel alone, goddammit.

She pulls her shawl more tightly around her shoulders against an invisible and piercing chill.

Frankie hates feeling lonely.

She spiraled when Grace lived in the penthouse. She nearly self-destructed to fill the gaping void that her roommate, her friend, her practical and beloved soulmate left behind. There was a period where she didn’t wash her clothes and ate a lot of admittedly non-vegan takeout. There were nights when she’d lay awake in her awfully huge bed, staring at the empty space where Sol used to sleep, and have the familiar waking nightmare of spending her final years in forced solitude. She was happy with Jack, and then Jacob—sweet Jacob—came around too, and she did something she still feels fucking ashamed about: she hurt both of them, and she lied when she said that she had just wanted to have some fun.

She knows herself.

Intimately.

She‘d been scared of being alone again, so she tried to hold on to two people who were helping her to stave the awful feeling away. Those men wanted her, and Frankie used them. They wanted her, and she pathologically loves to feel wanted because she sometimes and irrationally fears that she might not be needed.

To be fair to her irrational fears, all the people she’s ever needed and felt needed by have hurt her before.

Sol cheated on her for twenty years.

Her own sons stuck her in a nursing home.

Grace just fucking left her.

She eloped in Vegas like a blushing twenty-one year old bride and just disappeared.

She says it was a mistake; she sat across Frankie in a sunlit restaurant and candidly told her that she didn’t like the person she had become when she married Nick.

And to be completely fair to her, Grace has been adamant about not wanting to leave again—so perhaps she never will—but if her husband is here to stay, it's also a distinct possibility that she’ll never have to make the choice to physically leave to… well… leave.

She can perpetually honeymoon with Nick and still call Frankie home. 

It could be a happy ending for Grace… and a fresh new hell for Frankie, who'd just started to feel secure again.

God knows she wants her best friend to be happy, but the big man in the sky must also surely understand that she had hoped that she alone could be enough for Grace, that this unconventional life spent together in the beach house—so crazy, so weird, and so inextricably entangled—would be their shared happily ever after.

But even as she thinks it, the vestiges of her clearly misplaced optimism begin to evade her, dregs now at the bottom of an already drained cup.

She and Grace aren't married.

It’s always been an objective fact.

Tonight, it feels more like an unpleasant reality.

When the door leading into her studio suddenly flies open, Frankie barely has enough time to swipe the back of her hand across her eyes before she sits up to find none other than the lady of the hour.

Her collared shirt popped up stiffly around her neck, a martini glass surgically glued to her right hand, Grace looks quintessentially herself as she walks in, even down to the minutiae of her trademark I'm-angry-at-the-world-and-everyone-in-it expression—brow furrowed and eyes Medusa cold. After all but slamming the door, she stalks over within a few clicks of her practical but unmistakably high heels.

“Well, hello to you, too, Sunshine,” Frankie greets wryly, hoping to hell and back that her face isn’t as red as it feels. 

It’s a tall order, though.

Alas, she was gifted (or equally cursed) with an exceptionally expressive face.

“Frankie, this is nonsense,” Grace says bluntly, using her martini glass like a pointer and leveling it straight at her head. “Come back to the house—your house—and have dinner with us.”

It’s the authoritarian nature of the demand that rifles Frankie.

Frankly, it pisses her off.

She’s always been a rebel contrarian.

“And by us, you mean you and your house arrested husband, right?” She returns evenly. She betrays herself by raising a single and devastatingly skeptical brow. “The man with whom you should be having a very emotionally honest conversation with right now about the parameters of your jacked up relationship?”

Grace shifts her weight from heel to heel and glances away a little too quickly for the gesture to be entirely natural. Frankie had blatantly stricken a pulsing nerve, and the guilt of doing so immediately swallows her. 

She shouldn’t be so hard on her friend.

(She doesn’t know why it’s permissible to be equally hard on herself.)

“Well, I tried to have that conversation, thank you very much, but then I ended up wanting to claw Nick’s eyes out.” The obvious follow up question must shine in Frankie’s face because sighing infinitesimally through her nostrils, Grace adds, “His attorney argued that my advanced age and apparent capability to croak at any moment were reasons enough to grant Nick leniency. They let him out so he could take care of me—whatever the hell that means.”

Her no-nonsense voice never falters as she delivers the brutal words, but her eyes undermine her, seething with emotion, simply roiling. They tell a story of horror and disgust and searing, absolute betrayal; they’re heavy all over with sadness and the indelicate trappings of all her raw and mercilessly exposed fears. 

Frankie understands immediately.

Nick used one of Grace’s deepest insecurities as a get-out-of-jail-free card.

Being eighty-two years old.

But perhaps more accurately, feeling like it.

“Oh, honey,” Frankie melts. She can do nothing else but melt, to be suddenly overcome with fierce, protective, and terrifying love for the woman in front of her. “That fucking bastard.”

Grace immediately laughs, the sound hoarse and watery and a little unhinged all at the exact same time.

“Tell me about it,” she half-smiles and takes the swearing as a rightful invitation to join Frankie on the couch. With a gentle clink, she sets her half-emptied martini glass on the table next to Frankie’s completely full pasta bowl. “I said the exact same thing.”

When she chooses to sit close enough that their shoulders are brushing, Frankie intuitively knows that this is petty defiance against Nick for daring to intrude upon them and the world they've so carefully created together.

She temples Grace’s nearest hand with her own in an attempt to silently communicate that this right here—whatever this is between them—is love.

“So, please”—Grace squeezes her hand back—“please don’t be angry with me… I… I didn’t want this. You know I didn’t want this. I don’t want him to even be here.”

Frankie stares openly at her best friend.

Wide-eyed and hopeful against her self-loathing, self-centered will, she searches her broken face like it's revelatory.

It's stunningly rare that Grace Hanson ever articulates her wants so clearly. Forty years of an emotionally repressive marriage did their number and toll on her. She pedestalized rigid decorum over every conscious desire. 

She played by the rules even if they hurt her.

And drank herself to oblivion on many a night to forget the very fact that she was hurt.

To deny herself the honesty she’d somehow convinced herself that she didn’t deserve.

“… you know this is your husband we’re talking about here, right?” It’s a rhetorical question. Frankie's pretty sure that they both fucking know that it’s insane that this conversation—that this entire situation as a whole—is happening. 

“I know,” Grace replies firmly. “Believe me, I'm well aware. But you’re… you’re my partner, Frankie, and if I can’t be upfront with you, then I don’t know who else I can turn to.”

The very word partner sends shivers down her spine, and the shivers collect like butterflies in her already churning belly.

It’s just a word, she tells herself. 

She scolds.

Grace doesn’t mean anything by it.

It's a label, and Grace doesn't do labels anymore.

“I... I wasn’t mad at you, Grace,” she finally admits. It's easier to do than questioning the extent to which her roommate would give up the world for her, but all the same, her voice is frighteningly weak, a pale imitation of everything Frankie usually projects herself to be: confident, cheerful, unshakeable, unshaken. Suddenly, it hits her that it’s been a very long time since she’s been so openly vulnerable, too. “I'm not even really all that mad at your jailbird husband either. I was just scared, and when I get scared, I skitter like a nervous little bug."

She shuts down.

She spirals.

She tries to put a smile on her face for the people who love her all the same.

And then she lies awake at night, drowning in the sheets of an empty bed.

Thinking about how she should probably tell someone that everything hurts.

But she’s Frankie, and she doesn’t do that.

Grace perpetually convinces herself that she doesn’t deserve honesty; Frankie has come to fear that no one wants her own.

“Were you scared of me?” Grace asks quietly, her grip so tight now that it almost stings.

“Frankie…” She presses when a few heartbeats of silence stagger by, limping painfully on all fours, pronouncing so many unspoken and profound hurts. 

“Of losing you, Grace,” she confesses, the words defeated and scraped raw. She forcefully tugs her hand away from Grace's just to temple her own hands together on her lap, to lick her sundry and shining wounds in a private corner. “I was scared of losing you, of being alone again in this big, empty house… and I don’t like being alone.”

She can’t bear to look at Grace as she says it, staring at the paint-flecked floor without ever really seeing it, her eyes burning.

She wishes they’d stop burning but feels the precise moment when they begin to leak anyway.

It’s all so embarrassing.

And childish.

Frankie is an eighty-year old woman, and she shouldn’t be upset over her best friend having a goddamn life.

She should be happy for her, fucking ecstatic.

And yet, she's—

But before she can complete the miserable thought, her body becomes aware of another sensation entirely—warm arms enveloping her from the side and inexorably pulling her in, turning the space that once existed between two bodies—between them—intangible, negligible.

Grace.

Shock turns into realization, and realization transforms into aching, sweeping relief.

It can only be Grace.

Grace’s soft lips pressed to her cheek.

Grace’s fingertips curling into the fabric of her dress.

Grace’s nose against her neck as she slides her sharp chin across her shoulder.

“I’m not leaving you, Frances Bergstein,” she declares. “Whatever happens between me and Nick, in the end, it’s going to be just you and me in this house that is our damn home. I swear that to you. I’d tell you every day just to prove it to you.”

Oh, these words.

These beautiful, tender, and long-needed-to-hear words.

They’re just words, she could tell herself again.

She could lie.

She could convince herself if she had to.

She could conveniently forget that Grace Hanson uses language carefully, that she employs every sentence with scalpel-like precision.

Or... more complicatedly still... Frankie could believe her.

Frankie could blindly accept these words for what they are, as manifest confirmation that she is loved by another—prioritized and cared for and needed.

She could be Grace’s partner and let that incredible word be electrically charged with so many complex and ridiculous and extraordinary ideas, none of which are traditional, and all of which feel true.

She could believe in her even if belief is not simple, even if belief is a product, first and foremost, of trust.

And Grace has certainly lost her trust before, but goddammit, she's earned it so many times, too.

“Oh, God,” Frankie laughs in such a way that it’s stupidly clear that she’s crying as Grace rubs slow circles into her back with her thumb. “This is all messed up. You’re the one with a house arrested, tax evading husband. I should be the one comforting you.”

“The house arrested, tax evading husband doesn’t particularly faze me,” Grace chuckles, her voice low. “Seeing you hurting and upset does. My priorities are remarkably straight.”

“I’m not sure you know the meaning of that word,” she smiles weakly as they slowly and clumsily begin to extricate themselves from their tangled embrace. 

It’s hard to find themselves again.

To be apart.

“But I do,” Grace protests, emphatic and indignant and maybe even a few shades righteously pissed. “You’re the person I wanna share this crazy life with at the end of the day and every day. Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Because every day is an incredibly long time to be with me,” Frankie offers meekly, giving her one more perfect and easily acceptable copout, a neatly packaged excuse. 

She can be too much.

She knows this.

“It’s just the right amount of time to be with you,” Grace murmurs, reaching up to brush an errant tear away from Frankie’s cheek, her thumb lingering, her quivering palm. “You’re kind enough to love me, and I’m lucky enough to be loved by you... so let me return the favor, Frankie. Let me be here for you."

And to Grace’s credit in this fleeting moment, she continues to hold Frankie.

It's a promise to never let her go.

[vintagedolan]

mixtape | track thirteen

| masterlist | faceclaims | playlist |

Sean died in January, and it was cold. That much Grayson remembered. The funeral was fuzzy apart from a few very vivid memories, including one of sitting outside on a bench, the wind cutting through his slacks and freezing his legs. His arms were so cold he couldn’t even feel the wind on them through the numbness, seeing that his suit jacket was wrapped around Cameron’s shoulders. He’d borrowed one of his dad’s ties - it was a tacky pattern but subtle in color. Sean had worn it to the twin’s 8th grade night for football when he’d walked them proudly across the field with the biggest smile on his face. He shivered. But it was still better than being inside, looking at the casket that had his dad but not his dad inside. 

That suit was gone. He hadn’t been able to look at it after that day, so he’d donated it, despite his mother’s qualms that he may need a nice suit again someday. 

That day was coming much quicker than he expected, and that’s how he found himself in the back of a department store sifting through racks of jackets. But there was one bright spot in the scenario, and she was looking through ties on a table to his left. 

Indy held one up with a soft smile, the most she’d been able to offer him in the last day.

“She liked blue.”

Grayson could only nod, the knot in his throat stealing his voice. He took the tie, running his thumb over the silky fabric. They were quiet as they went through and found him a few suit options to try on. Indy had to hold them up high so nothing dragged the ground as they headed to the fitting rooms. 

She sat in a hard plastic chair outside, crossing her legs and fighting her emotions. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to feel. After all, there was no reference, no textbook on the expected emotions of preparing for a funeral of a 15 year old with your ex. If he even was an ex. They’d woken up that morning in bed together after all, with his warm breath on her back, arm around her, hand tucked under her rib cage like it used to be. 

And she felt warm. And safe. And guilty. 

How could she have a flicker of happiness in a world without Bekah? How could she be grateful, or glad that Grayson was just two doors down fiddling with suit buttons when her being gone was the reason he was there? 

It was a blessing, the hold he still seemed to have on her. Because as soon as he walked out her mind went blank for a moment, only able to process him, and his broad shoulders and strong arms that she could still see under his jacket. 

“This is the best of the three. What do you think?” 

