#still blows my mind to think that my art ended up on the reel

[exmakina]

eisforenigma replied to your photoset “Drew some firbolgs finally. Nila and Clay! And a quick height...”

Oooh, love this! Your style is fantastic. Loved it when I first saw it on the reel. Congrats!

Ah, thank you! :D Glad to celebrate the show and its wonderful characters through some drawin’.

[purgetrooperfox]

blog guide + masterlist

divorcing star wars is an ongoing process

afflicted with gamer disease (cyberpunk, elden ring, fighting games, rdr, CoD, disco elysium, etc etc)

with comorbid podcast disease (malevolent, tma, wolf 359)

dm for my discord (18+ only please)

other places to find me:

18+ sideblog @foxafterdark

twitch

ko-fi

bluesky + cohost <- inactive for now but feel free to add me

playlists:

yeehaw

fox

roach

private eyes coming soon

tags to watch for:

writing is tagged #leo.writes

art is tagged #leo.draws

oc content is tagged #leocs

adult content is tagged #nsft

ask and I'll tag content warnings

fics and WIPs under the cut. content warnings are tagged on AO3, be mindful of them

(updated 06/13/2024)

* marks unfinished fics

Star Wars

one-shots:

it is the exact opposite of alone (tumblr link) — [G] Bastra and the ghost that haunts him.

life would be easier if I was easier (tumblr link) — [G] Fox at his limit, Quinlan making it worse and better.

I miss doing nothing with you (tumblr link) — [G] Western AU; reunion for Saleese and Nocte

* inevitability (tumblr link) — [T] On choosing something fleeting because it's worth it, even if the end is inevitable.

fare thee well, my honey (tumblr link) — [T] A breaking point for Kit and Nocte.

growing pains (tumblr link) — [T] Physical therapy frays Echo’s nerves and tests Nocte's patience, but mutual understanding is key.

in amber (tumblr link) — [T] Fox hits the streets by himself. Thorn goes down after him.

oceans, then and now (tumblr link) — [T] It's a rare occurrence for Nocte to get sent off of Coruscant, especially as the lone trooper assigned to escort a Jedi to the Outer Rim. But then, Dara has a way of defying norms and expectations rather spectacularly.

on the importance of context — [T] "I think we should talk", and other alarming phrases.

down and disarmed — [T] Waking up on the floor of a jail cell is not, in fact, Uj's preferred way to start a day.

pillow talk — [M] For all that fucking the bratty attitude out of Quinlan is a great way to blow off steam, and a cathartic one at that, it occurs to Uj that it’s probably not the best idea.

ins and outs of recall — [T] The backlash of Nocte's research on the Guard's neurological troubles.

while the currents rage below — [M] After an explosive fight and harsh words that can't be taken back, Fox and Kyr are left in different kinds of shambles. Nocte tries to pick up the pieces.

extensive and astute observation — [T] Saleese jabs a sharp elbow into Nocte's side, right where plastoid would usually make her immediately regret it. Dress greys provide no such protection. But tonight, not even bruised ribs can kill his mood. Tonight, he has a shot at identifying her mystery Jedi.

leave the heels on — [E] After a drag show, Lane keeps Uj company in his dressing room.

with and without — [T] Another farse of a vote, and the repercussions for those affected. (Nocte has a dissociative episode, Saleese tries to help him out of it.) + a lovely podfic by @/godoflaundrybaskets

nightmares — [T] Sleep brings the promise of reliving the worst moments of Nocte's life, like his own personal trauma reel. Maybe it's better to stay awake.

blank — [T] All anyone knows is that the Chancellor claims that Fox made an attempt on his life. Now Fox is en route to Kamino.

peace — [G] Months after Order 66, Rex gets a visit.

h(a)unted — [T] Echo wrestles with trauma and memories of captivity in the wake of realizing why the Kaminoans are sending hunters after Omega.

Wandering — [T] After Order 66, after the crash of the Tribunal, after his Commander– after Ahsoka told him it would be best to part ways, Rex wandered. He wandered because he couldn’t stay still. If he was still, if he stopped for longer than it took to eat and sleep, then he would think.

guess it just wants to die — [T] CC-1010 lays down. Fox wakes up.

Little Orphan Ani — [T] Anakin's men were wrong. Cody and Obi-Wan weren't father figures to him. So what if Cody's disappointment felt like a physical weight on his shoulders and he spent undue time and energy trying to make Obi-Wan proud? They weren't his parents. Not that they would be bad dads. To someone else. Not him, because he didn't see them that way, but someone else who needed unconditional support and care. (in which Cody and Obi-Wan dad at Anakin and Anakin is oblivious, right up until he isn't)

Truly, Deeply — [T] Of course Obi-Wan was not blind to the emotional, hormonal storm around his Padawan. One would have to be blind to both the Force and the physical world to miss it. And really, Anakin must have forgotten that his Master was not only Force-sensitive, but also connected to his mind through their training bond. (in which Obi-Wan is painfully aware of Anakin's feelings for Padmé and also forever wondering where he went wrong in trying to teach his Padawan subtlety)

Commander Fox Week 2021:

exhaustion (tumblr link) — [T] Fox has been running on fumes for days, counting down the time until he can drop onto the nearest surface and finally sleep.

hope — [T] Enough is enough. The Republic was doomed to fail, that much is clear. The Empire may have been inevitable as well. All Fox knows is that he’s finished, he can’t pretend anymore. He can’t fall in line like his mind has been wiped blank. So he decides to do something drastic.

family — [T] The fear-mongering rumors on Kamino about Fox being some kind of abusive, tyrannical prick have reached a point where they can’t go unaddressed. His shinies are clearly afraid and miserable with their assignment to the Guard, which Fox understands, but he can try to help them feel more at home. He can dispel some of the rumors.

laughter — [G] Existential debate rages in Fox’s office.

vode an — [M] Order 66 wiped away the clones’ autonomy, but mindless drones don’t have the wherewithal to feel guilt for their actions. The Rebellion is trying to get clones out of the purge trooper program, but freedom comes at a cost.

brothers — [T] Senator Amidala returns from Scipio with the 501st. This is the aftermath.

multi-chapter:

five times Nocte took care of the Corries, and one time they returned the favor (under construction) — [M] what it says on the tin

* red hands and black deeds — [M] Fox gets assigned to the Coruscant Guard after his bravery and sacrifices for the Republic during the First Battle of Geonosis. This job is a long shot from the one he spent his entire life preparing for; it's a war on a different front and it's on him to get his men out alive. Whether he'll get himself out with his sanity intact is up for debate.

* talk is overrated, let's just fight — [E] The Guard didn't have a designated Jedi, but they had the absolute nuisance that was Quinlan Vos. He was already more than Fox could handle. The man was at least halfway banthashit insane and seemed to derive some sadistic pleasure from derailing Fox's entire day. For all that Rex and Cody complained about their admittedly crazy Generals, Fox struggled to believe that they could possibly be worse than Vos.

* a cry at the final breath — [M] CC-2224 was a good soldier, had been decanted, raised, and trained to be a good solider. Good soldiers follow orders, so that's what he did. At times, in the deep recesses of in mind, he might questions his orders, but he always followed them. Cody has to re-learn how to do more than follow orders, to live and fight of his own accord. He's been a soldier all his life, fighting in wars that aren't his. What is freedom to a man who has only ever known captivity?

unposted WIPs I'll gladly yammer about:

currents — [M] instead of joining TBB, Echo requests a transfer to the Guard, hoping to find answers about Fives' death on Coruscant

the holding of hands, the breaking of glass — [M] follows Nocte's journey through part of the war, semi-centered around his situationship with Kit Fisto

after dark — [T/M] an AU where Quinlan Vos leaves the Jedi Order and winds up with a sect of Mandalorians; after the war, Fox is sent to Mandalore with a squad to "negotiate" (read: jumpstart an Imperial occupation) and their paths cross again

head forward // heart back — [M] follows Uj from the beginning of the war, through his assignment to the Shadows and (maybe) into his reassignment to the Guard. largely focused on his evolving relationship with Quinlan Vos

remember to breathe — [T/M] filling in the gap between Cmdr Maze and Arligan Zey's flight from Coruscant and their arrival on Mandalore. the one where I'll try to carry a whole ship on my poor aching back

The Great SWxMK Crossover Episode — in which @/kiwikipedia and I grab MK characters by the scruff and dump them into the GFFA, and vice versa

Call of Duty

unposted WIPs, in progress

burn and rage (at close of day) — [M] ghostroach timeloop set during mw2 (2009), from Roach's perspective

under the gun — [T/E] AU where Roach survives mw2 (2009) and ends up in the reboot universe, with a debt to the Shadows and a grudge against the 141

Mortal Kombat

SubScorp Week 2022 (WIP, off schedule)

impossible — [T] Years ago, Kuai Liang watched Hanzo Hasashi die. Grief is a complicated thing, but seeing the man he loved up and walking again seems a step beyond its traditional stages.

* a cautionary tale re: betting against Johnny Cage — [M] clothes swap, upcoming

* frigid — [T] childhood, upcoming

* a mirror, inverted — [T/M] trapped, upcoming

* in winter's embrace — [T/M] touch-starved, upcoming

* unspoken (yet heard) — [T] secret, upcoming

* cozy koozie — [T] crochet, upcoming

one-shots:

death-adjacent (under construction) — [M] Kuai knew, when a phantom from the past appeared in the Fire Gardens. He knew before Scorpion – not yet Grandmaster Hasashi, not yet Hanzo – spoke a single word.

[chiwhorei]

pollock

paring: art major!k. tsukishima x fem!reader

genre: a dash of angst, hurt/comfort, smut, 18+ minors dni

wordcount: 3.2k

warnings: dom/sub dynamics, fingering, spitting, dacryphilia, praise, daddy kink, breeding kink, impregnating kink, soft and kinda hard dom!tsukki, sub!reader

a/n: ahhhhh!! this is my first longer fic to come out in a while and i am ~so~ excited to share this with everyone. i have been keening over the idea of art!major tsukki and i hope you all like him as much as i do! this is piece is brought to you by the hqhq monthly server collab, so please go check out everyone’s amazing writing, the masterlist can be found here!

hymn: validation by herrick & hooley, cherry hill by russ

“Your work is always technically very well executed, Tsukishima-san.” The round, bald-headed man shuffles through the photos on his desk, pieces of Tsukishima Kei’s senior project that he’s tried to fit together before his final exhibit only four months away.

“But,” the dreaded word has Tsukki restraining himself from a long eye roll, “It seems like you’re stuck. You still need one more piece for the show. What inspires you?”

You hear a resounding slam of the front door swinging open and meeting the frame again, followed by a shuffle of feet towards where you’re standing in the kitchen of your shared apartment. Tsukki’s mouth is set in a flat line, expression softening only slightly when he sees you leaning against the counter. You greet him with a warm, but cautious smile. It had been a horribly long day, grating on every thread of patience Tsukishima has. The bubbling of anxiety and frustration mixing into a sour look on his handsome face. You hate seeing your boyfriend so defeatus, much preferring the sardonic, confident air he usually holds. Both of your final years of college have been exceptionally taxing, Tsukki’s final art project being the most stressing of all. It seems like as days propel forward, closer to his due date, the less assured he is of his talents, his passions. It’s heartbreaking to see someone so brilliant struggle through a million half fleshed-out ideas and crumbled up leaves of paper.

You pull one of his hands to you, examining the stains of paint and ink across his long digits and kissing each finger softly. You wish you could get inside that big head of his and help in some way.

“Did you have a hard day at the studio, Kei?” You wrap your arms around his neck and search his eyes. He’s not always the best at talking to you, especially when he’s upset, so you don’t expect him to give you an answer. Instead, you rub his shoulders, trying to coax the tension out. He sighs deeply at the contact, hands moving to rest at the plush of your hips and gripping tightly when you work at a particularly sore spot.

“You’re too good to me, princess. Thank you” He leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, and you nuzzle into him. You don’t have the answers to his current road block, you don’t pretend to. But maybe, you think, you can offer him a more carnal outlet.

“Of course, Daddy.” The name hangs in the air for a moment, any response hitching in his throat. The title is familiar after years of being together, always being both comforting and electrifying. Since the title slipped out years ago for the first time, your boyfriend feels his cool demeanor snapping like a glow stick, leaving hot lust in its wake upon it rolling past your lips.

He pulls you closed to him by your ass, inhaling sharply at the contact on his jeans. All you have on is one of Tsukki’s loose, paint stained sweaters and a thin pair of cotton panties. You brush one of your bare thighs against his crotch, and he feels the stresses of his day falling out of frame. Your body is always a buoy to pull him back from the drowning of self doubt. A perfect slice of heaven he became addicted to from the moment he spotted you across the dusty stacks.

“What inspires you?”

The question rings in his head again, but with a new perspective. Tsukki hears pieces clicking together with your lustrous body pressed against him.

“Babygirl, I think I have an idea. But I’m going to need your help.” His hands move to cup your cheeks, scanning over your features and finding a devious glint behind your soft, e/c eyes. Tsukki trails a thumb over your bottom lip lightly, admiring how you lean into the contact. Always so eager to please him, your temperament goes straight to his cock every time.

“Anything for you, daddy.” You press your forehead against his, waiting patiently for his next move. There’s astounding beauty in the glossy, temperate look in your eyes that he wants to, has to, to freeze in time.

“I have a few things to set up. Come to the office when I call you,” Tsukki pushes a stray hair from your face with a fond smile before walking away, he stops for a moment to look at you over his shoulder, “Naked.”

Your mind races as to what exactly he wants to do with you tonight as you busy yourself with peeling off your clothing. There is very little that you and your boyfriend haven’t tried at least once, but the tone in his voice has left you reeling at the possibilities.

Your eyes catch your reflection in the hallway mirror, naked body completely exposed to your own scrutinizing stare. Had it been the stress causing the image in front of you to be so unsavory? Every plane of skin promoting a different insecurity. A blasted thing a hallway mirror becomes when you’ve never truly loved what stares back. You fuss with your hair in a feeble attempt to make yourself more presentable. The question of how Tsukishima sees you always rattling around in the back of your head, especially standing completely naked and waiting in your own insecurities.

“Princess, come here.” You are pulled from your deprecating thoughts at the sound of Tsukki’s warm voice. You walk into his office, and notice he’s changed into just a pair of grey joggers. The sight of the low hanging garment making you salivate so much you almost miss your surroundings. He’s struck some kind of inspiration, you can see it in his eyes as he adjusts his easel and props up a large, blank canvas. You fiddle with your fingers as he looks up at you.

“Jackson Pollock.” You meet your boyfriend’s eyes, confused by his seemingly random statement as he parses out different colored paints into small bowls. Red, blue, green, yellow. “He poured paint on a flat surface so that he could view every angle color could create, every curve.” Tsukki muses, dipping two fingers into the bright yellow hue sitting next to him, bringing them towards his face with contemplation. “But I think this sweet little body of yours will prove a much better canvas.”

His eyes provide no sign of bluffing, but you stare back at him dumbly. Sure, he’s used you as a muse before. Studying your hands or the way your hair falls in the sketches you see hanging up by his desk behind you. You love when he wants to use your body for inspiration, but is he really going to cover you in paint?

“We both know you don’t mind getting a little messy,” He trails his wet pointer finger across your collarbone, following a line towards your chin. He tilts your head up to meet his eyes, “Open your mouth.”

Your bottom lip parts from the top, eyes following the line of spit that drops from his mouth to your tongue with a resounding put.

You swallow thickly, the feeling of his control already bending your will to meet him at every pass.

“I want you to look nice and fucked out for me, baby. I want to show my stuffy professors where my inspiration comes from. I’m going to capture how sweet and submissive my little princess is and then everyone will get to see what I get to enjoy every night.” His unmarred hand moves towards your already disastrously wet pussy. You’re drooling at even the most slight contact, bucking into his hand in a plea for more. His words, complimentative but unmistakingly domineering, have your head becoming fuzzy.

“Daddy, please. Please touch me.” Your whines are music to his ears.

“Oh princess, I plan on it. But I need you to be good for me. You don’t want to mess up all my hard work do you?” His voice is steady, authoritative but still soft around the edges in a way that makes you feel gooey.

Tsukki leads you to the stool sitting in the middle of the room, and you perch on it with his hands keeping you steady. You are his muse and medium, his subject and his canvas to use in any way desired.

Smudges of color brandish every inch of your skin, each stroke is a reminder of where your lovers hands have been. Blue and pink splatter against your stomach, a vibrant red outline on each curve of your breast and purple fingerprints against your pert nipples. Your legs wear a trail of hand prints towards your glistening cunt, wanton cunt. Each marring of paint sits beside paths of hot, opened mouth kisses.

All that is keeping you balanced on the squeaky wooden stool is Tsukishima’s strong arms holding you captive in place. Your legs had been thrown over his shoulders after painting across your upper thighs in a sea of greys and greens. As soon as Tsukki’s eyes met with your bare cunt, his mouth was quick to follow.

He’s a mess of paint now too, muscular chest and arms covered in pigment and face covered in you. He’s always insatiable, drinking you in like it’s the only source of sustenance left in the world. He knows how to work you, how to propel you towards orgasm in a way no one else has ever been able to do. Worshiping your body with langued strokes of his tongue. You let out a pitchy moan in response to his mouth, pushing you towards an end you can feel in the back of your throat.

“I bet you want to cum don’t you, baby? I can feel it. Such an eager little thing.” Tsukishima ghosts his lips across your hot cunt, blowing at your clit to make you yelp. You’re so close, too close. Dangling above bliss but not tipping over, knowing you need permission. You’ve been so good for him, he has to give you your release.

“Please, daddy. Please let me cum.” Tears wet your cheeks as you beg, holding onto Tsukki’s blond locks like an anchor. All you need is his approval, but instead of persimmon you are met with a bawdy laugh.

You really should have known he wasn’t going to let you go that easy.

Tsukki stands up, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand. You’re wrecked in every way. Hair loose and disheveled, body dipped in a thin layer of sweat and thick splotches of paint. The look on your face is equal parts pathetic and fervent.

“I need you to sit pretty for daddy, I want to capture how desperately beautiful you look right now.” His words make you preen, but it’s a compliment and a warning at the same time. He wants to capture the look of sweet pain of denied orgasm to display at an art exhibit of both peers and his seniors. Sadistic in Tsukishima’s own unique way.

You should have known better, Tsukki’s patience has always been astounding. You know all he wants to do is bury himself in you, but he wants even more to make you suffer under his stare. There’s plenty of times he unleashes his frustration out on you physically, ripening your ass cheeks in bright red handprints and ensuring you can’t walk in the morning. But it’s these moments that can be even harsher, when he regards you with steely eyes and a aloof threat, that make your nerves catch fire more than a spanking ever could.

He sits down to start sketching on the large canvas in front of him, pinning you to your position with a practiced glare and playing on your desire to please him.

You sit as still as you can, listening to the scratch of pencil on vinyl in an attempt to keep calm. Your cunt is still twitching, puffy and slick propped uncomfortably atop the wooden stool. Tsukki hums along to the rhythmic music coming from his phone speaker, a playlist you know to be the one that helps him concentrate on his work. His brow furrows in concentration, pushing his glasses back in place as he stares at you again. His eyes are calculating and coldly observant, but his mouth quirks up in a surprising smile.

“My perfect baby. So stunning in every way.” His thoughts start tumbling out without his usual sarcastic filter.

“I have never wanted something more in my life than you. All of you, all the time.” A genuine regard for you in the lilt of his voice clamps down on your chest. He’s called you pretty, told you he loved you a million times before, but there’s a calm resonance in his words as his hands move across the white caves in front of him that catches in your throat. With the pressure of graduation looming over the two of you these past few months, romantics have been pushed to the side to make room for laser focus on finishing your degrees.

Your eyes well at his confessional, struck by the vulnerability so unfamiliar to him. You missed this side of your boyfriend, unlocking it incrementally through the years and finding it virtually non-existent recently. He sees your shoulders trembling slightly and tears his eyes up to your form.

“I told you to stay still.” His voice comes out harsh, but melts away when he sees fat tears rolling down your puffy cheeks.

“Y/n, are you okay? Did I upset you?” He moves to console you, the action causing another round of sobs, your body on edge in every way after both the teasing and his impromptu affirmation. Your response surprises yourself just as much as Tsukki, not realising how starved of his affection you had become.

“I’m sorry daddy, I-I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I just- do you mean all that?” You lower your head in embarrassment, and Tsukishima’s heart breaks at the realization. Had he unintentionally disregarded you? Had he been ignoring you?

“Fuck baby, of course I mean it. I’m so sorry I made you doubt that.” He pulls you up into his strong hold, he lets you cry into his shoulder until your wracking sobs simmer to sniffles. He holds you tightly in an attempt at atonement. He has to do something to show you how he feels now that he knows his words have failed him. His actions have to speak in his place.

Tsukishima pulls you away slightly to meet his gaze before colliding his lips against yours. He traces his tongue in sonnets across your mouth, tasting the lingering essence of your arousal and the salt of your tears. He writes prose in the breathy gasps as you part for air, chests heaving. He has to show you what his words won’t always allow him to.

It’s bodies tangled together, covered in the colors of a man trying his best to show you how much he loves you. You had fallen to the floor at the behest of passion, Tsukki’s body covering yours, lips kissing any extension of your skin, uncaring of the paint covering both of your writhing frames.

You paw at his sweatpants as if they are the most offensive thing you’ve ever scene, Tsukki’s cock springs out to slap against the hard muscle of his abdomen. You don’t waste any time lining him up to your dripping folds, you’ve waited long enough. Hips crashing together like a fever dream, you’re wrapped in each other as if there’s nothing else in this world outside of a set of paints and four walls of a dimly lit apartment. The sun could be hurling towards the sidewalk just outside and Tsukishima, usually observant to a fault, would have no idea. All he knows is your body beneath him, clawing desperately at his back with every deep thrust, and the love poem he has written on your body. Reds across your breasts and brandishing your thighs. Greens and yellows across your neck, up your arms. Messy, sticky, covering the thin sheet Tsukki laid out to spare the hardwood.

Your panting, crying out for your daddy and consumed in the salty taste of love and lust crashing together like waves. His cock is heavy inside you, filling you up so completely. Tsukki rowes on, not daring to stop now, not with the resounding drumming of two hearts beat so perfectly together and the feeling of your clenching, velveteen walls hugging him like he’s coming home.

“I am so desperately in love with you. I want you like this, with me, forever.” He’s delirious, drunk on your body. Primal, as he stares down at you, colorful and completely conquered. He sees everything in your eyes, every baser desire, every hope for the future.

“I want to fill you up with my cum, princess. You are mine in every way. God, I want to see you swollen with my baby. Right here.” He presses against your belly, feeling his cock moving inside you from the splotches of pick and blue.

His confessional spurs you on, the emotions overwhelming. Feeling so loved, so needy, wanting everything the blonde above you is willing to give.

“Ah, Daddy! Please, please fill me up. I wa-want you to put a baby in me, I need it.” Your clenching tightly, each pump of Tsukishima’s cock better than the last.

“You are such a good girl baby, always saying exactly what I need to hear. Cum for me, princess, let me see how good I make you feel.”

His warrant is all you’ve needed this whole time, snapping to hours of tension with a sharp cry. You’re thrown into the pooling, honey-sweet feeling of release. Sinking every inch of your aching body into a blissed haze. Your walls spasm violently, tightening around him like a vice. He meets your hips with his own, knocking hip bones together like pool balls and holding himself in your heat as you milk his throbbing cock, stealing every drop of hot, while cum he has to offer.

He crumbles to the floor beside you, pulling you to his chest. Lying in a mess of paint and sweat and staggered breathing. Through the fog still resounding in your head, you hear Tsukki laughing lightly, “How’s that for inspiration?”

-Four Months Later-

You shift on your toes in anticipation, waiting for Tsukishima to release the hold he has around your eyes. You hear the bustle of people around you, the laughter and tinkling of glasses clinking together filling your ears. He kisses your temple before letting go, and you are met with a new reflection of yourself hung proudly on display. All of the places you see blemishes are drawn with vibrant purposeful color. Every curve of your form mapped out with the care only a lover could administer. Your naked form exhibited for hundreds of critiquing eyes, but there’s not a bone in your body that could feel embarrassed in this moment. As reflection so beautiful it’s unbelievable is staring back at you.

“Is this really how you see me, Kei?” You turn around to meet his eyes, his stare holds the love of epics. He would write you novels if he could, but this picture is worth a thousand words.

“Of course it is, baby,” He brings a hand to thumb at your slightly swelling belly.

“Of course it is.”

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

[sluttyminghao]

Part 1/?

