#remember when she turned a baby into a full grown baby man?

[cmncisspnandmore]

Dad!Simon is surprisingly lax with the rules he has in place for his teenage daughter.

She’s allowed to date, also long both you and Simon have met the parents of her partner. She can be out until 10pm every night but must have her locations on. She has to keep good grades, and do her chores, but other than that she can do as she pleases.

She’s a good kid.

Always has been.

Since the moment she was born Simon’s entire attitude towards parenting shifted. As he stared down at the pink, sleeping baby in his arms as the doctors finished up with you. He vowed to do whatever he could to make her life as amazing as it could be.

He took her to dance classes as a toddler, even going on stage with her when she got stage fright.

He never denied her the ability to play any sport or instrument she wanted. Even if she didn’t stick with it, he was always happy to support her next hobby.

He would find trinkets to bring her from his missions, his own little way of showing her he never stopped thinking about her. Building her a new shelf to store them on when the previous one was full.

Although Simon wasn’t as strict as people thought he would be with her, he had a good reason.

Simon had trained her well, by the age of 7 she could take down a fully grown man on her own. Simon even remembers the look on Soaps face as the seemingly innocent little girl in her bright pink dress took him to the ground.

By age 10 she could shoot better than some newly joined SAS members. Her shot hitting center almost every time.

Now as Simon sits on the steps of the front porch, he watches as you and your daughter lay in the grass. The stars bright in the dark country sky. You both talk softly, pointing out the different constellations.

Riley, the family German Shepherd, laying by your heads his ears perked as he listens to the world around you.

“Dad!” Your daughter calls, sitting up on her elbows to look back at him. Her brown eyes a mirror image of Simon’s.

“Hmm?” He looks over at her, a small smile on his face.

“Come join us!” She calls, patting the grass next to her. Simon can’t resist, he lets out a breath, pushing himself up from the stairs and walking across the grass. He settles into the space you and your daughter created between your bodies. As he lays down in the grass, your head comes to rest against his chest. His arm instinctively going around your shoulders anchoring you to him.

“Dad…” your daughter whispers into the night sky.

“Yeah Bunny?” Simon mumbles, his hand going to her hair to ruffle it.

“Thank you for being the best Dad a girl could ask for,” she looks over at Simon. Her lips turned up in a smile, as she leans over and presses a kiss to his cheek.

“Love you Bunny,” Simon smiles as she turns her face back up to the sky.

[sapphire-writes]

A Second Chance

pairing: Aemond x Reader request: Hello! Sorry to bother you but i have a little idea that came from all the reblogs you recently made! basically Aemond is away so Alicent requests that reader! Comes back after a long time to the red keep because she wants to see her boy happy 🥺 of course its just a simple start but would love to see nice Alicent helping his baby ~ anonymous

warnings: none! this has the tiniest amount of angst but mostly fluff word count: 1.4k note: loved this, loved writing emotional Aemond & your messages are NEVER ever a bother! 💚 masterlist

“I was ever so sorry to hear of the death of your lord husband, Lady (Y/N),” Alicent said, giving you a look full of a mother’s compassion, “and so unfortunate he should leave you so quickly after you wed.”

You take a sip from your cup. The Queen had invited you to the capital and you had been delighted to return. Ever since you arrived your eyes had been searching for Aemond.

You had both left on such harsh terms those several years ago when your betrothal had been announced. You had been missing him for years, feeling as though a very piece of your own heart had been missing. 

“Thank you, your grace,” you tell her, speaking softly.

Your lord husband had been a kind man. Married to you as an alliance for your families and that was all. He was nearly twice your age, but he had been sweet to you. 

“My son has missed your presence,” Alicent tells you. 

“I was hoping to see the prince,” you said, heart rate increasing. 

Alicent nods, looking off to the side. Your smile falters as the realization washes over you at her hesitant glance.

“Aemond does not know I am here,” you tell her. It is a statement, not a question. 

Alicent struggles to keep the smile on her face. She brought her hand to yours, squeezing it gently. 

“I thought perhaps we shall surprise him,” she says softly.

“I do not think he wishes to see me,” you tell her, and feel a slash of pain in your heart. The wound is still fresh, though the years had passed. 

“Tell them not to let me go,” you had begged him, chasing him down an empty corridor. 

The one-eyed prince had stopped his long strides turning to face you. 

“Tell them you wish to marry me,” you had begged.

Aemond had been silent for many moments. 

“I cannot tell them what is not true.”

You remembered it as though it had happened yesterday. The cold look in his eye, so unlike that of which he usually awarded you. None of the kindness you had grown to love. 

“He does,” Alicent insists, “he has been terribly lonely these past years. Growing more resentful each day. I worry about him.”

In truth, you had never stopped thinking of Aemond. He plagued your thoughts at every moment. 

You blink away the tears that gather in your eyes.

“He shall be returning soon,” Alicent tells you, “join us for supper tonight, please.”

Her thumb continues to stroke the back of your hand, a hopeful look is in her eyes. You nod in agreement. 

Aemond remembered watching you go, the way your eyes had filled with tears. The look of betrayal on your face. That most of all. That has haunted most of his days since your departure. 

In truth, he had wished to marry you. But duty is often in conflict with matters of the heart. And duty demanded he remained unwed. 

And though it pained him to do so, he had to let you go. 

Aemond walks quickly to his chambers, eager to bathe and dress before joining his mother for dinner. The days have been long, and there is no feeling like that of being home. 

He hisses as he lowers himself into the tub, the hot water nipping at his pale skin. Aemond wishes to be done quickly, he doesn’t like being alone with his thoughts. He finds himself constantly training, reading, researching, and doing anything to distract himself from the constant thoughts that plague him.

You. 

It has been years since he last saw you since you last spoke. He supposed you must have several children by now. This did not make him sad, he hoped you had children to brighten your life. 

Aemond readied himself before making his way to his mother’s chambers. It was to be a small affair for supper that evening, as Aegon was entertaining some guests from the west. 

“Aemond,” Alicent said, as he arrived. She embraced her son whom she had not seen in several months. 

“It is good to see you, mother,” he said.

“I have missed you,” she told him, “I have invited a guest for dinner..”

“A guest?” Aemond questions, as the door opens. 

He turns and his breath catches in his throat as he sees you in the doorway. Your eyes are wide as you take him in. Aemond looks good, taller perhaps if that is possible. Leaner, the entirety of him is ropey muscles. He is handsome as ever, eyepatch securely covering his ruined eye. Aemond’s lips part.

“Hello Aemond,” you say softly smiling. 

“Lady (Y/N) has agreed to join us for supper, isn’t that lovely?” Alicent says, placing a hand on her son’s arm. 

Aemond jerks his head in a nod causing Alicent to smile. 

“I shall be but a moment,” she says, starting toward the door. She stops to caress your cheek, before leaving the room, the door clicking shut behind her. 

You inhale a shaky breath. 

“Are you well?” you ask as Aemond continues to stare, a rather innocent expression on his normally harsh face. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice hoarse. You wet your lips wringing your hands together. 

“Your mother invited me to the capital,” you tell him, “I did not know you had no part in the invitation.”

“My mother?” Aemond said, shaking his head. Of course, his mother. The hopeless romantic who always wanted more for her children than the hand she had been dealt. You nod. 

“She wished to offer her condolences,” you continue, walking towards the fireplace. You reach for a grape that lays on a golden tray. Aemond’s brow furrows.

“Condolences?” he asks, watching you pop the grape into your mouth. You chuckle.

“Shall you speak in questions all evening, my prince?” you tease before answering his question.

“My late husband has passed,” you inform him. A moment of pause lingers between you. 

“I am sorry to hear that,” Aemond says, “I do hope your children are weathering alright?”

You meet his eye, a blush beginning to creep onto your cheeks. Aemond wishes he could place his hands upon your cheeks, to feel the burning that resides underneath your smooth flesh. 

“We were not blessed with children,” you tell him, “my lord husband was not well, for the majority of our marriage.”

“Did he treat you well?” Aemond asks, voice turning to a tone of concern.

“Oh yes,” you assure him, “yes, he was very kind to me. But-”

You find yourself struggling to speak, struggling to find the right words.

“He did not love me,” you decide, “he did not desire me. It was a quiet marriage.”

Aemond is watching you carefully. How foolish he had been to let you slip from his fingers. The gods are good, they must be repaying him for his suffering in some way by returning you to him. By offering him a second chance. 

“I would,” Aemond says softly.

He walks over to you until he stands directly before you. 

“I would love you, I would desire you,” he tells you, “I do, I always have.”

Your eyes fill with tears and you shake your head. 

“You don’t have to say that-”

“I do, and I was a fool,” he continues, taking your hands in his, “I was a fool to let you leave when I loved you. I have loved you and continue to love you.”

The tears are freely flowing down your cheeks, dripping past your chin and onto the stone floor.

“There has not been a day that goes by where I do not think of you,” he continues, “there is not a corner of this world I could fly to where I did not see your face. In every passerby, in the light of the moon. You are everywhere. You are all-consuming.”

“Aemond,” you beg, not sure exactly if you wish him to stop or keep speaking. 

“I love you,” he insists, fingers digging into your waist. 

You bring your hands to his chest, pulling him towards you and connecting your mouths. The kiss is desperate and passionate, making up for the lost time. Aemond can feel the coolness from your tears caressing his face, and you start to laugh against his mouth. 

He kisses you again and again, swallowing the happy laughter that pours from your sweet lips. 

Queen Alicent stands outside the room, back pressed against the wood of the door, listening to your whispers, and laughter. She places a hand against her heart and closes her eyes, happy that her son has found the love he so longed for. 

note: hope you enjoyed I love me a good love confession, especially from our fave one-eyed prince 🥹

[redflagshipwriter]

Halfa Cass ch 10 pt 2

masterpost

Gotham was a closed fist that night, tense and ready. Black Bat gleefully swung out to match it.

Before they even left the batcave, Barbara Eyes called in to tell them that there was a hostage situation. Black Bat and Robin cleared out the civilians trapped in the building while Batman riddled the SillyMan. Batdad was still glowering at the truck to take SillyMan back to Arkham when a fire broke out in an apartment complex.

Sad.

Robin was too little to drag grown people out of windows, so he worked triage as Black Bat evacuated residents and hunted for pet cats. The fire trucks arrived. The blaze went out, but the building was still dangerous. Black Bat kept an ear open and paid attention to Robin through comms as she made sure everyone was out into the night air. He found the people with carbon monoxide poisoning and he gave strict instructions and he said, “Move! You, when the ambulance arrives, call for an AED.”

Black Bat moved.

The chihuahua in her equipment pouch quavered and shook, because he didn’t know that Robin was too 8-years-old to administer the correct pounds of force for CPR. The cat clinging to her front yowled a war cry and dug 20 toes into Cass’s armor. Good cat. They all went down the outside of the building together to where Robin was starting CPR. He glanced up at Black Bat as she arrived. Rhythm? Perfect. Depth? Not enough.

Again, Robin is small. Human body is the limit. Weighs about 50 pounds. Baby birds have light bones.

“Trade,” she said tersely. “Cat.” The dog was secure enough.

Robin professionally took the cat and Black Bat did chest compressions. An old man wailed, hands in his thin hair. The old lady laid there on the cement in a sooty house coat with bony, bare feet. Air puffed out meaninglessly with the lung massages. Robin leaned forward to do the breaths, cat held against his chest and cradled carefully with one hand. 

Black Bat focused. Bone in the chest cracked under her hands. She grimaced, the expression hidden under her mask. If only she could reach in and directly massage the heart. She would give it the squeeze that would bring grandma smokey lungs back and the old man would stop crying, crying, crying–

Her hand slipped.

She stopped.

Black Bat looked at it. Her wrist was poking out of the victim’s chest. No blood, no broken skin, no force. Strange feeling, like being in fog and jello. She flexed her hand carefully and it brushed through bone and veins.

“How convenient,” said Robin. “Can you apply direct stimulation?”

She felt for the heart. Found the depth. Wanted it. Yes! Black Bat grasped carefully, butterfly-gentle.

It worked! Holy shit! Black Bat laughed incredulously. “Moving!” she said. 

Robin held his hand up to check for breath. “She’s breathing,” he reported, so pleased. We did it. We have done the only thing that matters.  He had? No curiosity as to how she had done this. She had big sister powers, that was how. Haha, Robin. So cute.

The man started to pray, little things like “Thank you, sweet lord, thank you, thank you.”

Black Bat stood up, looking around for something soft and warm. The lady had bare feet. She would be cold.

Fortunately, she saw the blue lights of the first ambulance arrive. She waved it over. A line of others were right behind it. The people who Robin had arranged for triage reported for treatment.

“I request that you do not speak of this,” Robin said tersely to the old man. Good bird. “It would be very inconvenient for Black Bat if the criminal element understood her full capacity. I, in turn, would make life very inconvenient for you-”

“Have a good night,” Black Bat interrupted. She reeled Robin away, found someone who knew the dog, and barely remembered that Robin had to give the cat back as well. Once this was done, they went back on patrol. Cass felt like she was in a dream. Maybe? Maybe being a dead little girl was a good thing.

There was a carjacker working busy-bee, there was a mean man shoving his boyfriend into a wall outside a club, there were a dozen little fights. They should have been too busy to deviate from patrol. But Cass felt a restlessness in her chest to go back, back to the mechanic. More than before, she felt full of strange energy and possessiveness. This was her Gotham. It was her territory. Pretty mechanic girls can’t go put magic guns on her street: it is rude. 

So Black Bat stopped in a private place to consult with Robin, using talking hands. No voice: no Batdad weighing in.

Robin agreed.

Yes! 

They went. 

If it was anything like the other night, Miss Jacqueline would be asleep on her couch. They would sneaky in and loom until she woke up. Then, they would fight.

Or talk. Whichever.

[goblinontour]

How To Disappear

he’s not fine

warnings: dad!alex, angst, baby blues, depression(ish), ed(ish), weight loss, a lot of body descriptions

word count: 9k

He was fine. Tired, yes. Of course, he was tired. But he was fine. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself. Everything was fine. You seemed fine to him too. Exhausted, sure, but managing. The baby seemed fine, peaceful most of the time. That’s what he told himself as well, over and over. 

But you knew better.

You were actually fine, or at least as fine as anyone could be with a newborn. The sleepless nights were part of it, but you had adjusted. You’d done your research, prepared for it. Tiredness wasn’t your biggest concern, not anymore. The baby was healthy, and you had grown used to her routine, even found small moments of joy in the haze. You’d even started calling her by the nickname he had chosen, hoping it would help shake him out of this strange fog that had settled over him. Hoping it would bring back the man you knew, the one who had been so eager to become a father, so present in those first few days. 

Something had changed.

He was home, technically, but you hardly saw him. He spent most of his time in the room that had quickly become “his space” in the house. He would shut the door behind him, and you never knew what he was doing in there. Writing? Playing guitar? Staring at the wall? You didn’t ask. You were too afraid of what you might disrupt if you did. He would only emerge to check on the baby, poking his head into the nursery, staying just long enough to reassure himself that she was still fine. Then he’d retreat. His absence felt more keenly than when he’d been on tour for months at a time.

The shift had been subtle at first. After the baby was born, he’d been so attentive, so gentle with both of you. But as the days turned into weeks, the distance crept in, invisible at first, but then undeniable. He tuned out, disappearing behind walls you couldn’t see but could definitely feel. And the longer it went on, the more afraid you became to call him out on it, to risk breaking the fragile peace that remained.

Tonight was different, though. Tonight, you had convinced him to sit at the table for dinner with you. It shouldn’t have been a big deal, but it was. It had taken a lot of convincing. And now, as the two of you sat across from each other, the normalcy of it felt almost foreign, as if you had to remember what it was like to share a meal together.

He was messing with his fork, absentmindedly pushing food around his plate but never actually eating. By the time your plate was empty, his was still full, though the food had been mashed into an unrecognisable mess. You watched him for a moment, your eyes tracing the shadows beneath his eyes, the tension in his jaw, the far-off look that never quite reached you. 

“Alex.” you said, your voice gentle but firm.

His head jerked up like he hadn’t realised you were still there, as if he’d forgotten that he wasn’t alone at the table. “Yeah?” His eyes met yours for a brief second before flickering away, settling somewhere over your shoulder.

You frowned. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, of course.” he said, almost too quickly, grabbing his fork and finally taking a bite of the untouched food in front of him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He chewed mechanically, as if he could prove his point by going through the motions. But you weren’t buying it. You could see through the facade, the thin layer of “fine” that he’d wrapped himself in. You said his name again, quieter this time, but with more weight behind it. “Alex.”

He shifted uncomfortably, stabbing his fork into the plate a little harder than necessary. “What?” His tone was defensive, his eyes darting back to you. For a second, his expression seemed to waver, like he was on the verge of acknowledging something. But then, just as quickly, the wall went back up. 

You stared at him, heart heavy, wondering how he could think you wouldn’t notice. How he could think you were blind to this unravelling. He couldn’t be that oblivious, could he? You swallowed, the silence between you growing louder with every passing second.

But he didn’t say anything more. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Instead, he went back to pushing the food around on his plate, pretending like nothing was wrong, pretending like this was normal. 

But it wasn’t. And you both knew it.

You watched him for a long moment, your stomach twisting in knots at the sight of him. He was staring down at his plate like it was some unsolvable puzzle, his fingers playing absently with the fork, tracing circles through the mashed-up remnants of dinner. It was heartbreaking, really, how much effort he seemed to be putting into pretending everything was normal.

“Alex?” you said again, the weight of his name hanging between you like a question neither of you were brave enough to answer. He didn’t respond right away, didn’t even look up, and the silence felt suffocating. “Are you going to eat?” you asked, gentler this time, but firm. You were tired of skirting around it. Tired of pretending not to notice how he was fading away in front of you.

His fork stopped mid-motion, hovering above the plate for a second before he sighed and dropped it with a soft clatter. His fingers flexed, gripping the edge of the table as if he was grounding himself, holding onto something solid in this moment when everything else felt like it was slipping through his fingers.

“Yeah, I-” he mumbled, still not meeting your eyes. “I’ll eat…just…later.”

You felt something tighten in your chest. “No, you won’t.” you said quietly, but with certainty. It wasn’t an accusation. It was a truth you had watched unfold day after day, night after night. He’d been promising “later” for weeks now, but later never came. 

“I will.” he repeated, but it sounded hollow, like he was trying to convince himself more than you. His voice was tired, strained, like every word cost him something.

You shook your head slightly, your heart aching as you looked at him. “Alex, you never eat.”

“Yes, I do.” he said too quickly, his eyes finally snapping up to meet yours, defensive. His brows knitted together, his jaw tight as if he were preparing for an argument he didn’t really have the strength to fight.

“No, you don’t, Alex.” You could feel the tension in the air growing, but you couldn’t keep letting him pretend this was normal. That everything was okay when it wasn’t. 

He let out a sharp breath, one hand moving to rub at his face, fingers dragging down his cheek before falling limply to his side. His skin was pale, and there were deep shadows beneath his eyes. The way he sat, hunched and small, made him look smaller than ever. “Don’t mistake me for our baby, please.” he muttered, his voice bitter, but the bitterness wasn’t directed at you. It was directed at himself, at the situation. He didn’t want to be like this, you knew that. But he didn’t know how to pull himself out of it.

The words stung, even though you knew they weren’t meant to hurt. You felt the weight of them settle in your chest, heavy and uncomfortable. But you didn’t flinch. You just watched him for a moment longer, seeing the exhaustion, the frustration, the pain etched in every line of his face. 

After a few beats of silence, you spoke again, “Are you okay?”

His hand, which had been resting on the edge of the table, clenched again before he shoved it into his lap. He didn’t meet your eyes. “I’m just not hungry right now.” he said quietly, knowing full well that wasn’t really the question you were asking. His words felt like an avoidance, an excuse.

You sighed, watching him closely as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his fingers tapping restlessly against his thigh like he was already half out the door. He stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor, the sudden movement making the tension in the room feel that much heavier.

You took a slow breath, gathering your thoughts. “Alex, that’s not what this is about.” you said softly, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m just…worried about you.”

He shook his head slightly, rubbing at his temples now, his eyes closing as if the conversation was too much for him. “Why?” he asked, though his tone wasn’t accusatory. It was genuinely confused, like he didn’t understand why you’d be worried about him at all.

“Because…” you started, but your throat tightened with emotion. You paused for a moment, gathering your thoughts, your hands trembling slightly as they rested on the table. “Because you never sleep. You never eat.”

He opened his mouth to argue, to brush it off, but you didn’t let him. “I sleep.” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair. The dark strands fell back into place, dishevelled, unkempt. “I just…I wake up when she cries. That’s all.”

“No, no.” you said softly, shaking your head. “Don’t use her as your excuse. You don’t sleep. Not really.” You could feel your heart racing, the words spilling out faster now. “You just lie there, awake. I feel you. I know you don’t sleep.”

He blinked, caught off guard by how direct you were being. For a moment, he looked at you like he wanted to argue, but he didn’t. He just let his eyes fall back to the table, his hands gripping the edge harder, his knuckles white. 

“And you don’t eat.” you continued, your voice quieter now, but no less serious. “You’re so thin, Alex. You’re fading away.”

His eyes flicked down at himself almost instinctively, and for a brief second, you saw the acknowledgment in his expression. He looked at his arms, his chest, as if he hadn’t really noticed before. His clothes hung a little looser, and his skin was paler than you remembered. His body had become a reflection of everything he was holding inside which he refused to acknowledge.

But then he looked back at you, and the wall came back up. “I’m fine.” he said quietly, but there was something hollow in the way he said it. You both knew it wasn’t true. He wasn’t fine. Not even close.

“Alex…” you whispered, but he turned away again. His movements were jerky, like he needed to get away from this conversation before it cracked him open completely.

“I’m gonna…take a shower.” he mumbled, already turning toward the door. His voice was strained, almost apologetic, like he knew he was running away from you but couldn’t stop himself.

Your heart sank as you watched him retreat. You hated the way he was pulling away, the way he kept disappearing behind walls you couldn’t break down. And you were scared that if you let him go now, you’d lose him a little more.

“Alex, please.” you called out, your voice catching on the words. He paused in the doorway, his back to you. “Please don’t leave now.”

There was a long, tense silence before he finally turned back around, his shoulders slumped like he was carrying the weight of the world. Sometimes it felt like he was. He walked slowly back to the table, stopping just in front of you. This time, instead of sitting, he leaned over the table, his arms braced against the edge, his face inches from yours. His eyes were tired, so incredibly tired, and there was something in them that made your heart ache.

“I’m here.” he said softly. “I’m here all day, all night. I take care of her, don’t I? I wake up…I change her…I hold her when she cries. I’m here-”

“I know.” you said, cutting him off gently before he could continue. “I know you’re here, but that’s not what I mean.”

He stared at you, confusion flickering in his tired eyes. “What are you saying, then?” His voice was a little sharper now, frustration creeping in.

“I’m saying…you’re not here.” you explained, your voice trembling slightly. “Not with me. Not with her. You’re in the house, but you’re not with us.”

He blinked, trying to understand, but the wall between you was still there. He shook his head slowly, rubbing his temples again. “I don’t…I don’t get it. I’m here, every day.”

“I know.” you repeated, your voice soft, but urgent. “But I’m worried about you, Alex. Because you’re not okay. You’re not sleeping, you’re not eating, and I’m scared for you. I’m scared that you’re disappearing.” 

“I’m not disappearing anywhere.” he muttered, but his voice wavered. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” you said gently. “You’re not fine. And that’s okay, but you have to stop pretending. You have to let me in.”

His eyes flickered again, the cracks in his facade becoming more visible. For a moment, it looked like he might finally say something, might finally let you in. But instead, he straightened up, pulling back from the table, distancing himself again. 

“I’m gonna take a shower.” he repeated, his voice barely audible as he turned away.

You watched him walk down the hallway, your heart heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid. You knew a shower wouldn’t wash away the distance between you or anything for that matter. It wouldn’t fix what was broken. 

Alex shut the bathroom door behind him with a quiet click, the sound too soft to match the storm building inside him. The room was dimly lit, the pale glow from the overhead light casting faint shadows on the tiled floor, and for a moment, he just stood there. Stood still. The silence was heavy, pressing down on him, his thoughts racing but going nowhere at the same time. 

He stepped in front of the mirror, not looking at it just yet. Instead, his hands came up to the hem of his worn, threadbare t-shirt, hesitating for a second before pulling it over his head. He let it fall to the floor beside him, almost as if it had burned his fingers. 

Finally, his eyes lifted to his reflection.

Your words echoed in his mind — You never eat, you’re so thin, Alex — and for the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to see what you saw. He didn’t want to, not really, but there was no avoiding it now. His body in the mirror was…unfamiliar. His shoulders hunched forward, his collarbone more pronounced than it used to be, sharp against the hollow of his neck. His chest had lost the softness it once had, and now, the lines of his ribs peeked through his pale skin, each bone visible with every shallow breath he took.

His fingers twitched at his sides, and he found himself moving closer to the mirror, like being closer would make it clearer, make it real. He ran a hand through his hair, the strands falling back into place as if mocking the chaos he felt inside. 

His eyes trailed down the length of his torso, his fingertips hovering just above his skin but not quite touching. His stomach appeared sunken in, the skin tight over his hip bones. His hips…God, his hips jutted out in a way they never had before. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to look like this. 

His fingers finally made contact with his skin, lightly tracing the sharp line of his ribs, testing the way they felt beneath his touch. It felt alien, this body he barely recognized. It reminded him of when he was a teenager, lanky and scrawny, back when he hadn’t yet grown into his body. But this was different. He wasn’t a teenager anymore. He wasn’t some kid. He was supposed to be a grown man. A father.

He swallowed hard, the dryness in his throat almost painful. The more he looked, the more he couldn’t unsee. His hand moved lower, brushing over his stomach, thin, too thin, almost like his skin stretched tight over bone. His fingers traced the edges of his hips, the sharp angles unfamiliar, wrong. His palms flattened against his sides, as if trying to push everything back into place, but nothing moved. Nothing changed. 

You were right. The thought hit him like a punch to the gut. You were right, and I hate that you were right.

But he didn’t hate you for saying it. No, he could never hate you for caring, for seeing what he refused to see. He hated that what you said was true. Hated that he had let it get this bad. That it had taken your words for him to finally face what he had been avoiding for weeks, maybe months. He hated himself for not being able to stop it, for letting himself wither away while pretending everything was fine.

His breath came faster now, shallow and uneven as he tore his gaze away from the mirror, unable to bear it any longer. His hands moved to the waistband of his jeans, fumbling with the button in a hurried, almost frantic way. He needed them off, needed to feel like he could breathe, like he wasn’t being suffocated by the weight of his own skin. 

He shoved his jeans down, kicking them off along with his boxers, the clothes pooling at his feet. And then he stood there, naked and exposed, more vulnerable than he had felt in a long time. His eyes flickered back to the mirror, and he stared at himself again, this time seeing more than just the sharp angles and hollow spaces. He saw the exhaustion written all over his body. The way his shoulders slumped, the bags under his eyes, the way his arms hung limply at his sides. 

His hands ran over his chest, down to his stomach, pressing lightly against the skin, as if he could somehow fix it. His fingertips traced the grooves between his ribs again, and his breath hitched, a sharp reminder of how fragile he felt beneath it all. His body felt…hollow. Weaker than it should. Every touch of his own fingers felt foreign, like he was touching someone else entirely, someone who wasn’t him.

He stared harder, forcing himself to see everything he’d been avoiding. The lines of his legs looked too long, too thin. His thighs, once strong, were now narrower than he remembered, and there was no avoiding it anymore. He was wasting away. 

His chest heaved as he took a shaky breath, his heart racing beneath the cage of his ribs. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself, trying to will away the ache in his chest, the heaviness pressing down on him. But it didn’t go away. 

You never sleep. You never eat. You’re so thin.

Your voice echoed again, louder this time, and it cut through him, leaving him raw and exposed. You had seen this all along. You’d known before he did. He could hear the worry in your voice, the pain that came with it, and now he hated that he was the cause of it. 

Opening his eyes again, he looked back at his reflection, his throat tight, his skin buzzing with an uncomfortable, restless energy. He pressed his fingers into his sides harder now, almost as if testing himself, needing to feel something other than this hollow numbness. His hands shook slightly as they moved, brushing over his hips, his thighs, searching for something that wasn’t there. Some semblance of the man he used to be.

But he couldn’t find him. Not in this reflection. 

He took a step back from the mirror, his breath coming in shallow gasps now. He felt like he was cracking, piece by piece, and he didn’t know how to stop it. His hands moved to his face, covering his eyes for a moment as he stood there, naked and vulnerable, feeling like a stranger in his own body. 

I’m not fine. The admission came slowly, creeping into his thoughts like a cold realisation that settled deep in his bones. He wasn’t fine. He hadn’t been fine for a while now. 

But now…now he couldn’t pretend anymore.

With one last glance at the mirror, he turned away, his hands still trembling as he reached for the shower handle. The sound of water rushing from the faucet filled the small bathroom, the steam already starting to rise, but it didn’t bring the comfort he was hoping for. Instead, it felt like another layer of pressure, another reminder of everything he couldn’t fix, of everything that was slipping out of his control.

He stepped into the shower, letting the water cascade over his skin, hoping it would wash away the guilt, the fear, the truth he had been avoiding. But deep down, he knew it wouldn’t. Because now, he couldn’t unsee it. He couldn’t unfeel it.

You lay in bed, listening to the soft hum of the water running. It filled the quiet house like white noise, masking the silence you’d come to dread over the last few weeks. The baby stirred faintly in her bassinet beside you, her tiny breath rhythmic and steady. You should’ve felt a sense of calm, with her peaceful and the house quiet, but instead, the silence felt heavy, almost suffocating.

Home wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It used to be warm, full of life, full of him. Now it felt like you were living with a ghost, an Alex-shaped presence that lingered but didn’t really exist in the same way anymore.

When the water stopped, it left an unsettling stillness in its wake. You waited, expecting to hear him step out of the shower, the sound of wet feet padding on the tile, or maybe the creak of the bathroom door opening. But there was nothing. 

The minutes ticked by, each one dragging longer than the last. You sat up slowly, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, staring at the hallway that led to the bathroom. There was a knot of anxiety tightening in your chest.

“Alex?” you called softly, unsure if he’d even hear you. No answer. The house swallowed your voice.

You stood up and crossed the room, your heart beating a little faster as you approached the bathroom door. “Alex?” you called again, knocking gently, your knuckles barely making a sound on the wood. Still, nothing. 

You pressed your ear against the door, trying to hear something, anything. Silence.

Panic surged in your chest as you knocked harder, your voice louder this time. “Alex! Are you okay?”