It took her a minute to find her words. “Yeah, it looks nice. Very… funeraly.”

Grayson looked in the mirror. “Funeraly. Well, that’s the idea I guess. Works for me.”

He disappeared again, coming back out in his nice pants and crewneck. He looked good, but the look of worry in his eyes made Indy uneasy. She didn’t like when people worried about her. 

“Let’s go find you a dress.” 

She’d been dreading that part. She wasn’t much of a dress girl most the time, but she wanted to look her best for Bekah. She deserved that. So with a sigh she led Grayson across the store to the women’s section, looking for anything black she could find. 

He was patient, offering his hand out to hold any of the options she found to try.  She only found three that didn’t look like they were meant for a night out, and Grayson took the spot in the plastic chair while she tried them on. They all fit, but her favorite was the long sleeved number she’d found - tight enough to be flattering, and long enough to be modest and warm, with a long metal zipper that she couldn’t quite get all the way up on her back.

She reached and stretched as far as she could before she huffed in defeat, unsure of whether she should ask him for help. Was that weird? Or was she just making it weird. 

After another moment of contemplation, she stepped out in it, stomach fluttering against her will when she saw Grayson look up and catch his breath. 

“Can you…” She moved her hair out of the way, revealing her back. He stopped breathing for a second, chair clanging against the wall as he rushed to stand up.

“Yeah, yeah of course.”

He moved behind her quickly, finger delicate against her spine as he moved to the zipper. It sat right below her bra clasp, and he recognized it as the one with a bent hook, a casualty of the dryer that he’d accidentally put it in back in November. He realized he was taking too long and zipped it up quickly, patting it lightly at the top to let her know he was done. 

He met her eyes in the mirror, and realized she’d been watching him the whole time. 

“Do you think this will be warm enough?”

“We’ll probably be inside most the time, so it should be okay.”

She nodded at him, disappearing back into the dressing room and taking a few deep breaths. Nothing felt real for some reason, and it took all her effort to settle herself, keep herself in the moment she didn’t want to be in. She stripped out of the dress quickly and slid it back on the hanger. It wasn’t worth the argument when Grayson held his hand out for it when they headed towards the counter. With her inability to work shifts her bank account was grateful for his that seemed to always be overflowing. Surely a $50 dress wouldn’t break the bank, but she still thanked him when he swiped his card. 

They walked into the parking lot in silence, and she climbed into the truck when Grayson pulled the door open for her. He sat the bags in the backseat once he climbed in, starting it up and cranking the heat up. The air was still cold, cold enough for Indy to shove her hands under her thighs in a bid to keep them warm. Grayson frowned and grabbed his jacket from the back, passing it to her. 

“Thanks,” she said, laying it over her lap and smoothing out the wrinkles. She was rigid in her seat, especially when Gray reached his hand over to the back of hers so he could back out of the parking space. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath till both his hands were back on his side of the console.

She hated it. Hated feeling like he was watching, waiting for her to fall apart at any given moment. But she loved it too, because if he was there to look at her with pity it meant he was there. Her mind was exhausted with the constant battle of trying to put a word to her emotions, to guide them into whatever box they were supposed to be in. 

To Grayson, it just looked like she was numb. Her eyes were trained on the New Jersey roads every time he glanced over to her, either out the windshield or through the passenger window. He wanted to talk to her, wanted to know what she was feeling, wanted to grovel on his knees and beg for forgiveness. Instead, he held his tongue and continued down the road, 10 under the speed limit just to buy a few more extra minutes with her close enough to reach. He wasn’t sure what would happen when they got to the house. If she wanted to go upstairs, to avoid him until the funeral, he’d understand. He’d let her, even if it hurt. He deserved that. He’d sit at the bottom of the stairs and wait, and listen, and hope she didn’t need him but also hope she did. 

The two played their own games of tug-o-war, parallel to each other until they made it to the house. Ethan was on the porch with Gizmo’s cage in his hands, holding it up and talking to her as they walked in.

“See Giz? It’s too fucking cold out here.”

“Brrr,” Gizmo squawked. 

“Yeah, fuckin brrr. So you gotta stop screaming to come outside before Ma loses her mind.” 

“You sure you aren’t the one losing your mind?” Grayson asked with a smirk aimed towards his brother. 

“Outside!” Gizmo yelled and Ethan clenched his fists. 

“Did you all find outfits?” Ethan asked to distract himself, looking at Grayson’s empty hands. 

“Shit, yeah I left them in the truck though. I’ll grab em Dee, go get warm.” 

Indy nodded and walked inside slowly, taking her shoes off and sitting them neatly by the door. She walked to the living room, sitting down carefully on the couch with her eyes trained on the woods. Even the squirrels seemed to be grieving, moving slow through the grass at the tree line. She watched them anyways, envied their oblivion of all the tragedy of the world as Grayson hung up their clothes in the coat closet and watched her from the foyer. 

Her shoulders were slumped forward, and it pained him to see her literally curled in on herself in a way that he hadn’t seen before. He ran through a million different things he could say, but none of them seemed good enough. There were never words for times like these, and he knew that. Sometimes, it was better to just sit in silence. So he gave it to her for a few minutes longer, disappearing to the other room where his conversation wouldn’t be overheard. 

When he reappeared, Indy was watching a robin, feathers bright red against the dreary gray of the sky outside by the bird feeder. He stepped into her gaze, offering her a soft smile.

“C’mon. Let’s get you some warm clothes and get outta here for a little while, hmm?”

“Where are we going?” Her tone was flat, and it made his chest feel tight.

“You’ll see. Just trust me.”

Those words hung heavy in Indiana’s mind as she followed him upstairs, let him pass her an old pair of boots that were too big for her and his thickest jacket to fight off the cold snap that seemed to follow the warm air that had brought the thunderstorms. 

Just trust me

She did. Or at least, she wanted to, and she willfully climbed back into the passenger seat of the truck, let him drive them down the road on the route that was familiar now. They made it all the way to the tiny homes without seeing another car. Indy felt like the universe was sad with her somehow, and she was grateful for it. She wasn’t sure she could handle seeing someone smile as if the world was still the same happy place it used to be. 

She blindly followed Grayson until she realized they were going around the house instead of inside of it.

“Where are we going?” She asked again. Her voice echoed off the trees.

He simply held out his hand. She took it without question, ignoring the tirade of contradicting emotions it stirred in her gut. He still had his callous where his pinky met his palm, but it was softer than usual against her skin. 

They walked through the trees slowly until they reached the cliff that Indy recognized from the first time she’d been out to Jersey. It felt like lifetimes ago that she’d been there, but the water still flowed and she still clung to Grayson’s arm the closer they got to the edge.

“Come sit over here,” he coaxed, leading her towards the middle and helping her sit down slowly. Once she was settled he sat down beside her, ignoring the cold that seeped through his pants from the ground below him. He could see his breath in front of him, but he kept his eyes on the water running far below his feet. 

“Gray.”

He tried to ignore the way his heart sung - she said his name better than anyone.

“Why are we here?” She asked. 

He was quiet for a moment, and he picked at his fingernails before he spoke.

“I used to come out here a lot when I was younger and got overwhelmed. I don’t like being around people when I need to feel something, you know? Well, I can only be around certain people anyways.” 

The fact that Indy seemed to be one of those people wasn’t lost on her as she listened to him.

“I just thought coming out here might help.”

“Me or you?”

“What?”

“Is it supposed to help me or you?”

“I was hoping both,” Grayson said.

To his surprise, Indy chuckled under her breath and shook her head.

“Well, I’m fine. I’ve done this before after all. Should be pretty good at having people I love die on me by now.” 

Grayson couldn’t find the words for a response, and his cheeks flushed from her tone. She’d never been so short with him before, and he felt embarrassed to think that somehow he’d be the one who could help her when it seemed no one else could. But he swallowed hard and looked over to her. 

“I’m not fine. And you knew her longer than I did. And I know something about losing people too. That doesn’t mean it ever gets any easier.”

Something in his words seemed to pull her out of her defensiveness, and she took in a shaky breath, eyes brimmed with tears. 

“Sorry.”

“S’okay. You can have a redo, if you want,” he teased, bumping her shoulder gently just to see her try to smile. 

“I know you get it, I didn’t mean it like that. I just… I don’t know how to do this.”

“Nobody knows how to do this Dee. No one knows how to lose a 15 year old that was supposed to be here for a lot longer than she was,” Grayson said, clearing his throat when it tightened. Indy sniffled and rubbed her nose on the sleeve of her jacket. She was quiet for a moment and they listened to the wind rustle the trees until she spoke again.

“Her mom wants me to write her eulogy.”

“Fuck, Indy.”

“I’ve never done one before. Charlie did mom’s.” 

“Do you want to do it?”

“I want her to have one,” Indy sighed, picking at the grass. “A good one though. Not the one that the preacher does where they pretend like they knew her when they really didn’t.”

Grayson reached for her hand and waited for her to look up at him.

“Maybe Charlie can help. I called her, when we got back to the house. She’s flying out tomorrow.”

Indy froze, then turned so quickly that Grayson put a hand on her hip to keep her steady on the cliff’s edge. 

“Really? She’s coming?”

Grayson nodded. “I know that things are… hard, with us right now. And I know that things are always better for me when Ethan is around so I figured it couldn’t hurt. I think her flight comes in at -”

Before he could finish Indy threw her arms around his neck. He wrapped her up as best he could without pulling her over the edge, scooting them back slightly to keep her safe as he held her as tightly as he could through all their layers. 

“Thank you,” she whispered over the trees. She couldn’t find any other words to express what it meant to her, so she left it at that and breathed him in in secret while he held her. He turned his head to press a kiss to her temple but stopped himself, squeezing her tighter instead before they untangled.

She pondered her next question for a moment, then decided she truly had nothing left to lose.

“Can we stay out here tonight? At the house.” 

Grayson paused for a minute, stopping himself from immediately saying yes, reminding himself not to take advantage.

“You wanna stay at the tiny house?”

She nodded, fingers going back to the grass, and she kicked her legs so the heels of her boots bounced slightly off the rocks. 

“The funeral is tomorrow. I need to write the eulogy, and I don’t want a bunch of people around while I do that.” 

Silence hung heavy until he gained the confidence to ask. 

“Am I… one of the people that can be around?”

For the first time in a long time, Indy smiled. 

“Did you think I was gonna kick you out of your house?”

Grayson chuckled and shook his head.

“I mean you did break my heart, so it would be fair though.”

He froze.

Indy laughed so hard it bounced off the trees, made a few birds take off on the other side of the water.

“I’m fucking kidding,” she said, nudging his shoulder so he’d let out the breath he’d been holding.

“Jesus fuck Indy, don’t do that! Too soon!” He huffed, but he was laughing too, heart light as he saw the first glimpse of the girl he’d fallen in love with since he’d gotten home. It was easier to breathe with her around, even in spite of everything else going on. He looked at her, tried to take her in, but he stopped short with a frown when she tried to hide a shiver.

“You’re cold.”

“Just a little,” she mused. 

“Ma is making dinner, we’ll go home, eat, pack some stuff then come back out here.” Indy only nodded and let him help her to her feet. She held onto his arm until they were off the cliff, and after that too. Over top of his jacket, she traced 333 on his bicep, eyes on his tattoo that was barely visible under his growing hair. She wondered if he’d gotten any more while he was in LA.

She wondered a lot about what he’d done while he was in LA, whether she wanted to or not. But she wanted to know if he’d been up every night thinking about her. If he’d cried in the shower as many times as she did. 

She wondered if he’d hurt. 

And she wondered how much she would hurt when he decided it was time to go back. Her mind was screaming as she clung to him, wary that she wasn’t keeping him at an arm's length like she had swore she would. 

Her heart drowned it out, singing quietly deep within her at the familiar firmness of his muscles under her hand, the warmth of him beside her. 

She’d take whatever hell was sure to follow with open arms if it meant she could be back in his, even for a little while. 

Grayson played Cudi on the way back to Lisa’s and tried to hide his smile when he heard Indy singing along quietly beside him. He used the time to think of his pitch to Ethan, his plan for how they could split time on each coast, or even manage most of it from offices in New York. It wasn’t his top priority - that was getting Indy through the funeral. But he couldn’t hold off for long.

The house was warm when they arrived in more ways than one - cozy and filled with the smell of spaghetti that had Indy’s mouth watering for the first time in days. Grayson breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her fill her bowl, happy to see her appetite had returned. 

Still, when they sat around the table, Ethan and Lisa were cautious to start a conversation, worried they’d say something that could trigger the wrong emotions. After listening to the scrapes of forks against porcelain for too many minutes, Indy cleared her throat. 

“I think we should do something a little different tonight. Something to help everyone’s spirits.”

Everyone breathed.

“Yeah?” Grayson said.

“I say we eat on the couch and watch Emperor’s New Groove in true Bekah fashion,” she proposed, standing with her bowl. No one questioned her - they simply followed into the living room with their dinner in hand.

They laughed at all the right times during the movie, and the world was okay for just a minute. Indy still ached deep within herself, guilt punctuating each smile she let creep up, but she fought it like she’d learned to after Nicole had died. 