✧ pairing: wen junhui x gender neutral!reader ✧ word count: 2k ✧ genre: smut ✧ warnings in this chapter: camboy!jun, masturbation, masturbating on camera, camboy!minghao makes an appearance ✧notes for this chapter: reader only makes an appearance at the end of the installment, i hope it makes sense as you read it! ✧ a/n: you asked, and i delivered! this is the first installment of going live! a series about camboy jun and his adventures! i hope you all enjoy, and if you would like to be added to a taglist pls inbox me! feedback is appreciated! ✧ synopsis: he’s a shy college boy who is stuck in financial difficulty, and his best friends gives him a suggestion that may or may not be a good idea.

A slight glance at the clock on his nightstand indicated that it was 10:49 pm, and he knew that within a matter of minutes he’d be doing the exact thing he said he would never do. His palms had grown sweaty and he felt his heart rate quicken at the thought, and all he could think to do was wipe his palms on his sweats. He remembers the conversation he had about his thoughts with Minghao vividly, even though it had happened months before his current situation.

“I just don’t see how you can do it, how do you not get embarrassed? Aren’t you being watched by...god knows how many people?” Junhui spoke between mouthfuls of ramen, immense heat rising in his cheeks at the nature of the conversation that had come up when talking about Junhui’s increasing level of financial difficulties. Minghao raised a brow at the older, before erupting into a fit of giggles and making Junhui cock one of his brows in confusion. Did he say something funny?

“Why would I be embarrassed about my livelihood?” Minghao began, wrapping some noodles around his chopsticks expertly and blowing them lightly to cool them down. “I make so much profit off of doing camming and making videos, that I’ve been able to pay my rent and amenities for the next six months, as well as keeping on top of all my art school debts,” he continued, an amused smirk finding its way onto his face at Junhui’s shocked facial features.

“Six months? That’s crazy... I’m basically living paycheck to paycheck at the minute,” he mumbled and let out a small sigh, picking at the small pieces of meat left within his ramen bowl with his chopsticks. “Well, that’s kinda what you get for working at a small and dingy diner run by a bunch of college students,” Minghao quipped while giving him a pointed look, letting his napkin fall to the table to signify he had finished his meal.

Junhui sighed. He knew Minghao was right, 99% of the time he generally was, but this was one thing he really didn’t want to admit to him. “But...would people recognise me? That’s one thing I really don’t want,” Junhui spoke shyly, and Minghao’s face softened towards his elder, before shaking his head slightly. “You can use blurring filters or wear items on your face so people won’t recognise you, that’s what I do, and no one knows who I am to this day.”

He thought a little more about it, and Minghao could practically see the cogs turning in his brain, deciding to offer a piece of advice to his struggling long-time friend. “Hey,” he spoke, gaining Junhui’s attention, “you should really think about it, especially if you need the money. With a face and a body like yours, I’m sure you’ll have thousands of subscribers in no time.”

Well, what did he have to lose? He sure didn’t have any shreds of dignity left, may as well give it a shot.

In all his years of living, he had been very well off financially, but in recent months his rent had become increasingly more expensive and the cost of living had jumped up exponentially. To his dismay, he found himself without a choice, needing the money as soon as possible so he would still have a roof over his head and the bare minimum of food. 

He had been staring at the webpage for the camming website for the past 45 minutes, trying to hype himself up, but he had just become increasingly nervous as the time had passed. Minghao had explained to him countless times that this website was very reputable and a great starting point for beginners going into camming, and he knew that he could trust the words of his younger friend.

But even still, the nerves would not stop pouring over him, almost acting like a cascading effect, flowing down his back like a waterfall and seeping into every crevice of his body.

He sucked in a breath before exhaling shakily and picking up his phone to call Minghao. He knew that if anyone was able to calm his nerves, it would be his long-time friend. He tapped on Minghao’s contact before placing the phone to his ear, listening to the phone ring a few times before he was met with Minghao’s groggy voice.

“Were you sleeping?” Junhui’s voice is quiet as he speaks into the receiver, awaiting his companion’s response even though he was almost sure he knew the answer already. “No, I was out feeding the ducks, of course, I was sleeping,” Minghao sighed sarcastically, and Junhui suddenly felt a pang of guilt for the late-night call to his friend. “What did you need, ‘Hui?” Minghao continued, sleep laced in his voice.

“I’m sorry for waking you up...I’m so nervous...I don’t even know how to start the camming videos…do you have any...pointers, maybe...” Junhui trailed off, and he could hear Minghao hum from the other end of the phone. He remained silent for a few beats, only further amplifying Junhui’s nerves to the point where his leg had begun to bounce incessantly.

“I think you just need to relax a little, maybe have a drink or two to settle your nerves,” he replied smoothly, wanting to end the conversation so that he could get back to sleep. “If you’re really worried, why don’t you just show everything from the neck down when you’re recording?” He continued, waiting for his older friend’s reply.

Junhui was contemplating the options laid out to him and decided to combine both, deciding he didn’t have anything to lose. “Thanks, Hao, I owe you,” he rushed, hanging up and throwing his phone on his desk and standing up to get himself a bottle of alcohol. He assured himself that he was only going to have a few sips to loosen himself up, but he figured that he may need to down the whole bottle by the night’s end.

A few swigs of his precious alcohol later, and he had finally built up the courage to remove his shirt but left his sweats on as a safety measure. Minghao was right, the alcohol definitely loosened him up, and before he had even realised what he was doing, he had pressed the record button and had started his live stream.

He didn’t know what he was doing, not a single clue. His mind was fuzzy and his last shreds of dignity left him the moment his pants were pulled down and thrown haphazardly to the side. The only thought that was now running rampant through his mind was how much he wanted to cum. He wasn’t even focused on the live video anymore, only focused on his hardening cock and the way his hand wrapped around it.

Normally when he got himself off, he would take his time and relish in the sensations, not wanting to rush. In his nervous and alcohol-fueled state, however, he wasn’t going to beat around the bush like he would if he was sober. His hand moved up and down the length of his cock rapidly, small whimpers eliciting from the man’s lips as he pleasured himself.

Junhui could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge the faster he pumped his cock, but he knew he didn’t want to cum just yet. He slowed his hand significantly to a steady pace, almost feather-like touches, and moved his free hand up to flick at his nipple, sighing at the sensation. 

Not that he would ever admit to anyone, but his nipples had always been extra sensitive and even just the slightest feather touch would have him reeling and wanting more.

The whines poured endlessly from his mouth, even as he built up his orgasm for a second time. He kept one hand on his cock, pumping up and down swiftly and gaining speed, while the other pinched at his nipples. It was getting harder for him to hold himself back, and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer in the position he was in.

Before he could even think about stopping himself from cumming again, he felt the string snap in his abdomen and felt the hot streaks of white land on his stomach. He gasped at the feeling and let his hand continue to move steadily, letting the white streaks hit his chest. His head had grown fuzzy from the sheer intensity of his orgasm, and he could feel his hips lightly bucking up into his still closed fist.

When he was sure his orgasm had ebbed away, he removed his hand from his softening cock and sighed, leaning back in his computer chair. After a moment of stillness, his eyes widened upon seeing the small red recording dot on his computer, reminding him of the act he had just performed.

He clicked the stop button hurriedly and closed all his tabs before slamming the lid of his laptop shut. He couldn’t believe what he had just done; his mind was whirring with a thousand and one thoughts, his heart was about to leap right out of his chest, and he knew that there was no going back from the acts he had just performed.

He pushed himself out of the chair and headed towards his bathroom, showering in an attempt to get the cum off his body and somehow trying to scrub off the gross feeling he had from his lewd behaviour. It wouldn’t come off that easily, however, so all he could do was face the consequences of his actions and own them as Minghao told him to.

After a hot shower and a whole lot of contemplation later, Junhui knew that he would have to use his laptop again and see the damage that he had caused, so he decided to simply bite the bullet and take a look back at his video and see if anyone had commented or liked it. It didn’t seem likely in his opinion, since it was his first video and he had no subscribers, but there was a small glimmer of hope buried deep within him.

His eyes widened at the results in front of him. He truly could not believe the sight he saw when he clicked back on to his video to check for feedback.

200 new subscribers, 800 stars and 27 comments

He blinked rapidly, thinking it was all a hallucination. How could this be? He only sat in front of his computer for roughly 10 minutes jacking himself off and had garnered a huge response to it. He clicked the refresh button, thinking that it was simply a mistake on the website’s part. Surely he, a newbie to camming, did not just rack up over a thousand notifications from a ten-minute video.

When the page refreshed he saw the same notifications, except for one new comment that had caught his attention. He figured it wouldn’t hurt to look at just one comment and then head to bed, so he let his mouse hover over the little star-shaped notification icon and pressed on it. His eyes moved across the screen quickly, and he couldn’t help but feel the heat rise to his cheeks at the comment he had seen.

angelbaby96: you’ve got such a nice cock, and such pretty noises too. I would love to hear more of them sometime <3

[hannie-dul-set]

PAIRING. huang renjun x fem! reader. GENRE. high school! au, suggestive. WARNINGS. attempted murder, mentions of blood and self injury, veryy descriptive kissing, mc has a few screws lost, swearing, depictions of unstable behavior. WORD COUNT. 1.8k GENRAL TAGLIST. @danishmiilk @wownajaemin @leejunini @astroboy-lele @unknown5tar @yunoyeol @w0nni3wrld @charm-art @bat-shark-repellant @keemburley @deliciouslyyellow​ (pls dm me to be added/removed!)

NOTE. ah yes, the only two genres: murder and making out. inspired by the dream i mentioned earlier. different events, but same vibe HAHA. disclaimer that no matter how much you hate your academic rival, never ever turn to attempted murder! thank you and enjoy

huang renjun— with all his picture perfect smiles, prim and proper tucked in shirts, a pretty face enough to have you on your knees, and with a perfect gpa to top it all off— was someone you wanted.

wanted six feet under the ground.

“hey, congrats!”

speak of the fucking devil.

“you always do really well,” huang renjun towers over you in front of your desk as you sit down. you look up from the wrinkled certificate that have the abhorrent words second honorable mention printed on it's scented surface, only to face his fucking face instead. he beams at you with a smile. you feel convulsions wringing inside your throat. “congratulations again.”

you don't miss the first honor certificate tucked between his books in a measly attempt of concealment. it takes everything in your power to force out something of a smile.

“thanks. you too.”

with that, he quickly scurries away into his seat next to yours with red ears.

your first period teacher enters, beginning class with a greeting, but your mind is elsewhere.

it’s only midterms, you breathe out through your nose, hugging your arms above your desk while sketching out a study plan for the rest of the semester in your head. there’s enough time before graduation. the hold you had on yourself gradually becomes tighter.

still, you know that even if you worked yourself day and night until you bled cold and crimson, huang renjun would still be one step ahead. you bite down your lip, peeling off the dry skin with a sourness writhing in your gut, digging your fingers deeper into your arms. if only he were gone. you leer at the boy diligently taking his notes beside you. if only he were gone gone gone gone—

your eyes widen, ignoring the blood staining your nails.

if only he were gone.

after class, you walk up to his desk and asked if he wanted to work on the physics homework at his place tomorrow. he says yes with starry eyes in a heartbeat.

the next day, renjun couldn’t wait for the final bell to ring. you, too, couldn’t remain in your seat— albeit for a different reason. so when the ringing occurs, the both of you don’t waste a second in finally heading out of the campus.

it’s a silent walk to his place, a standard suburban neighborhood, the sky slowly turning orange in the background. every time you turn your head to look at him, he looks back with a small smile, and you can’t help your hands from twitching at your sides.

renjun unlocks the door and meekly welcomed you inside.

“you can leave your shoes here,” he says, digging his keys into the back pocket of his school slacks with dangling noises. you look at him, smiling, and with a soft hum you leave your school shoes next to his, trailing behind him into the living room.

looking around, you ask him. “are your parents home?” there was an opening that leads to the kitchen, glass doors showing the backyard. the stairs that lead to the second floor are made of sleek, dark oak. it’s a modern interior. they have a fireplace inside.

“no,” he breathes out, wetting his dry throat with a swallow before turning back to face you. “they’re out on business. i don’t think they’ll be home until the weekend.”

the both of you stop right in front of the staircase.

“i see.”

he quickly muffles a cough and leads you up to his room.

the inside of renjun’s room is neat— organized books on the shelf and sheets neatly pressed. There’s a set of candles beside his bed. you hold back a scoff. as expected from the top student.

your eyes flit over from the window above his bed to look at him, instead.

“you don’t have to be so nervous around me, you know,” you muse, dropping down your bag to join him on the floor. worksheets littered with numbers and constants, gravity and acceleration, all scatter on the floor. they blow with the wind knowing that they wouldn’t even be filled in, anyway.

“sorry,” renjun sputters out, loosening his striped necktie with two fingers. his vision is kept trained on the wall behind you. “i’m not— i’m not doing it on purpose.”

you adjust your legs on the floor, skirt riding. “is there a reason?”

“a reason?” he gulped.

“why you can’t look me in the eye.”

renjun thinks he sees the corners of your lips twitching upwards.

“i’ll— i’ll go open the window, it’s a little hot in here, isn’t it?” scrambling to his feet, his knees sink into the navy sheets of his bed, reaching for the window in a nervous flurry to let the air in. “the news said that the temperature’s slowly gonna start rising but i didn’t think it would be—”

he bumps into you when he turned back.

there’s a click from behind him.

the wind stopped coming in.

“it’s not really that hot.”

the way your breath fanned against his lips makes his head spin in circles.

you have an arm out against the glass, your sleeve’s fabric grazing his tempered cheek when you went to shut the window down. renjun feels a ghost in the air where there’s a space in between you. “i— i guess you’re right,” he says, clearing his throat. “i never expected that you’d ask to work together.”

there’s syrup at the end of your sentence. “you seemed pretty happy when i did, though.”

he isn’t sure if it’s just him or if you’re slowly getting closer. “well, that’s— that’s because i—”

“you don’t have to say it.”

your voice digs deep into his bones like chains of velvet. he can feel your chest pressing against him now, crushing the sense of rationality that he was bestowed with from birth and is replaced with a warm lush of rabid, violent waters gushing into bit of him stomach,

it comes off a whisper yet it sends him reeling.

“i know.”

renjun swallows. hard. but he’s afraid you’d hear the manifestations of a tempered restlessness that had managed to crawl its way up to the tips of his fingers— which found themselves resting onto the curve of your back. stray strands of his swair sweeps above his eyes, obscuring the closeness of your face, and he wants to ask how. how did you know that he likes you.

he never got to.

the question doesn’t even get to resurface after the first hit of your cherry flavored chapstick, his bottom lip caught in between yours, teeth grinding against the plush, pink skin. the second hit has his decorum slowly peeling away from his skin when his tongue traces over yours in a hot mess of delirium, when you settle between his legs, a coarse groan vibrating in his throat. the third has him forgetting his own name.

his eyes are hazy when you pull back with a rough smacking of the mouth. with a short-winded voice, you ask him.

“do you mind if i make a call?”

renjun looks at you in a fit of breathlessness.

an airy laugh leaves your lips that he can’t stop staring at. you press a kiss on his nose. “my parents need to know that i won’t be going home tonight.”

dazed, he answers. “y-yeah, sure.”

he blinks a few times before letting you go.

“take your time.”

you send him a smile before fishing your backpack from the floor and leaving the room.

just like that, a switch was flipped.

upon closing the door, you quickly twist the knob, locking it with the keys that you’d snatched from him earlier. it’s convenient that he has each one labelled— a belated thank you to your school’s ever organized golden boy who never fails to make you sick in the stomach.

at each wall you pass, you make sure to seal the windows shut and have all the doors closed. the contents of your bag make steady pangs against your back as you shuttled down the stairs. you lock the back door shut, close all the windows, turn on all the lights, and throw a match into their fireplace, waiting for the fire to come to full bloom. all that’s left is the kitchen.

there’s no time wasted in turning everything on— the microwave, oven, and the stove until you can't crank them any further. embers fly into the air. it’s getting hotter. you duck down to the compartment under the stove to reveal a white painted propane tank, taking out a cordless soldering iron to seal the safety relief valve close. you place a rag over the opening valve and twist it halfway through. a hissing sound whizzes through the air.

with that, you leave through the front door, locking it for good measure. his keys disappear into the bush nearest to their porch.

it’s only a matter of time until huang renjun ceases to be a pest anymore. if not for good, then at least lethally injured.

you head home to finish your physics worksheets that were due tomorrow.

for the first time in god knows how long, you wake up and head to school with a well rested air.

you take your things out of your backpack, humming a soft tune right before the bell rings for your first class. your other seatmate— donghyuck— notices your unusual cheery demeanor, and inquires about its oddities. you simply answer him with an allusion to finally being free. he laughs it off and turns his head to the chalkboard.

five minutes before eight. the doors creak open. you’re ready to stand and greet your teacher until you realize that it isn’t her.

it’s not.

it’s not.

it’s not.

something nauseating knocks into your lungs and stifles your throat, eyes wide and stinging. it squeezes your neck with poison prickling the surface.

huang renjun enters the classroom with his usual nods and smiles to everyone he passes.

“holy shit, dude. you look like hell.”

“i didn’t get any sleep last night,” he laughs, lightheartedly. “guess i’ll have to sleep through recess.”

your teeth grind against your lips, supple skin turning redder at each nip. your nails leave scratches on the desk as you rattle in your seat, thinking, thinking, panicking. each breath feels like choking on pulverized copper in sulfuric air. there’s a ringing in your ears and you hear nothing except your own voice screaming why is he here why is he here why is he here?

he doesn’t go to his desk. he’s standing right in front of you.

“you look well.”

it sears your fingerprints off your skin.

you don’t answer, don’t even look at him. he breaks into a small smile and leans forward, one hand pressed against your desk and the other reaching for a lock of your hair as he nears and nears and nears. “there’s something here,” he says.

there isn’t.

“you left my window unlocked, baby.”

his hot breath hits your cold cheek, tucking a strand behind with a smile. to everyone else, it would look sweet— heart fluttering. to you it was a death sentence. renjun breathes out a contained chuckle into your ear before letting his hand fall on your shoulder, a tight grip at the last second.

“better luck next time.”

© HANNIE-DUL-SET. 2021.

[21burritoseavey]

wonder (j.a.)

a/n: uhh, yeah so I would like to formally apologise for what you are about to read. I don’t know if I’ll make a pt.2 but if you want one let me know. thanks to the wonderful person who requested this and thank you for your patience. I changed a few things and it’s a little unedited but I really hope you like it!  

Summary: Jack tells Y/n he likes her on her birthday.

Song: Wonder by Shawn Mendes

I wonder if I'm being real Do I speak my truth or do I filter how I feel?

“We’re already late! Hurry up!” Corbyn yelled out from the entrance hall of the Seavey residence, ending his third reminder with an irritated slam of the front door. 

“I’ll be out in a minute!” Jack shot back quieter. His gaze lingered on Daniel’s wardrobe mirror, clean and reflective of his handsomely dressed figure. Jack sighed as he glanced down at himself, ruffling a hand through his hair. 

The day dawned crisp and clear, warm with the light of the sun glaring through fewer clouds than usual. Corbyn strolled across the driveway to meet the rest of the boys - ready and waiting - in the car. No other boy was seen following behind them, indicating another few minutes of waiting to be had. 

“It’s a birthday party, we’re not meeting the Queen.” Daniel rolled his eyes. 

“It’s not just a birthday party,” Jack declared a moment after, tugging at the narrow collar of his blazer in his hurry to make it to the car. He finally decided this outfit would be the one - all white clothes on, black dress shoes and dark brunette curls left unbound to tumble messily along the breeze as he jogged to Jonah’s open window. 

I wonder, wouldn't it be nice To live inside a world that isn't black and white?

“It’s Y/n’s 21st birthday.” He breathed, leaning his elbows on the edge of the window. 

“You’re wearing the first outfit you put on,” Zach drawled, slumping back into the passenger’s seat. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Jack shrugged, walking across the road to the empty seats in the back. Corbyn and Jack slipped into the back beside Daniel. The air was sticky and humid, only to perish when the air conditioning blasted from the front before they made it out of Daniel’s neighbourhood, wafting cool air with the low hum of constant blowing accompanying it. 

I wonder what it's like to be my friends Hope that they don't think I'll forget about them I wonder

While the rest of the boys filled the air with conversation about gifts and birthday festivities, Jack was silent, making his quiet presence known with simple nods and agreements. His mind reeled with thoughts and thoughts of Y/n, unable to still to a peacefulness for the whole car ride. Y/n was always one to make everyone feel comfortable, especially at a party she’d planned herself. But there was something about Y/n’s special day that made Jack’s cheeks flush and heart flutter with even more intensity every moment he thought about it. Maybe this would be the perfect day to tell her?

Y/n never enjoyed all the parties she’d been dragged to by friends at university. The chaos of college students finally letting loose was overwhelming, to say the least. The strobe lights dancing onto the floor and pounding baselines reverberating through intoxicated bodies and infused scents of perfume and cologne laced in the foggy dark air only made Y/n’s loathing for them grow stronger every time she went to one. And when it was time for her own party, Y/n made sure it was everything she envisioned it to be. 

Right before I close my eyes The only thing that's on my mind

Including the guys, an invite had been sent to some friends from her classes, one of whom was named James, a friend from her visual arts class. Nothing more. Or at least that’s how Jack liked to think of it. He had no right to be angry, but every time that name rolled off his tongue, it sent a sickening chill down his spine. It all started when Y/n went over to Jack’s place. With her backpack across her back, she let herself into his room casually. Her smile caught Jack’s gaze as he sat behind his keyboard...along with another smile, from a guy he’d never seen before. Y/n had invited him over herself in order for the two boys to ‘get to know each other’. Jack could barely stomach the thought of wiping the grin off her face with any sort of disagreement, so he let them both stay. That night was packed with great conversation and giddy dimpled laughter between them, but not Jack. His mind was so deep in wonder and confusion that he could hardly hear what they were even saying. 

“Jack, could you pass that box over there?” Corbyn asked, gesturing towards the wrapped rectangular gift. Jack raised his gaze to Corbyn. Just a friend Jack thought at last, dismissing the rest of his thoughts as he leaned over to grab the present. 

Been dreamin' that you feel it too I wonder what it's like to be loved by you

“You got her something?” He gaped, “I thought we all agreed to not get her anything?” His eyes shot back towards the rest of the guys as they stepped out of the car. He noticed their gifts as his eyes roamed down towards the neatly...and some quite messily wrapped gifts in their hands. “So, it’s just me then?” He asked with an annoyed glare. “Great.” He sighed, “no that’s just wonderful.” He corrected, hopping out of the car to show the sarcasm etched in his expression. “I just won’t have anything to give Y/n. This was my one chance to tell her-” 

“That’s okay,” Y/n spoke gently behind him. Her sudden words had Jack twirling around slowly to greet her, as if doing so would ease the embarrassment that washed over him. Though, a quick hug from Y/n had him easing back into himself in seconds. Y/n pulled away and glanced at him, “What’d you need to tell me?” 

“Uh...um,” Jack’s eyes flickered to the boys, “Happy birthday!” He assured her, leaning back in for a hug, ignoring the boys’ teasing laughter that found its way along the breeze and into his ears. 

“Thank you,” Y/n said sweetly. 

“And Sydnie wanted me to tell you that she’s sorry she couldn’t make it and happy birthday.” 

“Oh,” Y/n grinned, “Well tell her that I’m sad she’s missing out, but she’s still my favourite Avery.” Y/n bit back a smile and watched Jack’s expression morph into an opened mouthed glare. 

She broke out into a fit of laughter, cheerful giggles falling between them as Jack stuttered out a “Wow, how could you?” He shook his head disapprovingly. 

I wonder why I'm so afraid Of saying something wrong, I never said I was a saint

Y/n’s party was at the park - nothing unexpected for Jack since he knew she loved it so much - and with the help of some friends, the set up was the perfect mix of classy and casual. A long table cut through the grassy field, standing under a silky white sheet, and it was almost like a canopy of flowers were draped across it. The bandmates noticed a few of Y/n’s friends at their spots on the cushions, helping themselves to the platters of fruit and snacks. And even a small tepee stood a small distance away, upholstered with light blue canvas that sheltered Y/n’s sleepy puppy inside. The sun kissed shades of champagne pink and soft beige with its bright rays and the gentle wind allowed the tableware to stay in place without worry of anything toppling over.

The boys wished Y/n a happy birthday while they took their seats, but Jack lingered in front of the narrow table. The way in which he was standing was almost perfect for a photo and Y/n took their fleeting moment of stillness to snap a quick one beside them. Her beaming smile greeted Jack’s gaze from the side. “I can’t believe you did this,” He chuckled breathily. 

“Are you doubting my hard work, Jack Avery?” She teased, pocketing her phone. 

“No, no, It’s great.” He rushed out. 

“Yeah, this is amazing Y/n.” Jonah started, crouched down to pat the lazy puppy. “It's so aesthetic.” He said honestly, sending a wave of light laughter to flourish over the group. 