Inside, he heard you. He heard every word, every knock. The muffled sound of your voice penetrated through the fog of his thoughts, but he didn’t respond right away. He was sitting on the cold tile of the shower, his back against the wall, water dripping from his hair and down his bare skin. His knees were pulled up to his chest, his arms wrapped loosely around them. The towel he’d intended to dry himself with lay discarded in a wet heap on the floor just outside the glass door. He was completely bare, the water from the shower still clinging to his skin, goosebumps covering his arms from the cool air. He felt frozen. Paralyzed by a mix of exhaustion, fear, and shame.

Your voice came again, more insistent. “Can I come in?”

He wanted to answer but couldn’t find his voice. His mouth opened, and a quiet “yes” slipped out, so soft it barely reached his own ears. He cleared his throat, forcing the word out louder. “Yeah…come in.”

The door creaked open, and you stepped inside. The warm steam from the shower still lingered in the air, making the room feel even smaller. You looked around, your heart sinking when you didn’t see him standing by the sink or drying off. Then your eyes drifted to the shower, and through the fogged glass, you saw him, sitting on the floor, huddled, his back against the tile, his body stark and exposed.

“Alex…” you whispered, stepping closer, your heart breaking at the sight of him. He looked so vulnerable, so fragile in a way that terrified you. His skin was almost ghostly under the bathroom lights. His hair clung to his forehead, wet strands sticking to his face, and his knees were drawn up tight to his chest, his arms hugging them like they were the only thing keeping him together.

This was the most of him you’d seen in weeks. He looked almost fragile, in a way that made your heart ache. You realised how much of him was disappearing right in front of you.

Your mind flashed back to the last time you’d seen him shirtless. A couple of weeks ago, maybe. He’d been trying to do the skin-to-skin bonding thing with the baby, holding her against his chest, having read somewhere that it would be good for both of them. He’d been so earnest about it, so hopeful that it would help him connect, help him feel more present. But after a few tries, he’d given up. He’d told you it wasn’t working, that it wasn’t doing what it was supposed to do. And then…he’d retreated. Just like this.

You opened the glass door slowly, the hinge making a soft squeak as it moved. He didn’t flinch or move. His head was resting against the tile behind him, his eyes staring blankly ahead, as if he didn’t quite register your presence yet.

“Al?” you said again, kneeling down beside the shower, your voice soft but laced with concern. The cool tile pressed against your knees as you leaned in closer, your hand hovering near his arm but not quite touching him yet. You didn’t want to startle him. “Talk to me. Please. What’s going on?”

His eyes flickered to yours for the briefest second, but the connection was fleeting. His gaze dropped again, falling back to his knees as though he couldn’t bear to hold your eyes for too long. He took a shaky breath, his lips parting, but the words came slowly, like they were caught somewhere deep inside him.

“I...I don't know.” he muttered, his voice raspy and raw, barely louder than a whisper. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

You could see it in the way his hands gripped his own legs, his fingers trembling slightly, his knuckles stark white from the pressure. His body seemed like a stranger’s, angular and frail in ways that frightened you. He was always thin, but this...this was different. You’d never seen him like this, so...depleted.

“I...I don’t sleep.” he continued, his voice breaking, the words spilling out like they’d been bottled up for too long. “I try, but I just...I just can’t. Every time I close my eyes, it’s like...it’s like I’m drowning or something. And I’m so tired-” His voice cracked on the last word, and he swallowed hard again. “But I can’t stop. My mind...it just keeps going, and I don’t know how to make it stop.”

His hands twitched, fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles on his knee, as though the movement could somehow ground him, keep him tethered to something real. 

“Every time I look in the mirror...I don’t know who I’m seeing anymore.” he whispered, his voice so quiet it nearly broke your heart. “I...I don’t know why I’m like this. I don’t know why I can’t...why I can’t just be normal. I just-” He stopped abruptly, his voice catching in his throat, and you saw the flicker of panic in his eyes as his breath hitched. “I don’t know how to be anymore. I’m trying, I swear I’m trying to be here, to be good for you, for her, but...but I just...I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Alex…” you whispered, your hand finally moving to rest gently on his arm. His skin was cool under your touch, and you could feel the faint tremor in his muscles. “You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to do this alone.”

He shook his head, the wet strands of his hair falling into his face, sticking to his forehead. "I feel like I’m...I’m failing.” he stammered, his voice cracking with emotion. “Like...like I’m not enough. Not for you, not for her. I- I keep trying, but I feel like no matter what I do, it’s not...it’s not enough.”

His hands were trembling more visibly now, his breath coming quicker, more uneven. His lips pressed together in a thin line as though he was fighting to keep himself from falling apart completely.

“I look at her...at her little face.” he continued. “And I want to feel something...anything. But I just...I don’t feel it. I look at her, and I don’t feel what I’m supposed to. What kind of father doesn’t feel anything? What kind of person am I if I can’t even-” His voice broke again, and he let out a frustrated, shaky breath. “What if...what if I never feel it?”

“Hey.” you said softly, the weight of his words sinking into your chest like lead. You scooted closer, your hand sliding down to his wrist, feeling his pulse beating frantically beneath his skin. “You’re not failing. You’re doing the best you can, okay? And...and sometimes that’s enough. Sometimes that’s all we can do.”

His breath hitched again, and he shook his head, as though trying to shake the thoughts away, but they clung to him like shadows.

“I don’t eat,” he muttered, “I don’t sleep. I- God, I can’t even hold her without feeling like I’m gonna...I’m gonna drop her. I’m so fucking-…and I don’t even recognize myself anymore. I don’t know who I am.”

The frustration in his voice was palpable now, the tremble in his hands growing worse as he spoke. His eyes darted to his reflection in the glass of the shower door, and he let out a bitter laugh, devoid of humour. “Look at me.” he muttered. “Just...just look at me. I look like…”

He ran a hand through his wet hair, pushing it back from his face, but it just fell forward again, sticking to his forehead. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his breathing shallow, his eyes wide and glassy as though he couldn’t quite process everything he was saying.

“I used to feel...I used to feel like I knew who I was, but now...now I don’t know anymore.” he admitted, his voice trembling. “I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to be this person- this...this father, this...I feel like I’m drowning and I don’t know how to swim or something.”

“Alex, look at me.” you said, your hand tightening around his wrist. “You’re not drowning. I’m here. I’m right here with you. You’re not alone in this.”

He blinked rapidly, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists. “I don’t...I don’t know how to stop.” he whispered, his voice so small, so fragile. “I don’t know how to stop feeling like this.”

You shifted closer to him, your free hand moving to cup the side of his face. His skin was cold and damp under your palm, but he didn’t pull away. He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing for a brief moment as though he was seeking some kind of relief, some kind of solace in your presence.

“We’ll figure it out.” you whispered, your thumb brushing softly over his cheekbone. “We’ll figure this out together. You don’t have to do this on your own.”

He opened his eyes again, meeting yours, and for a moment, the vulnerability there took your breath away. He looked lost, so lost, and it hurt you to see him like this, to see him so weighed down by his own thoughts, his own fears.

“I just don’t want you to hate me.” he admitted, his voice barely more than a breath. “I don’t want you to think I’m...I’m broken or something. I don’t want her to grow up and think her dad didn’t love her.”

Your heart ached at the rawness of his confession. “I could never hate you, Alex. And she’s never going to think that. You love her. I know you do, even if it doesn’t feel the way you expect it to right now. That’s okay.”

He swallowed hard, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I don’t want to be like this anymore.” he whispered, his voice so soft, so full of pain. “I just...I want to feel normal again.”

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his, your hands cradling his face. “You will. We’ll get through this.”

You felt the tension in his body slowly start to ease, the rigid lines of his frame softening just a little as he allowed himself to lean into you, to take comfort in your presence. His breath was still shaky, his hands trembling, but for the first time in weeks, he wasn’t pulling away.

“I’m scared.” he whispered, his voice barely holding together.

“I know.” you whispered back, your throat tight. You could feel the lump rising, threatening to choke you as you looked at him. Really looked at him. The toll it had taken on him was undeniable now, physically, emotionally, every part of him seemed weighed down by an invisible force that you couldn’t touch. 

“I don’t want to be like this.” he whispered again. “I don’t want you to see me like this.” He glanced away, ashamed, his hands pulling back to shield himself, even though he didn’t have the strength to keep up the charade anymore.

You shifted closer, moving carefully onto the edge of the shower, the cold tile biting into your legs. Reaching out, you gently took his hand. His fingers were ice-cold, his grip weak and uncertain, but he didn’t pull away this time. He held on, as if you were his last tether to something real. 

“I don’t care what you look like, Alex.”

His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, as though your words were almost too much for him. He stayed silent, struggling to find the words, before speaking again, so softly you had to strain to hear him.

“I don’t know how to stop feeling like this.” he muttered, his fingers tracing aimless shapes against the tile beneath him. 

“I know.” you whispered, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “But I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“It’s quite terrifying.” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “I don’t know how to be a dad.” His voice wavered as he let out a breath. “I feel inadequate…for feeling like this.” he murmured, his hand slipping from yours. “Like I have the nerve to feel like this. I shouldn’t- I don’t have the right to feel this way. You’re the one doing all of this right, and I’m just-” he hesitated, his throat tightening with emotion, “I’m a failure. I can’t even be there for you the way I should.”

The room seemed impossibly still. You could see the weight of his expectations pressing down on him, the pressure he put on himself to be perfect, to live up to some ideal he couldn’t even define.

“I didn’t even have to do anything.” he continued, his voice cracking. “All I needed to do was be there for you. Just be someone you could rely on. And I can’t even manage that.”

“Alex…” you started, but he shook his head.

“No.” he said, voice stronger now. “You’re doing everything, and all I had to do was- was be there. Just be there for you. But I can’t even do that right.” 

“You’re not a failure.” you said. “You’re allowed to feel this way. It doesn’t make you weak or inadequate. It makes you human.”

He let out a short, humourless laugh, but the tears in his eyes told you it was anything but funny to him. “Human, maybe. But not good enough.” He wiped at his face roughly, as if angry with himself for even letting those tears show.

“You are good enough.” you whispered, moving closer to him, the warmth of your body brushing against his. “You’re not a failure.” you repeated, trying to break through the wall of doubt he’d built around himself. “You’re not. It’s okay to feel this way, Alex. It’s okay to be scared.”

He shook his head, his lips tightening into a thin line as if trying to hold back everything he was feeling. “But it’s not, though.” he argued softly. “It’s not okay. I shouldn’t feel like this when you’re the one who’s doing everything. You’re carrying the weight, and I’m just…falling apart.”

“You’re not falling apart. You’re allowed to feel overwhelmed. This isn’t easy, for either of us. But you are here. You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to have all the answers.”

“But I feel like I should.” he whispered. “I should be able to handle this. I should be able to be strong for you. And I can’t. I’m not.”

You scooted closer, pressing your forehead to his, the warmth of your breath mingling with his. “You’re strong, Alex. You’re stronger than you realise.”

For a moment, he was silent, his fingers still tracing absent patterns on the floor, as if he were searching for the right words to say. Then, almost hesitantly, he squeezed your hand back into his, the grip tighter than before. 

“I just… I don’t want to let you down.” he whispered faintly. 

“You’re not letting me down.” you reassured him softly, your thumb brushing gently over the back of his hand. “You never have. And you won’t.”

“I just wish I could believe that,” he admitted.

“I believe it.” you said, pulling him into you, your arms wrapping around him. He buried his face in your shoulder, his breath shaky against your skin. “We’ll get through this, Alex.”

For the first time in weeks, he leaned into you, letting his body finally sag, the fight draining out of him. His arms moved around you weakly, and you pulled him even closer, feeling the cool dampness of his skin against your chest, his back trembling under your touch. He felt so fragile in your arms, like he could break at any moment.

“Come on.” you murmured after a few moments of holding him close. “Let’s get you off the floor, okay? The tile’s freezing.” You tried to coax him up, your hand slipping under his arm, fingers gently tugging, but he resisted immediately, stiffening as if the very idea of moving was too much.

“No.” he mumbled, pulling back from your touch, his body curling tighter into itself. His knees were practically pressed to his chest, his arms a locked cage around his legs. “I don’t want you to see me like this. I can’t.”

“Alex...” you began softly, but he shook his head, more urgently this time, his dark hair falling into his eyes, a shadow over his face. 

“I don’t want you to see me like this.” he repeated, voice cracking as he dipped his head down further, hiding his face. “I- I’ve been hiding it. Hiding...this. You don’t need to see it.”

He was usually so composed, so in control. To see him like this, terrified of his own reflection, it made you hurt for him. He was curled up so small, almost disappearing into the cold tiles beneath him, his limbs drawn in like he was trying to disappear entirely, trying to erase himself from the space between you.

“I’ve already seen you. I know you. You don’t need to hide from me.” you reached out, resting your hand on his forearm. You could feel him, cold and clammy under your fingers. 

He flinched at your touch, eyes squeezing shut like he was bracing for something — judgement, pity, disappointment. “But I don’t...I don’t look like me anymore.” he muttered. “I look wrong. I feel wrong, feel like I’m disappearing. I don’t know how to stop it.”

You moved your hand to his cheek, gently lifting his chin so he would look at you, but his eyes stayed firmly shut. He was still trying to hide. You sighed, brushing his damp hair out of his face. ”You’re not disappearing, Alex. You’re still here. You’re still you. Maybe you don’t feel like yourself right now, but I see you. I always see you.”

His breath hitched in his throat, a shaky exhale that trembled through his whole body. He didn’t pull away from your touch this time, but he didn’t lean into it either. His eyes remained closed, his brow furrowed with an inner turmoil that was palpable.

“Please, Alex. Just come with me. Stand up with me. You don’t have to say anything, just- just stand up.”

His eyes opened, barely, the dark lashes wet from tears he hadn’t let fall. He looked at you with a kind of quiet desperation, as if he was clinging to the possibility of hope, though it felt foreign to him. His lips parted, but the words didn’t come right away. He just stared, searching your face like he was trying to decide whether or not to believe you.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he nodded. The movement was so subtle you almost missed it.

“Okay.” he whispered, his voice fragile.

You stood first, gently pulling him with you. He hesitated, his legs unsteady beneath him, but you kept a firm hold of his hand. It took a few moments for him to plant his feet on the cold tile, and even then, he wobbled, like a newborn deer, unsure of how to hold himself up. 

Without a word, you grabbed a towel from the hook and began drying him off, your movements a little rough, but not unkind. You started with his shoulders, rubbing the towel across his skin in brisk strokes, the fabric catching on the droplets of water still clinging to him. His body stiffened slightly at the sensation, but he didn’t pull away. He was too exhausted for that now.

“You’re freezing.” you muttered as you worked your way down his arms, his chest. The coldness of his skin made you pick up the pace, trying to warm him up as quickly as possible. He stood there, eyes closed, head down, his body swaying slightly as you ran the towel over him, drying the moisture from his back and stomach, moving with an efficiency that matched the urgency you felt.

When you reached his waist, you wrapped the towel firmly around his hips, tucking it in so it stayed in place. He let out a shaky breath, one hand gripping the edge of the sink to steady himself, the other still loosely holding onto your arm as though he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

He leaned heavily against you, his arm slung over your shoulders as you guided him out of the bathroom. The cold air hit him as soon as you stepped into the hallway, and he shivered, pulling himself tighter against your side. You could feel how drained he was, how every step seemed to take all the effort he had left. His fingers were still shaking, his breathing uneven and laboured, but he let you lead him. Despite how fragile he seemed, that felt like a small victory.

Once you reached the bedroom, he stopped, standing there for a moment. His hands hovered at his sides, trembling slightly. “I...I want to get dressed now.” he mumbled. 

You nodded, trying to be gentle. “Do you want me to help you with that?” you offered, reaching toward the clothes you’d set out for him earlier, something soft and easy.

His reaction was immediate, defensive. “No.” he snapped, his voice sharp. “I’m capable of putting on some fucking clothes.” 

His hands balled into fists at his sides. You stilled, not sure what to say. He was still too. You could see the regret flicker across his face almost as soon as the words left his mouth. “I’m sorry.” his voice quieter now, ashamed. “I didn’t mean...I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” you said softly. “It’s okay.”

He didn’t respond, just stood there, his shoulders sagging. After a moment, he turned toward the bed and started slipping into the clothes, his movements slow and stiff, like every part of him hurt. You stayed quiet, giving him space as he fumbled with the fabric, pulling the T-shirt over his head and stepping into the sweatpants. 

He collapsed onto the mattress as soon as he was done, his body sinking into the sheets. All the energy had drained out of him. His head hit the pillow with a soft thud, and he let out a long, shaky breath. You sat down beside him, brushing your hand through his hair gently, the silence between you thick but comforting enough now, after everything there was to say was said. 

He closed his eyes again, but this time, it wasn’t to hide. It was more like he was letting go, surrendering to the exhaustion he’d been fighting for so long.

“I’m sorry.” he mumbled after a moment.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” you replied, your hand still gently stroking his hair, trying to keep him from slipping any further into the despair that had a hold on him.

He was quiet for a long time, his brow furrowed like he was fighting an internal battle. Then he asked it. “How do you do it?”

You blinked, taken aback. “Do what?”

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly in his throat. “How do you...how do you love her like that? So easily. It looks so...effortless, when you do it.”

You weren’t quite sure what to say. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He stared at the ceiling, avoiding your eyes, as if he was ashamed to even ask.

“I think...I love her.” he continued, his voice wavering. “I do. I really do. I just don’t know how to...show it, or- or feel it the way you do.” He trailed off, his voice cracking on the last word, and you could see the tension building in his body again, like he was bracing himself for something.

You waited, giving him space to find his words, to figure out what he was trying to say. After a moment, he spoke again, quieter this time, almost like he was afraid of the answer. "Will you...will you hug me?” 

You moved to wrap your arms around him, but before you could, a cry pierced the quiet. Her small, desperate wail filled the room, and you felt him tense under your touch. His whole body seemed to curl in on itself, and he buried his face into the pillow, trying to block out the sound, or maybe the world altogether.

“I’ll get her.” you whispered, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze before you got up. You crossed the room, lifting her from the bassinet and cradling her to your chest. Her cries softened almost instantly, but she was still restless, her tiny hands clutching at your shirt as she nestled into you.

You returned to the bed, sitting down beside him with her still in your arms. You gently rocked her, and after a few moments, her soft whimpers quieted, her little body relaxing against you. You glanced down at him, his face still buried in the pillow, his shoulders shaking slightly.

“Do you want to hold her?” 

He just stayed still, his breath shaky and uneven. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he shifted, rolling onto his back. His eyes were red-rimmed, his face pale, but he nodded, just barely.

You carefully placed her on his chest, her tiny form resting against him, her head tucked under his chin. His hand came up, almost instinctively, to rub gentle circles on her back, but his eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling. 

He didn’t look down at her, couldn’t make himself meet her gaze. Not tonight. Not now. But he held her, his hand moving softly, rhythmically, trying to convince himself that he was doing something right. That he was enough. 

You nestled in close to him, sliding your hand over his where it rested gently on her tiny back. The weight of his fingers shifted slightly, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his thumb continued its slow, circular motions, as though the action itself was soothing not just her but him, too.

“She reminds me of you.” you whispered. 

His eyes flickered, still staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah, she looks like me.” he muttered, his voice a little tired and a little flat.

You smiled softly and shook your head. “She does, but that’s not what I meant.”

He blinked, his gaze drifting downwards, though he still didn’t look directly at her. “What do you mean?” His voice was quieter now, more uncertain.

“She reminds me of you in little ways.” you began, feeling the warmth of her tiny body against both of you. “Like how she never sleeps with socks on. Just like you refuse to. No matter how cold it gets.”

A weak chuckle escaped his lips. “I think that’s just a baby thing.” 

You nudged him gently with your shoulder, smiling. “I like thinking it’s a you thing.”

His hand paused for a moment on her back, then he let out a long, deep sigh, the tension easing just a little from his shoulders. He turned his head toward you, pressing a soft kiss on top of your hair. It was gentle, barely a touch, but it was full of everything unsaid he couldn’t yet put into words.

You tilted your head up, catching his eyes for the first time in what felt like ages. Neither of you moved, just holding each other’s gaze like you were relearning something familiar, something you thought you might’ve lost.

And then, slowly, you leaned up, closing the space between you. Your lips brushed his, testing the waters. But when he didn’t pull away, you pressed deeper, soft and full of everything you’d been holding in. It wasn’t about passion or heat right now.

His lips moved against yours, gently, almost cautiously, like he wasn’t sure if he deserved it but needed it all the same. When you finally pulled back, his eyes stayed closed for a moment longer.

“I missed that.” you whispered, resting your forehead against his, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours.

He nodded, barely moving, but you could feel it. “Me too.” he murmured. 

He lay there quietly for a while, holding the baby on his chest, her little body rising and falling with each breath. His hand, still resting on her back, moved slowly, and you could feel him starting to relax, his muscles losing the tension that had held him so rigid all night. You stayed pressed close to him, your hand resting over his, but now your eyes were focused on his face. There was something shifting in him, something fragile but hopeful, and you watched as he finally, hesitantly, let his gaze drift down toward her.

His breath hitched a little as he looked at her. Really looked at her, maybe for the first time in a while. His free hand slowly came up, trembling just slightly as he reached out. He hesitated, hovering over her cheek, as though afraid he might break something if he touched her. Ever so gently, he let his fingers brush against her soft skin, tracing the curve of her cheek, the softness of her nose, his thumb lightly brushing over her tiny lips. She stirred a bit, making a small noise, and he froze, but when she settled, he let out a soft breath and continued, his eyes never leaving her.

“She’s so small.” he whispered. “I forget how small she is sometimes. I keep thinking she’s…fragile.”

“She’s stronger than she looks.” you said softly, watching the way his face changed as he took her in. “Just like you.”

He shook his head slightly, as if disagreeing with you, but didn’t say anything. His hand kept moving, tracing the shape of her little ears, the delicate arch of her brow. “She has your nose.” he murmured, almost to himself. 

“I think she has your eyes, though. When she opens them, sometimes she gives me this look, like she’s thinking deep thoughts, like you.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He let his fingers linger on her cheek a moment longer before finally looking up at you. “I…” He paused, his throat working to spit out the words. “I love you.” His gaze flicked between you and her, like he was trying to say it to both of you at once. 

It was the way he said it, the way his voice cracked just a little, the way he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment after the words came out, like it took everything in him to say them. It wasn’t just a simple “I love you.” 

Your breath caught for a second, and you squeezed his hand. “I love you too.”

His eyes flickered back down to her, and his hand resumed its slow, gentle movements on her back. “I love her too.” he said, his voice quieter, but filled with the same emotion. “I do. I just...don’t know how to show it yet.”

“She knows.” you whispered, pressing your forehead gently against his. “Even if it doesn’t feel like you’re doing enough, she knows. You’re her dad, Alex. That’s enough.”

He didn’t say anything, just nodded slightly. When his voice broke the silence, he whispered. “I’m going to be better. I promise.”

You squeezed his hand again, resting your head on his shoulder. “You already are.”

a/n: I don’t know what I’m even doing here. It went on way longer than I intended at first but here we are. I don’t know if it makes any sense but I liked writing it. Also can you tell my posts get more depressing when I’m not feeling the best? Lol. Besides the point. I don’t even know why anyone would read it but I’m posting it anyway. Also it made me think of Mr. Turner, a bit. It’s not written with him in mind but I could see him being like this as well. Obviously if you don’t like it just pretend it doesn’t exist and let me live. Sorry.

tags: @st7rnioioss @theonlyoneswhoknowsblog @rentsturner @yourstartreatment @avxoxo1 @jqsvi @turnersfav @youresodarkbabe @psychedelicrocker @aacheinthejaw @zayndrider @humbuginmybones @tedioepica

[heartthrobin]

catch me if you can

hobie brown x female!reader

wc: 1k

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, a questionable attempt at british slang, Miles' pov (it makes sense i promise), established relationship, Miles is a little baby boy angel, implied chubby/thick reader, Miles' 'jealous of Hobie' dynamic

an: this idea popped into my brain as i was trying to sleep last night so here it is :) it's actually funny cause i'm a hobie brown girl first and human second but have been working on so much miguel content. go figure. remember to reblog and comment to support your favourite writers :) THIS IS A REPOST! i woke up this morning and the original post literally disappeared from my page :( sorry y'all

summary: you and Hobie are absolutely incorrigible.

Miles didn't like the sound of Hobie Brown.

and now that he's faced with the man in question, he doesn't particularly like the sight of him either.

the spider-society foyer is a menagerie of characters, different suits and capes and hairstyles and --horses? but Miles can't move his line of sight off Hobie's back where he just bumped his too tall frame against Gwen's much shorter one.

she stumbles sideways and laughs, and Miles wants to throw a fit right there.

Hobie stops walking. his figure tightens and his shoulders draw up.

Miles frowns in confusion and follows his gaze.

under the archway of the door towards where he assumes is this Tio Miguel's office stands some spider-women, three in varying outfits.

there's one in a forest green suit, your eyes have found Hobie's. they're wide, round in something Miles can place most akin to fear.

you're beautiful, he can tell that easily: all full-bodied around the edges and soft in the face.

you surprise him when you turn on your heel, running out only three wide steps before spitting out a web onto the nearest ledge of those that lingered above his head and hoisting yourself up.

the green suit blurs, swinging over hundreds of spider-people and you glance back over your shoulder in panic.

more surprising than that, Miles finds that Hobie is chasing you.

his long thin legs stride down the walkway, abandoning Gwen when he too sends a thick white web at a tall pillar and flies across the foyer. he sticks to another dais and climbs wildly along walls after your escaping figure.

Miles jaw is loose, face dripping in concern.

somewhere behind him Jessica sighs. "those two are incorrigible."

his head is flicking back and forth between his companions, unsure if he's the only one who can see what's unfolding. your figure is climbing desperately up the side of the wide window, you're fast but Hobie is gaining ground.

Gwen and Pavitr are walking still ahead of him, arms swinging by their sides. he steps quickly, eyes never leaving the chase in the air.

"is nobody seeing this?" Miles' hands motion up to the air, they're frantic. "Hobie is chasing s-some ... poor woman!"

glancing back over her shoulder, Gwen's eyes finding the two colourful blurs, she draws to a halt. "i guess we should wait for them. they're so annoying sometimes."

Pavitr's head lolls to the side, an endeared expression twisting into his face. "i think they're adorable."

your grunts can still be heard echoing down the chamber, Hobie's too. you yelp as Hobie just misses your leg, escaping his clutch by swinging low over a random spider's head. the spider grumbles up at you.

"he's ..." Miles shakes his head, fingertips twitching against his web shooter. "is nobody gonna help her? i-i'm gonna help--"

"help?" Gwen and Pavitr were looking at him like he'd grown a second head.

there's a sharp shriek from above, he finds you mid-air. a wide web has enclosed over your shoulders, locking your arms against your side and you're hoisted back against Hobie where he's perched along a wall.

Miles hand jumps up to web his way to you when Gwen's hand closes over his wrist. she just shakes her head at him. "chill, Miles."

he looks back up.

you crash against Hobie's chest with enough force to jostle him off the wall. your joined figures slide down the side of the wall to land a few feet from where Miles stands.

your shoulders are shaking. if you weren't so low on the ground, he might not have recognised that you were ... laughing?

"got'cha, luv."

Hobie's forehead meets yours gently. you wriggle in the webbing that's bound you.

"took you longer than this morning." your voice crumbles out between giggles.

a ring-clad hand finds your chin, tilting your face against his. you press up on tippy-toes, teetering like you're drunk with his kiss. Hobie's hand is creeping over your waist and dipping you backwards under the influence of his height.

"i mean, we've barely been gone a couple hours." Gwen mutters at the sight. Pavitr is holding his hands up to his chest and lets out a soft "they're so cute."

confusion is still tugging on Miles' mind but it's drowned by the waves of relief coursing like coffee down his gullet and warming his stomach.

"they ... they do this often?" he asks tentatively.

"every damn day."

his gaze flickers between Hobie and Gwen. "so they're ... dating?"

Pavitr nods. "Hobie doesn't like labels. but pretty much."

"so," he is feigning nonchalance as far as he can carry it. he speaks at Gwen. "you and him ... you're not--?"

she's affronted. "me and Hobie?"

Pavitr is laughing.

"no!" she clarifies, clearly put out. "that's so weird ..."

Miles is practically blind with relief.

you've clearly been detangled from Hobie's webs when you bounce over to where Miles is standing amongst the others.

"Gwendoline!" your voice is light and animated, you're panting slightly from your chase.

Gwen grumbles like she hates the name, but smiles sideways under the weight of your hand ruffling her hair. you bump into Pavitr's side and he greets too.

they smile like they love you.

your eyes find him. "you must be Miles!"

he discovers you're as keen on physical touch as your boyfriend, hoisting him tightly against your chest before pulling back: holding him at arm's length to examine him.

"you're taller than I thought you'd be."

"you should see mans fly, babe," Hobie's hands slink into his jacket pockets. Miles thinks he's referring to him. "wicked with the webs, i tell ya'."

he blushes at the compliment. you're smiling at him like you're proud. "oh, yeah? maybe boss will put us on a mission together and i can check these moves, hey Morales?"

Miles nods. "sure."

you let go of his shoulders, eyes finding your boyfriend's.

skipping ahead of the kids, your hand slips into Hobie's and he leans down to kiss your temple. "how was your day, rockstar?" he hears you ask.

Gwen slides in beside Miles. they start walking again and she smiles at him.

he returns it. ahead of him, you're teetering on your toes so you're walking completely pressed against the side of your boyfriend.

Miles finds that maybe he doesn't dislike Hobie as much as he thought.

-

comment and repost if you enjoyed <3

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[bartyism]

31st of october. sirius black.

the potter’s house is left in shambles, much like your heart when the love of your life is whisked away from you for a crime that, only you know, he would never commit.

reposted from my old account.

warnings: death, brief mention of a miscarriage at the end

your feet hit the ground as you apparated to godric’s hollow. you were unsteady, fearing that what your fiancé, sirius, had believed would be true. you couldn’t even bear the thought of waiting on sirius’ bike to see if the news was true and that is why you chose the quicker way of transport.

there were muggles everywhere in front of you and you were quick to push through them. “oh no,” you choked out upon seeing the destruction that the house had been put through. completely ignoring everything, you ran into the house but quickly regretted it. there lay james potter, a boy who you had grown up with, a boy who you knew to be a friend.

your sobs shook your whole body. there was no life behind his eyes and he was cold to the touch. dragging yourself up the stairs, you didn’t think it’d be possible to cry more than you already were until you saw your best friend in the entire universe dead as well. lily evans, newly lily potter. the girl who loved everyone with everything in her. the girl who had just become a mother. she was so young.

beside her sat a crying baby. you felt your lungs be refilled with much-needed air. harry is alive, rang through your head a million times over. you quickly grabbed the boy and turned him away from his lifeless mother. even though he will never remember this, it was cruel to leave him with the site right in front of him.

you walked down the steps and tried your best to keep your eyes off of the empty shell that was james potter; the empty shell that used to be so full of life. outside the door stood hagrid and you felt like you could fall into his arms.