Grayson was asleep before Kuzco made it back to the castle, exhaustion catching up with him quickly. He was heavy against Indy when he leaned onto her, one arm going over her waist. She felt Ethan’s eyes on the two of them but she ignored it until he came closer, speaking in a whisper.

“Charlie’s flight gets in around 7, I’ll go get her so you all have time to get some sleep,” he offered.

“Thanks E. And thanks for coming with him.”

“Of course. And hey, anything you need Inds. Literally anything, just tell me. We’re all here for you.” 

She bit her lip and looked down at Grayson.

“Is he okay?” She asked. 

Ethan gave her a small smile. 

“This is gonna sound fucked up, considering what we're all doing tomorrow, but… this is the best I’ve seen him since we left actually. I mean, he feels like shit for not being here for, well for either of you. He just wants to take care of you as best he can.”

“He’s always been pretty good at doing that,” she murmured, brushing some of Grayson’s hair back from his forehead. He stirred, curling up closer to her. 

“Get some sleep Indy. Love yah,” Ethan said, leaning over and giving her a peck on the top of the head. 

She sat with Grayson for a bit longer, let him rest until her arm went fully numb and she knew she’d fall asleep with him unless she got up. 

She coaxed him up and made him give her the keys, let him climb in the passenger seat as she packed up a bag of pajamas and their clothes for the morning. He was asleep against the window by the time she got back in the cab, and she was happy to let him sleep. She figured he’d be happy to climb into bed when they got to the tiny homes, but he shook himself awake on the walk inside, cranking the heat up once they cleared the threshold.

“I’m okay bub, you can sleep.”

“You’re not gonna sleep?” He said instead of conceding.

“I need to write the eulogy.” 

His eyes saddened in understanding, and then he was rummaging through the bag for the paper he knew she’d packed. He sat it down on the small table and then returned to the kitchen. 

Indy watched him as he pulled two mugs down from the cabinets, the clay ones with tiny “I” and “G”’s stamped into the speckled surface. They’d found them at the craft fair they’d stumbled across back in November and picked them up, but Indy realized it was the first time they’d used them as Grayson made them a cup each. 

“Gray.”

“What do you need,” he asked quietly. 

“Um… space, I think. Just so I can think clearly for a little bit. It’s not anything you did, I promise, it’s jus-”

“Dee, you don’t have to explain. It’s okay. I’ll be upstairs. Take your time, okay?”

She nodded and took the cup he offered with a grateful smile, turning to the table to work. 

As much as it went against every instinct in his body, he left her sitting there and moved up the stairs to the loft. Even without the coffee that he downed, he knew he wouldn’t have been able to sleep. Especially not when he heard Indy’s pen clicking against the table, followed by her sniffles that seemed to amplify in the high ceilings. 

He stared at the slats of wood and tapped his fingers against each other as he fought to stay still, give her the space she asked for. He was sure it was just part of the process, and he didn’t want to interrupt her. It could have been minutes or hours, he wasn’t sure, but when her sniffles turned to sobs, he didn’t have the willpower anymore. 

She heard him coming down the stairs and broke down even further, burying her face in her hands. 

“Hey, baby hey it’s okay. You’re okay,” he whispered. “Take a break.”

She knew she shouldn’t. She knew it was wrong, that she shouldn’t want to. But the need for comfort was too strong, and she broke. She stood from the table and walked over towards the small bench seat. Grayson sat first and she didn’t hesitate to climb into his lap. She buried her face in his neck and let the misery have her, let her body shake with the force of her pain and let him absorb it too. She let him hold her, let him love her the way she always thought he had. And it felt good there in his arms. The world was lighter with him there to split the weight. She knew it would crush her when he was gone, but she didn’t care. She wanted to believe Ethan’s words, that Grayson was better there with her, and it was just enough to make her feel like maybe she wasn’t a terrible person for giving in. 

Indy fell asleep in Grayson’s arms. He didn’t care whether the eulogy was finished or not - he picked her up and moved slowly across the room, carrying her up the stairs carefully. She woke up just enough to grab for his hand, a silent invitation that he was happy to take. He climbed into bed beside her, let her curl up into him as he set an alarm he didn’t want to wake up for. They slept peacefully despite it all.

The next morning felt like a dream in the worst way. Nothing seemed to really be happening as they woke up and got dressed in black. Grayson looked good in his suit, but that was about the only thing Indiana noticed. He helped zip her dress and put her eulogy in his jacket pocket. 

“You ready?” He asked as she fixed the lapels on his jacket.

“No,” she sighed, but she walked out the door anyway. He drove to the house as the sun rose over the Jersey hills. They were quiet, and Indy watched the trees go by, watched the world spin as if nothing was different that day. It made her angry, the same way it had the morning of Nicole’s funeral. But she’d learned that day that the world had no consideration for anyone, no matter what you gave her. So she swallowed it down and kept herself as numb as she could until they pulled into Lisa’s driveway and she remembered where Ethan had gone that morning. 

“She’s here,” Indy said, her voice strained. It was the most emotion Grayson had seen out of her that morning, and he wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing. But he didn’t get a chance to ask, because Indy was throwing her door open and bolting for the house. 

She found what she was looking for in the living room.

Charlie was sitting on the edge of the couch in a black dress, and as soon as she saw Indiana she was on her feet, rushing down the hallway.

Indy was sobbing before she reached her, but Charlie caught her and wrapped her up in the hug that only she could give, and Grayson watched as his girl went to pieces. Charlie held strong like big sisters do, shushing Indiana and coaxing her over to the couch, helping her sit down as she cried into her shoulder. 

“You’re okay, hey, you’re alright. Breathe,” she said, but her eyes were on Grayson.

“She’s gone,” Indy blubbered, and Charlie winced at the pain in her voice.

“I know. I know.”

Grayson stood with useless hands in his pockets and tears in the corner of his eyes. He hoped that giving Indy her sister, even just for the day, was enough to help more than he could on his own. When her tears finally stopped, it seemed his plan had worked, even if it was only marginally. She ate a muffin that Lisa had made, and made everyone coffee just the way they liked it to keep her mind and hands busy as everyone got ready to go. She didn’t bother with makeup. It wouldn’t survive the day, that she was sure of. Lisa hovered, made sure everyone had enough to eat before they climbed into the SUV. She waved goodbye from the porch as they pulled away, the funeral home in the GPS. 

It was a somber drive. No one even tried for conversation. Charlie sat in the backseat with Indy, privy to the fact that Grayson glanced back at her every few minutes to check in. Each time she was staring out the window again, chewing her cheek. 

Indy didn’t know whether the ride was long or short. She didn’t know much of anything other than she felt like she was going to be sick as they parked. Cold air rushed in as Grayson opened her door and helped her down.

“You okay?” He asked, just for her.

She nodded, but they both knew it was a lie. 

They passed car after car in the parking lot - almost every space was filled it seemed. Somewhere in her mind, Indy hadn’t processed how many people probably knew Bekah. How many people cared. 

Still, she felt alone in the world when she walked inside of the building. The carpet was dark, with swirling patterns of gold and roses. The entryway felt gold, but the parlor to the left was colder. It was marked with a sign. 

Bekah Andrea Newcomb. 2pm.

Indiana couldn’t breathe. She reached to her left, finding Grayson where she knew he would be, holding onto his arm like she had in the hospital room.

“We can wait as long as you need Indy. There’s no rush to go in there.” 

Her voice failed her and she only nodded. Grayson didn’t move an inch until she did a few minutes later, gathering the strength to step inside. It was fragrant, both in the way an unpleasant place is and in the way a floral shop was. There were enough bouquet arrangements around to fill a house. It was overwhelming, but not so much that Indy didn’t notice the photos. She couldn’t look at them - she’d go to her knees if she let herself even process a single one. So she kept her eyes forward as they walked to the opening of the door on the right.

There was a wide middle aisle, lined with pews on either side full of people.

At the end was Bekah. 

Even from afar, she looked cold inside her casket. Indy’s mouth tasted like metal as she forced herself to walk forward. Grayson walked tall beside her, but she could hear him sniffling above her. The Newcomb’s were beside their daughter, and they offered sympathetic smiles as they noticed the pair headed down the aisle. Luckily, they didn’t say anything - they simply stepped away to give them privacy as they made their way towards the casket. 

Indy held her breath as she got closer, eyes blurry as she looked down into the casket, her hands finding the cold wood when she reached it.

“Oh,” she whispered. Grayson coughed out a sob, wrapping his arm around Indy’s waist and turning his face into her hair. 

Bekah looked like herself, but didn’t. Her hands were folded neatly over her stomach, above her hoodie pockets. It took a moment for Indy to realize what she was wearing. A purple hoodie, her favorite leggings and her thunderbolt headscarf.

Her lungs tightened. 

“No, no that’s not right. It’s not right,” she whispered, shaking her head as her hands fluttered above Bekah. 

“What? What’s wrong?” Grayson asked.

“Her hoodie, she wanted her blue hoodie, that’s the one she asked for, that’s what we told her they were gonna find her in. She needs her hoodie, Gray she needs her hoodie, get her hoodie.” She couldn’t get a breath through her throat as she choked on her words, looking to Grayson for help. His face was twisted up in pain as he guided her away from the casket. 

“It’s okay Indy, it’s okay,” he cried.

“She needs her hoodie,” she sobbed, holding onto his lapel to keep him close to her and to hide her face. All he could do was hold her and cry. No one looked at them and he was grateful as he led her back out of the room, back to where Ethan and Charlie were waiting. It took her a few minutes to catch her breath, even with Charlie’s hand on her shoulder. The eldest Cross put herself between her sister and Grayson, her protective instincts taking over. Grayson couldn’t be angry. He’d step aside happily if it helped Indy. 

Her sister seemed to help to calm her down enough to catch her breath after a few minutes. 

“Sorry, I don’t know what happened in there,” she whispered eventually, looking over Charlie’s shoulder to find Grayson’s eyes.

“Hey, no apologies today Dee. It’s okay.”

She tried to believe him, tried to accept that it was okay. Something about the sincerity in his voice made her trust him. 

“I wanna go look at the pictures,” she said quietly, wiping her eyes and standing up to smooth out her dress. “Get some new images in my head.”

Grayson stepped closer to her, offering her his arm as they headed back to the parlor. Things were calmer as they started to look at all the frames. Grayson smiled at the first picture he saw of Bekah with hair, her afro tall and proud as she stood with a small soccer trophy and a smile so big it closed her eyes. 

“She taught me how to do twists once,” Indy smiled, leaning her cheek on Grayson’s bicep. “I sucked at it I’m pretty sure but it was better than nothing.”

“I’ve never seen her with hair before.”

“It made her so sad to lose it every time. She always said it was the worst part.”

“My dad hated losing his. Can’t imagine.”

“Oh my god, look at this one,” Indy smiled, moving to the next frame on the table. It was Bekah in the pool as a toddler, with round pink sunglasses and a purple floaty, with her dad behind her, pushing her along it seemed.

“She always told me she hated water.”

“She did.”

Indy turned to see Martina behind her. Her eyes were puffy but she had a small smile on her face.

“When she was four she fell off a pool float with her cousin, almost drowned. Ever since then she never even put a toe in,” she explained. She stepped up next to Indy, putting an arm around her shoulder. 

“Thank you for coming. It means the world to us that you’re here, and that you’re speaking later.”

Grayson realized quickly he wasn’t part of the conversation, and he excused himself with a reassuring look to Indy. Charlie was still where she’d started out in the entryway, eyes darting around nervously. It was obvious she was uncomfortable, and whether it was because she didn’t like funerals or didn’t know anyone, he wasn’t sure. Either way she hid it well when Indy needed her, but she didn’t bother with the facade when Grayson approached. 

“She okay?” was his greeting.

“She’s talking to Mrs. Newcomb. She seems alright, considering.”

“Considering,” Charlie laughed dryly. “Yeah, she’s been through hell and back. But you know that.”

It stung, even though it was deserved.

“I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“Well. In my experience what you meant to do doesn’t matter nearly as much as what you did.”

“I know.”

“I’m glad you’re here, but I’m scared to see what happens when you leave her again.”

“Charlie, I’m not gonna le-”

Suddenly, Charlie stiffened, eyes trained over his shoulder on something outside the front doors that made him cut his explanation short. 

“Fuck,” she hissed.

“What? What is it?” Panic rose in Grayson’s throat as he followed her gaze. 

There was a man in a navy blue suit walking through the parking lot. It wasn’t someone Grayson recognized, but nonetheless the hair on the back of his neck stood up. On instinct, he side stepped in front of Charlie, blocking her from the door.

“Who is that?”

“Our fucking dad.”

“What?“ Grayson whirled. “How the fuck did he even know about this?”

“I told him I was coming into town, he asked why, so I told him. Jesus, I didn’t think he was gonna show up! Indy’s gonna freak if she sees him, she can’t see him.”

“Don’t move,” he said, darting out of the entryway to peek into the viewing room. Indy was towards the front, talking to some of Bekah’s relatives it seemed. He caught sight of Ethan and moved to him quickly, putting a hand on his shoulder and trying to make it seem as casual as he could.

“Keep Indy busy and whatever you do, don’t let her go outside.” 