“Well, come on, then. Sit down.” She ushered Jack to sit on one of carefully placed cushions. A familiar boy came breezing towards the low table from behind the low-lying bushes. Y/n looked up at him with a smile, and she gazed back at the boys to introduce him formally. “Oh, and, um” She wobbled onto her feet and stood beside him. “This is James,” she said gently, looking towards the boys with hesitance in her eyes, a smile still on her face. 

I wonder, when I cry into my hands I'm conditioned to feel like it makes me less of a man

Jack’s neutral expression faltered into a frown, and he bowed his head towards his dress shoes, blaming it on the fake notification he’d gotten on his phone when Y/n asked him if he was okay.  “You two already know each other.” She smiled, settling back into her seat beside James. “Why don’t you tell him about the band?” she proposed. Her jolly gaze towards the other boy practically gave Jack no other choice but to start the conversation. 

“Yeah, sure.” He answered calmly. 

--------

And I wonder if someday you'll be by my side And tell me that the world will end up alright I wonder

Jack had counted sixteen people at the park in his head while he talked to James. It was more of a one-sided thing actually - the other boy held forth almost all hour about his own musical experiences - and Jack finally decided to end the conversation with a random excuse, no longer able to hide his hurt with a smile. “Hey, you know what, I actually have to get Y/n’s gift from the car. So, we’ll talk later?” He spoke gently, standing up to make his escape quick and easy. 

“Oh, sure. Nice talking to you.” James nodded, letting Jack leave with a smile on his lips. In all honesty, the conversation wasn’t bad enough for him to leave abruptly, but there was just something about the way Y/n lingered close to him as they chatted...the way her eyes roamed over James’ lips as he spoke... the slight twinkle in her eyes kindled with an almost childish nervousness at their close proximity. To the other boys, Jack was always reading too much into things, but this time was quite the opposite, and he swore there were a bunch of signs that something was going on between them. 

Right before I close my eyes The only thing that's on my mind

“Six instruments,” Jack started plainly, trudging over to Daniel and Corbyn. Y/n’s 4-month-old golden retriever had made himself comfortable on Daniel’s lap as the pair sat on the grass with a plate of snacks next to them. The mutual laughter falling between them broke with Jack’s voice again, “He plays six instruments.” He sat tiredly on the grass, palms propped up behind him and legs stretched out. “How can I compete with that?” He threw his hands up in exasperation and dropped them to plop a piece of cantaloupe in his mouth. 

“Damn, almost as many as me.” Daniel let out an impressed chuckle, glancing over at the tall brunette boy standing next to Y/n. “Maybe he could be our sixth member.” He joked.

Corbyn caught on and continued their teasing, “yeah, his hair is goals.” He laughed. 

“So, what, you guys think he’s great too?” Jack looked furiously towards them as he plucked out stands of grass. 

Been dreamin' that you feel it too I wonder what it's like to be loved by you

“You don’t?” Corbyn asked between a bite of his watermelon. Daniel eyed him with an envious stare silently. Jack stayed quiet; fingers focused on ripping out small roots from the ground. “Why are we just hearing of this now?”

“I didn’t think it would get to this!” Jack admitted breathily. “I mean, studying together, that’s okay, but coming to her birthday party?”

“...More of a... get-together...” Daniel trailed off quietly. 

Jack continued on as if the others were invisible. “I’ve had my heart set on telling her today for weeks now.” He slumped back against the tepee, sharing a swift look with the small blonde puppy that wobbled back into his bed. “I can’t tell her now. Not when he’s here.” 

“We come to birthday parties and we’re friends...I don’t get what the problem is. He’s probably just a friend like Y/n said.”

I wonder what it's like I wonder what it's like to be loved by you

“No, look at the way they’re standing. He linked his arm with hers.” Jack didn’t bother acting sly and just pointed towards the almost coupley pair of university students sitting at the picnic table again. Y/n’s arm was indeed linked with James’ as they shared a plate of snacks. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. Jack repeated, keeping his gaze on the one individual he thought liked him back. But Jack could see how it mattered to Y/n, she wasn’t pulling away after all. He tried to shake it off and focus back on his group that had now increased with Zach hearing Jack’s gloomy thoughts from a few paces away. 

“Why don’t you just go talk to her?” Zach said. 

“I can’t,” Jack pouted. “Or else I’d be interrupting whatever that is…” Jack’s quiet last word couldn’t be heard over Jonah’s heavy footsteps pounding across the levelled grass. His panicked expression immediately set Jack into high alert, and he looked towards his friend with the same concerned stricken face. 

Right before I close my eyes The only thing that's on my mind

“Okay-I-...” Jonah hunched over with his hands on his thighs as he caught his breath, “I don’t- I-” He stopped trying to speak and let a silence fall over the small group. He cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t usually be this panicked about something like this but, they are like going to. Kiss.” Jonah’s words came out as faint breaths, but Jack understood every word and he shifted his gaze over towards Y/n again. The gap between the two was basically non-existent in Jack’s eyes. James’ hand was on her thigh as they faced each other before it reached up to tuck a strand of Y/n’s sun kissed hair that cascaded down her back. And with Y/n leaning in closer with a smile, their lips were mere seconds away from meeting and stomach’s almost swarming with premature first kiss butterflies. That sight of them together, that moment suspended in time ignited this spark in Jack. It was more than the spark of fondness and adoration for Y/n, it was this weird, stinging mix of hurt and panic that just led him towards the picnic table. The loud stomps coming from the corner had Y/n and James flinching back in fear. 

“Hey, okay look Y/n. I know I’m not like this James guy,” Jack rushed out, barely paying a glance towards the other boy as he stepped closer to the frazzled girl sitting cross-legged on the floor. “And I can’t play six instruments and do homework as good as him and I don’t have cool hair,” His voice was fragile as if it could break any second with the chance of his confession being a total disaster, but he went for it. “But I like you… so much Y/n. I always have.” 

Been dreamin' that you feel it too I wonder what it's like to be loved by you

 a/n: AHHH SORRY gjreigihtrh

taglist: @chilling-seavey @marthagryffindor @randomlimelightxxx @hiya-its-amber @the-girl-who-cried-wolf @hackerXavery @jonahlovescoffee​ @onlyangelavery​​ @sadbitchfangirl

 join my taglist!

[bcbdrums]

What Happens In Vegas

A/N: A silly little gift fic for split-n-splice, partially inspired by this amazing art and also inspired by my imaginings of things she's teased are to come in her outstanding fanfiction, The Company You Keep.

Do view her art, do read her fic... Laugh at my nonsense if you so choose.

Read on:  FFn     AO3

Mature rated fic, you have been warned.

-----------------------

Drakken was lying on his back when he woke up to a severe throbbing at the front of his skull. As he opened his eyes to a powerful light, the pain spread like claws out across the rest of his head, and after covering his face with both forearms to block out the blinding brilliance, he realized its source was a ceiling light.

The next thing he became aware of was a very soft yet definitely solid something under his knees, keeping them elevated. And then a tight pain in his feet.

A guttural groan escaped his lips as he pushed himself upright, and he almost fell again as he wiped the drool from the side of his face.

'What happened...?'

His vision was swimming, and through the fog he saw waves of pale green on either side of his knees, surrounded by white and pale pink. His fingers gripped the fabric of what he realized were bed sheets, and before his vision cleared, as he stared at his bare blue legs and came to the realization that the rest of him was bare too, he suddenly knew just what—or rather, who—the soft green mass beneath him was.

"Shego?" he whispered fearfully.

He didn't want to jump to conclusions about what had happened, as his clearing vision began to reveal a spartan motel room surrounding them, but it seemed...like it was a fair assumption to make.

He shifted and felt the tight pain in his feet again, and his brow furrowed as he looked down and saw a familiar pair of black high heels on his feet that most definitely were not his. As he reached to pull them off with a grimace, a glinting of gold caught his eye and his eyes widened as he thrust his hand up to only inches from his nose, squinting at the metal band on the fourth finger of his left hand.

'How...?'

"Ungh..."

The groan from the figure face down on the bed showed his whisper hadn't been soft enough. But he was glad she was waking up, in hopes she might be able to provide answers, and not the ones his mind was insistent on hammering into his aching skull, now with images. A panicked confusion arrested his mind as he realized the images weren't mere groggy fantasies, but memories.

"Shego?" he said a bit more loudly.

Her hands flew to cover her ears as her body began to twist beneath his legs, and then she held her head as if in pain as another groan escaped her.

"What...? My head..."

She started to push upright and Drakken hurriedly removed his legs from her back. This action seemed to startle her to attention, and she sat bolt upright, eyes wide and blinking around them in confusion and fright.

"What? What hap— Dr. D.?"

He watched as she took in the room in mere moments, his nude form afterward, and then herself. Drakken snatched the only pillow left on the bed to cover himself, and then felt guilty as his eyes strayed lower than her face. It was all coming back to him. And he knew that every possible repercussion from what they had done involved him experiencing pain in some way.

What he hadn't expected, however, was for Shego to burst into tears.

"Sh...Shego?" he asked in confusion and concern as she buried her face in her hands, not even bothering to cover herself. His vision clearing at last, he glanced past her at the small purple pharmacy-type box on the nightstand with its colorful promises, and then at the mess on the floor.

The other pillows were everywhere, along with a blanket, their clothes, numerous empty and still sealed bottles of alcohol, and...a scattering of too many wrappers and used condoms.

Drakken swallowed as more and more images flooded back to his mind and tried desperately to calm his panic. He shifted closer to her and felt the tight pain again, and with a scowl he pulled her high heeled shoes off his feet and pushed them aside.

"Shego..." Drakken said again, this time his voice coming out choked and pained. He realized then his throat was hoarse. "Shego I'm sorry..."

Shego wiped her nose twice with the back of her hands, but her eyes remained closed as her bawling grew louder. Drakken glanced at where they sat and after a moment, tentatively tossed the sheet over her lap for a hint of modesty.

"I don't...I don't remember exactly how it started..." he continued, desperation beginning to take over as she wouldn't even acknowledge him. "I remember we were at the casino, and we were drinking... You ordered us two more shots after I'd said it was enough... But Shego please, please know...if I had thought for one instant you didn't want... That this wasn't... I know we were drunk, but you...you took us to the gift shop, and bought that box... You said you couldn't wait and so we got this room... I know I wasn't thinking straight but...but you wanted..."

Drakken trailed off as he wondered if Shego was even hearing him, her sobs continuing unfettered.

"I...I thought you... I know I was very drunk, but I'm...v-very...positive...that this was all your idea... And Shego it would have never, ever entered my mind to... Had I been sober I would have never dreamed of... Shego? Wh-Why aren't you saying anything?"

Drakken had expected rage, green flames, and a verbal assault at the very least. Not the endless streams of crocodile tears that kept falling down her face. Her hands remained uselessly in her lap as her shoulders shook with sobs, and glancing around, Drakken spotted a tissue box that had just avoiding falling off the nightstand—the lamp hadn't.

He leaned over and grabbed a few, and when he pushed them into her hands it startled her. She blinked down at them, and then up at him, her expression unreadable. Drakken bit his lip then as he cautiously reached over her shoulders and pulled her hair to her front to give her more modesty. Shego looked down at this, sniffled once, and then exploded into further sobs.

The panicked confusion continued to race across Drakken's nerves as he watched her cry, a response like nothing he'd ever seen out of his partner in crime save when under the influence of the Moodulator. And even that hadn't been this bad.

"Shego, I... I..."

Drakken finally hung his head with a heavy sigh. If she was so upset to not even...unleash her fury, he knew it was far too great a crime to forgive.

"I'm sorry, Shego," he said quietly, fidgeting lightly with the edge of the pillowcase. "You can...consider your contract fulfilled, and...you can have anything you want in severance. I... I'm so sorry."

He started to shift away from her, thinking to give her some privacy until she was ready to either unleash her fury or apparently leave him without so much as that. He wasn't prepared for her suddenly seizing his arm, and his breath caught. It was about to happen.

"I can't remember any of it," were the words that came from Shego's lips, choked and thick.

Drakken blinked in confusion. "What?"

"I've been trying..." Shego forced out through sobs, "to get you into bed...for two years... And it finally happened—"

Her eyes opened at last and glanced sideways into the room.

"Several times..."

Drakken followed her gaze and he bit his cheek in nervous confusion as he looked at the used condoms.

"And I can't remember any of it!"

Drakken relaxed, shifting nearer to her as she continued to cry, albeit less loudly, finally making use of the tissues he had offered. Once they were spent he hurriedly placed the box in front of her, and she took out another.

"Wait, Shego, you...you...wanted...to get me into bed?" Drakken finally asked, shaking his head in confusion—which he regretted instantly for the hangover.

"Mr. Can't Read Signals when they're literally right in front of his face," Shego grumbled.

"What signals?" he asked, still reeling from the idea that Shego was actually interested.

"All the flirting," Shego said plainly, her tears beginning to still.

"What flirting...?"

Shego looked up and narrowed her reddened eyes on him. "Are you really that dense?"

"Shego, what flirting!?" Drakken said, racking his brain for any time outside of her absurd behavior while under the influence of the Moodulator, either before or after given the time frame she indicated, that could have been considered flirting.

Shego scoffed. "You mean you didn't notice me leaning up into your space, getting so close I could blow on your ear, or putting my chest right at your eye level while you worked?"

Drakken had a flash of memory of times when Shego would suddenly be in front of him, blocking his view of what he was working on, or leaning between him and his tools, or whispering about nothing so close to him that he couldn't concentrate.

He blinked at her several times in succession as he realized...she was serious.

"...What?" Shego said, wiping her nose again and then hugging herself.

"I thought you were trying to annoy me," Drakken said.

"...What!?"

"I didn't know you were flirting! It...didn't come across that way," Drakken said, trailing off at the end as he saw the flashing of green eyes across from him.

Shego screamed. She threw her hands up in the air for a moment and then let them fall at her sides, seemingly finally spent of tears as she blinked at nothing on the bed sheets.

"Shego...why?" Drakken asked.

Shego began gathering the sheet up around herself to wear as a toga.

"Well if it isn't obvious now, blue bonehead, I have a major crush on you. But since the feeling isn't mutual I guess I'll just stop making a fool of myself and—"

Drakken's hand on her arm halted her words at the same time a gasped 'no' left his lips.

"Let me go!"

"Shego."

"This is humiliating enough," she said, struggling against his grip.

"Shego. Look at what happened."

Drakken gestured broadly to the mess of the room, and Shego followed his gaze. She blinked several times as she took in what to him was a very embarrassing scene, the room looking as if it had been trashed by a group of rowdy party-goers and not just defiled by a drunken couple in lust. Or...could it be more?

"Wh-What on earth made you think it wasn't mutual?" Drakken continued, his voice a mixture of nervous, embarrassed, and annoyed. "I've spent four years trying to hide my feelings for you."

"What?" Shego asked, her eyes snapping back to his.

Drakken looked down. "Yes, well... It wouldn't be appropriate, a boss and an employee..."

"Four years?" she said incredulously.

"Sorry," Drakken said, keeping his eyes on his slightly swollen feet.

It was quiet. And then, "Hmmm..."

Drakken looked up at Shego's thoughtful, almost playful tone.

"What?"

"Wouldn't be appropriate, you say?" Her tell-tale smirk was starting to return.

"No..." Drakken said, finding his mouth suddenly dry.

Shego grinned. "I quit."

"What!?"

"How many rubbers came in that box?"

Drakken blinked rapidly, his mind processing her intent so fast that he'd pounced on the purple box on the nightstand and was yanking its contents out onto the bed before he could realize he'd nearly knocked her down in the process.

"There's three left," he said, peering into the empty box as if more would somehow materialize at his will.

"Then put some clothes on and go buy some more," Shego said decisively.

"What, why?" Drakken asked in annoyance.

"Well I count nine all over this room," Shego said. Drakken's face flushed. "Since I can't remember any of that, we're going to have to make up for it all before we leave."

Shego scooped up Drakken's boxers from the floor by the bedside and tossed them at him.

Drakken grinned as he shimmied into them. As he did so, the light glinted off the gold of his ring, and he glanced over at Shego as she began tossing more of his clothes at him. A matching band adorned her slimmer finger. Drakken looked around, and for the first time he noticed the half-folded piece of paper stuck out of the drawer of the nightstand. His brow twisted with nerves but it couldn't stop his smile growing.

"I guess...this is a good time to point out we got married?" Drakken said.

[regenlen]

For @dmc-oc-week!

It’s here! Normally this is where some sweet art would go, but I can do stick figures at best so you’re going to have to use your imagination.

Instead, have a fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25111381 

It's a longfic about Nero and Vergil's search for answers about Nero's mother, Mel, and what became of her. It’s 115+k words of alternating between the present day, where the two of them (with some help) investigate what happened to Mel and why she seemingly disappeared and abandoned Nero, and the past through Vergil’s flashbacks to his time with her.

One part mystery, one part Sparda family drama, one part a study of traumatized men and their emotional constipation, and one part regret simulator: the Vergil edition. If you’ve got time to kill, please do check it out! Below is the prologue to help give a little taste.

One warm day in June, at the apex of the Qliphoth, a fight to the death unfolds between two brothers of blood whose ideals have repeatedly sent them on a collision course with each other. But this fight isn’t destined to end like the others have. It starts out rather similarly, but things take a turn when Dante drops a very, very unexpected bombshell on Vergil. “You cut off your own son’s arm for this?”

Vergil hears the words, but he doesn’t really process them. He just reacts at the opening Dante’s left. He quick-steps and slashes Dante, slicing open a wound in his shoulder before Dante can get his sword up to block. What he does process is Dante’s judgmental, angry tone, and he instinctively balks against it. “My son means nothing to me!” He says the words without actually thinking through the ramifications. (Noticing a pattern here yet?)

He’s met with absolute fury. Dante yells and summons Cerberus. Vergil barely realizes it’s out before it’s hooked his right ankle. He’s yanked forward and has to awkwardly hop to try and steady himself. It leaves him wide open to a slam from Dante’s sword, and he’s sent careening across the arena. It smarts, and Vergil struggles to get going again. But he’s ready when Dante comes charging. Just in the nick of time he dodges his attack and counters with a swipe of Yamato. Dante barely manages to block the blow with his sword, but the force of the attack has him sailing away and colliding against one of the pillars at the edge of the arena.

Vergil falls to a crouch, breathing deeply to try and regain his strength. As his adrenaline subsides and allows him to think clearly again, Dante’s earlier words finally sink in. Did he just say…? He shakes his head in disbelief and looks up at Dante. He can’t believe – but when – what?! “Nero… is my son?”

“Yeah, dumbass,” Dante says. “You can’t remember through that thick skull of yours?”

His son. He has a son. That boy whom he had maimed, who had helped him when he had been at his lowest and had been decent to him, is his flesh and blood. And yes, he can remember through his thick skull, because there’s only one person it could be. Even after the long passage of time and the havoc Mundus’s torture wrought on his mind, he remembers her. The realization releases an onslaught of heartbreak and regret. “Well, well… That was a long time ago.”

Dante laughs a little. “I guess you were young once, too.”

He had been once, yes. Young and ambitious and very, very foolish. It hurts to think about it. He doesn’t want to think about it. He wants to focus on this fight and not on the torrent of emotions swirling in his head. Vergil assumes a battle stance, and Dante begins to do the same.

“As much as I’d love to hear that story,” Dante says, “I think it’s about time we…”

“Ended this,” Vergil finishes, fully assuming his pose. They can’t ignore this fight. They need to settle this, for once and for all. It beats dwelling on things he can’t change.

They bring out their super powered devil forms and hurl themselves at each other in a last bid to conclude their feud. But of course, nothing ever goes the way the brothers expect, because there’s one thing they didn’t count on: Nero.

There’s a flash of light and the deafening sound of something hitting the ground at an alarming speed. The brothers find themselves halted dead in their tracks, held back by the only other person who has a say in this feud of theirs.

When Dante and Vergil just manage to process what’s happening, they’re shoved back and sent skidding across the ground.

“What form of power is this?” Vergil wonders at the spectral arms resting on Nero’s back. But more than that, he’s gobsmacked by how Nero had managed to not only reobtain the power he’d been robbed of, but how he also had become stronger in such a short amount of time.

“What the hell?” Dante groans from across the way.

“This ends, right here.” Nero looks at neither his uncle nor father, but he’s clearly addressing both of them.

Vergil grimaces as he stands up. This is an unexpected development, to say the least. Nero initially had come to this city to kill him. Vergil didn’t think that would change, even after learning the truth. But it seems the boy has another goal in mind. He wants to make sense of it, but his mind still reels at the implication that this young man is his son. Yes, he looks like him and has the same powers, but he still can’t quite believe…

“Listen to me,” Dante seethes as he walks towards Nero. “I told you already, this is not your-”

Nero doesn’t even blink as of those arms lashes out with frightening speed and hits Dante square in the jaw. He goes down like a sack of bricks.

“You listen, dead weight. I won’t let you kill each other. There are other ways of settling your differences.” Nero turns, fist gripped tightly as he slowly approaches Vergil. “I’m putting a stop to this sibling rivalry.”

And for a moment, Vergil isn’t on the Qliphoth, but in a small apartment in Fortuna. And it’s not Nero staring him down, but a young woman with short, curly blonde hair and green eyes. She and Nero hardly look alike, but they share the same determined stare and set of their jaw.

Vergil shoves the memory aside, trying to forget that face and the conflicting emotions it brings with it. He instead forces out a laugh. “Ahh, you came all this way just for that.”

“Vergil… V… whatever you call yourself, Dante’s not going to die here and neither are you. Do you have a problem with that?”

Yes, he did come all this way just to stop them. Vergil thinks it’s a bit foolish; how does he think he’ll go about doing this, exactly?

“‘Not gonna die,’ my ass,” Dante complains as he sits up, rubbing his jaw. “That bitch slap nearly killed me.”

Dante’s words bring Vergil out of his reverie. They also set off that part of his brain that short circuits his sense of logic. Because instead of trying to level with his son like a normal person should, he hyperfixates again on his grudge match with Dante. He nods and swings Yamato into his other hand. “If I beat Nero… then by default, I beat you.” He points Yamato at Nero. “Agreed, Dante?”

“Whatever. I don’t really care. I’m just gonna sit this one out.” Dante falls back onto the ground.

There’s a heavy moment of silence as Nero’s expression hardens, unflinching in the face of Yamato’s blade pointing at him. “When this is over, I’ll make you submit…” Those spectral arms lift up, and the hands crack their knuckles. “Father.”

Father. It pulls at a heartstring Vergil never knew he had, and with it, he realizes just a moment too late that maybe, just maybe this isn’t a good idea. Now faced with actually having to fight his own son, doubt creeps in. Vergil slowly circles back a bit. When Nero swings out his sword, Vergil’s back goes ramrod straight. No, I can’t do this. I shouldn’t have- “Stand down,” he says. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“Nothing to do with me?!” Nero shouts. “It has everything to do with me!”

“Nero…”

FUCK YOU!” Nero flips him off and transforms into his devil state.

Vergil now has no choice but to fight. But as Nero charges at him, sword swung out, an amused thought crosses his mind: …you are, without a doubt, your mother’s son.

[walkerwords]

“The Savior Sessions” Part 23 of 33 - Negan x GN!Reader

IMAGE CREDIT: AMC

SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: You were right in Alpha seeking revenge for crossing into their lands and now swarms of Walkers are arriving at the gates of Alexandria. Still trying to deal with the emotions in your own mind, you are tasked with supervising Aaron and Negan who are to work together. What happens when the three of you get stuck over night in a cabin together and what is Carol thinking?

Word Count: 6061

Warning: Swearing

Song I Wrote To: “My Blood” by twenty one pilots

Note: This one takes place in ep 3 of season 10 called “Ghosts”. In this chapter, we get a better look at the reader’s life before the end of the Savior war and especially what they knew about Carl and the letter he left for Negan.

-------

A cataclysmic event.

That was what you witnessed when they dropped fire on Atlanta. Everything was burning and the air was thick with the smell of hot metal and melting tar. You could still remember the way your skin felt as you ran through the street, trying to flee from the destruction. 

That was the first night you finally saw a Walker up close. You had seen them on the TV and images that flashed on public monitors in the heart of the city, but never had one been mere feet away. It moved towards you as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered. You wanted to run, to scream, but you just stood there, watching. 

You could hear the commotion behind you as people ran for their lives, but nothing could distract you from the Dead man in front of you. Fresh blood dripped from its mouth as it reached for you. Stumbling back, you couldn’t think to do anything else but examine how something as beautiful as a human being had become...this. 

A shot came from a nearby convoy as the military tore through the rubble-filled streets, ending the Walker once and for all. They didn’t stop to ask if you were okay and they didn’t yell at you to run, they just kept going and you were alone again. 

As you stared down at the man that once was, you couldn’t stop the thoughts that ran through your head that said, “Perhaps this is next for all of us. Perhaps this is what is meant to happen.” 

That thought followed you all the way from the city and into the hills where you eventually met Carl Grimes and it had never truly left you. 