“let me see him,” hagrid said. you handed him over reluctantly and as you did so, sirius appeared. he ran to you and hagrid before stopping to look at the baby. sirius reached for him but hagrid moved harry out of sirius’ grasp. his eyes widened and you could see his emotions flicker from heartbreak to anger.

“i must take him to his relatives. dumbledore’s orders,” hagrid muttered. you exchanged looks with sirius.

“hagrid, james doesn’t have any family left and you can’t possibly be sending him to lily’s rancid family,” you pleaded. hagrid looked down sadly at the baby.

“you’re not taking him,” sirius said, once again reaching for harry. hagrid moved him out of reach again and started walking away.

“dumbledore’s ord-,” he was cut off by sirius abruptly yelling.

“i don’t give a damn what dumbledore ordered. that’s my godson!” hagrid kept walking and ignored the pleas. you continued to sob as you watched the last part of two of your best friends slip between your fingers. sirius kept up with hagrid and you could hear him trying to bargain with the large man but it was no use.

you dropped to the ground; your eyesight was clouded with tears and you felt the most hopeless you ever had. every single one of your friends were dead,  your fiancé, remus, and peter being the only exceptions. but, one of the three was a traitor. you were always with sirius and knew it couldn’t have been him. your mind was jumbled as you thought about the possibility of it being remus or peter.

you looked up in time to see hagrid flying away on your fiancé’s bike. “you let him take harry?” you yelled out. sirius whipped around to look at you.

he ignored your question as he walked towards you and dropped to his knees. “i love you. i have something i need to do. do not leave the house.”

he held his tears back and his voice was uneasy. for once, you could not tell which emotion, anger or sadness, was getting the best of him. you wanted to hug him, but he kissed your head and just like that, he was gone. still gasping for air, you watched him leave.

something bad was going to happen, again.

you apparated back to the house you shared with sirius and sat down where you landed. you couldn’t bring yourself to stand up. you leaned against the wall and you must’ve sat there for hours. memories of lily and james played through your head. today was only the third time you’d seen harry as they were whisked away to protection almost as soon as he was born.

you nearly screamed when the front door was busted open. three men walked through the door, immediately moving to a defensive stance. “y/n y/l/n, come with us. we have questions to ask you about sirius back.”

“what happened,” you asked as two of them grabbed your arms and pulled you up.

“he’s been charged with the murder of twelve muggles and peter pettigrew, giving out the information of the potter’s hiding place, and working for lord voldemort.”

“are you insane? he didn’t do any of that! i’ve been with him everyday for the past two weeks, he wouldn’t have had time to go behind our backs without me noticing,” you pleaded.

“so you admit to being with black this entire time and as he did not have a trial because of sufficient proof, you have aided him this entire time?”

you were flabbergasted. how could they assume such a thing? you were drug out of the house and the next day, you found yourself on trial in the ministry. dumbledore and remus were both there, in fact, many surviving members of the order were. dumbledore spoke in your defense and you were ultimately found not guilty.

however, as the years passed by, sometimes you wished they had found you guilty. you knew sirius didn’t kill those people and you weren’t his accomplice. but, you were so lonely and so miserable.

all of your friends and family were dead. not long after your trial, a saddened healer informed you of the news of a miscarriage you unknowingly experienced. that was your final straw – though you had no idea, your last connection to sirius had been stripped away before you even got to cherish it. there was nothing left of him in your life other than the grief he left behind.

nothing left of james.

nothing left of lily.

and nothing left of anything you found happiness in.

sirius was going to die in azkaban and you often wished you could, too.

[bright-eyes-strawberry-lies]

Do you think that one of the reasons Luke and Thalia were so close on the run was that Thalia seeks out power/control, and Luke was willing to give her almost complete control over him? And a reason for why Thalia had her "I don't recognize you anymore" line aswell as suddenly turning so hostile being that she no longer had that control over Luke's actions?

Yes, I do think part of Luke's appeal for Thalia was that he did whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted it.

Maybe equally important was that Luke didn't stop Thalia from doing what she wanted. In Demigod Diaries, Thalia makes them follow a goat around for three days before Luke even asks why they're following it. When Thalia wants to go into Hal's house, Luke thinks it's a bad idea but he goes with her.

Luke's devotion to Thalia is such that she almost killed him - like actually, for real, with powers she can't control - and he stayed by her side. He didn't even blame her for it. Luke also took her to May's house when she needed help, a place it's pretty clear that Luke never meant to return to (and according to Hermes isn't welcome at).

Part of it may be her "fatal flaw" or whatever but I think it may be even simpler than that.

Thalia being power hungry for the sake of having power and that being her "fatal flaw" doesn't even really make sense because she really only uses what little power she has to take control of (or to save) her own life.

I hate talking about Beryl because she's so pathetic and a sorry excuse for a human, let alone a parent. But Beryl is a large part of the reason Thalia is how she is. She tried to baby-trap Zeus with Thalia and when that didn't work, she turned to drinking (or drinking more heavily, I guess). But like, she's another mortal parent who didn't want her kids (thinking about Frederick but like at least Beryl knew kids were a possibility the poor man). She didn't want Thalia and she didn't want Jason, they were just the side effects of getting to have Zeus/Jupiter for a moment.

Growing up with an alcoholic mother and an absentee father and a lost/dead infant brother (I dont remember what they did to Jason when they took him away but I seem to recall Thalia was either kept in the dark or lied to about it), Thalia had no control and no one who put her first in her life.

Luke was the first person to put Thalia before themselves.

Also it's pretty explicitly said that Luke is a gift (or a prize or a weapon, whichever you like) to Thalia from Zeus. Zeus led Thalia to Luke using the goat. Zeus led Thalia to her magic shield using the goat. Thalia actually says Zeus led her to Luke specifically.

As for her "this isn't you" line...aside from my opinion that it (Thalia siding with the Olympians at all) was spawned entirely because Chiron brainwashed Thalia...I think if Luke had been there (either because the rebellion never started or because he actually got to put the fleece on her tree himself and was there when she was birthed from the tree) then Thalia would have sang a different tune.

She was asleep and her dog was not there waiting for her when she woke up. That's out of character for Luke and Thalia would probably take it as a sign that he's no longer loyal to her personally (especially after Hal saying that Luke would betray someone and planting that idea in Thalia's head).

Now the puppy daddy got her is a full-grown dog with grownup dog teeth, and everyone is telling her that he's rabid, that he needs to be put down. And Thalia agrees.

[stayandot8]

Drawn To You

Genre: fluff?? i guess??

Relationship type: idol!(lowkeytsundere)Seungmin x I.N's bestie reader

Important Contents: requested, i hope you enjoy my second Seungmin piece

WC: 4k

masterlist

I’d known Jeongin since we were kids. I was about a year older, but he’d always been there for me since the young days, before he became this huge kpop idol star with his group. But after I went away, our friendship strained. 

The problem was that I didn’t tell him that I applied for school overseas in America. I needed to get out of our town, on to bigger things, and that upset him. We told each other everything. Everything…except that. He understood, like the amazing friend he was, but as he pursued his own dream, his time was harder to come by. The questions about America came fewer and slower, phone calls went from everyday to twice a week to once a month until the only time I heard from him was when he thought of me in between recording sessions. He always texted me after recording, something about needing to know I was behind him. I always knew he’d be a famous singer. His voice was always unique. Now the world was getting to see what I already knew as fact. And I was damn proud of him. I made sure to tell him every chance I got. Or at least I tried, because those opportunities came fewer and fewer as the years went on.

 What I didn’t realize until I was already there was that America was not what I wanted. But my family had already paid my way through for me to get there and start, so I owed it to them to finish what I started. No, begged them for. I had to do it. Not just for me, but for them too now. And when I finished, degree in hand (well, suitcase), I traipsed back to Korea like my life depended on it. Why? Well… because it did.

The almost 16 hour plane ride was full of going from one book to another to my music apps and podcasts, fighting the impending boredom that came with the “adventure” in a tin can in the sky. The in-house wifi was holding up as best it could and my laptop was on the brink of overheating for the last hour. My mother’s last text before I took off popped up on my side window of messages. 

Mother: Little Jeonginnie is blowing up big now! You would be so proud of him. He’s come so far since you’ve last seen him. 

Jeonginnie?? I remembered the nickname she gave him and couldn’t stop the gagging noise from escaping in the middle of standing in line to board. The woman in front of me gave me a weird look. I stared back at her, glaring until she turned back around and started walking. I grimaced at my phone before I turned it on Airplane mode and put it in my pocket. What could be so different about him now? Had he grown that much? He couldn’t be much taller. I had always been taller than him, ever since we were kids. My mother blamed my father, saying it was his side of the family that gave me such a…problem. But I didn’t mind. It made it easier to scare off the boys I didn’t like. It also made it harder to find ones I did  like that weren’t intimidated but… whatever. This was the way it had always been.

My mom has been looking forward to this day since I left, crying on the phone that she was ‘so excited to have her baby home again’ that I was sure she would chain me to the kitchen sink to prevent me from leaving again. She claimed the house hadn’t been the same since I left, and by the looks of it, it was obvious. It was missing its usual…lived-in charm that I had apparently brought to it. The pillows were too erect, too fluffed. The kitchen counter was too clean, not a stain nor trace of midnight ramen seasoning on the counter. It wasn’t quite…home. It was a space for my parents to entertain. Which is exactly how I ended up face to face with Jeongin in my living room, arms wide open and looking like… a man. 

He was tall now too. His hair was blonde now and styled, even on his day off. It looked good. And his arms had filled out, no longer the sticks they used to be. Someone had gotten him into working out. Must be his older members… At least his smile was the same. Bright as ever, he stumbled over towards me and threw his arms around me with all his might. 

“Noona! You’re back! I can’t believe you’re back, I never thought I’d be home to see it.” His dimples showed so deep that I didn’t realize how much I had missed the sight of them. They were the kind you could swim in, the kind you wanted to roll out like they were made of dough. Which explained why his fans and members called him Baby Bread. His whole face was squishy just like it had been when I left. Except now, the rest of him wasn’t nearly as squishy. It made me second guess myself a little too much. I shook my head, trying to shake the thought. 

“Yeah yeah yeah. I came back because I saw you all over the internet, even over in America! What could you possibly be doing over there?!”

“It’s my band! We’re going everywhere now, I can’t stand to believe it sometimes. I still have a hard time believing it. But you’re finally back from school! How was your last year?! Tell me everything!”

Thus began a very long and tiring story of my senior year of college, everything from the parent-safe topics like classes and academics and American friends I made until our mothers left for the kitchen to make dinner. Then we moved onto the not so safe for parents ears, such as the hookups, the drama, and all of the bullshit that went down without my mother’s knowledge. He laughed when he was supposed to, he nodded at appropriate times, it was like he was using his media training on me and I couldn't help but laugh. He was mid-question and he stopped to tilt his head.

“What? What’s so funny?” He smiled again when I couldn’t keep it in anymore.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t help it. You’ve gotten very good at listening. If I remember correctly, you weren’t able to sit still and listen to me say more than three sentences at a time.”

“That’s because you learned how to tell an interesting story. College was good for something!” That dazzling smile emerged again and I was thinking those weird thoughts again. It wasn’t that I had thoughts of possibly liking him, it was just that the thought of it didn’t repulse me like it once did. It puzzled me. 

“Yeah yeah yeah. So tell me about your group! What’s everyone like? Is it true what they say online about you guys?”

“Well, I don’t know what you’ve seen so I don’t know whether to say yes or no.” He laughed and sat back in his chair. “But things have been going really well! We’re starting up our tour right now, we have our first stop in two days in Seoul. You should come! I want you to meet everyone.” I’d read a little about them while on the plane, just to take a peak at what my friend had been up to in the years I’d been gone. There were eight of them now, and they all brought something special to the group, at least according to Stay, their fans. I knew who was who and that was about it. It was like I had met them already. “Come on, Noona. You can meet everyone tomorrow if you want to, before the concert. Auntie can come too.” I looked at him with wide eyes and hit his leg when he started to crack up.

“You are not funny, Yang Jeongin.”

His inhaling laughter told me he thought otherwise.

*

Strolling by our favorite cafe, the memories came back to me in waves. Between Jeongin cracking jokes about people who were walking by and me trying to keep him from wandering into the street. Our relationship had shifted constantly from friends to siblings of sorts. Being an only child hadn’t provided a lot of opportunities for the older sister types of activities I had itched for so I happened to find them with Jeongin. Everything I had dreamed about being an older sister, I had with him. It helped me feel…complete somehow.

Jeongin thought later that it would be better if I met some of the members little by little. But then I recieved a text countering that idea, stating that the when the others heard what was happening, they jump in the car bfore he could protest. He decided that he wanted to bring us all here, a place of comfort to me and somewhere he’d always wanted to bring them. He had told me the ones he lived with were the ones that would really test how I would get along with the rest of them since they were the ones who were ‘harder to read’ or something.  I didn’t know which ones were the ones he lived with, only knew their names and faces in the group. I wondered if I’d need to do anything special to impress them or being my simple self would do. Jeongin told me to just be myself,  but if these guys were anything like him, they didn’t really care who I was. They probably had people fawning over them constantly so maybe as long as I acted like I didn’t care, it might turn out in my favor. Not that I really cared if they liked me, but it’s always nice to make friends. 

Walking up to the place I saw them all sitting at a table just chatting, like they were just regular people. They all had hats on, some backwards, and a mix of tshirts and sweats and jeans. One that I recognized, Lee Know, had his hat on backwards and his blonde hair was peeking out. It was then that I realized what Stays were talking about with him; he was prettier in real life. Like, a scary kind of pretty. 

Felix on the other hand, was an ethereal kind of pretty with a soft exterior to balance Lee Know’s sharp features. It was a quick reveal to why they called him sunshine. Even with his dark hair, he radiated warmth and empathy. Like you could tell him anything and he would do everything in his power to help or just to listen. His hat was on sideways, like the boy next to him had moved it and he just hadn’t changed it back.

The boy next to him had his hat on straight. I gathered that one was Seungmin because of his baseball t-shirt. Stays knew he loved baseball, saying he would’ve become a baseball player if he hadn’t chosen this path in life. He was the only one watching me walk up to them, catching my eye and staring holes into my head. I didn’t drop his gaze, having the gut feeling that he was watching me for a reason. I just couldn’t point a finger as to why.

Right at the perfect moment, Jeongin turned around to see me approaching, his broad smile only growing wider. 

“Over here!” He was waving me over to the empty seat beside him and Chan, a plate in front of it with a croissant on its center. A glass full of cream-colored liquid was placed in front of that empty seat, waiting for me. He still knew some things about me, proving the years of friendship withstood the idol training I was sure he went through. It didn’t break the kindness in him. 

His smile didn’t fade the closer I got. In fact, I would argue that it got bigger and brighter, only matched by Felix’s with his blonde hair shining in the sun. They all stood when I finally approached the table, awaiting formal introductions from Jeongin.

“Everyone, this is my childhood best friend. She just moved back from the States and she’s coming to the show tonight so we have to do our best for her.” He was still beaming even after he finished, and all the boys took their turns introducing themselves in order around the table. Seungmin was the last, confirming my suspicion that he was the one that was seated beside me. He said his name, not quite smiling or even a polite grimace like Lee Know had. No, he was just staring at me with wide eyes.

“Do I have something on my face?” I whispered to him, trying to break free of his glare. He shook his head. 

“No.” And with that he sat back down, staring at his mug with a slight rosy blush creeping along his cheeks.

Well that was simple enough. I sat back down in the chair and reached for the glass in front of me. “Thanks for ordering for me, I can’t believe you remembered.”

“I was just hoping that your tastebuds hadn’t changed. You’ve been abroad now, you could have acquired an American tongue.”

“Nope, still the same old same old for me. I’m not so easily influenced by others, Innie, you know this.”

“This is true.” He turned to the others. “She once had the whole class trying to tell her that she had something in her hair and she refused to believe it until someone held up a mirror for her!” He started laughing, reliving the memory. The rest of the group chuckled along with him. Then Chan spoke up.

“So what was Jeongin like in school? We only know a little bit, but what was he like as a kid?”

“Oh he was something else. Some days he would be the best little angel ever and others, he would be bouncing off the walls. I never knew what kind of friend I was getting each day. He was a wild card.” I smiled back at Jeongin. “But he’s better now. Now he’s all grown up and singing and dancing with you guys. It's fun to watch.”

“I can’t wait to hear what you think about the show tonight.” The short, dark-haired one, Han, piped up excitedly. “We’ve been working on it for a while. I’m just excited to show Stay. They’re going to love it.”

“Stay is-”

“Your fan base. I know. I might have done some research on the plane ride back.” Jeongin nodded, impressed.

“What else did you find in your ‘research’?” Hyunjin asked. Stay was right, he was prettier in person. Pictures didn’t do him justice. Pictures didn’t do any of them justice. 

“Oh, this and that. I saw something about you being a painter and Chan doesn’t sleep.”

“That about sums me up.” Chan laughed, Hyunjin along with him nodding. “What else did you find?”

“Let’s see… Lee Know-” The boy perked up, now listening closely. “-seems cold but cares the most. Also a great dancer.” Lee Know nodded. “Changbin works out a lot and is quite loud. Can’t wait to find out if that’s actually true or not.”

“It is.” Jeongin rolled his eyes. I laughed. 

“Han is also loud but very funny. And Felix is the cuddle bug.” Felix nodded along with Han. 

“Stay knows us pretty well.”

“And Seungmin…” I paused, not knowing which Stay fact to bring up first. Seungmin was watching me think, like he could watch all of the thoughts going around and around in my head. It was almost like a challenge. “Seungmin is a mystery. He can rap but he doesn’t unless asked. Stay is waiting for a rap part for him, by the way. He’s a ‘quiet-carer’, like Lee Know. And he says some of the most out-of-pocket stuff anyone has ever heard, making him hilarious as well.” Seungmin’s lip twitched, cracking into a smirk. 

“You’ve got it.” He continued smirking, watching my lips move as I spoke. They flickered between my eyes and the other features of my face. It was like I was hypnotized. I couldn’t look away from his features, his eyes locking on mine and watching my every move. I felt my heart beating against my chest bone, hitting it in time with every second that passed by. And then, all of sudden, it stopped beating altogether. And then it was just us. We weren’t outside anymore, it was real-life tunnel vision. He watched me and I watched him just looking at each other. 

And then a sharp cough from somewhere in the distance. 

Seugnmin broke the contact first, looking everywhere to find where the sound that dare interrupt our moment had come from. 

Jeongin had let out one of his signature grandfather coughs again, his eyes wide open watching me and his band mate. 

“I don’t think Seungmin-hyung is that mysterious. And I live with him. Just stay out of his stuff and you’ll be fine.” The boys nodded in agreement, not paying attention to their younger members. “That’s a little tougher for some than others.” He let out another pointed cough. 

“It was ONE TIME.” Felix exclaimed, righteous with indignation and the others bursted out laughing, including Seungmin. I couldn’t help but notice his cheeks pushing up to his eyes when he laughed for real, as opposed to his chuckle earlier while talking to me directly.  

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. 

*

This place was packed, people of all ages everywhere in various colorful outfits and carrying lightsticks were bouncing all over the place on their way out of the stadium. Girls running to the merchandise lines after the show to grab whatever was left, older moms peering over the crowd to find whomever they were looking for, and venue staff were scattered all around the place, the energy from the concert still setting the place abuzz. 

The show was amazing. I didn’t realize how talented Jeongin was. I knew he would go far in whatever he decided to do in life, but I never knew how far he was really going. It was palpable; the boys loved him. All of them. The way they teased him was reminiscent of how I teased him growing up. He really found a family in all of them. I was happy for him, really.

I watched off to the side in clear view of all of them surrounded by some very passionate fans, bound to get rowdier as the boys kept making their way over. Jeongin made sure to shout me out in his speech in the beginning, saying that he was so excited to perform in front of his childhood friends so as not to make it too obvious who I was. Seungmin found me almost immediately because he was dancing near my side. It was just like earlier; my eyes were drawn to him. The way his body moved, I couldn’t help but watch him even if I was supposed to be watching all of them. My excuse to Jeongin would be that he was the only one right in front of me, but I knew the truth.

 He was doing it on purpose. There was no way he wasn’t. Because everytime he came over my way, he found me again and waved to everyone around me. There was a small voice in the back of my head that was telling me it was meant for me. Or it could have been the smirk that followed his big smile while he waved to everyone around me. While he may not have been looking directly at me when he got over to my side, he was definitely staring me down when he walked away and I watched him until his attention was elsewhere. The more he walked over to our side, the more the fans around me jumped and waved their arms, trying to get anyone’s attention from the stage. When they waved their arms, they narrowly missed my head, sometimes knocking me and causing me to stumble into someone else beside me. Some of these fans are nuts. These hits didn’t go unnoticed by Seungmin though. The way his face fell when they bumped into me caused his big smile to falter, sending the corners of his mouth downwards. The joy on his face disappeared as he stared in our direction, not taking his eyes off our section. He didn’t walk away until I stood back up and returned my attention to him. 

Weirdo.

I was waiting near the stage until a burly man wearing a Stray Kids t-shirt came in and waved me over to take me backstage. Down the dark hallway lit by the same fluorescent lights as the main stage was by now, I spotted a taller figure with dark hair leaning on the wall a ways away from us. He was wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt from what I could tell while being so far away. As we drew closer, he spotted us as well and stood straight, coming to stand right in front of me. He smirked again, just as he had all night long but there was no malice coming from it. No, it was just a mild curiosity. He opened his mouth, possibly to say something snarky as his smirk suggested but just then, Jeongin appeared coming out of a door to our right. 

“Noona! What did you think? Were we any good?” Jeongin smiled brightly, eyes excitedly flicking from one to the other and back again, trying to find my answer. He reached for me, his hand grabbing mine quicker than I could realize what exactly he was reaching for. Seungmin’s gaze darted straight to where our hands connected and his stare could’ve started a fire. If looks could kill, I wouldn't have wanted to be Jeongin at that moment. His deep brown eyes had lost their warmth, void of any playful sparkle I had seen until now as Jeongin dragged me into their dressing room.

*

Next thing I knew, I found myself sitting on the Stray Kids Tour bus on the way back to the hotel for the night instead of in my car, heading back home. And somehow, Seungmin had found himself sitting beside me. Jeongin had escorted me onto the bus, but Seungmin had taken advantage of Jeongin going through his bag of belongings in another section of seats and slid in to occupy the one next to me. I just stared at him, Jeongin unaware of what had just occurred as he continued to shuffle through his bag.

“You’re in my seat.” was all Seungmin said to my stare. 

“So that means you have to sit as close to it as possible?”

“Yes.” And then he put his headphones on. I suspected he used this to avoid Jeongin’s questions because he had just put his bag away. I looked up just in time to see him look confusedly as Seungmin, who had his eyes glued to his phone now. Jeongin looked at me and I shrugged. He did the same and sat in the seat directly in front of me, lightly chuckling. I leaned forward, trying my best to ignore Seungmin’s thigh that was dangerously close to mine. 

“Why is he sitting next to me?”

“I don’t know. He’s a weird one.”

“He said I was sitting in his seat.” Jeongin’s brows furrowed. 

“He doesn’t sit there. He sits near the front most times.” 

I sat back in my seat, bewildered. I nudged Seungmin’s arm until he took his headphones off and when he did, he raised his eyebrow at me. 

“You don’t sit here. What gives?”

“I’m waiting for you to figure it out.” He said with another smirk, a permanent feature around me.

I sat back, stunned and taken aback. He just placed his headphones back on his ears, satisfied with his answer and returned to his phone. 

This was going to be a fun ride.

[randomshyperson]

Wanda Maximoff x Reader - Pure Heroine Series Part Four - 400 lux

Summary: You and Wanda have been friends for years, but now, you're grown up. Nothing stays as it was. | Album Inspired series "Pure Heroine" by Lorde.

Warnings: Mutual Pining, friends to lovers, fluff, some typical trope angst, high school to college, making out, drinking, substance abuse, fighting, implied compulsory heterosexuality | Words: 1.950k

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad | Pure Heroine Collection |

-&-

She's doing it again.

Wanda hates everything about it. The loud music, the sweaty, clinging bodies that prevent her from moving around calmly, the smell of alcohol and sex, and most of all, the lack of you.

She knew that her new choices would cost her your presence, but your absence also came with the numbing of all those unwanted feelings, and it was easier not to think about them with the help of beers or any other substance they offered her.

It was stupid and dangerous, and Wanda hated it. But again, the hangover didn't hurt as much as knowing that she had ruined everything with the person who mattered most to her.

This time, at least, it was a Saturday. It was the fifth party in the last three weeks that she had attended, and Wanda was almost surprised at how far she had gone this time. Her body trembled and broke out in a cold sweat, the taste of the colored pills that the third-year boys shared with her for free with the intention of getting her into bed still fresh on her tongue. Maybe Wanda would go with them this time; there were few times when casual sex, especially with some drunken young adult, really satisfied her, but it was better than no sex at all and nights and nights staring at the empty bed of her roommate with whom she wouldn't exchange more than four sentences for weeks. And counting.

Whatever she used, she had to admit that this time she had gone a little too far. And Pietro wasn't at the party, the so responsible athlete and future Olympic medalist, nor were her new friends, who had already found beds to sleep in for the night.

Her head spinning, she tried Monica's number, but to no avail. Then Natasha answered on the third ring, but it wasn't good news.

"I'm spending the weekend with my parents, Wanda. I told you that."

Well, fuck that, she probably did. Wanda doesn't remember, not now anyway, her head spinning like her stomach.

"Oh, yeah, shit, it's true." She mutters, her own intoxication showing in her voice. "Thanks anyway, Nat."

But the redhead spoke before she could hang up. "Why don't you call her? I'm sure she'd help-"

"I can't." Wanda cuts off, because now her eyes are full of tears, and the substances don't help to take the feeling out of focus. "I just can't. Good night, Nat."

"But, Wanda-"

She hangs up the phone and bends over to throw up in the bushes at the entrance to the frat house. The party continues uninterrupted, indifferent to her condition.

Wanda doesn't know how much time has passed before she hears chuckles behind her.

"Hey, baby, do you need any help in there?" The male voice sends a chill down her spine. She wipes her mouth, trying to balance herself against the wall. The man approaches, and his hands help her around the waist. 

"Don't touch me." She protests, pushing his hands away, and although he moves aside, he does so grinning.

She can't quite focus on his face, but she thinks she recognizes him from the team. "Relax, girl. Hey, I know you... You're Wanda, aren't you? I'm on your brother's team, I can take you to him."

It's the trap, clearly evident in the intentions hidden in his eyes. But Wanda is too drunk and nods. The boy smiles as if he's won something, and when he offers his arm for her to lean on, Wanda accepts it as a courtesy.

"My car's around the corner, let's go this way." He leads the way, and Wanda's feet move on their own.

They turn the corner, and she loses her balance again, the nausea returning. 

Something is screaming danger in the back of her mind. "The dormitory... is on the other side." She struggles, scratching at her eyes. The boy squeezes harder.

"Yeah, but I'm just going to get something from the car, it's quick, come on."

He starts pulling her by the waist again. Wanda doesn't even have time to be startled before he's the one who gets yanked off her this time.

It's too fast for her drunken brain to keep up: Your sudden appearance, dressed in pajamas covered by the leather jacket she bought you for your 17th birthday, the brutality with which you knock the boy to the ground and threaten him with a baseball bat with Bucky Barnes' signature on the end.

"Get out of here, asshole." You warn between teeth. The boy is so surprised and frightened that he crawls across the floor to stand up.

"What the fuck, are you insane?" He snaps in defense. "We're just talking."

But you adjust the bat in your hand as if you were going to attack him. "If you don't get out of here in the next two seconds, I’ll break your fucking arm."

He snorts angrily but takes two steps back. " Screw that, she's not even that hot."

He runs away, and when you turn to her again, Wanda wants to throw up for another reason.

"Hey, are you okay?" Wanda doesn't deserve the kindness and concern in your gaze. She doesn't deserve to be helped to her feet, to have her hair brushed out of her face or her cheeks caressed. "Wanda?"

Then she sobs, because it's been almost three months since she ruined everything and no amount of partying, drugs or casual sex has taken the feeling out of her chest.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry-" She cries and you sigh, hugging her for a moment. Wanda tries to control her tears, but you're stroking her hair and holding her, and she hates how much she doesn't deserve any of this. 

"Breathe, Wanda, it's okay." You try to calm her down, the baseball bat slack at your side, so that your other hand strokes the back of the girl clinging to you. "I'm taking you home, come on."

There's no resistance from her, and Wanda doesn't know it, but it's you who's nauseous with worry about her condition. Anyone could have dragged her into a corner, without any resistance, and the thought makes you grip the steering wheel tighter.

Despite the short journey from the Fraternity House to your dormitory, Wanda falls asleep on the seat. It's a bit of a struggle to wake her up and get her inside, but with some time and insistence, you manage to put her to bed.

Your room has hardly changed at all since you last looked for books here. Almost 14 weeks ago, when you argued with Wanda and she chose to pretend that your friendship was over the next day. How all attempts at conversation were ignored or aggressively denied, and how she started disappearing from classes while showing up at parties.

Darcy didn't mind sharing the apartment with you until the next room's swap application date, so that's who you're living with while Wanda pretends you were never friends.

You let her fall asleep on the bed, mumbling in her sleep, while you take your cell phone out of your pocket to reply to Natasha that you had found Wanda and that everything was fine.

There's a gentle tug on the hem of your jacket as you make a move to get out of bed.

"Don't go." Wanda asks in a hoarse sigh, and you swallow dry, hesitant. She doesn't loosen her grip. "Please. I don't wanna... be alone."

With a sigh, you nod, gently pulling your hand away just so you can take off your jacket and then your shoes. Wanda wastes no time in making room on the bed for you.

Even though you tense up immediately, she clings to you, hugging your body as if no time had passed, no quarrel had put an end to such an old friendship. She falls asleep on your chest, and you draw your initials with your fingertips on her skin until you finally falls asleep too.

When Wanda wakes up, the bed is empty. But the smell of your shampoo is everywhere on her pillow, and she gasps softly. She forces her face against it and inhales deeply, and the next sound that escapes her is less innocent.

Then the door opens, and Wanda jumps on the bed as if she had been caught.

You don't notice anything strange, distracted by the items in your hands.

"Oh, you're awake, good." You say with a small smile, approaching her bed to leave one of the cups on the nightstand. Now with a free hand, you take a carton of pills out of your pocket. "Aspirin, for the headache. And orange juice, for the hangover."

You clarify quickly and make a toast sign with your own cup, which from your habits that Wanda knows like the palm of her hand, is not too hard to deduce to be iced coffee. 

She can't even thank you - she's way too shocked that you're not a hallucination. You hesitate and understand her silence in the worst possible way. 