Thankfully, Ethan didn’t ask for an explanation, and he simply started to move towards the front of the room as Grayson exited out the back, just in time to get to the front door before Kenneth made it in.

To his surprise, Charlie was right beside him when the heavy wooden door closed behind them.

He was shorter than Grayson expected. It was obvious his hair had once been blonde, but it was gray now, badly managed with box dye that he could still see remnants of by his ears. 

Charlie’s breathing sped up and Grayson took a step closer to her, just barely in front of her.

It didn’t go unnoticed by Kenneth, who stopped short at the bottom of the three brick-layed stairs. 

His eyes were blue when he looked up. They skipped over Grayson’s broad frame to Charlie and softened just a fraction. 

“Char.”

She stiffened, and Grayson held his ground. 

“Sir, this is a funeral. A funeral I don’t believe you were invited to.”

Kenneth’s eyes went cold the way a father’s do when they’re threatened, and he fixed them on Grayson. Gray enjoyed the fact that he had to crane his neck to see him.

“And who exactly might you be?” Kenneth spat.

“I could ask you the same question sir.”

“The fuck are you, a funeral bouncer?”

Grayson flexed his knuckles.

“Sure, if that’s what you want to call me. Either way, you aren’t welcome here and you need to go.”

“Look, I’m here to see my daughter, alright? Now get out of my way.” 

“I can’t do that.”

Kenneth narrowed his eyes as it clicked.

“Ahhh. So you’re the boyfriend then.”

Grayson stayed quiet, but his stomach turned at the smirk that creeped across the man’s face.

“Get out of my way, boy.” 

“I can’t do that,” Grayson repeated himself and set his feet.

Kenneth moved up another step, but he stopped, eyes on Grayson’s elbow where a hand had appeared. 

Charlie.

“What’s her name?”

Kenneth laughed. It was an ugly sound.

“Are you kidding me Charlie? You think I don’t know your sister’s name? Give me a fucking break.”

Grayson saw the tears brim in Charlie’s eyes, and he clenched his fists.

“No. I’m talking about the 15 year old whose funeral you’re using for your own personal gain. What’s her name?”

Kenneth didn’t have an answer. Charlie stepped in front of Grayson, standing toe to toe with her father as she took a deep breath. 

“Leave. You aren’t welcome here. You aren’t welcome anywhere near my sister, or me for that matter.”

“Charlie.”

“What type of piece of shit do you have to be to show up when your daughter is hurting like this? Hmm?”

“I just knew she’d be here-”

“You also know her address, Dad. You chose here because you want her weak, you want her to need you and she doesn’t. Get out. Leave. I’m not playing this game anymore.”

“Charlie c’mon.” Grayson could see the panic in Kenneth’s eyes as he realized what his eldest was really saying. 

“Indiana has always been so much smarter than me. And I should have listened to her when she told me to not give you the time of day.” She shook her head, a few tears slipping past her eyelashes, taking mascara with them.

“Charlie, you’re all I have left.”

“Yeah, and you did that to yourself. Now, I have a funeral to get to, and if you try to follow me I’ll let him beat you into the ground like you deserve.”

With that, she turned and walked back through the doors.

Grayson stared at the broken man for a moment longer, and then he turned to follow her. She was sitting in one of the big chairs by the table by the window, hands shaking slightly as she brushed her hair behind her ear. 

“Hey, you okay?” He squatted down beside her to get to her eye level. He saw Indy in the way her lips shook while she breathed, trying to pull it together. 

“Do you want me to call Dev?”

She shook her head with a dry laugh.

“No, he’s already worried enough about me. I’m okay. Thank you for that, by the way. Pretty sure he would have just walked right past me if you weren’t out there. I shouldn’t have even told him about this.”

“You didn’t know he was gonna show up. I’m just glad he didn’t make it inside,” Grayson sighed, eyes flickering over to make sure Indy couldn’t see them. Charlie knew what he was looking for. 

“Well, you’re the hero of the day Dolan. I’m sure deflecting the dead beat father counts for some brownie points in winning her over,” she said. 

Grayson’s brows furrowed when he looked at her. He reached to the table and pulled a tissue for her to wipe her mascara with before he spoke.

“I wasn’t gonna tell her. No need to stress her out more than she already is, you know?”

Charlie looked at him for a moment, her head cocking to the right just barely, and she smiled just barely.

“Yeah. Right,” she agreed. 

“I’m gonna go find her, but come get me if you need me okay?”

She nodded, smiling when he patted her knee and moved back into the parlor. Ethan was walking around with Indy, looking at all the floral arrangements that had been sent. Grayson slotted himself beside her.

“Are the blue ones different flowers though? Like what makes them purple?” Ethan asked.

“They’re all hydrangeas. I think it has something to do with the soil, that’s what makes them different colors.”

“Acid. The soil has to be acidic, Ma always adds stuff to get the blue ones at the house,” Grayson chimed in, subtly relieving Ethan of his duties. Indy relaxed when she felt him next to her.

“The blue ones are my favorite,” she hummed, rubbing a petal between her thumb and finger. 

“Noted,” Grayson said. “Let’s get you some water, it’s almost 2.”

She didn’t protest, nerves buzzing with dread as she realized it was almost time for her to speak in front of so many people. 

“You have my speech right?”

He patted his chest pocket where he’d tucked it that morning.

“You’ve got this. I’ll be right there the whole time, okay?”

She nodded, following him to the small kitchen to grab a water bottle from the fridge.

Time flew, and before she knew it everyone was seated in the parlor as quiet music played and the service began. There was a preacher who spoke, read some scripture. Indy could only hear her own heartbeat in her ears. Grayson’s hand anchored her, squeezing hers just barely. He traced over knuckles with his finger. B-R-E-A-T-H-E.

She tried, but her lungs felt tight when the preacher gave her the cue. She stood and smoothed out her dress, took the paper from Grayson. It quivered in the air as she carried it to the podium. There were too many eyes on her, too many red and bloodshot from tears already shed. 

She looked at Grayson. He only nodded at her, a silent reassurance. She smoothed the paper out on the wood, inhaled through her nose, and spoke.

“Hi. For anyone who doesn’t know me, my name is Indiana Cross, and I was a friend of Bekah’s. I’ve never done one of these before, and to be completely honest with you, I’m not really sure how to do one of these. So, I thought about what Bekah would do when I asked her a question - she’d tell me we were living in the 21st century, and that I should ‘just google it’. So that’s what I did. But it wasn’t helpful, because eulogies aren’t designed to be told about 15 year olds. Because 15 year olds are supposed to turn 16, and get their driver’s license and go to prom and grow up to be 17, and so on. So, I don’t think any of us know how to do this -” she waved around the room with a broken exhale - “but that’s okay.”

“I’m the type of person who believes that there are reasons for a lot of things in life, but I’m struggling, like I’m sure many of you are today, to understand what the reason for Bekah being taken from us so soon is. Maybe it’s beyond our understanding. Maybe it’s the cruelty of the universe. All I know is, it isn’t fair, and it isn’t going to make sense to me for a very long time. But all we can do is work to remember Bekah for the light that she was, and will continue to be. So, I’m going to share a few stories about Bekah, and the people that loved her. 

She could hear the sniffles, both her own amplified in the mic, and those from the crowd. She locked eyes with Grayson, who was sitting in the third row. He only nodded his head, willing all of his strength up to her somehow.

“I first met Bekah in a place where you generally don’t want to meet someone. The hospital. But, as anyone could guess, Bekah made a hospital seem like the best place to be simply by being there herself. We played pranks on the nurses, and then got said nurses in on our team and ganged up on the other ones. We ran the halls on good days, we cuddled up and watched movies on bad days. We snuck extra pudding and ice cream from the kitchen once when she was thirteen and got caught, and let me just say, I think that girl could have talked her way out of any trouble she ever got herself in. But the most important thing about that first hospital stay with Bekah was what she told me when I met her. She looked me right in the eyes and she said ‘don’t treat me like I’m sick and I won’t act like it’. I had never met a kid with so much strength and bravery in my life. But that’s what we did, and by god did she keep that energy until the very end. 

“Bekah went into remission 3 times. And when I found out she was back for this next time, I figured it would be just like her past rounds. She would beat it, because she’s Bekah, and she always beats it. I don’t know where her strength comes from, but I know some of it is from her parents. But in all honesty, I think she was just a special person with something special in her. She was kind, and loving and strong and hilarious and witty and smart and beautiful and special. I would give up just about anything to get to see her grow up, to see the woman she would have become if - if she’d been given just a little bit more t-time.”

Indy’s voice began to falter, her breath hitching in her throat on the way out. She grabbed onto the podium, her notes blurry with tears. Grayson twitched in his pew, moving to stand up, to go to her. She saw him and moved her hand to the top of the wood, tapping her fingers subtly. Somehow, he knew what she meant. Wait.

“But I can find some peace in knowing how Bekah’s last days went, and I hope I can share some of that with you. She wasn’t scared to die. She went peacefully, and I don’t have a single doubt that she’s up in heaven watching us right now, probably making fun of me and also thanking me for not telling you all some of the stories of things we got up to. So to end it, I’ll quote a lyric from one of her favorite people, who she claimed would ‘totally be her boyfriend if he knew she had cancer’, Harry Styles. He says “remember everything will be alright. We can meet again somewhere, somewhere far away from here.” For now, Bekah is far away. And that’s a hard reality, for all of us, because she deserved more time here. But I know we’ll see her again someday, and I’m going to hold onto that until this starts to make a bit more sense, if it ever does. So, I love you Beks. Always have, always will. And I’ll see you again someday. Promise.”

Her voice cracked at the end as she stepped back from the microphone, fingers numb and cheeks hot and stiff from the salt of her tears. Grayson stood as she walked back down the center aisle to him, reached out to take her hand and help her to her seat. With the pressure gone and everyone’s eyes elsewhere, she crumpled into his chest, grabbing onto the lapel of his suit jacket as the sobs began to break free.

“Shhh, you’re okay. You did so good,” he whispered just for her, his own tears disappearing into her hair. Charlie ran a hand along her back to soothe her as the preacher returned to the podium to speak again. She didn’t hear much of what he said. Everyone cried as the service moved on, sounds of rustled tissue boxes and quiet sobs behind fists made the soundtrack to the show no one wanted to see. 

Everything moved too quickly, and suddenly everyone was lining up to pass by and give their final goodbyes. Indy clung to Grayson’s hand as Ethan and Charlie excused themselves out of respect. 

Indy blinked away her tears to get one more look at Bekah when it was her turn. Grayson reached to adjust her head scarf, and Indy rubbed her hand, willing herself to pretend it was warm. 

Grayson was a pallbearer, eyes red and puffy as he carried her much too light casket to the back of the hearse. It gave Indy comfort, knowing she was safe with him.

She held it together on the walk to the car, head held high the way Bekah would want it to be, and she noticed Charlie scurry to take the front seat, forcing Grayson into the back with her. She was grateful for it, especially when she slid into the middle seat so she could sit next to him as they joined the procession. 

Indy watched the trees, and Grayson watched her.

The cemetery was beautiful as they drove through it. Plenty of trees that Indy knew would be beautiful in the warmer months. It gave her some peace to know that she would rest in such a lovely place, even though she knew she wasn’t really there. She hoped it would give people a place to remember her fondly, to talk to her. She herself had never really cared for cemeteries, but she stood tall anyways and went through the motions. She watched Grayson carry the casket to the pedestal, took the rose that they gave her off of the casket spray and said her goodbyes quietly. 

The sun shone brightly above them, but it began to drizzle right as she was about to climb into the car. A sun shower, she supposed.

Her tears mixed with the droplets that fell. 

“Hey Beks,” she smiled, an odd sense of peace flowing over her as she stood there for a moment to soak it in before she climbed into the car. 

Ethan drove them back to Jersey, and Indy laid her head on Grayson’s shoulder the whole two hours it took to get there. 

When they got back, it was obvious what Lisa had been doing to keep herself busy. There was a casserole in the oven, both a vegan and non-vegan option, with fresh salad and bread she’d baked herself. 

“I know it’s not really dinner time yet, I just figured you guys might be hungry when you got back, and I didn’t have much else to do,” Lisa explained with a sheepish smile. Grayson just smiled at her and kissed her temple.

“Thanks Ma. You’re the best. Dee, you want something to change into?”

“Sure. My stuff is out at the house though,” she reminded him.

“I’ll find you something,” he said before he disappeared upstairs.

“The house? You all stayed out at the tiny homes last night?” Charlie asked quietly. Indy bristled, ready to defend herself. 

“I needed to write the eulogy, I needed somewhere quiet, and it’s nice out there. I just needed somewhere nice for the night, not my place.”

Charlie was smiling.

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing,” she said. Indy balked, unsure that she’d heard her sister correctly. She resisted the urge to quote some of the explitivies Charlie had called Grayson when she first found out he’d left for LA during their phone call.

“You’re not saying it’s a bad thing…” Indy confirmed, waiting.

“All I’m saying is… maybe I was wrong. He’s a good guy. Just be careful, okay? Can’t see you like that again, especially with all this going on too.”

Indy was blushing, but she nodded. 