Even now as you watched Walkers approach your home in waves, those two little sentences were buzzing in the back of your mind, trying to make themselves known. However, just as you had for about a decade now, you shoved them away and picked up your weapon. 

The number of Walkers that fell upon Alexandria was something that you hadn’t seen in years. Being so far from the cities, it was rare to find massive hordes right near the communities or even groups of more than ten or fifteen. However, now there were groups of ten or twenty every time you turned around and you knew why. 

Alpha was pissed. 

You had tried to warn them when they went over her borders, but of course, nobody batted an eye when you spoke up. 

You couldn’t understand how one day your thoughts mattered and the next, they went clear over everyone’s heads. You knew you weren’t in charge, that didn’t both you. What did bother you was that your people had begun to question you, rather than relying on your council. You started to notice it after the blizzard and then even more so as your relationship with Negan furthered. 

While you still held a position of respect within Alexandria, you knew that you were looked at differently because of Negan, but you didn’t hold an ounce of resentment towards the man that you loved. Negan was the most important part of your life now and if that meant that nobody looked to you anymore, that was something that would have to get used to. 

Especially in moments when you were the only one dealing with the Dead. 

Aaron and the others had arrived home in the early hours of the morning, desperate to get their children home safely and when they saw you on watch, they had avoided your eyes immediately. You knew why they crossed over, but if you had had it your way, you would have been glad to watch the world burn. 

There had been a discussion, well rather an argument, earlier as more waves of Walkers approached. Lydia had been present in the meeting hall when Daryl had begun questioning her.

You had stayed in the back, ready to jump in to defend her if necessary, but she was handling it well. Lydia had explained that she didn’t think the Walkers were from her mother and that Alpha would have sent a horde. You weren’t so sure about that.

You knew fear tactics and this was textbook. 

Then there was the fact that Alpha now wanted to speak to Michonne and Daryl. You hadn’t even volunteered to go with them to the South border because you knew they would shut you down. However, you didn’t mention that bringing Carol was just as much of a risk. While you were pissed and wanting blood, Carol’s vendetta was even more personal.

Once some of the Highwaymen began throwing insults at Lydia, you took her out of the room and let Daryl deal with them. The last thing she needed was more venom thrown at her and you weren’t going to have her stand by and be spit on. 

Instead, you began to help clear out the Walkers again while you thought about what to do about her mother. While you didn’t agree with accepting Alpha’s terms and her borders, antagonizing her was the last thing you wanted to do.

If you were going to take her out, you wanted to do it when she didn’t expect it. You didn’t want a firefight or a clashing of swords, you just wanted her and Beta dead. It was that simple. Though, like most things in the fucked up world known as the apocalypse, nothing was ever truly simple. 

Negan was not too far away from you, helping to load the corpses into the wagons. You were keeping an eye on him as he worked, but you kept finding yourself distracted as the day wore on. Especially by one memory in particular…

--------

Months Earlier…

“This is either a trick or you pulled some huge strings on the puppet masters of Alexandria,” Negan said as he closed the door to your house behind you. Lydia who was sitting on the couch glanced up from the art book in her hands, something you had found in the garage a few days before and gave to her. 

“If you keep questioning Michonne’s decision, she’s gonna send your ass back out into the cold to sleep in the snow,” you warned, taking off your heavy coat.

“I’m not complaining,” Negan said with a grin and a wink. With a sigh, you gestured for him to make himself at home. 

“Lydia, did you eat?” you asked as you entered the living room to turn on your newly fixed fireplace. 

“Siddiq brought me something,” she said quietly as she stared at Negan who looking at her with curiosity. You gestured between them.

“Lydia, this is Negan. Negan, meet Lydia,” you introduced. 

“Nice to meet ya, kid,” he said with a neutral face, trying to gauge her reaction. 

“Hi,” she said shyly, folding her legs underneath her on the couch. 

“Jailbird here is gonna be staying with us when it’s below zero,” you explained as Negan leaned against the wall near the fire. “So just watch where you step so you don’t step in his ego while he’s here.” Negan scoffed. 

“Wow, (Y/N), that hurts,” he said. 

“Yeah? Well, so does this,” you said, as you gestured to the fresh wound on your side. “I’m gonna go change the dressing, try not to corrupt her, yeah?”

“I would never!” he called as you climbed the stairs towards your room. However, instead of searching for gauze, you remained on the landing and listened in on Negan and Lydia. “What are you reading?” Negan asked after a moment and you could hear the flipping of pages in the quiet of the room. 

“(Y/N) found it in the garage,” Lydia said. 

“Ah, Dalí,” Negan said. “I like his stuff.”

“The clocks are cool,” Lydia admitted and you smiled to yourself. 

“That they are,” Negan agreed. “How are you doing? I heard life is sort of kicking you in the teeth at the moment.” 

“I’m better than I was yesterday,” Lydia said. “At least a little bit.”

“And tomorrow you’ll be a bit better than you were today. Takes time,” he said.

“Nobody wants me here,” she whispered, almost too quiet for you to hear. 

“(Y/N) does,” Negan said, “and trust me, coming from them, that means a lot.”

“Why are you locked up?” Lydia suddenly asked and Negan remained quiet. It was only after about a minute that he sighed. 

“Do you really want to know? It’s not a pretty story,” he said. 

“Neither is mine,” Lydia admitted and then you heard her shifting on the couch, settling in to listen to him. 

“Alright,” Negan said, almost reluctantly. “It all started when a man named Rick visited Hilltop for the first time…” 

-------

You were knocked out of your memory as arguing reached your ears.

Still reeling from your thoughts, you searched for the cause only to see Gabriel stepping in between Aaron and Negan. Aaron’s morning star prosthetic was already attached and you could almost see the smoke coming out of his ears as you rushed over to find out what the damn issue was. 

“You need fighters,” Gabriel was saying. “He can fight, you’re taking him.” 

“What now?” you asked, already regretting the question. 

“Your buddy doesn’t trust me to help him take out Walkers,” Negan explained. “Though, I’ve already expressed my desire to stay here and bury corpses instead of hanging out with Captain Hook here.” Aaron glared at Negan and you were already getting a migraine. 

“Seriously?” you asked Gabriel who was already on the verge of giving up. “Fine, I guess I will play babysitter.”

“Fucking perfect,” Aaron swore. 

“Hey,” you said, pointing at him, “don’t break the asshole pact,” you said, reminding him of the conversation the two of you had on his porch before you left for the fair. You had finally repaired your relationship with Aaron and you weren’t going to blow it now. 

“I know, I know,” Aaron said, getting where you were coming from, “but it doesn’t extend to him.” 

“I never said it did,” you defended. 

“You want to referee these two?” Gabriel asked, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Fine, be my guest!” Gabriel stormed away and you turned to both of the men before you with your arms crossed. 

“Great, now you’ve pissed off the Priest.”

————

The three of you walked through the thick forest in silence. 

Normally, you would have been chatting or joking with Negan about being outside the walls for the first time together, but your romantic getaway was nowhere near as special as you thought it would be. 

Aaron dragged his feet alongside both of you. You could hear his feet digging in the mud and you knew he was doing it on purpose to annoy Negan. Jesus had taught him how to move through the woods in silence just as Lydia was teaching you. 

This only made you even more annoyed.

“You’re quiet today,” Negan observed, poking at your side. You looked over at him and took his hand, squeezing it a few times before letting go. 

“Sorry,” you said, returning your hand to rest on your sword.

“What’s gotten into you?” Aaron asked. 

“I’m pissed off, Aaron,” you explained with a huff. 

“Well, I can see that,” Aaron said. 

“Not helping,” Negan shot back. Aaron just rolled his eyes at Negan’s comment. You pushed on, ignoring both of them. It had only been a couple of days since the satellite fell and while Eugene felt that harvesting the tech from the machine was necessary, you still thought it was foolish. 

Your mood wasn’t getting any better no matter what Lydia or Negan tried. If you were being honest with yourself, you just needed a break. All you wanted to do was go away for a while and not think about communities arguing or masked menaces tracking your every mood. 

You just needed a moment. 

Now with the meeting happening at the Southern border, you didn’t know what to expect. Just as long as Daryl came back in one piece, you would be okay.  

For now. 

The three of you ended up in a clearing not too far from Alexandria, but far enough to see where the Walkers would be crossing towards the main road that led home.

Aaron gave Negan an old broomstick to handle the Walkers and he wouldn’t give in to your request of giving Negan your knife. It was ridiculous, but you figured it was better than Aaron yelling and Negan making ridiculous comments. 

“You have that look on your face,” Aaron observed as he took a swig of his water after taking out another Walker. 

“What look?” you asked, unbothered by the blood stuck to your blade. Negan was nearby, always twirling his stick around to amuse himself. 

“It’s the same look you had the day Rick and Daryl brought Jesus to Alexandria,” he explained. 

“Annoyed?” you asked, staring off into the trees. 

“More suspicious,” he said. “Though, I would throw in just a dash of pessimism, too.”

“Is that so?” you asked.

“You know, when I met you, I really didn’t like you,” Aaron said and you scoffed.

“Ouch,” Negan muttered. 

“There was just something about you that I didn’t get,” he went on. “Rick acted as if you were some kind of boogeyman.”

“This isn’t sounding any better, Aaron,” you said, leaning on your sword. 

“What I’m trying to say is that you always seemed like the black sheep of the family and I think we need that kind of thinking right about now,” he said, surprising you. 

“I thought you would be on team, ‘cross the border’,” you said.

“So did I,” Aaron said. 

“But?” you prompted. 

“I don’t know anything at this point. At least, I feel as if I don’t,” he admitted. “All I do know is that we can’t treat these...people like we have in the past with other enemies,” Aaron said and you didn’t miss the glance he threw at Negan. Negan ignored him, but he was still listening.

“Right, and now with Daryl agreeing to meet with these psychos...” you sighed.

“Daryl knows what he’s doing,” Aaron tried.

“Well, out of the three of us here, I’ve known him the longest. I know how blind he can be when it comes to his family and with Carol hurting the way she is, he ain’t gonna stop until Alpha is dead,” you said. 

“I remember how he used to be,” Aaron said, but you shook your head.

“You didn’t know him before Alexandria, before the Prison,” you said. “Daryl used to be loud and sharp. After his brother went missing he became standoffish and reckless. Nobody could work with him, not even Rick. The crazy son of a bitch once impaled himself on his crossbow bolt when his horse threw him off. Then, he got shot in the same afternoon on Maggie’s farm cause Andrea thought he was damn Walker. The man doesn’t know when to slow down.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Aaron asked. 

“It was when nobody knew him. Nobody knew what to expect. The only people he was even decent to were Carol and Carl.” 

“Not you?” Negan asked, hauling another body over to the pile. 

“Definitely not,” you said, thinking about all the arguments the two of you would get into. “We were civil, but I think we saw too much of each other in another. I remember Merle, Daryl’s big brother seeing us work together against the Governor. He used to make some really ridiculous comments, but one always stuck with me. Merle would say that we were ‘just two screwed up kids who ended up at the end of the world,’ and hell, he was right.”

------

The three of you worked into the late afternoon, early evening as sweat bloomed on your brows and blood stuck to your boots. 

Negan did his best to take out the Walkers with his stick, but he was itching for a blade. If Aaron wasn’t around then he knew that you would give him one without question. 

As he watched you, he could see how anxious you were getting. You had mentioned that Daryl never slowed down, but you never did either. You became distant and restless when you didn’t have a target in your sights. It was one of the many things he loved about you. 

After taking down another three Walkers, you wicked the blood from the sword that had become a part of you. 

“I’m going to get some more water,” you announced. “Try not to kill each other.”

“I’ll do my best,” Negan said with a wink. You ignored him as you grabbed the canteens and headed into the trees. 

Negan and Aaron were silent as they continued to kill the Walkers that broke off from the main horde that the others were handling. Without you to be there as a buffer, Aaron began to bite his tongue so he didn’t blow up at the man next to him.

Negan however, could feel the heat coming off him. 

“Are you just gonna keep staring at me or are you going to man up and tell me what’s on your mind?” Negan said, turning to face his adversary. 

“I have nothing to say to you,” Aaron said. 

“Ah, we both know that’s not true,” Negan said. “You’ve been just dying to give me a piece of that mind buried under all those curls. So, come on, lay it on me.” Aaron was quiet for a moment before he let his anger win over his decision to remain somewhat civil.

“You’re not good enough for them,” Aaron said and Negan raised his brows, taking in the words.

“If you think that pisses me off,” Negan began, “then I hate to break it to you, but you’re not the first to disapprove.”

“I won’t be the last either,” Aaron threatened and Negan caught onto what he was saying. 

“If this is about Maggie,” said Negan, “then I think you need to take a step back. She can want me dead all she damn well pleases, but the fact is, she had her chance to kill me and she didn’t take it.”

“She’d do it now,” Aaron said. 

“Why, because I’m in love with one of her friends? Are they friends? Because last time I checked, (Y/N) never talks about her.”

“You don’t get to dissect every relationship they’ve had. You are the reason that (Y/N) lost two people they really cared about, three if you count Sasha,” Aaron said. 

“I had nothing to do with Sasha’s death,” Negan said. “I didn’t kill her.” 

“No, you didn’t,” Aaron agreed, “but you are the reason she’s dead.” Negan glared at Aaron, trying to control his breathing. 

“It was war, Aaron, or are you forgetting your merry bunch of survivors killed my men as they fucking slept? You pulled the trigger first. You can be pissed at me all you want, but do not look at me and see a monster when you’ve shed just as much blood.”

“You wanna know what I see?” Aaron asked. “I see someone that's pretending.”

“Come on, man, just let it go,” Negan said as he moved past Aaron, going to follow you. However, Aaron was faster, throwing out his leg and blocking Negan’s step, sending him to the ground. “Jesus!” Negan swore. “Did you just trip me? What, are you? Twelve?” Aaron sneered at him, but Negan wasn’t having it. Getting to his feet, he towered over Aaron. “What the hell is wrong with you? I've been puttin' my neck on a block for you people all goddamn day!” 

“You don't give a damn about us,” Aaron said, not believing it for a second.  “If you gave a shit, you'd leave. That's what everyone needs.”

“I can’t do that and you know it,” Negan said. 

“Because you love them?” Aaron asked with a scoff.

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“Coming from you? Absolutely! They may have forgiven you for all the death and torture, but the rest of us haven’t!” 

“Nobody has forgiven anyone!” Negan said. “You think (Y/N) forgives me for murdering their friends right in front of them? They don’t and I haven’t asked them to! Look, I did what I had to do back then.” Aaron was silent then as Negan’s words cascaded over him. 

Aaron then tilted his head just as a predator would when watching its prey. “What did you say?” he asked, but Negan remained silent. “No, no, no. Open that up. Tell me why the love of my life had to die,” he ordered. 

Negan shook his head, but he took the bait. “Okay. One simple fact. One truth kept my people going... if you don't protect what belongs to you, then sooner or later, it belongs to someone else. That goes for your land, your wallet, your home, your country... everything. It is your job as a man to protect it. That's the story of America, the story of the whole goddamn world. And ain't nothing changing it... not you, not me, nobody,” Negan said, getting into Aaron’s face, but the latter wasn’t backing down. 

“Are you saying that Eric's death was my fault?” he asked but Negan remained still. Aaron then shook his head, stepping into Negan’s space even more. “Well, if I failed Eric,” he whispered. “Then you failed your wife.” Negan went still, looking down at Aaron with fury in his eyes.

“Careful,” Negan warned, trying to remain calm, but Aaron wasn’t done.

“Yeah. She died hating you, right? Gabriel told us the story and I know that (Y/N) has heard it, too. Hate to break it to you, but you will never see her again.” Negan’s mouth turned into a smirk as light entered his eyes. 

“What? You wanna say something?” Aaron challenged. 

“Yeah,” Negan said and then with a quirked brow pointed over Aaron’s shoulder. “Behind you,” he whispered as Walkers converged on Aaron. Aaron took out one in a hurry as another, which was covered in vegetation, fell on Aaron, taking him to the ground. Aaron yelled as the Walker reached for his face, but he was able to hit it over the head with his morning star, killing it easily.

However, something was wrong. Negan was gone and Aaron couldn’t see.

------

By the time you got back to the clearing, it was night. 

Of course, this was the time for you to get turned around and have to double back. You pushed into the clearing, ready to get the boys back on track when you were met with an empty space. 

“Seriously!” you yelled, throwing your hands up. “I say not to kill each other and they leave me,” you muttered. “No, no, (Y/N) they’ll be just fine, just two people who hate each other. Why should it matter if they both care about you? It’s not like that fucking matters.”

You continued to talk to yourself as you shone your light on the ground and managed to find Negan’s footprints. “It’s a good thing you’re practically bigfoot,” you whispered as you headed into the trees. You were then very happy that Daryl had taken all that time to teach you how to track or you’d be out there stumbling over Walkers and roots.

The tracks were accompanied by another set. You figured they were Aaron’s considering how precise they were. Walker tracks were more random and uneven. They led away from Alexandria which only made you even more annoyed. “Right, let’s go away from the walls and the warm food. Assholes,” you swore as you climbed over a fallen tree and kept moving. 

Eventually, you saw a flickering light in the distance. Stepping over what was either a dead Walker or a half-eaten deer, you arrived at a cabin. Noises of alarm echoed from the cabin and you ran towards it, kicking open the door. You slid into the main room just as Negan finished killing the last Walker with a crowbar. You would have to ask where he got that later. 

“What the hell?” you asked, alarming Negan. 

“(Y/N)?” Aaron’s voice came in the dark. “Negan?” 

Negan looked at you and in the dark of the room with only the moon to illuminate his features, he looked incredibly intimidating. “You alright?” Negan asked Aaron who was looking around the room rapidly. You took a step closer to him, confused. 

“Yeah,” Aaron said. “How did you…?”

“Your light switched on,” Negan explained, reaching down to turn off the flashlight that was on Aaron’s belt. 

“What’s wrong, Aaron?” you asked. 

“I can’t see,” he said, looking around the room, trying to focus on anything, but couldn’t. Negan kneeled in front of Aaron who stiffened as Negan got close. 

“Flowers growin’ out of the Walkers is hogweed,” Negan explained, looking at Aaron’s eyes. 

“Hogweed?” 

“Nasty shit,” Negan said with a glance over at you. “Causes rashes, blindness…”

“Is it permanent?” Aaron asked as you leaned against the wall. 

“Sometimes,” Negan admitted. “You wash your eyes out?” 

“Yeah, in a stream, but I… I didn’t have,” Aaron tried and then you realized you still had the water. 

“Here,” you said tossing the full canteen to Negan who gave it to Aaron. Aaron drank half of it in one go, desperate to quench his thirst. 

“Alright, come on,”  Negan said as he helped Aaron off the floor and you were surprised to see that Aaron let him. Negan got him settled in the old chair before joining you next to the window. 

“What are you doing?” Aaron asked. 

“We’ll take watch and leave first thing in the morning. That good with you?”

“Yeah,” Aaron said softly. “Yeah, that’s good.”

“You two are both idiots,” you said, crossing your arms. 

“We know,” Negan and Aaron said at once and you couldn’t help but smirk at that. Aaron settled into the chair, the reaction to the hogweed taking its hold, but he didn’t sleep.

Instead, he listened. 

“Maybe don’t run off in the middle of the night when a lot of Walkers are around, okay?” you said.

“Sorry,” Negan said sheepishly. You nodded to him, peering out the windows, letting your mind wander. “What are you thinking?” he asked. 

“What?”

“You look lost in thought, have all day,” he said with a shrug. 

“Uh, I was thinking about Rick,” you said. 

“Anything in particular?” he asked. You were quiet for a moment before turning to fully face him. 

“I lied to you before,” you said. 

“When?”

“When you asked me what the vote was on what to do with you. I told you that Rick just decided. He and Michonne had the final say, but that wasn’t the whole truth,” you admitted. “Rick asked me what I thought he should do.” Negan was quiet for a moment.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing at first,” you said. “I didn’t have an opinion right away. I was angry with you and I wanted you to pay for what you did, but I… I didn’t know if death was the answer. I was conflicted.” 

“Why?” he asked and you looked at him with glossy eyes. 

“Because of Carl,” you admitted and you saw something shift behind his eyes at the mention of the late teen. “I read the letter that he wrote to you. Michonne let me after she had given me the one Carl left to me. I knew what Carl wanted. He wanted the fighting to stop, he wanted the hate to stop, and he wanted you to be a better man. How was I supposed to deny him that?”

“Did you tell Rick this?”

“Sort of,” you said with a sigh. “I told him that Carl had written to me asking me to take care of him and Judith. Carl trusted me to be the protector of his family because he couldn’t anymore, but he never needed to ask. I would have died for Rick and I will die for RJ and Judith if it came down to it.”

“I know,” Negan whispered. 

“I thought about it for hours, the question Rick asked me, and then I told him that it wasn’t up to me and it wasn’t really up to him either. Carl had already made the decision. Rick had already made promises to the people he loved. He promised his best friend, Shane, that he would protect his family because Shane did it first; He promised Lori that he would protect Carl and he did.

“What happened to Carl wasn’t Rick’s fault no matter what he thought. Most of all, Rick promised Michonne that he would build a good life for their daughter, and I had to remind him that he wasn’t allowed to break that promise. Carl had an idea, and if we had killed you, we would have been dishonoring him and everything he wanted to fight for but couldn’t. I had to make a choice and for once it wasn’t for my survival, but for securing Carl’s legacy. You once asked me why I stayed in Alexandria when I felt as if I never quite fit.”

“And you said it was because Carl was buried there,” he remembered. 

“Alexandria is strong and still standing because of Carl. It’s not just because his grave is there. It’s because everywhere I turn, I see that kid’s influence. I made a promise when I read the letter he wrote to me. I can’t break it now and I never will.”

“Where is all this coming from?” Negan asked. You wiped at the tears that formed in the corner of your eyes. 

“I feel as if I’m starting to lose sight of him, Negan,” you said. “I look around and I don’t see Carl, I see Alpha’s face or Jesus’ blood on my hands. I can’t see the good anymore.” 

“There is still good in this world, (Y/N),” Negan promised. “You just gotta search a little harder.”

“I’m tired of searching,” you said. “I try to be there for Lydia, but most days I have no idea what I’m doing. What the hell does she see when she looks at me? I don’t even know what I see when I look at her.”

“Do you wanna know what I see when I look at Lydia?” he asked. 

“What?”

“I see a scared kid who’s had a shit life and who needs you to look out for her,” Negan said. 

“Right,” you said, but Negan wasn’t convinced you were getting it. You then looked up at him. “What do you see when you look at me?” Negan didn’t even hesitate.

“Possibilities,” he said and it threw you for a loop. Looking at him in the dark of the cabin, you could only see the truth pouring from him. 

“What do you see when you look at yourself?” you whispered.

“Not much,” he answered.

“Negan…” 

“It’s alright,” he said. “I’ve accepted it. You know, when I went back to the Sanctuary and saw what everything had become, I finally got it.”

“Got what?” you asked. Negan reached out and dragged his knuckles along the back of your arm, savoring the feeling as if you were going to fade away. 

“That my number was up the second Rick told me he was going to kill me in that clearing,” Negan said, avoiding your eyes. “I just didn’t know this would be how he’d do it, condemning me to a life of self-hatred,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh. 

“Why are you saying this to me?” you asked.

“I’m just trying to let you know that it’s okay if I don’t get the happy ending. I was more of a fan of horror films than fairytales anyway,” he admitted. 

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Just…” Negan trailed off and then pulled you towards him, wrapping his arms around you. “Just be still with me right now. Just, be still.”

-------

Negan eventually fell asleep after you convinced him to get some rest. 

You were too wired to even think about sleeping. You sat on the floor between Negan and Aaron, your sword reflecting moonlight across the dark room. The next time you heard a voice, it was Aaron’s and not Negan’s. 

“I’m sorry,” Aaron whispered. “I didn’t mean to run off.”

“It’s okay,” you said, reaching up to squeeze his hand. Aaron went to say something else then when Negan began talking in his sleep. You were used to it from all the times you spent by his side in bed, but Aaron froze as he listened to the nonsense. 

It wasn’t until actual words were formed that Aaron sat up. “Simon,” Negan muttered. “Si…,” he said again and then went back to mumbling before growing silent again. It had been a while since he dreamed about Simon, you realized. 

“What the hell was that?” Aaron whispered. 

“Negan, he talks in his sleep. He says the names of his victims sometimes.”

“Simon?” Aaron asked, surprised. 

“Negan strangled him when he tried to overthrow him. Simon was the one who ordered all the men and boys to be killed at Oceanside. He killed the boy at Hilltop and was the one who massacred Jadis’ people. Negan never knew any of it,” you whispered. 

“Makes sense,” Aaron said and you furrowed your brow.

“How so?”

“Negan doesn’t hurt kids,” Aaron said simply. 