"Don't worry, I'm on my way. I won't get involved in your hangover or any of your business." The sad smile almost makes her choke with guilt.

You turn around, but Wanda calls out to you. "How did you find me yesterday?"

With a sigh, you retort: "Natasha called me."

"It was two in the morning."

You hesitate, shrugging. "I was awake."

But Wanda glares at you: " You were wearing pajamas." She insists, and you sigh in defeat.

" I had just got home, Wanda." You retort and look uncomfortable. You sigh and finally finish breaking her heart. "I had a date."

"Oh." And it's the only thing Wanda is able to say without crying. She clears her throat, to push the emotions away, and moves to reach for the pill and the orange juice. You stand there, shifting your feet and staring at the coffee in your hands. "Thanks for yesterday, and the juice is a kind gesture, but... I don't really need any of this. I can take care of myself."

Your sad smile returns, Wanda wants to slap herself. Maybe your stupid pretty face too.

"Right." It's your reply, laden with sarcasm, and instead of annoyance, Wanda gets angry.

" Is there anything you wanna say to me?"

You chuckle, incredulous. "Why? So you can explode at me again for no reason? Hard pass." You retort, and she clenches her jaw, watching you turn your ankles and walk away. "See you around, Maximoff."

But Wanda has replayed this scene a million times in her head. All the other times you've argued, and she's let you walk away in anger.

Nothing good came of it.

"Stay."

You hesitated on the doorknob, your trembling fingers covered by your body, not allowing her to see how affected you were.

Wanda's eyes blurred with her tears, and she sniffled softly. "Please." She insisted. "Just stay."

"Why?" And this time, you turn to her again, your gaze so confused and hurt that Wanda has to look away. "Wanda, answer me."

She sniffles. "I like it when you're around."

But you sigh impatiently. "That's not good enough, Wanda. Not after everything you've done." You retort more determinedly. "What do you want from me?"

She swallows dryly but raises her eyes again. "I want to make things right. Please. I just need a second chance to... fix it."

You sigh again, this time in defeat. You nod and touch the doorknob again.

"I'll buy our breakfast." And you offer her a small smile. "Go take a shower, you need it."

Wanda throws her pillow at you but misses it. Your giggle on your way out wakes all the butterflies in her stomach at once.

[kilojulietsierra]

You Promised - 1940s James "Bucky" Barnes x OFC

I LOVE 1940s Bucky so much and so I wrote this!

Summary: Bucky finally wins the favor of the pretty new girl in the neighborhood and together they make the most of the week before he ships out. Bucky makes her a promise the night before he leaves, and he intends to keep it.

Warnings: all my work is considered 18+, shameless flirting the both of them lol, fluff, angst,talk of war, there’s a tiny altercation in a dancehall, protective Bucky, allusions to smut, allusions to premarital sex which was frowned upon, nightmare mention, minor ofc is a refugee, pre serum Steve makes a couple appearances, happy ending

~~~

Bucky had seen her a handul of times around the neighborhood. Had done a bit of chatting up the neighbors to learn the little about her he could. She was new, relatively, to their block. Mrs. Martin in his building had said she remembered her folks before they had moved away, the girl had just been a baby then. He'd heard her talking to Frankie at the deli and her accent wasn't from around here, she'd grown up somewhere else. Mr and Mrs Lewis had even told him, just the other day when he'd stopped to help change their tire, that her family had moved back in to take care of a sick grandmother. Her mothers or fathers side they didn't know, but they lived in the place next to them and she was "such a sweet girl James, she'd straighten you right up."

Today she was walking out of the grocery a paper sack in one arm and a small stack of library books in the other. He smiled. Tis was his chance and he was more than happy to take it. Part of him, admittedly the slgihtly shallow part, wished he was in his uniform or at least dressed better than his work clothes.

That didn't stop him from picking up his pace and cutting across the street to bump into her. "You sure got your hands full. Here let me help." He ducked his head to catch her eye and spare her an easy grin as he gestured towards the sack of groceries.

Her eyes were a pale, sea glass green and they were sharp and skeptical as she appraised him. "I can manage, thank you though."

"No, not a chance, my ma would never forgive me." He deftly snagged the bag from her, grinning wider. "Besides, I think we live across the street from eachother. It's Lettie right?"

Those pretty green eyes narrowed at him, her brow furrowed "It is…"

"James," He settled her groceries in one hand and extended his other to her, "Everyone calls me Bucky though."

"Strapping young man like you can't get them to stop?" She quipped even as she held her hand up for him to take, "Your teeth don't seem that bad to me." One single brow arched and her face was passive as she held her books tight and walked on down the street. Not waiting for him to follow.

Bucky smiled wide as he fell in step beside her, keeping his stride slow and leisurely. "Cute," He looked down at her but she didn't look back. Unphased he elaborated, "Buchanan is my middle name, family name."

"Ohhh," She looked at him finally, tucked her sleek red hair behind her ear as she turned to walk backwards eying him in a way he couldn't quite place. "You're the Barnes boy. Mrs. Lewis told me to watch out for you." She looked pleased with herself, thinking she'd got some sort of upperhand.

Still grinning Bucky picked up his pace, just so he could step past her and lean down close and say, "Funny, she told me the same thing about you." And he continued on ahead of her biting his bottom lip and waiting.

"Now, just a minute, what is that supposed to mean?" She jogged to catch up to him again.

He didn't respond just smiled, kept walking, and threw her a lazy wink as they walked on down the street.

At the next corner she turned on him again, "What's your angle Barnes?"

"What angle doll?" He countered her overly formal use of his name with one that earned him a slght pink flush to her cheeks.

"Just a nice neighbor boy, carryin' my groceries? What is it? All the other girls in Brooklyn had their fill?" She shifted the books in her arms and Bucky saw one was a Tree Grows in Brooklyn.

"No angle," He nodded his head for her to continue and went out on a limb as he put his free hand at her shoulder to turn her and keep her moving, "Okay, that's not entirely true," He nudged her forward again smiling at the triumphant look on her face when she spun on him. "I just mean, that you are prettier than any girl I've ever seen and I've been dying for a chance to steal just a little bit of time with you." He slowed to a stop in front of what he knew was her building and grinned when she continued on a few steps before she noticed.

Her eyes were calculating and predatory as she scrutinized him. Looking for the angle, as she had said.

He noticed then the second book was a copy of the Hobbit he'd borrowed himself years ago.

"Alright, I'll bite, a little bit of time for what exactly?" She looked almost unimpressed, with herself, for asking.

Licking his lips Bucky smiled and took a step closer so she would have to tilt her chin up to look him in the eye. Which she did, standing her ground, and he loved it. "To ask if I could take you out one night this week."

"Just one night huh?" Her face didn't change as she said it

Was she really…? Bucky faltered the slightest bit, cocked his head to the side as he tried to figure out the real meaning in her words. He pushed his luck. "Every night if you'd let me."

She smiled. The barest tilt of her lips and Bucky felt ten feet tall. He was in love with this girl already, or would be if he wasn't careful.

"How about we just start with tomorrow night?" Her face softened but her eyes kept the spark in them.

"Done." Bucky didn't hesitate. "There is one catch though."

She rolled her eyes and then they both had to step away from the stoop as one of her neighbors exited the building. Both of them mumbled their apologies before she continued, "Always is."

"Not anything bad." Bucky assured her. "See i've got this friend, my best friend really, he's a great guy but shy."

Lettie nodded, eyes skeptical again. "So you actually want me go out with this friend?"

"God no!" The moment the words left his mouth he cringed, but the sting of his own embarrasment faded when she chuckled and ducked her eyes to the sidewalk. He caught a peak at the tip of her tongue as it wetted her lips and his confidence came back, "I'm keeping you all to myself sweetheart, trust me."

Her cheeks were pink when she looked back up at him and she was biting the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling too wide. "So, this friend…"

"Steve. Great guy. He just, needs a little push out of his shell if you know what I mean." Bucky almost felt bad, but God help him he desperatley wanted to find his pal a girl. "Was just thinkin' maybe you had a friend, we could make it a double date."

Lettie's eyes were skeptical again and she glanced behind her before she responded, "A friend that likes shy boys or a friend that likes any boy?"

When he caught her meaning Bucky licked his lips and looked her up and down, "Oh sweetheart, surely you don't have friends like that? I had you figgured for a good girl." He was going to fucking marry this girl, God help him.

She flushed a darker shade of pink and laughed, rolled her eyes again but settled her greens back on his blues after a heartbeat. Lettie licked her lips and looked him up and down herself. "Most of the time." Her eyes locked on his mouth as Bucky sunk his teeth into his bottom lip for a fraction of a second.

Unable to stop himself Bucky hummed approvingly and hunted for her gaze again before he spoke, "Then why don't you bring one of your nice, sweet friends with you tomorrow night and she can keep Steve company while you and me see what kinda trouble we can get into?"

Lettie answered by taking back her brown paper bag full of groceries and taking the first few steps up to the front of the building before she turned and said. "You better be right here by seven tomorrow night, Barnes." She settled him with a look which softened after a second. "Earlier if you want to make a good impression."

"Yes ma'am." His cheeks hurt from smiling and he shoved his hands in his pockets. She was almost to the door before he called after her, "Hey sweetheart," she was grinning when she turned around, her face still skeptical but in a teasing sort of way now. Bucky took a few steps backwards towards his side of the street, "Wear somethin' you can dance in."

~~~

Bucky was outside her building at 6:45pm, fighting the urge to smoke a cigarette while he waited.

The front door opened at 6:50pm and Lettie poked her head out, "Why Mr. Barnes, I'm proud." She sounded snarky but she was smiling as Bucky jogged up the steps to meet her. She pushed the door open wider and waved him in.

He stepped right up in front of her and took the door, looking over her he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. "Well hello to you too doll." She looked so pretty he had to force his eyes to meet hers. "You look gorgeous."

She rolled her eyes but blushed that rosy pink color that he liked. "You look pretty sharp yourself."

He'd worn his uniform. Shined his boots and everything. "

That'll help." She added cryptically as she started up the stairs.

Bucky paused at the bottom, "Help with what?" Lettie bounced back down a couple stairs until they were eye to eye. "Help convince papa you're a fine young man that's gonna take good care of me."

"Oh," Bucky felt a rush roll through him as she grabbed his hand. He used the hold to keep her in place as he held her gaze intenesly and added, "I'm gonna take real' good care of ya sweetheart."

Her father had been nice enough, intimidating but Bucky had won him over quickly. Her mother was a looker with the same red hair as Lettie. A younger sister that he'd seen poking her head around the corner to sneak a peak had the same pretty green eyes and looked like she'd be a world of trouble herself in a few years. If the way Lettie and her mother had both scolded the younger girl and sent her scurrying was any inclination.

"I'm impressed." Lettie said once they were back down on the street.

"Already?" Bucky teased and laughed when she playfully shoved him towards traffic. "Kidding." He tugged her close and looked her over, "Thought springing your folks on me was gonna send me runnin'?"

She didn't answer but that was answer enough. Bucky picked up her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. Lettie smiled and rolled her eyes even as she let his lips linger. He liked that little bit of attitude mixed with that soft and sweet. He liked it a lot.

"We should uh, we should go. I told Isaline we would meet her at the station. I wasn't sure where we were going." Lettie seemed the slightest bit flustered but her eyes were still bright.

Bucky smiled, wrapped her hand in the crook of his elbow and led her off down the street. "So is this the nice friend or the really nice friend." He coughed out a laugh as she smacked him in the chest.

"Isaline is a sweetheart, she's a little shy herself but only, well, you'll see."

When he watched her greet her friend at the station the rapid chattering in a different language caught him off guard. He stood back, a little awkward, but with an easy, charming smile on his face.

"James this is Isaline, Isa this is James, or Bucky as he somehow prefers to be called." Lettie introduced them with a big smile.

The friend was pretty and Letties comment made more sense when he heard how heavily accented her English was. On the train the girls sat and chatted while Bucky stood, one hand on the rail and listened as they went back and forth between English and French. As they left the train Bucky grabbed Lettie's elbow softly and leaned into her ear, "Aren't you just a treat?"

The girl with him blushed a bright red but smiled, "What do you mean?"

"You speak French?"

"My family lived in Montreol for most of my childhood." Lettie lowered her voice, "Isaline's family fled France a couple years ago, before…" Lettie trailed off.

Bucky nodded, "Brave girl." He whispered back before he wrapped Letties hand through his arm again. Isa and Lettie linking arms and letting Bucky lead them down the street to the little dancehall he liked best. Steve would like this girl, even if she was shy, she was pretty for sure, a killer smile and brave enough to escape the Nazis. Right up his best friends alley.

~~~

Steve was waiting for them out front. Standing off to the side, hands in his pockets, wearing that same old jacket. Bucky had to grin. He whistled then called out, "Hey punk, over here!"

When Bucky introdruced him to Lettie and Isa Steve was ever the gentleman. Then as Isa rattled something off in French to Lettie, Bucky and Steve exchanged a look. Steve furrowed his brow at his best friend, Bucky just smiled and shrugged.

Lettie chuckled and then linked her arm through Bucky's, whcih pleased him greatly, as she addressed Steve. "She wants me to tell you that she's sorry her English isn't so good, but that she'd like it very much if you would help her practice some tonight. Preferably while she's running her fingers through your hair." Isa giggled beside her friend and Bucky outright laughed.

Steve gulped as Bucky clapped him on the shoulder and pushed him towards the door with the music spilling out. "What're you laughing at Buck?"

Bucky laughed again as Isa hooked her arm in Steve's and began to drag him forward at a jog. "I think we're both in trouble tonight pal." He felt a pinch in his side as he laughed again and turned to tip his gaze down to Lettie, "What was that for doll?" With his same easy grin he walked her towards the line to get in, his pace a slow kind of swagger. Feeling good in his uniform with a gorgeous girl on his arm.

"Isa is not trouble." She defended her friend, "She's just... flirtacious. It's 'cause she's French."

"I'll say." Bucky laughed again, falling in line behind the flirty French girl and Steve. While they waited Bucky ducked down to whisper in her ear, "What would a guy have to do for you to whisper to him in French and play with his hair? Hmm?"

Lettie rolled her eyes and flicked the bill of his cap, "He'd have to take me on at least two more dates."

Bucky smirked and raised his brows as he straightend his cap. In his head he counted out the days until he shipped out. "I think I can make that happen." "

Oh do you?" Lettie smirked as they came to the door, "I think I'll be the one that decides that Mr. Barnes."

He kept smiling as he paid for the four of them to get in, "Y'know, technically, it's Sargent Barnes."

Her cheeks were rosy from her permanent smirk as she shook her head, "Whatever you say Bucky." She teased him, not giving him the satisfaction of acting impressed.

With one hand on her back he guided her through the door behind Steve and Isaline. Once she was in front of him he leaned in to whisper beside her ear again, "You're just a little firecracker aren't you?"

There was a brief moment where she halfstepped, intentionally causing him to bump into her back as he followed her and on reflex he set a hand at her waist to steady them both. WIth him close Lettie glanced over her shoulder and gave him a look, "I thought I was a treat?"

Bucky liked the way she felt just barely pressed against him and the way her waist fit so perfectly in his hand. He smiled, a little mischevious and leaned in so close his nose brushed her hair, "Girl can be both. Perfect combination if you ask me." He caught the way she blushed and smiled wide just before she looked away from him and it was doing dangerous things to his ego.

~~~

Lettie knew she wasn't the best dancer but she had been excited. Impatient even to let Bucky take her out onto the floor. It hadn't taken him long and they'd quickly abandoned their friends in the corner to camp out on the dancefloor. They danced song after song until the band took a break, She was warm and a little breathless when she had nodded and let Bucky pull her towards the back of the hall for something cold to drink.

She stood a little behind Bucky while he spoke with a server behind the bar and busied herself trying to spy across the room at Isa and Steve. Neither of them had ran away yet, which based on what Bucky had told her while they danced was an improvement. She hadn't seen them out on the floor even once, but it looked like Steve had a bit of a pink hue to his cheeks which made Lettie laugh to herself.

"Hey honey, you gonna give anyone else a go tonight?"

"Excuse me?" She turned towards the unfamiliar voice.

"You heard me sweetie. You been lettin' that pretty boy hog you all night. Think I should get a turn, huh?"

The disgust on her face was evident when she spat back, "I think you should quit callin' me names and beat it."

"You little s…" The mans hand was a blur of motion but it froze midair when Buckys hand caught him by the wrist.

"That's a real bad idea." Bucky said calm as can be as he held an iron grip on the man with his left hand and reached towards Lettie with his right. He twisted the mans wrist just enough to cause some discomfort and push him back.

"You outta put muzzle on your bitch there." The man snarled even as Bucky twisted his arm further.

Before Bucky could retalliate though Lettie was pushing past him, "You outta put a bag over your head so the rest of us ain't gotta suffer that ugly mug."

"Okay doll, that's enough." Bucky dropped the mans wrist in favor for catching Lettie around the waist and pulling her back, spinning her around behind him once again. He saw the motion out of the corner of his eye and groaned, "You're killin' me." He caught the other mans sloppy haymaker easily and twisted him around with it, pinning it at what looked to be an extremely uncomfortable angle. He shoved the man back towards his group of friends, "You boys, better sort your pal out there." Bucky gestured to the still fuming, stumbling, loudmouth and then turned back to Lettie

"Nuh-uh." Bucky shook his head as he pushed her back by the hip, "Leave it doll, let's go." He reached for the two cokes he'd bought and gently ushered her back from the scene of the incident.

"You're just gonna let him…"

"I…" Bucky drew out the syllable to emphasize a point, "Am keepin' you outta trouble."

Lettie chewed on her lip, not noticing the way Bucky was figinting back a grin, "You should've let me…"

"Let you what doll? Sock him?' Bucky glanced over his shoulder then back to her, "Was gonna do it myself till you went tearin' after him like a prize fighter."

The scowl on her face softened slightly and Bucky tilted his head to one side, smiling down at her, "Sweetheart, I think you did enough damage without either one of us puttin' hands on him." He tugged her closer, let his arm wrap all the way around her waist and she relaxed into him almost immediatly.

"I'm sorry James." She finally, had the decency to look a little embarrassed.

"Don't apologize, I kinda liked it." Bucky threw her a wink and held her gaze a beat, "My little firecracker."

Lettie scoffed, purposfully ignoring the way he had used 'my'. She leaned back enough to pluck a Coke bottle from his grasp and take a sip. "I kinda liked it too." She mumbled against the mouth of the glass bottle.

"What's that?" Bucky leaned closer so he could hear.

She sighed deep and stood up a little to repeat herself in his ear, "I kinda liked how you… ya know…" Lettie trailed off not sure how to explain that she had found his quiet, confindent, control of the situation so attractive. The way he could have clearly swung on the troublemaker but instad chose to use his brain as well as his muscles.

He must've seen it in her eyes, or heaven forbid read her mind, because Bucky pulled back with a shit eating grin, "Oh really?" He licked his lips and gave her a nearly inappropriate look, "I'm glad." He all but whispered against her temple and followed it by a careful press of his lips. When he pulled back she was grinning too and they left it at that.

~~~

For awhile the four of them had sat at the little corner table and chatted. Bucky had kicked Steve out of his chair, forcing him to go and sit beside Isa so Lettie could sit next to him. Soon he had his arm draped over the back of Letties chair and was smiling contently as the girls chatted across the table.

After awhile Bucky had all but bullied his pal into taking the pretty French girl out for a spin on the dancefloor. Lettie had giggled beside him as Isaline had nearly drug Steve along behind her. Together they sat there, watching from the sidelines as their friends danced, or tried to.

"Gosh is that how clumsy I looked?" Lettie laughed hiding it behind her hand.

'Not a chance," Bucky ducked his head to meet her gaze, "You looked like a dream doll."

She turned that pretty pink color and couldn't hold his eye. Bucky chuckled, "How come you can be so gorgeous, so quick, square up with a guy twice your size without thinkin' twice," He paused and reached a careful hand out to tip her face back to his, "And still get so flustered when I say somethin' nice?"

Lettie bit her lip and shook her head a little, eyes dropping closed for a moment when he stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb. "I don't know."

All he could do was smile. When he caught sight of the others coming back he gave her a soft smile and a wink.

~~~

The four of them had split up at the station, Bucky once again nearly forcing Steve to walk Isa home, giving Bucky and Lettie the chance to walk home together. Alone.

She had ahold of his elbow again, only this time she had both arms wrapped around his and they laughed and teased eachother as they walked. At the front steps to her builing Lettie's heart dropped slightly and she took a fortifying breath. She turned to face Bucky and asked outright, "You're leaving soon aren't you?"

Though it might have caught him off guard he didn't show it. He only took her hand in his and nodded, "My company ships out Friday."

Lettie nodded, looked intently at his hand that engulfed hers, warm, rough to the touch but gentle. She put on a smile, forced but not insincere, "I had a really great time tonight Bucky."

That brough his smile back as well. He picked her hand up to his lips and kissed the top of her thumb, "So did I."

SHe studied him intently, eyes searching for some answer he was more than willing to let her find. He stood there patiently, with his easy grin firmly in place while he waited, hand still holding hers.

"Even though I kinda tried to start a fight?" She chuckled sheepishly.

HIs grin doubled, "Oh especially since you tried to start a fight."

She swatted at his chest and he took it in stride, even tugged her back to him after.

"So you'd consider, maybe, taking me out again?" Lettie was fighting back nerves that evaporated when she saw the way his face cracked into a wide, honest smile.

"Sweeheart, you have no idea how much I'd like that." He took that as a sign that he could get away with wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her against him. "Can I come fetcch you tomorrow? We can get a bite to eat, just you and me this time?"

Lettie was beaming when she nodded, "Sounds perfect."

The way she was looking up at him, matched with the way she had all but melted into him, gave him hope but she was a handful and he was a gentleman. So, he asked, "Lettie," he tipped her chin up with his knuckle and looked her in the eye, "Can I kiss you goodnight?"

"Yes please."

Bucky had to remind himself to keep it short and sweet. The way all the air left her in a rush as he pressed his lips to hers drew him in. He'd meant it to be a quick little peck, empitome of a gentleman, but then her hands had reached for either side of his jaw and he couldn't hold back the happy hum in the back of his throat. He swiped his lips over hers again and spread a hand wide over her back to press her even closer to him.

When he finally forced himself to pull away he saw her eyes still closed and her lips still parted and couldn't help himself. "Look at you." He murmered to her, catching the way her eyes fluttered open only for her to moan and let them fall closed once more as he allowed himself one final kiss. Electricity trilling down his spine as she captured his bottom lip between hers as they pulled away the second time.

Lettie was trying to catch her breath and her eyes were wide and lit from within.

"See you tomorrow beautiful." Bucky tipped her face gently so he could press a kiss to the corner of her eye, not trusting himself to kiss her properly again.

WIth a happy hum she let her hands slide over his shoulders and down to squeeze his biceps as she smiled up at him sweetly. "Can't wait."

Bucky held the door to her building open for her and returned her silly little wave as she scampered up the stairs. He stood there unitil he heard her door upstairs open and close. "Neither can I." He whispered to himself, with the shake of his head, as he let the door swing closerd behind him.

~~~

"You're too good for the likes of him Lettie, you mark my words."

"Sal!" Bucky scoffed, "C'mon, you've known me my whole life"

"Exactly!" The old man pointed at him accusingly as he set another bottle of Coke down.

Bucky shook his head, offended, "Don't do me dirty like that Sal, c'mon." The man behind the counter laughed loudly as he walked away, sharing a conspiritorial wink with Lettie.

Still shaking his head Bucky shifted to face her on his stool, "You might have everyone fooled, but I know better."

Lettie scoffed, "Oh, you know better? Do you? A few dates and you've got me all figured out, is that it?" She propped her elbow besdie her plate and arched her brow, waiting.

"Workin' on it." Bucky grinned, reached down to grab the leg of her stool and drag her closer. It made her giggle and he loved it, "You're no angel darlin' but you are definitly too good for me."

That surprised her and she grinned even wider, licking her lips she spoke softly, "Well then aren't you lucky?"

"Very lucky." Bucky leaned in to kiss her cheek.

"You knock that off Barnes! People eat here."

Lettie snorted out a laugh, as Bucky jokingly growled, "Sal, you're killin' me here." He caught the way Lettie was looking at him out the corner of her eye, "Don't you enourage him doll." She snorted out an even less lady like laugh and went back to her food. "You're both killin' me."

Bucky snuck a hand out to tickle her ribs earning him a squeal of laughter and a hard swat to his forearm. "Behave yourself." She scolded him, jabbing a finger in his direction.

Bucky surrendered, hands in the air and everything. "Okay, okay, best behavior." He tossed her a wink as he went back to his own plate. Both of them fighting back smiles, cheeks aching.

Sal walked back by after a minute and gave Bucky a hard look, "I take it back, this girl, I think she's good for you." He smacked Bucky hard, affectionantly but hard, on the shoulder and turned to move on down to another couple at the end of the counter.

Bucky caught Letties eye and kept his voice low, "Oh, she's very good for me."

Lettie flushed bright red and hid her face in her free hand, "You are the absolute worst." She hissed back at him.

He furrowed his brow, asbsentmindedly twirling his fork between his fingers, "Really? Pretty sure that's not what you ..."

"James Buchanan, I swear..." She left her threat to trail off in the static between them. Her face flushed and Bucky grinned like the cat that ate the canary.

"Okay, like I said, best behavior." He left it at that, only reaching for the hand she had been hiding behind and tugging it to him so he could press a kiss to her palm. Then with a happy, contented smile he remained on his best behavior through the rest of lunch.

When the two of them left, Bucky left a little bigger tip on the counter than he needed to and tucked Lettie into his side as they headed back out onto the street. Neither of them paying attention to the looks that trailed after them. The group of girls in a booth that looked longingly at the handsome young man and the open and obvious adoration for the girl that wasn't them. The older couple that shared a knowing, reminiscint smile, and Sal who shook his head with a chuckle as he cleared their plates away.

Out on the street Bucky and Lettie continued down the sidewalk, his arm over her shoulders and their fingers laced together.

"Buck?" "

Yeah doll."

"What happens while your gone?" She tried to keep her voice light.

Bucky swallowed thickly and did the same, "Told you, we're gonna go over there, kick HItlers ass, and be back in time for you..." He paused mid stride to spin her around and pull her back so they stood face to face, "To take me ice skating for Christmas."

Lettie rolled her eyes in that way she knew he liked. "For me to take you, huh?"

"Well, we already established I don't know how, so... yeah. You're gonna have to hold onto me all night." He fought back a grin as he walked into her, pushing her to step backwards, "I'm probably gonna make a fool out of myself, hanging on you the whole time." He made his point by wrapping his arms around her tightly, still keeping them walking down the street. Lettie trusting him completely as she continued stepping backwards.

"James, I'm serious." She looked up at him with bright but serious eyes. He returned her gaze and slowed them to a stop at a cross walk. His sharp blue eyes left hers to watch the traffic go by for a moment. "We talked about this Lettie." He looked back to her, kept her wrapped up tight. "

You hardly know me."

"Don't matter." His answer was so immediate and certain it took a little of the fight out of her. "You're my girl. We both know this ain't..." Bucky trailed off. For once he was the one at a loss for words, "Don't matter it's only been a week. It's never been like this for me before Lettie."

With a heavy sigh she wrapped her arms around his neck and relaxed into him. "Me either."

"So, you'll wait for me?" He gazed down at her lovingly, hopefully. His eyes nearly fluttering closed at the feel of her nails scratching through the short hairs at the nape of his neck.

"You know I will. " She smiled up at him just as in love, even if neither of them had said those words just yet. "As long as you promise to do your damndest to come home to me."

HIs smile turned into a smirk, "Such a mouth on you." He kissed her before she could say anything back, being so bold as to swipe his tongue into her mouth right there in the middle of the sidewalk. She nipped at his bottom lip as he pulled back and he let her draw him in for another slow kiss. "I promise Doll, I'm comin' home to you."

They stood that way for a moment longer, more unspoken promises being shared in the silence. Lettie was the one that broke them out of it, "You, better let me go, so I have time to go round up a friend for Steve and get ready."

"You look good in what you're wearin'." Bucky almost pouted, carefully bunching up the fabric of her skirt in one hand.

"Thank you, but" She swatted his hand away, "You promised to wear your uniform for me tonight, so I have to go get dolled up." She winked when she used a play on his favorite pet name for her, "So those other girls out there don't get the wrong idea."

"Don't see how they could when I can't keep my hands off you." Bucky offered smoothly as he dropped a short, teasing kiss to her lips. "But, you know I love it when you get all done up for me." His eyes were downright sinful when he looked her up and down and he smiled at the blush on her cheeks. "You sure you're okay meeting us there?"

"I'm sure." She patted him on the chest, took a moment to enjoy the feel of the hard earned muscle under his shirt and then dropped her hands when Bucky gave her a look. "Don't you..."

"Wasn't gonna say a word." He bit his bottom lip and looked her up and down. Unabashedly remembering how her hands had felt on his bare skin, the slight red marks she had left behind. Bucky slowly backed away before he got himself in anymore trouble.

"Hey Sarge!" Lettie called after him, teaasing him again, "Forgetting something?"

WIth a laugh and a shake of his head he joined her back on the corner of the sidewalk, and with a hand on each hip he pulled her into another kiss. "I'll see you tonight."

~~~

It was too bad Isaline hadn't been the girl for Steve, it turns out they were just two different types of shy. Isa was shy becuase she was new to the States and still didn't feel completely at home. Steve was shy because, well, he was Steve.

Lettie liked Steve the little she'd been around him. Bucky was right, he was a great guy, he just was a little unsure of himself. Lettie remembered the first little tiff she and Bucky had had, on their second date, when she had brought up what Isa had said about Steve. But Lettie had apologized for speaking harshly about his best friend and Bucky had apologized for raising his voice.

They had sat in a park down by the water and talked after that, Bucky filling her in on growing up with Steve and she understood better. Even became a little more invested in finding him a girl, vowing to take up the mission while Bucky was overseas along with most of the competition. Admittedly the date she'd found for him tonight wasn't the best match but she'd had short notice. Mae was smart as a whip and pretty, but a little on the stoic side. She had been excited though.

Of course that was after Lettie had told her that Bucky, her handsome Army beau had got them tickets to the Stark Expo and was going to bring a buddy along for her. Bucky had talked him up, sharing all the best things.

Mae had looked at her sideways when the boys arrived, "That's Buckys best friend?"

"Yeah." Lettie called them over and then turned back to Mae. "Don't be rude, he's the sweetest guy. You'll see."

"He could be sweet and look like yours. Is that too much to ask?"