“Here, try these. Might fit if you roll them and tie em’ real tight.” Gray came down the stairs with a pair of black sweatpants and an old wrestling sweatshirt. She took them gratefully, moving into the bathroom to change. She felt free once her dress was gone, like she’d pulled some of the weight of the day off with the fabric. The sweats were still too big, but she didn’t mind. 

Outside the door and down the hallway, Ethan had pulled his brother aside.

“You need to be here.” 

Grayson waited for him to continue.

“I was fucking wrong. I got my priorities fucked, and I put that on you, and I’m sorry. I know the businesses are out in LA, and I don’t think we can really change that right now, but we’ll figure it out. I can fly out here when we need to, and you can come out when you have to.”

Indy heard voices down the hall. 

“Flights are cheaper on Thursdays usually, we could always plan for that.”

It hurt worse somehow, for it to be in Grayson’s voice. 

It was Tuesday.

She disappeared quietly down the hall in the other direction, her stomach turning. 

It was what she knew would happen. It was the pain she’d told herself would be worth letting herself be with him, just for a few more days. 

The pain in her gut had other ideas. The smell of the food from the kitchen made her nauseous when she reentered, and she gave Lisa a sympathetic smile. The angel in the whole ordeal, the last thing she wanted was to hurt her.

“Hey Li, I’m not feeling too good. I think I’m gonna lay down upstairs for a bit if that’s okay.”

“Of course, of course it’s okay. Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m good. Thank you, and thank you for cooking. You guys go ahead and eat if you get hungry, I’m probably good for tonight.”

“Okay sweetie, get some rest.”

Indy managed to get upstairs undetected, and she found herself in Grayson’s room out of habit. She didn’t know what else to do, so she climbed under the covers and let her tears fall. She felt stupid, and unwanted, and sad. She’d let her heart get trampled again, all for a few days of comfort. 

She felt pathetic. 

Grayson’s feet thudded up the stairs only a few minutes later. She buried her face in the covers like a child, made her breathing even and slow. 

He creaked the door open quietly, feet pausing before he came over to her. 

She felt his hand on her hair, smoothing it back, and then his lips on her temple. 

“I love you,” he whispered, and then he was gone. 

Indy’s heart jumped to her throat, and her eyes shot open when she heard the door latch. 

Her mind ran circles around itself as she laid there, staring at the ceiling wrapped in the blankets that smelled like him. 

Did he love her? And if he did, did it matter?

It was times like that she wished more than anything that her mom was there. The closest thing she had was Charlie, who she suddenly felt guilty for leaving downstairs. But at the same time, she knew she couldn’t reappear so soon. So she sat, and she spiraled and rationalized and tried to make sense of her world that had fallen apart around her so quickly. 

Downstairs, Grayson’s mind was wandering. His stomach led him, as it often did, but the greater part of him wanted to be upstairs in bed instead of at the kitchen table. But he couldn’t deny his mom’s cooking, especially after a hard day. So he sat at the table, glad that Charlie was no longer staring daggers into him from across the table. He gave Indy an hour or so to sleep before he went to check on her again, surprised to see her awake, perched on the edge of the bed.

“Hey you,” he smiled. “You ready to go?”

She looked up quickly. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought she looked nervous.

“Go?”

“To the house. All our stuff is out there, and I figured Charlie could stay in here tonight.”

“Yeah. Yeah, the house would be good.”

He held his hand out for her and she took it, let him lead her out to the truck, down the roads to the houses. 

“You still tired?” Grayson asked once he’d kicked his boots off.

She thought of laying with him and nodded, walking up to the loft so he would follow. 

He laid down beside her, let her curl up to him like she always had. It was peaceful, with the quiet hum of the furnace and the woods outside. The sun had set on their drive, and the dim lights from the kitchen made everything a warm yellow. 

Indy took a deep breath and moved her hand under Grayson’s hoodie to find his skin. 

Y-O-U-C-A-N-G-O

Grayson was quiet for a moment.

“What?”

She traced it again, slower, but she didn’t get to finish. He sat up in the middle of it, turning to her with concern all over his face.

“You want me to go?”

She stared at the ceiling.

“Want isn’t really the right word. But you can go.”

His heartbeat picked up, and he moved into her eye line.

“What does that mean.”

“I really appreciate you being here. I do. But I’m gonna be okay. You don’t have to stay here just because I’m sad. You don’t have to stay for me.”

A punch to the gut would have hurt him less. 

“Indy. Indy, look at me.”

She turned and found his eyes, and to her surprise, his were watery.

“You’re my only reason to stay. I want to stay.”

“Stop. Just stop, I heard you earlier, you don’t have to pretend like you want to be here.”

“What’re you talking about?”

Indy sat up on her elbows.

“Flights are cheap on Thursdays,” she said. Grayson’s heart dropped for a moment, and then the pieces came into place. 

“Indy. Baby, that wasn’t what you think it was.”

“Then what was it Grayson, please enlighten me.” 

Grayson took her hand and kissed her knuckles. 

“That was Ethan and I trying to figure out how I can stay here. How I can stay here with you. Because I want to be here. I want to be with you, I always have. Ever since I met you I knew I was meant to be wherever you are. I never should have left, it was the dumbest shit I ever did. And I didn’t want to bring all this up, because I know emotions are fucked right now, with Beks and everything. But I want to be here with you, or I want you with me, or I want whatever it takes for us to be okay and together. If that’s something you still want.”

Her head was spinning. 

“You still want me?”

He nodded. 

“Never stopped.” 

Indy took in her first deep breath in days.

“Oh.”

They sat in silence for a while. Grayson opened and closed his mouth a few times, thinking better of his words before he spoke them. 

“It’s okay if you don’t know tonight. There’s too much going on right now, I don’t expect you to know how you feel about it right now,” he finally said, voice too loud in his excitement and nerves.

“Yeah. I need time to… think.”

“Yeah! Yeah, no that’s good. I want you to take your time with it, of course. And I can give you as much space as you need, you know, like, um, I can go sleep on the couch. If you want.”

Despite everything, Indy laughed.

“You don’t even fit on the couch.”

“I could make it work,” he said sheepishly.

“You’re fine. Just go to sleep, and I’ll… I’ll think about it.” 

There was an excitement in his voice that she hadn’t heard in a long time - it snuck through even as he tried to hide it.

“Okay. Sounds good. Well, uh… goodnight.”

“Goodnight Gray.”

They stared at each other for a minute, unsure of what to do with all the new emotions that had come to light.

“We should probably lay down, if we’re gonna sleep,” Indy said.

“Right, yeah. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” she said again, watching him awkwardly pull back the covers and climb in fully clothed. She wanted to laugh at how awkward it was, as if they hadn’t been in each other’s arms every night since he’d been back. He kept his back to her, and she knew with her mind buzzing she wouldn’t be able to sleep. 

She pulled her laptop out of the bag by the bed, fired up her hotspot and started to scroll through her feeds, passing mindless time and keeping herself busy until Grayson began to snore, rolling to his stomach. It was a sweet sound, and she couldn’t help but to reach over and move his covers up, her fingers brushing over his arm.

He stirred under her touch, grunting a bit as he half woke up, sitting up just enough to pull the yellow hoodie over his head and toss it off the bed.

“Whatcha doing,” he mumbled, reaching a blind hand out until he found skin, fingers landing on her leg under the covers. Indy smiled and moved her hand away from her keyboard, scratched lightly up and down his back, over his tattoo as a thought crossed her mind. 

“Just emails. Almost done.”

“You okay?” He asked, voice muffled by the pillow. 

“I’m okay. Sleep.”

“M’kay.”

He was snoring again momentarily, and once she was sure he was out she claimed her hand back, clicking quietly until she got to what she was looking for. 

Her email from UCLA. 

She scrolled down to the bottom, looked at the two links she had stared at so many times since it had arrived in her inbox.

Accept. Decline.

She moved her mouse and clicked once, and then she closed her laptop, put it on the nightstand and cuddled under the covers. Grayson huffed at her movements, reaching for her in the dark. She let him pull her closer, relishing in the feeling of being with him for another night.

[cali-holland]

Break Up Songs- Tom Holland One Shot

Pairing: Tom Holland X Reader

Prompt: Being best friends for years, you and Tom have helped each other through many breakups, but neither of you had ever thought there could be something more between the two of you until tonight, when you both celebrated your cheating exes with drunk karaoke.

Word Count: 2800

Loosely Based On: Breakup Song by Little Mix

Warnings: drinking, swearing, mentions of cheating, mentions of vomiting/alcohol poisoning

Featured Songs: Before He Cheats by Carrie Underwood, Sweet Caroline by Neil Diamond, What Makes You Beautiful by One Direction, and My Heart Will Go On by Celine Dion