“No, no he doesn’t,” you said, glad that Aaron understood that. 

“He still grinds my gears,” Aaron said. 

“I know.”

“And since when is he a fucking botanist? Hogweed, really?” Aaron scoffed. 

“He’s been out in the world for a long time,” you said. 

“Yeah, I know,” he said and then, “I never knew about Rick.” You sighed, but you figured he had been listening. 

“Nobody knew, that was the point.”

“I guess I never realized just how much he put on you,” Aaron said. 

“I didn’t mind,” you said, leaning your head against the chair. 

“Maybe you should’ve.”

-------

The next morning, Aaron was still struggling with his eyesight, but it was getting better. 

Negan slung one of Aaron’s arms around his shoulders to help him walk as you carried the weapons. Rosita pulled open the gate when you got home and yelled for Siddiq as you explained what happened. The doctor came running down the street with worry. Once he saw that Aaron was in one piece more or less, he took him from Negan.

You knew that Siddiq and the new doctor, Dante, would get him fixed up in no time. After making sure Aaron was okay, you began to lead Negan back to his cell. As you approached the Grimes’ house, you noticed Michonne, Daryl, and a very pissed of Carol standing on the stoop. 

“Uh oh,” Negan said as he stuck close to you. As you got closer, Carol shoved past both of them and into the house. The look on Daryl’s face made you incredibly nervous considering he had just returned from the meeting with Alpha. 

You and Negan stopped next to them and Michonne seemed to relax at the sight of you, knowing that at least you were okay. 

“What happened?” you asked. 

“Carol shot at Alpha,” Michonne divulged and you sighed, trying to contain your anger. 

“Fucking fantastic,” you swore. “How much shit are we in now?” 

“She knew we crossed,” Daryl said. “She knew about all of it. The fire, the blizzard, and even when Michonne and Aaron crossed by the river. She’s got people everywhere.” 

“So Carol felt the need to light the fire further?” 

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t have?” Daryl challenged but you remained quiet. Daryl shook his head as he walked away. “I need to find Lydia,” he said before heading across the street. 

“This is only going to get worse now,” you said to Michonne who nodded. 

“I know,” she said. “Get ready for a fight.” Michonne turned and followed Carol back into the house, still rigid from the night before. You sighed, gripping the sides of your head as every fear was coming back.

“Are you actually pissed Carol tried to kill Alpha?” Negan asked. 

“No,” you said, removing the keys from your belt, “I’m pissed that she missed.”

AN: Next Chapter is going to be an important one. Hint: Carol becomes desperate and turns to an unlikely ally. 

TAGS: 

@lucillethings @cameronsails @stark-dreams @amaroho @thanossexual @yes-sir-hotchner @boom-bunny @delusionalteenagewhispers @scootankle @ritajammer21 @writteriguess​ @tea-atfive @jennydehavilland @waspyyy @yespleasejayhalstead @hoemadegrace @writingdeadangel @huffledor-able541 @pulplorrd @felicisimor​ 

[blissfulsun]

3rd installation of the lessons in love series, written for and with my angel Nics in mind because it’s my best frenssss bday!!! I love you so much💖@vlobsessed

word count: 2,311

A masterpiece in the making // Jeff Wittek

‘You’ve been quiet...’ 

It’s a simple observation made by Jeff, his fingers intertwined in your own as he leads the way and you follow. 

The fact you look so much like a couple right now is not lost on you, hands clasped tightly together and his jacket adorning your frame. 

An older lady even smiles as she walks past you two, it’s the fondness in his eyes that’s corresponding your own which makes her compliment how lovely of a couple you make. 

He’s right, you’ve been quiet since then, far too focused on the hammering in your chest and whether Jeff can hear it. 

If not that, then he can definitely feel just how clammy your palm has become. 

‘Angel?’ there’s humour in his tone, underlying concern that dances in his eye when you finally look up at him just as he pulls your clasped hand up and lays a feather light kiss to the rings adorning each finger. 

‘Sorry, ‘m just hungry’ it’s half a lie, since your stomach does grumble following the confession. 

Jeff knows there’s more to it, but he also knows how you operate, will tell him what’s on your mind when you’re ready. 

Besides, his primary concern right now is to feed you before you get grumpy, a look consisting of a permanent pout and furrowed brows that he secretly loves. 

‘What my girl wants she gets’ You soften, staring up at him with uncontrollable wonder but Jeff just misses it, already looking around the street for a place you might like. 

You end up in a quiet coffee shop, quaint and homely despite it’s location in the city, yourself taking a seat after Jeff has promised he already knows what you want as he goes to order. 

He sits close in the corner booth, your thighs touching and one of his arms around your shoulders while the other pushes another dose of caffeine your way. 

‘Is it-’ You begin to ask. ‘oat milk? Course, told you I know exactly what you like baby.’ 

He feels smug in the way his words seem to make you frazzled, teeth nipping at your bottom lip which makes his heart lodge itself in his throat in return, accidental payback. 

Because you are, frazzled that is, it’s a simple detail: knowing how you like your coffee or that you always forget to bring a jacket wherever you go. 

It’s the choosing to remember that keeps you in your own head so much on this day, Jeff’s choice to take notice of your habits, and you’re not even sure why it feels so different now, why it seems to have such an earth shattering effect on your thought process but it does. 

It feels good to be known without asking, you don’t remember the last time you’ve let someone close enough to even have the opportunity. 

Not like this, with his feet kicking against yours under the table as Jeff retells a story from a barbershop shoot you missed earlier that week, his fingers playing with the hair at the nape of your neck. 

Hours pass like this and you never really notice, afternoon slipping away without a care in the world, your usual habit of glancing at the clock forgotten in favour of looking at him, face animated in the storytelling, eyes reflecting the sunlight bouncing from the windows as strangers come and go but you don’t want to look away and miss a single thing. 

Has he always held your full attention like that? Hours turned to days spent in each other’s company, with your friends crowded around you but no one else truly in your sight. 

‘We should head back to the car if we wanna make our booking in time’ Jeff finally says, bursting the little bubble that’s somehow become your favourite spot in a couple of hours. 

You nod, standing up to follow him outside after thanking the barista in passing, hands once again intertwined. 

Maybe, just maybe your mind has been playing trick on you and there’s nothing different in the way Jeff glances down at you while you roam the streets, there’s nothing unusual about the comfort of his frame towering so closer over yours, or the way he opens the passenger door for you and lands his hand on the top of your thigh as he drives. 

It’s nothing more than two friends pushing boundaries in the name of your forsaken assignment. 

But then he’s smiling over at you, wind blowing his growing hair underneath the cap and cheeks full with bubbling laughter and you think, god, I love you, almost whisper it across the console when you’re sure the music playing is far too loud for him to ever hear it. 

Yeah, it’s definitely you that’s falling, simultaneously for your best friend and apart.

The day continues on, as if you haven’t had an epiphany that’s shaken you to the core. 

Jeff put the truck in park, runs around to your side of the car to open your door and reaches for your hand. 

You fight the urge to shiver when your fingers intertwine. 

‘You ready baby?’ He asks, dimples on show and brown eyes lit with underlying excitement at the prospect of the next part of your evening. 

‘I would be if you finally told me what it is exactly that we’re doing’ you whine, lips forming into a playful pout that Jeff mocks with his own before letting your hand go in favour of throwing his arm around your shoulder to pull you tight into side. 

He comes clean with his lips pressed against your forehead, a half peck accompanied by an instruction ‘We’re just around the corner, you’ll see’ Once you do, the excitement surges through you. 

‘The Broad?’ Jeff observes carefully, fondness sparking in his heart at how easily your expression brightens at the sight. 

Deep inside, he’s already sure you’re bound to be the most angelic work of art he’ll see tonight, a masterpiece of freckles, scars and booming laughter all wrapped up in the best girl he’s ever had. 

Jeff coughs, hand flying to rub at the back of his neck as he nods in answer to your question. 

‘I got us tickets to that light exhibit you wanted t-’ Your eyes almost pop out of their sockets as you interrupt. 

‘Kusama? I thought they were sold out’ your attempts at getting tickets proving futile in months passed. 

You watch the man shrug, expression a mixture between sheepish and smug, ‘I have my ways doll.’ 

The only thing left to do is leap into his awaiting arms, you whisper a gentle thank you with your head furrowed into his neck, lips pressed against the skin there momentarily, the touch is so feather light Jeff’s left wondering if it ever really happened as you pull away only to grab his hand and head inside with a new found bounce to your step.  

He’s right. The mirror rooms are beautiful, each installation of light stretching on in its endless path. 

Your eyes brightened by colour in wonder, each reflecting in the smile that shows your teeth and dimples as Jeff takes pictures and poses accordingly at your request. 

He listens to your explanations , every single thought, hangs on to every word as it leaves your pretty lips.

I could stay here forever. The thought presents itself through an exhale in your mouth, eyes travelling around the final room to land on the brunet that’s asking one of the other visitors to take a picture of you guys. Jeff returns with a sweet older lady in tow. 

‘C’mere doll’ he finds himself behind you, arm wrapped around your waist and palm splayed across your stomach, you smile, first at the lady and then again in preparation for the picture when the same hand turns your frame around and closer in his clasp, Jeff’s face leaning down. 

The flash goes off. He doesn’t kiss you, merely hovers with his forehead pressed against your own, but each of your erratic breaths makes the cupid bow of your upper lip graze the tip of his own. 

‘You two make a lovely couple, it’s sweet to see two young people so in love’ the older lady interrupts the storm brewing in your heart. 

The two of you reluctantly pull away, each reeling at the almost that hangs in the air as Jeff clears his throat and takes his phone back. 

We do..I am, you admit to yourself, gaze following the man that’s somehow the brightest beacon of light to your pacified mind. 

You’re surrounded by art, sculptures and reflections of beauty but there’s only one masterpiece worth observing in wonder for eternity if you get the chance. 

Unknowingly to you, Jeff’s heart is settling in his rib cage with the same realisation. What now? 

Something changes. Shifts as you exit the art gallery to be met with darkness of the night and sidewalks illuminated by streetlights. 

Jeff’s at ease, movements intentional as his hand slips into your own. 

You lift the intertwined fingers up to kiss his knuckles, pretending the blush you see dusting his cheeks and mirrored in your own is caused by evening breeze and not this new found quiet affection that feels so right. 

‘Hungry?’ Jeff asks, breaking the comfortably silence as he swings your hands as you walk to the car. 

‘Mmmm’ you ponder, ‘we could cook something back at mine?’ he nods, the journey spent listening to another one of your playlists made with him in mind. 

It should still terrify you. How your body slots against his, filling every space and gap with gentle precision, each of you mindfully working around the other as you teach him how to make the pasta dish of yours Jeff loves. 

The rest of the evening slipping past you in a domestic bubble of his aftershave wafting through the air and directly into your nose as you cuddle into his chest on the couch. 

‘Y/n...baby wake up’ the soft whisper stirs you awake. 

The moan of protest that leaves your mouth in realisation of being awake causes Jeff’s chest to rumble in laughter under your weight. 

‘Let’s get you to bed doll’ he insists again. 

‘Mhm...yeah, I wanna shower first’ you protest sleepily, body clinging to his warmth like a koala as Jeff sits up and begins the journey to your bedroom. 

Though once he sits you and pulls away you open your eyes to see the tiles of your bathroom from the sink counter. 

Your eyes watch his every move, white cotton shirt stretched along his muscled back as Jeff turns on the shower and sets it to a warm temperature that immediately fills the room with steam. 

He turns around to give you a soft smile, a sweet go ahead before turning to step out.

You’re not sure when you move, feet meeting the cold floor tiles as your small hand wraps around his wrist.

Jeff’s lost, brown eyes searching your own for an answer once he turns around, only seeing the vulnerability laced in your own that causes a stammer in his heart. 

You’re not sure what you’re doing, toeing this invisible line as you pause to momentarily fidget, teeth gnawing at your bottom lip before you whisper ‘Stay.’

One word, short and simple but enough to shatter the thin veil of almost that’s hang over both of you all day, if not for months. 

You think he’ll protest, respond with a Jeff like nervous giggle and the shake of his head that’s meant to let someone down easily, you’ve seen it happen in the past with your very own eyes. 

Instead, you watch the man take a shaky breath, eyes fleeting up and down your frame that’s changed into a hoodie of his earlier. 

He moves, hands instinctively reaching in your direction before they go for his own T-shirt instead, each garment falling to the floor with a thud as you slip your own off and step inside, distorted by the foggy window of your shower. 

Jeff hovers outside, inches of colourful glass separating him from you. 

Before you have a chance to call out his name he’s inside, pools of darkened brown tracing every detail of your bare face framed by wet hair. 

His gaze drops only for a short second, but it feels like a lifetime as you allow yourself to admire his toned chest and pause at the deep v lines of his hips without looking any lower.  

‘Turn around’ the gentle command pulls you away from reverie, you do as he asks. 

Breath quivering in your throat as you watch his hands reach to the shelf built into the wall to pull out your favourite bottle of shampoo before he squirts some onto his palm and begins to massage the soap into your strands, from the roots down to the ends that fall down against the lover skin of your back. 

The sensation is heavenly, Jeff’s long fingers gentle in their effort to clean your hair thoroughly before moving on to conditioner. 

You turn around after, silently returning the favour once he gets the hint and leans down slightly to match your height and allow you easier access to the locks matted against his forehead. 

There’s a moment of clarity, your eyes falling closed as he pulls you into his wet and naked chest, arms wrapping around your shoulder as you both sigh against each other. 

It remains, buzzing in the air when you slip into the bed and slot yourself against his side, head on his chest and leg thrown across his own as Jeff whispers a sweet good night that’s met with your soft snores.

It’s gone in the morning. When you wake up tangled in cold sheets and alone, tears blurring your vision at the realisation that your twenty four hours is finally up.

[omgrachwrites]

Falling Stars (Sequel to Tell A Tale of You and Me) Chapter Two

Pairing: Dean Thomas x Reader

Summary: In the midst of a brewing war you fall for one of your classmates, a boy that you used to know. When you have the chance to fight against evil, you fight for what you believe in.

Chapter Summary: Tensions rise between Umbridge and Harry, forcing Dean and Cass to be civil with one another. Meanwhile, competition arises on the Quidditch pitch.

Warnings: fluff, angst, mentions of death, swearing, sassy Harry

Words: 2645

Disclaimer: I haven’t read The Order of The Phoenix in so long so the timeline might be out of wack!

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy this part, please let me know what you think and if you would like to be tagged! I love you all! xxx

previous part   masterlist   prequel   next part

Chapter Two - The Pink Toad

Dean woke up, shivering slightly in the drafty dormitories – with all the magic in Hogwarts he thought someone would have taken the initiative to make the castle warmer. He was in a bad mood already and for a moment he couldn’t think why and then, it hit him like a ton of bricks. The 5th year Gryffindors and Slytherins were going to be having their first lesson with Umbridge in Defence Against the Dark Arts. To hear other people talk about it, it seemed like she didn’t know what she was doing, they said that she should have stayed at the Ministry.

He mulled over his thoughts as he walked over to the window and watched the quiet grounds begin to stir beneath the glow of the rising sun. Dean couldn’t deal with another shit Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor. Dumbledore should have brought Lupin back – even if he was a werewolf – he had been the best Professor they’d ever had.

Though, it wasn’t all that bad, today Quidditch try outs were taking place tonight, he had wanted to try out for the team last year but all of the matches had been cancelled due to the Triwizard Tournament. He was itching to climb onto his broom and zip through the late summer air. Once Seamus was awake – he didn’t say a word to Dean, Seamus was the worst person ever in the morning – they both got dressed and made their way to The Great Hall. Dean’s insides were already aching with hunger.

Dean perked up even more when he smelled all the amazing breakfast food and he sat by Fred and George Weasley, piling toast and bacon onto his plate.

“You trying out for the team then, Thomas?” Fred asked – or it might have been George – the twins both had identical smirks on their faces. The Weasley twins had been on the Quidditch team since Dean’s first year, they were extraordinary beaters.

“Of course,” Dean grinned, feeling excitement course through his body, “tonight’s try outs are going to be a blast!”

“You guys haven’t heard?” Dean looked around at the sound of a voice and his heart dropped when he saw Harry nervously running his fingers through his hair, “the Slytherins must have gotten wind of our try outs tonight because they booked the pitch before Angelina had the chance. Our try outs have been pushed to Saturday,” he scowled.

“What?” the four boys gasped in horror and Dean looked over at the Slytherin table.

Cass was laughing with her friends as she raised a mug to her lips; her eyes flickered over to Dean for a moment before she looked back at her friends. She looked radiant and beautiful, like she didn’t have a care in the world and that pissed Dean off, he turned back to his friends with a frown.

“I bet that Cass had something to do with this, this is so like her,” he moodily stabbed at his food.

Seamus rolled his eyes as he shoved a piece of bacon into his mouth, “mate,” he started with his voice muffled, “you say that you don’t give a shit about her but, Merlin, I think you’re obsessed. Not everything that happens is her fault.”

In the back of Dean’s mind he knew himself that Seamus was right and it had probably had nothing to do with Cass. However, he was still so annoyed with her that he wouldn’t even entertain that idea.

On their way to class, Dean’s eyes impatiently searched through the sea of people in the corridor, “this isn’t a good idea mate,” Seamus scoffed.

“Please, just give us a second, yeah?” he offered his best mate a smile before going back to the task at hand and he spotted Cass as she was about to walk into class.

“Oi, Cass!” he called out to her, making her stop in her track and she gave him a surprised look as he caught up with her, “why would your team book the damn pitch for tonight? We were supposed to have our try outs.”

Cass rolled her eyes and Dean noticed the glimmer of disappointment in them and he almost felt guilty, “do I look like the team captain? Everything that goes wrong in your life isn’t my fault you know,” she hissed before storming into the classroom.

“Told ya,” Seamus snickered.

Umbridge hadn’t come down from her office yet so Dean contented himself with doodling a lion devouring a snake while Lavender and Parvati made a bird out of paper and had charmed it to soar through the air. As it flew over to Dean and Seamus, Dean laughed, “go on, Seamus. Hit it!” he goaded his best friend and Seamus landed a successful hit, blowing it off course. In the next second, it burst into flames making the class jump.

Dean scowled as a toad like woman stood at the front of the class wearing the ugliest shade of pink ever seen. He wrinkled his nose in disgust as a sickly sweet perfume smell wafted towards him. Umbridge started like all the other teaches had by explaining the importance of OWLS, before she handed out a beginners handbook.

“Your introduction to this subject has been uneven, probably due to the fact that you’ve had half breeds teaching you and whatnot,” there was mirth in her voice and it annoyed Dean massively.

“If you must know, Professor Lupin was the best teacher we’ve ever had. So what if he’s a werewolf?” most of the class murmured in agreement and Dean clenched his teeth in anger as Umbridge gave him a sweet smile.

“That will be five points from Gryffindor, Mr Thomas,” she let out a high pitched laugh that went right through Dean.

“Dean is right though! How is it Remus’ fault that he got bitten? He didn’t ask for that to happen! It shouldn’t make it impossible for him to get a job, he’s not dangerous,” Cass piped up.

Dean whirled around to look at her; her usually warm eyes were hard as she stared at Umbridge with a furious expression. Dean agreed with Cass though he hated to admit it and would never say it out loud. Cass made eye contact with Dean and her eyes softened as she smiled at him gratefully. Dean gulped and looked away.

Umbridge smirked as her nostrils flared but she didn’t tell Cass off. Instead, she smiled at a couple of people on the front row who had got their wands out, “oh, you can put those away, my dears.”

“We’re not going to be using magic?” Ron mumbled, his voice held all of the confusion that everyone else was feeling.

“Why on earth would you need to use magic dear?” she let out another annoying high pitched laugh.

“Oh, of course,” Harry gasped as he slapped a hand against his forehead, “because when Voldemort comes after all of us, the last thing we’ll need to know is defensive magic, dear me, the thought of it. Ron, how could you ask such a silly question?” sarcasm laced Harry’s voice, making Dean smirk to himself as everyone waited for Umbridge’s response with baited breath.

Umbridge barely flinched at the use of You-Know-Who’s real name and her sickly sweet smile almost faltered, “you and your tall tales, Mr Potter. The Ministry would be protecting everyone if the Dark Lord was back.”

Dean glanced over at Harry when he let out a scoff to see that Harry had his hands on the table, clenching his fists, “so, Cedric Diggory spontaneously combusted did he?” Harry’s tone was dry as he glared at Umbridge, “Voldemort killed him! And you’re an idiot for not admitting it!”

Someone near the back of the room gasped at Harry’s words and everyone got ready to watch Umbridge murder Harry. Umbridge’s face was drained of colour as she scrawled on a piece of parchment and simply said in a steady voice, “come here, Mr Potter,” when Harry stormed up to her desk, she gave him the parchment, “take this to Professor McGonagall, off you go dear,” Harry scoffed as he snatched it off her and stormed out of the room, not looking back.

The rest of the lesson continued in silence, nobody dared to speak to one another. At the end of the class, Cass caught up with Dean, “intense huh?”

Dean was still reeling from the shock of Harry’s words that he momentarily forgot the bitterness he had towards her, “yeah,” he laughed, scuffing his shoe against the floor.

“It was nice of you to speak up for Remus,” she smiled, leaning against the cold stone wall.

Dean shrugged nonchalantly as his cheeks grew hot and he tried to ignore the peaceful feeling in his chest, “thought it was only fair to defend the guy when he wasn’t there to defend himself,” he cleared his throat, “it was good of you to speak up for him too.”

“I would do anything and say anything for the people that I care about,” she looked up at him from beneath her eyelashes as she bit her lower lip and Dean swallowed nervously, “I thought you would know that by now,” she gave him a small smile and pushed off from the wall, “see you around,” she nodded at him and then she was off, walking down the corridor with Astoria.

“So, the both of you can have a civil conversation without biting each other’s head off,” Seamus smirked.

------------------------------------

As you stood with your back against the Quidditch stands you shivered in the freezing evening air as you watched the try outs, waiting for your turn to try out for the position of Keeper. Your teeth chattered as you stuck your hands in the inside of your coat and pulled the letter from your dad out of the inside pocket. You smiled down at the piece of parchment as you read over the words again in the perfect script. He was wishing you luck at the try outs, he knew how important Quidditch was to you.

All you wanted to do was make him proud, you knew that Harry made him proud but Harry had that effect on the adults in his life who loved him. It seemed so easy for him, he was a hero. You just wanted to make Sirius proud of who you were. Your breath came out as smoke as you watched your housemates zip through the sky in all directions. All you wanted to do was zip through the sky with them; hopefully it would warm you up. It was strange that Draco wasn’t trying out this year; he loved a bit of attention.

You jumped slightly as you felt warmth against your elbow and you glanced to the side to see Astoria holding a steaming cup of something hot, “this is for you, you look freezing,” she laughed as she passed you the cup.

You grinned at her as you lifted the cup to your lips and swallowed down the hot chocolate, humming at the thickness of it, it burned your tongue slightly but you didn’t care all that much, you were just thankful for the heat, “thank you so much,” you licked your lips as the hot drink warmed your insides, “what are you doing here? You hate Quidditch,” you narrowed your eyes as you realised just why she was here, “Draco’s not playing this year, sorry to disappoint you,” you laughed as she rolled her eyes.

“I’m not here for him Cass, I’m here for you. I know that I hate Quidditch, just don’t see the point of it all but I know how much you love it and you’re my best friend, so I came here to support you.”

Astoria’s words were so sweet and kind that you threw your arms around her in a tight hug, “I love you, you’re amazing. You know that?”

“Of course I know that,” she laughed, winking at you as she linked your arm through yours and leaned her head on your shoulder, “uh oh, incoming.”

You bit your lip as Dean, Harry, Seamus and Ron were coming out of the castle heading for the stands behind you. It seemed as though Harry and Seamus had put aside their rivalry in the name of Quidditch, the thought made you roll your eyes. What were they doing here? Were they here to sabotage you?

“What the hell are you guys doing here?” you turned around to face the Gryffindor boys, shouting against the howling wind.

Dean smirked, just enough for his dimples to be on display and even from here you could see his eyes flash with an emotion that you didn’t recognise, “I’ve missed out on Quidditch for the past two years, I’m not waiting till Saturday to be able to watch some! It’s got nothing to do with you,” he raised an eyebrow at you as he slouched against his chair, making you scowl at him.

Harry laughed as he shot you a smile, “and we wanted to see what form your players were on!” he would never tell you outright but you knew he was here to offer you some support and you appreciated it. You shook your head at the boys before turning back to watch the try outs, painfully aware of their eyes on you.

Finally, the captain looked at you, “Cass? C’mon, let’s go!” Astoria gave you a supportive smile and a pat on your shoulder as you walked onto the pitch, mounting your broom as you soared through the air to guard the hoops.