Lettie rolled her eyes already feeling bad about the setup but excited for the expo and to spend the night with Bucky.

~~~

They had stayed out so late that Lettie was certain her folks would be upset, even if they liked Bucky which they did, it was well past the decent hour to bring a girl home. Who could blame them though? He was shipping out in the morning. This would be their last night together in God knew how long.

She swayed with the motion of Bucky bumping into her as they walked, "Where that pretty mind of yours wander off to?" He asked when she glanced up at him.

She gave him a soft, sadly tinged smile and apologized, "Sorry, was just thinkin'."

He didn't have to ask, he just held her tighter and dropped a kiss to the top of her head. "You got the pamphlet right, on how to get letters to me?"

Lettie nodded but didn't trust herself to speak. They were a few blocks from her house now and her throat got tighter with each step.

Bucky breathed deep and tried to lighten the mood, "Wish I could keep you out all night. Keep you all to myself 'till I have to leave. But, I think your folks like me and I don't wanna mess that up. Would throw a real wrench in my plans."

With a snort Lettie gazed up at him, "Your plans huh?"

"Mhmm."

When he left it at that she finally cracked a smile and a hint of a laugh, "Care to share those plans with me Barnes?"

WIth a wide smile Bucky pulled her to a stop around the block from her home. "Nothin' too crazy. Just go to war, come home, convince you to marry me, which admittedly may be difficult but I'm up to the challenge," He laughed at the eye roll that earned him and continued, "Get a good job, find us a place, figure out how many kids we're gonna have."

"So you do, just got it all planned out don't you?" Lettie shook her head.

He nodded once slowly, not saying anything else for a long while. Then he tugged her to him by the waist and kissed her, "How does that sound?" He whiispered against her lips.

Lettie wrapped her arms around his neck and allowed him to mold her body against his and squeeze her tight as they breathed the same air.

She thought of a lifetime of the laughing and smiling, the teasing and squabbling. Of his wandering hands and hugs that set the world right again. With heat rising up in her chest she thought of the one night they'd been able to steal together. The way they had laughed and fumbled and whispered together in the dark. How she had felt so adored and loved and at the same time so alive and indescent in the most amazing ways. She thought of the way he had looked at her, and she at him.

It wasn't that they were the only people in the world, far from it, but that they were only ones that either of them could imagine having for the rest of their lives.

With no sense of how long she'd been thinking she hugged him tighter and whispered into the side of his neck, "It sounds amazing."

His arms held her tighter, closer, if that were even possible, and then her feet were off the ground and the world was spinning. When Bucky sat her feet back on solid ground she was laughing and he was giving her that obnoxiously charming, easy grin she had fallen for so quickly.

Bucky brought his hands up to cradle her face as he kissed her again. More so this time, "I wish I could take you home with me tonight." He barely pulled back from her to say the words and then he was devouring her lips again. "One more time before I go." He wouldn't give her enough time to respond between kisses so she just hummed, moaned more like, happily into his mouth and carded her fingers through the hair at the back of his head.

A shiver rolled through her at the thought of another stolen night spent thouroughly exhausted and wrapped up in his arms. The promise of a future where he wouldn't have to sneak her home after. Where they could stay that way, wake up wrapped in eachother.

Eventually Lettie moaned again, nipped at his lip to get him to give her a chance to breath, and they were both giggling as they pulled apart. Bucky licked his lips like he was savoring the taste of something sweet and it made her heart flutter.

All of the sudden she couldn't keep her hands still. They slid from his neck to frame his jaw and then down to his firm chest and even lower over his torso. The memory of watching the muscles there ripple, flex and contract above her brought heat to her cheeks.

"You're thinkin' too much again doll." He was teasing her now, as he took her hands in his and started them walking back down the sidewalk before they got themselves in trouble.

"You mean it right?" She blurted out as he tucked her back into his side and turned the corner towards her building.

"Every word." He kissed the top of her head again, hugging her to him the whole rest of the block. In front of her building he smiled at her, "Want me to walk you up?" He didn't want to leave her yet.

Lettie took the first step and then turned towards him again, they were eye to eye like this, and shook her head. "It'll be quietter if I go up alone." She draped her arms over his shoulders and closed her eyes, smiling serenely as his hands moved to her waist.

They stroked up and down a few times before he wrapped his arms around her completely. He was going to ask for one more kiss but she beat him to it. One of her hands reached up to tip his cap off his head and the other combed through his jet black, slicked back hair underneath.

His eyes closed with the gentle touch and he smiled when she pressed her lips to his. This kiss was softer, sweeter, a proper good bye, as they held eachother in the dark on their Brooklyn street. When his eyes opened and saw her there, green eyes glassy and lips swollen he hadn't hesitated, "I love you so much." He lifted his own hand to tuck a strand of hair back and swipe away a tear from the corner of her eye, "I promise you doll, I'll do everything in my power to come home to you."

"I love you too, God, so much it scares me." She sobbed out a little laugh and leaned into his hand. "And you better keep that promise."

Bucky laughed too, a lump in his throat and fighting back uncharacteristic tears of his own. "You better get upstairs." He kissed her again, quick and light. Trying to ease the heaviness of the mood.

"Good night Bucky." She tilted her head to kiss him, one more time, and then set his cap back on his head. Crooked, the way he liked it. Then she backed away.

"Sweet dreams doll." He held her hand in his until it had slipped away and he watched her turn at the door and smile back at him.

She waved, that same silly, flirtacious wave, she'd given him every night for the past week and then blew him a kiss. How could he not laugh, shake his head at her and return the wave. He even blew her a kiss of his own, laughing at himself but loving the way she beamed back at him. Then the door swung closed behind her and Bucky was alone in the darkness. With a sad smile he shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to walk across to his own building. He knew he wouldn't sleep tonight.

~~~

Lettie could barely sleep either. She had woke early, her eyes jumping to the clock. In less than an hour Bucky would be reporting to muster at the ship yards, and by lunch he would be on his way to England. Then on his way to war.

Not knowing what possessed her she bolted out of bed and threw a robe over her nightdress. When she had dashed down the hallway she had nearly bowled over her father who stood in the kitchen. The collision slowed her down enough to apologize and clear her thoughts for a moment.

"What are you doing darling?" Her father questioned her, concern etched in his face, "Are you alright?"

She didn't know how to explain. She needed to see Bucky, one more time, if she hurried….

"I'm fine Papa." She blurted as the hurried to the door and nearly ripped it open. When she dashed out of the apartment she collided with a solid form for the second time that early morning.

This time however the man she had collided with cursed slightly under his breath and caught her in his arms, "Easy doll, where you runnin' off to?"

She was speechless when she came to her senses and saw Bucky standing before her. Crisp and clean shaven, uniform pristine and that crooked smile on his face. All she could do was wrap her arms around him and hug him to her. "I wanted to see you, one more time before you left."

Strong arms wrapped her up tight as he chuckled into her messy, morning hair. "Guess that makes two of us."

Lettie didn't see her father poke his head out of their apartment door, nor did she see the look the two men exchanged. Bucky appropriatly sheepish at the current postition in which he was entangled with the other mans daughter, but his hold on her never weakened.

To both of their surprise her father coughed, breaking them apart, and gestured them back inside the apartment. Bucky hadn't planned on sitting at the kitchen table with Lettie and her parents that morning, but it did his heart good. Her father had poured him a cup of coffee and shook his hand. Her mother had kissed him on the cheek. Lettie had sat beside him in her robe and disheveled hair and that was exactly how he wanted to remember her.

Like this he could picture her in their own home, walking into the ktichen in her robe, hair a mess from the night before to kiss him goodbye on his way to work.

After Lettie had walked him down to the front door, he hadn't let her come outisde with him. She shook her head, laughing at him when he said it was one thing for him to see his girl in a robe, but no way the whole neighborhood was getting a peak. They had kissed goodbye again and again and again until he absolutely had to leave.

Then Lettie walked back up to the apartment sat down at the kitchen table with her parents, and cried.

~~~

War was hell.

Even in Brooklyn, war was hell.

Lettie had held her breath between each letter. Each of them a heaving gasp of fresh air as she opened them and read Buckys words.

She focused on her work, she'd got a job at one of the factories like so many of the other girls. She spent all day punching rivets into fuselages and often caught herself wondering what she would do with herself when the boys came back.

Lettie liked the girls she worked with, they had all become good friends. Some of them were married, a few of them had kids, a couple were single but most of her new friends had a man they loved fighting overseas. Those had been the friends she'd confided in when Bucky's letters had stopped.

War was hell.

She knew that.

He wasn't allowed to tell her much about it, but she knew that of course there would be long gaps in communication. There had never been one that had gone on so long before though and fear had settled in her stomach like a lead weight.

Isaline, who worked with her, did her best to keep her friends spirts up. Told her that her boyfriend was just busy fighting Germans, and as soon as he was able he would write her another of his lovesick letters. Telling her stories of the men in his platoon and their rowdy shenanigans.

Just when Lettie had nearly given up hope, had settled into the bleak depression of not knowing, a runner had came to her station on the line with a telegram. Her heart had stopped and her rivet gun had dropped to the ground with a clatter as she stumbled.

No.... No, no, no....

One of the married women had caught her and steadied her, shushing her in her thick Brooklyn accent.

Isa had plucked the telegram from her fingers and opened it with a pale, sickly expression on her face. An expression that had disappeared instantly, replaced with elation, in French she exclaimed, "Listen, Lettie listen. for the love of God, girl listen!"

Lettie's world stopped spinning and her eyes settled on Isa as she read the telegram, beaming.

"Doll, I'm safe, I'll write soon. Love Buck"

After that the letters started up again, this time with even more fantastical shenanigans which included Steve now which he promised to explain later, and even more promises. He loved her, he was safe, he was coming home to her as soon as this was all over.

Then one of her friends from the factory had drug them to the cinema, demanding they get dolled up and go out, boys or no boys. Which is where she saw Bucky for the first time in over a year.

There on the screen, his face scowling in concentration across from none other than Captain America, Steve Rogers. She had recognized a few others in the reels from Buckys letters, men from his platoon and the girls had giggled together as Lettie retold the stories she'd heard. Once she got home that night she had written him and informed him he very much had a lot of explaining to do.

She never got a response to that last letter.

War was hell.

Again, she found herself repeating old mantras, the weight settled back in her stomach.

This time however, it was not a telegram that knocked the wind out of her. It was Sargent James "Bucky" Barnes, leaning casually against the front of her building in the warm afternoon sun, smoking a cigarette and wating for her.

~~~

She awoke with a start, heart racing for some unknown reason. Until a warm, heavy hand settled on her waist, "Sorry doll." His voice was hushed and hoarse in the silence.

Lettie rolled over and saw, once her eyes had adjusted, Bucky lying wide awake beside her, one arm propped behind his head and his chest rising and falling faster than normal. She slid over to him and tucked herself into the space he made for her against his side. "Nightmare?" She whispered softly as she pressed a kiss to a scar on his chest, one of the thick, ugly ones, and then rested her head there.

"Mhmm." Was his only response, aside from sinking back down into the matress and pulling the covers up over them.

"Want to tell me?" She asked against his chest.

She felt and heard him swallow thickly and then his arm around her tightened. "Not this one sweeheart." He murmered into the hair at the crown of her head and then dropped a kiss there. "Just tell me I'm home."

Lettie smiled and shifted so that she could look him in the eye, take his face in her hand and kiss him. "You're home." Kiss, "You're home, in bed, with me." Another longer kiss and then she carded her fingers through his sleep mussed hair. "RIght where you belong."

Bucky hummed appreciatively, wrapped his arms tighter around her and pulled her impossibly closer. HIs body had changed, he had grown into a man over there. His chest filled out, his arms and torso no longer lean but bulky. His back was solid muscle as were his legs. He had changed too. Not for the worse, just changed. Darkness chased him, and so many others, but he was sill her Bucky.

A fact made evident when his lips carressed her throat and he murmured, "Y'know, I'm pretty sure you promised, once upon a time, to play with my hair and talk dirty to me in French if I took you out two more times."

Lettie breathed out a laugh, "Oh really? That just don't sound like me at all." She teased even as she stroked through his hair again. A nip to her collarbone brought out a giggle. "Can't believe you remember that."

Bucky hummed again and rolled up onto his side. shifting her onto her back and gazing down at her. "Lettie, I tried not to think about home too much,noene of us did, after awhile it hurt too damn much." He reached a hand up to trace her cheekbone. "But, that week with you, God there were times I played it like a movie over and over again in my mind."

The way he looked at her gave her butterfilies, just like he had back then. Lettie smiled up at him and wrapped her arms around his neck, to bring him closer.

He dropped a sleepy, short kiss to her lips and then added, "And I distanctly remember you promising to do exactly that."

Lettie laughed and pushed him off of her. "You wouldn't know what I was sayin' anyway." She pointed out as she moved back into his side and laid her head on his chest.

"You could read me a diner menu doll, and I'd be just fine." He chuckled at himself and tugged her closer, already feeling the weight of the nightmare fading. They were quiet for a long time, Bucky distracted by the warmth of her slight breath over his bare chest and the feel of her twisting the gold band on his finger over and over. He smiled, content and let his eyes fell closed as he focused on the comforting repetetive motion of his wife toying with his wedding band as she drifted back to sleep.

After awhile his eyes grew heavy and the motion of Lettie's fingers slowed. As if with her last bit of energy before sleep reclaimed her she whispered to him in the darkness, her French slow and whispy as she faded, "You're home, my love, home with me. Where you belong."