Masterlist   Tom Holland Masterlist

*Gif is not mine*

~~~

Eight relationships. Eight breakups. Eight first kisses. Eight last kisses. Eight long nights on the phone blissfully talking about that special first date. And six long nights crying over the heartbreaking last date.

Over the course of your eight year friendship with Tom, the two of you had been through six relationships in total- not together, no that number was still zero. Three times Tom had been there to help you through a breakup (once to egg the cheating bastard’s house), and three times you had been there for Tom as he went through a breakup (sadly, you didn’t get to egg anyone’s house for him).

Somehow, your relationships never really lined up with each other. Whenever you had a boyfriend, Tom was single; whenever Tom had a girlfriend, you were single. That’s just how it always worked. One person’s breakup would almost consistently line up just days after or before the other’s first date.

Until now.

Tonight was the seventh and eighth breakup. It wasn’t really anything you or Tom saw coming exactly; you both kind of knew your own individual relationships were fading out, but you never expected your boyfriend to cheat on you with Tom’s girlfriend. Technically, you had the seventh breakup and he had the eighth because you found out about the infidelity first and then called him. Well, you guessed that was why that double date you all had felt like you were there with Tom more so than your actual boyfriend. So, naturally, the night of your breakups, you both went out to the bar with Harrison and the twins. It almost became a tradition: whenever one of you went through a breakup, the other would take them out for drinks (how shitfaced you all ended up at the end of the night coincided with how shitty the breakup was).

“To getting cheated on.” You said, raising up your shot glass that was filled to the rim with tequila.

“Cheers.” Tom clinked his shot glass against yours, as the other three boys chimed in happily. The five of you threw your shots back, only cringing a little from the harsh alcohol soaring down your throat.

“Shit, we forgot to order limes.” You coughed a little.

“I got the next round.” Tom offered, getting up from the table to order more shots, but this time remembering the limes.

“So, now Mandy and Troy are out of the picture.” Harry teased you.

“And I’m thankful for that- those cheating bastards.” You scoffed, “I always thought Mandy wasn’t good enough for Tom.”

“You never think any of his girlfriends are good enough for him.” Harrison pointed out with a laugh.

“That’s because he always dates bitchy, selfish girls.”

“Wow that doesn’t make you sound bitchy or selfish at all.” Sam teased.

“I’m just saying, he doesn’t date the right kind of girls.” You tried to explain yourself, already feeling the tequila a little bit. Another reason why this bar specifically was part of the tradition- each shot of tequila felt like two because somehow they had strong alcohol.

“And what would the right kind be? You?” Harrison laughed. “You almost sound jealous, you know that?”

“Oh my God, no.” You scrunched up your nose, “Haz, I know you’re pretty, but that doesn’t excuse you from saying stupid shit.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He smiled proudly, and you just rolled your eyes at him. “Still, you and Mandy seem to have the same taste in guys.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you, leaning in teasingly, and you put a hand over his face, shoving him away.

“I got the limes!” Tom grinned, placing the next round of shots in front of you all.

While you all got ready to take your second shots of the evening, you found yourself thinking of Harrison’s words. It was true that you didn’t like any of his girlfriends; something about them just bothered you. You always pinned it on them being too stuck up, too fake- too bitchy and selfish, but maybe Harrison was more right than you’d like to admit. You didn’t think of yourself as a jealous person, and yet you might have been jealous of his girlfriends. Surely after eight years though, you would have been able to tell, right? You would’ve been able to tell that you liked your best friend as more than a friend? But yet again, you now had a valid reason to hate his most recent ex because well, she was the other woman in your own relationship.

A couple rounds later and it was your turn to get everyone shots, leaving the four boys alone. Tom watched eagerly as the bar’s employees started to set up for karaoke night, one of his personal favorite things about this particular bar. Drunk karaoke was his own highlight of these breakup night outs; what was better than getting over heartbreak by drunkenly embarrassing yourself in front of a bunch of strangers (while hoping the videos never surface and ruin his career)?

“You gonna sing with Y/N again?” Harrison asked Tom, watching his friend focus intently on the karaoke machine.

“Well, none of you will do it with me.” Tom replied, turning back to his friend and brothers. “You know what’s weird? This is the first time in years that both Y/N and I have been single at the same time.”

“It’s been four hours since your breakup.” Harrison pointed out.

“What’s weird is that you thought of that. Was that drunk you or sober you that came to that realization?” Harry joked.

“I just think it’s strange. You two have been single for ages.” He lifted up his hand to motion at Harry and Harrison; Sam just laughed proudly to himself.

“You gonna do anything about it?” Sam inquired.

“You mean like date Y/N? Nah, that’d be too- too,” Tom trailed off, not knowing the right word for it. He felt his heart twist a little at the thought of dating you. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t like to date you; it just would be odd, wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t he have figured out long ago that he actually had feelings for you? And wouldn’t you have acted on it by now if you thought of him like that? There would have been signs, right? No matter what, his drunken brain was too gone for him to think of the right word. “I don’t know. Too something.”

“Whatever you say.” Harrison laughed, sipping on his water. He was familiar with how these nights ended with you and Tom, so after a few shots at the beginning of the night, he called himself good. He needed to be sober enough to keep you two in line.

When you returned with the drinks, Tom couldn’t help but look at you in a different light. In all of your eight years of friendship, you were finally single when he was single- albeit it was under sort of bad circumstances. There was no denying he found you attractive, and you were by far the funniest, most interesting person he’d ever met, but he always just categorized his feelings for you as strictly platonic. Though, he definitely felt different about you than he did with his other girl friends.

It wasn’t until later though, once you were both thoroughly drunk, that he got up and tugged on your hand. “C’mon, love, let’s do karaoke.”

“No,” You whined, as the twins drunkenly cheered you on. Harrison just wished he could be at least tipsy if he had to watch you and Tom drunkenly do karaoke for yet another night.

“Please, for me? We gotta sing at least one iconic break up song.” Tom pouted.

“Fine.” You stood up and followed him to the little stage. You couldn’t hear what he told the worker as his song choice, but you heard the familiar opening to Carrie Underwood’s “Before He Cheats”.

“Suitable enough?” He chuckled, proud of his choice.

“Right now, he's probably slow dancing, with a bleached-blond tramp, and she's probably getting frisky,” You started singing, your words a bit slurred by the speed of the song, “Right now, he's probably buying her some fruity little drink, ‘cause she can't shoot whiskey,”

“Right now, he's probably up behind her with a pool-stick, showing her how to shoot a combo, and he don't know,” Tom sang back to you, banging his head with the beat as it went into the chorus.

“I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped-up four-wheel drive, carved my name into his leather seats,” You and Tom both sang, jamming out to the song, “I took a Louisville slugger to both headlights, I slashed a hole in all four tires, maybe next time he'll think before he cheats,”

“God, I’m too sober for this.” Harrison muttered, watching you two from across the bar. Harry and Sam clapped encouragingly, whistling for effect.

“They’re horrendous.” Harry laughed, and Sam started to film you and Tom drunkenly singing the bridge.

“That’s what makes it great, though!” He smiled. As the song finished, Harrison stood up.

“I need to grab them before they realize “Sweet Caroline” is on the playlist. The last thing I need to hear is ba ba bum every thirty seconds.”

“Ba ba bum!” Sam and Harry both chimed, hearing the iconic song in their heads.

Calling it a night for all of you, Harrison managed to get you and Tom out onto the street, you clinging to Tom while you stumbled together. Harry and Sam, while still drunk, were arguing over Harry’s music choice for their walk home, his phone currently playing One Direction from his “Drunk Karaoke” playlist.

“You don’t know, oh, oh!” Harry shouted into the oblivion of night over his twin brother’s protests. “You don’t know you’re beautiful.”

“Sam’s not beautiful.” Tom joked, and his brother shot him a glare.

“Oh my god, wait, Harry— like Harry Styles.” You mumbled to yourself in a drunken epiphany.

“Damn right!” Harry nodded, keeping the song going. “I need to queue more songs.”

“As long as it’s not—“ Harrison started, but Tom cut him off.

“We didn’t sing “Sweet Caroline”!” He exclaimed, looking at you with wide eyes.

“No!” Sam, Harry, and Harrison all protested, but you two started anyway.

Mumbling at the beginning because you two didn’t know the words, you both crescendoed into a yell, “Touching you! Sweet Caroline, ba ba bum!”

“Thank fucking God, we’re home.” Harrison breathed out a sigh of relief, stepping up to their house as you and Tom tried to figure out the second verse, singing incoherently.

“I feel sick.” You whined, making a (somewhat sloppy) beeline for the bathroom and Tom trailed off after you. Meanwhile, the responsible one went to get all the pain meds and water in order for tomorrow.

“Why did you dare me to have those last two drinks before we left?” You mumbled as you and Tom sat down on either side of the toilet. You were propped up against the bathtub while Tom leaned on the wall.

“Because you on ten shots of tequila is fun.” He laughed, and you glared at him.

“It was not ten,” You trailed off, trying to think of how much you drank, “Fuck it, I don’t know how many I had.”

You rested your head on the side of the tub, letting it cool your heated face. It was silent for a few moments as Tom looked at you, studying your features.

“What’re you staring at?” You asked.

“Just thinking.” He shrugged. “We should sing Celine Dion next karaoke night.”

“Celine Dion? You haven’t even seen the Titanic, we can’t sing-” You were cut off by him belting out the ending of the iconic song.

“You’re here, there’s nothing I fear!” Tom sang out, basically shouting. Giggling, you joined in with him until the two of you ended the song with a fit of laughter. As you continued to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of the song, Tom spoke up quietly.

“I think I’m in love with you.” His voice was so soft, but the bathroom seemed to echo it, making it reach your ears like a thousand bricks. You looked at him speechless for a moment, processing his words. “If you don’t feel the same, that’s fine. I just had to-“

It was your turn to cut him off as you closed your eyes and leaned in across the bathroom floor to kiss him. The shock on his lips was quick to wear off with him moving his chapped lips against yours. Your position was awkward, trying to avoid his outstretched limbs and the sketchy looking towel on the floor; sensing your discomfort, Tom wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you into his, keeping his lips on yours the whole time. He kissed you like his life depended on it, his tongue dipping past your lips as the taste of tequila and lime overpowered your senses. You pulled back, your eyes opening to find him staring right back at you.

“I think I’m in love with you too.” You smiled shyly at him, panting a little from the heat of the kiss.

“I wanna kiss you again.” He said and you nodded, eagerly leaning into him again.

You weren’t sure how long you two stayed like that, perfectly content in your drunken bubble on the bathroom floor, but the bizarre moment was ended by Harrison throwing the door open.

“Why aren’t you two singing “Sweet Caroline” anymore? Did Y/N choke on vomit?” He asked, the door flying open. He froze as he looked down at you in Tom’s lap, both of you sporting swollen lips. “Oh no, you choked on Tom’s tongue.”

“Fuck off.” You hit him in the leg as he snickered at the two of you.

“It’s about time, but get off the bathroom floor. That’s disgusting.” He said while making his way out of the bathroom.

“He’s not wrong.” Tom laughed and you stood up, before helping him up.

“About time indeed.” You smiled, pulling him in for another kiss.

~~~

Tag List: @viagracex​​ @theamazingtomholland​​  @harrisonosterfieldhazmyheart​ @joyleenl​​ @t-o-m-holland​​ @lonikje​​ @sleepybesson​​ @sunkisseddreamer​​ @hollandsamor @in-a-lot-of-fandoms-tbh​​ @gorrillaglue13 @petersoftboyparker @musicalkey @duskholland​

Tom Tag List:@quaksonhehe​​ @tomkindholland​

[let-me-love-you-loki]

Welcome to Oblivion-Ch. 35

Chapter 35

           The super amazing Valentine’s Day plan turned out to be tacos drowning in queso from the local Mexican place and a marathon of John Hughes movies on Netflix. Dean blushed brightly as he confessed that it had been his job to get reservations for dinner and he’d forgotten because of a fight and his advanced engine mechanics exam. I just smiled and kissed his cheek as I passed by to grab my third taco. Roman chuckled from his place on the sofa, his feet propped up on the table next to a bouquet of pink, white, and red roses. They were sticking out of an empty spaghetti jar, but they were beautiful.

           “I’m sorry,” Dean said again as he plopped into place next to me. “I promise we had something really nice planned, princess.”

           “Stop apologizing,” I replied, bumping my shoulder with his. “This is amazing. I’ve never been one of those kinds of girls anyway. Plus, Ortiz makes the best tacos for a hundred miles.”

           Roman draped his arm around my shoulders and grinned. “While you might not be the kind of girl that likes that stuff, you deserve it. You know… getting showered with all kinds of amazing things. I mean… you do have two boyfriends.”

           My heart skipped a beat and a sensation of warmth and happiness bled through my body. It was more than just being caught up between the two of them on the sofa, their bulk radiating heat and the sweet scent of their cologne. Being with them made me feel at home in a way that I never had before. They made me feel like myself… the best version of myself.

           “I have two of the best boyfriends,” I said, tucking my feet up beneath me. “Who buy me tacos and watch sappy 80’s movies with me. There’s only one thing that would make this the most amazing Valentine’s Day ever.”

           Dean chuckled low in his throat. “And what’s that?”

           Before I could say anything, the apartment door burst open and Seth slipped inside. Rain settled on his shoulders and the beanie covering his dark hair. He cradled a white cardboard box in his hand. “Sorry, I know,” he said sadly. “I’ll stay in my room and not bother you guys. I picked up a cake from Maddie’s downtown. Red velvet with chocolate icing.”

           Seth slipped out of his jacket and tossed it over the back of one of the mismatched chairs by the kitchen table. He sat the cake on the counter and passed by with a worn, unhappy sort of smile. His eyes were dark and forlorn. The sound of his door felt like a heavy blow.

           The Breakfast Club played in the background, Judd Nelson going on about his horrible home life. Somehow, the mood in the room changed. Dean turned sideways, his fingertips tracing gently along the side of my face. He tucked stray hair behind my ear.

           “I see that look,” he whispered.

           “What look?” I queried, trying to look normal as I stuffed half a taco into my mouth.

           Roman’s hand curled around mine. His thumb rubbed slow circles along the back of my hand. “That endearing worried look. I’ve seen you look at Drew and Sonya that way. It bothers you that Seth is upset.”

           My heart fell into my stomach. I had a horrible sinking feeling in my guts. It was sour and bitter all at once. For some reason, the sensation felt familiar.

           “Maybe it does,” I replied at last. “I’ll check on him in the morning.”

           Dean pressed a kiss against my temple. Roman settled his chin on my shoulder. “Go ahead,” he whispered against my ear. “I know what he means to you, baby girl.”

           I closed my eyes, scrunching them shut as that sick, sinking feeling settled in my stomach. I pressed my lips together. Fought back vomit as it clawed up my throat. “No,” I murmured, suddenly desperately exhausted.

           Dean trailed his fingertips along my jaw to the point of my chin. “Go on, princess. It’s okay.”

           I couldn’t make sense of how the two of them could read me so easily. My heart squeezed in my chest. I wanted to be sick, I wanted to cry, I wanted to shout and whisper and wail at how much I didn’t deserve them. There was something wrong with me. Something so desperately, deeply, undeniably wrong.

           I smiled faintly at Roman and Dean, lucky to have the two of them. They understood me so well, even when I didn’t deserve it. I kissed Dean’s cheek and squeezed Roman’s hand as I passed by. Faint light filtered out from beneath Seth’s bedroom door. Time seemed to move slowly as I rested my forehead against the wood and knocked.

           “Damn it, I know, okay,” Seth swore as he thumped around in his room. His footsteps were heavy as he stomped to the door, yanking it open so fast that I very nearly fell over. “I’m leaving. Just give me a sec—”

           His brown doe eyes went wide. Clearly, he hadn’t expected me to be there. My heart skipped sideways, and I couldn’t explain why. Something danced over his face, lighting up his expression, but it flitted away before I could make sense of it. “What are you doing here?”

           I leaned against the doorframe. He smelled like coffee beans and vanilla. The scent hurtled memories before my mind’s eye. The two of us sprawled in the floor of the living room, notes and books strewn over the table, plates scraped clean of Dean’s famous breakfast sandwiches mixed in with fast food containers and a cascade of coffee cups stacked everywhere. Standing in the hallway before our lecture began, leaning against the wall and arguing about music and bad sci-fi movies.

           Something tugged in the space behind my ribs. For a moment, I lost my breath entirely.

           “You looked upset,” I whispered. I had the strangest urge to hug him—to hold him and protect him from everything. “What’s wrong?”

           The corners of his mouth tipped upward in a poor imitation of a smile. “Stop worrying about me, Addy. Go spend your Valentine’s Day with Dean and Ro.”

           I blinked, trying to stop tears that appeared out of nowhere. I couldn’t understand why I was crying in the first place. “Don’t do that,” I gasped, robbed entirely of breath. “Don’t act like you don’t care.”

           Seth backed up a step, looking at me as if he’d never seen me before. His fingers twitched at his side like he wanted to reach out but was restraining himself. “Don’t care about what exactly?

           My throat closed. I felt like screaming. Like beating my fists against his chest until he admitted it. I couldn’t entirely figure out what I wanted him to admit, but the irrationally emotional side of me didn’t care.

           “You’re unhappy. You’re hurt. My God, Seth, you’re here on Valentine’s Day when you should be with… Oh…” The flash of anger melted in an instant. His eyes lost focus. “It’s none of my business. I’m sorry.”

           “Don’t be,” he mumbled, propping himself up on the door. He was close, the scent of him stronger than before. “She had a very good reason for breaking up with me.”

           The urge to hold him rushed back at me. I had to restrain myself. I crossed my arms over   my chest instead. “And what was it exactly?” I heard the hesitation, the hitch in my voice, and hated myself for it.