The first couple of throws the captain directed at you were easy saves; there wasn’t much spin on the Quaffle so you could have saved it with your eyes closed. However, every time you made a mediocre save, you could hear Astoria screaming as if you had made an amazing save and it made you laugh, she really didn’t understand Quidditch. You didn’t feel the cold anymore; the adrenaline you felt made it all go away

“C’mon! Give me a challenge!” you shouted to the troll like boy who was hovering on his broom, holding the Quaffle, he smirked at you as he sent the ball hard and fast with a lot of spin on it.

You kicked, caught and booted the ball with the end of your broomstick, sending it back to him and every time he caught it with a taken aback look on his face. There was a save that you almost didn’t make, it was too far off to the side but you caught it between the tips of your fingers. You heard the small crowd below you gasp and you glanced down to see Dean looked impressed – though he would never admit it – it only made him more handsome.

By the end of try outs, it was no question that you had been the best Keeper, and you were looking forward to practise the following week. As you walked towards Astoria she grinned at you, throwing an arm around your shoulders, “that was amazing! I can’t believe that you’re my best friend.”

You rolled your eyes at her words but you couldn’t help but smile a little, as you walked back into the castle together, desperate to get out of the cold night air, “oi, Cass!” you whipped around as you heard Dean calling after you.

Astoria gasped a little in delight as Dean jogged towards you, a competitive glint in his eye, “Gryffindor are going to kick your arse in the first match,” you laughed and it felt like things were better between you and Dean.

However, as the rest of the boys ran up to you, Dean’s expression dropped and his eyes went hard and cold again. It was obvious that apart from the competitive banter, nothing had changed.

------------------------------------

@approved-by-dentists @thefuturelawyer @a-miserable-hufflepunk @firelordmillie @seriouslysiriuss @sleep-i-ness @play-morezeppelin @pregnant-piggy @sleepingalaska @blisfvlll @rexorangecouny @findzelda @wangmangagavroche @hxrgreeves @ghostofstudentspast @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon @my-unique-mind @im-an-angel-of-the-lord-you-ass @kashishwrites @fific7 @blackbirddaredevil23 @siriusblackspam @mads-bri​ @lilulo-12fanfiction​ @ihavenotthepleasure​ @tinymalscoffee​ @ur-riddikulus​ @obsssedwithjustaboutanything​ @ourloveisforthelovely​ @wheezyreads​ @artemis1orion​ @sushiims​ @aspiringsloth20​ @queenl04​ @smiithys​ @elayneblack​ @amelie-black​

[jinxofthecipher]

Scene, Part 2:

It all starts with a small box of chocolates.

Deidara doesn’t notice them at first. Not when he’s busy checking his wallet, making sure they have enough to cover the bill that’s coming. Yep, all good, he thinks, returning to his bowl of rice and eyeing the restaurant once more. They chose a seat in the back corner where it gives an ample view of the place, enough for any missing-nin to be comforted. It’s bustling, more people than the artist has seen in weeks of travel. 

He takes another bite, looks up again and repeats. The straw hat is pulled down low over his face. It does little to hide him, not when he’s wearing his cloak, it’s a dead give-away, especially since the Akatsuki’s started gaining real momentum recently. Even so, the restaurant is so busy that no one seems to take notice, though the few that sit nearby give him wary looks. Everyone else is in their own little worlds, coming and going. Not looking or considering a potential nin in their midst. It’s almost peaceful, a fact that both calms Deidara and makes his hands itch for clay. The mouths click their teeth in agitation and he forces his focus back on the food. 

Bowl now empty, Deidara sits back in the booth, arms crossing as he looks around. Where the hell was Tobi? That idiot had left for the bathroom half an hour ago now! He grinds his teeth casting a look at the half-full bowl across from him. Probably got side-tracked again, that dumbass. He may not abhor him as much as he once had but still, that man knew how to get under his skin with little effort (he can just imagine the future meet up with Kakuzu, telling him all about Tobi’s irritations and the older man would of course sigh before going on to explain Hidan’s newest annoyance which usually ended up being far worse and far more bloody than anything Tobi’s done or probably will do, ever. Deidara can’t picture the other ever killing for enjoyment, he hardly even fought anyways, only evaded.).

There is a brief flicker of worry. Of Tobi possibly coming across someone brave enough to get into an Akatsuki members face. They wouldn’t need too much bravery given Tobi’s natural aura of stupidity; everyone undesterimated his partner, Deidara included which he shouldn’t be, not with all the pieces he’s collected, the suspicians, and just how easy it is to forget and believe Tobi’s just an idiot and nothing else. Either way, there should be no cause for alarm. If Tobi can slip past every attack Deidara has ever thrown at him (and those attacks were mighty powerful, if Deidara said so himself) then he could certainly deal with almost anyone else outside the organization.

So he brushes the thoughts away and digs out the money. He’ll wait, for now, at least, he thinks placing the bills on the table and goes to put the wallet back into the pouch. Blue eyes widen a fraction. Huh? He turns, peering into the pouch. Past the kunai and scrolls, at the very bottom is a small square box. It’s a glossy black, managing to catch the swinging light over Deidara’s head. 

His eyes narrow instantly and he hovers a hand over the box. No chakra signature. No obvious threat . . . the artist considers it a moment before daring to grab and pull it out. 

Pouch and restaurant forgotten, Deidara balances his elbows on the table and runs his fingers over the box before his face. It’s no bigger than a dango box though much wider. A small symbol is etched on top that reads SWEET’S; he recognizes it, a candy store in town that they had passed on the way here. There is also a note taped to the bottom, so securely that, for a second, he thinks it’s just a sticker for the company or price. It’s not and when he realizes this, Deidara digs at the edges with a nail until he’s able to open it. An edge tears, whatever holding it on a bit too good at it’s job but finally, he can read it.

 - Hope you like it - is written in barely legiable scrawl that Deidara doesn’t recognize. His eyebrows raise and, cautious, he looks around the restaurant. No one is looking at him, even the wary ones are focused on their food. Who in their right mind would give him a gift? And someone who doesn’t put a name, not even an initial? Well, perhaps it was an admirer of my art, I must’ve made some impression, he smirks at the possibility, smug.

Still, it’s just one of those cheap boxes of chocolate you can get. The one with a mixture of sweets that are never just chocolate. They’re usually an arrange of flavours ranging from carmel to coconut. And Deidara’s sweet tooth is only for chocolate these days. So, he opens it, fully prepared to just toss the box-only to see another note inside, laying delicately over the six chocolates. 

- Bought five more to give you all the kinds you liked~ -

Deidara stares, not understanding at first. He looks between the paper to the chocolate below and, slowly, realizes that they all look the same. So they’re all-

Going rigid, the artist looks around the place again. More suspicious then ever, his chakra now a mass of pure unadulterated paranoia. The mouths on his hand click, grinding in his tensity. There is no feasable way that anyone could have snuck the box into his bag AND known his preferences of chocolate. Hell, Tobi didn’t even know! 

As if sensing his mood swing and thoughts on him, Deidara sees Tobi skip across the restaurant, waving at one group of people who flinch back at his cloak. “Senpaiiiii,” he whines, hopping into his chair with more energy then Deidara could ever have, “Sorry Tobi took so long!! There was such a lovely person outside the restrooms!”

“He didn’t try and kill you, hm?”

“Nope!” Tobi hums, dipping into thoughtfulness for a second. “Well, maybe? You always try to blow me up sooooo I’m not sure!”

“I’m just keeping you on your toes. At least you dealt with the situation without hassel,” he notes the lack of fear or chakra signatures, if Tobi’s not lying then he did deal with the problem without even raising an alarm. His stomach twists, always feeling off whenever Tobi proves that, yes, he is far more capable then anyone could dream of being. Not that Deidara would ever admit that. And he wasn’t stronger then Deidara! So there. “Anyway, you ever seen this before?” He gives the box a tiny shake, having closed it up again and shoved both notes into his pockets. 

Tobi’s head dips, the hole in his mask leveling with the box as he hmm’s in the back of his throat. A hand reaches out, sliding over the edge and brushing Deidara’s just enough for the blonde to notice before pulling back. The other’s head cocks to the side and, for the millionth time, Deidara wishes he could see the face beneath it. He’ll never understand the odd desire to keep it hidden, unless it’s all just to annoy me, his annoyance grows at the thought. “Well?? I swear Tobi, I’ll-!”

“Oh, Deidara senpai, calmmmmm, please? Deidara’s eye twitches at the demand Tobi's seen ‘em cause he bought ‘em!” The artist’s mouth drops open at the proud declaration. His partner leans back into the booth, almost casual looking as he crosses his arms behind his head. “Did you try any of ‘em?? The owner said they were the best they had!”

Deidara was still reeling, eyes wide as he stared at the other, “you bought them?”

“Uh-huh!”

The artist stares at his partner who’s practically vibrating in his chair, leg swinging like a five year old who has no control of their energy. But what else is new? “Care to explain why? I’ve never told you my favorite chocolate,” he huffs, agitated, crossing his own arms to mirror Tobi’s, “And while you’re at it, explain why you decided to get your buisness partner a . . . a,” he searches for the right word. 

“Present?”

“Yes. Why get me a present?”

“Cause Tobi loves you~” He coos happily, words dripping in glee and Deidara glares at the obvious jest. Still, his chest tightens a fraction. Seeing his partners look of disbelief, Tobi shakes his head, “it’s true! Beleive poor Tobi for once, senpai! And,” he releases his hands from behind his head and leans forward, into Deidara’s space, “you told Tobi whatcha’ liked!”

A single eyebrow rose, “when?”

“Two months ago!” The mask bobs, eager, hands now flat on the table, a little too close to the ones Deidara has laced together on his side. Truly, if he considered all options, it wasn’t impossible that he wouldn’t have told Tobi his preferences but it was one of millions of conversations they’ve had.

“. . . you remember a random conversation we had, two months ago, about that of all things?”

“Of course!”

“I didn’t think you listened to half the things I say.” 

The hands actually do reach his now, attaching onto Deidara’s and giving a firm squeeze as Tobi nods, enthusiastic. “Tobi’s always listening and he always remembers what Deidara senpai says!” He tilts his head, “I promise.” He says, voice lower, full of certainty, and, more importantly, the third person eerily gone. Deidara can’t help feeling uncomfortable at the intensity Tobi is giving him at the moment. The hold on his hands is tight and he can’t tell if it’s a subtle warning or meant to be comforting. Either way, it doesn’t help that he can feel Tobi’s chakra buzzing, it’s the usual thrum but . . . there’s something beneath it. Something darker. Something that brings back questions of why Tobi can dodge every attack, why he was picked last to join the Akatsuki although he’s been around them for much longer. They pull at Deidara’s mind, begging to be put together, to form the rest of the picture. To come to the conclusion that’s been nagging at him for months. 

He should look at them. It all points to something bigger, even without proper analysis. 

But he discards them. No. Tobi is just his idiot of a partner who is just really good at dodging everything, that’s all. Lies, he thinks and ignores.

“So you just ignore all the other advice I give you?”

“As usual!” Tobi exclaims, the smile so obvious in his tone. He senses the change in chakra instantly and stills before yanking his hands back into a shielding display, “wait! No, senpai Tobi meant no disrespect, simply that- please! Think of the restaurant!”

Needless to say, the restaurant almost became a smoking crater; and two weeks later Deidara finds a rose tucked in his pouch, another note stuck to it and he can’t help the smile he gets at his idiot trying so hard.

Part 1: 

 https://jinxofthecipher.tumblr.com/post/638984358996344832/headcanonscene-when-deidara-was-first-told-that

[snowbellewells]

CSSS20 Fic: “One Little Ray of Hope”

Merry Merry Christmas @let-it-raines!!! Can you believe we ended up being each other’s Secret Santas?!?  It was all I could do not to spoil the surprise yesterday when you posted your amazing story gift for me, but here I am finally with yours in return, and I truly hope you will enjoy it.

You mentioned that you like friends-to-lovers and mutual pining, which I genuinely tried to do to the best of my ability. However, I discovered neither of those things are actually types of fic I have done much.  This comes out more like bantering crushes, and Emma-in-denial-finally-admitting-what-everyone-else-already-knows. I did set it in the Enchanted Forest for you, and I tried to mix in the humor and the feels so it has a bit of everything. And there are Christmas touches but it isn’t holiday overwhelming. I got to the stopping place I envisioned though, and it just wasn’t enough. I hope you will forgive me if I say this is only Part One and there will be a Part Two coming shortly once the holiday hoopla dies down. (In all honesty, I was anxious that my story was for you - I love your writing so much, and I am not at all sure this measures up! And then I read your gift and was even more blown away.)  Still, here’s hoping this brings a smile to a shipmate like you who has been so friendly and kind and made me smile with your writing all year long!  Part Two - and hopefully some fic cover art - to follow soon!)

“One Little Ray of Hope”

by: @snowbellewells

               Though the fire in the stone hearth was blazing merrily, the lights from their lamps combatted the dark sky and frigid wind blasting flurries of snow outside their windows, and the jovial voices of many of their regulars mingled on the air to make things cozy inside the little inn and tavern, Emma Swan still shivered at the winter's chill. There, was some hint of frost that wouldn't go away, forming small icy crystals inside her chest - one particular voice that always stood out from the rest to her ears, was missing. She cursed herself for noticing, cursed him for being so unmistakable, and slammed an empty tankard onto her tray as she cleared the just-vacated table more violently than she had meant to.

               Naturally Ruby would be passing by just then, on her way to wait on some exuberant new arrivals, and she playfully arched one of her dark brows with a teasing smirk. "Looks like someone's a little frustrated this evening."

               From over her shoulder, where Emma hadn't even realized anyone was nearby, Tink tittered with a playful little giggle to Ruby, "Well, you know, we do seem to be short some of Emma's favorite guests this evening…" pirate was not her special anything. Honestly, she was just tired, overworked, overheated, and ready for some fresh air away from the evening crowd. It didn't have anything to do with the fact that Captain Killian Jones, with his unfairly blue eyes and his stomach-flipping accent wasn't here pestering her and getting in her way. What did she care if his farewell to her before he set sail nearly two months' back was that he would return in time for the Yuletide festivities? False hope and nonsense, all of it anyway…

               And yet… tomorrow was Christmas day, her traitorous mind whispered as she plunked her heavy tray of dishes on the counter where the Widow Lucas - the proprietor of their inn, and 'Granny' to all of them - was serving up orders and Ashley was doing dishes as fast as she could to serve warm bread and hearty stew on them once more. Again, her approach was none too gentle, as she huffed out a breath of air and pushed her hair from her face impatiently.

               "Careful there, my girl. Any dishes you break will be comin' from your pay," the widow threatened idly. Granny put on a tough front - one had to in a rough and tumble harbor town - and she meant business if she had to bring out her crossbow from where she kept it close to hand beneath the counter, but she was a soft heart beneath the necessary bluster and hard shell. She loved all "her girls" and most of her patrons dearly, wanting them to know they were welcome and cared for in her inn - and while many like she and her granddaughter had little in the way of blood-related family, she aimed to give them a feeling of home in her place.

               Emma smiled slightly, acknowledging Granny's words without comment, despite knowing the older woman would do no such thing. She unloaded the dirtied tankards and bowls more carefully into the soapy water for Ashley and forced herself to draw a couple of deep breaths as Granny loaded her up with the next order.

               Just as Emma moved to lift the tray and move off again, Granny placed her own hand over Emma's kindly, keeping her there until Emma met her eyes. "Don't let Ruby irk you. She means no harm," was the quietly offered advice, to which Emma nodded sagely, already knowing as much. It was only when Granny winked and added, "Of course, if you're awaiting some handsome sailor, I wager he'll be here soon," that Emma let out an exasperated huff and spun away to the sound of her boss and pseudo-grandmother's laughter at her back. Shaking her head, she seethed, 'Everyone thinks I'm waiting for Jones…. Well, I'm not!'

               The night went on without much further interruption; the snow fell in continued flakes, swirled and eddied by the window and pilling up on the windowsills. Inside their crowded tavern, however, the cozy warmth continued to rise right along with the songs and laughter of those gathered within. Soon Emma found her face flushed, cheeks pinked from the heat and close quarters. Even as the gathered crowd began to dwindle, slowly trickling out the door and homeward in twos and threes, as she, Ruby, Tink, and Ashley began to wipe down empty tables and see to storing up leftover food and seeing drinks stoppered and sealed for the night. Granny had gone upstairs nearly an hour before as the midnight hour had come and gone, claiming her old bones needed the rest, and Mulan, who did not appear the musical type, but who had once confessed when more than a bit tipsy on dwarf mead that her parents had seen that she was learn all sorts of marriageable skills in the hopes of seeing her matched with a smart, dashing husband before she had left hoe to make her own way - had switched from plunking out bawdy sea shanties and reels for the gathered revelers and lighting begun pecking out chords to a few softer and slower Yuletide carols as a background accompaniment to the cleaning and the quieter murmurs of those who still lingered in conversation over their last drinks.

               Not long after, Ruby silently slipped out the kitchen exit in back with the solemn huntsman who came every night to break bread and drink not at all other than to drink in her presence and bask in her company had stood and followed her like a silent shade as she beckoned from the doorway. Ashley had headed upstairs herself for some rest in her own apartments, as had Tink, saying the last town gazette's gossip section was calling her name. Mulan had paused at the door before heading to her own house a couple streets over, telling Emma she would make rounds of the block first, to see that all stragglers had gone home, and no trouble was lingering about them before she left.

               Emma thanked the beautiful warrior sincerely, knowing that it was no more or less than the other woman did every night, determined that these friends who took her and all others at face value, welcoming all lost and weary travelers without trying to change them were safe and secure. She would see no harm come to the Widow Lucas and her adopted "sisters" on her watch; Emma knew Mulan took that charge upon herself as a sworn duty. The rest of them would never have put such weight on her shoulders, but each one of them also slept easier knowing Mulan was nearby. The slim build, shining curtain of silky black hair and delicate features could have long ago earned Mulan the hand of any prince, pirate, or nobleman who laid eyes on her, but those physical attributes all deceptively hid her strength, speed, and core of deadly steel if anyone threatened harm to those she loved.

               "We'll be alright," Emma assured again, as Mulan bid her goodnight. "Everyone was in good spirits this evening. No fights, no trouble. Please rest easy once you get home. I can't imagine anything should happen until we see you again tomorrow."

               "As you say," the raven-haired woman replied simply, and with a slight dip of her head in a bow, she turned and slipped into the night with such soundless agility and grace that she seemed to melt into the darkness - unseen in mere seconds.

               Closing the door at last, Emma latched it securely, making certain the tavern and rooms above were locked properly for the night. She then began to move about the large, open main room, blowing out the candles still left aglow on scattered tabletops and snuffing out the wall sconces as well as she made a final pass around the main space. At last her final chores were complete, one last lit candle in her hand as she stood before the front window, looking down the moonlit street toward the docks for a moment longer. Captain Jones and his crew had yet to be seen in town, and while she could tell the others she didn't care - could even tell herself that in the light of day - here alone in the silent frosty night, Emma couldn't help wondering where he might be, and if he were well.

               "Jones, if you're out there," she murmured, hoping only the snow and ice and the Christmas star would hear her, "Take care or yourself… and be safe 'til we meet again."

               She had crossed the darkened room, placed her hand on the stair rail and was on the first step up to the second floor, when she heard the lightest rapping at the side door into the alley. Pausing there, Emma held her breath, listening uncertainly for the knock again, hardly daring to hope. She only had her candle in hand, the shadows long around her. Were Ruby and her huntsman still outside keeping each other warm despite the winter's chill? Could there be a prowler who had lain in wait until their self-appointed guardian had left for the night, or might it be the visitor she had been promised? The face she had looked for in anticipation every time the inn's door had opened to welcome a new patron that night? She would deny it to anyone, but those dark brows arched up into his windswept hair in challenge or jest, over eyes as blue as his beloved ocean, had been sorely missed; she had hoped to see him home again for Christmas more than she wanted to allow herself.

               She drew nearer to the side entrance, not wishing to give any her presence if the person on the other side bore ill intent, but straining to hear all the same; seeking some sign she was right and to confirm the feeling she had about who awaited on the other side. Gathering her courage, Emma reached for the fireplace poker beside the large stone hearth. Its embers were now dead for the night, but only a short while ago it had been blazing hotly, heating the entire space. She was not some frightened child at any rate; she'd hold her own against any intruder if the opened door led to a nasty surprise.

               Sure enough, the rapping came again, more firmly and with the added hushed entreaty, "Swan? Are you still about, Lass? Emma Swan! It's Captain Jones if you're still about and wish to see your sailor!"

               Her concerns brushed aside at the tones of that voice she could not mistake, Emma let the metal of her makeshift weapon clatter against the stone as it dropped from her fingers. With an exuberant little cry, she was at the door and lifting the latch in a second. The candle in her hand flickered and nearly went out with the stunned breath that left her upon glimpsing his handsome form once again after so long away.

               To his credit, Jones didn't tease; instead looking rather stunned himself as his gaze appeared busy drinking her in as well. Soon, he slipped inside out of the blustery chill and, seeing that her hand holding lighted taper was shaking considerably, he took it from her with care and reached to light the nearest sconce, casting their immediate surroundings with enough warm glow by which to see.

               Finally, she regained enough of her faculties to speak, and Emma stuttered, "It seemed you were not coming, Captain. Ruby mocked me all day for my foul temper and Tink joined in of course to say it was due to my missing and certain pirate and his crew. The busybodies!" she scoffed. But then she reached across the space between hem to catch his hand. "I did worry you might have been arrested, or hurt, or wrecked…or lost…any number of things. Or perhaps I gave you no clear assurance, and instead you had moved on, not to return."

               Killian shook his head just barely, looking troubled that she could even think he would abandon or fail her so easily. "Hardly Lass," he stated fervently, a sort of fiery glow in his eyes she had not seen before. I did say I would return by Yuletide, did I not? A pirate I might be, but I still have my honor.  It would take more than the increased vigilance of the Evil Queen and her forces to keep me away."

               Emma sucked in a worried breath at the cause of his delay. They all hoped to keep far under the notice of the usurper monarch - as cold and cruel as she was darkly attractive, she would end a life as easily as snapping her fingers, and at the slightest provocation, real or imagined. Life had been all the harder and more fraught with danger since Regina had wrested the crown from her kind and gentle stepdaughter Snow White, the rightful heir to the crown. If Killian were wanted by Queen Regina and had snuck back into her borders only to keep his promise, Emma could not bear to consider what would happen if he were discovered.

               Now was the moment of truth, before anymore needless time slipped past. It was time she told him what she had realized while no teasing friends or rowdy onlookers were listening in. "I missed you," she finally managed to croak out around the lump in her throat. "Thank you… Killian…for keeping your word."

               He dipped his head to look into her eyes where she had dropped her gaze to her feet. A strong, calloused hand, warm and gentle in its intent, tipped her chin back up to stare into his searching gaze. "Of course, Swan - Emma. All I could have wished for this holiday was…" he paused, his tongue darting out to wet his lips nervously and a hand coming up to worry the spot behind his ear - gesture she had long ago noticed signified nervousness. But he plunged on determinedly, "was to see you again, to see you and give you this."

               Pulling a small pouch from some inner pocket of his long leather jacket, he held it out to her with sparkling eyes, appearing almost boyish for a moment in his eagerness to see her open his gift, and whispering "Happy Christmas, Emma," as he placed it in her upturned palm.

               Emma's mouth formed a surprised "O", having not expected or hoped for anything more than his safe return. Opening the ties, she tilted the soft material until the item within spilled out in her hand. Holding up a long, golden chain with an exquisite stone of lovely pale green, near to jade in color, swinging from it, she was enchanted by the pendant he had brought her. "Oh, it's gorgeous," she breathed, rather stunned at how nice the piece of jewelry was.  She wore (or even owned, to be honest) little of such finery.

               "It's sea glass," Killian explained, taking the piece back in nimble fingers when she offered it, then turned, lifting her long hair so he could place the chain around her neck and fasten it for her. "Though sailors believe sea glass is good luck, that it keeps the wearer safe, and I would always wish you to be so, I knew it had to be yours because of the color. It reminded me vividly of your eyes…" Though the necklace was secured, his fingers still grazed featherlight along her skin, causing prickles of awareness to course throughout her body, and his own voice had turned decidedly husky.

               At last, Emma turned to face him once more, breaking the trance between them, but needing to thank him, and for him to see how touched she was by his gift, even if her voice was breathless and her words trembled with emotion. "I don't know what to say. You shouldn't have, but I adore it all the same. I'll treasure it, Killian. Truly." And without further hesitation or pausing to think and second guess, Emma threw her arms around him, squeezing him tightly to her. "Thank you," she whispered against his chest, breathing in the salty, spicy essence of him and nuzzling against his chest. She realized with a force that almost knocked her off her feet that she never wanted to let go.