Bucky breathed deep and released it in one long exhale, all the negativity of the nightmares gone with it, and then laced his fingers throught hers. "I'm home." He followed her in sleep with his hand holding hers and a soft, content smile on his face.

~~~

[raibebe]

Genre: angst, horror(?), lots of hurt and a little comfort Words: 6.101 Prompt: freshly turned vampire Chenle

Warnings: undefined illness, vampires (duh), graphic descriptions of burns, graphic descriptions of violence, blood and gore, literal murder, semi-graphic(?) descriptions of murder, Chenle is going batshit crazy, he’ll be okay I swear

A/N: Uhm... Hi! A Chenle fic... That's new... I just want to say that he is my baby and I'm sorry for what he's been put through but he's a baby vamp and in my book, they need tragic backstories... In case you have noticed, I may or may not have accidentally created another universe, please excuse me, I just love world- and character-building...

In case you feel like there are any more warnings missing, please tell me! Also as always, huge thanks to @wooahaeproductions who makes sense of my long ass sentences! 🤍 And to @starlitmark for being awesome and supportive! 💕

Chenle was sick. He had been sick for a long time. Ever since he could remember, his mother would make him drink bitter liquids and swallow pills the size of small bird eggs. He was seldom allowed to play outside like his younger siblings. His father always said it was so he would have more time to read and study, so he could be a better king in the future but Chenle was sure it was to keep him from the outside and whatever harm there was. The physicians never told him what was wrong with him when they would whisper amongst themselves and by the time he had grown into his sharp features, he had stopped asking what was wrong when their frowns deepened. He let himself be pricked by needles and his body folded into different positions without a single word of complaint. 

“He is very sick,” he had overheard the head physician tell his mother one night when he had snuck out of bed to watch the blood moon from the gardens and not through his tinted windows. “Have you found a cure yet?” “I’m afraid there is none, your Majesty.” A deafening clap had resounded through the empty corridor after that, making the young prince flinch. He knew that sound. His mother had hit the man who was trying to heal her son. “Find one,” the Queen spat, venom dripping from her words, “He is the crown prince. And he will take his throne. He will wear his crown.” 

That night had burned itself into Chenle’s young mind. On one hand, he knew that he was doomed to die young. On the other hand he had his mother on his side, who brought in physicians from all over their lands and even beyond to examine and heal her only son. 

As a child, he had never understood why the physicians said that he was sick. He never felt sick. But the older he got, the more he could feel the toll the sickness took on his body. When he was twirling his sisters around in the ballroom to the sweet melodies the musicians were playing, he would often get dizzy and call for breaks after only a couple of songs. He had to stop his walks through the elaborate rose garden his mother curated soon after he started because his legs just wouldn’t listen to his commands on the way back. And that autumn, he found himself bedridden, a fever tinting his pale skin pink despite how cold he felt. Chenle was lucid for the first weeks but as the days became shorter and shorter, he would slip in and out of consciousness, often waking up to the pinpricks of pain from another needle. The physicians had started to not only make him drink their increasingly worse concoctions but also inject him with things. He wasn’t sure if this was a good or a bad thing. 

One night, beneath the light of the full moon, he woke up from his delirium to the Queen sitting next to him. She was clad in her bedrobes and patting his face with a cool cloth. “My sweet child,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his damp forehead. “I am going to die,” Chenle had answered, his voice hoarse from not speaking for days. “No,” his mother had choked out, tears filling her eyes, “I will not let that happen.” Weakly, he reached for her delicate hands, using all his strength to squeeze her hand. “Let me go.” “I can’t,” the Queen mouthed, holding her son’s bony hand up to her lips as tears streamed down her face, “You’re my everything, Lele. My little star.” 

Chenle’s mother had cried that night until the prince had fallen under again, his grip becoming even weaker. Once her tears had dried, she looked at the sunken-in face of her son who used to have the most adorable chubby cheeks when he was just a child. And with that in mind, she made a decision. She called for her personal messenger and swore him to secrecy before she told him to bring in the man she had vowed to only ever send for as her very last resort. The man wasn’t a physician. She wasn’t even sure if he was a man. He was a myth. A miracle healer so to speak. But she was ready to pray for a miracle right about now. Chenle was her everything and she was not going to lose him. 

On a rainy night a couple of days later, the Queen was spending each waking hour watching over her son’s fever dreams when a man hidden beneath a thick coat with a big hood was banging at the castle’s doors, claiming that the Queen had sent for him: The miracle healer. The queen rushed down the stairs to personally guide him to her son’s sleeping quarters, telling the man all about her son’s condition but he silenced her with just a wave of his hand at the sight of the Prince. The man - his figure still hidden beneath the thick coat - bent over Chenle, examining the condition he was in and feeling his burning skin. “I can heal him,” he concluded with a deep, raspy voice, “But it comes with a price.” “Anything,” the Queen immediately complied, “You will get anything you need to save my son.” “Oh, the price is for him to pay,” the healer clarified. “Will he be healthy again? So he can play with his siblings and take his rightful place on the throne?” “Yes, my Queen. He will be stronger than he has ever been.” “Heal him,” the Queen ordered, “At any price.” “So shall it be,” he bowed his head, “Can I request for some privacy to perform my craft?” With a heavy heart, the Queen nodded and let the heavy wooden door fall into the lock behind her. 

The Queen wasn’t sure how long the man was left alone with her son. She had counted three nearby lightning strikes before the man walked through the door again. “He needs rest,” the man told her, “When the moon kisses the top of the trees for the second time tomorrow night, he will wake up.” “And he will be healed?” “If he’s left alone until then, his body will overcome everything,” he promised and with another bow, he excused himself to walk down the corridor. The Queen’s heart longed to see her son again after he had been left alone in the man’s company for so long but if his healing was disturbed by her presence, she was not willing to risk it. 

The next day felt like it was several moons long to the Queen and she found herself walking past her son’s bedroom door over and over again. When the night had fallen, the Queen couldn’t fall asleep next to her snoring husband who had always taken their son’s sickness a lot better than she had. In the end, she got up to go to her sunroom where she was watching the moon make its way along the night sky until it was barely meeting the trees. Jumping out of her seat, she all but ran to her son’s chambers where she briefly collected herself and softly opened the door. 

Chenle was lying in bed just as she had left him yesterday, unmoving and pale, but his cheeks weren’t pink with fever anymore and his hair was dry. With a smile on her lips, she rushed over to his side to cup his face, to feel the swell of his cheeks in her palms. When her palm met his skin, the Queen flinched back. Her son’s skin was cold. Colder than she had ever felt him or any of his siblings after they had played outside in the snow. “No, no, no,” she mumbled, frantically peeling back the thick layers of blankets to feel the rest of his body which beneath his light blouse and trousers was just as cold as his face. Throughout the whole disturbance, he didn’t move a muscle and could be moved like a doll. With tears blinding the Queen’s sight, she squeezed her son’s wrist to look for a pulse. But it never came. Her son had died. 

With a toe-curling scream, she laid her body over Chenle’s, wetting his blouse with her tears and rattling his unmoving body with her sobs. “Mother?” The first time the Queen heard her son’s voice, she was sure she was hallucinating. She could feel his cold body beneath her. He was no more. “Why are you crying, mother?” It was almost like she could feel his voice resounding in his chest. “I’m feeling all better, you don’t need to cry.” When she felt hands stroking through her hair, she shot upright. And like a miracle, her son was looking right back at her, a smile on his full lips. “I’m feeling better,” he repeated himself, “I’m hungry.” “Lele,” the Queen gasped, cupping his face again. But just like the first time, his skin was as cold as ice. “I’m fine, mother,” he reassured her. With trembling hands, the Queen reached over to the nightstand to lift the candle she had brought in. And to her horror, her son’s beautiful deep brown eyes were no more. Instead, she was looking into the bright red eyes of a predator. 

“What’s wrong, mother?” Chenle didn’t understand why his mother’s eyes were so wide and why she wouldn’t answer him. Was he having another fever dream? But he felt better. Better than he had ever felt. Like he could uproot trees. Sitting up, he reached out for his mother who only flinched back. “I’m well. I’m healed.” “Stay away from me,” she pressed out, sliding off of the bed and slowly walking towards the door. “What is happening, mother? I don’t understand. I’m so hungry.” “You are a monster. I should have never gone this far.” His mother’s words cut through the young prince like a knife. And they hurt even more than the sound of the door falling back into the lock and the key turning to lock him inside. 

Why was she not happy to see him be better? Looking down at his body, he couldn’t see why his mother had called him a monster. His skin looked pale but he had been pale all his life, especially in the last years. But he had meat on his bones. His forearms were strong when he flexed the muscle. This was good. The same went for the rest of his body when he patted himself down. Everything was in order, his body had healed. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and getting up, he didn’t feel any dizziness or nausea, only hunger swirling in his gut. 

Carefully, the Prince took a couple of steps. To his surprise, his knees didn’t buckle and his legs didn’t give out. With a wide grin, he walked over to the window and looked outside into the gardens. Oh, how he had missed seeing the green of the trees and the little bursts of colors telling him that it was way into the autumn season. Feeling like he was on top of the world, he looked over to his mirror and to his horror, all that he could see were his clothes standing in his room. Was this a dream after all? A nightmare? Slowly, the Prince waved his hand and the sleeve of his blouse followed suit. He frantically pulled the garment off and threw it to the ground. His torso still wasn’t visible in the mirror. Completely in shock, Chenle realized that he couldn’t hear his heartbeat hammer inside his skull or his blood rushing in his ears. Pressing his hands firmly to his chest, he tried to feel for a heartbeat. Even with his eyes pressed shut to concentrate, he couldn’t feel anything. Falling to his knees, he unseeingly stared at the intricate designs on his carpet. He had heard of this before. Read books about the condition. He hadn’t thought it to be true, that it was possible. But he was the living, or rather dead proof of it. He was a vampire. His mother had somehow turned him into a vampire.

Chenle wasn’t sure how long he kneeled there on the carpet, trying to make sense of his raging thoughts with nothing to keep him company but the sounds of the night and the occasional servant hurrying along the corridors. Why would his mother let him be turned into a vampire if she despised the creatures of the night? Why go this far if she was scared and disgusted of her only son now? Did his father know? His sisters? What would they do with him? Keep him locked up? Let him starve?

At that thought, the gnawing feeling of hunger punched him in the gut like a boxer. Gasping, he toppled over, his arms gripping his bare stomach as if they could shield him from the pain. When he tried to bite down on his lip to distract himself from the pain in his stomach, a piercing pain shot through him and dark droplets of blood fell onto the pristine carpet. Fangs. His fangs had dropped and punctured his lip. Bringing his hand up, Chenle gently felt the edge of the sharp teeth that were digging into his lower lip. And as if the gnawing feeling of hunger wasn’t enough, pain was also settling into his gums where his fangs sat. 

With a groan, he lifted himself upright again, his hands clenched into fists. He needed to talk to his mother. There was just one other thing he hadn’t considered: His bedroom was facing east. So when he was moving his head up and out of the shadow that his window cast, a burning pain shot through the back of his head and with a blood-curdling scream, Chenle fell again, cradling his head and curling into a ball. But in the process, more of his body got exposed to the light of the rising sun, causing painful blisters to appear on the reddened skin of his back. With another scream, he threw his body in the direction of his bed, rolling beneath the heavy bed frame to shield his body from the scathing sun. Even if he didn’t need to anymore, his chest was heaving with heavy breaths as he stared at his skin healing itself: the blisters getting smaller and smaller until the skin had knit itself back together, the red, irritated color fading slowly until he was left with milky-white skin. Not even a single blemish showed what had just happened. 

Fascinated by what his body could do, he experimentally grabbed onto one of the pieces of wood that were supporting his thick mattress. He slowly tightened his grip and sure enough, without even using much strength, the wood began to creak and splinter beneath his fingers but none of the wood was able to pierce through his skin. 

He was truly invincible. Well- if you forgot about the incident with the sunlight. Gritting his teeth in annoyance, Chenle realized that he had no other choice but to wait it out. Once the sun had set, he’d be able to talk to his mother so they could figure out what they could do about his…new condition. That was what it was, right? Just another sickness. One that made him incredibly strong and heal really fast but unable to see his own reflection or walk in the sunshine. But his people already knew that their Prince was sick. So they could just tell them that the Prince was never to leave the palace walls and put thicker curtains in the throne room to block out the sun. It could all be alright again. 

Chenle wasn’t sure how long he was holding out beneath his bed already, the only thing to keep him company being the gnawing feeling of hunger inside his belly. He was sure he had heard the guards changing twice in front of his room, speaking with hushed voices about how none understood why the Prince was to be kept inside his room when he was bedridden. With a bitter snort, Chenle had thrown a punch against his bed frame that left the wood with a splintered indent of his fist and nothing more. He wasn’t sure where this sudden burst of anger came from, he usually wasn’t this hot-headed but the feeling of hunger was slowly driving him insane along with the pain in his jaw. 

When the sun had almost completed its journey along the sky, the patches of sunlight coming through his windows stretched further and further. Chenle was all but vibrating out of his skin. Thoughts were hard to formulate and even harder to keep from flowing away when all he wanted to do was to sink his teeth into something or rather someone to quench both the ache in his jaw and the beast sitting where his stomach used to be. 

Over the course of this day, which must have been the longest in his entire life, he had let the sun burn his skin over and over again, testing the limits of his body and how the strength of the sun would affect him and he was starting to regret it. It had only made him more hungry. Or thirsty, he should probably say. Briefly, he wondered if he could eat raw and bloody meat but as soon as the thought came, it got lost inside his head again. 

But instead of his brain going in circles about how hungry he was and how he could almost taste the sweat of the guard standing in front of his room, a sudden pain seemed to split his skull in two, ripping a scream from Chenle’s parched throat. Gripping his hair tightly, he tried to understand what was happening. It made no sense. He had been hiding here all day and it had been fine. 

The invisible knife that seemed to have lodged itself in his skull also appeared to be poisonous. A fire began flowing inside his veins, filling his chest with a sensation as if he was burning alive from the inside out, the pain far worse than when he had burned his back earlier. 

Curling up into a ball, Chenle clawed at his own skin, digging his sharp nails into the skin until it broke but it did nothing to ease or distract him from the phantom pains. Screaming and crying, he convulsed on the floor, dripping what little blood he had left in his body onto his light carpet. Just as sudden as the pain had come, it was gone again, leaving Chenle feeling almost hollow. He wasn’t sure for how long he blankly stared at the drops of crimson that stained the pristine carpet but he simply didn’t have it in him to move. It almost felt like he was back in a feverous state, his consciousness floating somewhere above his body. 

With another cry of agony, he came back to his body, his chest heaving and his head dizzy. He needed to get out from beneath the bed, the dark wood suddenly too close. Blinded by a sudden onslaught of panic, Chenle - not yet used to the new strength his body possessed - shoved against the underside of the bed, splintering the wood and breaking the frame. He wasn’t sure how exactly he got out from beneath the bed but when he finally stood at his window, the handle broken and the cool breeze of the evening fanning over his skin, his bed was nothing more than a pile of wood with a mattress on top and rogue feathers floating around the room. The presence of the moon helped to calm the young vampire and with controlled breaths, he got his chest to stop rattling with panic, only slightly cracking the windowsill with how tightly he had gripped onto it. 

“Prince Chenle!” A voice called from the outside and he could hear several heavy footsteps outside of his door before the key turned in the lock. Several guards stepped inside his room and the moment the smell of their bodies hit Chenle’s nose, hell broke loose: He didn’t even process the words that left the first guard’s mouth, his head snapping around to see them reaching for their swords. They were here to kill him. His own mother had ordered his death. He couldn’t die. He had done nothing wrong. 

With his face contorted in anger, he dashed towards the group. With a single punch to the guard’s side, Chenle was able to hear bones crack beneath his fist and the guard’s sword falling to the ground with a loud noise. When he cried out in pain, it made the veins in his neck stand out so temptingly, that Chenle couldn’t stop himself. With his fangs already dropped, he opened his jaws wide and buried his teeth in the guard’s neck, the flesh ripping easily as fresh blood flooded his tongue. It was heaven. He had never tasted anything quite like this. None of the expensive wines he had drank during banquets could even come close to the explosion of flavor on his tongue. 

He needed more. More. Annoyed that his meal was moving, Chenle gripped the guard’s head and forced it further to the side. He felt something snap and the man went limp in his grip but he couldn’t care less when he buried his teeth again to swallow more of the crimson liquid that soothed the ache in his stomach and left his mind reeling with pleasure. 

Sadly, the other guards must have snapped themselves out of their stupor and they unsheathed their swords as well. The sound of the mental scraping against the leather pulled Chenle’s attention from the corpse in his arms to the other guards. With a wicked grin on his lips, he let the corpse fall to the ground in a heap of their own blood and after he wiped the blood from his lips, he was delighted to see absolute fear in the guards’ eyes. 

“You can’t run from me,” he drawled before he pounced, snapping the neck of the one closest to him and burying his teeth deep into the throat of the second one, letting him drop to the floor as well after he took another deep gulp of blood. 

“My mother,” he spoke slowly as he approached the last guard, “Where is the Queen?” The guard didn’t answer, irritating Chenle to high heavens. His sword was trembling in his hand and his eyes were so wide, Chenle was afraid they’d just pop out of their sockets and roll over the stained floorboards like marbles. “I asked a question. Won’t you answer your Prince?” He tried again, gripping the sword between his fingers to point it down so he could step closer to the frozen guard, bringing his mouth up against his neck. “Tell me where the Queen is,” he whispered again, deliberately letting his teeth scrape the skin. “Sh- She- She is in her- her sunroom, my- my Prince,” the guard stuttered pathetically. “Thank you for your service,” Chenle chuckled darkly before he finally gave in to the urge to bite into his neck, already addicted to the taste of fresh blood. 

With a satisfying thud, the vampire let the last body drop to the floor as well, eyeing the carnage left behind with a sick smile on his face. How had his mother ever thought that four measly guards were enough to take him down? On bare feet and with blood dripping down his chin onto his chest, Chenle stepped over the corpses and into the empty hallway, leaving bloody footprints behind on his way to his mother’s sunroom. 

With his newly heightened senses, Chenle could easily tell that there were more people than just his mother near her sunroom. Just as he had assumed, in front of the room stood another three guards and to Chenle’s surprise the head of the guards was among them. “Move,” he growled as he stepped into view, baring his teeth to show his bloody fangs. “You’re alive,” the guard on the left gasped, reaching for his sword with a shaky hand. “Of course I am,” the Prince just laughed, “You didn’t really think four measly guards would be enough to kill me?” When no one dared to answer, the vampire barked out a laugh. “Oh, but you really did. How stupid of you.” “Where are my men?” The head of the guards demanded to know as if their blood on Chenle’s body wasn’t enough of a tell.

“In hell,” was Chenle’s dark answer and within a blink of an eye, he was at the man’s throat, his teeth easily ripping through cartilage and muscle tissue. A last pathetic gurgle left the dying man’s lips before he dropped to the ground and Chenle spit out the piece of flesh he had ripped out. The two other guards watched in shock, frozen in place. “What?” He cocked his head to the side, watching their commander twitch in a pool of his own blood. “Scared?” When they didn’t answer, he went on. “Dying is peaceful. I would know.” “Please,” one of the guards pleaded pathetically, his sword falling to the ground with a loud thud, “I- I have a wi- a wife and- and a son. He- he just started a walk an-“ Chenle didn’t let the guard finish, grabbing his head to smash it into the stone wall. 

“That was annoying,” he sighed, delighted at the cracking he had felt in the skull. “Now what am I going to do with you?” Instead of answering, the last guard simply fell to his knees, his sword limply in his hand. “Pft,” the prince snorted, “I don’t know if that one was more or less pathetic.” To one up the previous performance, the guard bared his neck as well, presenting Chenle with the tempting thump of his carotid. “Oh, it’s definitely you,” he snickered, stepping over to the sweating man, “Thank you for the meal.” With a moan, Chenle buried his fangs in the man’s throat, blood rushing out of the wound and onto his tongue, the man’s fear making it that much sweeter. 

Once the beast in his chest was satiated by the sweet blood, another body joined the two of his comrades on the floor. They did look pathetic even in their death. Maybe Chenle should close their eyes. But before he could bend down, a sound in his mother’s sunroom caught his attention: a quiet creak. The hidden door his mother thought he and his siblings didn’t know about. He would not let her get away. She needed to hear him out. 

Bursting into the room with the big windows all along the side of it making it feel like they were actually sitting in the gardens, the door all but fell off the hinges from the force. Chenle found the Queen almost stepping into the secret pathway. “Don’t. Move,” he ordered, holding himself back from pouncing on the woman who had turned him into a monster. “Chenle don’t do this,” she spoke with a quivering voice, her eyes shaking as she took in her son, blood dripping from his bare chest. “Don’t do what, mother?” “You don’t want to kill me.” “But you wanted to kill me,” he shot back. “I never intended for this to happen to you,” the Queen pleaded, her knuckles turning white around the handle of her secret pathway. “I’m faster than you. Don’t do that,” Chenle coldly reminded her, watching with a sick delight at how his mother’s hand shook when she released the handle. “Chenle…” “No. You. You did this to me. You didn’t ask if I wanted this. And then you decide to just have me murdered because you can’t have your only son, your successor to the throne be a vampire,” he accused her. “Well I didn’t want this either,” she interrupted him with a loud scream that rang in his sensitive ears, “You were dying and the physicians had tried everything!” “I told you to let me die!”

That of all things seemed to make his mother shut up. “I told you to let me go. I made my peace with it,” he added with a more quiet voice, all but pleading. “I couldn’t, Chenle,” the Queen answered just as quietly, “I couldn’t just let you die like this.” “And yet, you killed me anyway.” “I didn’t know,” she choked out, tears filling her eyes as she opened her arms for him to fall into like he was back to being just a child. “Mother,” he sniffled, his body losing all tension as he stumbled into her familiar embrace, staining the silk of her gown with the blood that was sticking to his frame. It was so strange how quickly things had changed and it made the embrace feel both familiar and foreign at the same time. “I’m so sorry, my little star,” his mother breathed quietly, adjusting her grip around him. 

“I forgi-“ Chenle couldn’t finish his sentence, pain bloomed in his flank and he couldn’t believe his own eyes when he looked down to see a dagger lodged deep inside his body. “Mother..?” “It’s better like this,” she whispered, gently stroking a strand of hair behind his ear. If Chenle still had a heartbeat, he was sure that his blood would be rushing through his ears so loudly that he wouldn’t be able to hear anything else. His chest started to heave with nonsense breaths, the pace erratic as a red veil seemed to fall over his vision. “You’re dead to me,” he snarled, watching in delight how his mother’s eyes widened before he felt his fangs drop and everything around him turned into a mess of blood and anger.

“Oh little one…” The softly spoken words were the first thing Chenle sensed consciously in a while. With great effort, he tried to focus his blurry vision. “What a mess you made,” the voice went on before Chenle heard footsteps. The man was coming closer. Finally, his vision seemed to clear and he could recognize the bloody corpse he held clutched to his chest, its face distorted in a mask of fear. The Queen was dead. With a wet thud, her body fell from his grip into the pool of blood on the floor. A whimper dared to slip past his lips but he held it in as he bit down hard. His fangs had retracted and the monster inside him seemed satiated. 

The next thing Chenle felt was soft fabric slipping over his bare shoulders. Confused, he looked up from the carnage at his feet to look into the red eyes of a man he had never seen before. “Hello Prince Chenle,” the man smiled gently, his voice soft and non-threatening like he was trying to coax a wild animal out of hiding. Carefully, he uncurled Chenle’s blood-smeared hand and held it in his, seemingly not caring about getting himself dirty. “Let’s get you somewhere more safe.” “But my family,” he argued weakly but let himself be pulled up on his feet. With a meaningful look, the man took a glance around the room and with static filling his own mind, Chenle followed his example. He couldn’t begin to count the number of twisted corpses in the room, the Queen at the center of it all, her dress dyed red from all the blood. “Take me away,” the Prince asked, his voice cracking when he recognized the faces twisted with fear and horror, their unseeing eyes looking right at him. 

With a squeeze of his hand, the man with the red eyes pulled the Prince away from the bloodbath, tucking him against his side when he felt him tremble. “It’s over now,” he reassured Chenle as he led him out of the castle where a dark carriage with heavy curtains in front of the windows and door awaited them. The carriage driver didn’t even bat an eye at the state Chenle was in and simply opened the door with a bow of his head for the two men. 

Climbing in, Chenle wasn’t sure where he was supposed to sit. Opposite of the man or next to him? “Sit,” the man quirked one of his eyebrows at him, patting the blood-red cushion next to him. With a huff, Chenle let himself be swallowed by the seat, tightly wrapping himself in the man’s jacket. 

With a snap of the whip, the carriage started moving and the castle got smaller and smaller. When it was nothing more than a shadow in the distance, Chenle focused on the man next to him instead. He was only wearing a thin blouse, expensive fabric and tailored specifically to fit his build, Chenle could tell. Tapered to show off his broad shoulders and his slim waist and with polished cufflinks at the sleeves. His pants were a simple, dark color and his shoes only had minimal blood splatters on the leather. The most striking thing about the man - who Chenle now was sure was of noble blood - had to be his bright red eyes though, telling on his true nature: a vampire like himself. His face was all angles and strong lines, his jawline prominent and his nose high. He briefly wondered if the beauty mark beneath his eyes was painted on. He’d seen his sisters do it. 

His sisters… Chenle couldn’t remember if their faces had been among the corpses in the sunroom. He couldn’t remember anything that had happened after his mother had stabbed him until the stranger’s voice had broken him out of his stupor. 

“What… What happened to me?” Chenle asked with a small voice, pulling the stranger’s jacket tighter around his frame, as if it could shield him from the harsh truth. “Fledglings have a very special bond to their sire. Especially right after their rebirth,” the man explained with a calm voice, his bright red eyes focused on the landscape passing by. “Sire?” “The man who created you,” he clarified, “And your mother had him executed, severing that bond. Losing their sire is traumatic, even for older vampires, so it’s a miracle I found you in such good shape.” That comment had Chenle snort bitterly. “I killed my entire family.” “You could have destroyed yourself,” the man said with an almost fond look in his eyes, “You’re very strong for enduring that kind of pain.” “Don’t feel like it,” the fledgling mumbled, scratching at the drying flakes of blood on his skin. “Believe me, I’ve seen more than one fledgling succumb to madness in my days.”

“And how old are you exactly?” That question made the man grin and shake his head. “Isn’t that a funny thing to ask? My body is not much older than yours.” “That doesn’t answer my question.” “You’re a curious one.” “At least tell me your name if you’re going to take care of me.” “Jeno,” the man spoke, “You can call me Jeno.” “Just Jeno?” “Family names don’t mean a thing when you’ve been alive for decades.” “Or dead.” “Or dead,” Jeno chuckled, shaking his head. 

“Does- Does the..?” “Does the carriage driver know? Yes. Everyone does in my home.” “Home? Is that where we’re going?” “It can become your home if you wish to,” the older vampire smiled, “Even if it must not be much for a prince like you.” “I’m no prince any longer. I’m just Chenle.” “Then we can be just Jeno and just Chenle,” Jeno smiled, gently ruffling Chenle’s blood-sticky hair. 

“Thank you,” the fledgling whispered so quietly, he could barely hear his own words but Jeno must have heard him anyway because he just wordlessly intertwined their fingers again to squeeze Chenle’s hand. “You’ll be okay,” he promised, “I’ll teach you about your new life and provide you with whatever you need.” “A bath would be nice.” “I’ll let my servants draw you a bath,” Jeno chuckled fondly, the warm sound making Chenle smile as well. “I’m tired but not sleepy…” “You’ve been through a lot, little one,” Jeno spoke softly, adjusting in his seat so Chenle could rest against his shoulder more comfortably, “Rest while your mind will let you. We still have quite the journey ahead of us.” “Thank you,” Chenle mumbled again, the tension immediately leaving his body as he rested against Jeno.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Teach Me

Steve x fem!bi!reader

word count: 3k

part one part two part three part four part five part six part eight

Part Seven: Lesson Six

The alarm clock going off stirred you from your sleep. You turned onto your other side and felt your heart warm at the sight of the man next to you. He was already awake and his eyes were on you, the warm honey color you had grown so fond of.

Your gaze moved down to his hand that was resting on the mattress and you admired the silver ring that adorned his finger then looked at your own, the diamond sitting prettily on your finger. You remembered your wedding like it had happened the day before and thought of it very fondly.

You had been married to Steve for two years and you were the happiest you had ever been. After the night you had slept over at his house, you both had admitted your feelings for each other and had been together ever since.

“How’s my baby girl doing?” He asked, moving some of your hair out of your face.

“Great since you’re here,” you smiled then realized that he wasn’t referring to you. You moved the blanket off of you to reveal your stomach. You were seven months pregnant with your first child and Steve was very protective. “Oh, you mean this baby.”

His hands moved to your stomach and he moved lower so he could press his lips to it. He had a habit of talking to the baby every single morning, letting her know just how loved she was. He had done maybe a bit too much research on how to help the baby grow healthily even though most of the things he tried definitely did not work, but you appreciated the help.

“Good morning,” he greeted, giving your stomach another kiss before moving back up to you. He pressed his lips to yours then pulled away, an infectious smile on his face. “And good morning to you too.” He gave you another kiss, this one lingering.

“Good morning,” you replied, your hand reaching for his. You brought it up to your lips and pressed a kiss to it and he smiled in response.

“C’mon, honey,” he sat up, pulling you with him. “We’ve gotta get up.”

“No,” you whined. “Why don’t we just stay in bed today?”

“Because you’ve got an appointment this morning and I’m going to take you.” You let out a sigh and Steve took your hands and helped your from the bed to get dressed. “Now c’mon sweet girl, let me help you get dressed.”

You stirred in your sleep and quickly removed the covers to reveal your very not pregnant stomach. So it was all a dream. You weren’t really married to Steve and you couldn’t help but feel disappointed. You turned over and Steve was nowhere to be found. Maybe you dreamed the whole thing and you hadn’t actually slept together the day before. That seemed very possible since your dreams about him had been very vivid.

But you swore that you had actually touched him, his soft skin underneath your hands. The shower with him seemed too real to be a dream. You could still feel the water raining down on you while you took him into your mouth. You could still remember what his fingers felt like inside you as he pumped in and out of you. You could-

Your thoughts were interrupted by the door swinging open and you pulled the blanket up to cover yourself even though you were very much clothed and let out a sigh of relief when Steve entered the room. He had on a bright smile and was carrying a tray that contained various breakfast foods and two glasses of orange juice.

“Good morning,” his smile got wider once he took sight of you and you were sure that you probably looked crazy. You never looked good in the morning, at least, by your standards.

“Good morning,” you replied, your smile mimicking his. He set the tray in front of you, giving you a full view of the meal he had prepared and your eyes widened at all of the options. There was a giant bowl of Lucky Charms in the center surrounded by a few smaller bowls of fruit and a container of yogurt.

“I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I got everything.” Steve sat opposite you on the other side of the tray and grabbed a grape from it before popping it into his mouth.

“Well, thank you, Steve. It all looks really good.” You reached for the bowl of Lucky Charms and took a big bite and it tasted just as good as you remembered. You didn’t have it very often, and even when you did, you had the off brand since it was significantly cheaper.

You and Steve ate your breakfast in silence, occasionally exchanging glances and warm smiles as you did so. If that was what being with Steve was like, him serving you breakfast in bed every morning, that was something you could get used to. The gesture was so simple but it warmed your heart, knowing that he liked doing that kind of thing for you.

Steve couldn’t stop staring at you. He knew that it was weird, but he couldn’t help it. He was just so happy and felt like the luckiest man alive because you chose to spend your time with him rather than hanging out with one of the many people you for sure had on speed dial. He didn’t know what he had done to have been able to spend the day before with you, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to question it.

He was pretty sure that he was falling in love with you. No, he was very sure, and falling asleep in your arms really solidified that for him. It made him realize that he didn’t want to do that with anyone else. He wanted to fall asleep to you every night and wake up next to you every morning, peppering your face with kisses in between multiple “I love yous” that fell from his lips. He loved you. He loved you. And for once, he wasn’t going to run from it. He was going to dive in head first even though he was scared.

And you loved Steve right back. You had finally accepted the fact and felt a huge weight lift from your shoulders once you admitted it to yourself. You tried so hard to deny it, but after that first “date” with him, you were really fucked. You were terrified of being rejected, but you still felt like he deserved to know the truth. You couldn’t take another second of being around him without him knowing the truth. It was agony keeping something like that from him and it was only right that you told him how you felt.

“Can I tell you something?” You asked, setting your bowl back down on the tray. Steve’s heart beat rapidly in his chest at your question as all of the things you could possibly say were circling in his head. You had found out that he was in love with you. You had found out that he was in love with you and were going to let him down gently. That had to be it.

Maybe he should have listened to what you had to say first before he jumped to conclusions and drove himself crazy. The only way to know what you were going to say was to listen. He wasn’t going to get anywhere by staying in his head, letting his thoughts take over.

“Of course you can.” Steve’s hand reached for you and he gave you a reassuring smile with a nod. You took a deep breath and put your other hand on top of his, looking directly into his eyes. You could see the door out of the corner of your eye and for once, it didn’t look very inviting. You didn’t feel the need to run; you wanted to stay right there, that feeling in your gut completely gone.

“I love you.” The silence following the words was deafening. Steve’s mouth fell open, but no words came. Oh god, you managed to render the man who never shut up speechless. You had shocked him so much that he actually had nothing to say in response. The one time it would have been good for him to speak, there wasn’t a single peep.

Steve couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t fucking believe it. You loved him. He reached up to pinch himself to be sure that he wasn’t dreaming and when the pain coursed through his wrist, he let out a gasp at the fact that it was true. You really were there and you were holding his hand and you fucking loved him.

You took his silence as rejection and slowly stood up from the bed, your hunger being replaced by that pit again. You knew it was too good to be true, because why would Steve Harrington ever be in love with you? You weren’t cool or popular and you knew better than anyone that just because you slept with someone didn’t mean that they had any romantic attraction to you.

You felt like a fucking idiot, hanging your head low as you made your way to the door. You were so in your head that you didn’t even see that Steve was following you even though his footsteps were pounding against the floor because of how quickly he was moving. He couldn’t let you leave.

“Y/n,” he called after you, but his words were muffled, like you were underwater and he was calling out to you above it. You didn’t want to hear what he said anyway. It didn’t matter. Nothing could fix your slowly breaking heart.

“Y/n, wait, please don’t go.” You turned around to face him, but turned your head to the side, not wanting him to see your tear stained cheeks. Being rejected was embarrassing enough, he didn’t need to know that you were crying too. “Hey,” his voice softened as he noticed the tears and you closed your eyes tighter, wishing you had never accepted his invitation to come over.

“Hey, look at me.” He took your face in his hands gently, turning it to face him. Steve didn’t know why you were crying, but he couldn’t help but feel like it was his fault somehow and he was going to fix it. “Honey, why are you crying?”

“Because I’m embarrassed. I put myself out there like you told me to and clearly my feelings aren’t reciprocated so I'm just going to go home, okay? We can forget that this whole thing ever happened and go back to being friends. It’s okay that you don’t love me and it’s okay that-”

“Who said that I didn’t love you?” He cut you off, his words coming out a little more harsh than he had intended.

“Well-”

“Because I sure didn’t. Please don’t take my silence as rejection. Honey, I love you, I was just caught off guard, okay?” His words hit you like a ton of bricks and more tears streamed down your face, snot dripping from your nose as well. No one had ever loved you like that. The majority of your life was spent alone with your parents neglecting you and no one at school wanting to hang out with you because of where you lived. You had become the butt of everyone’s joke and were always people’s last choice when it came to being paired up for a project or for whatever sport was being played in gym.

For once, you had become someone’s first choice and you couldn’t have been more overjoyed. Steve could have had any woman he wanted, but he had picked you. He had picked you without a second thought and didn’t give a single fuck about what people thought about him. He had wanted you and no one was going to make him feel bad about it. You were too important to him for him to let you slip through his fingers because of a few stupid comments.

“Oh, honey,” he cooed, his thumbs wiping away the tears that continued to fall. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

“Nothing,” you sniffed. “I’m just happy.”

“I’m happy too,” he responded, his hands moving down to your shoulders. He then pulled you into a hug, his arms wrapping around your neck while yours went to his middle. He gave you a lingering tight squeeze, his head burying itself into your neck.