           That look appeared in his eyes again—making him look impossibly dark and fathomless. He closed his eyes, swallowed hard, clenched his fists at his sides. It was as if he were fighting a battle with himself—one that he was clearly losing.

           With a sigh, he met my gaze. “It’s hard to be in a relationship with someone who’s in love with someone else. Even if it’s someone they can’t ever have.”

           He looked… broken. There was no other word for it. I hated it. Myself for putting him in this position. For ruining him… for ruining whatever friendship we had. How could I do this? How could I keep doing this?

           The tears dripped hot and molten down my cheeks. I swiped them away frustratedly. Seth was in pain, and it wasn’t fair for me to break down in front of him. Not like this. I sucked in a deep breath and nodded furiously.

           “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry, Seth. Becky doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

           I turned on my heel and walked away, holding my shoulders as steady as possible. I wanted… I didn’t know what I wanted. Everything about me—about this entire situation—was wrong. Damaged. Ugly and desperately, completely twisted. Sick.

           The overwhelming urge to curl up with Roman and Dean nearly knocked me to my knees. And yet… I wanted them to hate me. To look at me and see that I wasn’t worthy of them and their hearts. That I was a selfish girl who wanted everything and then more and more. They were good and kind and deserved far better than whatever I was.

           Simple Minds hummed from the television as I practically stumbled into the living room. Dean sat sideways, watching the hallway and chewing on the edge of his thumb. Roman leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, a deep furrow in his brow. They both looked up when I stepped into the room, nearly stumbling over my own feet.

           “Addy,” Roman queried as he practically crossed the room in two steps. He wrapped me in my arms, catching me as I stumbled and fell against his chest. For a brief moment, I thought I’d passed out.

           In the next moment, I was curled in his lap on the sofa, Dean scooting closer. His worn fingers cradled the back of my head as he stroked the back of my neck with his thumb. Roman swept his fingers along my cheeks, wiping away the tears that still burned along my face. I ached in a way that I couldn’t explain. I hurt in a way that was more than I had the right to. It was a heartbreak that I hadn’t earned.

           “What happened, baby girl?” Roman murmured, his hand curling gently along my throat. “Did he say something?”

           Dean smiled against my shoulder. “Did he finally tell you the truth?”

           “The truth about what?” I whimpered, wanting to curl into a ball. It felt like a hole had been punched straight through my chest. “I thought he was my friend. I thought…”

           Roman kissed me gently, barely a brush of his lips against mine. “He is, Addy. He cares for you more than you could imagine.”

           Dean’s voice ran over me like water. He pressed his mouth against the curve of my throat. “He’s like me, princess. He’s just too scared to say it.”

Tag List

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[dramaticsnakes]

The Revived: Chapter 21: Observations

This is chapter 21 of the Dream SMP multichapter fic @rainbowbutterfrosting​ and I wrote together! I hope you’ll enjoy!

AO3

Read in order (on Tumblr)

Characters in this chapter: Wilbur, Ghostbur, Ranboo

Word count: 3551

Cw: intrusive thoughts about hurting others, overworking, isolation, food, mentions of burning, tension between characters, arguments

Fic summary: Wilbur was alive, and it was such a magnificent feeling, that made his mind spark with anticipation. It didn’t take long, however, for Wilbur to realize that this new breath of life, was not just his own. An echo-y voice hides in the back of his mind, and before he knows it, the transparent version of him he saw at the endless train station, is a lot more ingrained than he’d expected him to be.

And Wilbur really shouldn’t care. Because he’d be damned, if he spent the life he’d awaited for so long, babysitting a lost cause of a ghost, stuck in the very same limbo Wilbur spent so long in. It was an even exchange, and one Wilbur wasn’t going to mess with. Why exactly he ends up setting out to get the ghost out of his mind, in order to save the both of them, however, is beyond him. And perhaps Wilbur’s past isn’t as easy to leave behind, as he’d hoped it would be.

The ticking of the clock became a constant to Wilbur, in the days that followed. It filled the silence when there was no dialogue between the two. The stacks of books next to him grew, as he tried to sort through them. The information wasn’t very useful for the most part, but there were always more books. More incomplete notes and recounts to look through.

Occasionally he would venture downstairs, to harvest some crops and settle his growling stomach. Once he took some of the remaining blaze rods and made some strength potions that joined their place next to the remaining instant health ones. He placed a finger on the glass bottles of potions, just to make sure they were still there, and then he would return to his seat.

He read whatever he found out loud, perhaps to remind Ghostbur of his presence. To fill the train station with something other than emptiness. He let out a quick breath, whenever the silence was broken by the ticking of the clock, that reminded him to get back to work, instead of letting his mind drift off into prime knows where. Into the void, and to the walls, that he could claw at all he wanted to no avail. 

The ghost spoke less and less as he read, and Wilbur’s hands shook, as he tried to pay attention to the way the arms of the clock moved. The words seemed to flow off the page as he read each one, incomprehensible to him aside from their sound. Information. Work. He needed to do something. Anything.

“Ghostbur, you said you liked writing books?” Wilbur had asked, once his mind had nearly succumbed to the silence.

“Oh, yeah?” Ghostbur had said quietly, a bit of curiosity creeping in. “It helped me remember and understand things better.”

Wilbur had smiled to the best of his ability. “How about we write one! We should keep track of what we know about everything somehow.” he said, finding that the words made more sense than he had originally anticipated, “We could write down what we know about our connection, and eventually figure out how to… Separate us.”

The ghost had gasped, “That’s a great idea!” he said, sounding a little more excited, even if  he still seemed tired.

And so, that was exactly what they’d done. In a chest downstairs, Wilbur had managed to find a dusty old empty book and quill, and had set it down on the nearest table. It dawned upon him that it had been quite a while since he’d written anything at all. Memories of declarations, and lighthearted words of victory, flooded his mind momentarily, until he managed to make sense of the quill’s movements. 

Ghostbur can communicate verbally with me, and I with him. The words seem to be clearer once they are directed at Ghostbur, though it is possible that the connection has simply become clearer over time. In addition to this, Ghostbur can hear the words and sounds of anyone and anything nearby, including muffled versions of them while I am unconscious.

As they wrote down more observations, the ghost seemed a lot more excited by his inclusion in something. By having a project to work on.

Wilbur thought, the self-centered bastard that he was, that perhaps this partially came from himself. That perhaps the ghost’s interest in keeping track of information in a library, or having a plan or something to complete, were some of the remains of Wilbur’s presence. Whichever part of Wilbur’s soul, however faint, that had stayed behind, upon his exit from this world. 

“You should mention that I see you sometimes too!” Ghostbur had chimed in.

Wilbur’s grip tightened around the pen, as he tried his best to remember some of his past interactions with Ghostbur regarding that. “Right…” he said quietly, “When have you seen me, again?”

“First time was right before Phil gave you that gapple, when you were really cold,” Ghostbur began, “Then after Phil left the mansion and you were on the ground shaking a little bit, then that one time with Niki,” Wilbur found his limbs turning heavier at each instance the ghost listed, and Ghostbur’s voice seemed to gain a tint of uncomfortable realization as he spoke as well, “During that conversation with Tommy where he… Got upset, shortly after you were shot, and uh… Under the table in the bunker a few month- days ago.”

Wilbur swallowed something in his throat, pressing the quill harder against the paper than he intended. “Got it.”

Ghostbur is apparently able to see me when I am experiencing intense emotions or experiences. We are uncertain if this works both ways.

Wasn’t that pathetic? That all those times, Wilbur hadn’t even looked up, or paid attention to his surroundings enough, to catch a certain glimpse of the one he had been speaking to ever since he returned? Did it work when Ghostbur was feeling intense feelings as well? Had he been so dense, as to not even pay attention to that?

Wilbur shook the thoughts off, and added a side note at Ghostbur’s request, detailing how it felt to pet Friend. It made Wilbur smile, ever so slightly, that that was something that was considered of utmost importance. 

Ghostbur feels what I feel physically to a certain degree. It seems to be related to the feeling’s intensity, however the longer I’ve stayed alive, the connection to touch seems to have grown stronger. Once again, we are uncertain if this works two ways.

With shaking hands, he added:

If it does work two ways, water appears to be an exception, as it burns Ghostbur regardless of which world it touches us in, without burning me.

He hardly punctuated the last sentence, before he shut the book, memories of pleas and apologies filling his mind. The addictive feeling of control, that was so incredibly unearned, yet appealing nonetheless. Submerging himself in water, until silence was all he would ever hear, and he would be alone. Alone in his mind, alone with his thoughts, and the ghost would never stop feeling the pain.

He kept his hand on the cover of the book, and his other tightly wrapped around the quill, until it felt too much as if both were burning him.

Instead, Wilbur sought out the bookcases, and the information that wouldn’t make Wilbur’s mind overflow with thoughts of the control he had. Because if Wilbur was always mere moments away from grasping at said control, the least he could do was postpone it, until such would only affect himself. Not that he cared particularly, but he could weave a few fragile threads of something that resembled it. Just for the time being.

And when even that became too much, he would lie down on a mattress, or lay his head down at the table, tossing and turning as he tried to drift into oblivion. The comforting darkness, that seemed more and more inaccessible to him each moment, and all the more tempting each day. He would eventually succeed, and would wake up to read a new time on the clock. Sometimes minutes later, sometimes hours, but always enough for him to hesitantly get up and keep going.

Totems weren’t any good for revivals. Apparently they’d tried using them to get Wilbur back. Nearly finding it in himself to ignore the strange improbable fact that there had been attempts to bring him back at all. Was his revival Dream’s own doing? Or the doing of wishes from others? If it was the latter, why had the reaction he’d gotten been so tense?

It was funny that, despite the attempts to revive him, everyone looked to him as if he brought himself back into the world. As if they didn’t spend hours if not days trying to bring him back. How their plans had changed and shifted constantly, and how the universe didn’t care.

There was also a bit of irony placed in Dream and how he hadn’t given a direct account on any historical events, since before L’Manberg. He found a few from George, but none of them were about Dream himself.

So that was what it had taken to take that perspective away from history, Wilbur had thought, ignoring that anything he might’ve said on the matters himself, had likely been blown up along with the nation in question.

Absent-mindedly, Wilbur had reread the parts of the book on Pandora’s box, about how he could gain access.

Not that anyone would let him. Not that the gist of memories didn’t fill him with dread that wasn’t his own. Not that it wasn’t a last resort. Though he latched onto the information nonetheless.

He was about to flip the page when the familiar echoing whisper filled his mind, “Wilbur?”

His voice was hoarse when he first tried to speak. He cleared his throat before responding once again, “Yeah?”

A hesitance lingered in the back of his mind. It oddly didn’t feel like his though. It was a soft blue contrary to his warm browns and occasional reds. 

“So…” Ghostbur took a deep breath, “Y’know how we aren’t going outside and stuff like that?”

Wilbur nodded, though confusion was portrayed on his face, “Mhm, why do you bring it up?”

“Oh! I- well, I was thinking about us going outside again?” Although it was a suggestion, the tilt at the end made it sound like a confirmation of thought. 

“Why would we do that? There’s enough food in here to last a while.” His eyes flickered across the page, “I would read to you again, but this book is about Dream.”

Ghostbur’s breath hitched as he stayed silent for a moment. “That’s fine. I was just wondering about seeing someone again.” Ghostbur quietly added near the end, “It’s been a while.”

“Don’t you want to get out of limbo?” Wilbur felt his words come off as disinterested with a hint of annoyance, but he frankly didn’t mind.

“I mean- yeah, but that doesn’t have to be our main priority right now. You can still enjoy your life.”

The life that no one wanted to be in. The life without a purpose. Well- he wouldn’t necessarily say that. His goal was to get the ghost out of his mind. Preferably, out of limbo as well.

“My life can be put on hold temporarily.”

Ghostbur hummed in a slight agreement, but it oddly lingered in distaste, “What if I want you to live your life?”

Wilbur rolled his eyes, “Living my life won’t give me information.”

“Interacting with people gives you information.”

“I can’t interact with people when there’s a ghost in my head constantly asking what I’m doing.” 

The moment he said the words, he was about to apologize when Ghostbur sharply spoke, “Maybe you could interact with people if you stopped running away and talked it out.”

A scowl melted onto Wilbur’s face with ease, “You haven’t even spent a day in my shoes so don’t act like you know everything.”

“Well- maybe I would know things if you talked to me more!”

“There’s nothing to talk about. Wow, Ghostbur, feeling upset right now. Wow, Ghostbur, feeling pain again.” He mocked Ghostbur’s voice as if he was imitating a small child, “Oh no, what’s that feeling? I have to react to absolutely everything because I’ve got nothing better to do!”

“I-” Ghostbur sharply cut himself off before taking a sharp inhale, “Maybe I don’t have anything better to do! Especially when you keep on throwing yourself directly into danger without even trying to give me a warning.”

Images flashed through Wilbur’s mind to dunk his hand in the cauldron that was only a few long strides away. Screams that echoed through his mind. The pain would be longer for Ghostbur as well since time passes differently in limbo. Just a few quick moments. Just a few seconds of his time and Ghostbur would finally shut up. 