               She felt Killian Jones' fingers thread through her hair, stroking gently, reverently as they stood there wrapped up in each other, swaying slightly in the candle glow and the howl of the wind outside. Emma felt they might indeed stay that way forever, and that neither of them would mind at all, until more rapid knocking interrupted their silent moment. The door handle rattled urgently, and she heard a nervous voice she recognized as Killian's first mate's speaking in hurried words. "Cap'n, you told me to summon you when an hour had gone. I've already seen one patrol of black guard go by. If they notice the Jolly in the harbor…"

               "Aye, Smee," he gritted out, stopping the anxious flow of words. "Head back and make ready to sail. I'll follow in a moment."

               He sighed as he turned back to Emma, tracing his thumb over the apple of her cheek and pausing to caress the dimple in her chin as he cradled her face in his hand.

               "You have to go," she acknowledged reluctantly; hating it, but understanding and wanting to see him safe, just as he did her. Her words were wistful, wishing he could stay there with her - or that she could run away with him - but it was too much, too quickly, no matter how she dreaded being parted again so soon.

               "I must, for now," he affirmed, the regret lacing every syllable of his words. "But I hope that now you know I will return."

               She nodded mutely, her mind trying to memorize every detail of his face, his voice, his touch, until she could see him again. "And I will be here waiting for you," she promised with equal intent.

               Bending slightly, Killian brushed his lips against her cheek, his stubble tickling her skin and again making her shiver at the sensation. It was the lightest and most gallant of kisses, and yet it only served to make her burn for more - for him to take her in his arms, for those firm lips to kiss her everywhere, for him to take her to her own apartments, or back to his cabin. It would keep her burning for however long they might be kept apart.

               As he had to leave, heading out again into the dark night, Emma stood at the door watching until the very second his vanished from her sight, no longer able to deny how anxiously she would await his return.

[quillsareswords]

Smoke: VIII | Smoke, Silk, and Snow

SUMMARY: After vanishing for four years, you return to the place you once called home, to the people you once called family. We all carry our baggage in different ways, using different techniques to hide it. You just happen to hide it in cigarette smoke.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: At Damian’s request, you done a dress and a pair of heels to attend  Bruce’s Christmas Charity Ball. You don’t get to mingle much, but when  he catches you out on a balcony, the pain in your feet is worth it.

SERIES WARNINGS: cigarette smoking; underage drinking; gang activity; violence; swearing; blood; self-hate

MASTER LISTS in BIO

You duck and weave through patrons, hitching up a floor length skirt with one hand and balancing a stiff drink with the other. Your ears are near ringing, with all the noise and voices and glasses clinking and has the music been this loud the whole time?

You find yourself slipping into old habits, feet plotting a course all their own while you try to keep your mind focused on not having a breakdown with all these people around. Yellow eyes and three inch claws aren't going to look very good with a burgundy dress.

Outside the ballroom, there's less of a crowd. Further down the hall, the masses dwindle. Sliding into a room past the kitchen's back hall—where you pass waiters and a new bartender—you finally find solitude.

One of Bruce's parlors, or lounges—whatever he calls them. There's a leather couch and a pair of matching arm chairs, all facing an oak coffee table despite being paired with end tables. Bookshelves and works of art line three walls, tall windows the other. You breathe deeply. The room is unsurprisingly a little stale, seeing as it's likely unused until there's a party a few doors down the hall.

You steal a sip from your glass before you make for the door to the balcony. The night air stings cold against your skin, but sets a lively burn in your lungs. It's quiet, thankfully, aside from the hum of the ongoing gala in the window-lined room about ten windows to your left. The light spills out from there and illuminates most of the gardens that stretch out toward the woodline. You've always loved the garden.

Alfred's flowers are always so pretty, and the smell is always overpoweringly fresh.

You lean on the thick stone railing. You pull out the paper pack from the pocket of your skirt and stick a cigarette between your teeth. You light it, take a drag, and swipe a moment to reminisce on all the times you've gone running through that garden, for one reason or another. Sometimes it was for fun, sometimes Damian was angrily chasing you with the garden hose because say yeet one more goddamn time, Y/N, one more. Good times.

Damian. The bold man that had asked you three times to come to this event, and yet in the hour and a half you'd been here, you had yet to see. You admit, you're disappointed. Sure, you know he's busy keeping up images by mingling and chatting, but. . . well, you had hoped he'd asked you so much because he wants you here. Usually, that would lead one to believe he wants to spend time with you here. Then again, it is Damian, after all. He's never exactly been so straight forward.

Your mind reels back to last Tuesday. That fleeting hug. The warmth of his hold at the erratic pace of his heart. I’m glad you’re home.

"Thought you'd be here."

You turn over your shoulder.

Damian's hands are tucked into his pockets, and you'd be lying through your teeth to claim he isn't absolutely stunning in a dark green three-piece. You hope he doesn't catch the movement of your eyes before you snap back to reality. You turn halfway as he joins you by the stone, pinching your cigarette in the hand that still rests on the wide ledge. You note a vague limp in his gait.

"You narrowed down one room out of the hundred—minimum—of rooms in this house?" Your eyebrow quirks.

He sets his whisky glass down beside yours. "Well, it's the only empty room close to the ballroom, and it's been two hours since it started to get loud. I figured you'd be looking for a quiet corner about now."

You shrug, trying to play off the fact he was actively thinking of and looking for you in a sea of people. You push daydream thoughts away and remind yourself that he absolutely took the path of least resistance to check in on an old friend.

"What can I say? The doggy hearing has it's downsides." You take another drag. Turn around, and hoist yourself up onto the ledge to sit with your back to the garden, and the halfmoon shining overhead.

He leans one elbow on the ledge, reaches toward you and wiggles his fingers, a hint of shame and revolt sparkling those pretty eyes of his.

You giggle loudly, trying your best not to howl the laughter bubbling up your chest. Damian shushes you, though he's grinning and peering over your shoulder, so it's hard to take him serious. Two glasses in two respective sets of hands, you make sure you aren't followed as you slink off to hole up in an empty sitting room.

He finds one, juggling his drinks as he fiddles with the doorknob. This only makes you want to laugh harder, but you know that doing so would result in one hell of a scolding, so you pipe down until you get into the room.

After that, it's all on the table.

You're practically choking on giggles while Damian grins and laughs as openly as the nightsky, amber liquid sloshing in one of his glasses and clear in the other. You're making for the chairs in the middle of the room, when you hear the floorboards creak in front of the door.

You get quiet, an anxious twist in your belly, staring at the door, waiting for Bruce or your brother to rip the door open and start scolding you for sneaking drinks.

When it doesn't happen, you make a break for the balcony before it does. Laughing again—a little more nervously now—you hop up onto the stone wall. The glasses clink as you set them down beside you, and Damian's join them.

"Best make it last," Damian chuckles. "I don't think we can risk another trip."

You nod. "Well, then it's a good thing I brought back up," you grin, fishing a white and green pack of Camels from a pocket in your coat, and hold them up with a shake.

He scoffs. "I don't smoke," he says proudly.

You cock an eyebrow. "Neither do I."

He snorts, takes one from you anyway. "I hate it when Jason smokes," he sighs, hovering the end over the lighter in your hand. "Smells terrible."

You eye him a little suspiciously. You hand him a stick all the same. "You don't smoke."

"Neither do you." He only comes close enough to light the end of it before he pulls away again.

You take a drag the same time as him, still eyeing him warily. He doesn't cough and sputter like he use to.

He must feel your eyes, or he reads the look on your face like he always does. "I don't really smoke," he sighs, words laced with gray clouds. "Only once every blue moon." The next part is quiet, like he doesn't really want you to hear it. "It's been a long week."

You chuckle. "You’re preaching to the choir."

He shakes his head, eyes wandering the garden. You aren't sure what he's looking for. "At least you’ve been sleeping."

Your eyebrows raise. "Bold assumption. What happened?"

He nods, understanding. "Bruce and I have been arguing since Tuesday, and I haven't spoken to him since then, aside from professionalism and patrol. My apartment building was evacuated Monday night and cost me five hours of sleep—and while I appreciate how seriously they take a bomb threat, I wish they would take efficiency in the same vein."

Dick mentioned he'd moved into a penthouse uptown, not too far from the Wayne Industries tower. Flash thoughts run through your head about what it would have been like to help him move, but you plunge them into the deepest part of your mind before you dive too far down the rabbit hole.

You nod slowly. "Sounds rough."

He blows out a puff of empty air, apparently meant to resemble a laugh. "Yeah."

His grammar is more relaxed than you're used to. He's only this loose when he's very tired—at least, that's how you remember.

"How have your friends been?"

He's changing subjects. You decide to let him. "Good, last I checked. I was over there yesterday morning." You sigh, deeply. You feel the anxieties crawling back up your throat, so you subdue them like bees with a lungful of smoke. "We've been having problems with another pack. I don't remember if I mentioned that before."

"Fleetingly."

You bob your head. Another drag. "They're out for blood. Jumped one of ours a few days ago."

He turns his head toward you. "You sound nervous."

"A little," you laugh nervously. "We've got history with them, ya know? They know where to hit, but we don't. Makes me uneasy."

He straightens his posture and you sense a shift in character. "Are they illegally involved as well?"

You take it for what it is. Curiosity, a warning, an offer. You shrug, leaning back on one hand. "I don't know. I've had eyes on every other street corner since Friday, but nobody is seeing anything."

You look away from him. You really shouldn't be telling him any of this. Maybe it's the buzz from six shots of tequila—all you can hope to get, unfortunately—or maybe it's the nostalgia of this that's loosening your tongue. This used to be your routine for these kinds of events.

"Tell me when you find out. I might be of some assistance."

You blink, eyebrows furrowing. You still aren't looking at him, but you're wondering why he's so eager to help all of a sudden. Maybe last Tuesday changed things more that you thought it had.

"It's my job, Y/N. If they're breaking the law, it's my duty to make a move." He clips the white stick between his teeth again. "Besides, I owe you for Tuesday night."

"You don't owe me," you say quickly. Your eyes his his shoes. Quietly, "I still owe you for leaving."

He's silent for a moment. You both are. The air stills.

"No," he sighs at last, stubbing out the cigarette before he flicks it off into the night, "you don't. I've forgiven you for it."

Your eyes blow wide. "You–"

"I was angry. For two years, I was angry. You never called, never texted, and I thought it was because of something I did. Then I realized it wasn't, and I didn't know who else to blame, so I blamed you. After two years and three months, I realized you were really never coming back, so I moved on." He picks up his glass and downs the whole thing.

"I was alright for two years, and then you turned up again. I was angry again, and then then the whole thing with Erica—I didn't have time to properly process anything. And at the time, I didn't know everything. I didn’t know that you were building a new life for yourself—a good one. I didn't know you'd been chased out, either."

You go rigid. When did you tell him that? How did he know?

He sees your eyebrow twitch. "You didn't tell me. I worked it out myself." He turns to face you fully. "I wish you had, though. I wish you would have told me then. I could have helped."

You advert your gaze again. You squeeze your eyes closed. "You couldn't have," you grumble. "It wasn't that simple."

You jump when your phone rings. You dig it out in a rush. "Tyrone's got the absolutely worse timing," you growl, hopping off the ledge while answering. "I'll just be a minute," you excuse, darting back into the sitting room.

"Tyrone," you hiss, "this had better be something–"

"You're still there?" He sounds surprised.

You make a face. "Well– Yeah?" You pause, running a checklist of all the things you had on the list for today. "Should I not be?"

"I mean . . . No– Yeah, you should be, I just didn't think you'd stay very long. Having a good time? Meet somebody?"

You decide to ignore the suggestive tone he uses. With a glance thrown over your shoulder to the man standing out on the balcony, busing himself with stargazing and probably listening to your end of the conversation, if you know him well enough. "You could say that."

"You're with Damian, aren't you?" You can't help but notice he sounds sort of disappointed.

Your eyebrows slant. "Maybe. Is that a problem?" You feel defensive. Tyrone is like family to you, and you want his approval, but you don't understand what he'd expected. You came to this event specifically at Damian's request.

"No, of course not. I know you went because he asked, but I thought you might, ya know . . . mingle some."

You cross one arm over your waist and rest the opposite elbow on it. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"No, nothing!" There's an edge of embarrassment and panic in his voice. "I don't mean anything, really. Just, you've been in Gotham for a few months now, and it doesn't seem like you see anyone other than him. You're at t complex often, I just mean–"

You close your eyes and pinch the bride of your nose. Right. You should have seen this conversation coming. "Look, Ty, can we talk about this later? I'm in the middle of a pretty important conversation."

He gets strangely quiet. "Right. Sorry, I just wanted to check on you. I'm going to wait up, so call me when you leave and when you get home, okay?"

Your eyes are still closed, but you hear Damian shifting around on the balcony. "I can handle myself." You exhale slowly. "But, yeah. I appreciate it."

"I know, but I don't like the silence on the Rats' end. I'll talk to you later."

"Yeah. Bye."

You hang up and pocket your phone. With another exhale, your heels click as they carry you back out to the balcony.

"Problem?" Damian asks passively. You can't help noticing he seems a little deflated.

You polish off your drink. "No, he just wanted to check on me." You try to meet his eyes again, but he's much more interested in cold blanket of snow whiting out the property.

"That's kind of him," he offers. You see now that his eyes aren't focused and he seems spacey. "Are you close?"

He's changing the subject. He receded into himself. Your moment of vulnerability is gone, and with it your window of opportunity to finally put everything behind you.

You just want a fresh start. You're sick of feeling like there's always something hanging in the air between the two of you, blocking any amends you have a chance to make. Frustration boils in your lungs.

"Very. We grew up together, in the complex. Born into the pack, you know?" The causality of the new conversation eats at you. You get caught up in the pent up irritation and make a leap of faith.

"When I said earlier that you couldn't have helped, I mean it."

He closes his eyes. You can’t tell if it’s disappointment or if he’s bracing himself for a rocky conversation.

“It’s deeper than drug deals, Damian. They’re Werewolves. They want Gotham.”

   He throws you a look you’re familiar with. His should-I-be-concerned-about-that glare hasn’t changed a bit .

   “Not the way you’re thinking. It’s complicated.”

   “Like everything else.”

   You cringe. Should have seen that coming. “I’m sorry.”

   He exhales, closes his eyes, and turns to face you fully before he opens them. “I can’t hold it against you,” he admits. “I know better than anyone how that goes. You can’t fill anyone in ion details, because those details have details, and by the time you’ve said your piece, everyone’s twice as confused as they started.”

   You nod, the tension in your shoulders easing.

   He leans almost all of his weight against he stone half-wall. “I know you can’t tell me everything. But what can you tell me?”

   You maul it over. What can you freely tell him that you haven’t already? “Not much,” you answer honestly. “Mostly just that the Rats are the one’s who killed my parents. They were trying to disband the pack by cutting the head off the snake. They went after Nick and I next. Nick managed to lead a group of them to the Crime Alley area, where some of ours ambushed them. The other group went after me, and that lead to the warehouse fire. Some of the other young members were there, like I’d told you. Some of them didn’t make it out.”

   He soaks it all in. Clarity dawns his face. “You didn’t wait for me because you didn’t want them to target me.”

   You nod. Finally.

   He shakes his head with a ghost of a smile. “Do you know how many years of frustration and weeks of awkward resentment you could have saved us both if you’d just told me that?”

   You laugh. It isn’t boisterous, or loud. It’s a spurt of disbelief and relief. “You’d have found something else to hate me for, I’m sure.”

   He snorts. His tiny smile fades, and then it’s back to openly confused eyes and an odd edge to his voice. “But why didn’t you call?”

   Your eyes hit the stone tiled floor. Hesitance, then honest hurt. Self-inflicted, but hurt all the same. “It was stupid, looking back.” You take a deep breath. “I was embarrassed. And guilty. At the time, I had people on my ass who wanted me dead, I’d been lying to your face and keeping things from you for years, and then I’d literally left you in a burning building. I didn’t think I could ever face you again, after that.”

  His expression is solemn. He considers your wording for a moment, before he slides his hands into his pockets. “I would have forgiven you,” he states quietly.

   Your eyes leap to his, shock jolting through your mind and parting your lips.

   His eyes are soft on yours. His head is tilted just a smidgen to the side. The right edge of his mouth tips up. “You could have started the fire, and I’d have still forgiven you. You were my best friend, (Y/N). I trusted you more than anyone, and that includes myself.”

   Your eyes are watering. “I, um–”

   “I should known you had a good reason to leave so suddenly,” he concedes. “But I was hurt. I couldn’t get past feeling like it was my fault. We thought the fire had been started by someone who was after me, or someone I should have been after. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you.”

   The apology nearly knocks you over. When was the last time you heard him genuinely apologize to someone like this? Seventh grade? You stand stiffly for a long moment, blinking dumbly at him, mouth agape.

   The next physical thing you’re aware of is his knuckle bumping your arm and the teeth peeking out from his smile. “This is the part where you say, No! It was my fault!”

   You snort, trying to regain some composure. “I mean, it was–”

   “I’m joking,” he chuckles, “it was never your fault. It was the Rats’. Which is why I want to do anything I can to help you bring them down. For good, this time.”

TAGS: @howcanibreathewithnozaire @avis-writeshq @mello-10 @ukuleleatnight @chikorita-stuff @idkmanicantenglish

[strawberriestyles]

Chapter 22

(Banner made by sweet sunshine @harry-nofookingway-styles​)

Harry X OFC (AU)

Sequel to Brutality: In which Melody and Harry must relearn how to navigate one another among a flurry of changes.

Read previous parts here.

Harry didn’t think he wanted Melody behind the wheel when she seemed so upset, but she insisted. Only minutes after her last words with her father, Harry was packing their suitcases into the running car. He hadn’t even buckled his seatbelt before she was backing out of the driveway. Neither of them spoke until they reached the highway, and when Melody’s phone rang, both of them jumped.

“Fuck,” she muttered, trying to slow her racing pulse. “It should be in the front pocket of my suitcase.”

Harry unbuckled his seatbelt and swung around, reaching for her luggage. He made quick work of the zipper, fishing out her phone and turning back around in his seat. He sighed when he saw the screen.

“What?” Melody asked.

“‘S your mum.”

She shook her head slowly, biting into the corner of her lip. “Don’t answer it.”

“Wasn’ plannin’ on it,” Harry muttered, dropping the phone into a cupholder as it stopped ringing. He buckled himself back in and hesitated before turning down the volume on the radio. “So,” he began, “CJ.”

Melody exhaled between her teeth. “Do we have to do this?”

“How many times have yeh forced me to talk about shit I didn’ wanna talk about?”

She chewed on her lip again, glancing over her shoulder to switch lanes. Harry waited for her to speak, but she only shifted beneath his gaze.

“Melody.”

She groaned and mumbled, “I dated him in high school.”

Harry nodded. He’d been able to sort that much out for himself and he was trying not to be bothered. If CJ was going to show up at this party, couldn’t she have warned him? “Yeh loved him?” he asked instead. He wanted to swallow the words as soon as he spoke them. They sounded bitter and jealous.

“No.” Melody glanced briefly at him, shaking her head fervently. “No, I didn’t. I thought I did, but I was sixteen. He was my first serious boyfriend.”

Harry relaxed in his seat, peeling back the collar of his shirt. He wished he’d taken the time to change before they had rushed out of the house.

“Why’d yeh break up?”

Melody shifted her hands, carefully adjusting her swelling knuckles. “When we started looking into college, he wanted me to go to school with him. And he thought it was funny that I wanted to write. It was annoying. So, I dumped him.”

“And tha’s it?”

She frowned, checking the road around her, switching lanes again. “What do you mean? What else would there be?”

“Well, I dunno.” Harry shrugged. “But whatever just happened felt more personal than just an old relationship.”

“He was my first time,” Melody said, peering at him uncomfortably. “Is that what you wanna know?”

Harry groaned, pressing his palms to his forehead. He wished he could push those words right back out of his skull. “Jesus Christ, Melody,” he muttered. “No. No.”

“I’m sorry.” She pulled her right hand into her lap. Stretching her fingers around the wheel was growing increasingly uncomfortable. “Harry, his family is rich and he’s an asshole, okay?” she said. “He was an asshole when I dated him.”

“Sure know how to pick ‘em,” Harry muttered, dropping his hands. He still hadn’t forgotten about Cooper either, and the more he thought about it, the more he felt like just another bad choice.

“Don’t.” Melody’s nose wrinkled as she frowned, her teeth back to worrying at her lip. Harry wondered how she hadn’t managed to bite through the skin yet. “Don’t do that.”

The voice of a radio host carried through the speakers as the song ended. Harry reached to turn the volume down further, but ended up clicking the radio off completely. The was nothing but the subtle hum of the engine, the sound of the car’s tires on the road. “Why’d yeh hit him?“

Melody’s lips parted, her face pinched in confusion. “What do you mean, why?” She looked over at him, too long for comfort when they were moving at such a high speed. “Harry, if someone had said something like that about me, I know for a fact that you wouldn’t think twice before swinging. You think I’m not gonna do the same thing?”

He swallowed, unnerved again by how easily she could predict his actions. If CJ had insulted her, he would have had a lot more to deal with than a bloody lip, but that was beside the point. “I mean,” he said softly, “was it because he was talkin’ shit to me? Or was it because yeh were embarrassed?”

Melody’s breath left her in a gust, as if she’d taken a blow to the stomach. She blinked rapidly into the sunlight reflecting off the car in front of them. “Embarrassed?” she murmured, trying to find sense in the word on her tongue. “You think I’m embarrassed of you?”

The seconds ticked by as she waited for him to deny it. But there wasn’t even music to fill the emptiness, the lack of words.

“Harry.” She huffed through her nose, trying to keep the overwhelming frustration out of her voice when she spoke to him. “God, you are not hearing me. I love you. I tell you that every day. There’s nothing about you for me to be embarrassed by.”

The space between them fell silent again. There was tension here and Melody didn’t understand why, when all she’d done was stick up for him. It was the exact same thing that he’d done for her so many times—with Cooper, with Brian all those months ago, with the random guy at Brute’s on New Year’s Eve. Could he not see that? Could he not understand her motivations as easily as she could sort through his?

“Can you say something?” she whispered, her chest aching in his prolonged silence. “Are you listening?”

“Yes.” He rested his head back against his seat, letting his eyes fall closed. This weekend felt like the longest weekend of his life. “Yes, Mel. I hear it.”

Melody reached over to turn the radio back on when it seemed that the conversation was over. Her phone rang again, but she rejected the call when she saw that it was her mom. Harry, despite the noise, could hear Melody’s breathing shift, air lodging in her throat, shaking as she exhaled through her nose. He peeled his eyes open to look at her and the sight of tears on her cheek knocked the breath from his lungs.

“I don’ understand why yeh’re cryin’ right now,” he whispered.

She swiped at the water trailing down her face, sighing. She didn’t want to be crying. But the events of the past hour had begun to catch up with her. “Because I didn’t want this fucking trip to end like this,” she said. “I kept trying to convince you that everything would be fine and then my dad kind of just kicked me out. Not that I wanted to be there in the first place, but—it’s fucked up. And I didn’t want to see CJ. And because I hit him now my parents have a bad impression of you. God, I’m sorry.”

Harry shook his head, watching her catch her wobbling lip in her teeth again as she finished speaking. “Melody, pull over.”

“What?”

“Yeh’re fuckin’ cryin’ on a four-lane highway,” he said. “Take the next exit. I’ll drive.”

Melody didn’t argue. Lifting her shoulder up to dry her cheek, she checked the next lane, shifting over only a few moments before another exit ramp appeared. They pulled into the empty lot of a gas station just off the exit, wasting no time in rounding the front of the car to switch seats. Melody pulled down the visor, looking at her reflection as she wiped mascara from beneath her eyes. Harry was still adjusting his seat when she spoke again.

“Harry?” she asked in her quiet, gravelly voice—the way she sounded when she was still choked with tears. It was a voice he knew better than he would have liked.

“What?”

“What CJ said about you—” She flipped the visor back up and looked out her window, busying her hands with the hem of her dress. “You know I don’t think that, right?”

Harry buckled his seatbelt, shifting the car into drive and pulling back onto the street, headed for the highway again. “Yeah.” He did know that. She didn’t think anything like that. Somehow, for reasons he didn’t understand, Melody seemed to find more to him than anyone else. But CJ and her parents—even Bea, in the beginning—saw their relationship differently. He was reminded of the way Melody’s classmates had watched him when he was leaving the art gallery, after he’d threatened Cooper, and he wondered how often people silently thought what CJ had actually had the nerve to say aloud.

“He doesn’t know you,” she continued. Harry had almost forgotten she was talking. “And my parents don’t know you. I think—”

“Melody, stop,” he snapped. There was a pause while he took a moment to reel himself back in, to stamp down his tone. He hadn’t meant to spit his words so fiercely. “I don’ need yeh to fuckin’ coddle me. Okay?”

He could feel her eyes on him as they merged back into traffic, but he didn’t look at her. “What?”