He pressed featherlight kisses there, not being able to keep the smile off of his face as he heard giggles escape your lips. He kept going until you erupted into laughter, trying to push him away, but he wasn’t letting up.

“Stevie,” you managed to get out in between giggles. “What are you doing?”

“I’m loving on you, what does it look like?” His lips moved from your neck to your face as he peppered it with kisses, each one ending with a loud, obnoxious smack. He wanted to make sure that every single inch got the attention it deserved.

“It tickles and my stomach hurts, stop.” You continued to try to push him away, but his arms moved your waist, locking you in.

“Gonna need to hear the magic word, honey.” His lips ghosted over yours and you leaned up so they could meet yours, but he pulled away right before they did.

“Please,” you begged and he pressed one more kiss to your cheek before pulling away. “Can I have a real kiss, now?”

“Well, I suppose since you did earn it and it would be the best way to seal the deal,” he winked. He pulled you to him, pressing his mouth to yours, his lips capturing yours in a loving kiss. This one was much different than the many others you had shared. It was filled with so much care and love, as if you were pouring your feelings to each other out into the way your lips moved together.

Steve’s tongue swipe along your bottom lip as his hands slid down to your ass and you let him in, your tongues tangling together as he grabbed onto the backs of your thighs. You took his hint and jumped, wrapping your legs around his waist, his hands giving your ass a squeeze before resting there. He backed the both of you up to the bed and he collapsed onto it, taking you with him.

——-

You spent the entire day in bed with Steve, the two of you slowly picking at your breakfast when you weren’t between the sheets. You had every intention of going home at some point, but you just couldn’t stand to leave, especially when you were so happy. You and Steve were in love and even though you knew you could come back whenever you wanted, you just wanted to stay there permanently.

It would have been perfect. You could have taken Callie and she could have lived in the guest room while you shared with Steve. It was a win-win; you could stay in your happy place and you and Callie would have finally been out of the hell hole you were supposed to call home.

But it wasn’t going to work out. Even though you knew Steve would have let you in a heartbeat, it didn’t seem right. That was his home, the only space he had to himself and you couldn’t just move in like that. You knew how important his alone time was to him and you knew that you couldn’t take that away from.

You turned over to Steve only to find him already looking at you, that dopey smile on his face. The sun reflected off his eyes, making them that pretty brown that you loved so much. He reached over and pulled you by the waist and rolled over so that you were on top of him, your naked bodies pressed together.

“I don’t have another round in me, Stevie,” you sighed and he just laughed.

“Me neither, honey. I just want to hold you, can you let your boyfriend do that?”

“Who said anything about you being my boyfriend?” You asked, quirking an eyebrow and Steve was quickly trying to backtrack.

“Well, I just-”

“Relax, pretty boy,” you gave his cheek a pat. “I was just joking. I’d love for you to be my boyfriend.”

“Good, because I was going to have a t-shirt made to let people know that I belong to you.” You actually thought the idea was kind of cute, that he was so proud to show people that you were together.

“If you actually do that, I’m divorcing you.” You grimaced, but the more you thought about it, the more you wanted it. You wanted to be that kind of couple to get matching shirts and wear them on vacation. Or even on your honeymoon. They would have your shared last name on the back with the words “just married” underneath it and everyone would think you were insufferable, but you didn’t care. As long as you were with Steve, nothing else mattered.

“Can’t divorce me if we’re not married,” he winked.

“Then marry me.” The words sounded like a joke, but you had been completely serious. You didn’t care if you were moving fast, you would have loved nothing more than to let Steve put a ring on it. You just knew that he’d come up with an elaborate proposal, making sure that your friends had a part so that everyone felt involved. Eddie and Robin where the whole reason why the two of you ended up together, so you supposed that you could let them in on the whole wedding process.

“We just became a couple a few hours ago and you’re already talking about marriage?” He asked. “Slow down, hon.”

“Fine,” you scoffed. “I take back my proposal.”

“Good,” he nodded. “Save it for later. I want to be your boyfriend for a little bit.” He stroked his fingers down your back as you rested your head on his chest. His hands continued to draw lazy patterns on your back and your eyes drifted closed as you felt nothing but peace.

“So you’re saying I can be the one to propose?” Steve honestly wouldn’t have been surprised if that had been the case. You always seemed to be the one to make the first move and honestly, he would have preferred if you did because he was sweating just thinking about getting down on one knee.

“Honey, you can do anything you want.” That dopey smile was back on his face and you put on a devilish grin as an idea came to your mind.

“Well in that case,” you smirked before pressing your mouth to his.

“Thought you were too tired,” he mumbled against your lips. You were too tired, but that didn’t mean you didn’t have enough energy to make out with him. That took little to no effort for you and you just needed to feel his pretty pink lips against yours.

“I just want some kisses,pretty boy,” You leaned up, his body already missing your warmth. “Don’t make it dirty.”

“Sorry.”

“You should be, now kiss me, Stevie,” you commanded, lowering yourself back onto him.

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded, capturing your top lip between his two.

You ended up staying another night at Steve’s, taking a break from one of your many rounds between the sheets to call Eddie and ask him if he or Wayne could watch Callie again, purposely leaving out the fact that you and Steve were now together. You thought that detail should be saved for an in-person conversation, wanting to see the shocked look on his face when you gave him the news and the hug that was going to follow.

“Honey,” you heard Steve whine from the bedroom. “The bed’s getting cold.” You just rolled your eyes and put the phone back to your ear.

“I’ve gotta go, Eds,” you told him.

“Gonna go for another fuck?” He asked with a chuckle.

“Maybe, now I’ve really gotta go.” You didn’t want to make Steve wait any longer, eager to snuggle up in his arms again, your skin missing his touch even though you had only been on the phone for five minutes.

“Is his dick that good that you have to sleep over again-oh my god,” Eddie gasped. “You guys are dating now, aren’t you? Oh my god, Robin owes me twenty bucks.”

“Goodbye, Eddie.” You slammed the phone back into the receiver and practically raced down the hall to Steve’s room. Once you were inside, you made a beeline for the bed and flopped onto it, crawling into Steve’s waiting arms. You snuggled into his chest, your arms wrapping around you and your legs tangling together.

“Took you long enough,” he grumbled. “Thought I was going to die alone here.”

“I was only gone for five minutes.”

“Five minutes too long,” he pressed a kiss to your temple. “Don’t ever leave me again.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, pretty boy.” And you wouldn’t leave him. As far as you were concerned, he was going to be with you for the rest of your lives. You’d grow old together, holding hands in your rocking chairs in the nursing home, wondering how you each got so lucky to end up with each other. You’d look at each other with just as much love as you did when you first said the words to each other, sharing yet another kiss that held just as much passion as the first one you ever shared.

[streamafterlaughter]

Fundamental Differing

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Chapter XXI: Baby, What Did You Expect?

summary: it’s the mid tour finale, and of course nothing is as it seems. i’m horrible at blurbs pls forgive me

cw/tags: alcoholism, addiction mentions, probably some improper AA etiquette, angst per usual, lots of tears. gn!reader, rockstar!eddie, estranged lovers, mutual pining, angst

a/n: hehe haha hehe. this is probably my best work thus far. i really hope yall enjoy it, this took a LOT out of me

—

January 1991

Steve’s POV

“Pick up, pick up, pick up.” He taps his foot on the linoleum, the buzzing overhead lights causing him to squint through his already painful migraine. Your phone goes to voicemail again, and Steve all but slams the payphone down onto the receiver. “Fuck!” He huffs, turning back down the hall, defeated.

In his room, Eddie sleeps on the hospital bed under a thin blanket. There’s a tube in his nose, but the doctor said the word stable, leaving Steve some time to call you. Not that it mattered. Even if you had answered, what would he have said? Would you even want to know?

–

July 1991

Eddie’s POV

It’s been a whole year since he’d seen you, but there you were. Right in front of him, dancing with a small redhead covered in tattoos, a plastic cup in one hand, the other in the air. He already knows he won’t go over, won’t approach you, or even try to violate your field of vision. But he can’t bring himself to look away from you, the way your shirt clings to your body perfectly, the way your skirt lands right below the curve of your ass, your exposed legs going on for miles. He drinks you in from afar, without caring how creepy it feels, seeing you without your knowledge, It’s day eighty nine, but Eddie turns to the bartender and orders a drink.

–

Present Day

Your POV

It just doesn’t make sense. If Steve had known about Eddie’s problem like he claims, then why on earth had he let him drink himself stupid? Your brain tries to rationalize your best friend’s choice, but you come up with nothing. There is no good reason for what Steve did. Didn’t he pride himself on taking care of his friends?

You sit up as the bus starts moving, preparing to confront Steve before quickly remembering he’s on the other bus. Instead, you find Robin reading a beaten copy of On The Road in the breakfast nook, and drop down beside her, sighing.

She glances up but doesn’t speak, eyebrow cocked as you pout for her full attention. She dog ears her page, making a show of sitting up straight, like a proper catholic girl in class.

“I’m having a dilemma.” You state, refusing to let your voice crack. “I need an outside perspective.” Really, you need someone to tell you what you want to hear, but you can’t say that.

“I’m all ears, babe.”

“This whole thing with Eddie,” You ignore her not so subtle eye roll. “Something’s just not right. Steve knew, y’know, about Eddie’s drinking. He told me himself he’d been aware, even before I was.”

“Okay…”

“But Eddie had been drinking, when tour started. A lot. And Steve definitely knew, because he’d been the one to carry him to bed most of the time.”

“What exactly is your dilemma in this scenario?”

“Why was he watching his friend backslide? Why didn’t he do a fucking thing to help him?” You can’t keep your voice from weavering, and you choke on your breath. “I don’t get how he could claim to care for Eddie, to love him, and let him do that to himself. Not after-” You stop, not knowing what Robin should and shouldn’t know.

“After what?”

“After everything, I guess.”

“Listen to me, honey. Eddie is a grown man, so’s Steve. Sure, we’re all buddy buddy, but when it comes down to it, we can’t always play heroes.”

“What, so we’re supposed to be okay watching Eddie slowly kill himself?”

Robin pinches between her eyes, deep in thought. “No, of course not. But at some point, talking to a wall is gonna get old. But, hey! Eddie hasn’t had a drink in weeks, right? So why the worry now?”

You shake your head. “I guess I’m just nervous. We have a month off, and I don’t know where i’m gonna go. I could go to my place in Boston, or go back to Seattle. I just-”

“You’re worried about Eddie.” For once you’re grateful for how easily she can read you.

“I am.”

“You want my advice? Play it by ear. No one said that you have to stay away from him now that business hours are over. You can afford to reconnect with him, in the real world.” She makes a point, but what exactly is the real world? The world you know is barely real, and the one you’d known before it felt even less so. Sometimes you wish you’d died in the Upside Down, at least then you wouldn’t have known such a profound kind of pain.

–

Eddie’s POV

“Tomorrow night, we play our last show of the first leg of the Freak Show Tour,” Eddie announces to his bandmates crowded around the small breakfast table of the tour bus. “We will rock this house like we have rocked no other, a grand finale they will wish they televised!” The response is various whoops and cheers from his friends, and a small smile from Steve as he stands aside with his arms crossed. “Let’s make sure the state of… uh…” Eddie places a hand to his mouth, stage whispering to Steve, “Where are we?”

“Delaware.”

“Let’s make sure the state of Delaware can’t prepare for what we’re about to give ‘em!” Eddie hollers, and his friends join in as the bus pulls around the back of the hotel parking lot.

–

He swipes his key card as he catches you unlocking the door next to him. “Hey neighbor.” He winks, feeling awfully bold after a long trip without seeing you.

“Hey, Eds.” You send him a smile that makes his heart skip, and he curses himself for being so easily bent out of shape. You and him are friends. Friends with a long, frustrating history, but friends nonetheless. “You ready for the mid tour finale?” He asks, awkwardly shifting to lean against the doorframe.

He catches as your face falls the slightest bit. “Yeah, I guess so. It’s gonna be weird, I think.”

“How so?”

You shrug. “I dunno. We’ve been on the road for like a month now. It almost feels normal. I won’t know what to do with myself when I’m back at home.”

He must be mistaken, but your words sound almost like an invitation, a cracked door. “Where’s home for you?” He asks, ignoring how tacky it must sound.

–

Your POV

It takes a lot to bite your tongue before you blurt, “You,” but you manage.”I uh, I think I’m going back to Boston. Might as well, it’s where we start back up again.” It will be August then, and you’ll have heard for sure whether you’re playing one of the biggest music festivals of the year. You still haven’t told Eddie, and at this point you aren’t sure what you’d say. “What about you? Where are you headed?”

Eddie sucks his top lip between his teeth in thought. “Maybe LA, or I’ll hold myself to my promise to visit Wayne. Depends.”

“On what?” It sounds like a challenge.

“On if I want to face my guilt or keep running from it. Or something equally dramatic.”

You snort, pretty eyes rolling back into your head. “Please.”

“What?”

“Don’t be shitty. Let yourself feel guilty, god knows you deserve to. Visit Wayne, at least for a while.”

“Why does it matter to you what I do?” He doesn’t mean for the words to come out as harshly as they do.

“Believe it or not, Ed, you still matter to me. Very much. And if you let yourself be miserable, we’ll all have to put up with your bullshit when we come back. Do us all the favor. Go home.” You swipe your card again, entering your room before Eddie can respond.

–

It shouldn’t matter. You and Eddie aren’t what you used to be, no matter how hard you delude yourself into thinking you can get back there. That possibility feels long gone, completely unreachable at your current status. You have to settle.

You walk over to the big window in your room, drawing back the heavy shades to reveal the setting sun and city of Dover below. You lay back on the bed, the fluffy pillows soothing you quickly to sleep.

–

A knock on your door rattles you awake. The digital clock on your nightstand reads 11:30 PM, and you groan as you roll onto your feet. Another round of heavy knocking makes you scurry faster to the door.

“What?!” You demand, flinging the door back to reveal a disheveled Steve clad in a wrinkled tank top and linen pajama pants. “Oh good, you’re awake.” Steve shoves past you and into the room without an invite, causing you to spin on your heel to face him.

“Well, I am now! What the hell is going on?”

“I can’t find him.”

“Who?”

“Eddie!”

Good fucking god. “He’s not in his room?”

Steve looks at you like you’ve asked the dumbest question in the world. You suppose you have. “No. He went out. Didn’t seem like he was okay.” Steve holds his face in his hands. “I’ve called all the bars in the area, no one’s said they’ve seen him. He could be on the street somewhere, he could-”

“Okay, enough!” Of course he’s worried, but you’re fed up with Steve’s inability to be consistent. “Where was this attitude a month ago? When he was drinking himself silly before every show, when he would beg for whiskey the mornings after? You let him relapse, and now you’re worried?” You don’t realize you’re yelling until someone next door bangs on the wall, demanding you shut up.

“What are you talking about?” Steve sniffs, lifting his head to look at you.

“Steve, you’d known this whole time that Eddie has a problem. You’ve been letting him indulge in it, doing almost nothing. Now you’re surprised he’s gone out without telling you? Seriously?”

“There is only so much I can do to stop him, Y/n, you have to know that. I had to watch him vomit all over himself while I waited for the paramedics, I had to watch him detox in that hospital bed. Then I had to watch him relapse. Not just last month, but last year. He fell off the wagon after eighty nine days, Y/n, eighty nine. You wanna know why?” He waits for you to answer, but you’re not sure you want to. “Because he saw you at a gig. In New York, last July. He called me that night, told me everything. Told me he was sorry, that he was a waste of my time, all that shit. Made me promise to never try to save him again.” Steve’s in tears when he finishes, and you feel your own start to fall. “I have kept my mouth shut because I promised, but I worry about him every day. Well, until lately. He’s been so much happier, and there’s no use even arguing why that must be. But he’s not your responsibility either, I know that. It’s not fair of me to be putting any expectations on you. I just thought you might know where he is.”

You drop onto the mattress beside Steve, resting your head on his shaking shoulder. “I think I might know where he is. We can’t go there, though.”

“Why not?”

“It’s supposed to be anonymous.” You hope to every god that you’re right.

–

Eddie’s POV

“I haven’t been to a meeting in about a year,” Eddie starts, addressing the small group in front of him, sitting in a circle of folding chairs in the basement of a church. “But today is the two year anniversary of the worst day of my life. I guess it’s getting to me lately.”

“What happened two years ago?” The woman running the meeting encourages Eddie. She’s an older woman, with sandy blonde hair and a wrinkled, kind face.

“I ruined the best thing I could have ever asked for. I lost the love of my life, walked out on them for the last time after months of doing whatever I felt like with their feelings…

–

July 1990

“We can’t do this anymore.” You’re talking to the ceiling, arms resting on top of your chest, you don’t look at him. He’s next to you, stuck to the bed with sweat, breathing in your scent that begins to suffocate him. He knew this day was coming. You’d been seeing each other for about a month now, after half a year of not speaking.You’d fallen victim to his drunken pleas, as well as what Eddie suspects is your own self hatred.

“What are you talking about?” He plays dumb, hoping you’ll chicken out of leaving him for a second time.

“This,” You motion to the room around you. “I can’t see you anymore. It’s too much.”

“Too much?” Eddie sits up, and wills the room to stop spinning.

“Every time you come over, you’re wasted. You’re miserable most of the time, and the times you aren’t you’re hopped up on blow. It’s like you’ve added me to your list of fucking bad habits. I don’t want to be that for you anymore.” Your tone is ice cold, not a hint of sadness or anger in your voice at all. It chills Eddie to his core.

“Fine.” Eddie huffs, shoving himself out of bed. “Makes perfect sense, you telling me all this after I fuck your brains out. Made sure to get what you wanted first, right?”

“Eddie, come on,” You go to move, but Eddie tucks the blanket back over you.

“No, really, it’s fine. Ten minutes ago you were telling me how much you missed me, how good it felt. Now you’re cutting me off? Just like that?” Eddie shoves his legs clumsily into his jeans, cursing under his breath when his toe gets caught in a hole. “We talked about this. This was supposed to be purely physical, remember? You agreed to that.”

“I did, I know. But I agreed before I could understand that you’re… well, different.”

“Different how?” He snaps. You hesitate, picking anxiously at your fingernails. “Y/n?”

“You’re mean, Eddie. You’re cold. You don’t care how you make me feel, or rather, how you don’t make me feel when you sleep over. I’ve had to fake it. Beyond that, I can’t even make conversation with you. I feel used. It’s lonely.”

He sees red. Eddie gathers up his jacket, and his still half full beer bottle from the nightstand. “Fuck you,” He spits, tossing things aside as he searches for his keys. “Y’know what, yeah. We’re done.” He gulps the rest of the drink down before slamming the bottle into the bin.

“We can’t be done if we weren’t anything to begin with.” Your words bite, despite them originally being his own from when he’d come up with such a stupid agreement. “And we won’t have to break up, because this isn’t a thing.” He’d seduced you after a show one night, high out of his mind. He’d never expected you to agree to it.

“Perfect,” He snaps, daring himself to look at you. Your eyes are wet, but you’re stoic. You don’t tremble, you don’t heave or scream or shudder. “I don’t ever want to see your face again.” He doesn’t mean that, and he regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. But he can’t take them back now. “We don’t know each other.”

“I don’t think we ever did.” Your final words ring loudly in his ears as he slams the door behind him.

–

The group waits patiently for Eddie to finish, and he wipes a tear he hadn’t noticed from his cheek.

“You say you see this person frequently now?” The woman asks, and Eddie nods.

“We’re on tour together. Tomorrow’s our last show ‘til next month. Needed a meeting a little extra tonight, I guess.” It’s past midnight, this group being one that meets in the late hours to cater to night shift workers.

“Well, we thank you for sharing with us tonight, Eddie.”

“Thank you, Eddie.” The group responds as if on cue. The meeting is dismissed shortly after, and Eddie makes his way to the table for complementary stale coffee and doughnuts.

“You’re really brave for coming here.” The voice is small, taking Eddie a second to register. He turns around to face a girl who can’t be older than seventeen. “I’m Macy. Addict.”

“Hi, Macy.” Eddie greets her like he’s reciting a script. “I dunno about brave. That’s probably the last thing I feel right now.”

“Well, think of it like this. You could have gone to a bar, or a club to try and score. You came here instead. That’s brave.”

He shrugs. “I guess you’re right.”

“And they still love you, y’know. That doesn’t just go away.”

“How would someone your age know so much about something like that?”

Macy shrugs. “I follow the tabloids. I know who you are. I won’t say anything, obviously. But I’ve been watching you, with them. I’ve seen the photos, and the music doesn’t leave much to the imagination.”

“You can’t believe everything you read.” He’s not sure whether to take her word, she seems so genuine.

“Maybe not, but I believe this.”

Eddie gives her a sad smile before saying goodbye. She waves him off with a warm smile.

Once outside, he lights a cigarette, letting the smoke fill his lungs as he closes his tired eyes. The exhaustion has washed over him, and he’s ready to be dragged under when he hears footsteps approaching.

—

Your POV

He opens his eyes and meets them with yours, heavy from lack of sleep. “Hi.” You wave shyly, like you’ve never met him.

“How’d you find me here?” He flicks ash onto the concrete.

“Saw the flier in the lobby when we came in. Checked it again and saw one less tab on the bottom. Minor detective work.” You smile, despite the exhaustion written on your face. His cheeks warm.

“You alone?”

You nod. “Took a world of convincing Steve not to come with me. I think I’ve sedated him, though.”

“Shit, he that worried?”

You shrug. “You know how he gets. He’ll be glad to know you’re okay, though.”

“What, did you think I’d gone on a run too?”

“No, actually. It was my idea to check here. Relieved as shit that I’m right.”

“Yeah, me too.”

You stretch your hand out to hold as the doors swing open, a herd of people filing out. A small girl with a sweet face sends Eddie a smile, and winks at you before getting into a cab, and you turn to find him blushing.

“Friend of yours?”

He chuckles. “Guess you could say that.” He entwines his fingers with yours without waiting for an invitation. All too familiar touches, worlds away from where you’d stood only a month ago. “So,” He starts, swinging his arm and yours as you start back toward the hotel, “were you worried about me?” His tone is teasing, tinged with what can only be described as hope.

You can feel your cheeks warm and you suck your bottom lip between your teeth. “Guess you could say that.” You squeeze his hand. “But that’s nothing new. I’m always worried about you.”

—

July 1990

Your POV

“It’s over,” You’re sobbing into the receiver, barely able to hear Steve’s sigh on the other end. Relief? Disappointment? You can’t tell, your senses are blunted only by the thought of him.

“Are you okay? Wait, stupid question,” Steve stumbles on the other line, unsure of how to comfort you. “Can I do anything?”

You shake your head before you remember he can’t see you. “No, no. I’ll be alright. I ended it. I had to. He’s not the same person I fell in love with. I know that now.”

“Maybe, but there’s a lot you don’t know.”

“Do I want to know?”

Steve waits a beat before answering, the static of the line filling your head. “No, I don’t think you do.”

You talk for an hour before you feel your eyelids grow heavy, and say your goodbyes before hanging up. You are once again in silence. Alone. In a fit of rage— or of heartbreak, you’re not sure, you fall to your knees and let go. You haven’t cried like this in months, the kind of cry that leaves you hoarse and tired, but tonight, in the dark of your bedroom, you cry for the person you used to know.

—

Eddie’s POV

“Thank you, Denver! Goodnight!” The crowd erupts into cheers, pleas for a second encore, and Eddie’s sure he can see women in the front row tearing their bras off to throw onstage. The house speakers blast Talking Heads Burning Down The House as kids make their way to the exit. Eddie slides through the crowd of techs and stagehands backstage, making his way to the green room to collapse on the weathered couch.

“That was fucking incredible!” Jeff exclaims, clapping his calloused hands together. “Best show so far, I think.”

“Psh, that was nothin’, wait ‘til you see what Boston can do.” You’re sitting in the rickety recliner, a cigarette between your fingers, still dressed in your stage clothes. Your skin shines with sweat and glitter, cheeks rosy from exertion. You’re most stunning like this, Eddie thinks.

“Yeah? You willing to bet on that?” He jokes.

“Oh, more than willing!” You chuckle, stubbing out your smoke in the ashtray next to you. “But tonight, I turn in early.” You make a point to stand up, stretching your arms above your head. Eddie’s eyes fall to your midsection, exposed to him while you sort out your limbs. You’d think he’d never seen skin, the way he feels his skin burn at the sight of your stomach.

“Aw, it’s our last night together!” Sylvie whines, shoving you playfully. “One drink?”

Eddie waits with bated breath, and swears your eyes dart to his before you answer.

“Fine. One drink.”

—

Eddie doesn’t follow you to the bar, he knows better. Tonight has already been difficult, knowing he has nowhere to go after tonight, nowhere he wants to go, anyway. He digs through his duffel bag until he finds his long ignored copy of Tighten Up. He wants more of you, somehow. He’s still desperate to know how you’d felt, those horrible years apart.

He skips to the title track, tucking his hair behind his ears before equipping the headphones. The song greets him with the static of an amp, followed by the clicking of drumsticks. When it kicks in, the song is full, clearly a whole band effort. Robin’s bass cuts through with a funky riff, layered underneath dirty guitars and heavy drums. He’s sure the song can’t get better until your voice slices through the music

Dared myself to stand back up, / After all these wasted tears, / Felt my heart sew itself together, / After all that wear ‘n’ tear. / I let you turn your back on me, / I watched you walk away, / And ‘til now I let myself believe / I was supposed to die that way. / But now I’ve tightened up my heart, / I’ve locked away the pain, / and I don’t have much left to give, / without asking for the same.

You tell a story of a broken soul, fighting its way through the dark on its own. The music swells as you belt the chorus, and Eddie can almost feel his fingers hurt during your guitar solo. Robin’s backing vocals fill out your lead, and the buzz of the snare drum carries out the bridge.

When the song fades, Eddie takes his headphones off, needing to digest what he’s just heard. This one might just be his favorite on the album, at least so far. It feels like the pinnacle, the turning point of the story told by the tracks. He’s heard it live, sure, but something about hearing the way it’s produced gives him more of an idea of what you’d been feeling in the moment.

He has an overwhelming urge to see you. He launches himself out of bed, gathering himself as best he can for being so frazzled. He’s in sweatpants, a tattered t-shirt draped loosely over his form, hair pulled into a low ponytail to keep from tangling. He goes to turn the knob, but stops when he hears voices in the hall.

“I can’t believe it.” You’re wasted, words slurring together between hiccups and giggles. Eddie can picture you, rosy cheeked and stumbling, clawing for his arm to support your swaying weight, and his heart lurches as if to grab you through the door. “We’re playing fucking Lollapalooooooza!” You howl the word, and he hears Steve shush you as Robin cackles.

“Hey, hey!” Steve stage whispers, trying to silence you. “Don’t go gloating about it.”

“Why not?” He can almost hear your pout, and he chuckles to himself.

“I don’t wanna deal with you pissing Eddie off.”

“Y’know, Stevie, he’s gonna find out one way or another. Might as well come from me. Besides, he’s different. He’s happier, I think. I dunno. I hope he’s happy, he deserves to be happy.” Eddie’s heart swells as he listens to your tangent, but you’re not done yet. “I wish I could make him happy again. I feel like, whatever I do, I make it worse.” Your voice is cracking, whether from overuse or from trying not to cry, Eddie can’t tell. Now he has to see you. He goes to turn the knob again, but there’s a knock on his door at the very same moment.

Eddie opens the door almost as soon as you’re finished knocking, wafting your scent of lavender and vanilla into his nostrils.

“Hi,” You exhale the word, and Eddie can’t help when his lips twitch upward before he lets his grin free. “Needed to see you.”

“What a coincidence.” He tries not to let his excitement show, standing aside to let you in. “What’s goin’ on?”

“I have to tell you something. Well, I don’t have to. But I want to. You were the only person I wanted to tell, actually. I hope you’re not mad, though. I don’t know what I’d do if you were.”

“Hey, whoa, slow down,” Eddie rushes to where you sit on the edge of his bed, spiraling as the liquor tightens its hold on you. “Why would I get upset?”

You shrug lamely. “I dunno. Just, need you to be happy for me right now. Please be happy for me.” It’s a hoarse whisper, a plea meant for his ears only.

“Oh, sweetheart,” He doesn’t know where to put his hands, so he settles for resting one clammy palm on your leg. “You can tell me anything you want.” He knows what’s coming. You’re playing the biggest festival in the States. Something he’s dreamed about since the festival came to be. Of course it hurts, but Eddie can push that aside to be happy for you. He knows better.

You don’t continue, though. Instead, you scoot further into his side, nuzzling into his shoulder like a needy cat. Despite his aching heart, Eddie wraps his arm around you, letting you further into his hold. Your breathing slows back to normal, and Eddie has no desire to move from this spot. Tomorrow, you go back to Boston, and Eddie fucks off somewhere to wait out the month until he gets to see you again. He can indulge for one more night.

“I do have stuff to tell you,” You say finally, “but not right now. Right now, I sleep.” You hum, and he scoffs. Surely you won’t remember this tomorrow, so he decides not to push you. Eddie slides out from where you rest, laying you back into the mattress. He slips off your shoes and jeans, careful not to tug at anything else. He then tucks the blanket up to your chin, and starts to make a place for himself on the floor when your hand shoots out, snatching his wrist.

“Please, sleep here.” You pat the bed next to you, and he melts at the gesture. Your eyes are almost completely closed, hair wild from dancing, sweating, whatever you’d been doing tonight.

“You’re drunk, sweets. You’ll be upset in the morning.” He doesn’t want to deny you, especially in your softened, sleepy state.

“No!” You shake your head vigorously, wincing at the movement. “No, I won’t. Please, Eddie,” and he’s a goner. Of course he surrenders, and tucks himself into the warm bed next to you. You snuggle into him like it’s instinct, making a home on his chest as he lay stiffly with an arm around you, waiting for you to get comfortable.

You let out a sigh, your breathing slowing, arms wrapped around him with surprising strength. Eddie’s mind starts to wander back to the song, how someone is capable of two such wonderful emotional extremes.

Your mumbling tickles his neck, pulling him from his head. He doesn’t quite catch the words.

“What was that?” He coos, enjoying your touches, your breath on his skin. He could live here.

“I said, ‘I love you, Eddie.’” The words come out strung together, but to Eddie they puncture with each syllable. “G’night.” And before he can respond, you’re snoring.

Eddie, once ready to retire for the evening, is now completely wired, feeling you drift into dreamland next to him, as if you haven’t just upended everything.

—

chapter xxii

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[marzmeltdown]

Honey Whiskey

⌦ Pairing: Han Jisung x Reader ⌦ Word Count: 1.96k

⌦ Genre: Smut (MDI) ⌦ Warning(s): Use of alcohol, drunken sex (both consensual, please drink responsibly), use of pet names(darling, baby, doll) fingering, mc has a vagine but other than that they're gender fluid, oral (f receiving), sex against the wall,, kinda, its against a door, pining, slight choking, again, kinda, unprotected sex (be safe pls), Jisung finishes inside(but it's implied that mc is safe from harboring any passengers inside their body), walk of shame. ⌦ Summary: You go to a college party with your friend expecting to have anything but a good time, until you meet man who turns your dreaded night into something to be remembered. ⌦ A/N: This fic is loosely based off of Honey Whiskey by Nothing But Thieves, and by loosely I just mean the title. It has also been a very long time since I've written fanfiction, let alone smut, so bare with me. With that being said, if you have any suggestions, please feel free to send them my way :)

If you had to choose between sitting through a chemistry exam without having studied any of the material or going to a party with your best friend Yeji, you would have chosen the former of the two. Regardless of your unwavering dislike for the party scene, your best friend successfully dragged you to your university's end-of-year party. The scent of cheap alcohol, sweat, and throw-up mixed together to make a nose-curling smell that seemed to linger no matter what end of the frat house you stood at.

"Y/N! Come on and dance with me!" Yeji whined as she tugged on your left arm, your right holding onto the red Solo cup with some kind of beer that you had been nursing all night.

"Yeji, you know I don't like to dance," you whined back, not moving from your spot in the corner. At this point, you were sure you had grown roots where you stood; you'd been there so long. After what felt like forever, though it was only two minutes, you looked at Yeji's glossed-over puppy-dog eyes and sighed. Your best friend had such a talent for getting her way. "Fine, let me just set this down somewhere…"

"Why don't you just chug it?" Yeji asked, her hands still holding onto your left while she looked at the cup that was only a quarter of the way full.

You looked at the yellow, carbonated drink in your hand and then back at your friend, a look of disgust making its way to your face as you pondered drinking the rest of the beer. You'd been tipsy already, Yeji having successfully filled your stomach with liquid that could only be described as fruit-flavored rubbing alcohol.

Sighing, you lifted the red plastic cup to your lips as you took a deep breath through your nose, either for confidence or to prevent yourself from gagging; you weren't sure. You looked at your best friend one last time before letting your jaw open, inviting the beer into your mouth.

It didn't take long for you to finish the cup, setting it on a random surface before joining your friend in the sea of sweat and glitter-covered college-aged adults. To say you weren't enjoying yourself at least a little bit would be a lie. Once you and Yeji began dancing together, it felt nice to let loose a little, even if you were out of your element.

You jump ever so slightly when a hand places itself on the small of your waist, and the body to which the hand belonged swayed to the music alongside you. You turn your head ever so slightly, seeing that the mysterious hand and body belong to one of the cutest boys you have ever had the pleasure to dance with. Han Jisung.

If Jisung had gripped at your waist with that much fervor any other day, you would have harshly pushed him away before ranting to Yeji and Tzuyu about how college men are disgusting and cannot keep their hands to themselves. But today wasn't like any other day; today you were a completely different person in a completely different situation, and the look of approval along with the two thumbs up given to you by your friend reassured that you were indeed having a good time.

Had someone told you that you would be sleeping with Han Jisung at some party, a more popular person at your university. Or as popular as one can be in college. You would have told them that they were stupid before rolling your eyes to hide the blush your cheeks would have contained in that moment.

Jisung didn't waste any time as he dragged you to an empty bedroom at the end of the hallway. Your back was pressed against the door as Jisung's hands hungrily roamed along your body. His lips connected themselves to your own, pulling a small moan from your throat when his teeth pulled against your bottom lip.

He smirked as your small mewl of pleasure reached his ears, and your stomach tensed as his hands moved themselves from your waist and to the hem of your shirt. "May I?" He asked against your lips, pausing his movements all together until you gave him the okay to continue.

You nodded, allowing your hands to wrap themselves around his neck, pulling him closer—if that were even possible—as your hands found their way into his black locks.

"Please..."

With a whisper of approval coming from your lips, Jisung lifted your shirt up and over your head, tossing it to an unknown location in the room. The male you held tightly in your grip ripped his own shirt off, tossing it to the floor alongside your own shirt as he leaned into your neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive flesh.

Jisung's hands found their way to your nipples, taking the hardening buds in between his pointer and thumb, rolling and tugging gently at the beads. You couldn't help but let out another whine when from the stimulation your nipples were receiving, gasping once more when Jisung moved his thigh in between your own.

Almost instinctively, you began rolling your hips along his clothed thigh, more whines and whimpers falling from your mouth as your swollen clit rubbed against the seam of your jeans with every thrust of your hips against his thigh. Your hands dug themselves deeper into Jisung's hair, tugging ever so gently, earning you a groan from your partner in response.

You felt Jisung's hands reach down to unbutton your pants, pulling down the denim fabric, and you stepped out of the pants that lied around your ankles, kicking them to join the two shirts that had been discarded earlier. Jisung reached to grope your chest once more as he kissed his way to your soiled panties.

A smirk found its way to the other's lips as he came face to face with the heat that was growing hotter the longer he teased. You couldn't help the blush of embarrassment or how your hands instinctively hid the new shade of red your face had adorned. Jisung noticed your embarrassment, his hands trailing up the thigh he had placed on his shoulder only a few moments ago, in an attempt to ease your nerves. His lips followed the trail his hands led, leaving small kisses along the way.

"Jisung, please..."

You weren't sure what you were begging for, but the chuckle that left your partners lips made you certain that you wanted him to touch you.

"Please what, darling?" Jisung asked against your thigh, his trail of kisses stopping right at the hem of your panties. He looked at you, as if he were waiting for consent once more, though this time he was waiting for you to elaborate on your plead.

"Please touch me," you whined. Your whining seemed to flip a switch inside of Jisung's head as his hands pulled your panties off your body whilst his mouth latched itself to the swollen bead of nerves that had been longing for attention. His mouth wasted no time sucking your clit against his lips, every few seconds he would dip lower and lick against your entrance with the hunger of a man who'd been deprived a nutritious meal for far too long.

Your hands flew to latch themselves against his hair, tugging on it each time Jisungs tongue dipped into the caves of your opening. He groaned at your taste, slipping a finger into your hole as his tongue focused on your clit as he pumped his finger in and out of your hole.

The stimulation from Jisung's fingers and tongue caused your back to arch against the door you had been pinned against from the moment it was shut and locked. Your hole clenched around his fingers as your slick ran down your thighs, you tugged at Jisung's hair once more as the coil inside your stomach began to tighten.

"Jisung.. Fuck me! Fuck me, please!" You begged, pulling the man up by his hair so you could kiss him. Jisung grunted against your lips, and watching you taste yourself on his tongue made his painfully hard cock twitch inside his pants.

"So impatient," Jisung teased against your lips. Using the speed of a madman and the strength of a thousand men, he threw his pants down, hoisted you up, and wrapped your legs around his waist. You whined in response, gripping the flesh of his back as you felt Jisung inch his way into your entrance.

When he bottomed out, he waited for you to adjust, and only when you nodded your head did he start thrusting his hips up into your own. Your moans sounded like music to the man's ears, one hand gripping at the fat of your thigh while the other held your chin in place, turning your head to the side so he could mark your neck up with bite marks.

As Jisung's thrusts turned into rough pounding, hitting that sweet spot inside of your spongy walls, you threw your hand up to your mouth, covering the unholy noises coming from your mouth. You were snapped out of your trance as your hand found itself pinned to the door behind you.

"I wanna hear you, baby."

Jisung whispered into your ear, the hot air sending shivers up your spine as Jisung intertwined his fingers with your own. The noises that were coming from your mouth would make a nun blush, and the words you spoke would prevent you from looking anyone in the eyes in a normal setting.