His legs stood up automatically before he forced himself to sit down again. “Maybe it’s hard to give you a warning. Surprise, surprise, I don’t know when someone is going to shoot me!”

“It’s not about knowing when the moment comes! It’s about you putting yourself in dangerous situations that hurts us.”

“Oh. My. Fucking. Prime. Have you ever thought of why I stay in this bunker? I’ve found a place that’s safe and you just keep on complaining about it. We’ve only been here- what a few days?” Wilbur exhaled out of his nose in astonishment, “I’m trying to do something to help the both of us and you’re just whining like a toddler would.” All he had to do was walk to the cauldron. Just a few seconds of his time. It would be so easy. 

Ghostbur’s astonished voice cut through his thoughts, “Whining?” Ghostbur bitterly laughed once, “I’m just offering a suggestion to you, and you’re not even bothering to listen. If anything you’re- you’re the one acting childish!”

“I’m not!” His eyes focused on the cauldron, no longer looking at the air as he usually would when talking to Ghostbur.

“If you really aren’t childish, then go to someone and genuinely apologize!” Wilbur couldn’t even get a word in as Ghostbur continued, “You’ve constantly been running place to place without even thinking how others feel. That includes me! It includes the fact that you don’t tell me what you’re doing and you keep on hurting me with your recklessness!” 

Silence. 

But the silence was oddly different this time. It lingered on Wilbur’s end more than it did Ghostbur’s. He blinked a few times, attempting to pull his thoughts together before they wrapped around the cauldron. It would be so easy to pull a few screams out of Ghostbur. His breath hitched when he imagined pretending to injure himself, just to wash it off with water. The ghost would believe him too. He would believe Wilbur was hurt and willingly let the water be put on him.

Yet, it gave a much different feeling to not warn him. He wanted to hold an ice cube in his hand, explaining it to Ghostbur as he did it. The naive ghost wouldn’t even know what would happen. There would only be the faint burning as the ice cube melted. Even more so if he squeezed it. Sure, Wilbur would feel a bit of pain from the action, but he could always switch hands. He’d hear some new pleas if he did that. More crying if he continued doing it. The ghost would become so incoherent near the end, just begging for it to-

“Wilbur?” A voice made him jump as he looked over to see the source of it. The one and only Ranboo was staring near him, his hands were wrapped around a book he held to his chest. It looked similar to the other books Wilbur had been flipping through, but the cover seemed newer than the other ones. Slightly thinner as well.

“Ah- yes, I suppose that is me,” Wilbur stated.

“I… thought Tubbo didn’t really want anyone down here?” 

Wilbur slowly nodded, “Oh. Yeah, I guess he did say that.”

Ranboo awkwardly bounced on the balls of his feet, “Do you need help leaving?”

Wilbur glanced at the books remaining on the bookshelf, “I’m good.”

Ranboo laughed for a few moments. The sound filling the air rather than joining a joke, “Are you though? This place is a bit funny.” Ranboo quickly added, “I mean, not funny as in a joke kind of funny. But I guess I mean funky in a way, like it’s just sort of weird if you get what I’m saying. When I said funny, I just meant that it was funny the way it messes with your head, not that it’s actually-” Ranboo cut his own rambles off as he appeared uncomfortable, hunching slightly over his book.

“Don’t worry, I’ve gotcha.”

“Yeah, cool.” Ranboo met Wilbur’s eyes for a quick moment, the green one almost mesmerizing Wilbur. “So, is Tubbo asking you to help out?”

Wilbur raised an eyebrow before his eyes flickered to the book Ranboo was holding. A look of realization came across Wilbur’s face as he pieced together that Ranboo was probably helping Tubbo with the library. The boy seemed rather reserved, so he supposed that made sense. “Not exactly.” Wilbur continued after a few seconds of the clock next to him ticking, “I just figured I’d stay here a few days.”

Ranboo tilted his head slightly, “You don’t have a house? I thought you ran a nation and all of that stuff.”

Wilbur shrugged, “I don’t know, man. Houses aren’t really my thing.”

Ranboo exhaled sharply in a way that could have been interpreted as a laugh, “So you’ve been sleeping here for how long?”

“I’d say a few days now? Not sure, I haven’t really been keeping track.”

Ranboo nodded, “What do you do for food though? I don’t really see a pantry anywhere around here.” Ranboo inspected his surroundings once more as if a magical kitchen was going to appear right behind him.

“There’s some carrots and melons downstairs. I did see some wheat seeds in one of the chests though. I might start making bread.”

A confused expression came across Ranboo’s face, “Do you know how many rooms our mansion has? You can just go into one of the hundreds and we wouldn't know for weeks.”

Wilbur’s astonishment bounced off of Ranboo’s, “I didn't know I was supposed to break into your home and sleep in a random room?”

Ranboo was speechless for a moment as he starting talking and then cutting himself off before he simply stated, “Or you could have asked?”

Wilbur’s mind went back to Tubbo. The failed comfort as he went downstairs. He shaky arms around Ranboo’s torso as he left. The uncomfortableness that radiated whenever Ranboo was alone with Wilbur. 

Yeah, he’d rather pass on their fake smiles.

“I’m alright.”

Ranboo stayed in silence with him for a moment. It took a few seconds before Ranboo changed the topic, “So you know Michael right?” Wilbur nodded. “Well, we were just inviting some people to our house since we’re throwing a little party for him. Would you like to come?”

Wilbur seemed surprised that he would even get an invitation as Ghostbur quickly chimed in, “Okay, I don’t want to stay quiet anymore. Can we please go? Please, please, please, we’ll get to see everyone again!” Ghostbur’s pleas hit differently this time as they were colored with bright yellow excitement that he hadn’t heard from the ghost in awhile. 

Almost automatically he responded, “Sounds fun, we’ll go.”

“We?”

Embarrassment shot through Wilbur. “I meant I’ll go, my apologies.” He could hardly hear his own words as the back of his neck felt warm and Ghostbur cheered in excitement. 

Ranboo seemed slightly lost in his mind as well, as he quietly mumbled, “Right, yeah…” His face perked up when he added on, “It’s at our house- y’know the whole mansion thingy that you’ve been to a few times- at about noon.”

Wilbur looked to the clock subconsciously as if it was about to turn noon at that moment. He strangely found it was four o’clock in the morning. “Wait, what are you doing here so early in the morning?”

Panic glazed Ranboo’s eyes before he quickly mentioned, “I could ask you the same thing.”

Confusion filled Wilbur’s mind. He felt like the living embodiment of a question mark as he asked, “I already told you I don’t have a house. You have one though. That’s why I’m asking why you’re here since we established I’m technically homeless.”

Ranboo nodded, the movements seeming jerky. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

Wilbur was about to press more about the topic until he saw Ranboo’s shifting movements along with the raw fear evident on his face. Perhaps that was a side-effect of being a centrist- never explaining yourself or your views properly. Wilbur awkwardly supplemented, “It’s whatever. Thanks for inviting me to the party.”

Ranboo seemed to immediately relax, “No problem.”

“Is it noon as in six hours from now, or noon as in tomorrow?”

Ranboo looked at the clock. “I didn’t even realize it was four in the morning- wow- but yeah, six hours from now. Wait- four plus six is ten and that’s not noon.”

Wilbur felt like an idiot, but in the kind that made him laugh gently at his mistake, “Oh, fuck, you’re right.”

Ranboo let out a short laugh, “Mood.”

Wilbur nodded, “But, yeah that time works for me.” After a short sigh, he realized how exhausted both of them were. The eye bags were present on Ranboo’s face after he looked for a moment. The boy seemed to constantly shift as Wilbur looked away with a yawn.

Ranboo yawned as well, but an enderman vwoop came out instead of the typical human noise. Wilbur wanted to ask why the strange sounds came out of him, but he felt his eyes droop slightly. 

Ranboo noted the energy in the room as he started walking towards downstairs, “Alright, I’m gonna head out.”

“Good night- or rather good morning.”

Ranboo chuckled, “Good morning to you as well, Wilbur.” Ghostbur chuckled along in the back of his mind, seeming much happier than before.

[whiteasy]

Part 3 to my story 'Coward'

Part 1

Part 2

------------

Today

“Here’s the report files you wanted, vice captain.”

“Thank you.”

As Reiner extended his arm to grab the aforementioned files, their fingers grazed. The other soldier retracted his hand as if scalded, letting the stack of papers scatter on the floor.

Reiner groaned inwardly.

“Sorry.” The other murmured, cheeks ablaze before bending down.

“It’s fine, leave it.” Reiner reassured him with a forceful smile. The shorter man nodded before he excused himself, gaze glued to the floor still.

“Somebody’s got a crush on you.” Pieck sing-sung from behind him, a lazy grin quirking her lips.

“Somebody thinks you’re me.” Porco supplied in a mocking tone. Reiner rolled his eyes before leaving the two behind him, ignoring his fellow comrades’ demands for the salacious details.

Reiner wasn’t in the mood to brag about any bed conquests— it wasn’t in his nature to, to begin with. If anything he was feeling grim that he had to let go someone he quite liked being with.

The soldier had raven hair that shone beautifully under strokes of moonlight, and hazel eyes that bore nothing but kindness for him (infatuation as he’d just realized from their earlier incident) even though he was a Marleyan. Reiner liked him— enjoyed his company beyond that being of a bed-warmer. But Reiner now needed to be more careful about who he chooses for company during the late hours of the night.

He needed to like them but for them not to like him enough that they’d think there was more.

He hated the part where he had to let them down gently like he knew he had to do with Nick later.

He knew first-hand how such simple words, even if spoken kindly could tear your heart apart. Leave you a broken shell while to try to process what had transpired and what you did wrong to end up on your own.

Reiner had tried to stop— more than once for the last three years. But he never could bring himself to, for he hated to be alone. Being alone left him ample time to think.

He didn’t like spending time up-there; in his head. It could get hectic, so much, that he’d end up clutching at his hair and sobbing into his comforter, pleading for the voices to quiet down.

I would go back in time and take us home instead if I could.

I wouldn’t have let your mother get eaten while you watched.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

Please shut up. Please, let me die.

It wasn’t like he was alone; he had the kids and Gabi. He had the other warriors.

And strangely enough, he still had him. Even if they were growing further and further a part each minute, each day.

But at night, he was on his own. He always needed someone to get him through the nightmares.

He didn’t care who they were; men, women, neither.

Eldian. Marleyan.

As long as they stayed the night, and didn’t let him thrash alone in his bed.

He tries not to be picky because his dire need for companionship always wins over his specific preferences.

Reiner didn’t really choose them. If anything, they chose him. And he welcomed them with open arms.

The sex was good. He liked the way it made him feel; light, warm, drowsy. But most of all, he liked that he didn’t have to think. For a few moments, the voices inside his head cease, and only then Reiner can breathe.

Nothing ever equates the serenity he feels in those moments. In those scarce hours, he forgets he was the monster who killed thousands of people and stabbed his own comrades in the back for a few words of praise and a meal more on the table.

He doesn’t particularly feel loved when he’s buried deep in unfamiliar flesh but, he doesn’t feel judged.

He just feels like himself— Reiner, a man alive in a cruel world, but alive and breathing and at times, sinless.

He craved that feeling but, it came at a price. They all left in the end. They had to, because he didn’t want to let anyone in when they asked. Didn’t let himself be loved because he felt guilty.

He knew that the other reason Reiner let those people into his bed— the one reason that often shied away from— was none other than a meagre, vain attempt to get over the one man he could only ever love.

He never could though.

Reiner likes to think that if he had been given enough time and space, he would’ve been able to move on. But he was barely processing the sting of rejection, before he had to see him again the follow day. Forced to sit next him— as to not rouse their peers suspicions— and work with him as if nothing happened between them, as if he hadn’t spent the previous night fucking his brains out before he told him it was a meaningless escapade.

He couldn’t escape him because they worked greatly together. An impeccable duo. The Armoured and The Colossal.

Reiner had wanted to scream.

Instead, he trekked down the nearby town that night to drink himself into oblivion, then woke up with a throbbing head that threatened to split his skull and a stranger’s arms around his waist.

The walk of shame to the morning staff reunion, where he was still in his last day’s outfit, unshaven and his breath reeking of booze— he woke up in a hurry, and didn’t even look at the person he left in his bed— and the mortification of having Colt point out to him bashfully in a hushed voice the hickey he had missed, and that was barely covered by the collar of his shirt couldn’t have made him regret the prior night even if the details had been hazy to him after he sobered up.

So, it happened again, and again. And before he knew it, he depended on it, fuelled through his days for those stolen moments where he felt like himself.

But when the high comes, it’s fast gone before he’d realize it. And then, even if gentle arms held him tightly, even if a kind someone played with his hair and kissed his forehead, all he would think of was how he was endlessly chasing something— and the ghost of someone— he could never have.

As Reiner now sees Bertholdt’s silhouette walking towards him, a warm smile that doesn’t reach his eyes etched on his face as he mutters a soft, weak ‘hello to him’ before walking (running?) past him, he wonders if this— whatever one would call his and Bertholdt’s friendship— could have been avoided.

How things would’ve been now, had he not fooled himself into thinking for one second that he was worthy of someone’s— much less Bertholdt’s— love.