“You act like that little shit is gonna send me spiralin’ or somethin’. ‘M not havin’ a breakdown. ‘M fuckin’ fine. Stop.”

Melody watched Harry’s jaw lock as he finished speaking, like he was waiting for her to argue with him. She felt herself deflate. There wasn’t any energy left in her to carry an argument, and there wasn’t really anything to argue about in the first place. She’d only been trying to check where his head was at, and if he didn’t want reassurance, then she would leave him be.

“Okay,” she said softly, nodding. “I’m sorry.” Swallowing around the thick feeling in her throat, she tipped her head back against the headrest and tried to let her whirring mind rest for a moment.

***

When Harry pulled up to the curb in front of Melody’s apartment, he found her asleep in the passenger seat, head propped against the door. Strands of hair were stuck to her cheek, a bit of dried mascara smudging her jaw. He reached for her thigh, shaking her gently, and she woke with a start. She blinked at him in a daze.

“We’re here,” he murmured, cutting the engine. He watched her shift as she woke up, rubbing her eyes before remembering that she’d been wearing makeup, then trying to clean the smears from her skin. He didn’t know what he was waiting for—perhaps another question, more talking—but she got out of the car without a word, tucking her phone back into her suitcase and dragging it from the back seat.

The trip up to the apartment was just as silent. Melody checked the door, then fished for her keys. When they stepped inside, there were no lights on, and the clouds outside set the living room in shadows.

Melody lingered in the kitchen while Harry dragged his things into the bedroom. She heard him rifling through his bag, slamming drawers as he put away clothes. The noise seemed to split whatever tension had been lingering between them.

“Mel!” Harry called. “Where the fuck did I put my phone?”

Melody sighed, letting her bag slide away from her and collapse to the floor. She opened her mouth to tell him that she didn’t know, but before she could speak a hand clamped down over the lower half of her face, pulling her backwards so roughly that her ankle twisted.

A sharp bubble of panic expanded in her gut, twisting her insides. She scrambled to find purchase on the floor, grasping the wrist at her throat. She knew who it was before he spoke, but the whispered “Shh” at her ear still sent an agonizing chill down her spin. Hairs rose along the back of her neck.

“C’mon,” said Harry with a groan from the bedroom. “Yeh’re ignorin’ me? ‘M sor—”

He froze at the doorway, a sweatshirt dangling from one hand. His jaw tightened and he took two heavy steps forward before freezing again, breath held in his lungs.

“What’re yeh wearin’?” Colton asked with a snort. His hand slid down to Melody’s shoulder, forearm tight across her chest. She could hear the smile in his voice and, against her back, she could feel him breathing. It made her stomach churn again.

“What d’yeh want?” Harry growled.

“Just to chat.” Colton’s grip tightened as Harry took another step forward. “Stay where yeh are for now.”

It was then that Melody felt the kiss of cold metal at the side of her neck, just below her ear. She lurched away from it, but Colton yanked her even closer.

“Melody,” Harry said, his voice urgent, yet somehow controlled. “Yeh’re okay. ‘S okay. Mel, look at me.”

Her eyes, wide and panicked and already wet with pooling tears, found his. She felt more caged than ever before, although Colton’s arm loosened around her neck, and his fingers were curled into her dress, not even touching her skin. His forearm might as well have been crushing her throat.

“‘M not gonna let him hurt yeh,” Harry murmured. “I promise.”

“C’mon, mate. Yeh can’ promise her that.” Colton lifted Melody off her feet as she tried to pull away from him again, tearing a strangled gasp from her throat, swinging her right back in front of him. “Can’ even protect yourself, can yeh?”

Melody had prepared for this. When she’d first started training with Sean, she’d been more concerned with protecting herself than with anything else. He’d drilled into her mind so many different ways to break out of a grip like this, but now that it was actually happening, she felt like her mind had emptied, clean as a blank sheet of paper, the unused canvases sitting in her studio. And the harder she tried to remember what she knew, the more panicked she became.

Melody’s next breath caught audibly in her throat and Harry took a step forward before he could think about it. Colton clicked his tongue. Melody’s fingers tightened around his arm as it pressed into her collar. She choked on a ragged sob.

“Told yeh not to move, Haz,” Colton reminded him.

Harry froze, but barely spared a glance. His gaze remained fixed on Melody’s face. “Okay,” he said, drawing in a deep breath. “Okay, yeh wanna talk? Let’s talk. What d’yeh wanna talk about?”

“Where yeh been?” Colton asked. It was strange how much his voice dripped with the sound of Harry’s. But Harry’s calmed Melody, and this varying cadence only made bile rise in her throat. “Been hangin’ around for a couple days and only saw a couple other girls. Thought I had the wrong place.”

“We went to stay with Melody’s parents,” Harry answered.

“Yeah? That why yeh’re all dressed up?” The sneer in his voice was almost palpable. “They like you?”

“No.”

Colton chuckled into Melody’s ear and leaned forward to get a clearer view of her profile. “Yeah, I didn’ think they would. We’re a bit much, huh?”

Melody trembled as Colton’s face leaked into her periphery. Her muscles seized, tight and useless, and when the tip of the knife slipped across her skin, breaking the surface, she grew hot and dizzy. Her feet slipped.

Harry took one faltering step forward.

“Just breathe, Melody. No, no, don’ look at him,” he rushed as she twitched in Colton’s hold. Harry shook his head quickly and patted his chest. “Look at me. Keep watchin’ me. We’re both gonna be just fine, baby.”

“Christ,” Colton said, shaking his head in disbelief, “she’s got yeh absolutely whipped, hasn’ she?”

Harry’s eyes narrowed as they met Colton’s. “Have yeh been fuckin’ followin’ her?”

“Me? You trail after her like a lost fuckin’ puppy, mate.”

“‘M not stalking anybody, Colton.”

Colton rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Harry. Somehow I thought she’d put up more of a fight than this. A lot less scarier out of a ring, huh?”

“If yeh want a fight, ‘m right here. Just let her go.”

Melody was trying to keep from holding her breath, but inhaling took effort. The spell of dizziness hadn’t yet faded. She couldn’t remember ever needing space and air more in her life. “Harry,” she managed to mumble, and his eyes snapped back to her face.

“Tha’s right. ‘M right here,” he said, his voice firm. She looked on the verge of passing out. “Not gonna let anythin’ happen to yeh, Mel.”

“Okay, tha’s enough,” Colton snapped, standing upright. He took a step backward, dragging Melody with him. “Melody here is gonna come with me, actually.” He grinned and the stretch of his jaw settled his chin into the top of her hair.

“No.” Harry took a measured step forward, lifting his hands out, and he found them shaking.

Melody could tell he was trying to stay calm for her, but that hint of panic that widened his eyes broke something deep within her. She shrieked. The sound left her throat raw and when Colton’s arm pressed down on her neck, she fell into hysterical, flowing tears.

“Stop!” Harry shouted. He looked fully at Colton for the first time, his glare murderous, and his outstretched hands closed into fists. “Colton, if yeh don’ get your fuckin’ hands off of her... Hurt her again and it’ll be the last thing yeh do. I swear to fuckin’ God.”

“What’re yeh gonna do? Glare at me to death?”

“Let her go!”

“Nah.”

Harry, helpless, could think of nothing else but to stall him. “What d’yeh even want with her?”

Colton’s wicked grin faded. “Harry, d’yeh know what ‘s like to be a wanted criminal? Anythin’ you’ve done has been covered up. Yeh’re protected by the cops. Me? They found me I would’ve been locked up. And ‘m not gettin’ locked up. So, ‘m just gonna take your girl as payment for the worst year of my life.”

“Worst year of your life?” Harry scoffed. “You fuckin’ shot me. In the head.”

“Oh, like yeh weren’ gonna shoot me. Yeh’re fine now, anyway. No harm done.”

“‘M fine?” Harry demanded. “Fuck off.” His eyes flickered back to Melody, his anger softening as a newfound desperation climbed up his throat. “Let her go. Please.”

“Jesus Christ, are yeh really gonna beg me?”

The sound of sirens split through the night, so distant that Melody thought she might have imagined it. Harry glanced at the open apartment door. Colton fell silent, stiff at Melody’s back. “When the fuck did yeh call the cops?”

“I didn’,” Harry hissed. His eyes flitted back and forth between Colton and Melody, trying to find a way he could separate them without her getting hurt. “I didn’ call anyone.”

“Well,” Colton murmured, “‘s time for us to leave.” He drew Melody toward the hall and she dug her nails into his arm.

“Colton!” Harry yelled. He chanced a few steps forward before restraining himself. “Leave her here. Yeh’re not gonna get very far draggin’ her around.”

“As if yeh want me to—”

Melody fell, at first only because she was dizzy, but soon with purpose as she began to slip beneath Colton’s arm in his distraction. She felt the tip of his knife slice her neck before she reached the floor, and then the blade went skittering across the floorboards. Everything seemed to erupt. Harry dove and Colton met him in the air, slamming a fist into Harry’s jaw. They rolled until Harry sat on Colton’s stomach. Melody watched punches fall like hail. Blood spilled around them. It felt like a film reel.

A hand shot across the floor for the knife and it whipped through the air. The butt of the handle smashed into the side of Harry’s head, throwing him from atop Colton, who scrambled toward the door on his hands and knees, blood pouring from his nose.

Melody heard footsteps pounding down the stairwell after he disappeared. The sirens were so much closer, now. But it felt like there was cotton in her ears, a layer detaching her from her surroundings.

“Melody.” Harry sat up, a hand pressed to his head, wincing. “C’mere, baby. He’s gone.”

“Oh, my God.” Bea had appeared in the doorway to her room at the sound of Colton fleeing. “Are you okay? Melody? You guys are okay?”

Harry nodded quickly, dismissively. “You called?”

“Yeah, I called.” Her eyes swept the kitchen, lingering on the spray of blood that surrounded Harry like a salt circle. “Is she okay?” she repeated, nodding to Melody, who still hadn’t moved.

Harry nodded, wincing again as the tender spot on his scalp throbbed. He shuffled across the floor toward Melody as Bea rushed toward the apartment door, clicking the locks into place.

“Okay?” Harry whispered. He let go of his head, pulling Melody toward him when he reached her, feeling her shake beneath his hands. “I’ve got yeh. Tell me yeh’re okay, baby.”

Melody wasn’t processing a word he was speaking to her. “I’m sorry,” she was chanting beneath her breath. It seemed to be all that she could get out. “I’m sorry, sorry.” Her mind felt like it was lagging by entire minutes. She had trouble making sense of Bea’s presence, that she’d been in the apartment the whole time, that she had called the police.

It took Harry a minute to decipher her mumbling. “Why the fuck are yeh apologizin’ to me, Mel?”

“I clammed up,” she stammered out. “Sean taught me to—”

“No. No, ‘s not the same as real life, love. Not when yeh’re face to face with somethin’ that scares yeh like that. Sean will be damn proud of you.” He pulled her even closer, his voice quiet. “I am so proud of you. Yeh’re fuckin’ incredible.”

A fresh wave of tears welled up along her lashes. Harry grasped her face, thumbing strands of hair from her cheeks. His eyes roamed her features and then he hissed, clapping a hand to the side of her neck. “Fuck’s sake, yeh’re bleedin’.”

“I’m—I’m okay.” She inhaled, shaky, and it felt like the first breath she’d ever taken. “Are you okay?”

“Mel,” he said, exasperated, “‘m fine.”

Melody swiped at her eyes and reached for Harry’s chin. His lip was bleeding. “He hit you.”

“‘M used to gettin’ hit, love.”

“But your head,” she pressed.

“It hurts, but ‘s not the worst ‘s been.” He pulled her hands back down when she tried to turn his head, keeping them clasped tight between his, her blood smearing between them. “Baby, I swear to yeh, ‘m okay. We’re fine. Right?”

Melody nodded, finally glancing at Bea, tears beginning to slip over her cheeks. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I didn’t know you were here.”

Bea glanced toward the locked door and wrapped her arms around herself, clutching the sides of her sweater. “I was trying to take a nap,” she explained. “And then I heard Harry and...”

Melody flinched as Harry touched her face again, this time wiping her tears with his knuckles to avoid staining her skin with more blood. She watched a deep groove settle into the space between his brows.

“Is he gonna come back?” she whispered.

“No.” Harry shook his head fervently, then winced. He pressed a fist to his forehead, grumbling out, “No, they’ll find him.”

“Harry,” Melody breathed, “are you okay?”

“Ah, fuck,” he hissed, falling from his crouch, onto his knees, his palms clapped to his head. His eyes screwed shut and his teeth ground together, and a moment later he had tipped forward, pressing his forehead into the kitchen floor.

“Harry,” Melody said again. A sound like she’d never heard before ripped from his throat, loud and raw, debilitatingly agonized. She slid an arm beneath his shoulders, hauling his torso across her lap.

“Bea. Bea, his pain pills,” she pleaded, looking up at her friend. “They’re on my dresser. Please.”

“Mel,” Bea said quietly, shaking her head in dismay, “they’re not gonna work right away.”

“I know, I know.” Melody drew a hand down Harry’s back, watching his body shift. “Shit.”

Harry ripped out of her hold a moment later, like space might help the pain. When there was no relief, his forehead crashed against her shoulder, one arm bent up around her neck, both hands clutching wildly at his head again. She locked her arms around his waist.

“Please, go get them,” she begged Bea, who darted across the room.

“Melody,” Harry grunted against her skin. “I can’—”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered when his voice cut off. She wanted to fix him. She wanted to press her lips to his head and take the pain away, and her inability to make it better had her sick to the stomach. “I’m sorry. Harry, you’re gonna be okay.”

“Oh, God.” Bea was crying when she returned. Melody stared at her helplessly. She’d seen Bea cry only once in the years that she’d known her, and it was when she was so drunk out of her mind she couldn’t even figure out why she was crying in the first place. Was she crying from the stress of the past few minutes? Because Harry was in pain?

There was a pounding on the door not a moment after they’d forced a couple of pills down Harry’s throat. Bea and Melody flinched but Harry just yelled in his cracked, broken voice. Melody clutched him closer.

“Police.” The voice was familiar, but for once it didn’t send Melody’s heart into her gut. “Open up.”

Bea waited for Melody’s nod of approval before unlocking the door, allowing Brian and his partner into the apartment. Melody’s mind was no longer lagging. If anything, it was working double speed. She didn’t wait for anyone else to speak before words were spilling from her mouth.

“Colton was here two minutes ago,” she rushed. “I heard him leave the building. He was wearing a black sweatshirt and gray sweatpants. But Harry needs to go to the hospital. Please.”

Brian nodded along as she spoke. He looked down at Harry, still clinging to her, his face mostly hidden but his teeth grinding in agony.

“Would you believe me if I said we found him already?”

Bea exhaled in a huff. Melody’s heart nearly beat out of her chest. “What do you mean?” she asked. “Did you arrest him? Are you taking him in?”

Brian’s eyes wandered across the apartment, through the living room and to the window. The city was growing even darker as the limited sunlight withdrew for the evening. Melody’s nerves felt further fried with every passing moment without a response.

“Brian.”

“Well, it wasn’t us personally who found him,” he murmured. “It was a few other officers in the area on patrol.”

“Okay,” she pressed. “They lost him?”

“No. Uh...” He took a deep breath before looking at her again. “He came at them with a knife. He’s dead.”

Melody reeled backward, nearly yanking Harry off of his knees. He hissed at the movement. The sound caught everyone’s attention again and despite the strange feeling in her gut, the shock that Brian’s words dredged back up, Melody shook her head and pushed this new knowledge to the back of her mind.

“Can you take us to the hospital?” she asked.

Brian nodded, stepping forward to grasp one of Harry’s arms and pull him to his feet. “What’s wrong with him?”

Melody watched Harry slump into Brian’s side. She dragged herself up from the floor. “Colton hit him in the head.”

Brian’s partner—Melody had never learned his name, though she’d pictured his face countless times in her mind when she thought back to being kidnapped—supported Harry from the other side. Melody glanced at Bea before she followed them.

“I’ll meet you there,” Bea assured her, waving her on. “I’ll pack you each a bag just in case.”

Melody felt like she could have cried again. She crossed the kitchen in a few strides and threw her arms around Bea, resting her neck on Bea’s shoulder. “I love you. Thank you.”

Bea nodded in agreement. “I love you, too.” She could hear the cops and Harry making their ways down the staircase, their shoes squeaking, and she squeezed Melody once more before patting her shoulder blade. “Go,” she breathed, and Melody flew out the door. Bea locked it behind her.

Chapter 23

[areiton]

silver falling in my eyes - stony

Ok so what HAPPENED was--Pineapplebread shared a GORGEOUS piece of art on Twitter and I had sad feels. I apologize.

Read on AO3

~*~ 

After-- 

After, he thinks, he should be grateful that he can divide his life into that, into Before and After. 

After, he thinks, life has always been divided into pieces, before the ice and after, before Bucky and after and then again. 

Before Thanos and after. 

Before the War, and after. 

But this--this after--

It is a horrible thing, for heroes to grow old. 

He finds himself sitting on the grass next to a newly covered hole in the ground and the faces that had filled the crowd are sparse now, missing--Pepper was there, pale and grey and still beautiful but Happy wasn’t. Natasha had been gone for years now, but Clint was there, with Lila and Kate, pale and trembling between protege and daughter. 

Rhodey wasn’t--he went, happy, in his sleep, a few years ago, Nebula at his side. 

Nebula wasn’t either--she hugged Tony hard, after Rhodey’s funeral and vanished into space to chase Carol and stardust and, Steve thinks privately, to run from her ghosts. 

Thor and Loki were there, though, and they looked the same as ever, and Bucky stood at his side, and he could see his age, slow but inexorable, reflected in his brother’s eyes, Sam beginning to show his own years at Bucky’s side. 

Harley and Peter and Morgan were there, surrounded by their children, and he thinks watching them was hardest, harder almost than watching the coffin lowering into the ground. 

Almost. 

After--when his heart has broken and been lowered into the ground, when FRIDAY goes quiet and refuses her protocols, when the grave has been covered and the team that was never his returns to their never ending task of keeping the world from spinning into the abyss, when there is nothing but his griefs and unending reminders of the love that they shared--he leaves. 

~*~ 

Steve finds himself in the cabin for a few weeks, but it’s too much a reminder of everything he no longer has. They raised Morgan here, watched Peter propose to MJ here, held Harley when he went through his first heartbreak. Tony danced with him barefoot and beautiful here, on their wedding night, while firelight and the sound of their friends drifted through the windows. 

They had a whole life here and home was the Avenger compound, for most of their life, even after they stepped away from active missions, when Tony was nothing more than a tech consultant and Steve ran missions from a control room instead of the front lines. 

But when the compound wasn’t home, the cabin on the lake was, the place that felt most like home because it was filled with Tony. 

He lingers there, for a few weeks, and then, he murmurs a quiet goodbye to FRIDAY, and slips out of the house with a bag on his back and takes the motorcycle Tony built him, and--he goes. 

~*~ 

There’s a line of code that Boss built into her system, after Thanos, after Beck, after Karen was hacked by Osborne in one of Spider-baby’s battles. 

She waits, until the sounds of the motorcycle is gone and there is nothing but quiet. Her baby brother is waiting and she sends him to the Avenger compound with a single order. 

Be good to them. 

When the house is quiet and empty, FRIDAY says, softly, “Goodbye, Captain.”

And then she follows Boss. 

~*~ 

He realizes time has passed when his hair falls in his eyes, silvery and too long and a little dirty. 

It’s long, longer than he’s ever kept it, and there’s a moment, panic-stricken and crippling, as he realizes that Tony wouldn’t recognize him, like this. 

There’a familiar laugh, warm and grounding. I’d always recognize you, beloved. 

His hands tremble as he pushes it back, he makes a mental note to buy some of those ties Bucky likes, to keep it out of his eyes. 

~*~ 

He drifts. No one ever calls him out, calls him by name, and he’s happy to go by the name Grant Carbonell, what Tony liked to call him when they were forced into the rare undercover missions. 

It’s not hiding, really--he’s not delusional enough to think Bucky and his children couldn’t find him, if they wanted. He’s using a known alias and hasn’t done anything to disguise himself, aside from letting his silver hair grow out and his beard get a little unruly. 

But it’s running, and wherever he runs, he can hear Tony’s voice, echoing and familiar, Good morning, darling. 

~*~

The thing is--he travels, follows construction down the coast and chases a logging job up into Canada and then hops on a boat, backbreaking labor that makes his muscles ache and his mind go blissfully empty through the long fishing season in the Arctic--he gets tired. 

He doesn’t want to run forever, the lesson his Ma taught him too many lifetimes ago resonating in him still-- once you start running, you’ll never stop-- and maybe he isn’t hiding. 

But he’s running, and he’ll run to the ends of the earth and beyond, and never outrun Tony’s ghost. 

Then why are you trying, Cap? 

Steve stands on the edge of the water and laughs and says, “Fine, you stubborn ass. Where to next?” 

Tony doesn’t answer, but when he climbs back on his bike, Steve turns east. 

~*~

He’s old. 

He’s old and he can feel his age, some days, all one hundred and some odd years he’s walked the earth and lain sleeping under her ice. 

He’s old and some days he can feel it, every moment of an endless life that he never agreed to, when he took the serum, but most days--

Most days he feels as young as he did the morning he met Peggy, the morning he stepped into Erksine’s chamber, impossibly young and a life endless stretching before him. 

He feels ancient and young, both, and longs for the days when his husband brushed silvering hair from his eyes and smiled, sleep soft smiles and whiskey dark eyes, and kisses a promise of forever. 

I never wanted to leave you, beloved. 

Sometimes, on the very worst nights, he can’t help but ask--screaming into the void--

Then why did you? 

~*~ 

His hair is in his eyes, long and silver and he thinks Tony would have liked it, would have liked him on his knees, long fingers--metal and flesh--caught in tangled silver strands while he fucked Steve’s mouth. 

He always enjoyed that, when Steve’s hair got long, when he was needing to go get the sides shaved and the long fringe trimmed. 

He thinks, too, that Tony would hate to see him like this--beard scruffy and unkempt, hair too long, his undercut long since grown out. 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs, sitting on the grass next to a black headstone engraved with gold. He isn’t sure if he’s apologizing for his absence or his appearance or his lingering presence, when Tony waits for him. 

“I won’t be too much longer,” he promises, and the wind blows his hair in his eyes. 

As long as you need, honey. 

~*~

Bucky is still broad shouldered, powerful and beautiful in his way, but his hair has silver shot through the brown, and there are new wrinkles around his brother’s eyes that Steve thinks are from laughter. 

He deserves that. 

Alpine--the fourth or fifth Alpine, but Bucky could never be talked into naming the litany of little white cats he adopts anything but Alpine--jumps into his lap and purrs, ecstatic, while Bucky sits next to him in a quiet house. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he hates himself, for how useless it is. Sorry doesn’t mean shit, when your world has crumbled away. 

“We had a good life,” Bucky says, and he smiles, tear-stained but bright. “It would never be long enough, Stevie. Not for you or me, or either of them. We’re greedy bastards--and I’d always want a little more time with him. But I had a good life with Sam, and you had a good one with Tony. That’s more than either of us ever thought we’d get.”

Steve nods, and there are tears, falling in his eyes, because he’s right, Steve knows he’s right--but it hurts. 

“It hurts,” he chokes, and Bucky makes a noise, low and wordless and reels him, and Steve crumples, falls to pieces against his chest, and stains his shirt with tears, and wonders if he’ll ever stop grieving. 

~*~ 

It’s good, being back, even if it does sting. 

He moves into Bucky’s guest bedroom, and it’s better, for both of them, not being alone. Sometimes, Bucky disappears to the compound, runs a mission for the New Avengers because he might be edging in on a hundred and fifty, but Bucky still has the Winter Solider lurking in the depths of his eyes, and one day, Steve follows him. 

Heroes grow old, but they’re still there, heroes in their bones.

~*~ 

Peter sees him at the compound, and he smiles, sunshine bright just like Tony and hugs him, like Steve hasn’t been running from his ghosts for the past few years. Like he didn’t run from his family, when they needed him. 

He hugs Steve and says, “Welcome home, Pops.” 

~*~ 

It’s not a bad life, really. 

Their kids visit on the weekends, and he holds his great-grandson, and Benji grins at him. “His name is Anthony Edward Parker.” 

The baby blinks up at him, whiskey dark eyes in a pale round face, and Steve’s hair--it’s shorter now, but not the style he wore for so many years, the style that Tony loved, because he can’t bear that again--falls in his eyes, and he’s not sure if the tears are grief or gladness. 

~*~ 

He sits on the grass next to a black and gold stone, and the wind blows his hair in his eyes and he closes his eyes, and waits for the day when he can rest, when he can close his eyes and open them to beloved eyes bright with love and happiness, and Tony’s familiar, Hey, winghead. I missed you.