"F-Fuck! Jisung, right there! Please!" You whined, feeling your hole flutter and clench around Jisung's cock, the cord that had once been left to dissipate now binding itself up in your stomach again. Your legs began to shake from the pounding you were receiving from Jisung.

"Fuck, keep doing that, and I'm not going to last much longer," Jisung grunted into your ear. The way his thrusts began to falter and his cock twitched inside your walls, you could tell he was just as close as you were.

"I'm close!" you mewled, using your free hand to manoeuvre the man's face to your own in attempts to kiss him once more. The action couldn't be considered a kiss in a literal sense, however, not with the amount of teeth and nose clashings you two had shared.

"Cum on my cock, doll," Jisung whispered against your lips. Those words were enough to send you over the edge, a wanton moan leaving your lungs as you came. Your finish running its course down Jisung's cock finally pushed him over the edge. He thrusted three more times before he came, riding out his high while simultaneously fucking his cum back into you.

Once he slowed his thrusts to a halt, he stood there for a second, the both of you panting as though you had just run a marathon. You slumped yourself against Jisung's shoulder as he pulled out, letting your legs fall to the floor again. It felt odd, holding onto Jisung like that, but it was a nice feeling. As soon as you gathered your strength, you pulled away from him, trying desperately to locate your clothing.

"Y/N! I was worried; you were gone for so long!" Yeji gasped, hugging you tightly as you shamefully walked down the steps to the party that seemed to have only gotten bigger since you and Jisung had enjoyed each other's company. You blushed heavily, looking up at the man who'd taken you from your best friend long enough for her to worry. Either Yeji was too shitfaced to notice the purple marks that littered your neck or she was saving you the embarrassment; either way, you were relieved that she didn't say anything.

[ynisreal]

wires (5) - michael afton x reader

author’s note: 2 chapters in a row???????? hehe

summary: You and Michael spend the day together. You receive an unexpected guest.

Chapter Five

You and Michael decided to start your workday by inspecting all the rooms of the old animatronics. They were spacious rooms, with empty stages and stored tables. The polite man who had interviewed you told you that the establishment had been intended to be a restaurant, but for security reasons it had been decided to turn it into an animatronics rental facility. That's why it was so spacious, making you feel a little sad. After all, what was supposed to be the start of a reference in fun and entertainment had turned into dark, empty and dusty rooms. You still couldn't understand the lack of animatronics, Henry's lie had been that they had been transferred, you couldn't understand why he would lie about the real reason for the lack of robots. Perhaps it was company confidentiality?

"Did you ever meet them?" You ask Michael, who is opening the door to the circuit breaker room. The man immediately stops in his tracks, a little surprised by your question. With your task of counting how many boxes and what materials were in them, you weren't looking at the man's silhouette, not noticing Michael's fearful posture.

Michael couldn't lie, after all, he has no reason to lie. He had already told you that he had worked in the establishment before you arrived, and indeed, he worked here before he died, in fact, his working here is what killed him.

"Yes," Michael tries to hide his own discomfort in his voice, which hasn't worked very well, but with your lack of attention, you don't notice it again.

"What were they like?" you ask, with a totally different tone from Michael, your voice full of curiosity and excitement. You had seen several posters and images of the establishment's stars in the corridors and in the elevator, they looked colorful and modern, which caught your attention.

"Hm", Michael tries to think of a sincere answer that isn't odd or frightening, "Big?", he replies insecurely, sounding more like a question than a definite answer.

"Big?!" you snap, dropping the pen you were writing on the report for Noah. You look at Michael with wide eyes, your curiosity only growing about the characters you faced every day in the elevator.

"Yes, bigger than any grown-up," Michael smiles at your surprise, finding your naivety at the whole situation cute. "It was a little scary," Little? Michael thinks, remembering the fear his younger brother felt when he met the original animatronics. They were big, noisy and had mechanical voices. Sister Location's animatronics were modern, metallic and with more refined gestures.

"They must have been incredible," you smile back, a little impressed by the fact that they were so big. You had seen the remains of replaceable or broken parts at Parts & Service with Michael, and indeed, they were heavy and complex, but the size of these robots was something you hadn't thought about.

"Yeah, they could have been incredible," Michael replied with the same dry tone as before, not wanting to get too deep into the topic. The idea on paper was revolutionary, animatronics made for the purpose of caring for and entertaining children, but Michael knew that wasn't how it worked out in practice. The man could still remember the emptiness he felt in his chest when he met Circus Baby, frustrated at only being able to touch and see metal parts, not Elizabeth's smile or beautiful hair.

"Cass would have liked it," you wonder, "Well, not now, at her current age, maybe when she was a bit younger."

"Yeah, maybe," Michael can't help the discomfort in his voice as he imagines your sister around any of these robots, after all, it hadn't gone well for either of his siblings.

You go back to writing down the items in the last box, leaving the weekly delivery report ready for Noah to analyze. The architect had asked for some special requests, requiring certain items or boxes to be in specific rooms to facilitate the team's creative process. You finish writing them down and start walking to the circuit breaker room, which is where Michael was.

"Watch out for the wires," Michael says with his back to you, knowing that it was in your nature not to look at the floor and end up tripping over the thousands of wires exposed in this small room. Michael tries not to look too far into the dark corners, still afraid of seeing Funtime Freddy peering through the darkness. Nowadays, it was Michael peering into the darkness to avoid being seen, *how the roles had changed.*

You proceed with caution, Michael's warning serving to draw your attention. "I don't usually go in here much," you reveal, "It's a bit scary." Michael lets out a small laugh, because frankly, you were right, Michael also found this whole establishment scary. The circuit breaker room was very dark, so the man didn't back away when you came closer to look at the buttons he was analyzing.

"It has some features - well, different features, is the phrase," Michael says, smiling as he presses the player so memorable to the man. The room floods with the robotic voice of the "Mascot Response Audio", which startles you with its abrupt loud noise.

"What the fuck is that?" you ask, hand placed over your racing heart. Michael laughs at your fright, used to the screeching sound of the audio that was used to ward off Funtime Freddy's attacks.

"It's pre-recorded audio to be used for the old Funtime Freddy," Michael explains without much detail, not knowing how to tell you that it was used to distract the animatronic from ripping his head off.

You nod, seeming not to have understood much, but you were still running on adrenaline from the scare, frightened by the noise and the darkness of the place. "It's creepy, I think that's the word," you say in reference to the one Michael had commented on, which brings another smile to the man's face.

"Good point," he replies, making his way to the exit door. The two of you make your way to the control room, with the intention of leaving your report in the room. Michael, motivated by your questions, was deep in thought about the first time he arrived at the facility, a man with a beating heart and driven to find his sister and the other souls trapped in this franchise.

"It used to be quite different," he says, interrupting the silence that was forming between the two of you. You leave your pen on the table and turn back to look at the man with a mask and hood. "What do you mean?" you ask, confused by what he's saying.

Michael smiles at your look of confusion, "Here, I meant, there were no corridors," he explains, leaning on the wall opposite you. "This control room was quite different too," the man adds.

"It didn't have corridors?" you ask, not understanding how an establishment like this wouldn't have corridors, "How did you get from one room to another?".

"There were ventilation ducts," Michael replies sincerely, not realizing the absurdity of his answer. Michael only notices the ridiculousness of his answer when he hears you laugh a little.

"What do you mean?" you laugh, not believing what you're hearing. Michael smiles back, loving hearing your laugh so early in the day, the decision to have spent the day with you seeming more delicious now. He had the privilege of seeing your eyes still a little puffy from sleep, hearing your voice and laughter, as well as seeing you concentrating on the tasks of the day, it was cute. Seeing you so early like this only made him more greedy and ambitious.

"I'm serious," he says with the least serious face possible, smiling and bringing his hands to his chest, as if pointing to his dead heart would bring credibility. "It was a nuisance having to crawl to work every day," Michael adds, making an uncomfortable face.

"I can imagine," you reply, still not quite believing him. After all, it was a bit strange to imagine any employee crawling through ventilation ducts to get to work.

"I'd like to see you crawl over to me," Michael adds, a confident smile on his face. Even if you couldn't see his smile, you could hear the teasing tone in his voice.

"In ventilation ducts?" your voice comes out a little slurred due to your embarrassment, but the image is too bizarre for you to pass up.

Michael shakes his head in denial as he laughs, after all, your surprise at the whole situation was admiring, he thought. Your reactions to the information Michael was telling you were cute, and it was impossible for the man not to laugh, overwhelmed by happiness for being with you. Thinking about the time spent with you was a foreign feeling for Michael, after all, until a few weeks ago he thought he would be stuck in the establishment, living out the remains of his unhappy life in the shadows, paying for the sins he didn't commit. Michael didn't like hiding, he didn't like the situation life had forced him into, putting him in the shadows while his father was still out there. However, as much as his situation hadn't changed much, still being trapped in the establishment and in the shadows, Michael couldn't bring himself to think of him as unhappy. Michael was happy in your company, he had abandoned any future predictions or thinking about the million impossibilities of your relationship working out, because he wanted to enjoy what he had now. What he had now was: you in the establishment during working hours. Michael had to be grateful for this, since this was what brought life to the long **dead** days of the man.

You put the report away in one of the drawers, taking your eyes off the man hidden in the shadows of the corridor, his silhouette slightly illuminated by the yellow light of the control room. You smile at the man, happy to be able to spend more time with him. As much as you'd like to spend that time trapped in the control room lost in the pleasure of his lap, you have bills to pay and a sister to look after. "We have to clean the Funtime Auditorium, given that Noah is scheduled to come tomorrow," you comment crossing your arms, "I believe he's going to measure the room."

"Hm, is he critical of cleanliness?", Michael asks, even though he knows the answer, constantly hearing the man's complaints seep through the walls of his hidden room.

"He is, and as much as the establishment is in good condition thanks to you and me," you smile, remembering the late afternoons you spent cleaning every inch of the place, "I don't want to risk it, to avoid the headache it would be to hear him criticizing my work," you flinch in irritation, already imagining the authority and rudeness in Noah's voice.

Michael is immediately irritated too, it's already unbearable to hear the way the architect treated his coworker, Alice, but if he spoke to you like that, Michael wouldn't be able to stop himself from leaving the establishment and smashing Noah's entire car. The masked man almost smiles as he remembers the many times he did just that in his teenage years, perhaps being a teenager with unaddressed anger issues had come in handy. "Okay, come on then, let me get the cleaning materials," Michael stops to stand in the archway at the entrance to the control room, "I don't want you accidentally dropping bleach on your skin."

"Like you're going to be able to carry all the materials in just two hands all the way to the auditorium," you complain, even though you know he could. Michael was strong, hiding his muscles under so much fabric to conceal his skin. But you can't help being frustrated that he takes all the heavy lifting upon himself, which makes you feel a little helpless and guilty about your lack of participation. "After all, the bleach can also get on your skin," you point out, starting to walk behind the man, respecting the distance he wishes.

Michael grins again, even though he knows that all smiles are invisible to you. "My skin wouldn't be affected," the man says with a confident tone, teasing you. You let out a small chuckle, unimpressed by the man's words. However, you feel a feeling you've never felt before take over your entire body. Your body or your mind, you can't pinpoint it to this day, has always reacted in a standard way when people are lying to you, whether it's intuition or heightened lucidity, you can easily spot lies. But for the first time in your life, you felt the truth. Your mind telling you that what Michael had said was true. It was a sensation so different from anything you'd ever experienced before that it stopped you in your tracks. You began to silence the world around you to try to hear and understand what your body had to say. But it wasn't a feeling that lasted, being present for a few seconds and then disappearing completely, as if it had never been sensed. Did you imagine it? Or did you misinterpret it? Maybe the feeling was just lack of sleep or hunger.

Michael noticed the silence of your footsteps, turning his head towards you to understand what had made you stop in the middle of the corridor. Your eyes were focused on the floor, a confused look on your face. Michael flinches when he sees that you seem frustrated about something. "Y/n? Is everything all right?" he asks, immediately causing you to raise your gaze to him. You nod a little frantically, not wanting to worry the man. In all honesty, you didn't take into consideration what you had just felt, as it was too new for you to assume or draw conclusions. Michael noticed your somewhat distracted and nervous posture, but decided not to press you to explain yourself or tell him what had happened, knowing that he had no right to ask for clear answers from you. If you were letting him live with his secrets, he would try not to be bothered with yours either.

"I just remembered how much I want to pour bleach into Noah's mouth," you reply, jokingly trying to distract Michael from the increasing heartbeats hammering in your chest, almost becoming detectable in the silence of the corridor. Michael smiles, laughing at the aggressive lie in your speech.

"Don't count me in as an accomplice," Michael says, walking ahead of you in search of the cleaning products. "It seems like a lot of work," he continues, finally reaching the shelves that hold the materials. Michael may be joking, but he knows that at this point, by how happy you made him and how much you brightened up the man's dull days, he would be an accomplice. All so he wouldn't have to stay away from you.

You stretch out your arms to Michael, hoping he'll give you some materials to help him carry. Michael stares at you, considering your offer to help for a few seconds before handing you the washcloths. Just the washcloths. You roll your eyes and let out a sound of frustration, something Michael seemed used to hearing every time he refused to make you carry heavy things or do manual labor. Perhaps Michael has become addicted to hearing those sounds and that look coming from you.

The two of you make your way to the auditorium, Michael by your side carrying the products and you with the cloths in one hand. The Funtime Auditorium was the same size as the Ballora Gallery, the only room for the animatronics being relatively smaller than both was the Circus Baby Gallery. Neither you nor Michael entered that room very often, because of the mess that had accumulated. Michael had lived every day after his death in the establishment, he cleaned and organized the whole place, knowing that having a routine or something to be responsible for would soothe the voices in his head. However, he didn't have the courage to go in there, so the mess had piled up, and there were probably still pieces of animatronics and some electronics scattered around the gallery. You didn't like going in there, frustrated by the extreme mess, always being reminded to set aside a day to tidy up all the objects that had gathered in the small room.

"Hm, Michael," you say, as you bend down to clean the tiles on the floor with the brush, taking care to only do so on the tiles that Michael had already swept clean with the broom, "Since Noah isn't coming today, we can clean up the Circus Baby Gallery together". You suggest, knowing that the job of cleaning the entire room would be much quicker with the man's help.

Michael froze, not knowing what to say. He didn't want to go in there, not out of fear or anything, because he knew that the animatronics, or rather Ennard, were no longer here. Michael had felt them all come out of his mouth as they left him to decompose in a dark, damp alley. The animatronics had fled somewhere, leaving the establishment empty for Michael's return. But the Circus Baby Gallery was an emotional place for the man, being the place where his sister had died and where they had been reunited. It was a reminder of the hope Michael had felt when he heard his little sister's voice, metallic and robotic yet soft, for it to be completely lost and destroyed in the scooping room.

"Can we do that another day?" Michael replied softly, letting his mind take control of his mouth. Michael didn't have the strength to lie when it came to his siblings, he felt his weakness and vulnerabilities coming to the surface, "Not today", it comes out almost in a sigh, voice hoarse and full of emotions that take you by surprise.

"Of course, we don't have to do it today," you say, trying to maintain a neutral posture, not wanting to make the man any sadder, "We can do it another day, we can set up a time," you continue, a smile on your face. Michael felt relaxed by your affection, happy to know that you had respected the limits that his heart and mind could handle today.

You return to your repetitive tasks, Michael sweeping the tiles while you carefully wipe them down with a cloth full of product. A silence fell, and Michael knows why, you were curious, you wanted to ask why he had never cleaned the Circus Baby Gallery, even though he had worked here before you. Ever since you arrived, the room has been disgusting in contrast to the other rooms, which were always shiny and fresh because of Michael's hard work. The man notices the gears turning in your mind, your puzzled face being a little too cute, showing your frustration at not getting the answers you wanted. You want to ask, but you both know how this conversation ended last time. Yeah, maybe Michael wants you to ask again, just so he can blindfold you and leave you without any answers whatsoever.

"Do you know about the rumors?" Michael decides to put an end to your stress and take mercy on your curious mind. You stop your movements, already knowing where this conversation was going. Your sister had told you, a little too excited to be sharing scary conspiracy theories she'd heard from her friends at school. You weren't frightened, you really weren't, but this story made you double-check the dark corners of the establishment just to make sure there was no one there.

"I heard about it, it's famous among kids my sister's age", you replied in a neutral voice, not wanting to show your obvious fear, given that you and Michael were in a closed room and didn't have a completely accurate view of all the dark corners of the auditorium. Michael notices your stiffness, being used to seeing people afraid, it was a sensation he had to learn to cope with for many years. He didn't like to see such a recognizable feeling stamped on your posture.

"This establishment proceeds the franchise's shady reputation," Michael sighed, as if he was tired of reliving the same story over and over again. He had relived this story many times during his life, after all, the little conspiracy theories that children told their friends in order to scare them was Michael's reality, it was the documented history of his life and those around him. "A few years ago, this establishment was a restaurant," you nod, knowing this information from your interview with the older man and a little internet research, "However, there were some reports of a gas leak, which caused the restaurant to close, becoming a place to rent animatronics," Michael continues, voice a little quieter than usual, having to take a few breaks to calm his mind from memories of his childhood and the effects of the gases, how they could make any sane child into a small form trembling in fear and paranoia.

You didn't know this information, and frankly, you had no interest in knowing why the restaurant had closed, assuming it had been due to some accident or lack of funds. Well, now your curiosity has been piqued, curiosity and fear as a matter of fact. "Soon after, the animatronics started having some maintenance problems, which caused in one," Michael paused in his sentence, waiting for the right word to come to mind. The word that wouldn't cause a more emotional reaction from Michael, "Well, let's just say a small accident, which is why the animatronics are no longer in the establishment". He finishes the story, waiting to hear your response, given that, he hadn't lied, he told you what happened, he just hid the fact that the little accident involved him dying and the animatronics taking over his body to roam the streets. They were small omissions, Michael told himself.

"And you don't enter the Circus Baby Gallery out of fear?" you ask, sincerely curious and interested in the story. Michael is surprised by your reaction, thinking that you would laugh in his face or mock him for believing in children's stories, but your reaction is genuine. Of all the information he told you, you were worried about why he didn't want to enter the gallery. You were worried about him.

"It may be fear, but I think it's something else," Michael tells you, not even realizing that he was responding truthfully. He was so used to lying to you, but he had no one but Henry to talk to about the events that had traumatized him forever, the events that had taken his sister away from him and taken his life. Michael couldn't hold back the urge to share the darkest parts of him with the light you brought into his life, it was as if by getting too close or knowing a little more, you could burn those memories away, erasing them with your light. "It could be the memories I have of that room," Michael sighs, feeling the discomfort of oversharing.

"Hm," you vocalize, confusion evident in your voice, but you won't pressure him, knowing he'll open up when he's ready, "I see." That feeling takes over your body again, Michael was telling the truth. Well, you're now able to confirm it, not being taken aback by a new sensation, he was being honest with you, and as much as you don't know what that means or what memories he might have with this establishment, you were glad to see him being honest with you.

Michael doesn't look at you, he just goes back to sweeping the floor, which he hadn't even realized he had paused on. Michael is grateful that your reaction was neutral, that you didn't want to delve any further into the box of memories and traumas that is Michael's mind. You were letting him take his time to open up to you, being careful with your words and your actions, not wanting to stress him out like you did last night.

"It's sad," you comment, breaking the silence once again. Michael looks at you in surprise, not knowing what had made you say that. "Well, the rumors are sad, I can understand why people are scared," you continue, a little unsure of your statement now that Michael's non-visible face is pointed at you, a bit of his all-black eyes becoming apparent. "I am too, but I'm sad as well, it's unfortunate to think that children are the victims of all this, souls so full of light and innocence," you continue, staring into Michael's dark eyes, accustomed to the total darkness that fills them. "It's a good thing they're just rumors, I wouldn't be able to work here if they were true," your train of thought comes to an end, and you go back to cleaning the tiles that were forgotten during your conversation with the man in front of you.

Wow, that's new.

Michael knew you'd have a sense of what had happened, or what the children seemed to gossip about the locations. But you told him in a voice so full of sadness and comfort that it almost made Michael fall into your arms, longing to be consoled too. He hadn't even noticed that his eyes were a little too apparent, letting you find them during the conversation, the dark, totally black eyes you had sketched. You oozed softness, no matter how clumsy you were and how many swear words would occasionally come out of your lips, you brought solace to his life.

"Can you close your eyes again?" Michael asks, a little too excited to notice how his voice had come out a little desperately. You immediately blush, remembering the events of last night, and how a simple request from Michael had turned into you begging on the man's thighs as he kissed your neck.

"Michael, I'm still on the clock," you reply, your cheeks red and your eyes shining with arousal. Michael smiles as he watches the scene, after all, you're down on your hands and knees, your face showing all the reactions Michael can make you feel.

"I'm not going to do anything extra," Michael continues, moving a little closer to you, breaking the safe distance he promised himself to keep every day, but seemed to be breaking several times. "Trust me," he continues, voice soft and sweet, so sweet that you could feel his kiss on your mouth again.

You nod, a little too responsively for the situation, but you couldn't help it, especially when it was Michael asking you so lovingly. A sigh leaves your lips, and you close your eyes, feeling the darkness that took you in its arms last night return. You felt the vulnerability return, the feeling of helplessness and your walls of protection come crashing down, leaving you once again at the mercy of the man in front of you, the one you couldn't see the face of. The conversation earlier left you a little frightened, and now, with your sight taken from you once again, you can't help but reach for Michael with your arms, wanting to feel his presence bringing you safety.

"Sh, sh, I'm here," Michael replies, his voice so close to you, one of the things you missed about yesterday. Feeling him close was nice, it made you forget the thousands of secrets and barriers Michael kept between the two of you. He takes your hands and guides them into his arms, the two of you sitting on the freshly cleaned floor of the auditorium. You feel a sense of security invade your body, knowing that Michael is close to you, putting a solid wall between the two of you and your childish fears.

You grip the fabric of Michael's sweater, letting your fingers feel the muscles in his biceps in conjunction with the small pieces that felt like wires, which, at first, you had found odd, but now, they seemed to fit Michael, your desperation for his touch making you get used to the new sensation. You feel Michael's cold palm meet your skin, placing his bandaged hand over your eyes to make sure you don't open them again. The man feels himself smile as he feels your warm skin for the second time, happy to feel the life and warmth in your body, which creates a delicious contrast to his cold, dead body. Seeing that you had calmed down and let Michael have the freedom to do as he pleased, he moves closer, feeling your soft breath against his face.

Michael brings his hand up to his mask, revealing the man's purple lips, and moves closer to your face. With a calm unaccustomed to Michael, he kisses you, softly and romantically, a new experience compared to the kiss you two shared yesterday. It was a soft touch of Michael's lips on yours, a kiss of comfort, you know that the previous conversation had made the man reactive and nervous, so he was seeking solace in your touch. You weren't the only one who seemed to seek safety in it.

It was a short kiss, purely for you to put your anxieties and fears aside, a touch that calmed Michael's nerves, so when he took his hand away from your eyes, he didn't realize he was still too close, letting the mask return to where it was before he lowered it, covering his lips. When you open your eyes, letting your vision slowly return, you could see Michael's eyes, without any shadows to cover them or obscure your visibility.

And no, you weren't confused or tired that day. Michael's eyes were undeniably dark. Completely black.

When Michael went back to drop off the cleaning materials near the main hall, you tried to calm your heart by the scene that was installed in your mind. Michael's eyes were completely black, just like in the drawing you made of him, it wasn't the shadows of the hood he wore, he really did have black eyes. Did he wear contacts? Or did he have some rare condition? You let the questions flood into your head, even though you know you won't ask the man any of them. You weren't supposed to see it, opening your eyes too quickly and not letting the safe distance between the two of you return. You don't know how Michael would react if he knew that you had managed to see the eyes he was hiding so much.

Before you can think of anything else, you hear a loud noise coming from a door inside the Funtime Auditorium. You get up from the floor, staring at the door that has been locked for your entire time working here. You never found the key to that room, and you tried to enter it several times to check what it was or so that Noah could analyze the small room. But it was always locked. As it didn't seem to be anything important, you never asked Michael what it was that was kept there or why the room was locked. However, with the loud noise that has just been revealed from inside, fear returns to your veins.

"Is anyone there?" you ask, your voice loud enough for anyone in that room to hear.

Suddenly, the door opens, creaking from the lack of movement for what seems like months. The door opened slowly, extending the high-pitched creaking noise, almost making your ears hurt. You begin to take cautious steps, making your way into the mysterious room. When you reach the archway of the newly opened door, you find something you never thought you'd find here. A scooping room? You think, given that neither your interviewer nor Michael had ever mentioned this room to you. The light was off and the air was damp, making you sniffle. It was a heavy, almost gloomy air.

You entered the room carefully, looking for the source of the sound that had startled you a few moments ago. The huge windows brought a little light into the room, given that you had tried the switch and it didn't seem to be working, since no light was present. The windows seemed to lead into the control area of the mechanical arm in the middle of the room, which was quite scary to have something so big and dangerous in the midst of such an establishment. That must be why the door was kept locked, you imagine.

"Is anyone here?" you repeat, wanting to find out who made the sound. Or what made the sound. Your brain betrays you with such a dark thought, making you break out in a cold sweat. You start to hear Michael's footsteps echoing through the empty corridors, so you decide to go back through the door you came in, but as you turn, your heart stops beating for the first time in your life.

There was an animatronic. Was it an animatronic? You didn't know, you'd never seen one up close. It had a metallic body, full of apparent wires and pipes, unlike the photos and posters that were scattered around the elevator. Its face contained white metal plates that seemed to open and close, highlighting the other pipes and wires that completed the mechanics of its face. Its eyes glowed in the dark like two flashlights, exposing the small hat on top of its face.

You raised your hand to your pounding heart, which had apparently started beating again a few seconds ago. You had to hold back your giggles to stop yourself from bursting into laughter at your fright. It was just an animatronic, perhaps one they had tried to disassemble or it was out of use and they had left it here, forgetting about it. The thought almost makes you feel sympathy for the large piece of what looked like metal junk in front of you.

"Damn, they must have left you here," you whisper quietly as you approach the wrecked robot in front of you. It was on the side of the door, almost completely hidden in the dark corner if it weren't for the eyes that illuminated fractions of the room you were in. "I'll have to call headquarters tomorrow, so they can come get you," you tell the robot, making a mental note of what you'll have to do tomorrow.

When you hear Michael's footsteps entering the auditorium, you walk out the door, closing it, leaving the animatronic alone again. You can see Michael walking past the entrance door to the Funtime Auditorium, and when he sees you with your hands on the handle of *that* room, he starts to run. Running like your life depended on it.

"Y/n!", Michael shouts, startling you, immediately backing away from the door. Michael runs towards you, bumping into the various chairs or tables that were stacked up inside the auditorium, but he didn't seem to care, his goal being to reach you.

When his body collides with yours, he wraps his arms around you from behind, lifting you into the air. "Michael! What the fuck?" you ask, flapping your legs in the air, stunned by the man's strength. Michael doesn't answer, just carries you to the middle of the auditorium, where he had left you. "Michael! Put me down!" you scream once again, your arms immobilized by the man's grip.

Michael puts you down gently, quickly positioning himself in front of you, and before you can calm down and look at him clearly, he lifts his hand to cover your eyes. "Michael! What's gotten into you?" you ask in frustration, grabbing his arms and trying to pull them away from your eyes, still surprised by the man's abrupt reaction.

"Easy, calm down," he whispers repeatedly, waiting for you to stop trying to pull his arms away, not that you could, the man in front of you being so much stronger than you.

"Michael, what happened?" you asked, your voice still a little frantic, but your demeanor calmer, your hands relaxing on the man's arms that still covered your eyes. Michael was close to you again, you could feel his knees brushing against yours.

"Don't ever go near that room again," Michael replied dryly, a hoarse, authoritative voice filling your ears. But that voice didn't fool you, Michael was afraid, he was worried, there were even hints of sadness in the man's voice. It made you calm down immediately, aware of the mental state of the man in front of you. "Please, Y/n, not there," he continued, the farce of an authoritative, dry voice escaping from the man's voice, sounding as if he were begging. What the fuck, what was in there?

You can't bring yourself to question the man, letting your instincts to console and comfort Michael take over as you reply: "Okay".

But Michael, unlike you, can't tell when others are lying to him.

[blakelysco-pilot]

those domestic prompts I’m OBSESSED bestie!!! 🥹😭 Could I request 6 for Ev & Val and 18 for Rosie & Jo?

Hi chickie! Thanks for sending these in; my babies love a good domestic moment.

Prompts from this list; as always, ask box is open.

6. “What did I do to make you fall in love with me?” — Ev & Val

He couldn’t remember a time that Valencia had been quite so quiet. Usually, his fiance was bursting with energy, eager to tackle the day (after a good cuddle) and always with something to say. Yet, she had spent the entire car ride home from dinner in silence. Her lips pressed together in a thin line, hands clasped tightly on her lap in the passenger seat. Her gaze was fixed on the road ahead of them, and she had barely flinched when he dropped his right hand to rest on her thigh.

He knew what had caused it; the overly confident banker who had strolled over to them as they sat at the bar for a nightcap, swagger that, if Ev could define it, made him look like an idiot over anything else. He had only had to say her name, and Everett could see her back straighten and hear the sharp intake of her breath. He hadn’t needed to ask any questions after that. This was the man that Curt Biddick nearly killed years ago. What Everett couldn’t figure out was why he felt the need to approach Valencia when the last time had almost cost him his life.

He knew she was upset, but he wasn’t prepared for such a visceral reaction to the man, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to get her to come back to herself. He had let her be as he drove them home, but when he pulled the car to a stop in front of their apartment, well, he knew he couldn’t leave her there all night.

“Val, we’re home….”

“Mhmm, okay…”

“Come on, let’s go inside baby,” he turned in his seat to face her, and he felt his chest crack open at the sight of her. She was silent, so much silence, that he didn’t even hear her tears. “Oh, Val.”

Gently, he moved to pull her into his arms, but was stopped by the sound of her voice. Shaky, and scared.

“What did I do to make you fall in love with me?” It was barely above a whisper as she asked him.

“Val…”

“Everett, please,” she cut him off sharply. “Answer me.”

“You’re you, and I love everything about you.”

“That doesn’t tell me anything,” her voice shook, tears running down her cheeks like two rivers. “What was the moment you knew?”

“The day that Baynard’s fort crashed in the trees,” he sighed. “When Ken was waiting for me on the hardstand, he told me you had come running like all the devils in hell were on your heels.”

“That was the moment?”

“And then night, when we were all sitting in the club together,” he slid across the bench seat to pull her closer, wrapping her up in his arms. “When you were in my lap, trading insults with Curt, I realized I wanted you like that, in my life, for the rest of it.”

“You wanted a mouthy, difficult woman?”

“Did I ever say you were mouthy? Or difficult?”

“…no.”

“I wanted to spend my life loving the strong, independent, smart woman, who had so much compassion that she signed up to sling coffee and donuts in cold, rainy England, for a bunch of crass pilots.”

She snorted then, dropping her head to his chest as a laugh escaped her, filling the car with his favorite sound.

“A woman who never volunteered to babysit a full grown husky and yet, would pick the dog hair off my A Class jacket every night before we went to the club.”

“Everett…”

“The same stunning, beautiful, lovely woman, who would snuggle into that jacket on a cool night, just so we could sit outside a bit longer. The loyal friend who wrote countless letters to the guys being held POW in Germany, and letters back home to the sweethearts of her friends.”

“That’s a lot of moments.”

“I could keep going,” he tipped her face up towards his, and leant forward to press his lips to hers. “You just tell me when to stop.”

“I love you,” she sighed. “I love you so much, and I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“Because I let someone who should have no bearing on me at all get under my skin, all over again.”

“He hurt you, the memory of him is not a pleasant one. And if I could take it away, I would.”

“I wish you could…”

“I know,” he pressed a kiss into her hair. “But let me try and fill your life with good things, this way it overshadows the bad thing, okay?”

“Okay…”

“Good. Now let’s get inside, and I’ll draw you a bath before bed.”

“Draw us a bath, okay?”

“Whatever you want,” he smiled. “It’s yours.”

“Just you. That’s all I want in life.”

“Already yours, baby. Already yours.”

18. “Do you remember the first night we spent together in this house?” — Rosie & Jo

Painstakingly, and with careful hands, Rosie and Jo Rosenthal had purchased, and renovated their first home. Not quite Brooklyn, but not quite Long Island either; close enough to their friends who had stayed in the city, and down the block from Harry and Jean Crosby. A quaint porch where Rosie would often find Jo sitting when the weather was nice, waiting for him to get home from work. Where Harry and Jean would stop on their nightly walk with their son, Rosie running inside to get a cola for Croz, or a coffee for Jean. A yard where their friends' children could run and play when they visited. Where their future children could play, or if Jo deemed him needing more practice, a dog first.

They had lived through countless months of tearing things down, just to build it back up again. An endless rainbow of paint colors on their once bare living room wall, until Jo had decided on the one she liked best. Weekends spent unloading boxes, and furniture with Croz and Ev Blakely, while Jo, Jean and Val put away dishes, pots and pans, and put sheets on beds. A visit from Pappy and the Riveters crew, their wedding gift to the couple was a promise to help Rosie paint the house, had found them all eating Chinese takeout on the living room floor, because there was no dining table yet.

The days spent building and creating their home had been the most fun, but now, well now Jo was between the fresh sheets of their new bed, waiting for Rosie to finish brushing his teeth in the bathroom and join her. The walls were freshly painted and the window was open to allow the cool fall breeze into the room, the curtains rustling every few moments. There was a fresh bouquet of peonies on her vanity, a gift from Rosie that morning, and their perfume scent filled the room perfectly. All that was missing was…

“Did you fall in?” Jo calls with a laugh, wondering what on earth could be taking her husband so long.

“Hmm?” Rosie's head comes around the doorframe, curls mused from a day of hard work- the final day of hard housework- and the toothbrush hanging from his mouth.

“Good lord, Robbie! You’re dripping toothpaste all over yourself!”

“Oh, sorry!” The words are mumbled as he ducks back into the bathroom to finish his nighttime routine.

She waits another minute, before the switch of the light goes out, and Rosie comes around to his side of the bed, sliding between the sheets with ease. The sigh that escapes him is nothing short of relieved as he sinks back into the pillows, and pulls her against his chest. They’d done it. The house was finished.

“Feels good…” he ducked his head down to look at her, his blue eyes catching her brown as she looked up.

“It should, this mattress was a pretty penny!” She laughed, hand coming up to rest on his chest.

“Not the mattress,” he shook his head. “Though it is really comfortable, I’m talking about the house.”

“I can’t believe it’s finally finished.”

“Do you remember the first night we spent in this house?”

“Oh goodness, what a mess,” Jo groaned, dropping her head back in exaggeration. “We slept on your old mattress from your mothers house, in the middle of the living room floor.”

“No gas, we couldn’t cook…”

“We barely had any furniture yet…”

“I wouldn’t trade it for the world, Mrs. Rosenthal.”

“Neither would I,” Jo grinned, leaning up to press her lips to his. “Though, I could have done without the roaches that were in that old refrigerator.”

Rosie shuddered, eyes squeezed shut as he remembered the vision of his wife opening the door of the ice box, screaming and slamming it shut with such force it rattled in place. Though some slightly less good memories had stuck, the good very much outweighed them.

“Happy first night in our finished home, honey pie,” Rosie grinned brightly, ducking down for a kiss. “I love you.”

“Happy first night my darling. I love you more.”

“Not possible…”